note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the wings of the morning by louis tracy author of _a son of the immortals_, _the stowaways_, _the message_, _the wheel o' fortune_, etc. new york grosset & dunlap publishers . _if i take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. psalm cxxxix, , _ [illustration: involuntarily she caught his arm. he stepped a half-pace in front of her to ward off any danger that might be heralded by this uncanny phenomenon. _frontispiece_] contents i the wreck of the _sirdar_ ii the survivors iii discoveries iv rainbow island v iris to the rescue vi some explanations vii surprises viii preparations ix the secret of the cave x reality v. romance--the case for the plaintiff xi the fight xii a truce xiii reality v. romance--the case for the defendant xiv the unexpected happens xv the difficulty of pleasing everybody xvi bargains, great and small xvii rainbow island again--and afterward chapter i the wreck of the _sirdar_ lady tozer adjusted her gold-rimmed eye-glasses with an air of dignified aggressiveness. she had lived too many years in the far east. in hong kong she was known as the "mandarin." her powers of merciless inquisition suggested torments long drawn out. the commander of the _sirdar_, homeward bound from shanghai, knew that he was about to be stretched on the rack when he took his seat at the saloon table. "is it true, captain, that we are running into a typhoon?" demanded her ladyship. "from whom did you learn that, lady tozer?" captain ross was wary, though somewhat surprised. "from miss deane. i understood her a moment ago to say that you had told her." "i?" "didn't you? some one told me this morning. i couldn't have guessed it, could i?" miss iris deane's large blue eyes surveyed him with innocent indifference to strict accuracy. incidentally, she had obtained the information from her maid, a nose-tilted coquette who extracted ship's secrets from a youthful quartermaster. "well--er--i had forgotten," explained the tactful sailor. "is it true?" lady tozer _was_ unusually abrupt today. but she was annoyed by the assumption that the captain took a mere girl into his confidence and passed over the wife of the ex-chief justice of hong kong. "yes, it is," said captain ross, equally curt, and silently thanking the fates that her ladyship was going home for the last time. "how horrible!" she gasped, in unaffected alarm. this return to femininity soothed the sailor's ruffled temper. sir john, her husband, frowned judicially. that frown constituted his legal stock-in-trade, yet it passed current for wisdom with the hong kong bar. "what evidence have you?" he asked. "do tell us," chimed in iris, delightfully unconscious of interrupting the court. "did you find out when you squinted at the sun?" the captain smiled. "you are nearer the mark than possibly you imagine, miss deane," he said. "when we took our observations yesterday there was a very weird-looking halo around the sun. this morning you may have noticed several light squalls and a smooth sea marked occasionally by strong ripples. the barometer is falling rapidly, and i expect that, as the day wears, we will encounter a heavy swell. if the sky looks wild tonight, and especially if we observe a heavy bank of cloud approaching from the north-west, you see the crockery dancing about the table at dinner. i am afraid you are not a good sailor, lady tozer. are you, miss deane?" "capital! i should just love to see a real storm. now promise me solemnly that you will take me up into the charthouse when this typhoon is simply tearing things to pieces." "oh dear! i do hope it will not be very bad. is there no way in which you can avoid it, captain? will it last long?" the politic skipper for once preferred to answer lady tozer. "there is no cause for uneasiness," he said. "of course, typhoons in the china sea are nasty things while they last, but a ship like the _sirdar_ is not troubled by them. she will drive through the worst gale she is likely to meet here in less than twelve hours. besides, i alter the course somewhat as soon as i discover our position with regard to its center. you see, miss deane--" and captain ross forthwith illustrated on the back of a menu card the spiral shape and progress of a cyclone. he so thoroughly mystified the girl by his technical references to northern and southern hemispheres, polar directions, revolving air-currents, external circumferences, and diminished atmospheric pressures, that she was too bewildered to reiterate a desire to visit the bridge. then the commander hurriedly excused himself, and the passengers saw no more of him that day. but his short scientific lecture achieved a double result. it rescued him from a request which he could not possibly grant, and reassured lady tozer. to the non-nautical mind it is the unknown that is fearful. a storm classed as "periodic," whose velocity can be measured, whose duration and direction can be determined beforehand by hours and distances, ceases to be terrifying. it becomes an accepted fact, akin to the steam-engine and the electric telegraph, marvelous yet commonplace. so her ladyship dismissed the topic as of no present interest, and focused miss deane through her eye-glasses. "sir arthur proposes to come home in june, i understand?" she inquired. iris was a remarkably healthy young woman. a large banana momentarily engaged her attention. she nodded affably. "you will stay with relatives until he arrives?" pursued lady tozer. the banana is a fruit of simple characteristics. the girl was able to reply, with a touch of careless hauteur in her voice: "relatives! we have none--none whom we specially cultivate, that is. i will stop in town a day or two to interview my dressmaker, and then go straight to helmdale, our place in yorkshire." "surely you have a chaperon!" "a chaperon! my dear lady tozer, did my father impress you as one who would permit a fussy and stout old person to make my life miserable?" the acidity of the retort lay in the word "stout." but iris was not accustomed to cross-examination. during a three months' residence on the island she had learnt how to avoid lady tozer. here it was impossible, and the older woman fastened upon her asp-like. miss iris deane was a toothsome morsel for gossip. not yet twenty-one, the only daughter of a wealthy baronet who owned a fleet of stately ships--the _sirdar_ amongst them--a girl who had been mistress of her father's house since her return from dresden three years ago--young, beautiful, rich--here was a combination for which men thanked a judicious heaven, whilst women sniffed enviously. business detained sir arthur. a war-cloud over-shadowed the two great divisions of the yellow race. he must wait to see how matters developed, but he would not expose iris to the insidious treachery of a chinese spring. so, with tears, they separated. she was confided to the personal charge of captain ross. at each point of call the company's agents would be solicitous for her welfare. the cable's telegraphic eye would watch her progress as that of some princely maiden sailing in royal caravel. this fair, slender, well-formed girl--delightfully english in face and figure--with her fresh, clear complexion, limpid blue eyes, and shining brown hair, was a personage of some importance. lady tozer knew these things and sighed complacently. "ah, well," she resumed. "parents had different views when i was a girl. but i assume sir arthur thinks you should become used to being your own mistress in view of your approaching marriage." "my--approaching--marriage!" cried iris, now genuinely amazed. "yes. is it not true that you are going to marry lord ventnor?" a passing steward heard the point-blank question. it had a curious effect upon him. he gazed with fiercely eager eyes at miss deane, and so far forgot himself as to permit a dish of water ice to rest against sir john tozer's bald head. iris could not help noting his strange behavior. a flash of humor chased away her first angry resentment at lady tozer's interrogatory. "that may be my happy fate," she answered gaily, "but lord ventnor has not asked me." "every one says in hong kong--" began her ladyship. "confound you, you stupid rascal! what are you doing?" shouted sir john. his feeble nerves at last conveyed the information that something more pronounced than a sudden draught affected his scalp; the ice was melting. the incident amused those passengers who sat near enough to observe it. but the chief steward, hovering watchful near the captain's table, darted forward. pale with anger he hissed-- "report yourself for duty in the second saloon tonight," and he hustled his subordinate away from the judge's chair. miss deane, mirthfully radiant, rose. "please don't punish the man, mr. jones," she said sweetly. "it was a sheer accident. he was taken by surprise. in his place i would have emptied the whole dish." the chief steward smirked. he did not know exactly what had happened; nevertheless, great though sir john tozer might be, the owner's daughter was greater. "certainly, miss, certainly," he agreed, adding confidentially:--"it _is_ rather hard on a steward to be sent aft, miss. it makes such a difference in the--er--the little gratuities given by the passengers." the girl was tactful. she smiled comprehension at the official and bent over sir john, now carefully polishing the back of his skull with a table napkin. "i am sure you will forgive him," she whispered. "i can't say why, but the poor fellow was looking so intently at me that he did not see what he was doing." the ex-chief justice was instantly mollified. he did not mind the application of ice in that way--rather liked it, in fact--probably ice was susceptible to the fire in miss deane's eyes. lady tozer was not so easily appeased. when iris left the saloon she inquired tartly: "how is it, john, that government makes a shipowner a baronet and a chief justice only a knight?" "that question would provide an interesting subject for debate at the carlton, my dear," he replied with equal asperity. suddenly the passengers still seated experienced a prolonged sinking sensation, as if the vessel had been converted into a gigantic lift. they were pressed hard into their chairs, which creaked and tried to swing round on their pivots. as the ship yielded stiffly to the sea a whiff of spray dashed through an open port. "there," snapped her ladyship, "i knew we should run into a storm, yet captain ross led us to believe---- john, take me to my cabin at once." from the promenade deck the listless groups watched the rapid advance of the gale. there was mournful speculation upon the _sirdar's_ chances of reaching singapore before the next evening. "we had two hundred and ninety-eight miles to do at noon," said experience. "if the wind and sea catch us on the port bow the ship will pitch awfully. half the time the screw will be racing. i once made this trip in the _sumatra_, and we were struck by a south-east typhoon in this locality. how long do you think it was before we dropped anchor in singapore harbor?" no one hazarded a guess. "three days!" experience was solemnly pompous. "three whole days. they were like three years. by jove! i never want to see another gale like that." a timid lady ventured to say-- "perhaps this may not be a typhoon. it may only be a little bit of a storm." her sex saved her from a jeer. experience gloomily shook his head. "the barometer resists your plea," he said. "i fear there will be a good many empty saddles in the saloon at dinner." the lady smiled weakly. it was a feeble joke at the best. "you think we are in for a sort of marine steeple-chase?" she asked. "well, thank heaven, i had a good lunch," sniggered a rosy-faced subaltern, and a ripple of laughter greeted his enthusiasm. iris stood somewhat apart from the speakers. the wind had freshened and her hat was tied closely over her ears. she leaned against the taffrail, enjoying the cool breeze after hours of sultry heat. the sky was cloudless yet, but there was a queer tinge of burnished copper in the all-pervading sunshine. the sea was coldly blue. the life had gone out of it. it was no longer inviting and translucent. that morning, were such a thing practicable, she would have gladly dived into its crystal depths and disported herself like a frolicsome mermaid. now something akin to repulsion came with the fanciful remembrance. long sullen undulations swept noiselessly past the ship. once, after a steady climb up a rolling hill of water, the _sirdar_ quickly pecked at the succeeding valley, and the propeller gave a couple of angry flaps on the surface, whilst a tremor ran through the stout iron rails on which the girl's arms rested. the crew were busy too. squads of lascars raced about, industriously obedient to the short shrill whistling of jemadars and quartermasters. boat lashings were tested and tightened, canvas awnings stretched across the deck forward, ventilator cowls twisted to new angles, and hatches clamped down over the wooden gratings that covered the holds. officers, spotless in white linen, flitted quietly to and fro. when the watch was changed. iris noted that the "chief" appeared in an old blue suit and carried oilskins over his arm as he climbed to the bridge. nature looked disturbed and fitful, and the ship responded to her mood. there was a sense of preparation in the air, of coming ordeal, of restless foreboding. chains clanked with a noise the girl never noticed before; the tramp of hurrying men on the hurricane deck overhead sounded heavy and hollow. there was a squeaking of chairs that was abominable when people gathered up books and wraps and staggered ungracefully towards the companion-way. altogether miss deane was not wholly pleased with the preliminaries of a typhoon, whatever the realities might be. and then, why did gales always spring up at the close of day? could they not start after breakfast, rage with furious grandeur during lunch, and die away peacefully at dinner-time, permitting one to sleep in comfort without that straining and groaning of the ship which seemed to imply a sharp attack of rheumatism in every joint? why did that silly old woman allude to her contemplated marriage to lord ventnor, retailing the gossip of hong kong with such malicious emphasis? for an instant iris tried to shake the railing in comic anger. she hated lord ventnor. she did not want to marry him, or anybody else, just yet. of course her father had hinted approval of his lordship's obvious intentions. countess of ventnor! yes, it was a nice title. still, she wanted another couple of years of careless freedom; in any event, why should lady tozer pry and probe? and finally, why did the steward--oh, poor old sir john! what _would_ have happened if the ice had slid down his neck? thoroughly comforted by this gleeful hypothesis, miss deane seized a favorable opportunity to dart across to the starboard side and see if captain ross's "heavy bank of cloud in the north-west" had put in an appearance. ha! there it was, black, ominous, gigantic, rolling up over the horizon like some monstrous football. around it the sky deepened into purple, fringed with a wide belt of brick red. she had never seen such a beginning of a gale. from what she had read in books she imagined that only in great deserts were clouds of dust generated. there could not be dust in the dense pall now rushing with giant strides across the trembling sea. then what was it? why was it so dark and menacing? and where was desert of stone and sand to compare with this awful expanse of water? what a small dot was this great ship on the visible surface! but the ocean itself extended away beyond there, reaching out to the infinite. the dot became a mere speck, undistinguishable beneath a celestial microscope such as the gods might condescend to use. iris shivered and aroused herself with a startled laugh. a nice book in a sheltered corner, and perhaps forty winks until tea-time--surely a much more sensible proceeding than to stand there, idly conjuring up phantoms of affright. the lively fanfare of the dinner trumpet failed to fill the saloon. by this time the _sirdar_ was fighting resolutely against a stiff gale. but the stress of actual combat was better than the eerie sensation of impending danger during the earlier hours. the strong, hearty pulsations of the engines, the regular thrashing of the screw, the steadfast onward plunging of the good ship through racing seas and flying scud, were cheery, confident, and inspiring. miss deane justified her boast that she was an excellent sailor. she smiled delightedly at the ship's surgeon when he caught her eye through the many gaps in the tables. she was alone, so he joined her. "you are a credit to the company--quite a sea-king's daughter," he said. "doctor, do you talk to all your lady passengers in that way?" "alas, no! too often i can only be truthful when i am dumb." iris laughed. "if i remain long on this ship i will certainly have my head turned," she cried. "i receive nothing but compliments from the captain down to--to---- "the doctor!" "no. you come a good second on the list." in very truth she was thinking of the ice-carrying steward and his queer start of surprise at the announcement of her rumored engagement. the man interested her. he looked like a broken-down gentleman. her quick eyes traveled around the saloon to discover his whereabouts. she could not see him. the chief steward stood near, balancing himself in apparent defiance of the laws of gravitation, for the ship was now pitching and rolling with a mad zeal. for an instant she meant to inquire what had become of the transgressor, but she dismissed the thought at its inception. the matter was too trivial. with a wild swoop all the plates, glasses, and cutlery on the saloon tables crashed to starboard. were it not for the restraint of the fiddles everything must have been swept to the floor. there were one or two minor accidents. a steward, taken unawares, was thrown headlong on top of his laden tray. others were compelled to clutch the backs of chairs and cling to pillars. one man involuntarily seized the hair of a lady who devoted an hour before each meal to her coiffure. the _sirdar_, with a frenzied bound, tried to turn a somersault. "a change of course," observed the doctor. "they generally try to avoid it when people are in the saloon, but a typhoon admits of no labored politeness. as its center is now right ahead we are going on the starboard tack to get behind it." "i must hurry up and go on deck," said miss deane. "you will not be able to go on deck until the morning." she turned on him impetuously. "indeed i will. captain ross promised me--that is, i asked him----" the doctor smiled. she was so charmingly insistent. "it is simply impossible," he said. "the companion doors are bolted. the promenade deck is swept by heavy seas every minute. a boat has been carried away and several stanchions snapped off like carrots. for the first time in your life, miss deane, you are battened down." the girl's face must have paled somewhat. he added hastily, "there is no danger, you know, but these precautions are necessary. you would not like to see several tons of water rushing down the saloon stairs; now, would you?" "decidedly not." then after a pause, "it is not pleasant to be fastened up in a great iron box, doctor. it reminds one of a huge coffin." "not a bit. the _sirdar_ is the safest ship afloat. your father has always pursued a splendid policy in that respect. the london and hong kong company may not possess fast vessels, but they are seaworthy and well found in every respect." "are there many people ill on board?" "no; just the usual number of disturbed livers. we had a nasty accident shortly before dinner." "good gracious! what happened?" "some lascars were caught by a sea forward. one man had his leg broken." "anything else?" the doctor hesitated. he became interested in the color of some burgundy. "i hardly know the exact details yet," he replied. "tomorrow after breakfast i will tell you all about it." an english quartermaster and four lascars had been licked from off the forecastle by the greedy tongue of a huge wave. the succeeding surge flung the five men back against the quarter. one of the black sailors was pitched aboard, with a fractured leg and other injuries. the others were smashed against the iron hull and disappeared. for one tremulous moment the engines slowed. the ship commenced to veer off into the path of the cyclone. captain ross set his teeth, and the telegraph bell jangled "full speed ahead." "poor jackson!" he murmured. "one of my best men. i remember seeing his wife, a pretty little woman, and two children coming to meet him last homeward trip. they will be there again. good god! that lascar who was saved has some one to await him in a bombay village, i suppose." the gale sang a mad requiem to its victims. the very surface was torn from the sea. the ship drove relentlessly through sheets of spray that caused the officers high up on the bridge to gasp for breath. they held on by main force, though protected by strong canvas sheets bound to the rails. the main deck was quite impassable. the promenade deck, even the lofty spar deck, was scourged with the broken crests of waves that tried with demoniac energy to smash in the starboard bow, for the _sirdar_ was cutting into the heart of the cyclone. the captain fought his way to the charthouse. he wiped the salt water from his eyes and looked anxiously at the barometer. "still falling!" he muttered. "i will keep on until seven o'clock and then bear three points to the southward. by midnight we should be behind it." he struggled back into the outside fury. by comparison the sturdy citadel he quitted was paradise on the edge of an inferno. down in the saloon the hardier passengers were striving to subdue the ennui of an interval before they sought their cabins. some talked. one hardened reprobate strummed the piano. others played cards, chess, draughts, anything that would distract attention. the stately apartment offered strange contrast to the warring elements without. bright lights, costly upholstery, soft carpets, carved panels and gilded cornices, with uniformed attendants passing to and fro carrying coffee and glasses--these surroundings suggested a floating palace in which the raging seas were defied. yet forty miles away, somewhere in the furious depths, four corpses swirled about with horrible uncertainty, lurching through battling currents, and perchance convoyed by fighting sharks. the surgeon had been called away. iris was the only lady left in the saloon. she watched a set of whist players for a time and then essayed the perilous passage to her stateroom. she found her maid and a stewardess there. both women were weeping. "what is the matter?" she inquired. the stewardess tried to speak. she choked with grief and hastily went out. the maid blubbered an explanation. "a friend of hers was married, miss, to the man who is drowned." "drowned! what man?" "haven't you heard, miss? i suppose they are keeping it quiet. an english sailor and some natives were swept off the ship by a sea. one native was saved, but he is all smashed up. the others were never seen again." iris by degrees learnt the sad chronicles of the jackson family. she was moved to tears. she remembered the doctor's hesitancy, and her own idle phrase--"a huge coffin." outside the roaring waves pounded upon the iron walls. were they not satiated? this tragedy had taken all the grandeur out of the storm. it was no longer a majestic phase of nature's power, but an implacable demon, bellowing for a sacrifice. and that poor woman, with her two children, hopefully scanning the shipping lists for news of the great steamer, news which, to her, meant only the safety of her husband. oh, it was pitiful! iris would not be undressed. the maid sniveled a request to be allowed to remain with her mistress. she would lie on a couch until morning. two staterooms had been converted into one to provide miss deane with ample accommodation. there were no bunks, but a cozy bed was screwed to the deck. she lay down, and strove to read. it was a difficult task. her eyes wandered from the printed page to mark the absurd antics of her garments swinging on their hooks. at times the ship rolled so far that she felt sure it must topple over. she was not afraid; but subdued, rather astonished, placidly prepared for vague eventualities. through it all she wondered why she clung to the belief that in another day or two the storm would be forgotten, and people playing quoits on deck, dancing, singing coon songs in the music-room, or grumbling at the heat. things were ridiculous. what need was there for all this external fury? why should poor sailors be cast forth to instant death in such awful manner? if she could only sleep and forget--if kind oblivion would blot out the storm for a few blissful hours! but how could one sleep with the consciousness of that watery giant thundering his summons upon the iron plates a few inches away? then came the blurred picture of captain ross high up on the bridge, peering into the moving blackness. how strange that there should be hidden in the convolutions of a man's brain an intelligence that laid bare the pretences of that ravenous demon without. each of the ship's officers, the commander more than the others, understood the why and the wherefore of this blustering combination of wind and sea. iris knew the language of poker. nature was putting up a huge bluff. what was it the captain said in his little lecture? "when a ship meets a cyclone north of the equator on a westerly course she nearly always has the wind at first on the port side, but, owing to the revolution of the gale, when she passes its center the wind is on the starboard side." yes, that was right, as far as the first part was concerned. evidently they had not yet passed the central path. oh, dear! she was so tired. it demanded a physical effort to constantly shove away an unseen force that tried to push you over. how funny that a big cloud should travel up against the wind! and so, amidst confused wonderment, she lapsed into an uneasy slumber, her last sentient thought being a quiet thankfulness that the screw went thud-thud, thud-thud with such firm determination. after the course was changed and the _sirdar_ bore away towards the south-west, the commander consulted the barometer each half-hour. the tell-tale mercury had sunk over two inches in twelve hours. the abnormally low pressure quickly created dense clouds which enhanced the melancholy darkness of the gale. for many minutes together the bows of the ship were not visible. masthead and sidelights were obscured by the pelting scud. the engines thrust the vessel forward like a lance into the vitals of the storm. wind and wave gushed out of the vortex with impotent fury. at last, soon after midnight, the barometer showed a slight upward movement. at . a.m. the change became pronounced; simultaneously the wind swung round a point to the westward. then captain ross smiled wearily. his face brightened. he opened his oilskin coat, glanced at the compass, and nodded approval. "that's right," he shouted to the quartermaster at the steam-wheel. "keep her steady there, south west." "south west it is, sir," yelled the sailor, impassively watching the moving disk, for the wind alteration necessitated a little less help from the rudder to keep the ship's head true to her course. captain ross ate some sandwiches and washed them down with cold tea. he was more hungry than he imagined, having spent eleven hours without food. the tea was insipid. he called through a speaking-tube for a further supply of sandwiches and some coffee. then he turned to consult a chart. he was joined by the chief officer. both men examined the chart in silence. captain ross finally took a pencil. he stabbed its point on the paper in the neighborhood of ° n. and ° e. "we are about there, i think." the chief agreed. "that was the locality i had in my mind." he bent closer over the sheet. "nothing in the way tonight, sir," he added. "nothing whatever. it is a bit of good luck to meet such weather here. we can keep as far south as we like until daybreak, and by that time--how did it look when you came in?" "a trifle better, i think." "i have sent for some refreshments. let us have another _dekko_[footnote: hindustani for "look"--word much used by sailors in the east.] before we tackle them." the two officers passed out into the hurricane. instantly the wind endeavored to tear the charthouse from off the deck. they looked aloft and ahead. the officer on duty saw them and nodded silent comprehension. it was useless to attempt to speak. the weather was perceptibly clearer. then all three peered ahead again. they stood, pressing against the wind, seeking to penetrate the murkiness in front. suddenly they were galvanized into strenuous activity. a wild howl came from the lookout forward. the eyes of the three men glared at a huge dismasted chinese junk, wallowing helplessly in the trough of the sea, dead under the bows. the captain sprang to the charthouse and signaled in fierce pantomime that the wheel should be put hard over. the officer in charge of the bridge pressed the telegraph lever to "stop" and "full speed astern," whilst with his disengaged hand he pulled hard at the siren cord, and a raucous warning sent stewards flying through the ship to close collision bulkhead doors. the "chief" darted to the port rail, for the _sirdar's_ instant response to the helm seemed to clear her nose from the junk as if by magic. it all happened so quickly that whilst the hoarse signal was still vibrating through the ship, the junk swept past her quarter. the chief officer, joined now by the commander, looked down into the wretched craft. they could see her crew lashed in a bunch around the capstan on her elevated poop. she was laden with timber. although water-logged, she could not sink if she held together. a great wave sucked her away from the steamer and then hurled her back with irresistible force. the _sirdar_ was just completing her turning movement, and she heeled over, yielding to the mighty power of the gale. for an appreciable instant her engines stopped. the mass of water that swayed the junk like a cork lifted the great ship high by the stern. the propeller began to revolve in air--for the third officer had corrected his signal to "full speed ahead" again--and the cumbrous chinese vessel struck the _sirdar_ a terrible blow in the counter, smashing off the screw close to the thrust-block and wrenching the rudder from its bearings. there was an awful race by the engines before the engineers could shut off steam. the junk vanished into the wilderness of noise and tumbling seas beyond, and the fine steamer of a few seconds ago, replete with magnificent energy, struggled like a wounded leviathan in the grasp of a vengeful foe. she swung round, as if in wrath, to pursue the puny assailant which had dealt her this mortal stroke. no longer breasting the storm with stubborn persistency, she now drifted aimlessly before wind and wave. she was merely a larger plaything, tossed about by titantic gambols. the junk was burst asunder by the collision. her planks and cargo littered the waves, were even tossed in derision on to the decks of the _sirdar_. of what avail was strong timber or bolted iron against the spleen of the unchained and formless monster who loudly proclaimed his triumph? the great steamship drifted on through chaos. the typhoon had broken the lance. but brave men, skilfully directed, wrought hard to avert further disaster. after the first moment of stupor, gallant british sailors risked life and limb to bring the vessel under control. by their calm courage they shamed the paralyzed lascars into activity. a sail was rigged on the foremast, and a sea anchor hastily constructed as soon as it was discovered that the helm was useless. rockets flared up into the sky at regular intervals, in the faint hope that should they attract the attention of another vessel she would follow the disabled _sirdar_ and render help when the weather moderated. when the captain ascertained that no water was being shipped, the damage being wholly external, the collision doors were opened and the passengers admitted to the saloon, a brilliant palace, superbly indifferent to the wreck and ruin without. captain ross himself came down and addressed a few comforting words to the quiet men and pallid women gathered there. he told them exactly what had happened. sir john tozer, self-possessed and critical, asked a question. "the junk is destroyed, i assume?" he said. "it is." "would it not have been better to have struck her end on?" "much better, but that is not the view we should take if we encountered a vessel relatively as big as the _sirdar_ was to the unfortunate junk." "but," persisted the lawyer, "what would have been the result?" "you would never have known that the incident had happened, sir john." "in other words, the poor despairing chinamen, clinging to their little craft with some chance of escape, would be quietly murdered to suit our convenience." it was iris's clear voice that rang out this downright exposition of the facts. sir john shook his head; he carried the discussion no further. the hours passed in tedious misery after captain ross's visit. every one was eager to get a glimpse of the unknown terrors without from the deck. this was out of the question, so people sat around the tables to listen eagerly to experience and his wise saws on drifting ships and their prospects. some cautious persons visited their cabins to secure valuables in case of further disaster. a few hardy spirits returned to bed. meanwhile, in the charthouse, the captain and chief officer were gravely pondering over an open chart, and discussing a fresh risk that loomed ominously before them. the ship was a long way out of her usual course when the accident happened. she was drifting now, they estimated, eleven knots an hour, with wind, sea, and current all forcing her in the same direction, drifting into one of the most dangerous places in the known world, the south china sea, with its numberless reefs, shoals, and isolated rocks, and the great island of borneo stretching right across the path of the cyclone. still, there was nothing to be done save to make a few unobtrusive preparations and trust to idle chance. to attempt to anchor and ride out the gale in their present position was out of the question. two, three, four o'clock came, and went. another half-hour would witness the dawn and a further clearing of the weather. the barometer was rapidly rising. the center of the cyclone had swept far ahead. there was only left the aftermath of heavy seas and furious but steadier wind. captain ross entered the charthouse for the twentieth time. he had aged many years in appearance. the smiling, confident, debonair officer was changed into a stricken, mournful man. he had altered with his ship. the _sirdar_ and her master could hardly be recognized, so cruel were the blows they had received. "it is impossible to see a yard ahead," he confided to his second in command. "i have never been so anxious before in my life. thank god the night is drawing to a close. perhaps, when day breaks----" his last words contained a prayer and a hope. even as he spoke the ship seemed to lift herself bodily with an unusual effort for a vessel moving before the wind. the next instant there was a horrible grinding crash forward. each person who did not chance to be holding fast to an upright was thrown violently down. the deck was tilted to a dangerous angle and remained there, whilst the heavy buffeting of the sea, now raging afresh at this unlooked-for resistance, drowned the despairing yells raised by the lascars on duty. the _sirdar_ had completed her last voyage. she was now a battered wreck on a barrier reef. she hung thus for one heart-breaking second. then another wave, riding triumphantly through its fellows, caught the great steamer in its tremendous grasp, carried her onward for half her length and smashed her down on the rocks. her back was broken. she parted in two halves. both sections turned completely over in the utter wantonness of destruction, and everything--masts, funnels, boats, hull, with every living soul on board--was at once engulfed in a maelstrom of rushing water and far-flung spray. chapter ii the survivors when the _sirdar_ parted amidships, the floor of the saloon heaved up in the center with a mighty crash of rending woodwork and iron. men and women, too stupefied to sob out a prayer, were pitched headlong into chaos. iris, torn from the terrified grasp of her maid, fell through a corridor, and would have gone down with the ship had not a sailor, clinging to a companion ladder, caught her as she whirled along the steep slope of the deck. he did not know what had happened. with the instinct of self-preservation he seized the nearest support when the vessel struck. it was the mere impulse of ready helpfulness that caused him to stretch out his left arm and clasp the girl's waist as she fluttered past. by idle chance they were on the port side, and the ship, after pausing for one awful second, fell over to starboard. the man was not prepared for this second gyration. even as the stairway canted he lost his balance; they were both thrown violently through the open hatchway, and swept off into the boiling surf. under such conditions thought itself was impossible. a series of impressions, a number of fantastic pictures, were received by the benumbed faculties, and afterwards painfully sorted out by the memory. fear, anguish, amazement--none of these could exist. all he knew was that the lifeless form of a woman--for iris had happily fainted--must be held until death itself wrenched her from him. then there came the headlong plunge into the swirling sea, followed by an indefinite period of gasping oblivion. something that felt like a moving rock rose up beneath his feet. he was driven clear out of the water and seemed to recognize a familiar object rising rigid and bright close at hand. it was the binnacle pillar, screwed to a portion of the deck which came away from the charthouse and was rent from the upper framework by contact with the reef. he seized this unlooked-for support with his disengaged hand. for one fleet instant he had a confused vision of the destruction of the ship. both the fore and aft portions were burst asunder by the force of compressed air. wreckage and human forms were tossing about foolishly. the sea pounded upon the opposing rocks with the noise of ten thousand mighty steam-hammers. a uniformed figure--he thought it was the captain--stretched out an unavailing arm to clasp the queer raft which supported the sailor and the girl. but a jealous wave rose under the platform with devilish energy and turned it completely over, hurling the man with his inanimate burthen into the depths. he rose, fighting madly for his life. now surely he was doomed! but again, as if human existence depended on naught more serious than the spinning of a coin, his knees rested on the same few staunch timbers, now the ceiling of the music-room, and he was given a brief respite. his greatest difficulty was to get his breath, so dense was the spray through which he was driven. even in that terrible moment he kept his senses. the girl, utterly unconscious, showed by the convulsive heaving of her breast that she was choking. with a wild effort he swung her head round to shield her from the flying scud with his own form. the tiny air-space thus provided gave her some relief, and in that instant the sailor seemed to recognize her. he was not remotely capable of a definite idea. just as he vaguely realized the identity of the woman in his arms the unsteady support on which he rested toppled over. again he renewed the unequal contest. a strong resolute man and a typhoon sea wrestled for supremacy. this time his feet plunged against something gratefully solid. he was dashed forward, still battling with the raging turmoil of water, and a second time he felt the same firm yet smooth surface. his dormant faculties awoke. it was sand. with frenzied desperation, buoyed now by the inspiring hope of safety, he fought his way onwards like a maniac. often he fell, three times did the backwash try to drag him to the swirling death behind, but he staggered blindly on, on, until even the tearing gale ceased to be laden with the suffocating foam, and his faltering feet sank in deep soft white sand. [illustration: with frenzied desperation, buoyed now by the inspiring hope of safety, he fought his way onward like a maniac.] then he fell, not to rise again. with a last weak flicker of exhausted strength he drew the girl closely to him, and the two lay, clasped tightly together, heedless now of all things. how long the man remained prostrate he could only guess subsequently. the _sirdar_ struck soon after daybreak and the sailor awoke to a hazy consciousness of his surroundings to find a shaft of sunshine flickering through the clouds banked up in the east. the gale was already passing away. although the wind still whistled with shrill violence it was more blustering than threatening. the sea, too, though running very high, had retreated many yards from the spot where he had finally dropped, and its surface was no longer scourged with venomous spray. slowly and painfully he raised himself to a sitting posture, for he was bruised and stiff. with his first movement he became violently ill. he had swallowed much salt water, and it was not until the spasm of sickness had passed that he thought of the girl. she had slipped from his breast as he rose, and was lying, face downwards, in the sand. the memory of much that had happened surged into his brain with horrifying suddenness. "she cannot be dead," he hoarsely murmured, feebly trying to lift her. "surely providence would not desert her after such an escape. what a weak beggar i must be to give in at the last moment. i am sure she was living when we got ashore. what on earth can i do to revive her?" forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on one knee and gently pillowed iris's head and shoulders on the other. her eyes were closed, her lips and teeth firmly set--a fact to which she undoubtedly owed her life, else she would have been suffocated--and the pallor of her skin seemed to be that terrible bloodless hue which indicates death. the stern lines in the man's face relaxed, and something blurred his vision. he was weak from exhaustion and want of food. for the moment his emotions were easily aroused. "oh, it is pitiful," he almost whimpered. "it cannot be!" with a gesture of despair he drew the sleeve of his thick jersey across his eyes to clear them from the gathering mist. then he tremblingly endeavored to open the neck of her dress and unclasp her corsets. he had a vague notion that ladies in a fainting condition required such treatment, and he was desperately resolved to bring iris deane back to conscious existence if it were possible. his task was rendered difficult by the waistband of her dress. he slipped out a clasp-knife and opened the blade. not until then did he discover that the nail of the forefinger on his right hand had been torn out by the quick, probably during his endeavors to grasp the unsteady support which contributed so materially to his escape. it still hung by a shred and hindered the free use of his hand. without any hesitation he seized the offending nail in his teeth and completed the surgical operation by a rapid jerk. bending to resume his task he was startled to find the girl's eyes wide open and surveying him with shadowy alarm. she was quite conscious, absurdly so in a sense, and had noticed his strange action. "thank god!" he cried hoarsely. "you are alive." her mind as yet could only work in a single groove. "why did you do that?" she whispered. "do what?" "bite your nail off!" "it was in my way. i wished to cut open your dress at the waist. you were collapsed, almost dead, i thought, and i wanted to unfasten your corsets." her color came back with remarkable rapidity. from all the rich variety of the english tongue few words could have been selected of such restorative effect. she tried to assume a sitting posture, and instinctively her hands traveled to her disarranged costume. "how ridiculous!" she said, with a little note of annoyance in her voice, which sounded curiously hollow. but her brave spirit could not yet command her enfeebled frame. she was perforce compelled to sink back to the support of his knee and arm. "do you think you could lie quiet until i try to find some water?" he gasped anxiously. she nodded a childlike acquiescence, and her eyelids fell. it was only that her eyes smarted dreadfully from the salt water, but the sailor was sure that this was a premonition of a lapse to unconsciousness. "please try not to faint again," he said. "don't you think i had better loosen these things? you can breathe more easily." a ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. "no--no," she murmured. "my eyes hurt me--that is all. is there--any--water?" he laid her tenderly on the sand and rose to his feet. his first glance was towards the sea. he saw something which made him blink with astonishment. a heavy sea was still running over the barrier reef which enclosed a small lagoon. the contrast between the fierce commotion outside and the comparatively smooth surface of the protected pool was very marked. at low tide the lagoon was almost completely isolated. indeed, he imagined that only a fierce gale blowing from the north-west would enable the waves to leap the reef, save where a strip of broken water, surging far into the small natural harbor, betrayed the position of the tiny entrance. yet at this very point a fine cocoanut palm reared its stately column high in air, and its long tremulous fronds were now swinging wildly before the gale. from where he stood it appeared to be growing in the midst of the sea, for huge breakers completely hid the coral embankment. this sentinel of the land had a weirdly impressive effect. it was the only fixed object in the waste of foam-capped waves. not a vestige of the _sirdar_ remained seaward, but the sand was littered with wreckage, and--mournful spectacle!--a considerable number of inanimate human forms lay huddled up amidst the relics of the steamer. this discovery stirred him to action. he turned to survey the land on which he was stranded with his helpless companion. to his great relief he discovered that it was lofty and tree-clad. he knew that the ship could not have drifted to borneo, which still lay far to the south. this must be one of the hundreds of islands which stud the china sea and provide resorts for haïnan fishermen. probably it was inhabited, though he thought it strange that none of the islanders had put in an appearance. in any event, water and food, of some sort, were assured. but before setting out upon his quest two things demanded attention. the girl must be removed from her present position. it would be too horrible to permit her first conscious gaze to rest upon those crumpled objects on the beach. common humanity demanded, too, that he should hastily examine each of the bodies in case life was not wholly extinct. so he bent over the girl, noting with sudden wonder that, weak as she was, she had managed to refasten part of her bodice. "you must permit me to carry you a little further inland," he explained gently. without another word he lifted her in his arms, marveling somewhat at the strength which came of necessity, and bore her some little distance, until a sturdy rock, jutting out of the sand, offered shelter from the wind and protection from the sea and its revelations. "i am so cold, and tired," murmured iris. "is there any water? my throat hurts me." he pressed back the tangled hair from her forehead as he might soothe a child. "try to lie still for a very few minutes," he said. "you have not long to suffer. i will return immediately." his own throat and palate were on fire owing to the brine, but he first hurried back to the edge of the lagoon. there were fourteen bodies in all, three women and eleven men, four of the latter being lascars. the women were saloon passengers whom he did not know. one of the men was the surgeon, another the first officer, a third sir john tozer. the rest were passengers and members of the crew. they were all dead; some had been peacefully drowned, others were fearfully mangled by the rocks. two of the lascars, bearing signs of dreadful injuries, were lying on a cluster of low rocks overhanging the water. the remainder rested on the sand. the sailor exhibited no visible emotion whilst he conducted his sad scrutiny. when he was assured that this silent company was beyond mortal help he at once strode away towards the nearest belt of trees. he could not tell how long the search for water might be protracted, and there was pressing need for it. when he reached the first clump of brushwood he uttered a delighted exclamation. there, growing in prodigal luxuriance, was the beneficent pitcher-plant, whose large curled-up leaf, shaped like a teacup, not only holds a lasting quantity of rain-water, but mixes therewith its own palatable and natural juices. with his knife he severed two of the leaves, swearing emphatically the while on account of his damaged finger, and hastened to iris with the precious beverage. she heard him and managed to raise herself on an elbow. the poor girl's eyes glistened at the prospect of relief. without a word of question or surprise she swallowed the contents of both leaves. then she found utterance. "how odd it tastes! what is it?" she inquired. but the eagerness with which she quenched her thirst renewed his own momentarily forgotten torture. his tongue seemed to swell. he was absolutely unable to reply. the water revived iris like a magic draught. her quick intuition told her what had happened. "you have had none yourself," she cried. "go at once and get some. and please bring me some more." he required no second bidding. after hastily gulping down the contents of several leaves he returned with a further supply. iris was now sitting up. the sun had burst royally through the clouds, and her chilled limbs were gaining some degree of warmth and elasticity. "what is it?" she repeated after another delicious draught. "the leaf of the pitcher-plant. nature is not always cruel. in an unusually generous mood she devised this method of storing water." miss deane reached out her hand for more. her troubled brain refused to wonder at such a reply from an ordinary seaman. the sailor deliberately spilled the contents of a remaining leaf on the sand. "no, madam," he said, with an odd mixture of deference and firmness. "no more at present. i must first procure you some food." she looked up at him in momentary silence. "the ship is lost?" she said after a pause. "yes, madam." "are we the only people saved?" "i fear so." "is this a desert island?" "i think not, madam. it may, by chance, be temporarily uninhabited, but fishermen from china come to all these places to collect tortoise-shell and _bêche-de-mer_. i have seen no other living beings except ourselves; nevertheless, the islanders may live on the south side." another pause. amidst the thrilling sensations of the moment iris found herself idly speculating as to the meaning of _bêche-de-mer_, and why this common sailor pronounced french so well. her thoughts reverted to the steamer. "it surely cannot be possible that the _sirdar_ has gone to pieces--a magnificent vessel of her size and strength?" he answered quietly--"it is too true, madam. i suppose you hardly knew she struck, it happened so suddenly. afterwards, fortunately for you, you were unconscious." "how do you know?" she inquired quickly. a flood of vivid recollection was pouring in upon her. "i--er--well, i happened to be near you, madam, when the ship broke up, and we--er--drifted ashore together." she rose and faced him. "i remember now," she cried hysterically. "you caught me as i was thrown into the corridor. we fell into the sea when the vessel turned over. you have saved my life. were it not for you i could not possibly have escaped." she gazed at him more earnestly, seeing that he blushed beneath the crust of salt and sand that covered his face. "why," she went on with growing excitement, "you are the steward i noticed in the saloon yesterday. how is it that you are now dressed as a sailor?" he answered readily enough. "there was an accident on board during the gale, madam. i am a fair sailor but a poor steward, so i applied for a transfer. as the crew were short-handed my offer was accepted." iris was now looking at him intently. "you saved my life," she repeated slowly. it seemed that this obvious fact needed to be indelibly established in her mind. indeed the girl was overwrought by all that she had gone through. only by degrees were her thoughts marshaling themselves with lucid coherence. as yet, she recalled so many dramatic incidents that they failed to assume due proportion. but quickly there came memories of captain ross, of sir john and lady tozer, of the doctor, her maid, the hundred and one individualities of her pleasant life aboard ship. could it be that they were all dead? the notion was monstrous. but its ghastly significance was instantly borne in upon her by the plight in which she stood. her lips quivered; the tears trembled in her eyes. "is it really true that all the ship's company except ourselves are lost?" she brokenly demanded. the sailor's gravely earnest glance fell before hers. "unhappily there is no room for doubt," he said. "are you quite, quite sure?" "i am sure--of some." involuntarily he turned seawards. she understood him. she sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and broke into a passion of weeping. with a look of infinite pity he stooped and would have touched her shoulder, but he suddenly restrained the impulse. something had hardened this man. it cost him an effort to be callous, but he succeeded. his mouth tightened and his expression lost its tenderness. "come, come, my dear lady," he exclaimed, and there was a tinge of studied roughness in his voice, "you must calm yourself. it is the fortune of shipwreck as well as of war, you know. we are alive and must look after ourselves. those who have gone are beyond our help." "but not beyond our sympathy," wailed iris, uncovering her swimming eyes for a fleeting look at him. even in the utter desolation of the moment she could not help marveling that this queer-mannered sailor, who spoke like a gentleman and tried to pose as her inferior, who had rescued her with the utmost gallantry, who carried his quixotic zeal to the point of first supplying her needs when he was in far worse case himself, should be so utterly indifferent to the fate of others. he waited silently until her sobs ceased. "now, madam," he said, "it is essential that we should obtain some food. i don't wish to leave you alone until we are better acquainted with our whereabouts. can you walk a little way towards the trees, or shall i assist you?" iris immediately stood up. she pressed her hair back defiantly. "certainly i can walk," she answered. "what do you propose to do?" "well, madam--" "what is your name?" she interrupted imperiously. "jenks, madam. robert jenks." "thank you. now, listen, mr. robert jenks. my name is miss iris deane. on board ship i was a passenger and you were a steward--that is, until you became a seaman. here we are equals in misfortune, but in all else you are the leader--i am quite useless. i can only help in matters by your direction, so i do not wish to be addressed as 'madam' in every breath. do you understand me?" conscious that her large blue eyes were fixed indignantly upon him mr. robert jenks repressed a smile. she was still hysterical and must be humored in her vagaries. what an odd moment for a discussion on etiquette! "as you wish, miss deane," he said. "the fact remains that i have many things to attend to, and we really must eat something." "what can we eat?" "let us find out," he replied, scanning the nearest trees with keen scrutiny. they plodded together through the sand in silence. physically, they were a superb couple, but in raiment they resembled scarecrows. both, of course, were bare-headed. the sailor's jersey and trousers were old and torn, and the sea-water still soughed loudly in his heavy boots with each step. but iris was in a deplorable plight. her hair fell in a great wave of golden brown strands over her neck and shoulders. every hairpin had vanished, but with a few dexterous twists she coiled the flying tresses into a loose knot. her beautiful muslin dress was rent and draggled. it was drying rapidly under the ever-increasing power of the sun, and she surreptitiously endeavored to complete the fastening of the open portion about her neck. other details must be left until a more favorable opportunity. she recalled the strange sight that first met her eyes when she recovered consciousness. "you hurt your finger," she said abruptly. "let me see it." they had reached the shelter of the trees, pleasantly grateful now, so powerful are tropical sunbeams at even an early hour. he held out his right hand without looking at her. indeed, his eyes had been studiously averted during the past few minutes. her womanly feelings were aroused by the condition of the ragged wound. "oh, you poor fellow," she said. "how awful it must be! how did it happen? let me tie it up." "it is not so bad now," he said. "it has been well soaked in salt water, you know. i think the nail was torn off when we--when a piece of wreckage miraculously turned up beneath us." iris shredded a strip from her dress. she bound the finger with deft tenderness. "thank you," he said simply. then he gave a glad shout. "by jove! miss deane, we are in luck's way. there is a fine plantain tree." the pangs of hunger could not be resisted. although the fruit was hardly ripe they tore at the great bunches and ate ravenously. iris made no pretence in the matter, and the sailor was in worse plight, for he had been on duty continuously since four o'clock the previous afternoon. at last their appetite was somewhat appeased, though plantains might not appeal to a gourmand as the solitary joint. "now," decided jenks, "you must rest here a little while, miss deane. i am going back to the beach. you need not be afraid. there are no animals to harm you, and i will not be far away." "what are you going to do on the beach?" she demanded. "to rescue stores, for the most part." "may i not come with you--i can be of some little service, surely?" he answered slowly: "please oblige me by remaining here at present. in less than an hour i will return, and then, perhaps, you will find plenty to do." she read his meaning intuitively and shivered. "i could not do _that_," she murmured. "i would faint. whilst you are away i will pray for them--my unfortunate friends." as he passed from her side he heard her sobbing quietly. when he reached the lagoon he halted suddenly. something startled him. he was quite certain that he had counted fourteen corpses. now there were only twelve. the two lascars' bodies, which rested on the small group of rocks on the verge of the lagoon, had vanished. where had they gone to? chapter iii discoveries the sailor wasted no time in idle bewilderment. he searched carefully for traces of the missing lascars. he came to the conclusion that the bodies had been dragged from off the sun-dried rocks into the lagoon by some agency the nature of which he could not even conjecture. they were lying many feet above the sea-level when he last saw them, little more than half an hour earlier. at that point the beach shelved rapidly. he could look far into the depths of the rapidly clearing water. nothing was visible there save several varieties of small fish. the incident puzzled and annoyed him. still thinking about it, he sat down on the highest rock and pulled off his heavy boots to empty the water out. he also divested himself of his stockings and spread them out to dry. the action reminded him of miss deane's necessities. he hurried to a point whence he could call out to her and recommend her to dry some of her clothing during his absence. he retired even more quickly, fearing lest he should be seen. iris had already displayed to the sunlight a large portion of her costume. without further delay he set about a disagreeable but necessary task. from the pockets of the first officer and doctor he secured two revolvers and a supply of cartridges, evidently intended to settle any dispute which might have arisen between the ship's officers and the native members of the crew. he hoped the cartridges were uninjured; but he could not test them at the moment for fear of alarming miss deane. both officers carried pocket-books and pencils. in one of these, containing dry leaves, the sailor made a careful inventory of the money and other valuable effects he found upon the dead, besides noting names and documents where possible. curiously enough, the capitalist of this island morgue was a lascar jemadar, who in a belt around his waist hoarded more than one hundred pounds in gold. the sailor tied in a handkerchief all the money he collected, and ranged pocket-books, letters, and jewelry in separate little heaps. then he stripped the men of their boots and outer clothing. he could not tell how long the girl and he might be detained on the island before help came, and fresh garments were essential. it would be foolish sentimentality to trust to stores thrown ashore from the ship. nevertheless, when it became necessary to search and disrobe the women he almost broke down. for an instant he softened. gulping back his emotions with a savage imprecation he doggedly persevered. at last he paused to consider what should be done with the bodies. his first intent was to scoop a large hole in the sand with a piece of timber; but when he took into consideration the magnitude of the labor involved, requiring many hours of hard work and a waste of precious time which might be of infinite value to his helpless companion and himself, he was forced to abandon the project. it was not only impracticable but dangerous. again he had to set his teeth with grim resolution. one by one the bodies were shot into the lagoon from the little quay of rock. he knew they would not be seen again. he was quite unnerved now. he felt as if he had committed a colossal crime. in the smooth water of the cove a number of black fins were cutting arrow-shaped ripples. the sharks were soon busy. he shuddered. god's providence had ferried him and the girl across that very place a few hours ago. how wonderful that he and she should be snatched from the sea whilst hundreds perished! why was it? and those others--why were they denied rescue? for an instant he was nearer to prayer than he had been for years. some lurking fiend of recollection sprang from out the vista of bygone years and choked back the impulse. he arose and shook himself like a dog. there was much to be done. he gathered the clothes and other articles into a heap and placed portions of shattered packing-cases near--to mislead iris. whilst thus engaged he kicked up out of the sand a rusty kriss, or malay sword. the presence of this implement startled him. he examined it slowly and thrust it out of sight. then he went back to her, after donning his stockings and boots, now thoroughly dry. "are you ready now, miss deane?" he sang out cheerily. "ready? i have been waiting for you." jenks chuckled quietly. "i must guard my tongue: it betrays me," he said to himself. iris joined him. by some mysterious means she had effected great improvement in her appearance. yet there were manifest gaps. "if only i had a needle and thread--" she began. "if that is all," said the sailor, fumbling in his pockets. he produced a shabby little hussif, containing a thimble, scissors, needles and some skeins of unbleached thread. case and contents were sodden or rusted with salt water, but the girl fastened upon this treasure with a sigh of deep content. "now, please," she cried, "i want a telegraph office and a ship." it was impossible to resist the infection of her high spirits. this time he laughed without concealment. "we will look for them, miss deane. meanwhile, will you oblige me by wearing this? the sun is climbing up rapidly." he handed her a sou'wester which he carried. he had secured another for himself. the merriment died away from her face. she remembered his errand. being an eminently sensible young woman she made no protest, even forcing herself to tie the strings beneath her chin. when they reached the sands she caught sight of the pile of clothes and the broken woodwork, with the small heaps of valuables methodically arranged. the harmless subterfuge did not deceive her. she darted a quick look of gratitude at her companion. how thoughtful he was! after a fearful glance around she was reassured, though she wondered what had become of--them. "i see you have been busy," she said, nodding towards the clothes and boots. it was his turn to steal a look of sharp inquiry. 'twere an easier task to read the records of time in the solid rock than to glean knowledge from the girl's face. "yes," he replied simply. "lucky find, wasn't it?" "most fortunate. when they are quite dry i will replenish my wardrobe. what is the first thing to be done?" "well, miss deane, i think our programme is, in the first place, to examine the articles thrown ashore and see if any of the cases contain food. secondly, we should haul high and dry everything that may be of use to us, lest the weather should break again and the next tide sweep away the spoil. thirdly, we should eat and rest, and finally, we must explore the island before the light fails. i am convinced we are alone here. it is a small place at the best, and if any chinamen were ashore they would have put in an appearance long since." "do you think, then, that we may remain here long?" "it is impossible to form an opinion on that point. help may come in a day. on the other hand----" "yes?" "it is a wise thing, miss deane, to prepare for other contingencies." she stood still, and swept the horizon with comprehensive eyes. the storm had vanished. masses of cloud were passing away to the west, leaving a glorious expanse of blue sky. already the sea was calming. huge breakers roared over the reef, but beyond it the waves were subsiding into a heavy unbroken swell. the sailor watched her closely. in the quaint oilskin hat and her tattered muslin dress she looked bewitchingly pretty. she reminded him of a well-bred and beautiful society lady whom he once saw figuring as grace darling at a fashionable bazaar. but miss iris's thoughts were serious. "do you mean," she said slowly, without moving her gaze from the distant meeting-place of sky and water, "that we may be imprisoned here for weeks, perhaps months?" "if you cast your mind back a few hours you will perhaps admit that we are very fortunate to be here at all." she whisked round upon him. "do not fence with my question, mr. jenks. answer me!" he bowed. there was a perceptible return of his stubborn cynicism when he spoke. "the facts are obvious, miss deane. the loss of the _sirdar_ will not be definitely known for many days. it will be assumed that she has broken down. the agents in singapore will await cabled tidings of her whereabouts. she might have drifted anywhere in that typhoon. ultimately they will send out a vessel to search, impelled to that course a little earlier by your father's anxiety. pardon me. i did not intend to pain you. i am speaking my mind." "go on," said iris bravely. "the relief ship must search the entire china sea. the gale might have driven a disabled steamer north, south, east or west. a typhoon travels in a whirling spiral, you see, and the direction of a drifting ship depends wholly upon the locality where she sustained damage. the coasts of china, java, borneo, and the philippines are not equipped with lighthouses on every headland and cordoned with telegraph wires. there are river pirates and savage races to be reckoned with. casting aside all other possibilities, and assuming that a prompt search is made to the south of our course, this part of the ocean is full of reefs and small islands, some inhabited permanently, others visited occasionally by fishermen." he was about to add something, but checked himself. "to sum up," he continued hurriedly, "we may have to remain here for many days, even months. there is always a chance of speedy help. we must act, however, on the basis of detention for an indefinite period. i am discussing appearances as they are. a survey of the island may change all these views." "in what way?" he turned and pointed to the summit of the tree-covered hill behind them. "from that point," he said, "we may see other and larger islands. if so, they will certainly be inhabited. i am surprised this one is not." he ended abruptly. they were losing time. before iris could join him he was already hauling a large undamaged case out of the water. he laughed unmirthfully. "champagne!" he said, "a good brand, too!" this man was certainly an enigma. iris wrinkled her pretty forehead in the effort to place him in a fitting category. his words and accent were those of an educated gentleman, yet his actions and manners were studiously uncouth when he thought she was observing him. the veneer of roughness puzzled her. that he was naturally of refined temperament she knew quite well, not alone by perception but by the plain evidence of his earlier dealings with her. then why this affectation of coarseness, this borrowed aroma of the steward's mess and the forecastle? to the best of her ability she silently helped in the work of salvage. they made a queer collection. a case of champagne, and another of brandy. a box of books. a pair of night glasses. a compass. several boxes of ship's biscuits, coated with salt, but saved by their hardness, having been immersed but a few seconds. two large cases of hams in equally good condition. some huge dish-covers. a bit of twisted ironwork, and a great quantity of cordage and timber. there was one very heavy package which their united strength could not lift. the sailor searched round until he found an iron bar that could be wrenched from its socket. with this he pried open the strong outer cover and revealed the contents--regulation boxes of lee-metford ammunition, each containing rounds. "ah!" he cried, "now we want some rifles." "what good would they be?" inquired iris. he softly denounced himself as a fool, but he answered at once: "to shoot birds, of course, miss deane. there are plenty here, and many of them are edible." "you have two revolvers and some cartridges." "yes. they are useful in a way, but not for pot hunting." "how stupid of me! what you really need is a shot-gun." he smiled grimly. at times his sense of humor forced a way through the outward shield of reserve, of defiance it might be. "the only persons i ever heard of," he said, "who landed under compulsion on a desert island with a ship-load of requisites, were the swiss family robinson." "good gracious!" cried iris irrelevantly; "i had not even thought of robinson crusoe until this moment. isn't it odd? i--we--" she pulled herself up short, firmly resolved not to blush. without flinching she challenged him to complete her sentence. he dared not do it. he could not be mean enough to take advantage of her slip. instantly he helped her embarrassment. "i hope the parallel will not hold good," he said. "in any event, you, miss deane, fill a part less familiar in fiction." the phrase was neat. it meant much or little, as fancy dictated. iris at first felt profoundly grateful for his tact. thinking the words over at leisure she became hot and very angry. they worked in silence for another hour. the sun was nearing the zenith. they were distressed with the increasing heat of the day. jenks secured a ham and some biscuits, some pieces of driftwood and the binoculars, and invited miss deane to accompany him to the grove. she obeyed without a word, though she wondered how he proposed to light a fire. to contribute something towards the expected feast she picked up a dish-cover and a bottle of champagne. the sailor eyed the concluding item with disfavor. "not whilst the sun is up." he said. "in the evening, yes." "it was for you," explained iris, coldly. "i do not drink wine." "you must break the pledge whilst you are here, miss deane. it is often very cold at night in this latitude. a chill would mean fever and perhaps death." "what a strange man!" murmured the girl. she covertly watched his preparations. he tore a dry leaf from a notebook and broke the bullet out of a cartridge, damping the powder with water from a pitcher-plant. smearing the composition on the paper, he placed it in the sun, where it dried at once. he gathered a small bundle of withered spines from the palms, and arranged the driftwood on top, choosing a place for his bonfire just within the shade. then, inserting the touch-paper among the spines, he unscrewed one of the lenses of the binoculars, converted it into a burning-glass, and had a fine blaze roaring merrily in a few minutes. with the aid of pointed sticks he grilled some slices of ham, cut with his clasp-knife, which he first carefully cleaned in the earth. the biscuits were of the variety that become soft when toasted, and so he balanced a few by stones near the fire. iris forgot her annoyance in her interest. a most appetizing smell filled the air. they were having a picnic amidst delightful surroundings. yesterday at this time--she almost yielded to a rush of sentiment, but forced it back with instant determination. tears were a poor resource, unmindful of god's goodness to herself and her companion. without the sailor what would have become of her, even were she thrown ashore while still living? she knew none of the expedients which seemed to be at his command. it was a most ungrateful proceeding to be vexed with him for her own thoughtless suggestion that she occupied a new rôle as mrs. crusoe. "can i do nothing to help?" she exclaimed. so contrite was her tone that jenks was astonished. "yes," he said, pointing to the dish-cover. "if you polish the top of that with your sleeve it will serve as a plate. luncheon is ready." he neatly dished up two slices of ham on a couple of biscuits and handed them to her, with the clasp-knife. "i can depend on my fingers," he explained. "it will not be the first time." "have you led an adventurous life?" she asked, by way of polite conversation. "no," he growled. "i only thought so because you appear to know all sorts of dodges for prolonging existence--things i never heard of." "broiled ham--and biscuits--for instance?" at another time iris would have snapped at him for the retort. still humbly regretful for her previous attitude she answered meekly-- "yes, in this manner of cooking them, i mean. but there are other items--methods of lighting fires, finding water, knowing what fruits and other articles may be found on a desert island, such as plantains and cocoanuts, certain sorts of birds--and _bêche-de-mer_." for the life of her she could not tell why she tacked on that weird item to her list. the sailor inquired, more civilly--"then you are acquainted with trepang?" "who?" "trepang--_bêche-de-mer_, you know." iris made a desperate guess. "yes," she said, demurely. "it makes beautiful backs for hair brushes. and it looks so nice as a frame for platinotype photographs. i have--" jenks swallowed a large piece of ham and became very red. at last he managed to say--"i beg your pardon. you are thinking of tortoise-shell. _bêche-de-mer_ is a sort of marine slug." "how odd!" said iris. she had discovered at an early age the tactical value of this remark, and the experience of maturer years confirmed the success of juvenile efforts to upset the equanimity of governesses. even the sailor was silenced. talk ceased until the meal was ended. jenks sprang lightly to his feet. rest and food had restored his faculties. the girl thought dreamily, as he stood there in his rough attire, that she had never seen a finer man. he was tall, sinewy, and well formed. in repose his face was pleasant, if masterful. its somewhat sullen, self-contained expression was occasional and acquired. she wondered how he could be so energetic. personally she was consumed with sleepiness. he produced a revolver. "do you mind if i fire a shot to test these cartridges?" he inquired. "the powder is all right, but the fulminate in the caps may be damaged." she agreed promptly. he pointed the weapon at a cluster of cocoanuts, and there was a loud report. two nuts fell to the ground, and the air was filled with shrill screams and the flapping of innumerable wings. iris was momentarily dismayed, but her senses confirmed the sailor's explanation--"sea-birds." he reloaded the empty chamber, and was about to say something, when a queer sound, exactly resembling the gurgling of water poured from a large bottle, fell upon their ears. it came from the interior of the grove, and the two exchanged a quick look of amazed questioning. jenks took a hasty step in the direction of the noise, but he stopped and laughed at his own expense. iris liked the sound of his mirth. it was genuine, not forced. "i remember now," he explained. "the wou-wou monkey cries in that peculiar warble. the presence of the animal here shows that the island has been inhabited at some time." "you remember?" repeated the girl. "then you have been in this part of the world before?" "no. i mean i have read about it." twice in half an hour had he curtly declined to indulge in personal reminiscences. "can you use a revolver?" he went on. "my father taught me. he thinks every woman should know how to defend herself if need be." "excellent. well, miss deane, you must try to sleep for a couple of hours. i purpose examining the coast for some distance on each side. should you want me, a shot will be the best sort of signal." "i am very tired," she admitted. "but you?" "oh, i am all right. i feel restless; that is, i mean i will not be able to sleep until night comes, and before we climb the hill to survey our domain i want to find better quarters than we now possess." perhaps, were she less fatigued, she would have caught the vague anxiety, the note of distrust, in his voice. but the carpet of sand and leaves on which she lay was very seductive. her eyes closed. she nestled into a comfortable position, and slept. the man looked at her steadily for a little while. then he moved the revolver out of harm's way to a spot where she must see it instantly, pulled his sou'wester well over his eyes and walked off quietly. they were flung ashore on the north-west side of the island. except for the cove formed by the coral reef, with its mysterious palm-tree growing apparently in the midst of the waves, the shape of the coast was roughly that of the concave side of a bow, the two visible extremities being about three-quarters of a mile apart. he guessed, by the way in which the sea raced past these points, that the land did not extend beyond them. behind him, it rose steeply to a considerable height, or feet. in the center was the tallest hill, which seemed to end abruptly towards the south-west. on the north-east side it was connected with a rocky promontory by a ridge of easy grade. the sailor turned to the south-west, as offering the most likely direction for rapid survey. he followed the line of vegetation; there the ground was firm and level. there was no suggestion of the mariner's roll in his steady gait. alter his clothing, change the heavy boots into spurred wellingtons, and he would be the _beau idéal_ of a cavalry soldier, the order of melchisedec in the profession of arms. he was not surprised to find that the hill terminated in a sheer wall of rock, which stood out, ominous and massive, from the wealth of verdure clothing the remainder of the ridge. facing the precipice, and separated from it by a strip of ground not twenty feet above the sea-level in the highest part, was another rock-built eminence, quite bare of trees, blackened by the weather and scarred in a manner that attested the attacks of lightning. he whistled softly. "by jove!" he said. "volcanic, and highly mineralized." the intervening belt was sparsely dotted with trees, casuarinas, poon, and other woods he did not know, resembling ebony and cedar. a number of stumps showed that the axe had been at work, but not recently. he passed into the cleft and climbed a tree that offered easy access. as he expected, after rising a few feet from the ground, his eyes encountered the solemn blue line of the sea, not half a mile distant. he descended and commenced a systematic search. men had been here. was there a house? would he suddenly encounter some hermit malay or chinaman? at the foot of the main cliff was a cluster of fruit-bearing trees, plantains, areca-nuts, and cocoa-palms. a couple of cinchonas caught his eye. in one spot the undergrowth was rank and vividly green. the cassava, or tapioca plant, reared its high, passion-flower leaves above the grass, and some sago-palms thrust aloft their thick-stemmed trunks. "here is a change of menu, at any rate," he communed. breaking a thick branch off a poon tree he whittled away the minor stems. a strong stick was needful to explore that leafy fastness thoroughly. a few cautious strides and vigorous whacks with the stick laid bare the cause of such prodigality in a soil covered with drifted sand and lumps of black and white speckled coral. the trees and bushes enclosed a well--safe-guarded it, in fact, from being choked with sand during the first gale that blew. delighted with this discovery, more precious than diamonds at the moment, for he doubted the advisability of existing on the water supply of the pitcher-plant, he knelt to peer into the excavation. the well had been properly made. ten feet down he could see the reflection of his face. expert hands had tapped the secret reservoir of the island. by stretching to the full extent of his arm, he managed to plunge the stick into the water. tasting the drops, he found that they were quite sweet. the sand and porous rock provided the best of filter-beds. he rose, wall pleased, and noted that on the opposite side the appearance of the shrubs and tufts of long grass indicated the existence of a grown-over path towards the cliff. he followed it, walking carelessly, with eyes seeking the prospect beyond, when something rattled and cracked beneath his feet. looking down, he was horrified to find he was trampling on a skeleton. had a venomous snake coiled its glistening folds around his leg he would not have been more startled. but this man of iron nerve soon recovered. he frowned deeply after the first involuntary heart-throb. with the stick he cleared away the undergrowth, and revealed the skeleton of a man. the bones were big and strong, but oxidized by the action of the air. jenks had injured the left tibia by his tread, but three fractured ribs and a smashed shoulder-blade told some terrible unwritten story. beneath the mournful relics were fragments of decayed cloth. it was blue serge. lying about were a few blackened objects--brass buttons marked with an anchor. the dead man's boots were in the best state of preservation, but the leather had shrunk and the nails protruded like fangs. a rusted pocket-knife lay there, and on the left breast of the skeleton rested a round piece of tin, the top of a canister, which might have reposed in a coat pocket. jenks picked it up. some curious marks and figures were punched into its surface. after a hasty glance he put it aside for more leisurely examination. no weapon was visible. he could form no estimate as to the cause of the death of this poor unknown, nor the time since the tragedy had occurred. jenks must have stood many minutes before he perceived that the skeleton was headless. at first he imagined that in rummaging about with the stick he had disturbed the skull. but the most minute search demonstrated that it had gone, had been taken away, in fact, for the plants which so effectually screened the lighter bones would not permit the skull to vanish. then the frown on the sailor's face became threatening, thunderous. he recollected the rusty kriss. indistinct memories of strange tales of the china sea crowded unbidden to his brain. "dyaks!" he growled fiercely. "a ship's officer, an englishman probably, murdered by head-hunting dyak pirates!" if they came once they would come again. five hundred yards away iris deane was sleeping. he ought not to have left her alone. and then, with the devilish ingenuity of coincidence, a revolver shot awoke the echoes, and sent all manner of wildfowl hurtling through the trees with clamorous outcry. panting and wild-eyed, jenks was at the girl's side in an inconceivably short space of time. she was not beneath the shelter of the grove, but on the sands, gazing, pallid in cheek and lip, at the group of rocks on the edge of the lagoon. "what is the matter?" he gasped. "oh, i don't know," she wailed brokenly. "i had a dream, such a horrible dream. you were struggling with some awful thing down there." she pointed to the rocks. "i was not near the place," he said laboriously. it cost him an effort to breathe. his broad chest expanded inches with each respiration. "yes, yes, i understand. but i awoke and ran to save you. when i got here i saw something, a thing with waving arms, and fired. it vanished, and then you came." the sailor walked slowly to the rocks. a fresh chip out of the stone showed where the bullet struck. one huge boulder was wet, as if water had been splashed over it. he halted and looked intently into the water. not a fish was to be seen, but small spirals of sand were eddying up from the bottom, where it shelved steeply from the shore. iris followed him. "see," she cried excitedly. "i was not mistaken. there _was_ something here." a creepy sensation ran up the man's spine and passed behind his ears. at this spot the drowned lascars were lying. like an inspiration came the knowledge that the cuttlefish, the dreaded octopus, abounds in the china sea. his face was livid when he turned to iris. "you are over-wrought by fatigue, miss deane," he said. "what you saw was probably a seal;" he knew the ludicrous substitution would not be questioned. "please go and lie down again." "i cannot," she protested. "i am too frightened." "frightened! by a dream! in broad daylight!" "but why are _you_ so pale? what has alarmed you?" "can you ask? did you not give the agreed signal?" "yes, but--" her inquiring glance fell. he was breathless from agitation rather than running. he was perturbed on her account. for an instant she had looked into his soul. "i will go back," she said quietly, "though i would rather accompany you. what are you doing?" "seeking a place to lay our heads," he answered, with gruff carelessness. "you really must rest, miss deane. otherwise you will be broken up by fatigue and become ill." so iris again sought her couch of sand, and the sailor returned to the skeleton. they separated unwillingly, each thinking only of the other's safety and comfort. the girl knew she was not wanted because the man wished to spare her some unpleasant experience. she obeyed him with a sigh, and sat down, not to sleep, but to muse, as girls will, round-eyed, wistful, with the angelic fantasy of youth and innocence. chapter iv rainbow island across the parched bones lay the stick discarded by jenks in his alarm. he picked it up and resumed his progress along the pathway. so closely did he now examine the ground that he hardly noted his direction. the track led straight towards the wall of rock. the distance was not great--about forty yards. at first the brushwood impeded him, but soon even this hindrance disappeared, and a well-defined passage meandered through a belt of trees, some strong and lofty, others quite immature. more bushes gathered at the foot of the cliff. behind them he could see the mouth of a cave; the six months' old growth of vegetation about the entrance gave clear indication as to the time which had elapsed since a human foot last disturbed the solitude. a few vigorous blows with the stick cleared away obstructing plants and leafy branches. the sailor stooped and looked into the cavern, for the opening was barely five feet high. he perceived instantly that the excavation was man's handiwork, applied to a fault in the hard rock. a sort of natural shaft existed, and this had been extended by manual labor. beyond the entrance the cave became more lofty. owing to its position with reference to the sun at that hour jenks imagined that sufficient light would be obtainable when the tropical luxuriance of foliage outside was dispensed with. at present the interior was dark. with the stick he tapped the walls and roof. a startled cluck and the rush of wings heralded the flight of two birds, alarmed by the noise. soon his eyes, more accustomed to the gloom, made out that the place was about thirty feet deep, ten feet wide in the center, and seven or eight feet high. at the further end was a collection of objects inviting prompt attention. each moment he could see with greater distinctness. kneeling on one side of the little pile he discerned that on a large stone, serving as a rude bench, were some tin utensils, some knives, a sextant, and a quantity of empty cartridge cases. between the stone and what a miner terms the "face" of the rock was a four-foot space. here, half imbedded in the sand which covered the floor, were two pickaxes, a shovel, a sledge-hammer, a fine timber-felling axe, and three crowbars. in the darkest corner of the cave's extremity the "wall" appeared to be very smooth. he prodded with the stick, and there was a sharp clang of tin. he discovered six square kerosene-oil cases carefully stacked up. three were empty, one seemed to be half full, and the contents of two were untouched. with almost feverish haste he ascertained that the half-filled tin did really contain oil. "what a find!" he ejaculated aloud. another pair of birds dashed from a ledge near the roof. "confound you!" shouted the sailor. he sprang back and whacked the walls viciously, but all the feathered intruders had gone. so far as he could judge the cave harbored no further surprises. returning towards the exit his boots dislodged more empty cartridges from the sand. they were shells adapted to a revolver of heavy caliber. at a short distance from the doorway they were present in dozens. "the remnants of a fight," he thought. "the man was attacked, and defended himself here. not expecting the arrival of enemies he provided no store of food or water. he was killed whilst trying to reach the well, probably at night." he vividly pictured the scene--a brave, hardy european keeping at bay a boatload of dyak savages, enduring manfully the agonies of hunger, thirst, perhaps wounds. then the siege, followed by a wild effort to gain the life-giving well, the hiss of a malay parang wielded by a lurking foe, and the last despairing struggle before death came. he might be mistaken. perchance there was a less dramatic explanation. but he could not shake off his, first impressions. they were garnered from dumb evidence and developed by some occult but overwhelming sense of certainty. "what was the poor devil doing here?" he asked. "why did he bury himself in this rock, with mining utensils and a few rough stores? he could not be a castaway. there is the indication of purpose, of preparation, of method combined with ignorance, for none who knew the ways of dyaks and chinese pirates would venture to live here alone, if he could help it, and if he really were alone." the thing was a mystery, would probably remain a mystery for ever. "be it steel or be it lead, anyhow the man is dead." there was relief in hearing his own voice. he could hum, and think, and act. arming himself with the axe he attacked the bushes and branches of trees in front of the cave. he cut a fresh approach to the well, and threw the litter over the skeleton. at first he was inclined to bury it where it lay, but he disliked the idea of iris walking unconsciously over the place. no time could be wasted that day. he would seize an early opportunity to act as grave-digger. after an absence of little more than an hour he rejoined the girl. she saw him from afar, and wondered whence he obtained the axe he shouldered. "you are a successful explorer," she cried when he drew near. "yes, miss deane. i have found water, implements, a shelter, even light." "what sort of light--spiritual, or material?" "oil." "oh!" iris could not remain serious for many consecutive minutes, but she gathered that he was in no mood for frivolity. "and the shelter--is it a house?" she continued. "no, a cave. if you are sufficiently rested you might come and take possession." her eyes danced with excitement. he told her what he had seen, with reservations, and she ran on before him to witness these marvels. "why did you make a new path to the well?" she inquired after a rapid survey. "a new path!" the pertinent question staggered him. "yes, the people who lived here must have had some sort of free passage." he lied easily. "i have only cleared away recent growth," he said. "and why did they dig a cave? it surely would be much more simple to build a house from all these trees." "there you puzzle me," he said frankly. they had entered the cavern but a little way and now came out. "these empty cartridges are funny. they suggest a fort, a battle." woman-like, her words were carelessly chosen, but they were crammed with inductive force. embarked on the toboggan slope of untruth the sailor slid smoothly downwards. "events have colored your imagination, miss deane. even in england men often preserve such things for future use. they can be reloaded." "yes, i have seen keepers do that. this is different. there is an air of--" "there is a lot to be done," broke in jenks emphatically. "we must climb the hill and get back here in time to light another fire before the sun goes down. i want to prop a canvas sheet in front of the cave, and try to devise a lamp." "must i sleep inside?" demanded iris. "yes. where else?" there was a pause, a mere whiff of awkwardness. "i will mount guard outside," went on jenks. he was trying to improve the edge of the axe by grinding it on a soft stone. the girl went into the cave again. she was inquisitive, uneasy. "that arrangement--" she began, but ended in a sharp cry of terror. the dispossessed birds had returned during the sailor's absence. "i will kill them," he shouted in anger. "please don't. there has been enough of death in this place already." the words jarred on his ears. then he felt that she could only allude to the victims of the wreck. "i was going to say," she explained, "that we must devise a partition. there is no help for it until you construct a sort of house. candidly, i do not like this hole in the rock. it is a vault, a tomb." "you told me that i was in command, yet you dispute my orders." he strove hard to appear brusquely good-humored, indifferent, though for one of his mould he was absurdly irritable. the cause was over-strain, but that explanation escaped him. "quite true. but if sleeping in the cold, in dew or rain, is bad for me, it must be equally bad for you. and without you i am helpless, you know." his arms twitched to give her a reassuring hug. in some respects she was so childlike; her big blue eyes were so ingenuous. he laughed sardonically, and the harsh note clashed with her frank candor. here, at least, she was utterly deceived. his changeful moods were incomprehensible. "i will serve you to the best of my ability, miss deane," he exclaimed. "we must hope for a speedy rescue, and i am inured to exposure. it is otherwise with you. are you ready for the climb?" mechanically she picked up a stick at her feet. it was the sailor's wand of investigation. he snatched it from her hands and threw it away among the trees. "that is a dangerous alpenstock," he said. "the wood is unreliable. it might break. i will cut you a better one," and he swung the axe against a tall sapling. iris mentally described him as "funny." she followed him in the upward curve of the ascent, for the grade was not difficult and the ground smooth enough, the storms of years having pulverized the rock and driven sand into its clefts. the persistent inroads of the trees had done the rest. beyond the flight of birds and the scampering of some tiny monkeys overhead, they did not disturb a living creature. the crest of the hill was tree-covered, and they could see nothing beyond their immediate locality until the sailor found a point higher than the rest, where a rugged collection of hard basalt and the uprooting of some poon trees provided an open space elevated above the ridge. for a short distance the foothold was precarious. jenks helped the girl in this part of the climb. his strong, gentle grasp gave her confidence. she was flushed with exertion when they stood together on the summit of this elevated perch. they could look to every point of the compass except a small section on the south-west. here the trees rose behind them until the brow of the precipice was reached. the emergence into a sunlit panorama of land and sea, though expected, was profoundly enthralling. they appeared to stand almost exactly in the center of the island, which was crescent-shaped. it was no larger than the sailor had estimated. the new slopes now revealed were covered with verdure down to the very edge of the water, which, for nearly a mile seawards, broke over jagged reefs. the sea looked strangely calm from this height. irregular blue patches on the horizon to south and east caught the man's first glance. he unslung the binoculars he still carried and focused them eagerly. "islands!" he cried, "and big ones, too!" "how odd!" whispered iris, more concerned in the scrutiny of her immediate surroundings. jenks glanced at her sharply. she was not looking at the islands, but at a curious hollow, a quarry-like depression beneath them to the right, distant about three hundred yards and not far removed from the small plateau containing the well, though isolated from it by the south angle of the main cliff. here, in a great circle, there was not a vestige of grass, shrub, or tree, nothing save brown rock and sand. at first the sailor deemed it to be the dried-up bed of a small lake. this hypothesis would not serve, else it would be choked with verdure. the pit stared up at them like an ominous eye, though neither paid further attention to it, for the glorious prospect mapped at their feet momentarily swept aside all other considerations. "what a beautiful place!" murmured iris. "i wonder what it is called." "limbo." the word came instantly. the sailor's gaze was again fixed on those distant blue outlines. miss deane was dissatisfied. "nonsense!" she exclaimed. "we are not dead yet. you must find a better name than that." "well, suppose we christen it rainbow island?" "why 'rainbow'?" "that is the english meaning of 'iris,' in latin, you know." "so it is. how clever of you to think of it! tell me, what is the meaning of 'robert,' in greek?" he turned to survey the north-west side of the island. "i do not know," he answered. "it might not be far-fetched to translate it as 'a ship's steward: a menial.'" miss iris had meant her playful retort as a mere light-hearted quibble. it annoyed her, a young person of much consequence, to have her kindly condescension repelled. "i suppose so," she agreed; "but i have gone through so much in a few hours that i am bewildered, apt to forget these nice distinctions." where these two quareling, or flirting? who can tell? jenks was closely examining the reef on which the _sirdar_ struck. some square objects were visible near the palm tree. the sun, glinting on the waves, rendered it difficult to discern their significance. "what do you make of those?" he inquired, handing the glasses, and blandly ignoring miss deane's petulance. her brain was busy with other things while she twisted the binoculars to suit her vision. rainbow island--iris--it was a nice conceit. but "menial" struck a discordant note. this man was no menial in appearance or speech. why was he so deliberately rude? "i think they are boxes or packing-cases," she announced. "ah, that was my own idea. i must visit that locality." "how? will you swim?" "no," he said, his stern lips relaxing in a smile, "i will not swim; and by the way, miss deane, be careful when you are near the water. the lagoon is swarming with sharks at present. i feel tolerably assured that at low tide, when the remnants of the gale have vanished, i will be able to walk there along the reef." "sharks!" she cried. "in there! what horrible surprises this speck of land contains! i should not have imagined that sharks and seals could live together." "you are quite right," he explained, with becoming gravity. "as a rule sharks infest only the leeward side of these islands. just now they are attracted in shoals by the wreck." "oh." iris shivered slightly. "we had better go back now. the wind is keen here, miss deane." [illustration: he was so busy that he paid little heed to iris, but the odor of fried ham was wafted to him] she knew that he purposely misunderstood her gesture. his attitude conveyed a rebuke. there was no further room for sentiment in their present existence; they had to deal with chill necessities. as for the sailor, he was glad that the chance turn of their conversation enabled him to warn her against the lurking dangers of the lagoon. there was no need to mention the devil-fish now; he must spare her all avoidable thrills. they gathered the stores from the first _al fresco_ dining-room and reached the cave without incident. another fire was lighted, and whilst iris attended to the kitchen the sailor felled several young trees. he wanted poles, and these were the right size and shape. he soon cleared a considerable space. the timber was soft and so small in girth that three cuts with the axe usually sufficed. he dragged from the beach the smallest tarpaulin he could find, and propped it against the rock in such manner that it effectually screened the mouth of the cave, though admitting light and air. he was so busy that he paid little heed to iris. but the odor of fried ham was wafted to him. he was lifting a couple of heavy stones to stay the canvas and keep it from flapping in the wind, when the girl called out-- "wouldn't you like to have a wash before dinner?" he straightened himself and looked at her. her face and hands were shining, spotless. the change was so great that his brow wrinkled with perplexity. "i am a good pupil," she cried. "you see i am already learning to help myself. i made a bucket out of one of the dish-covers by slinging it in two ropes. another dish-cover, some sand and leaves supplied basin, soap, and towel. i have cleaned the tin cups and the knives, and see, here is my greatest treasure." she held up a small metal lamp. "where in the world did you find that?" he exclaimed. "buried in the sand inside the cave." "anything else?" his tone was abrupt she was so disappointed by the seeming want of appreciation of her industry that a gleam of amusement died from her eyes and she shook her head, stooping at once to attend to the toasting of some biscuits. this time he was genuinely sorry. "forgive me, miss deane," he said penitently. "my words are dictated by anxiety. i do not wish you to make discoveries on your own account. this is a strange place, you know--an unpleasant one in some respects." "surely i can rummage about my own cave?" "most certainly. it was careless of me not to have examined its interior more thoroughly." "then why do you grumble because i found the lamp?" "i did not mean any such thing. i am sorry." "i think you are horrid. if you want to wash you will find the water over there. don't wait. the ham will be frizzled to a cinder." unlucky jenks! was ever man fated to incur such unmerited odium? he savagely laved his face and neck. the fresh cool water was delightful at first, but it caused his injured nail to throb dreadfully. when he drew near to the fire he experienced an unaccountable sensation of weakness. could it be possible that he was going to faint? it was too absurd. he sank to the ground. trees, rocks, and sand-strewn earth indulged in a mad dance. iris's voice sounded weak and indistinct. it seemed to travel in waves from a great distance. he tried to brush away from his brain these dim fancies, but his iron will for once failed, and he pitched headlong downwards into darkness. when he recovered the girl's left arm was round his neck. for one blissful instant he nestled there contentedly. he looked into her eyes and saw that she was crying. a gust of anger rose within him that he should be the cause of those tears. "damn!" he said, and tried to rise. "oh! are you better?" her lips quivered pitifully. "yes. what happened? did i faint?" "drink this." she held a cup to his mouth and he obediently strove to swallow the contents. it was champagne. after the first spasm of terror, and when the application of water to his face failed to restore consciousness, iris had knocked the head off the bottle of champagne. he quickly revived. nature had only given him a warning that he was overdrawing his resources. he was deeply humiliated. he did not conceive the truth, that only a strong man could do all that he had done and live. for thirty-six hours he had not slept. during part of the time he fought with wilder beasts than they knew at ephesus. the long exposure to the sun, the mental strain of his foreboding that the charming girl whose life depended upon him might be exposed to even worse dangers than any yet encountered, the physical labor he had undergone, the irksome restraint he strove to place upon his conduct and utterances--all these things culminated in utter relaxation when the water touched his heated skin. but he was really very much annoyed. a powerful man always is annoyed when forced to yield. the revelation of a limit to human endurance infuriates him. a woman invariably thinks that the man should be scolded, by way of tonic. "how _could_ you frighten me so?" demanded iris, hysterically. "you must have felt that you were working too hard. you made me rest. why didn't you rest yourself?" he looked at her wistfully. this collapse must not happen again, for her sake. these two said more with eyes than lips. she withdrew her arm; her face and neck crimsoned. "there," she said with compelled cheerfulness. "you are all right now. finish the wine." he emptied the tin. it gave him new life. "i always thought," he answered gravely, "that champagne was worth its weight in gold under certain conditions. these are the conditions." iris reflected, with elastic rebound from despair to relief, that men in the lower ranks of life do not usually form theories on the expensive virtues of the wine of france. but her mind was suddenly occupied by a fresh disaster. "good gracious!" she cried. "the ham is ruined." it was burnt black. she prepared a fresh supply. when it was ready, jenks was himself again. they ate in silence, and shared the remains of the bottle. the man idly wondered what was the _plat du jour_ at the savoy that evening. he remembered that the last time he was there he had called for _jambon de york aux épinards_ and half a pint of heidseck. "_coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currant_," he thought. by a queer trick of memory he could recall the very page in horace where this philosophical line occurs. it was in the eleventh epistle of the first book. a smile illumined his tired face. iris was watchful. she had never in her life cooked even a potato or boiled an egg. the ham was her first attempt. "my cooking amuses you?" she demanded suspiciously. "it gratifies every sense," he murmured. "there is but one thing needful to complete my happiness." "and that is?" "permission to smoke." "smoke what?" he produced a steel box, tightly closed, and a pipe, "i will answer you in byron's words," he said-- "'sublime tobacco! which from east to west cheers the tar's labour or the turkman's rest.'" "your pockets are absolute shops," said the girl, delighted that his temper had improved. "what other stores do you carry about with you?" he lit his pipe and solemnly gave an inventory of his worldly goods. beyond the items she had previously seen he could only enumerate a silver dollar, a very soiled and crumpled handkerchief, and a bit of tin. a box of norwegian matches he threw away as useless, but iris recovered them. "you never know what purpose they may serve," she said. in after days a weird significance was attached to this simple phrase. "why do you carry about a bit of tin?" she went on. how the atmosphere of deception clung to him! here was a man compelled to lie outrageously who, in happier years, had prided himself on scrupulous accuracy even in small things. "plague upon it!" he silently protested. "subterfuge and deceit are as much at home in this deserted island as in mayfair." "i found it here, miss deane," he answered. luckily she interpreted "here" as applying to the cave. "let me see it. may i?" he handed it to her. she could make nothing of it, so together they puzzled over it. the sailor rubbed it with a mixture of kerosene and sand. then figures and letters and a sort of diagram were revealed. at last they became decipherable. by exercising patient ingenuity some one had indented the metal with a sharp punch until the marks assumed this aspect (see cut, following page). iris was quick-witted. "it is a plan of the island," she cried. "also the latitude and the longitude." "what does 'j.s.' mean?" "probably the initials of a man's name; let us say john smith, for instance." "and the figures on the island, with the 'x' and the dot?" "i cannot tell you at present," he said. "i take it that the line across the island signifies this gap or canyon, and the small intersecting line the cave. but divided by , and an 'x' surmounted by a dot are cabalistic. they would cause even sherlock holmes to smoke at least two pipes. i have barely started one." [illustration] she ran to fetch a glowing stick to enable him to relight his pipe. "why do you give me such nasty little digs?" she asked. "you need not have stopped smoking just because i stood close to you." "really, miss deane--" "there, don't protest. i like the smell of that tobacco. i thought sailors invariably smoked rank, black stuff which they call thick twist." "i am a beginner, as a sailor. after a few more years before the mast i may hope to reach perfection." their eyes exchanged a quaintly pleasant challenge. thus the man--"she is determined to learn something of my past, but she will not succeed." and the woman--"the wretch! he is close as an oyster. but i will make him open his mouth, see if i don't." she reverted to the piece of tin. "it looks quite mysterious, like the things you read of in stories of pirates and buried treasure." "yes," he admitted. "it is unquestionably a plan, a guidance, given to a person not previously acquainted with the island but cognizant of some fact connected with it. unfortunately none of the buccaneers i can bring to mind frequented these seas. the poor beggar who left it here must have had some other motive than searching for a cache." "did he dig the cave and the well, i wonder?" "probably the former, but not the well. no man could do it unaided." "why do you assume he was alone?" he strolled towards the fire to kick a stray log. "it is only idle speculation at the best, miss deane," he replied. "would you like to help me to drag some timber up from the beach? if we get a few big planks we can build a fire that will last for hours. we want some extra clothes, too, and it will soon be dark." the request for co-operation gratified her. she complied eagerly, and without much exertion they hauled a respectable load of firewood to their new camping-ground. they also brought a number of coats to serve as coverings. then jenks tackled the lamp. between the rust and the soreness of his index finger it was a most difficult operation to open it. before the sun went down he succeeded, and made a wick by unraveling a few strands of wool from his jersey. when night fell, with the suddenness of the tropics, iris was able to illuminate her small domain. they were both utterly tired and ready to drop with fatigue. the girl said "good night," but instantly reappeared from behind the tarpaulin. "am i to keep the lamp alight?" she inquired. "please yourself, miss deane. better not, perhaps. it will only burn four or five hours, any way." soon the light vanished, and he lay down, his pipe between his teeth, close to the cave's entrance. weary though he was, he could not sleep forthwith. his mind was occupied with the signs on the canister head. " divided by ; an 'x' and a dot," he repeated several times. "what do they signify?" suddenly he sat up, with every sense alert, and grabbed his revolver. something impelled him to look towards the spot, a few feet away, where the skeleton was hidden. it was the rustling of a bird among the trees that had caught his ear. he thought of the white framework of a once powerful man, lying there among the bushes, abandoned, forgotten, horrific. then he smothered a cry of surprise. "by jove!" he muttered. "there is no 'x' and dot. that sign is meant for a skull and cross-bones. it lies exactly on the part of the island where we saw that queer-looking bald patch today. first thing tomorrow, before the girl awakes, i must examine that place." he resolutely stretched himself on his share of the spread-out coats, now thoroughly dried by sun and fire. in a minute he was sound asleep. chapter v iris to the rescue "before mine eyes in opposition sits grim death." --_milton_. he awoke to find the sun high in the heavens. iris was preparing breakfast; a fine fire was crackling cheerfully, and the presiding goddess had so altered her appearance that the sailor surveyed her with astonishment. he noiselessly assumed a sitting posture, tucked his feet beneath him, and blinked. the girl's face was not visible from where he sat, and for a few seconds he thought he must surely be dreaming. she was attired in a neat navy-blue dress and smart blouse. her white canvas shoes were replaced by strong leather boots. she was quite spick and span, this island hebe. so soundly had he slept that his senses returned but slowly. at last he guessed what had happened. she had risen with the dawn, and, conquering her natural feeling of repulsion, selected from the store he accumulated yesterday some more suitable garments than those in which she escaped from the wreck. he quietly took stock of his own tattered condition, and passed a reflective hand over the stubble on his chin. in a few days his face would resemble a scrubbing-brush. in that mournful moment he would have exchanged even his pipe and tobacco-box--worth untold gold--for shaving tackle. who can say why his thoughts took such trend? twenty-four hours can effect great changes in the human mind if controlling influences are active. then came a sharp revulsion of feeling. his name was robert--a menial. he reached for his boots, and iris heard him. "good morning," she cried, smiling sweetly. "i thought you would never awake. i suppose you were very, very tired. you were lying so still that i ventured to peep at you a long time ago." "thus might titania peep at an ogre," he said. "you didn't look a bit like an ogre. you never do. you only try to talk like one--sometimes." "i claim a truce until after breakfast. if my rough compliment offends you, let me depend upon a more gentle tongue than my own-- "'her angel's face as the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, and made a sunshine in the shady place.' "those lines are surely appropriate. they come from the _faerie queene_." "they are very nice, but please wash quickly. the eggs will be hard." "eggs!" "yes; i made a collection among the trees. i tasted one of a lot that looked good. it was first-rate." he had not the moral courage to begin the day with a rebuke. she was irrepressible, but she really must not do these things. he smothered a sigh in the improvised basin which was placed ready for him. miss deane had prepared a capital meal. of course the ham and biscuits still bulked large in the bill of fare, but there were boiled eggs, fried bananas and an elderly cocoanut. these things, supplemented by clear cold water, were not so bad for a couple of castaways, hundreds of miles from everywhere. for the life of him the man could not refrain from displaying the conversational art in which he excelled. their talk dealt with italy, egypt, india. he spoke with the ease of culture and enthusiasm. once he slipped into anecdote _à propos_ of the helplessness of british soldiers in any matter outside the scope of the king's regulations. "i remember," he said, "seeing a cavalry subaltern and the members of an escort sitting, half starved, on a number of bags piled up in the suakin desert. and what do you think were in the bags?" "i don't know," said iris, keenly alert for deductions. "biscuits! they thought the bags contained patent fodder until i enlightened them." it was on the tip of her tongue to pounce on him with the comment: "then you have been an officer in the army." but she forbore. she had guessed this earlier. yet the mischievous light in her eyes defied control. he was warned in time and pulled himself up short. "you read my face like a book," she cried, with a delightful little _moue_. "no printed page was ever so--legible." he was going to say "fascinating," but checked the impulse. he went on with brisk affectation-- "now, miss deane, we have gossiped too long. i am a laggard this morning; but before starting work, i have a few serious remarks to make." "more digs?" she inquired saucily. "i repudiate 'digs.' in the first place, you must not make any more experiments in the matter of food. the eggs were a wonderful effort, but, flattered by success, you may poison yourself." "secondly?" "you must never pass out of my sight without carrying a revolver, not so much for defence, but as a signal. did you take one when you went bird's-nesting?" "no. why?" there was a troubled look in his eyes when he answered-- "it is best to tell you at once that before help reaches us we may be visited by cruel and blood-thirsty savages. i would not even mention this if it were a remote contingency. as matters stand, you ought to know that such a thing may happen. let us trust in god's goodness that assistance may come soon. the island has seemingly been deserted for many months, and therein lies our best chance of escape. but i am obliged to warn you lest you should be taken unawares." iris was serious enough now. "how do you know that such danger threatens us?" she demanded. he countered readily. "because i happen to have read a good deal about the china sea and its frequenters," he said. "i am the last man in the world to alarm you needlessly. all i mean to convey is that certain precautions should be taken against a risk that is possible, not probable. no more." she could not repress a shudder. the aspect of nature was so beneficent that evil deeds seemed to be out of place in that fair isle. birds were singing around them. the sun was mounting into a cloudless sky. the gale had passed away into a pleasant breeze, and the sea was now rippling against the distant reef with peaceful melody. the sailor wanted to tell her that he would defend her against a host of savages if he were endowed with many lives, but he was perforce tongue-tied. he even reviled himself for having spoken, but she saw the anguish in his face, and her woman's heart acknowledged him as her protector, her shield. "mr. jenks," she said simply, "we are in god's hands. i put my trust in him, and in you. i am hopeful, nay more, confident. i thank you for what you have done, for all that you will do. if you cannot preserve me from threatening perils no man could, for you are as brave and gallant a gentleman as lives on the earth today." now, the strange feature of this extraordinary and unexpected outburst of pent-up emotion was that the girl pronounced his name with the slightly emphasized accentuation of one who knew it to be a mere disguise. the man was so taken aback by her declaration of faith that the minor incident, though it did not escape him, was smothered in a tumult of feeling. he could not trust himself to speak. he rose hastily and seized the axe to deliver a murderous assault upon a sago palm that stood close at hand. iris was the first to recover a degree of self-possession. for a moment she had bared her soul. with reaction came a sensitive shrinking. her british temperament, no less than her delicate nature, disapproved these sentimental displays. she wanted to box her own ears. with innate tact she took a keen interest in the felling of the tree. "what do you want it for?" she inquired, when the sturdy trunk creaked and fell. jenks felt better now. "this is a change of diet," he explained. "no; we don't boil the leaves or nibble the bark. when i split this palm open you will find that the interior is full of pith. i will cut it out for you, and then it will be your task to knead it with water after well washing it, pick out all the fiber, and finally permit the water to evaporate. in a couple of days the residuum will become a white powder, which, when boiled, is sago." "good gracious!" said iris. "the story sounds unconvincing, but i believe i am correct. it is worth a trial." "i should have imagined that sago grew on a stalk like rice or wheat." "or topsy!" she laughed. a difficult situation had passed without undue effort. unhappily the man reopened it. whilst using a crowbar as a wedge he endeavored to put matters on a straightforward footing. "a little while ago," he said, "you seemed to imply that i had assumed the name of jenks." but miss deane's confidential mood had gone. "nothing of the kind," she said, coldly. "i think jenks is an excellent name." she regretted the words even as they fell from her lips. the sailor gave a mighty wrench with the bar, splitting the log to its clustering leaves. "you are right," he said. "it is distinctive, brief, dogmatic. i cling to it passionately." soon afterwards, leaving iris to the manufacture of sago, he went to the leeward side of the island, a search for turtles being his ostensible object. when the trees hid him he quickened his pace and turned to the left, in order to explore the cavity marked on the tin with a skull and cross-bones. to his surprise he hit upon the remnants of a roadway--that is, a line through the wood where there were no well-grown trees, where the ground bore traces of humanity in the shape of a wrinkled and mildewed pair of chinese boots, a wooden sandal, even the decayed remains of a palki, or litter. at last he reached the edge of the pit, and the sight that met his eyes held him spellbound. the labor of many hands had torn a chasm, a quarry, out of the side of the hill. roughly circular in shape, it had a diameter of perhaps a hundred feet, and at its deepest part, towards the cliff, it ran to a depth of forty feet. on the lower side, where the sailor stood, it descended rapidly for some fifteen feet. grasses, shrubs, plants of every variety, grew in profusion down the steep slopes, wherever seeds could find precarious nurture, until a point was reached about ten or eleven feet from the bottom. there all vegetation ceased as if forbidden to cross a magic circle. below this belt the place was a charnel-house. the bones of men and animals mingled in weird confusion. most were mere skeletons. a few bodies--nine the sailor counted--yet preserved some resemblance of humanity. these latter were scattered among the older relics. they wore the clothes of dyaks. characteristic hats and weapons denoted their nationality. the others, the first harvest of this modern golgotha, might have been chinese coolies. when the sailor's fascinated vision could register details he distinguished yokes, baskets, odd-looking spades and picks strewed amidst the bones. the animals were all of one type, small, lanky, with long pointed skulls. at last he spied a withered hoof. they were pigs. over all lay a thick coating of fine sand, deposited from the eddying winds that could never reach the silent depths. the place was gruesome, horribly depressing. jenks broke out into a clammy perspiration. he seemed to be looking at the secrets of the grave. at last his superior intelligence asserted itself. his brain became clearer, recovered its power of analysis. he began to criticize, reflect, and this is the theory he evolved-- some one, long ago, had discovered valuable minerals in the volcanic rock. mining operations were in full blast when the extinct volcano took its revenge upon the human ants gnawing at its vitals and smothered them by a deadly outpouring of carbonic acid gas, the bottled-up poison of the ages. a horde of pigs, running wild over the island--placed there, no doubt, by chinese fishers--had met the same fate whilst intent on dreadful orgy. then there came a european, who knew how the anhydrate gas, being heavier than the surrounding air, settled like water in that terrible hollow. he, too, had striven to wrest the treasure from the stone by driving a tunnel into the cliff. he had partly succeeded and had gone away, perhaps to obtain help, after crudely registering his knowledge on the lid of a tin canister. this, again, probably fell into the hands of another man, who, curious but unconvinced, caused himself to be set ashore on this desolate spot, with a few inadequate stores. possibly he had arranged to be taken off within a fixed time. but a sampan, laden with dyak pirates, came first, and the intrepid explorer's bones rested near the well, whilst his head had gone to decorate the hut of some fierce village chief. the murderers, after burying their own dead--for the white man fought hard, witness the empty cartridges--searched the island. some of them, ignorantly inquisitive, descended into the hollow. they remained there. the others, superstitious barbarians, fled for their lives, embarking so hastily that they took from the cave neither tools nor oil, though they would greatly prize these articles. such was the tragic web he spun, a compound of fact and fancy. it explained all perplexities save one. what did " divided by " mean? was there yet another fearsome riddle awaiting solution? and then his thoughts flew to iris. happen what might, her bright picture was seldom absent from his brain. suppose, egg-hunting, she had stumbled across this valley of death! how could he hope to keep it hidden from her? was not the ghastly knowledge better than the horror of a chance ramble through the wood and the shock of discovery, nay, indeed, the risk of a catastrophe? he was a man who relieved his surcharged feelings with strong language--a habit of recent acquisition. he indulged in it now and felt better. he rushed back through the trees until he caught sight of iris industriously kneading the sago pith in one of those most useful dish-covers. he called to her, led her wondering to the track, and pointed out the fatal quarry, but in such wise that she could not look inside it. "you remember that round hole we saw from the summit rock?" he said. "well, it is full of carbonic acid gas, to breathe which means unconsciousness and death. it gives no warning to the inexperienced. it is rather pleasant than otherwise. promise me you will never come near this place again." now, iris, too, had been thinking deeply. robert jenks bulked large in her day-dreams. her nerves were not yet quite normal. there was a catch in her throat as she answered-- "i don't want to die. of course i will keep away. what a horrid island this is! yet it might be a paradise." she bit her lip to suppress her tears, but, being the eve in this garden, she continued-- "how did you find out? is there anything--nasty--in there?" "yes, the remains of animals, and other things. i would not have told you were it not imperative." "are you keeping other secrets from me?" "oh, quite a number." he managed to conjure up a smile, and the ruse was effective. she applied the words to his past history. "i hope they will not be revealed so dramatically," she said. "you never can tell," he answered. they were in prophetic vein that morning. they returned in silence to the cave. "i wish to go inside, with a lamp. may i?" he asked. "certainly. why not?" he had an odd trick of blushing, this bronzed man with a gnarled soul. he could not frame a satisfactory reply, but busied himself in refilling the lamp. "may i come too?" she demanded. he flung aside the temptation to answer her in kind, merely assenting, with an explanation of his design. when the lamp was in order he held it close to the wall and conducted a systematic survey. the geological fault which favored the construction of the tunnel seemed to diverge to the left at the further end. the "face" of the rock exhibited the marks of persistent labor. the stone had been hewn away by main force when the dislocation of strata ceased to be helpful. his knowledge was limited on the subject, yet jenks believed that the material here was a hard limestone rather than the external basalt. searching each inch with the feeble light, he paused once, with an exclamation. "what is it?" cried iris. "i cannot be certain," he said, doubtfully. "would you mind holding the lamp whilst i use a crowbar?" in the stone was visible a thin vein, bluish white in color. he managed to break off a fair-sized lump containing a well-defined specimen of the foreign metal. they hurried into the open air and examined the fragment with curious eyes. the sailor picked it with his knife, and the substance in the vein came off in laminated layers, small, brittle scales. "is it silver?" iris was almost excited. "i do not think so. i am no expert, but i have a vague idea--i have seen----" he wrinkled his brows and pressed away the furrows with his hand, that physical habit of his when perplexed. "i have it," he cried. "it is antimony." miss deane pursed her lips in disdain. antimony! what was antimony? "so much fuss for nothing," she said. "it is used in alloys and medicines," he explained. "to us it is useless." he threw the piece of rock contemptuously among the bushes. but, being thorough in all that he undertook, he returned to the cave and again conducted an inquisition. the silver-hued vein became more strongly marked at the point where it disappeared downwards into a collection of rubble and sand. that was all. did men give their toil, their lives, for this? so it would appear. be that as it might, he had a more pressing work. if the cave still held a secret it must remain there. iris had gone back to her sago-kneading. necessity had made the lady a bread-maid. "fifteen hundred years of philology bridged by circumstance," mused jenks. "how max müller would have reveled in the incident!" shouldering the axe he walked to the beach. the tide was low and the circular sweep of the reef showed up irregularly, its black outlines sticking out of the vividly green water like jagged teeth. much débris from the steamer was lying high and dry. it was an easy task for an athletic man to reach the palm tree, yet the sailor hesitated, with almost imperceptible qualms. "a baited rat-trap," he muttered. then he quickened his pace. with the first active spring from rock to rock his unacknowledged doubts vanished. he might find stores of priceless utility. the reflection inspired him. jumping and climbing like a cat, in two minutes he was near the tree. he could now see the true explanation of its growth in a seemingly impossible place. here the bed of the sea bulged upwards in a small sand cay, which silted round the base of a limestone rock, so different in color and formation from the coral reef. nature, whose engineering contrivances can force springs to mountain tops, managed to deliver to this isolated refuge a sufficient supply of water to nourish the palm, and the roots, firmly lodged in deep crevices, were well protected from the waves. between the sailor and the tree intervened a small stretch of shallow water. landward this submerged saddle shelved steeply into the lagoon. although the water in the cove was twenty fathoms in depth, its crystal clearness was remarkable. the bottom, composed of marvelously white sand and broken coral, rendered other objects conspicuous. he could see plenty of fish, but not a single shark, whilst on the inner slope of the reef was plainly visible the destroyed fore part of the _sirdar_, which had struck beyond the tree, relatively to his present standpoint. he had wondered why no boats were cast ashore. now he saw the reason. three of them were still fastened to the davits and carried down with the hull. seaward the water was not so clear. the waves created patches of foam, and long submarine plants swayed gently in the undercurrent. to reach palm-tree rock--anticipating its subsequent name--he must cross a space of some thirty feet and wade up to his waist. he made the passage with ease. pitched against the hole of the tree was a long narrow case, very heavy, iron-clamped; and marked with letters in black triangles and the broad arrow of the british government. "rifles, by all the gods!" shouted the sailor. they were really by the enfield small arms manufactory, but his glee at this stroke of luck might be held to excuse a verbal inaccuracy. the _sirdar_ carried a consignment of arms and ammunition from hong kong to singapore. providence had decreed that a practically inexhaustible store of cartridges should be hurled across the lagoon to the island. and here were lee-metfords enough to equip half a company. he would not risk the precious axe in an attempt to open the case. he must go back for a crowbar. what else was there in this storehouse, thrust by neptune from the ocean bed? a chest of tea, seemingly undamaged. three barrels of flour, utterly ruined. a saloon chair, smashed from its pivot. a battered chronometer. for the rest, fragments of timber intermingled with pulverized coral and broken crockery. a little further on, the deep-water entrance to the lagoon curved between sunken rocks. on one of them rested the _sirdar's_ huge funnel. the north-west section of the reef was bare. among the wreckage he found a coil of stout rope and a pulley. he instantly conceived the idea of constructing an aerial line to ferry the chest of tea across the channel he had forded. he threaded the pulley with the rope and climbed the tree, adding a touch of artistic completeness to the ruin of his trousers by the operation. he had fastened the pulley high up the trunk before he realized how much more simple it would be to break open the chest where it lay and transport its contents in small parcels. he laughed lightly. "i am becoming addleheaded," he said to himself. "anyhow, now the job is done i may as well make use of it." recoiling the rope-ends, he cast them across to the reef. in such small ways do men throw invisible dice with death. with those two lines he would, within a few fleeting seconds, drag himself back from eternity. picking up the axe, he carelessly stepped into the water, not knowing that iris, having welded the incipient sago into a flat pancake, had strolled to the beach and was watching him. the water was hardly above his knees when there came a swirling rush from the seaweed. a long tentacle shot out like a lasso and gripped his right leg. another coiled round his waist. "my god!" he gurgled, as a horrid sucker closed over his mouth and nose. he was in the grip of a devil-fish. a deadly sensation of nausea almost overpowered him, but the love of life came to his aid, and he tore the suffocating feeler from his face. then the axe whirled, and one of the eight arms of the octopus lost some of its length. yet a fourth flung itself around his left ankle. a few feet away, out of range of the axe, and lifting itself bodily out of the water, was the dread form of the cuttle, apparently all head, with distended gills and monstrous eyes. the sailor's feet were planted wide apart. with frenzied effort he hacked at the murderous tentacles, but the water hindered him, and he was forced to lean back, in superhuman strain, to avoid losing his balance. if once this terrible assailant got him down he knew he was lost. the very need to keep his feet prevented him from attempting to deal a mortal blow. the cuttle was anchored by three of its tentacles. its remaining arm darted with sinuous activity to again clutch the man's face or neck. with the axe he smote madly at the curling feeler, diverting its aim time and again, but failing to deliver an effective stroke. with agonized prescience the sailor knew that he was yielding. were the devil-fish a giant of its tribe he could not have held out so long. as it was, the creature could afford to wait, strengthening its grasp, tightening its coils, pulling and pumping at its prey with remorseless certainty. he was nearly spent. in a paroxysm of despair he resolved to give way, and with one mad effort seek to bury the axe in the monster's brain. but ere he could execute this fatal project--for the cuttle would have instantly swept him into the trailing weeds--five revolver shots rang out in quick succession. iris had reached the nearest rock. the third bullet gave the octopus cause to reflect. it squirted forth a torrent of dark-colored fluid. instantly the water became black, opaque. the tentacle flourishing in air thrashed the surface with impotent fury; that around jenks's waist grew taut and rigid. the axe flashed with the inspiration of hope. another arm was severed; the huge dismembered coil slackened and fell away. yet was he anchored immovably. he turned to look at iris. she never forgot the fleeting expression of his face. so might lazarus have looked from the tomb. "the rope!" she screamed, dropping the revolver and seizing the loose ends lying at her feet. she drew them tight and leaned back, pulling with all her strength. the sailor flung the axe to the rocks and grasped the two ropes. he raised himself and plunged wildly. he was free. with two convulsive strides he was at the girl's side. he stumbled to a boulder and dropped in complete collapse. after a time he felt iris's hand placed timidly on his shoulder. he raised his head and saw her eyes shining. "thank you," he said. "we are quits now." chapter vi some explanations fierce emotions are necessarily transient, but for the hour they exhaust the psychic capacity. the sailor had gone through such mental stress before it was yet noon that he was benumbed, wholly incapable of further sensation. seneca tells how the island of theresæa arose in a moment from the sea, thereby astounding ancient mariners, as well it might. had this manifestation been repeated within a cable's length from the reef, jenks was in mood to accept it as befitting the new order of things. being in good condition, he soon recovered his physical powers. he was outwardly little the worse for the encounter with the devil-fish. the skin around his mouth was sore. his waist and legs were bruised. one sweep of the axe had cut clean through the bulging leather of his left boot without touching the flesh. in a word, he was practically uninjured. he had the doglike habit of shaking himself at the close of a fray. he did so now when he stood up. iris showed clearer signs of the ordeal. her face was drawn and haggard, the pupils of her eyes dilated. she was gazing into depths, illimitable, unexplored. compassion awoke at sight of her. "come," said jenks, gently. "let us get back to the island." he quietly resumed predominance, helping her over the rough pathway of the reef, almost lifting her when the difficulties were great. he did not ask her how it happened that she came so speedily to his assistance. enough that she had done it, daring all for his sake. she was weak and trembling. with the acute vision of the soul she saw again, and yet again, the deadly malice of the octopus, the divine despair of the man. reaching the firm sand, she could walk alone. she limped. instantly her companion's blunted emotions quickened into life. he caught her arm and said hoarsely-- "are you hurt in any way?" the question brought her back from dreamland. a waking nightmare was happily shattered into dim fragments. she even strove to smile unconcernedly. "it is nothing," she murmured. "i stumbled on the rocks. there is no sprain. merely a blow, a bit of skin rubbed off, above my ankle." "let me carry you." "the idea! carry me! i will race you to the cave." it was no idle jest. she wanted to run--to get away from that inky blotch in the green water. "you are sure it is a trifle?" "quite sure. my stocking chafes a little; that is all. see, i will show you." she stooped, and with the quick skill of woman, rolled down the stocking on her right leg. modestly daring, she stretched out her foot and slightly lifted her dress. on the outer side of the tapering limb was an ugly bruise, scratched deeply by the coral. he exhibited due surgical interest. his manner, his words, became professional. "we will soon put that right," he said. "a strip off your muslin dress, soaked in brandy, will----" "brandy!" she exclaimed. "yes; we have some, you know. brandy is a great tip for bruised wounds. it can be applied both ways, inside and out." this was better. they were steadily drifting back to the commonplace. whilst she stitched together some muslin strips he knocked the head off a bottle of brandy. they each drank a small quantity, and the generous spirit brought color to their wan cheeks. the sailor showed iris how to fasten a bandage by twisting the muslin round the upper part of his boot. for the first time she saw the cut made by the axe. "did--the thing--grip you there?" she nervously inquired. "there, and elsewhere. all over at once, it felt like. the beast attacked me with five arms." she shuddered. "i don't know how you could fight it," she said. "how strong, how brave you must be." this amused him. "the veriest coward will try to save his own life," he answered. "if you use such adjectives to me, what words can i find to do justice to you, who dared to come close to such a vile-looking creature and kill it. i must thank my stars that you carried the revolver." "ah!" she said, "that reminds me. you do not practice what you preach. i found your pistol lying on the stone in the cave. that is one reason why i followed you." it was quite true. he laid the weapon aside when delving at the rock, and forgot to replace it in his belt. "it was stupid of me," he admitted; "but i am not sorry." "why?" "because, as it is, i owe you my life." "you owe me nothing," she snapped. "it is very thoughtless of you to run such risks. what will become of me if anything happens to you? my point of view is purely selfish, you see." "quite so. purely selfish." he smiled sadly. "selfish people of your type are somewhat rare, miss deane." not a conversation worth noting, perhaps, save in so far as it is typical of the trite utterances of people striving to recover from some tremendous ordeal. epigrams delivered at the foot of the scaffold have always been carefully prepared beforehand. the bandage was ready; one end was well soaked in brandy. she moved towards the cave, but he cried-- "wait one minute. i want to get a couple of crowbars." "what for?" "i must go back there." he jerked his head in the direction of the reef. she uttered a little sob of dismay. "i will incur no danger this time," he explained. "i found rifles there. we must have them; they may mean salvation." when iris was determined about anything, her chin dimpled. it puckered delightfully now. "i will come with you," she announced. "very well. i will wait for you. the tide will serve for another hour." he knew he had decided rightly. she could not bear to be alone--yet. soon the bandage was adjusted and they returned to the reef. scrambling now with difficulty over the rough and dangerous track, iris was secretly amazed by the remembrance of the daring activity she displayed during her earlier passage along the same precarious roadway. then she darted from rock to rock with the fearless certainty of a chamois. her only stumble was caused, she recollected, by an absurd effort to avoid wetting her dress. she laughed nervously when they reached the place. this time jenks lifted her across the intervening channel. "is this the spot where you fell?" he asked, tenderly. "yes; how did you guess it?" "i read it in your eyes." "then please do not read my eyes, but look where you are going." "perhaps i was doing that too," he said. they were standing on the landward side of the shallow water in which he fought the octopus. already the dark fluid emitted by his assailant in its final discomfiture was passing away, owing to the slight movement of the tide. iris was vaguely conscious of a double meaning in his words. she did not trouble to analyze them. all she knew was that the man's voice conveyed a subtle acknowledgment of her feminine divinity. the resultant thrill of happiness startled, even dismayed her. this incipient flirtation must be put a stop to instantly. "now that you have brought me here with so much difficulty, what are you going to do?" she said. "it will be madness for you to attempt to ford that passage again. where there is one of those horrible things there are others, i suppose." jenks smiled. somehow he knew that this strict adherence to business was a cloak for her real thoughts. already these two were able to dispense with spoken word. but he sedulously adopted her pretext. "that is one reason why i brought the crowbars," he explained. "if you will sit down for a little while i will have everything properly fixed." he delved with one of the bars until it lodged in a crevice of the coral. then a few powerful blows with the back of the axe wedged it firmly enough to bear any ordinary strain. the rope-ends reeved through the pulley on the tree were lying where they fell from the girl's hand at the close of the struggle. he deftly knotted them to the rigid bar, and a few rapid turns of a piece of wreckage passed between the two lines strung them into a tautness that could not be attained by any amount of pulling. iris watched the operation in silence. the sailor always looked at his best when hard at work. the half-sullen, wholly self-contained expression left his face, which lit up with enthusiasm and concentrated intelligence. that which he essayed he did with all his might. will power and physical force worked harmoniously. she had never before seen such a man. at such moments her admiration of him was unbounded. he, toiling with steady persistence, felt not the inward spur which sought relief in speech, but iris was compelled to say something. "i suppose," she commented with an air of much wisdom, "you are contriving an overhead railway for the safe transit of yourself and the goods?" "y--yes." "why are you so doubtful about it?" "because i personally intended to walk across. the ropes will serve to convey the packages." she rose imperiously. "i absolutely forbid you to enter the water again. such a suggestion on your part is quite shameful. you are taking a grave risk for no very great gain that i can see, and if anything happens to you i shall be left all alone in this awful place." she could think of no better argument. her only resource was a woman's expedient--a plea for protection against threatening ills. the sailor seemed to be puzzled how best to act. "miss deane," he said, "there is no such serious danger as you imagine. last time the cuttle caught me napping. he will not do so again. those rifles i must have. if it will serve to reassure you, i will go along the line myself." he made this concession grudgingly. in very truth, if danger still lurked in the neighboring sea, he would be far less able to avoid it whilst clinging to a rope that sagged with his weight, and thus working a slow progress across the channel, than if he were on his feet and prepared to make a rush backwards or forwards. not until iris watched him swinging along with vigorous overhead clutches did this phase of the undertaking occur to her. "stop!" she screamed. he let go and dropped into the water, turning towards her. "what is the matter now?" he said. "go on; do!" he stood meekly on the further side to listen to her rating. "you knew all the time that it would be better to walk, yet to please me you adopted an absurdly difficult method. why did you do it?" "you have answered your own question." "well, i am very, very angry with you." "i'll tell you what," he said, "if you will forgive me i will try and jump back. i once did nineteen feet three inches in--er--in a meadow, but it makes such a difference when you look at a stretch of water the same width." "i wish you would not stand there talking nonsense. the tide will be over the reef in half an hour," she cried. without another word he commenced operations. there was plenty of rope, and the plan he adopted was simplicity itself. when each package was securely fastened he attached it to a loop that passed over the line stretched from the tree to the crowbar. to this loop he tied the lightest rope he could find and threw the other end to iris. by pulling slightly she was able to land at her feet even the cumbrous rifle-chest, for the traveling angle was so acute that the heavier the article the more readily it sought the lower level. they toiled in silence until jenks could lay hands on nothing more of value. then, observing due care, he quickly passed the channel. for an instant the girl gazed affrightedly at the sea until the sailor stood at her side again. "you see," he said, "you have scared every cuttle within miles." and he thought that he would give many years of his life to be able to take her in his arms and kiss away her anxiety. but the tide had turned; in a few minutes the reef would be partly submerged. to carry the case of rifles to the mainland was a manifestly impossible feat, so jenks now did that which, done earlier, would have saved him some labor--he broke open the chest, and found that the weapons were apparently in excellent order. he snapped the locks and squinted down the barrels of half a dozen to test them. these he laid on one side. then he rapidly constructed a small raft from loose timbers, binding them roughly with rope, and to this argosy he fastened the box of tea, the barrels of flour, the broken saloon-chair, and other small articles which might be of use. he avoided any difficulty in launching the raft by building it close to the water's edge. when all was ready the rising tide floated it for him; he secured it to his longest rope, and gave it a vigorous push off into the lagoon. then he slung four rifles across his shoulders, asked iris to carry the remaining two in like manner, and began to manoeuvre the raft landwards. "whilst you land the goods i will prepare dinner," announced the girl. "please be careful not to slip again on the rocks," he said. "indeed i will. my ankle gives me a reminder at each step." "i was more concerned about the rifles. if you fell you might damage them, and the incoming tide will so hopelessly rust those i leave behind that they will be useless." she laughed. this assumption at brutality no longer deceived her. "i will preserve them at any cost, though with six in our possession there is a margin for accidents. however, to reassure you, i will go back quickly. if i fall a second time you will still be able to replace any deficiencies in our armament." before he could protest she started off at a run, jumping lightly from rock to rock, though the effort cost her a good deal of pain. disregarding his shouts, she persevered until she stood safely on the sands. then saucily waving a farewell, she set off towards the cave. had she seen the look of fierce despair that settled down upon jenks's face as he turned to his task of guiding the raft ashore she might have wondered what it meant. in any case she would certainly have behaved differently. by the time the sailor had safely landed his cargo iris had cooked their midday meal. she achieved a fresh culinary triumph. the eggs were fried! "i am seriously thinking of trying to boil a ham," she stated gravely. "have you any idea how long it takes to cook one properly?" "a quarter of an hour for each pound." "admirable! but we can measure neither hours nor pounds." "i think we can do both. i will construct a balance of some kind. then, with a ham slung to one end, and a rifle and some cartridges to the other, i will tell you the weight of the ham to an ounce. to ascertain the time, i have already determined to fashion a sun-dial. i remember the requisite divisions with reasonable accuracy, and a little observation will enable us to correct any mistakes." "you are really very clever, mr. jenks," said iris, with childlike candor. "have you spent several years of your life in preparing for residence on a desert island?" "something of the sort. i have led a queer kind of existence, full of useless purposes. fate has driven me into a corner where my odds and ends of knowledge are actually valuable. such accidents make men millionaires." "useless purposes!" she repeated. "i can hardly credit that. one uses such a phrase to describe fussy people, alive with foolish activity. your worst enemy would not place you in such a category." "my worst enemy made the phrase effective at any rate, miss deane." "you mean that he ruined your career?" "well--er--yes. i suppose that describes the position with fair accuracy." "was he a very great scoundrel?" "he was, and is." jenks spoke with quiet bitterness. the girl's words had evoked a sudden flood of recollection. for the moment he did not notice how he had been trapped into speaking of himself, nor did he see the quiet content on iris's face when she elicited the information that his chief foe was a man. a certain tremulous hesitancy in her manner when she next spoke might have warned him, but his hungry soul caught only the warm sympathy of her words, which fell like rain on parched soil. "you are tired," she said. "won't you smoke for a little while, and talk to me?" he produced his pipe and tobacco, but he used his right hand awkwardly. it was evident to her alert eyes that the torn quick on his injured finger was hurting him a great deal. the exciting events of the morning had caused him temporarily to forget his wound, and the rapid coursing of the blood through the veins was now causing him agonized throbs. with a cry of distress she sprang to her feet and insisted upon washing the wound. then she tenderly dressed it with a strip of linen well soaked in brandy, thinking the while, with a sudden rush of color to her face, that although he could suggest this remedy for her slight hurt, he gave no thought to his own serious injury. finally she pounced upon his pipe and tobacco-box. "don't be alarmed," she laughed. "i have often filled my father's pipe for him. first, you put the tobacco in loosely, taking care not to use any that is too finely powdered. then you pack the remainder quite tightly. but i was nearly forgetting. i haven't blown, through the pipe to see if it is clean." she suited the action to the word, using much needless breath in the operation. "that is a first-rate pipe," she declared. "my father always said that a straight stem, with the bowl at a right angle, was the correct shape. you evidently agree with him." "absolutely." "you will like my father when you meet him. he is the very best man alive, i am sure." "you two are great friends, then?" "great friends! he is the only friend i possess in the world." "what! is that quite accurate?" "oh, quite. of course, mr. jenks, i can never forget how much i owe to you. i like you immensely, too, although you are so--so gruff to me at times. but--but--you see, my father and i have always been together. i have neither brother nor sister, not even a cousin. my dear mother died from some horrid fever when i was quite a little girl. my father is everything to me." "dear child!" he murmured, apparently uttering his thoughts aloud rather than addressing her directly. "so you find me gruff, eh?" "a regular bear, when you lecture me. but that is only occasionally. you can be very nice when you like, when you forget your past troubles. and pray, why do you call me a child? "have i done so?" "not a moment ago. how old are you, mr. jenks? i am twenty--twenty last december." "and i," he said, "will be twenty-eight in august." "good gracious!" she gasped. "i am very sorry, but i really thought you were forty at least." "i look it, no doubt. let me be equally candid and admit that you, too, show your age markedly." she smiled nervously. "what a lot of trouble you must have had to--to--to give you those little wrinkles in the corners of your mouth and eyes," she said. "wrinkles! how terrible!" "i don't know. i think they rather suit you; besides, it was stupid of me to imagine you were so old. i suppose exposure to the sun creates wrinkles, and you must have lived much in the open air." "early rising and late going to bed are bad for the complexion," he declared, solemnly. "i often wonder how army officers manage to exist," she said. "they never seem to get enough sleep, in the east, at any rate. i have seen them dancing for hours after midnight, and heard of them pig-sticking or schooling hunters at five o'clock next morning." "so you assume i have been in the army?" "i am quite sure of it." "may i ask why?" "your manner, your voice, your quiet air of authority, the very way you walk, all betray you." "then," he said sadly, "i will not attempt to deny the fact. i held a commission in the indian staff corps for nine years. it was a hobby of mine, miss deane, to make myself acquainted with the best means of victualing my men and keeping them in good health under all sorts of fanciful conditions and in every kind of climate, especially under circumstances when ordinary stores were not available. with that object in view i read up every possible country in which my regiment might be engaged, learnt the local names of common articles of food, and ascertained particularly what provision nature made to sustain life. the study interested me. once, during the soudan campaign, it was really useful, and procured me promotion." "tell me about it." "during some operations in the desert it was necessary for my troop to follow up a small party of rebels mounted on camels, which, as you probably know, can go without water much longer than horses. we were almost within striking distance, when our horses completely gave out, but i luckily noticed indications which showed that there was water beneath a portion of the plain much below the general level. half an hour's spade work proved that i was right. we took up the pursuit again, and ran the quarry to earth, and i got my captaincy." "was there no fight?" he paused an appreciable time before replying. then he evidently made up his mind to perform some disagreeable task. the watching girl could see the change in his face, the sharp transition from eager interest to angry resentment. "yes," he went on at last, "there was a fight. it was a rather stiff affair, because a troop of british cavalry which should have supported me had turned back, owing to the want of water already mentioned. but that did not save the officer in charge of the th lancers from being severely reprimanded." "the th lancers!" cried iris. "lord ventnor's regiment!" "lord ventnor was the officer in question." her face crimonsed. "then you know him?" she said. "i do." "is he your enemy?" "yes." "and that is why you were so agitated that last day on the _sirdar_, when poor lady tozer asked me if i were engaged to him?" "yes." "how could it affect you? you did not even know my name then?" poor iris! she did not stop to ask herself why she framed her question in such manner, but the sailor was now too profoundly moved to heed the slip. she could not tell how he was fighting with himself, fiercely beating down the inner barriers of self-love, sternly determined, once and for all, to reveal himself in such light to this beautiful and bewitching woman that in future she would learn to regard him only as an outcast whose company she must perforce tolerate until relief came. "it affected me because the sudden mention of his name recalled my own disgrace. i quitted the army six months ago, miss deane, under very painful circumstances. a general court-martial found me guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. i was not even given a chance to resign. i was cashiered." he pretended to speak with cool truculence. he thought to compel her into shrinking contempt. yet his face blanched somewhat, and though he steadily kept the pipe between his teeth, and smoked with studied unconcern, his lips twitched a little. and he dared not look at her, for the girl's wondering eyes were fixed upon him, and the blush had disappeared as quickly as it came. "i remember something of this," she said slowly, never once averting her gaze. "there was some gossip concerning it when i first came to hong kong. you are captain robert anstruther?" "i am." "and you publicly thrashed lord ventnor as the result of a quarrel about a woman?" "your recollection is quite accurate." "who was to blame?" "the lady said that i was." "was it true?" robert anstruther, late captain of bengal cavalry, rose to his feet. he preferred to take his punishment standing. "the court-martial agreed with her, miss deane, and i am a prejudiced witness," he replied. "who was the--lady?" "the wife of my colonel, mrs. costobell." "oh!" long afterwards he remembered the agony of that moment, and winced even at the remembrance. but he had decided upon a fixed policy, and he was not a man to flinch from consequences. miss deane must be taught to despise him, else, god help them both, she might learn to love him as he now loved her. so, blundering towards his goal as men always blunder where a woman's heart is concerned, he blindly persisted in allowing her to make such false deductions as she chose from his words. iris was the first to regain some measure of self-control. "i am glad you have been so candid, captain anstruther," she commenced, but he broke in abruptly-- "jenks, if you please, miss deane. robert jenks." there was a curious light in her eyes, but he did not see it, and her voice was marvelously subdued as she continued-- "certainly, mr. jenks. let me be equally explicit before we quit the subject. i have met mrs. costobell. i do not like her. i consider her a deceitful woman. your court-martial might have found a different verdict had its members been of her sex. as for lord ventnor, he is nothing to me. it is true he asked my father to be permitted to pay his addresses to me, but my dear old dad left the matter wholly to my decision, and i certainly never gave lord ventnor any encouragement. i believe now that mrs. costobell lied, and that lord ventnor lied, when they attributed any dishonorable action to you, and i am glad that you beat him in the club. i am quite sure he deserved it." not one word did this strange man vouchsafe in reply. he started violently, seized the axe lying at his feet, and went straight among the trees, keeping his face turned from iris so that she might not see the tears in his eyes. as for the girl, she began to scour her cooking utensils with much energy, and soon commenced a song. considering that she was compelled to constantly endure the company of a degraded officer, who had been expelled from the service with ignominy, she was absurdly contented. indeed, with the happy inconsequence of youth, she quickly threw all care to the winds, and devoted her thoughts to planning a surprise for the next day by preparing some tea, provided she could surreptitiously open the chest. chapter vii surprises before night closed their third day on the island jenks managed to construct a roomy tent-house, with a framework of sturdy trees selected on account of their location. to these he nailed or tied crossbeams of felled saplings; and the tarpaulins dragged from the beach supplied roof and walls. it required the united strength of iris and himself to haul into position the heavy sheet that topped the structure, whilst he was compelled to desist from active building operations in order to fashion a rough ladder. without some such contrivance he could not get the topmost supports adjusted at a sufficient height. although the edifice required at least two more days of hard work before it would be fit for habitation iris wished to take up her quarters there immediately. this the sailor would not hear of. "in the cave," he said, "you are absolutely sheltered from all the winds that blow or rain that falls. our villa, however, is painfully leaky and draughty at present. when asleep, the whole body is relaxed, and you are then most open to the attacks of cold or fever, in which case, miss deane, i shall be reluctantly obliged to dose you with a concoction of that tree there." he pointed to a neighboring cinchona, and iris naturally asked why he selected that particular brand. "because it is quinine, not made up in nice little tabloids, but _au naturel_. it will not be a bad plan if we prepare a strong infusion, and take a small quantity every morning on the excellent principle that prevention is better than cure." the girl laughed. "good gracious!" she said; "that reminds me--" but the words died away on her lips in sudden fright. they were standing on the level plateau in front of the cave, well removed from the trees, and they could see distinctly on all sides, for the sun was sinking in a cloudless sky and the air was preternaturally clear, being free now from the tremulous haze of the hot hours. across the smooth expanse of sandy ground came the agonized shrieks of a startled bird--a large bird, it would seem--winging its way towards them with incredible swiftness, and uttering a succession of loud full-voiced notes of alarm. yet the strange thing was that not a bird was to be seen. at that hour the ordinary feathered inhabitants of the island were quietly nestling among the branches preparatory to making a final selection of the night's resting-place. none of them would stir unless actually disturbed. iris drew near to the sailor. involuntarily she caught his arm. he stepped a half-pace in front of her to ward off any danger that might be heralded by this new and uncanny phenomenon. together they strained their eyes in the direction of the approaching sound, but apparently their sight was bewitched; as nothing whatever was visible. "oh, what is it?" wailed iris, who now clung to jenks in a state of great apprehension. the clucking noise came nearer, passed them within a yard, and was already some distance away towards the reef when the sailor burst into a hearty laugh, none the less genuine because of the relief it gave to his bewildered senses. reassured, but still white with fear, iris cried: "do speak, please, mr. jenks. what was it?" "a beetle!" he managed to gasp. "a beetle?" "yes, a small, insignificant-looking fellow, too--so small that i did not see him until he was almost out of range. he has the loudest voice for his size in the whole of creation. a man able to shout on the same scale could easily make himself heard for twenty miles." "then i do not like such beetles; i always hated them, but this latest variety is positively detestable. such nasty things ought to be kept in zoological gardens, and not turned loose. moreover, my tea will be boiled into spinach." nevertheless, the tea, though minus sugar or milk, was grateful enough and particularly acceptable to the sailor, who entertained iris with a disquisition on the many virtues of that marvelous beverage. curiously enough, the lifting of the veil upon the man's earlier history made these two much better friends. with more complete acquaintance there was far less tendency towards certain passages which, under ordinary conditions, could be construed as nothing else than downright flirtation. they made the pleasing discovery that they could both sing. there was hardly an opera in vogue that one or other did not know sufficiently well to be able to recall the chief musical numbers. iris had a sweet and sympathetic mezzo-soprano voice, jenks an excellent baritone, and, to the secret amazement of the girl, he rendered one or two well-known anglo-indian barrack-room ditties with much humor. this, then, was the _mise-en-scéne_. iris, seated in the broken saloon-chair, which the sailor had firmly wedged into the sand for her accommodation, was attired in a close-fitting costume selected from the small store of garments so wisely preserved by jenks. she wore a pair of clumsy men's boots several sizes too large for her. her hair was tied up in a gipsy knot on the back of her head, and the light of a cheerful log fire danced in her blue eyes. jenks, unshaven and ragged, squatted tailor wise near her. close at hand, on two sides, the shaggy walls of rock rose in solemn grandeur. the neighboring trees, decked now in the sable livery of night, were dimly outlined against the deep misty blue of sea and sky or wholly merged in the shadow of the cliffs. they lost themselves in the peaceful influences of the hour. shipwrecked, remote from human land, environed by dangers known or only conjectured, two solitary beings on a tiny island, thrown haphazard from the depths of the china sea, this young couple, after passing unscathed through perils unknown even to the writers of melodrama, lifted up their voices in the sheer exuberance of good spirits and abounding vitality. the girl was specially attracted by "the buffalo battery," a rollicking lyric known to all anglo-india from peshawur to tuticorin. the air is the familiar one of the "hen convention," and the opening verse runs in this wise: i love to hear the sepoy with his bold and martial tread, and the thud of the galloping cavalry re-echoes through my head. but sweeter far than any sound by mortal ever made is the tramp of the buffalo battery a-going to parade. _chorus_: for it's "hainya! hainya! hainya! hainya!" twist their tails and go. with a "hâthi! hâthi! hâthi!" ele-_phant_ and buffa_lo_, "chow-chow, chow-chow, chow-chow, chow-chow," "tèri ma!" "chel-lo!" oh, that's the way they shout all day, and drive the buffalo. iris would not be satisfied until she understood the meaning of the hindustani phrases, mastered the nasal pronunciation of "hainya," and placed the artificial accent on _phant_ and _lo_ in the second line of the chorus. jenks was concluding the last verse when there came, hurtling through the air, the weird cries of the singing beetle, returning, perchance, from successful foray on palm-tree rock. this second advent of the insect put an end to the concert. within a quarter of an hour they were asleep. thenceforth, for ten days, they labored unceasingly, starting work at daybreak and stopping only when the light failed, finding the long hours of sunshine all too short for the manifold tasks demanded of them, yet thankful that the night brought rest. the sailor made out a programme to which he rigidly adhered. in the first place, he completed the house, which had two compartments, an inner room in which iris slept, and an outer, which served as a shelter for their meals and provided a bedroom for the man. then he constructed a gigantic sky-sign on summit rock, the small cluster of boulders on top of the cliff. his chief difficulty was to hoist into place the tall poles he needed, and for this purpose he had to again visit palm-tree rock in order to secure the pulley. by exercising much ingenuity in devising shear-legs, he at last succeeded in lifting the masts into their allotted receptacles, where they were firmly secured. finally he was able to swing into air, high above the tops of the neighboring trees, the loftiest of which he felled in order to clear the view on all sides, the name of the ship _sirdar_, fashioned in six-foot letters nailed and spliced together in sections and made from the timbers of that ill-fated vessel. meanwhile he taught iris how to weave a net out of the strands of unraveled cordage. with this, weighted by bullets, he contrived a casting-net and caught a lot of small fish in the lagoon. at first they were unable to decide which varieties were edible, until a happy expedient occurred to the girl. "the seabirds can tell us," she said. "let us spread out our haul on the sands and leave them. by observing those specimens seized by the birds and those they reject we should not go far wrong." though her reasoning was not infallible it certainly proved to be a reliable guide in this instance. among the fish selected by the feathered connoisseurs they hit upon two species which most resembled whiting and haddock, and these turned out to be very palatable and wholesome. jenks knew a good deal of botany, and enough about birds to differentiate between carnivorous species and those fit for human food, whilst the salt in their most fortunate supply of hams rendered their meals almost epicurean. think of it, ye dwellers in cities, content with stale buns and leathery sandwiches when ye venture into the wilds of a railway refreshment-room, these two castaways, marooned by queer chance on a desert island, could sit down daily to a banquet of vegetable soup, fish, a roast bird, ham boiled or fried, and a sago pudding, the whole washed down by cool spring water, or, should the need arise, a draught of the best champagne! from the rusty rifles on the reef jenks brought away the bayonets and secured all the screws, bolts, and other small odds and ends which might be serviceable. from the barrels he built a handy grate to facilitate iris's cooking operations, and a careful search each morning amidst the ashes of any burnt wreckage accumulated a store of most useful nails. the pressing need for a safe yet accessible bathing place led him and the girl to devote one afternoon to a complete survey of the coast-line. by this time they had given names to all the chief localities. the northerly promontory was naturally christened north cape; the western, europa point; the portion of the reef between their habitation and palm-tree rock became filey brig; the other section north-west reef. the flat sandy passage across the island, containing the cave, house, and well, was named prospect park; and the extensive stretch of sand on the south-east, with its guard of broken reefs, was at once dubbed turtle beach when jenks discovered that an immense number of green turtles were paying their spring visit to the island to bury their eggs in the sand. the two began their tour of inspection by passing the scene of the first desperate struggle to escape from the clutch of the typhoon. iris would not be content until the sailor showed her the rock behind which he placed her for shelter whilst he searched for water. for a moment the recollection of their unfortunate companions on board ship brought a lump into her throat and dimmed her eyes. "i remember them in my prayers every night," she confided to him. "it seems so unutterably sad that they should be lost, whilst we are alive and happy." the man distracted her attention by pointing out the embers of their first fire. it was the only way to choke back the tumultuous feelings that suddenly stormed his heart. happy! yes, he had never before known such happiness. how long would it last? high up on the cliff swung the signal to anxious searchers of the sea that here would be found the survivors of the _sirdar_. and then, when rescue came, when miss deane became once more the daughter of a wealthy baronet, and he a disgraced and a nameless outcast--! he set his teeth and savagely struck at a full cup of the pitcher-plant which had so providentially relieved their killing thirst. "oh, why did you do that?" pouted iris. "poor thing! it was a true friend in need. i wish i could do something for it to make it the best and leafiest plant of its kind on the island." "very well!" he answered; "you can gratify your wish. a tinful of fresh water from the well, applied daily to its roots, will quickly achieve that end." the moroseness of his tone and manner surprised her. for once her quick intuition failed to divine the source of his irritation. "you give your advice ungraciously," she said, "but i will adopt it nevertheless." a harmless incident, a kindly and quite feminine resolve, yet big with fate for both of them. jenks's unwonted ill-humor--for the passage of days had driven from his face all its harshness, and from his tongue all its assumed bitterness--created a passing cloud until the physical exertion of scrambling over the rocks to round the north cape restored their normal relations. a strong current raced by this point to the south-east, and tore away the outlying spur of the headland to such an extent that the sailor was almost inclined to choose the easier way through the trees. yet he persevered, and it may be confessed that the opportunities thus afforded of grasping the girl's arm, of placing a steadying hand on her shoulder, were dominant factors in determining his choice. at last they reached the south side, and here they at once found themselves in a delightfully secluded and tiny bay, sandy, tree-lined, sheltered on three sides by cliffs and rocks. "oh," cried iris, excitedly, "what a lovely spot! a perfect smugglers' cove." "charming enough to look at," was the answering comment, "but open to the sea. if you look at the smooth riband of water out there, you will perceive a passage through the reef. a great place for sharks, miss deane, but no place for bathers." "good gracious! i had forgotten the sharks. i suppose they must live, horrid as they are, but i don't want them to dine on me." the mention of such disagreeable adjuncts to life on the island no longer terrified her. thus do english new-comers to india pass the first three months' residence in the country in momentary terror of snakes, and the remaining thirty years in complete forgetfulness of them. they passed on. whilst traversing the coral-strewn south beach, with its patches of white soft sand baking in the direct rays of the sun, jenks perceived traces of the turtle which swarmed in the neighboring sea. "delicious eggs and turtle soup!" he announced when iris asked him why he was so intently studying certain marks on the sand, caused by the great sea-tortoise during their nocturnal visits to the breeding-ground. "if they are green turtle," he continued, "we are in the lap of luxury. they lard the alderman and inspire the poet. when a ship comes to our assistance i will persuade the captain to freight the vessel with them and make my fortune." "i suppose, under the circumstances, you were not a rich man, mr. jenks," said iris, timidly. "i possess a wealthy bachelor uncle, who made me his heir and allowed me four hundred a year; so i was a sort of croesus among staff corps officers. when the smash came he disowned me by cable. by selling my ponies and my other belongings i was able to walk out of my quarters penniless but free from debt." "and all through a deceitful woman!" "yes." iris peeped at him from under the brim of her sou'wester. he seemed to be absurdly contented, so different was his tone in discussing a necessarily painful topic to the attitude he adopted during the attack on the pitcher-plant. she was puzzled, but ventured a further step. "was she very bad to you, mr. jenks?" he stopped and laughed--actually roared at the suggestion. "bad to me!" he repeated. "i had nothing to do with her. she was humbugging her husband, not me. fool that i was, i could not mind my own business." so mrs. costobell was not flirting with the man who suffered on her account. it is a regrettable but true statement that iris would willingly have hugged mrs. costobell at that moment. she walked on air during the next half-hour of golden silence, and jenks did not remind her that they were passing the gruesome valley of death. rounding europa point, the sailor's eyes were fixed on their immediate surroundings, but iris gazed dreamily ahead. hence it was that she was the first to cry in amazement-- "a boat! see, there! on the rocks!" there was no mistake. a ship's boat was perched high and dry on the north side of the cape. even as they scrambled towards it jenks understood how it had come there. when the _sirdar_ parted amidships the after section fell back into the depths beyond the reef, and this boat must have broken loose from its davits and been driven ashore here by the force of the western current. was it intact? could they escape? was this ark stranded on the island for their benefit? if it were seaworthy, whither should they steer--to those islands whose blue outlines were visible on the horizon? these and a hundred other questions coursed through his brain during the race over the rocks, but all such wild speculations were promptly settled when they reached the craft, for the keel and the whole of the lower timbers were smashed into matchwood. but there were stores on board. jenks remembered that captain ross's foresight had secured the provisioning of all the ship's boats soon after the first wild rush to steady the vessel after the propeller was lost. masts, sails, oars, seats--all save two water-casks--had gone; but jenks, with eager hands, unfastened the lockers, and here he found a good supply of tinned meats and biscuits. they had barely recovered from the excitement of this find when the sailor noticed that behind the rocks on which the craft was firmly lodged lay a small natural basin full of salt water, replenished and freshened by the spray of every gale, and completely shut off from all seaward access. it was not more than four feet deep, beautifully carpeted with sand, and secluded by rocks on all sides. not the tiniest crab or fish was to be seen. it provided an ideal bath. iris was overjoyed. she pointed towards their habitation. "mr. jenks," she said, "i will be with you at tea-time." he gathered all the tins he was able to carry and strode off, enjoining her to fire her revolver if for the slightest reason she wanted assistance, and giving a parting warning that if she delayed too long he would come and shout to her. "i wonder," said the girl to herself, watching his retreating figure, "what he is afraid of. surely by this time we have exhausted the unpleasant surprises of the island. anyhow, now for a splash!" she was hardly in the water before she began to be afraid on account of jenks. suppose anything happened to him whilst she was thoughtlessly enjoying herself here. so strongly did the thought possess her that she hurriedly dressed again and ran off to find him. he was engaged in fastening a number of bayonets transversely to a long piece of timber. "what are you doing that for?" she asked. "why did you return so soon? did anything alarm you?" "i thought you might get into mischief," she confessed. "no. on the other hand, i am trying to make trouble for any unwelcome visitors," he replied. "this is a _cheval de frise_, which i intend to set up in front of our cave in case we are compelled to defend ourselves against an attack by savages. with this barring the way they cannot rush the position." she sighed. rainbow island was a wild spot after all. did not thorns and briers grow very close to the gates of eden? on the nineteenth day of their residence on the island the sailor climbed, as was his invariable habit, to the summit rock whilst iris prepared breakfast. at this early hour the horizon was clearly cut as the rim of a sapphire. he examined the whole arc of the sea with his glasses, but not a sail was in sight. according to his calculations, the growing anxiety as to the fate of the _sirdar_ must long ere this have culminated in the dispatch from hong kong or singapore of a special search vessel, whilst british warships in the china sea would be warned to keep a close lookout for any traces of the steamer, to visit all islands on their route, and to question fishermen whom they encountered. so help might come any day, or it might be long deferred. he could not pierce the future, and it was useless to vex his soul with questionings as to what might happen next week. the great certainty of the hour was iris--the blue-eyed, smiling divinity who had come into his life--waiting for him down there beyond the trees, waiting to welcome him with a sweet-voiced greeting; and he knew, with a fierce devouring joy, that her cheek would not pale nor her lip tremble when he announced that at least another sun must set before the expected relief reached them. he replaced the glasses in their case and dived into the wood, giving a passing thought to the fact that the wind, after blowing steadily from the south for nearly a week, had veered round to the north-east during the night. did the change portend a storm? well, they were now prepared for all such eventualities, and he had not forgotten that they possessed, among other treasures, a box of books for rainy days. and a rainy day with iris for company! what gale that ever blew could offer such compensation for enforced idleness? the morning sped in uneventful work. iris did not neglect her cherished pitcher-plant. after luncheon it was her custom now to carry a dishful of water to its apparently arid roots, and she rose to fulfil her self-imposed task. "let me help you," said jenks. "i am not very busy this afternoon." "no, thank you. i simply won't allow you to touch that shrub. the dear thing looks quite glad to see me. it drinks up the water as greedily as a thirsty animal." "even a cabbage has a heart, miss deane." she laughed merrily. "i do believe you are offering me a compliment," she said. "i must indeed have found favor in your eyes." he had schooled himself to resist the opening given by this class of retort, so he turned to make some corrections in the scale of the sun-dial he had constructed, aided therein by daily observations with the sextant left by the former inhabitant of the cave. iris had been gone perhaps five minutes when he heard a distant shriek, twice repeated, and then there came faintly to his ears his own name, not "jenks," but "robert," in the girl's voice. something terrible had happened. it was a cry of supreme distress. mortal agony or overwhelming terror alone could wring that name from her lips. precisely in such moments this man acted with the decision, the unerring judgment, the instantaneous acceptance of great risk to accomplish great results, that marked him out as a born soldier. he rushed into the house and snatched from the rifle-rack one of the six lee-metfords reposing there in apple-pie order, each with a filled magazine attached and a cartridge already in position. then he ran, with long swift strides, not through the trees, where he could see nothing, but towards the beach, whence, in forty yards, the place where iris probably was would become visible. at once he saw her, struggling in the grasp of two ferocious-looking dyaks, one, by his garments, a person of consequence, the other a half-naked savage, hideous and repulsive in appearance. around them seven men, armed with guns and parangs, were dancing with excitement. iris's captors were endeavoring to tie her arms, but she was a strong and active englishwoman, with muscles well knit by the constant labor of recent busy days and a frame developed by years of horse-riding and tennis-playing. the pair evidently found her a tough handful, and the inferior dyak, either to stop her screams--for she was shrieking "robert, come to me!" with all her might--or to stifle her into submission, roughly placed his huge hand over her mouth. these things the sailor noticed instantly. some men, brave to rashness, ready as he to give his life to save her, would have raced madly over the intervening ground, scarce a furlong, and attempted a heroic combat of one against nine. not so jenks. with the methodical exactness of the parade-ground he settled down on one knee and leveled the rifle. at that range the lee-metford bullet travels practically point-blank. usually it is deficient in "stopping" power, but he had provided against this little drawback by notching all the cartridges in the six rifles after the effective manner devised by an expert named thomas atkins during the tirah campaign. none of the dyaks saw him. all were intent on the sensational prize they had secured, a young and beautiful white woman so contentedly roaming about the shores of this fetish island. with the slow speed advised by the roman philosopher, the backsight and foresight of the lee-metford came into line with the breast of the coarse brute clutching the girl's face. then something bit him above the heart and simultaneously tore half of his back into fragments. he fell, with a queer sob, and the others turned to face this unexpected danger. iris, knowing only that she was free from that hateful grasp, wrenched herself free from the chief's hold, and ran with all her might along the beach, to jenks and safety. again, and yet again, the rifle gave its short, sharp snarl, and two more dyaks collapsed on the sand. six were left, their leader being still unconsciously preserved from death by the figure of the flying girl. a fourth dyak dropped. the survivors, cruel savages but not cowards, unslung their guns. the sailor, white-faced, grim, with an unpleasant gleam in his deep-set eyes and a lower jaw protruding, noticed their preparations. "to the left!" he shouted. "run towards the trees!" iris heard him and strove to obey. but her strength was failing her, and she staggered blindly. after a few despairing efforts she lurched feebly to her knees, and tumbled face downwards on the broken coral that had tripped her faltering footsteps. jenks was watching her, watching the remaining dyaks, from whom a spluttering volley came, picking out his quarry with the murderous ease of a terrier in a rat-pit. something like a bee in a violent hurry hummed past his ear, and a rock near his right foot was struck a tremendous blow by an unseen agency. he liked this. it would be a battle, not a battue. the fifth dyak crumpled into the distortion of death, and then their leader took deliberate aim at the kneeling marksman who threatened to wipe him and his band out of existence. but his deliberation, though skilful, was too profound. the sailor fired first, and was professionally astonished to see the gaudily attired individual tossed violently backward for many yards, finally pitching headlong to the earth. had he been charged by a bull in full career he could not have been more utterly discomfited. the incident was sensational but inexplicable. yet another member of the band was prostrated ere the two as yet unscathed thought fit to beat a retreat. this they now did with celerity, but they dragged their chief with them. it was no part of jenks's programme to allow them to escape. he aimed again at the man nearest the trees. there was a sharp click and nothing more. the cartridge was a mis-fire. he hastily sought to eject it, and the rifle jammed. these little accidents will happen, even in a good weapon like the lee-metford. springing to his feet with a yell he ran forward. the flying men caught a glimpse of him and accelerated their movements. just as he reached iris they vanished among the trees. slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he picked up the girl in his arms. she was conscious, but breathless. "you are not hurt?" he gasped, his eyes blazing into her face with an intensity that she afterwards remembered as appalling. "no," she whispered. "listen," he continued in labored jerks. "try and obey me--exactly. i will carry you--to the cave. stop there. shoot any one you see--till i come." she heard him wonderingly. was he going to leave her, now that he had her safely clasped to his breast? impossible! ah, she understood. those men must have landed in a boat. he intended to attack them again. he was going to fight them single-handed, and she would not know what happened to him until it was all over. gradually her vitality returned. she almost smiled at the fantastic conceit that _she_ would desert _him_. jenks placed her on her feet at the entrance to the cave. "you understand," he cried, and without waiting for an answer, ran to the house for another rifle. this time, to her amazement, he darted back through prospect park towards the south beach. the sailor knew that the dyaks had landed at the sandy bay iris had christened smugglers' cove. they were acquainted with the passage through the reef and came from the distant islands. now they would endeavor to escape by the same channel. they must be prevented at all costs. he was right. as they came out into the open he saw three men, not two, pushing off a large sampan. one of them, _mirabile dictu_, was the chief. then jenks understood that his bullet had hit the lock of the dyak's uplifted weapon, with the result already described. by a miracle he had escaped. he coolly prepared to slay the three of them with the same calm purpose that distinguished the opening phase of this singularly one-sided conflict. the distance was much greater, perhaps yards from the point where the boat came into view. he knelt and fired. he judged that the missile struck the craft between the trio. "i didn't allow for the sun on the side of the foresight," he said. "or perhaps i am a bit shaky after the run. in any event they can't go far." a hurrying step on the coral behind him caught his ear. instantly he sprang up and faced about--to see iris. "they are escaping," she said. "no fear of that," he replied, turning away from her. "where are the others?" "dead!" "do you mean that you killed nearly all those men?" "six of them. there were nine in all." he knelt again, lifting the rifle. iris threw herself on her knees by his side. there was something awful to her in this chill and business-like declaration of a fixed purpose. "mr. jenks," she said, clasping her hands in an agony of entreaty, "do not kill more men for my sake!" "for my own sake, then," he growled, annoyed at the interruption, as the sampan was afloat. "then i ask you for god's sake not to take another life. what you have already done was unavoidable, perhaps right. this is murder!" he lowered his weapon and looked at her. "if those men get away they will bring back a host to avenge their comrades--and secure you," he added. "it may be the will of providence for such a thing to happen. yet i implore you to spare them." he placed the rifle on the sand and raised her tenderly, for she had yielded to a paroxysm of tears. not another word did either of them speak in that hour. the large triangular sail of the sampan was now bellying out in the south wind. a figure stood up in the stern of the boat and shook a menacing arm at the couple on the beach. it was the malay chief, cursing them with the rude eloquence of his barbarous tongue. and jenks well knew what he was saying. chapter viii preparations they looked long and steadfastly at the retreating boat. soon it diminished to a mere speck on the smooth sea. the even breeze kept its canvas taut, and the sailor knew that no ruse was intended--the dyaks were flying from the island in fear and rage. they would return with a force sufficient to insure the wreaking of their vengeance. that he would again encounter them at no distant date jenks had no doubt whatever. they would land in such numbers as to render any resistance difficult and a prolonged defence impossible. would help come first?--a distracting question to which definite answer could not be given. the sailor's brow frowned in deep lines; his brain throbbed now with an anxiety singularly at variance with his cool demeanor during the fight. he was utterly unconscious that his left arm encircled the shoulder of the girl until she gently disengaged herself and said appealingly-- "please, mr. jenks, do not be angry with me. i could not help it. i could not bear to see you shoot them." then he abruptly awoke to the realities of the moment. "come." he said, his drawn features relaxing into a wonderfully pleasing smile. "we will return to our castle. we are safe for the remainder of this day, at any rate." something must be said or done to reassure her. she was still grievously disturbed, and he naturally ascribed her agitation to the horror of her capture. he dreaded a complete collapse if any further alarms threatened at once. yet he was almost positive--though search alone would set at rest the last misgiving--that only one sampan had visited the island. evidently the dyaks were unprepared as he for the events of the preceding half-hour. they were either visiting the island to procure turtle and _bêche-de-mer_ or had merely called there _en route_ to some other destination, and the change in the wind had unexpectedly compelled them to put ashore. beyond all doubt they must have been surprised by the warmth of the reception they encountered. probably, when he went to summit rock that morning, the savages had lowered their sail and were steadily paddling north against wind and current. the most careful scrutiny of the sea would fail to reveal them beyond a distance of six or seven miles at the utmost. after landing in the hidden bay on the south side, they crossed the island through the trees instead of taking the more natural open way along the beach. why? the fact that he and iris were then passing the grown-over tract leading to the valley of death instantly determined this point. the dyaks knew of this affrighting hollow, and would not approach any nearer to it than was unavoidable. could he twist this circumstance to advantage if iris and he were still stranded there when the superstitious sea-rovers next put in an appearance? he would see. all depended on the girl's strength. if she gave way now--if, instead of taking instant measures for safety, he were called upon to nurse her through a fever--the outlook became not only desperate but hopeless. and, whilst he bent his brows in worrying thought, the color was returning to iris's cheeks, and natural buoyancy to her step. it is the fault of all men to underrate the marvelous courage and constancy of woman in the face of difficulties and trials. jenks was no exception to the rule. "you do not ask me for any account of my adventures," she said quietly, after watching his perplexed expression in silence for some time. her tone almost startled him, its unassumed cheerfulness was so unlooked for. "no," he answered. "i thought you were too overwrought to talk of them at present." "overwrought! not a bit of it! i was dead beat with the struggle and with screaming for you, but please don't imagine that i am going to faint or treat you to a display of hysteria now that all the excitement has ended. i admit that i cried a little when you pushed me aside on the beach and raised your gun to fire at those poor wretches flying for their lives. yet perhaps i was wrong to hinder you." "you were wrong," he gravely interrupted. "then you should not have heeded me. no, i don't mean that. you always consider me first, don't you? no matter what i ask you to do you endeavor to please me, even when you know all the time that i am acting or speaking foolishly." the unthinking _naïveté_ of her words sent the blood coursing wildly through his veins. "never mind," she went on with earnest simplicity. "god has been very good to us. i cannot believe that he has preserved us from so many dangers to permit us to perish miserably a few hours, or days, before help comes. and i _do_ want to tell you exactly what happened." "then you shall," he answered. "but first drink this." they had reached their camping-ground, and he hastened to procure a small quantity of brandy. she swallowed the spirit with a protesting _moue_. she really needed no such adventitious support, she said. "all right," commented jenks. "if you don't want a drink, i do." "i can quite believe it," she retorted. "_your_ case is very different. _i_ knew the men would not hurt me--after the first shock of their appearance had passed, i mean--i also knew that you would save me. but you, mr. jenks, had to do the fighting. you were called upon to rescue precious me. good gracious! no wonder you were excited." the sailor mentally expressed his inability to grasp the complexities of feminine nature, but iris rattled on---- "i carried my tin of water to the pitcher-plant, and was listening to the greedy roots gurgling away for dear life, when suddenly four men sprang out from among the trees and seized my arms before i could reach my revolver." "thank heaven you failed." "you think that if i had fired at them they would have retaliated. yes, especially if i had hit the chief. but it was he who instantly gave some order, and i suppose it meant that they were not to hurt me. as a matter of fact, they seemed to be quite as much astonished as i was alarmed. but if they could hold my hands they could not stop my voice so readily. oh! didn't i yell?" "you did." "i suppose you could not hear me distinctly?" "quite distinctly." "every word?" "yes." she bent to pick some leaves and bits of dry grass from her dress. "well, you know," she continued rapidly, "in such moments one cannot choose one's words. i just shouted the first thing that came into my head." "and i," he said, "picked up the first rifle i could lay hands on. now, miss deane, as the affair has ended so happily, may i venture to ask you to remain in the cave until i return?" "oh, please--" she began. "really, i must insist. i would not leave you if it were not quite imperative. you _cannot_ come with me." then she understood one at least of the tasks he must perform, and she meekly obeyed. he thought it best to go along turtle beach to the cove, and thence follow the dyaks' trail through the wood, as this line of advance would entail practically a complete circuit of the island. he omitted no precautions in his advance. often he stopped and listened intently. whenever he doubled a point or passed among the trees he crept back and peered along the way he had come, to see if any lurking foes were breaking shelter behind him. the marks on the sand proved that only one sampan had been beached. thence he found nothing of special interest until he came upon the chief's gun, lying close to the trees on the north side. it was a very ornamental weapon, a muzzle-loader. the stock was inlaid with gold and ivory, and the piece had evidently been looted from some mandarin's junk surprised and sacked in a former foray. the lock was smashed by the impact of the lee-metford bullet, but close investigation of the trigger-guard, and the discovery of certain unmistakable evidences on the beach, showed that the dyak leader had lost two if not three fingers of his right hand. "so he has something more than his passion to nurse," mused jenks. "that at any rate is fortunate. he will be in no mood for further enterprise for some time to come." he dreaded lest any of the dyaks should be only badly wounded and likely to live. it was an actual relief to his nerves to find that the improvised dum-dums had done their work too well to permit anxiety on that score. on the principle that a "dead injun is a good injun" these dyaks were good dyaks. he gathered the guns, swords and krisses of the slain, with all their uncouth belts and ornaments. in pursuance of a vaguely defined plan of future action he also divested some of the men of their coarse garments, and collected six queer-looking hats, shaped like inverted basins. these things he placed in a heap near the pitcher-plants. thenceforth, for half an hour, the placid surface of the lagoon was disturbed by the black dorsal fins of many sharks. to one of the sailor's temperament there was nothing revolting in the concluding portion of his task. he had a god-given right to live. it was his paramount duty, remitted only by death itself, to endeavor to save iris from the indescribable fate from which no power could rescue her if ever she fell into the hands of these vindictive savages. therefore it was war between him and them, war to the bitter end, war with no humane mitigation of its horrors and penalties, the last dread arbitrament of man forced to adopt the methods of the tiger. his guess at the weather conditions heralded by the change of wind was right. as the two partook of their evening meal the complaining surf lashed the reef, and the tremulous branches of the taller trees voiced the approach of a gale. a tropical storm, not a typhoon, but a belated burst of the periodic rains, deluged the island before midnight. hours earlier iris retired, utterly worn by the events of the day. needless to say, there was no singing that evening. the gale chanted a wild melody in mournful chords, and the noise of the watery downpour on the tarpaulin roof of belle vue castle was such as to render conversation impossible, save in wearying shouts. luckily, jenks's carpentry was effective, though rough. the building was water-tight, and he had calked every crevice with unraveled rope until iris's apartment was free from the tiniest draught. the very fury of the external turmoil acted as a lullaby to the girl. she was soon asleep, and the sailor was left to his thoughts. sleep he could not. he smoked steadily, with a magnificent prodigality, for his small stock of tobacco was fast diminishing. he ransacked his brains to discover some method of escape from this enchanted island, where fairies jostled with demons, and hours of utter happiness found their bane in moments of frightful peril. of course he ought to have killed those fellows who escaped. their sampan might have provided a last desperate expedient if other savages effected a landing. well, there was no use in being wise after the event, and, scheme as he might, he could devise no way to avoid disaster during the next attack. this, he felt certain, would take place at night. the dyaks would land in force, rush the cave and hut, and overpower him by sheer numbers. the fight, if fight there was, would be sharp, but decisive. perhaps, if he received some warning, iris and he might retreat in the darkness to the cover of the trees. a last stand could be made among the boulders on summit rock. but of what avail to purchase their freedom until daylight? and then---- if ever man wrestled with desperate problem, jenks wrought that night. he smoked and pondered until the storm passed, and, with the changefulness of a poet's muse, a full moon flooded the island in glorious radiance. he rose, opened the door, and stood without, listening for a little while to the roaring of the surf and the crash of the broken coral swept from reef and shore by the backwash. the petty strife of the elements was soothing to him. "they are snarling like whipped dogs," he said aloud. "one might almost fancy her ladyship the moon appearing on the scene as a uranian venus, cowing sea and storm by the majesty of her presence." pleased with the conceit, he looked steadily at the brilliant luminary for some time. then his eyes were attracted by the strong lights thrown upon the rugged face of the precipice into which the cavern burrowed. unconsciously relieving his tired senses, he was idly wondering what trick of color turner would have adopted to convey those sharp yet weirdly beautiful contrasts, when suddenly he uttered a startled exclamation. "by jove!" he murmured. "i never noticed that before." the feature which so earnestly claimed his attention was a deep ledge, directly over the mouth of the cave, but some forty feet from the ground. behind it the wall of rock sloped darkly inwards, suggesting a recess extending by haphazard computation at least a couple of yards. it occurred to him that perhaps the fault in the interior of the tunnel had its outcrop here, and the deodorizing influences of rain and sun had extended the weak point thus exposed in the bold panoply of stone. he surveyed the ledge from different points of view. it was quite inaccessible, and most difficult to estimate accurately from the ground level. the sailor was a man of action. he chose the nearest tall tree and began to climb. he was not eight feet from the ground before several birds flew out from its leafy recesses, filling the air with shrill clucking. "the devil take them!" he growled, for he feared that the commotion would awaken iris. he was still laboriously worming his way through the inner maze of branches when a well-known voice reached him from the ground. "mr. jenks, what on earth are you doing up there?" "oh! so those wretched fowls aroused you?" he replied. "yes; but why did you arouse them?" "i had a fancy to roost by way of a change" "please be serious." "i am more than serious. this tree grows a variety of small sharp thorn that induces a maximum of gravity--before one takes the next step." "but why do you keep on climbing?" "it is sheer lunacy, i admit. yet on such a moonlit night there is some reasonable ground for even a mad excuse." "mr. jenks, tell me at once what you are doing." iris strove to be severe, but there was a touch of anxiety in her tone that instantly made the sailor apologetic. he told her about the ledge, and explained his half-formed notion that here they might secure a safe retreat in case of further attack--a refuge from which they might defy assault during many days. it was, he said, absolutely impossible to wait until the morning. he must at once satisfy himself whether the project was impracticable or worthy of further investigation. so the girl only enjoined him to be careful, and he vigorously renewed the climb. at last, some twenty-five feet from the ground, an accidental parting in the branches enabled him to get a good look at the ledge. one glance set his heart beating joyously. it was at least fifteen feet in length; it shelved back until its depth was lost in the blackness of the shadows, and the floor must be either nearly level or sloping slightly inwards to the line of the fault. the place was a perfect eagle's nest. a chamois could not reach it from any direction; it became accessible to man only by means of a ladder or a balloon. more excited by this discovery than he cared for iris to know, he endeavored to appear unconcerned when he regained the ground. "well," she said, "tell me all about it." he described the nature of the cavity as well as he understood it at the moment, and emphasized his previous explanation of its virtues. here they might reasonably hope to make a successful stand against the dyaks. "then you feel sure that those awful creatures will come back?" she said slowly. "only too sure, unfortunately." "how remorseless poor humanity is when the veneer is stripped off! why cannot they leave us in peace? i suppose they now cherish a blood feud against us. perhaps, if i had not been here, they would not have injured you. somehow i seem to be bound up with your misfortunes." "i would not have it otherwise were it in my power," he answered. for an instant he left unchallenged the girl's assumption that she was in any way responsible for the disasters which had broken up his career. he looked into her eyes and almost forgot himself. then the sense of fair dealing that dominates every true gentleman rose within him and gripped his wavering emotions with ruthless force. was this a time to play upon the high-strung sensibilities of this youthful daughter of the gods, to seek to win from her a confession of love that a few brief days or weeks might prove to be only a spasmodic, but momentarily all-powerful, gratitude for the protection he had given her? and he spoke aloud, striving to laugh, lest his words should falter-- "you can console yourself with the thought, miss deane, that your presence on the island will in no way affect my fate at the hands of the dyaks. had they caught me unprepared today my head would now be covered with a solution of the special varnish they carry on every foreign expedition." "varnish?" she exclaimed. "yes, as a preservative, you understand." "and yet these men are human beings!" "for purposes of classification, yes. keeping to strict fact, it was lucky for me that you raised the alarm, and gave me a chance to discount the odds of mere numbers. so, you see, you really did me a good turn." "what can be done now to save our lives? anything will be better than to await another attack." "the first thing to do is to try to get some sleep before daylight. how did you know i was not in the castle?" "i cannot tell you. i awoke and knew you were not near me. if i wake in the night i can always tell whether or not you are in the next room. so i dressed and came out." "ah!" he said, quietly. "evidently i snore." this explanation killed romance. iris retreated and the sailor, tired out at last, managed to close his weary eyes. next morning he hastily constructed a pole of sufficient length and strong enough to bear his weight, by tying two sturdy young trees together with ropes. iris helped him to raise it against the face of the precipice, and he at once climbed to the ledge. here he found his observations of the previous night abundantly verified. the ledge was even wider than he dared to hope, nearly ten feet deep in one part, and it sloped sharply downwards from the outer lip of the rock. by lying flat and carefully testing all points of view, he ascertained that the only possible positions from which even a glimpse of the interior floor could be obtained were the branches of a few tall trees and the extreme right of the opposing precipice, nearly ninety yards distant. there was ample room to store water and provisions, and he quickly saw that even some sort of shelter from the fierce rays of the sun and the often piercing cold of the night might be achieved by judiciously rigging up a tarpaulin. "this is a genuine bit of good luck," he mused. "here, provided neither of us is hit, we can hold out for a week or longer, at a pinch. how can it be possible that i should have lived on this island so many days and yet hit upon this nook of safety by mere chance, as it were?" not until he reached the level again could he solve the puzzle. then he perceived that the way in which the cliff bulged out on both sides prevented the ledge from becoming evident in profile, whilst, seen _en plein face_ in the glare of the sunlight, it suggested nothing more than a slight indentation. he rapidly sketched to iris the defensive plan which the eagle's nest suggested. access must be provided by means of a rope-ladder, securely fastened inside the ledge, and capable of being pulled up or let down at the will of the occupants. then the place must be kept constantly stocked with a judicious supply of provisions, water, and ammunition. they could be covered with a tarpaulin, and thus kept in fairly good condition. "we ought to sleep there every night," he went on, and his mind was so engrossed with the tactical side of the preparations that he did not notice how iris blanched at the suggestion. "surely not until danger actually threatens?" she cried. "danger threatens us each hour after sunset. it may come any night, though i expect at least a fortnight's reprieve. nevertheless, i intend to act as if tonight may witness the first shot of the siege." "do you mean that?" she sighed. "and my little room is becoming so very cozy!" belle vue castle, their two-roomed hut, was already a home to them. jenks always accepted her words literally. "well," he announced, after a pause, "it may not be necessary to take up our quarters there until the eleventh hour. after i have hoisted up our stores and made the ladder, i will endeavor to devise an efficient cordon of sentinels around our position. we will see." not another word could iris get out of him on the topic. indeed, he provided her with plenty of work. by this time she could splice a rope more neatly than her tutor, and her particular business was to prepare no less than sixty rungs for the rope-ladder. this was an impossible task for one day, but after dinner the sailor helped her. they toiled late, until their fingers were sore and their backbones creaked as they sat upright. meanwhile jenks swarmed up the pole again, and drew up after him a crowbar, the sledge-hammer, and the pickaxe. with these implements he set to work to improve the accommodation. of course he did not attempt seriously to remove any large quantity of rock, but there were projecting lumps here and inequalities of floor there which could be thumped or pounded out of existence. it was surprising to see what a clearance he made in an hour. the existence of the fault helped him a good deal, as the percolation of water at this point had oxidized the stone to rottenness. to his great joy he discovered that a few prods with the pick laid bare a small cavity which could be easily enlarged. here he contrived a niche where iris could remain in absolute safety when barricaded by stores, whilst, with a squeeze, she was entirely sheltered from the one dangerous point on the opposite cliff, nor need she be seen from the trees. having hauled into position two boxes of ammunition--for which he had scooped out a special receptacle--the invaluable water-kegs from the stranded boat, several tins of biscuits and all the tinned meats, together with three bottles of wine and two of brandy, he hastily abandoned the ledge and busied himself with fitting a number of gun-locks to heavy faggots. iris watched his proceedings in silence for some time. at last the interval for luncheon enabled her to demand an explanation. "if you don't tell me at once what you intend to do with those strange implements," she said, "i will form myself into an amalgamated engineer and come out on strike." "if you do," he answered, "you will create a precedent. there is no recorded case of a laborer claiming what he calls his rights when his life is at stake. even an american tramp has been known to work like a fiend under that condition." "simply because an american tramp tries, like every other mere male, to be logical. a woman is more heroic. i once read of a french lady being killed during an earthquake because she insisted on going into a falling house to rescue that portion of her hair which usually rested on the dressing-table whilst she was asleep." "i happen to know," he said, "that you are personally unqualified to emulate her example." she laughed merrily, so lightly did yesterday's adventure sit upon her. the allusion to her disheveled state when they were thrown ashore by the typhoon simply impressed her as amusing. thus quickly had she become inured to the strange circumstances of a new life. "i withdraw the threat and substitute a more genuine plea--curiosity," she cried. "then you will be gratified promptly. these are our sentinels. come with me to allot his post to the most distant one." he picked up a faggot with its queer attachment, shouldered a lee-metford, and smiled when he saw the business-like air with which iris slung a revolver around her waist. they walked rapidly to smugglers' cove, and the girl soon perceived the ingenuity of his automatic signal. he securely bound the block of wood to a tree where it was hidden by the undergrowth. breaking the bullet out of a cartridge, he placed the blank charge in position in front of the striker, the case being firmly clasped by a bent nail. to the trigger, the spring of which he had eased to a slight pressure, he attached a piece of unraveled rope, and this he carefully trained among the trees at a height of six inches from the ground, using as carriers nails driven into the trunks. the ultimate result was that a mere swish of iris's dress against the taut cord exploded the cartridge. "there!" he exclaimed, exultantly. "when i have driven stakes into the sand to the water's edge on both sides of the cove, i will defy them to land by night without giving us warning." "do you know," said iris, in all seriousness, "i think you are the cleverest man in the world." "my dear miss deane, that is not at all a trades unionist sentiment. equality is the key-note of their propaganda." nevertheless he was manifestly pleased by the success of his ingenious contrivance, and forthwith completed the cordon. to make doubly sure, he set another snare further within the trees. he was certain the dyaks would not pass along turtle beach if they could help it. by this time the light was failing. "that will suffice for the present," he told the girl. "tomorrow we will place other sentries in position at strategic points. then we can sleep in the castle with tolerable safety." by the meager light of the tiny lamp they labored sedulously at the rope-ladder until iris's eyes were closing with sheer weariness. neither of them had slept much during the preceding night, and they were both completely tired. it was with a very weak little smile that the girl bade him "good night," and they were soon wrapped in that sound slumber which comes only from health, hard work, and wholesome fare. the first streaks of dawn were tipping the opposite crags with roseate tints when the sailor was suddenly aroused by what he believed to be a gunshot. he could not be sure. he was still collecting his scattered senses, straining eyes and ears intensely, when there came a second report. then he knew what had happened. the sentries on the smugglers' cove post were faithful to their trust. the enemy was upon them. at such a moment jenks was not a man who prayed. indeed, he was prone to invoke the nether powers, a habit long since acquired by the british army, in flanders, it is believed. there was not a moment to be lost. he rushed into iris's room, and gathered in his arms both her and the weird medley of garments that covered her. he explained to the protesting girl, as he ran with her to the foot of the rock, that she must cling to his shoulders with unfaltering courage whilst he climbed to the ledge with the aid of the pole and the rope placed there the previous day. it was a magnificent feat of strength that he essayed. in calmer moments he would have shrunk from its performance, if only on the score of danger to the precious burden he carried. now there was no time for thought. up he went, hand over hand, clinging to the rough pole with the tenacity of a limpet, and taking a turn of the rope over his right wrist at each upward clutch. at last, breathless but triumphant, he reached the ledge, and was able to gasp his instructions to iris to crawl over his bent back and head until she was safely lodged on the broad platform of rock. then, before she could expostulate, he descended, this time for the rifles. these he hastily slung to the rope, again swarmed up the pole, and drew the guns after him with infinite care. even in the whirl of the moment he noticed that iris had managed to partially complete her costume. "now we are ready for them," he growled, lying prone on the ledge and eagerly scanning both sides of prospect park for a first glimpse of their assailants. for two shivering hours they waited there, until the sun was high over the cliff and filled sea and land with his brightness. at last, despite the girl's tears and prayers, jenks insisted on making a reconnaissance in person. let this portion of their adventures be passed over with merciful brevity. both watch-guns had been fired by the troupe of tiny wou-wou monkeys! iris did not know whether to laugh or cry, when jenks, with much difficulty, lowered her to mother earth again, and marveled the while how he had managed to carry forty feet into the air a young woman who weighed so solidly. they sat down to a belated breakfast, and jenks then became conscious that the muscles of his arms, legs, and back were aching hugely. it was by that means he could judge the true extent of his achievement. iris, too, realized it gradually, but, like the frenchwoman in the earthquake, she was too concerned with memories of her state of deshabille to appreciate, all at once, the incidents of the dawn. chapter ix the secret of the cave the sailor went after those monkeys in a mood of relentless severity. thus far, the regular denizens of rainbow island had dwelt together in peace and mutual goodwill, but each diminutive wou-wou must be taught not to pull any strings he found tied promiscuously to trees or stakes. as a preliminary essay, jenks resolved to try force combined with artifice. failing complete success, he would endeavor to kill every monkey in the place, though he had in full measure the inherent dislike of anglo-india to the slaying of the tree-people. this, then, is what he did. after filling a biscuit tin with good-sized pebbles, he donned a dyak hat, blouse, and belt, rubbed earth over his face and hands, and proceeded to pelt the wou-wous mercilessly. for more than an hour he made their lives miserable, until at the mere sight of him they fled, shrieking and gurgling like a thousand water-bottles. finally he constructed several dyak scarecrows and erected one to guard each of his alarm-guns. the device was thoroughly effective. thenceforth, when some adventurous monkey--swinging with hands or tail among the treetops in the morning search for appetizing nut or luscious plantain--saw one of those fearsome bogies, he raised such a hubbub that all his companions scampered hastily from the confines of the wood to the inner fastnesses. in contriving these same scarecrows--which, by the way, he had vaguely intended at first to erect on the beach in order to frighten the invaders and induce them to fire a warning volley--the sailor paid closer heed to the spoils gathered from the fallen. one, at least, of the belts was made of human hair, and some among its long strands could have come only from the flaxen-haired head of a european child. this fact, though ghastly enough, confirmed him in his theory that it was impossible to think of temporizing with these human fiends. unhappily such savage virtues as they possess do not include clemency to the weak or hospitality to defenceless strangers. there was nothing for it but a fight to a finish, with the law of the jungle to decide the terms of conquest. that morning, of course, he had not been able to visit summit rock until after his cautious survey of the island. once there, however, he noticed that the gale two nights earlier had loosened two of the supports of his sky sign. it was not a difficult or a long job to repair the damage. with the invaluable axe he cut several wedges and soon made all secure. now, during each of the two daily examinations of the horizon which he never omitted, he minutely scrutinized the sea between rainbow island and the distant group. it was, perhaps, a needless precaution. the dyaks would come at night. with a favorable wind they need not set sail until dusk, and their fleet sampans would easily cover the intervening forty miles in five hours. he could not be positive that they were actual inhabitants of the islands to the south. the china sea swarms with wandering pirates, and the tribe whose animosity he had earned might be equally noxious to some peaceable fishing community on the coast. again and again he debated the advisability of constructing a seaworthy raft and endeavoring to make the passage. but this would be risking all on a frightful uncertainty, and the accidental discovery of the eagle's nest had given him new hope. here he could make a determined and prolonged stand, and in the end help _must_ come. so he dismissed the navigation project, and devoted himself wholly to the perfecting of the natural fortress in the rock. that night they finished the rope-ladder. indeed, jenks was determined not to retire to rest until it was placed _in situ_; he did not care to try a second time to carry iris to that elevated perch, and it may be remarked that thenceforth the girl, before going to sleep, simply changed one ragged dress for another. one of the first things he contemplated was the destruction, if possible, of the point on the opposite cliff which commanded the ledge. this, however, was utterly impracticable with the appliances at his command. the top of the rock sloped slightly towards the west, and nothing short of dynamite or regular quarrying operations would render it untenable by hostile marksmen. during the day his lee-metfords, at ninety yards' range, might be trusted to keep the place clear of intruders. but at night--that was the difficulty. he partially solved it by fixing two rests on the ledge to support a rifle in exact line with the center of the enemy's supposed position, and as a variant, on the outer rest he marked lines which corresponded with other sections of the entire front available to the foe. even then he was not satisfied. when time permitted he made many experiments with ropes reeved through the pulley and attached to a rifle action. he might have succeeded in his main object had not his thoughts taken a new line. his aim was to achieve some method of opening and closing the breech-block by means of two ropes. the difficulty was to secure the preliminary and final lateral movement of the lever bolt, but it suddenly occurred to him that if he could manage to convey the impression that iris and he had left the island, the dyaks would go away after a fruitless search. the existence of ropes along the face of the rock--an essential to his mechanical scheme--would betray their whereabouts, or at any rate excite dangerous curiosity. so he reluctantly abandoned his original design, though not wholly, as will be seen in due course. in pursuance of his latest idea he sedulously removed from the foot of the cliff all traces of the clearance effected on the ledge, and, although he provided supports for the tarpaulin covering, he did not adjust it. iris and he might lie _perdu_ there for days without their retreat being found out. this development suggested the necessity of hiding their surplus stores and ammunition, and what spot could be more suitable than the cave? so jenks began to dig once more in the interior, laboring manfully with pick and shovel in the locality of the fault with its vein of antimony. it was thus that he blundered upon the second great event of his life. rainbow island had given him the one thing a man prizes above all else--a pure yet passionate love for a woman beautiful alike in body and mind. and now it was to endow him with riches that might stir the pulse of even a south african magnate. for the sailor, unmindful of purpose other than providing the requisite _cache_, shoveling and delving with the energy peculiar to all his actions, suddenly struck a deep vein of almost virgin gold. to facilitate the disposal at a distance of the disturbed debris, he threw each shovelful on to a canvas sheet, which he subsequently dragged among the trees in order to dislodge its contents. after doing this four times he noticed certain metallic specks in the fifth load which recalled the presence of the antimony. but the appearance of the sixth cargo was so remarkable when brought out into the sunlight that it invited closer inspection. though his knowledge of geology was slight--the half-forgotten gleanings of a brief course at eton--he was forced to believe that the specimens he handled so dubiously contained neither copper nor iron pyrites but glittering yellow gold. their weight, the distribution of the metal through quartz in a transition state between an oxide and a telluride, compelled recognition. somewhat excited, yet half skeptical, he returned to the excavation and scooped out yet another collection. this time there could be no mistake. nature's own alchemy had fashioned a veritable ingot. there were small lumps in the ore which would need alloy at the mint before they could be issued as sovereigns, so free from dross were they. iris had gone to venus's bath, and would be absent for some time. jenks sat down on a tree-stump. he held in his hand a small bit of ore worth perhaps twenty pounds sterling. slowly the conjectures already pieced together in his mind during early days on the island came back to him. the skeleton of an englishman lying there among the bushes near the well; the golgotha of the poison-filled hollow; the mining tools, both chinese and european; the plan on the piece of tin--ah, the piece of tin! mechanically the sailor produced it from the breast-pocket of his jersey. at last the mysterious sign " / " revealed its significance. measure thirty-two feet from the mouth of the tunnel, dig one foot in depth, and you came upon the mother-lode of this gold-bearing rock. this, then, was the secret of the cave. the chinese knew the richness of the deposit, and exploited its treasures by quarrying from the other side of the hill. but their crass ignorance of modern science led to their undoing. the accumulation of liberated carbonic acid gas in the workings killed them in scores. they probably fought this unseen demon with the tenacity of their race, until the place became accursed and banned of all living things. yet had they dug a little ditch, and permitted the invisible terror to flow quietly downwards until its potency was dissipated by sea and air, they might have mined the whole cliff with impunity. the unfortunate unknown, j.s.--he of the whitened bones--might have done this thing too. but he only possessed the half-knowledge of the working miner, and whilst shunning the plague-stricken quarry, adopted the more laborious method of making an adit to strike the deposit. he succeeded, to perish miserably in the hour when he saw himself a millionaire. was this a portent of the fate about to overtake the latest comers? jenks, of course, stood up. he always, stood square on his feet when the volcano within him fired his blood. "no, by god!" he almost shouted. "i will break the spell. i am sent here by providence, not to search for gold but to save a woman's life, and if all the devils of china and malay are in league against me i will beat them!" the sound of his own voice startled him. he had no notion that he was so hysterical. promptly his british phlegm throttled the demonstration. he was rather ashamed of it. what was all the fuss about? with a barrow-load of gold he could not buy an instant's safety for iris, not to mention himself. the language difficulty was insuperable. were it otherwise, the dyaks would simply humbug him until he revealed the source of his wealth, and then murder him as an effective safeguard against foreign interference. iris! not once since she was hurled ashore in his arms had jenks so long forgotten her existence. should he tell her? they were partners in everything appertaining to the island--why keep this marvelous intelligence from her? yet was he tempted, not ignobly, but by reason of his love for her. once, years ago, when his arduous professional studies were distracted by a momentary infatuation for a fair face, a woman had proved fickle when tempted by greater wealth than he possessed. for long he was a confirmed misogynist, to his great and lasting gain as a leader of men. but with more equable judgment came a fixed resolution not to marry unless his prospective bride cared only for him and not for his position. to a staff corps officer, even one with a small private income, this was no unattainable ideal. then he met with his _débâcle_ in the shame and agony of the court-martial. whilst his soul still quivered under the lash of that terrible downfall, iris came into his life. he knew not what might happen if they were rescued. the time would quickly pass until the old order was resumed, she to go back to her position in society, he to become again a disgraced ex-officer, apparently working out a mere existence before the mast or handing plates in a saloon. would it not be a sweet defiance of adversity were he able, even under such conditions, to win her love, and then disclose to her the potentialities of the island? perchance he might fail. though rich as croesus he would still be under the social ban meted out to a cashiered officer. she was a girl who could command the gift of coronets. with restoration to her father and home, gratitude to her preserver would assuredly remain, but, alas! love might vanish like a mirage. then he would act honorably. half of the stored wealth would be hers to do as she chose with it. yes, this was a possible alternative. in case of accident to himself, and her ultimate escape, he must immediately write full details of his discovery, and entrust the document to her, to be opened only after his death or six months after their release. the idea possessed him so thoroughly that he could brook no delay. he searched for one of the note-books taken from the dead officers of the _sirdar_, and scribbled the following letter: "dear miss deane: "whether i am living or dead when you read these words, you will know that i love you. could i repeat that avowal a million times, in as many varied forms, i should find no better phrase to express the dream i have cherished since a happy fate permitted me to snatch you from death. so i simply say, 'i love you.' i will continue to love you whilst life lasts, and it is my dearest hope that in the life beyond the grave i may still be able to voice my love for you. "but perhaps i am not destined to be loved by you. therefore, in the event of my death before you leave the island, i wish to give you instructions how to find a gold mine of great value which is hidden in the rock containing the cave. you remember the sign on the piece of tin which we could not understand. the figure denotes the utmost depth of the excavation, and the signifies that one foot below the surface, on reaching the face of the rock, there is a rich vein of gold. the hollow on the other side of the cliff became filled with anhydrate gas, and this stopped the operations of the chinese, who evidently knew of the existence of the mine. this is all the information the experts employed by sir arthur deane will need. the facts are unquestionable. "assuming that i am alive, we will, of course, be co-partners in the mine. if i am dead, i wish one-sixth share to be given to my uncle, william anstruther, crossthwaite manor, northallerton, yorkshire, as a recompense for his kindness to me during my early life. the remainder is to be yours absolutely. "robert anstruther." he read this remarkable document twice through to make sure that it exactly recorded his sentiments. he even smiled sarcastically at the endowment of the uncle who disinherited him. then, satisfied with the perusal, he tore out the two leaves covered by the letter and began to devise a means of protecting it securely whilst in iris's possession. at that moment he looked up and saw her coming towards him across the beach, brightly flushed after her bath, walking like a nymph clothed in tattered garments. perceiving that he was watching her, she waved her hand and instinctively quickened her pace. even now, when they were thrown together by the exigencies of each hour, she disliked to be long separated from him. instantly the scales fell from his mental vision. what! distrust iris! imagine for one second that riches or poverty, good repute or ill, would affect that loyal heart when its virginal font was filled with the love that once in her life comes to every true woman! perish the thought! what evil spirit had power to so blind his perception of all that was strong and beautiful in her character. brave, uncomplaining iris! iris of the crystal soul! iris, whose innocence and candor were mirrored in her blue eyes and breathed through her dear lips! here was othello acting as his own tempter, with not an iago within a thousand miles. laughing at his fantastic folly, jenks tore the letter into little pieces. it might have been wiser to throw the sheets into the embers of the fire close at hand, but for the nonce he was overpowered by the great awakening that had come to him, and he unconsciously murmured the musical lines of tennyson's "maud": "she is coming, my own, my sweet; were it ever so airy a tread. my heart would hear her and beat were it earth in an earthy bed; my dust would hear her and beat, had i lain for a century dead, would start and tremble under her feet, and blossom in purple and red." "good gracious! don't gaze at me in that fashion. i don't look like a ghost, do i?" cried iris, when near enough to note his rapt expression. "you would not object if i called you a vision?" he inquired quietly, averting his eyes lest they should speak more plainly than his tongue. "not if you meant it nicely. but i fear that 'specter' would be a more appropriate word. _v'la ma meilleure robe de sortie_!" she spread out the front widths of her skirt, and certainly the prospect was lamentable. the dress was so patched and mended, yet so full of fresh rents, that a respectable housemaid would hesitate before using it to clean fire-irons. "is that really your best dress?" he said. "yes. this is my blue serge. the brown cloth did not survive the soaking it received in salt water. after a few days it simply crumbled. the others are muslin or cotton, and have been--er--adapted." "there is plenty of men's clothing," he began. "unfortunately there isn't another island," she said, severely. "no. i meant that it might be possible to--er--contrive some sort of rig that will serve all purposes." "but all my thread is gone. i have barely a needleful left." "in that case we must fall back on our supply of hemp." "i suppose that might be made to serve," she said. "you are never at a loss for an expedient." "it will be a poor one, i fear. but you can make up for it by buying some nice gowns at doucet's or worth's." she laughed delightedly. "perhaps in his joy at my reappearance my dear old dad may let me run riot in paris on our way home. but that will not last. we are fairly well off, but i cannot afford ten thousand a year for dress alone." "if any woman can afford such a sum for the purpose, you are at least her equal." iris looked puzzled. "is that your way of telling me that fine feathers would make me a fine bird?" she asked. "no. i intend my words to be understood in their ordinary sense. you are very, very rich, miss deane--an extravagantly wealthy young person." "of course you know you are talking nonsense. why, only the other day my father said--" "excuse me. what is the average price of a walking-dress from a leading paris house?" "thirty pounds." "and an evening dress?" "oh, anything, from fifty upwards." he picked up a few pieces of quartz from the canvas sheet. "here is your walking-dress," he said, handing her a lump weighing about a pound. "with the balance in the heap there you can stagger the best-dressed woman you meet at your first dinner in england." "do you mean by pelting her?" she inquired, mischievously. "far worse. by wearing a more expensive costume." his manner was so earnest that he compelled seriousness. iris took the proffered specimen and looked at it. "from the cave, i suppose? i thought you said antimony was not very valuable?" "that is not antimony. it is gold. by chance i have hit upon an extremely rich lode of gold. at the most modest computation it is worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. you and i are quite wealthy people, miss deane." iris opened her blue eyes very wide at this intelligence. it took her breath away. but her first words betokened her innate sense of fair dealing. "you and i! wealthy!" she gasped. "i am so glad for your sake, but tell me, pray, mr. jenks, what have _i_ got to do with it?" "you!" he repeated. "are we not partners in this island? by squatter's right, if by no better title, we own land, minerals, wood, game, and even such weird belongings as ancient lights and fishing privileges." "i don't see that at all. you find a gold mine, and coolly tell me that i am a half owner of it because you dragged me out of the sea, fed me, housed me, saved my life from pirates, and generally acted like a devoted nursemaid in charge of a baby. really, mr. jenks--" "really, miss deane, you will annoy me seriously if you say another word. i absolutely refuse to listen to such an argument." her outrageously unbusiness-like utterances, treading fast on the heels of his own melodramatic and written views concerning their property, nettled him greatly. each downright syllable was a sting to his conscience, but of this iris was blissfully unaware, else she would not have applied caustic to the rankling wound caused by his momentary distrust of her. for some time they stood in silence, until the sailor commenced to reproach himself for his rough protest. perhaps he had hurt her sensitive feelings. what a brute he was, to be sure! she was only a child in ordinary affairs, and he ought to have explained things more lucidly and with greater command over his temper. and all this time iris's face was dimpling with amusement, for she understood him so well that had he threatened to kill her she would have laughed at him. "would you mind getting the lamp?" he said softly, surprised to catch her expression of saucy humor. "oh, please may i speak?" she inquired. "i don't want to annoy you, but i am simply dying to talk." he had forgotten his own injunction. "let us first examine our mine," he said. "if you bring the lamp we can have a good look at it." close scrutiny of the work already done merely confirmed the accuracy of his first impressions. whilst iris held the light he opened up the seam with a few strokes of the pick. each few inches it broadened into a noteworthy volcanic dyke, now yellow in its absolute purity, at times a bluish black when fused with other metals. the additional labor involved caused him to follow up the line of the fault. suddenly the flame of the lamp began to flicker in a draught. there was an air-passage between cave and ledge. "i am sorry," cried jenks, desisting from further efforts, "that i have not recently read one of bret harte's novels, or i would speak to you in the language of the mining camp. but in plain cockney, miss deane, we are on to a good thing if only we can keep it." they came back into the external glare. iris was now so serious that she forgot to extinguish the little lamp. she stood with outstretched hand. "there is a lot of money in there," she said. "tons of it." "no need to quarrel about division. there is enough for both of us." "quite enough. we can even spare some for our friends." he took so readily to this definition of their partnership that iris suddenly became frigid. then she saw the ridiculous gleam of the tiny wick and blew it out. "i mean," she said, stiffly, "that if you and i do agree to go shares we will each be very rich." "exactly. i applied your words to the mine alone, of course." a slight thing will shatter a daydream. this sufficed. the sailor resumed his task of burying the stores. "poor little lamp!" he thought. "when it came into the greater world how soon it was snuffed out." but iris said to herself, "what a silly slip that was of mine! enough for both of us, indeed! does he expect me to propose to him? i wonder what the letter was about which he destroyed as i came back after my bath. it must have been meant for me. why did he write it? why did he tear it up?" the hour drew near when jenks climbed to the summit rock. he shouldered axe and rifle and set forth. iris heard him rustling upwards through the trees. she set some water to boil for tea, and, whilst bringing a fresh supply of fuel, passed the spot where the torn scraps of paper littered the sand. she was the soul of honor, for a woman, but there was never a woman yet who could take her eyes off a written document which confronted her. she could not help seeing that one small morsel contained her own name. though mutilated it had clearly read--miss deane." "so it _was_ intended for me!" she cried, throwing down her bundle and dropping to her knees. she secured that particular slip and examined it earnestly. not for worlds would she pick up all the scraps and endeavor to sort them. yet they had a fascination for her, and at this closer range she saw another which bore the legend--"i love you!" somehow the two seemed to fit together very nicely. yet a third carried the same words--"i love you!" they were still quite coherent. she did not want to look any further. she did not even turn over such of the torn pieces as had fluttered to earth face downwards. opening the front of her bodice she brought to light a small gold locket containing miniatures of her father and mother. inside this receptacle she carefully placed the three really material portions of the sailor's letter. when jenks walked down the hill again he heard her singing long before he caught sight of her, sedulously tending the fire. as he came near he perceived the remains of his useless document. he stooped and gathered them up, forthwith throwing them among the glowing logs. "by the way, what were you writing whilst i had my bath?" inquired iris, demurely. "some information about the mine. on second thoughts, however, i saw it was unnecessary." "oh, was that all?" "practically all." "then some part was impracticable?" he glanced sharply at her, but she was merely talking at random. "well, you see," he explained, "one can do so little without the requisite plant. this sort of ore requires a crushing-mill, a smelting furnace, perhaps big tanks filled with cyanide of potassium." "and, of course, although you can do wonders, you cannot provide all those things, can you?" jenks deemed this query to be unanswerable. they were busy again until night fell. sitting down for a little while before retiring to rest, they discussed, for the hundredth time, the probabilities of speedy succor. this led them to the topic of available supplies, and the sailor told iris the dispositions he had made. "did you bury the box of books?" she asked. "yes, but not in the cave. they are at the foot of the cinchona over there. why? do you want any?" "i have a bible in my room, but there was a tennyson among the others which i glanced at in spare moments." the sailor thanked the darkness that concealed the deep bronze of face and neck caused by this chance remark. he vaguely recollected the manner in which the lines from "maud" came to his lips after the episode of the letter. was it possible that he had unknowingly uttered them aloud and iris was now slily poking fun at him? he glowed with embarrassment. "it is odd that you should mention tennyson," he managed to say calmly. "only today i was thinking of a favorite passage." iris, of course, was quite innocent this time. "oh, do tell me. was it from 'enoch arden'?" he gave a sigh of relief. "no. anything but that," he answered. "what then?" "'maud.'" "oh, 'maud.' it is very beautiful, but i could never imagine why the poet gave such a sad ending to an idyllic love story." "they too often end that way. moreover, 'enoch arden' is not what you might call exhilarating." "no. it is sad. i have often thought he had the 'sonata pathétique' in his mind when he wrote it. but the note is mournful all through. there is no promise of happiness as in 'maud.'" "then it is my turn to ask questions. why did you hit upon that poem among so many?" "because it contains an exact description of our position here. don't you remember how the poor fellow "'sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge, a shipwrecked sailor, waiting for a sail.' "i am sure tennyson saw our island with poetic eye, for he goes on-- "'no sail from day to day, but every day the sunrise broken into scarlet shafts among the palms and ferns and precipices; the blaze upon the waters to the east; the blaze upon his island overhead; the blaze upon the waters to the west; then the great stars that globed themselves in heaven, the hollower-bellowing ocean, and again the scarlet shafts of sunrise--but no sail." she declaimed the melodious verse with a subtle skill that amazed her hearer. profoundly moved, jenks dared not trust himself to speak. "i read the whole poem the other day," she said after a silence of some minutes. "sorrowful as it is, it comforted me by comparison. how different will be our fate to his when 'another ship stays by this isle'!" yet neither of them knew that one line she had recited was more singularly applicable to their case than that which they paid heed to. "the great stars that globed themselves in heaven," were shining clear and bright in the vast arch above. resplendent amidst the throng rose the pleiades, the mythological seven hailed by the greeks as an augury of safe navigation. and the dyaks--one of the few remaining savage races of the world--share the superstition of the people who fashioned all the arts and most of the sciences. the pleiades form the dyak tutelary genius. some among a bloodthirsty and vengeful horde were even then pointing to the clustering stars that promised quick voyage to the isle where their kinsmen had been struck down by a white man who rescued a maid. nevertheless, grecian romance and dyak lore alike relegate the influence of the pleiades to the sea. other stars are needed to foster enterprise ashore. chapter x reality _v_. romance--the case for the plaintiff night after night the pleiades swung higher in the firmament; day after day the sailor perfected his defences and anxiously scanned the ocean for sign of friendly smoke or hostile sail. this respite would not have been given to him, were it not for the lucky bullet which removed two fingers and part of a third from the right hand of the dyak chief. not even a healthy savage can afford to treat such a wound lightly, and ten days elapsed before the maimed robber was able to move the injured limb without a curse. meanwhile, each night jenks slept less soundly; each day his face became more careworn. he began to realize why the island had not been visited already by the vessel which would certainly be deputed to search for them--she was examining the great coast-line of china and siam. it was his habit to mark the progress of time on the rudely made sun-dial which sufficiently served their requirements as a clock. iris happened to watch him chipping the forty-fourth notch on the edge of the horizontal block of wood. "have we really been forty-four days here?" she inquired, after counting the marks with growing astonishment. "i believe the reckoning is accurate," he said. "the _sirdar_ was lost on the th of march, and i make this the st of may." "may day!" "yes. shall we drive to hurlingham this afternoon?" "looked at in that way it seems to be a tremendous time, though indeed, in some respects, it figures in my mind like many years. that is when i am thinking. otherwise, when busy, the days fly like hours." "it must be convenient to have such an elastic scale." "most useful. i strive to apply the quick rate when you are grumpy." iris placed her arms akimbo, planted her feet widely apart, and surveyed jenks with an expression that might almost be termed impudent. they were great friends, these two, now. the incipient stage of love-making had been dropped entirely, as ludicrously unsuited to their environment. when the urgent necessity for continuous labor no longer spurred them to exertion during every moment of daylight, they tackled the box of books and read, not volumes which appealed to them in common, but quaint tomes in the use of which jenks was tutor and iris the scholar. it became a fixed principle with the girl that she was very ignorant, and she insisted that the sailor should teach her. for instance, among the books he found a treatise on astronomy; it yielded a keen delight to both to identify a constellation and learn all sorts of wonderful things concerning it. but to work even the simplest problem required a knowledge of algebra, and iris had never gone beyond decimals. so the stock of notebooks, instead of recording their experiences, became covered with symbols showing how x plus y equaled x² minus , , . as a variant, jenks introduced a study of hindustani. his method was to write a short sentence and explain in detail its component parts. with a certain awe iris surveyed the intricacies of the urdu compound verb, but, about her fourth lesson, she broke out into exclamations of extravagant joy. "what on earth is the matter now?" demanded her surprised mentor. "don't you see?" she exclaimed, delightedly. "of course you don't! people who know a lot about a thing often miss its obvious points. i have discovered how to write kiplingese. all you have to do is to tell your story in urdu, translate it literally into english, and there you are!" "quite so. just do it as kipling does, and the secret is laid bare. by the same rule you can hit upon the miltonic adjective." iris tossed her head. "i don't know anything about the miltonic adjective, but i am sure about kipling." this ended the argument. she knitted her brows in the effort to master the ridiculous complexities of a language which, instead of simply saying "take" or "bring," compels one to say "take-go" and "take-come." one problem defied solution--that of providing raiment for iris. the united skill of the sailor and herself would not induce unraveled cordage to supply the need of thread. it was either too weak or too knotty, and meanwhile the girl's clothes were falling to pieces. jenks tried the fibers of trees, the sinews of birds--every possible expedient he could hit upon--and perhaps, after experiments covering some weeks, he might have succeeded. but modern dress stuffs, weakened by aniline dyes and stiffened with chinese clay, permit of no such exhaustive research. it must be remembered that the lady passengers on board the _sirdar_ were dressed to suit the tropics, and the hard usage given by iris to her scanty stock was never contemplated by the manchester or bradford looms responsible for the durability of the material. as the days passed the position became irksome. it even threatened complete callapse during some critical moment, and the two often silently surveyed the large number of merely male garments in their possession. of course, in the matter of coats and waistcoats there was no difficulty whatever. iris had long been wearing those portions of the doctor's uniform. but when it came to the rest-- at last, one memorable morning, she crossed the rubicon. jenks had climbed, as usual, to the summit rock. he came back with the exciting news that he thought--he could not be certain, but there were indications inspiring hopefulness--that towards the west of the far-off island he could discern the smoke of a steamer. though he had eyes for a faint cloud of vapor at least fifty miles distant he saw nothing of a remarkable change effected nearer home. outwardly, iris was attired in her wonted manner, but if her companion's mind were not wholly monopolized by the bluish haze detected on the horizon, he must have noticed the turned-up ends of a pair of trousers beneath the hem of her tattered skirt. it did occur to him that iris received his momentous announcement with an odd air of hauteur, and it was passing strange she did not offer to accompany him when, after bolting his breakfast, he returned to the observatory. he came back in an hour, and the lines on his face were deeper than before. "a false alarm," he said curtly in response to her questioning look. and that was all, though she nerved herself to walk steadily past him on her way to the well. this was disconcerting, even annoying to a positive young woman like iris. resolving to end the ordeal, she stood rigidly before him. "well," she said, "i've done it!" "have you?" he exclaimed, blankly. "yes. they're a little too long, and i feel very awkward, but they're better than--than my poor old dress unsupported." she blushed furiously, to the sailor's complete bewilderment, but she bravely persevered and stretched out an unwilling foot. "oh. i see!" he growled, and he too reddened. "i can't help it, can i?" she demanded piteously. "it is not unlike a riding-habit, is it?" then his ready wit helped him. "an excellent compromise," he cried. "a process of evolution, in fact. now, do you know, miss deane, that would never have occurred to me." and during the remainder of the day he did not once look at her feet. indeed, he had far more serious matters to distract his thoughts, for iris, feverishly anxious to be busy, suddenly suggested that it would be a good thing were she able to use a rifle if a fight at close quarters became necessary. the recoil of the lee-metford is so slight that any woman can manipulate the weapon with effect, provided she is not called upon to fire from a standing position, in which case the weight is liable to cause bad aiming. though it came rather late in the day, jenks caught at the idea. he accustomed her in the first instance to the use of blank cartridges. then, when fairly proficient in holding and sighting--a child can learn how to refill the clip and eject each empty shell--she fired ten rounds of service ammunition. the target was a white circle on a rock at eighty yards, and those of the ten shots that missed the absolute mark would have made an enemy at the same distance extremely uncomfortable. iris was much pleased with her proficiency. "now," she cried, "instead of being a hindrance to you i may be some help. in any case, the dyaks will think there are two men to face, and they have good reason to fear one of us." then a new light dawned upon jenks. "why did you not think of it before?" he demanded. "don't you see, miss deane, the possibility suggested by your words? i am sorry to be compelled to speak plainly, but i feel sure that if those scoundrels do attack us in force it will be more to secure you than to avenge the loss of their fellow tribesmen. first and foremost, the sea-going dyaks are pirates and marauders. they prowl about the coast looking not so much for a fight as for loot and women. now, if they return, and apparently find two well-armed men awaiting them, with no prospect of plunder, there is a chance they may abandon the enterprise." iris did not flinch from the topic. she well knew its grave importance. "in other words," she said, "i must be seen by them dressed only in male clothing?" "yes, as a last resource, that is. i have some hope that they may not discover our whereabouts owing to the precautions we have adopted. perched up there on the ledge we will be profoundly uncomfortable, but that will be nothing if it secures our safety." she did not reply at once. then she said musingly--"forty-four days! surely there has been ample time to scour the china sea from end to end in search of us? my father would never abandon hope until he had the most positive knowledge that the _sirdar_ was lost with all on board." the sailor, through long schooling, was prepared with an answer--"each day makes the prospect of escape brighter. though i was naturally disappointed this morning, i must state quite emphatically that our rescue may come any hour." iris looked at him steadily. "you wear a solemn face for one who speaks so cheerfully," she said. "you should not attach too great significance to appearances. the owl, a very stupid bird, is noted for its philosophical expression." "then we will strive to find wisdom in words. do you remember, mr. jenks, that soon after the wreck you told me we might have to remain here many months?" "that was a pardonable exaggeration." "no, no. it was the truth. you are seeking now to buoy me up with false hope. it is sixteen hundred miles from hong kong to singapore, and half as much from siam to borneo. the _sirdar_ might have been driven anywhere in the typhoon. didn't you say so, mr. jenks?" he wavered under this merciless cross-examination. "i had no idea your memory was so good," he said, weakly. "excellent, i assure you. moreover, during our forty-four days together, you have taught me to think. why do you adopt subterfuge with me? we are partners in all else. why cannot i share your despair as well as your toil?" she blazed out in sudden wrath, and he understood that she would not be denied the full extent of his secret fear. he bowed reverently before her, as a mortal paying homage to an angry goddess. "i can only admit that you are right," he murmured. "we must pray that god will direct our friends to this island. otherwise we may not be found for a year, as unhappily the fishermen who once came here now avoid the place. they have been frightened by the contents of the hollow behind the cliff. i am glad you have solved the difficulty unaided, miss deane. i have striven at times to be coarse, even brutal, towards you, but my heart flinched from the task of telling you the possible period of your imprisonment." then iris, for the first time in many days, wept bitterly, and jenks, blind to the true cause of her emotion, picked up a rifle to which, in spare moments, he had affixed a curious device, and walked slowly across prospect park towards the half-obliterated road leading to the valley of death. the girl watched him disappear among the trees. through her tears shone a sorrowful little smile. "he thinks only of me, never of himself," she communed. "if it pleases providence to spare us from these savages, what does it matter to me how long we remain here? i have never been so happy before in my life. i fear i never will be again. if it were not for my father's terrible anxiety i would not have a care in the world. i only wish to get away, so that one brave soul at least may be rid of needless tortures. all his worry is on my account, none on his own." that was what tearful miss iris thought, or tried to persuade herself to think. perhaps her cogitations would not bear strict analysis. perhaps she harbored a sweet hope that the future might yet contain bright hours for herself and the man who was so devoted to her. she refused to believe that robert anstruther, strong of arm and clear of brain, a knight of the round table in all that was noble and chivalric, would permit his name to bear an unwarrantable stigma when--and she blushed like a june rose--he came to tell her that which he had written. the sailor returned hastily, with the manner of one hurrying to perform a neglected task. without any explanation to iris he climbed several times to the ledge, carrying arm-loads of grass roots which he planted in full view. then he entered the cave, and, although he was furnished only with the dim light that penetrated through the distant exit, she heard him hewing manfully at the rock for a couple of hours. at last he emerged, grimy with dust and perspiration, just in time to pay a last visit to summit rock before the sun sank to rest. he asked the girl to delay somewhat the preparations for their evening meal, as he wished to take a bath, so it was quite dark when they sat down to eat. iris had long recovered her usual state of high spirits. "why were you burrowing in the cavern again?" she inquired. "are you in a hurry to get rich?" "i was following an air-shaft, not a lode," he replied. "i am occasionally troubled with after wit, and this is an instance. do you remember how the flame of the lamp flickered whilst we were opening up our mine?" "yes." "i was so absorbed in contemplating our prospective wealth that i failed to pay heed to the true significance of that incident. it meant the existence of an upward current of air. now, where the current goes there must be a passage, and whilst i was busy this afternoon among the trees over there,"--he pointed towards the valley of death--"it came to me like an inspiration that possibly a few hours' hewing and delving might open a shaft to the ledge. i have been well rewarded for the effort. the stuff in the vault is so eaten away by water that it is no more solid than hard mud for the most part. already i have scooped out a chimney twelve feet high." "what good can that be?" "at present we have only a front door--up the face of the rock. when my work is completed, before tomorrow night i hope, we shall have a back door also. of course i may encounter unforeseen obstacles as i advance. a twist in the fault would be nearly fatal, but i am praying that it may continue straight to the ledge." "i still don't see the great advantage to us." "the advantages are many, believe me. the more points of attack presented by the enemy the more effective will be our resistance. i doubt if they would ever be able to rush the cave were we to hold it, whereas i can go up and down our back staircase whenever i choose. if you don't mind being left in the dark i will resume work now, by the light of your lamp." but iris protested against this arrangement. she felt lonely. the long hours of silence had been distasteful to her. she wanted to talk. "i agree," said jenks, "provided you do not pin me down to something i told you a month ago." "i promise. you can tell me as much or as little as you think fit. the subject for discussion is your court-martial." he could not see the tender light in her eyes, but the quiet sympathy of her voice restrained the protest prompt on his lips. yet he blurted out, after a slight pause-- "that is a very unsavory subject." "is it? i do not think so. i am a friend, mr. jenks, not an old one, i admit, but during the past six weeks we have bridged an ordinary acquaintanceship of as many years. can you not trust me?" trust her? he laughed softly. then, choosing his words with great deliberation, he answered--"yes, i can trust you. i intended to tell you the story some day. why not tonight?" unseen in the darkness iris's hand sought and clasped the gold locket suspended from her neck. she already knew some portion of the story he would tell. the remainder was of minor importance. "it is odd," he continued, "that you should have alluded to six years a moment ago. it is exactly six years, almost to a day, since the trouble began." "with lord ventnor?" the name slipped out involuntarily. "yes. i was then a staff corps subaltern, and my proficiency in native languages attracted the attention of a friend in simla, who advised me to apply for an appointment on the political side of the government of india. i did so. he supported the application, and i was assured of the next vacancy in a native state, provided that i got married." he drawled out the concluding words with exasperating slowness. iris, astounded by the stipulation, dropped her locket and leaned forward into the red light of the log fire. the sailor's quick eye caught the glitter of the ornament. "by the way," he interrupted, "what is that thing shining on your breast?" she instantly clasped the trinket again. "it is my sole remaining adornment," she said; "a present from my father on my tenth birthday. pray go on!" "i was not a marrying man, miss deane, and the requisite qualification nearly staggered me. but i looked around the station, and came to the conclusion that the commissioner's niece would make a suitable wife. i regarded her 'points,' so to speak, and they filled the bill. she was smart, good-looking, lively, understood the art of entertaining, was first-rate in sports and had excellent teeth. indeed, if a man selected a wife as he does a horse, she--" "don't be horrid. was she really pretty?" "i believe so. people said she was." "but what did _you_ think?" "at the time my opinion was biased. i have seen her since, and she wears badly. she is married now, and after thirty grew very fat." artful jenks! iris settled herself comfortably to listen. "i have jumped that fence with a lot in hand," he thought. "we became engaged," he said aloud. "she threw herself at him," communed iris. "her name was elizabeth--elizabeth morris." the young lieutenant of those days called her "bessie," but no matter. "well, you didn't marry her, anyhow," commented iris, a trifle sharply. and now the sailor was on level ground again. "thank heaven, no," he said, earnestly. "we had barely become engaged when she went with her uncle to simla for the hot weather. there she met lord ventnor, who was on the viceroy's staff, and--if you don't mind, we will skip a portion of the narrative--i discovered then why men in india usually go to england for their wives. whilst in simla on ten days' leave i had a foolish row with lord ventnor in the united service club--hammered him, in fact, in defence of a worthless woman, and was only saved from a severe reprimand because i had been badly treated. nevertheless, my hopes of a political appointment vanished, and i returned to my regiment to learn, after due reflection, what a very lucky person i was." "concerning miss morris, you mean?" "exactly. and now exit elizabeth. not being cut out for matrimonial enterprise i tried to become a good officer. a year ago, when government asked for volunteers to form chinese regiments, i sent in my name and was accepted. i had the good fortune to serve under an old friend, colonel costobell; but some malign star sent lord ventnor to the far east, this time in an important civil capacity. i met him occasionally, and we found we did not like each other any better. my horse beat his for the pagoda hurdle handicap--poor old sultan! i wonder where he is now." "was your horse called 'sultan'?" "yes. i bought him in meerut, trained him myself, and ferried him all the way to china. i loved him next to the british army." this was quite satisfactory. there was genuine feeling in his voice now. iris became even more interested. "colonel costobell fell ill, and the command of the regiment devolved upon me, our only major being absent in the interior. the colonel's wife unhappily chose that moment to flirt, as people say, with lord ventnor. not having learnt the advisability of minding my own business, i remonstrated with her, thus making her my deadly enemy. lord ventnor contrived an official mission to a neighboring town and detailed me for the military charge. i sent a junior officer. then mrs. costobell and he deliberately concocted a plot to ruin me--he, for the sake of his old animosity--you remember that i had also crossed his path in egypt--she, because she feared i would speak to her husband. on pretence of seeking my advice, she inveigled me at night into a deserted corner of the club grounds at hong kong. lord ventnor appeared, and as the upshot of their vile statements, which created an immediate uproar, i--well, miss deane, i nearly killed him." iris vividly recalled the anguish he betrayed when this topic was inadvertently broached one day early in their acquaintance. now he was reciting his painful history with the air of a man far more concerned to be scrupulously accurate than aroused in his deepest passions by the memory of past wrongs. what had happened in the interim to blunt these bygone sufferings? iris clasped her locket. she thought she knew. "the remainder may be told in a sentence," he said. "of what avail were my frenzied statements against the definite proofs adduced by lord ventnor and his unfortunate ally? even her husband believed her and became my bitter foe. poor woman! i have it in my heart to pity her. well, that is all. i am here!" "can a man be ruined so easily?" murmured the girl, her exquisite tact leading her to avoid any direct expression of sympathy. "it seems so. but i have had my reward. if ever i meet mrs. costobell again i will thank her for a great service." iris suddenly became confused. her brow and neck tingled with a quick access of color. "why do you say that?" she asked; and jenks, who was rising, either did not hear, or pretended not to hear, the tremor in her tone. "because you once told me you would never marry lord ventnor, and after what i have told you now i am quite sure you will not." "ah, then you _do_ trust me?" she almost whispered. he forced back the words trembling for utterance. he even strove weakly to assume an air of good-humored badinage. "see how you have tempted me from work, miss deane," he cried. "we have gossiped here until the fire grew tired of our company. to bed, please, at once." iris caught him by the arm. "i will pray tonight, and every night," she said solemnly, "that your good name may be cleared in the eyes of all men as it is in mine. and i am sure my prayer will be answered." she passed into her chamber, but her angelic influence remained. in his very soul the man thanked god for the tribulation which brought this woman into his life. he had traversed the wilderness to find an oasis of rare beauty. what might lie beyond he neither knew nor cared. through the remainder of his existence, be it a day or many a year, he would be glorified by the knowledge that in one incomparable heart he reigned supreme, unchallenged, if only for the hour. fatigue, anxiety, bitter recollection and present danger, were overwhelmed and forgotten in the nearness, the intangible presence of iris. he looked up to the starry vault, and, yielding to the spell, he, too, prayed. it was a beautiful night. after a baking hot day the rocks were radiating their stored-up heat, but the pleasant south-westerly breeze that generally set in at sunset tempered the atmosphere and made sleep refreshing. jenks could not settle down to rest for a little while after iris left him. she did not bring forth her lamp, and, unwilling to disturb her, he picked up a resinous branch, lit it in the dying fire, and went into the cave. he wanted to survey the work already done, and to determine whether it would be better to resume operations in the morning from inside the excavation or from the ledge. owing to the difficulty of constructing a vertical upward shaft, and the danger of a sudden fall of heavy material, he decided in favor of the latter course, although it entailed lifting all the refuse out of the hole. to save time, therefore, he carried his mining tools into the open, placed in position the _cheval de frise_ long since constructed for the defence of the entrance, and poured water over the remains of the fire. this was his final care each night before stretching his weary limbs on his couch of branches. it caused delay in the morning, but he neglected no precaution, and there was a possible chance of the dyaks failing to discover the eagle's nest if they were persuaded by other indications that the island was deserted. he entered the hut and was in the act of pulling off his boots, when a distant shot rang sharply through the air. it was magnified tenfold by the intense silence. for a few seconds that seemed to be minutes he listened, cherishing the quick thought that perhaps a turtle, wandering far beyond accustomed limits, had disturbed one of the spring-gun communications on the sands. a sputtering volley, which his trained ear recognized as the firing of muzzle-loaders, sounded the death-knell of his last hope. the dyaks had landed! coming silently and mysteriously in the dead of night, they were themselves the victims of a stratagem they designed to employ. instead of taking the occupants of rainbow island unawares they were startled at being greeted by a shot the moment they landed. the alarmed savages at once retaliated by firing their antiquated weapons point-blank at the trees, thus giving warning enough to wake the seven sleepers. iris, fully dressed, was out in a moment. "they have come!" she whispered. "yes," was the cheery answer, for jenks face to face with danger was a very different man to jenks wrestling with the insidious attacks of cupid. "up the ladder! be lively! they will not be here for half an hour if they kick up such a row at the first difficulty. still, we will take no risks. cast down those spare lines when you reach the top and haul away when i say 'ready!' you will find everything to hand up there." he held the bottom of the ladder to steady it for the girl's climb. soon her voice fell, like a message from a star-- "all right! please join me soon!" the coiled-up ropes dropped along the face of the rock. clothes, pick, hatchet, hammer, crowbars, and other useful odds and ends were swung away into the darkness, for the moon as yet did not illumine the crag. the sailor darted into belle vue castle and kicked their leafy beds about the floor. then he slung all the rifles, now five in number, over his shoulders, and mounted the rope-ladder, which, with the spare cords, he drew up and coiled with careful method. "by the way," he suddenly asked, "have you your sou'wester?" "yes." "and your bible?" "yes. it rests beneath my head every night. i even brought our tennyson." "ah," he growled fiercely, "this is where the reality differs from the romance. our troubles are only beginning now." "they will end the sooner. for my part, i have utter faith in you. if it be god's will, we will escape; and no man is more worthy than you to be his agent." chapter xi the fight the sailor knew so accurately the position of his reliable sentinels that he could follow each phase of the imaginary conflict on the other side of the island. the first outbreak of desultory firing died away amidst a chorus of protest from every feathered inhabitant of the isle, so jenks assumed that the dyaks had gathered again on the beach after riddling the scarecrows with bullets or slashing them with their heavy razor-edged parangs, malay swords with which experts can fell a stout sapling at a single blow. a hasty council was probably held, and, notwithstanding their fear of the silent company in the hollow, an advance was ultimately made along the beach. within a few yards they encountered the invisible cord of the third spring-gun. there was a report, and another fierce outbreak of musketry. this was enough. not a man would move a step nearer that abode of the dead. the next commotion arose on the ridge near the north cape. "at this rate of progress," said jenks to the girl, "they will not reach our house until daylight." "i almost wish they were here," was the quiet reply. "i find this waiting and listening to be trying to the nerves." they were lying on a number of ragged garments hastily spread on the ledge, and peering intently into the moonlit area of prospect park. the great rock itself was shrouded in somber shadows. even if they stood up none could see them from the ground, so dense was the darkness enveloping them. he turned slightly and took her hand. it was cool and moist. it no more trembled than his own. "the dyaks are far more scared than you," he murmured with a laugh. "cruel and courageous as they are, they dare not face a spook." "then what a pity it is we cannot conjure up a ghost for their benefit! all the spirits i have ever read about were ridiculous. why cannot one be useful occasionally?" the question set him thinking. unknown to the girl, the materials for a dramatic apparition were hidden amidst the bushes near the well. he cudgeled his brains to remember the stage effects of juvenile days; but these needed limelight, blue flares, mirrors, phosphorus. the absurdity of hoping to devise any such accessories whilst perched on a ledge in a remote island--a larger reef of the thousands in the china sea--tickled him. "what is it?" asked iris. he repeated his list of missing stage properties. they had nothing to do but to wait, and people in the very crux and maelstrom of existence usually discuss trivial things. "i don't know anything about phosphorus," said the girl, "but you can obtain queer results from sulphur, and there is an old box of norwegian matches resting at this moment on the shelf in my room. don't you remember? they were in your pocket, and you were going to throw them away. why, what are you doing?" for jenks had cast the rope-ladder loose and was evidently about to descend. "have no fear," he said; "i will not be away five minutes." "if you are going down i must come with you. i will not be left here alone." "please do not stop me," he whispered earnestly. "you must not come. i will take no risk whatever. if you remain here you can warn me instantly. with both of us on the ground we will incur real danger. i want you to keep a sharp lookout towards turtle beach in case the dyaks come that way. those who are crossing the island will not reach us for a long time." she yielded, though unwillingly. she was tremulous with anxiety on his account. he vanished without another word. she next saw him in the moonlight near the well. he was rustling among the shrubs, and he returned to the rock with something white in his arms, which he seemingly deposited at the mouth of the cave. he went back to the well and carried another similar burthen. then he ran towards the house. the doorway was not visible from the ledge, and she passed a few horrible moments until a low hiss beneath caught her ear. she could tell by the creak of the rope-ladder that he was ascending. at last he reached her side, and she murmured, with a gasping sob-- "don't go away again. i cannot stand it." he thought it best to soothe her agitation by arousing interest. still hauling in the ladder with one hand, he held out the other, on which luminous wisps were writhing like glow-worms' ghosts. "you are responsible," he said. "you gave me an excellent idea, and i was obliged to carry it out." "what have you done?" "arranged a fearsome bogey in the cave." "but how?" "it was not exactly a pleasant operation, but the only laws of necessity are those which must be broken." she understood that he did not wish her to question him further. perhaps curiosity, now that he was safe, might have vanquished her terror, and led to another demand for enlightenment, but at that instant the sound of an angry voice and the crunching of coral away to the left drove all else from her mind. "they are coming by way of the beach, after all," whispered jenks. he was mistaken, in a sense. another outburst of intermittent firing among the trees on the north of the ridge showed that some, at least, of the dyaks were advancing by their former route. the appearance of the dyak chief on the flat belt of shingle, with his right arm slung across his breast, accompanied by not more than half a dozen followers, showed that a few hardy spirits had dared to pass the valley of death with all its nameless terrors. they advanced cautiously enough, as though dreading a surprise. the chief carried a bright parang in his left hand; the others were armed with guns, their swords being thrust through belts. creeping forward on tip-toe, though their distant companions were making a tremendous row, they looked a murderous gang as they peered across the open space, now brilliantly illuminated by the moon. jenks had a sudden intuition that the right thing to do now was to shoot the whole party. he dismissed the thought at once. all his preparations were governed by the hope that the pirates might abandon their quest after hours of fruitless search. it would be most unwise, he told himself, to precipitate hostilities. far better avoid a conflict altogether, if that were possible, than risk the immediate discovery of his inaccessible retreat. in other words he made a grave mistake, which shows how a man may err when over-agonized by the danger of the woman he loves. the bold course was the right one. by killing the dyak leader he would have deprived the enemy of the dominating influence in this campaign of revenge. when the main body, already much perturbed by the unseen and intangible agencies which opened fire at them in the wood, arrived in prospect park to find only the dead bodies of their chief and his small force, their consternation could be turned into mad panic by a vigorous bombardment from the rock. probably, in less than an hour after their landing, the whole tribe would have rushed pell-mell to the boats, cursing the folly which led them to this devil-haunted island. but it serves no good purpose to say what might have been. as it was the dyaks, silent now and moving with the utmost caution, passed the well, and were about to approach the cave when one of them saw the house. instantly they changed their tactics. retreating hastily to the shade of the opposite cliff they seemed to await the coming of reinforcements. the sailor fancied that a messenger was dispatched by way of the north sands to hurry up the laggards, because the distant firing slackened, and, five minutes later, a fierce outbreak of yells among the trees to the right heralded a combined rush on the belle vue castle. the noise made by the savages was so great--the screams of bewildered birds circling overhead so incessant--that jenks was compelled to speak quite loudly when he said to iris-- "they must think we sleep soundly not to be disturbed by the volleys they have fired already." she would have answered, but he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, for the dyaks quickly discovering that the hut was empty, ran towards the cave and thus came in full view. as well as jenks could judge, the foremost trio of the yelping horde were impaled on the bayonets of the _cheval de frise_, learning too late its formidable nature. the wounded men shrieked in agony, but their cries were drowned in a torrent of amazed shouts from their companions. forthwith there was a stampede towards the well, the cliff, the beaches, anywhere to get away from that awesome cavern where ghosts dwelt and men fell maimed at the very threshold. the sailor, leaning as far over the edge of the rock as the girl's expostulations would permit, heard a couple of men groaning beneath, whilst a third limped away with frantic and painful haste. "what is it?" whispered iris, eager herself to witness the tumult. "what has happened?" "they have been routed by a box of matches and a few dried bones," he answered. there was no time for further speech. he was absorbed in estimating the probable number of the dyaks. thus far, he had seen about fifty. moreover, he did not wish to acquaint iris with the actual details of the artifice that had been so potent. her allusion to the box of water-sodden tändstickors gave him the notion of utilizing as an active ally the bleached remains of the poor fellow who had long ago fallen a victim to this identical mob of cut-throats or their associates. he gathered the principal bones from their resting-place near the well, rubbed them with the ends of the matches after damping the sulphur again, and arranged them with ghastly effect on the pile of rubbish at the further end of the cave, creeping under the _cheval de frise_ for the purpose. though not so vivid as he wished, the pale-glimmering headless skeleton in the intense darkness of the interior was appalling enough in all conscience. fortunately the fumes of the sulphur fed on the bony substance. they endured a sufficient time to scare every dyak who caught a glimpse of the monstrous object crouching in luminous horror within the dismal cavern. not even the stirring exhortations of the chief, whose voice was raised in furious speech, could induce his adherents to again approach that affrighting spot. at last the daring scoundrel himself, still wielding his naked sword, strode right up to the very doorway. stricken with sudden stupor, he gazed at the fitful gleams within. he prodded the _cheval de frise_ with the parang. here was something definite and solid. then he dragged one of the wounded men out into the moonlight. again jenks experienced an itching desire to send a bullet through the dyak's head; again he resisted the impulse. and so passed that which is vouchsafed by fate to few men--a second opportunity. another vehement harangue by the chief goaded some venturesome spirits into carrying their wounded comrade out of sight, presumably to the hut. inspired by their leader's fearless example, they even removed the third injured dyak from the vicinity of the cave, but the celerity of their retreat caused the wretch to bawl in agony. their next undertaking was no sooner appreciated by the sailor than he hurriedly caused iris to shelter herself beneath the tarpaulin, whilst he cowered close to the floor of the ledge, looking only through the screen of tall grasses. they kindled a fire near the well. soon its ruddy glare lit up the dark rock with fantastic flickerings, and drew scintillations from the weapons and ornaments of the hideously picturesque horde gathered in its vicinity. they spoke a language of hard vowels and nasal resonance, and ate what he judged to be dry fish, millets, and strips of tough preserved meat, which they cooked on small iron skewers stuck among the glowing embers. his heart sank as he counted sixty-one, all told, assembled within forty yards of the ledge. probably several others were guarding the boats or prowling about the island. indeed, events proved that more than eighty men had come ashore in three large sampans, roomy and fleet craft, well fitted for piratical excursions up river estuaries or along a coast. they were mostly bare-legged rascals, wearing malay hats, loose jackets reaching to the knee, and sandals. one man differed essentially from the others. he was habited in the conventional attire of an indian mahommedan, and his skin was brown, whilst the swarthy dyaks were yellow beneath the dirt. jenks thought, from the manner in which his turban was tied, that he must be a punjabi mussulman--very likely an escaped convict from the andamans. the most careful scrutiny did not reveal any arms of precision. they all carried muzzle-loaders, either antiquated flintlocks, or guns sufficiently modern to be fitted with nipples for percussion caps. each dyak, of course, sported a parang and dagger-like kriss; a few bore spears, and about a dozen shouldered a long straight piece of bamboo. the nature of this implement the sailor could not determine at the moment. when the knowledge did come, it came so rapidly that he was saved from many earlier hours of abiding; dread, for one of those innocuous-looking weapons was fraught with more quiet deadliness than a gatling gun. in the neighborhood of the fire an animated discussion took place. though it was easy to see that the chief was all-paramount, his fellow-tribesmen exercised a democratic right of free speech and outspoken opinion. flashing eyes and expressive hands were turned towards cave and hut. once, when the debate grew warm, the chief snatched up a burning branch and held it over the blackened embers of the fire extinguished by jenks. he seemed to draw some definite conclusion from an examination of the charcoal, and the argument thenceforth proceeded with less emphasis. whatever it was that he said evidently carried conviction. iris, nestling close to the sailor, whispered-- "do you know what he has found out?" "i can only guess that he can tell by the appearance of the burnt wood how long it is since it was extinguished. clearly they agree with him." "then they know we are still here?" "either here or gone within a few hours. in any case they will make a thorough search of the island at daybreak." "will it be dawn soon?" "yes. are you tired?" "a little cramped--that is all." "don't think i am foolish--can you manage to sleep?" "sleep! with those men so near!" "yes. we do not know how long they will remain. we must keep up our strength. sleep, next to food and drink, is a prime necessity." "if it will please you, i will try," she said, with such sweet readiness to obey his slightest wish that the wonder is he did not kiss her then and there. by previous instruction she knew exactly what to do. she crept quietly back until well ensconced in the niche widened and hollowed for her accommodation. there, so secluded was she from the outer world of horror and peril, that the coarse voices beneath only reached her in a murmur. pulling one end of the tarpaulin over her, she stretched her weary limbs on a litter of twigs and leaves, commended herself and the man she loved to god's keeping, and, wonderful though it may seem, was soon slumbering peacefully. the statement may sound passing strange to civilized ears, accustomed only to the routine of daily life and not inured to danger and wild surroundings. but the soldier who has snatched a hasty doze in the trenches, the sailor who has heard a fierce gale buffeting the walls of his frail ark, can appreciate the reason why iris, weary and surfeited with excitement, would have slept were she certain that the next sunrise would mark her last hour on earth. jenks, too, composed himself for a brief rest. he felt assured that there was not the remotest chance of their lofty perch being found out before daybreak, and the first faint streaks of dawn would awaken him. these two, remote, abandoned, hopelessly environed by a savage enemy, closed their eyes contentedly and awaited that which the coming day should bring forth. when the morning breeze swept over the ocean and the stars were beginning to pale before the pink glory flung broadcast through the sky by the yet invisible sun, the sailor was aroused by the quiet fluttering of a bird about to settle on the rock, but startled by the sight of him. his faculties were at once on the alert, though he little realized the danger betokened by the bird's rapid dart into the void. turning first to peer at iris, he satisfied himself that she was still asleep. her lips were slightly parted in a smile; she might be dreaming of summer and england. he noiselessly wormed his way to the verge of the rock and looked down through the grass-roots. the dyaks were already stirring. some were replenishing the fire, others were drawing water, cooking, eating, smoking long thin-stemmed pipes with absurdly small bowls, or oiling their limbs and weapons with impartial energy. the chief yet lay stretched on the sand, but, when the first beams of the sun gilded the waters, a man stooped over the prostrate form and said something that caused the sleeper to rise stiffly, supporting himself on his uninjured arm. they at once went off together towards europa point. "they have found the boat," thought jenks. "well, they are welcome to all the information it affords." the pair soon returned. another dyak advanced to exhibit one of jenks's spring-gun attachments. the savages had a sense of humor. several laughed heartily when the cause of their overnight alarms was revealed. the chief alone preserved a gloomy and saturnine expression. he gave some order at which they all hung back sheepishly. cursing them in choice malay, the chief seized a thick faggot and strode in the direction of the cave. goaded into activity by his truculent demeanor, some followed him, and jenks--unable to see, but listening anxiously--knew that they were tearing the _cheval de frise_ from its supports. nevertheless none of the working party entered the excavation. they feared the parched bones that shone by night. "poor j.s.!" murmured the sailor. "if his spirit still lingers near the scene of his murder he will thank me for dragging him into the fray. he fought them living and he can scare them dead." as he had not been able to complete the communicating shaft it was not now of vital importance should the dyaks penetrate to the interior. yet he thanked the good luck that had showered such a heap of rubbish over the spot containing his chief stores and covering the vein of gold. wild as these fellows were, they well knew the value of the precious metal, and if by chance they lighted upon such a well-defined lode they might not quit the island for weeks. at last, on a command from the chief, the dyaks scattered in various directions. some turned towards europa point, but the majority went to the east along turtle beach or by way of the lagoon. prospect park was deserted. they were scouring both sections of the island in full force. the quiet watcher on the ledge took no needless risks. though it was impossible to believe any stratagem had been planned for his special benefit an accident might betray him. with the utmost circumspection he rose on all fours and with comprehensive glance examined trees, plateau, and both strips of beach for signs of a lurking foe. he need have no fear. of all places in the island the dyaks least imagined that their quarry had lain all night within earshot of their encampment. at this hour, when the day had finally conquered the night, and the placid sea offered a turquoise path to the infinite, the scene was restful, gently bewitching. he knew that, away there to the north, p. and o. steamers, messageries maritimes, and north german lloyd liners were steadily churning the blue depths _en route_ to japan or the straits settlements. they carried hundreds of european passengers, men and women, even little children, who were far removed from the knowledge that tragedies such as this dyak horror lay almost in their path. people in london were just going to the theater. he recalled the familiar jingle of the hansoms scampering along piccadilly, the more stately pace of the private carriages crossing the park. was it possible that in the world of today--the world of telegraphs and express trains, of the newspaper and the motor car--two inoffensive human beings could be done to death so shamefully and openly as would be the fate of iris and himself if they fell into the hands of these savages! it was inconceivable, intolerable! but it was true! and then, by an odd trick of memory, his mind reverted, not to the yorkshire manor he learnt to love as a boy, but to a little french inland town where he once passed a summer holiday intent on improving his knowledge of the language. interior france is even more remote, more secluded, more provincial, than agricultural england. there no breath of the outer world intrudes. all is laborious, circumspect, a trifle poverty-stricken, but beautified by an arcadian simplicity. yet one memorable day, when walking by the banks of a river, he came upon three men dragging from out a pool the water-soaked body of a young girl into whose fair forehead the blunt knob often seen on the back of an old-fashioned axe had been driven with cruel force. so, even in that tiny old-world hamlet, murder and lust could stalk hand in hand. he shuddered. why did such a hateful vision trouble him? resolutely banning the raven-winged specter, he slid back down the ledge and gently wakened iris. she sat up instantly and gazed at him with wondering eyes. fearful lest she should forget her surroundings, he placed a warning finger on his lips. "oh," she said in a whisper, "are they still here?" he told her what had happened, and suggested that they should have something to eat whilst the coast was clear beneath. she needed no second bidding, for the long vigil of the previous night had made her very hungry, and the two breakfasted right royally on biscuit, cold fowl, ham, and good water. in this, the inner section of their refuge, they could be seen only by a bird or by a man standing on the distant rocky shelf that formed the southern extremity of the opposite cliff, and the sailor kept a close lookout in that direction. iris was about to throw the remains of the feast into an empty oil-tin provided for refuse when jenks restrained her. "no," he said, smilingly. "scraps should be the first course next time. we must not waste an atom of food." "how thoughtless of me!" she exclaimed. "please tell me you think they will go away today." but the sailor flung himself flat on the ledge and grasped a lee-metford. "be still, on your life," he said. "squeeze into your corner. there is a dyak on the opposite cliff." true enough, a man had climbed to that unhappily placed rocky table, and was shouting something to a confrère high on the cliff over their heads. as yet he had not seen them, nor even noticed the place where they were concealed. the sailor imagined, from the dyak's gestures, that he was communicating the uselessness of further search on the western part of the island. when the conversation ceased, he hoped the loud-voiced savage would descend. but no! the scout looked into the valley, at the well, the house, the cave. still he did not see the ledge. at that unlucky moment three birds, driven from the trees on the crest by the passage of the dyaks, flew down the face of the cliff and began a circling quest for some safe perch on which to alight. jenks swore with an emphasis not the less earnest because it was mute, and took steady aim at the dyak's left breast. the birds fluttered about in ever smaller circles. then one of them dropped easily on to the lip of the rock. instantly his bright eyes encountered those of the man, and he darted off with a scream that brought his mates after him. the dyak evidently noted the behavior of the birds--his only lore was the reading of such signs--and gazed intently at the ledge. jenks he could not distinguish behind the screen of grass. he might perhaps see some portion of the tarpaulin covering the stores, but at the distance it must resemble a weather-beaten segment of the cliff. yet something puzzled him. after a steady scrutiny he turned and yelled to others on the beach. the crucial moment had arrived. jenks pressed the trigger, and the dyak hurtled through the air, falling headlong out of sight. the sound of this, the first shot of real warfare, awoke rainbow island into tremendous activity. the winged life of the place filled the air with raucous cries, whilst shouting dyaks scurried in all directions. several came into the valley. those nearest the fallen man picked him up and carried him to the well. he was quite dead, and, although amidst his other injuries they soon found the bullet wound, they evidently did not know whence the shot came, for those to whom he shouted had no inkling of his motive, and the slight haze from the rifle was instantly swept away by the breeze. iris could hear the turmoil beneath, and she tremulously asked-- "are they going to attack us?" "not yet," was the reassuring answer. "i killed the fellow who saw us before he could tell the others." it was a bold risk, and he had taken it, though, now the dyaks knew for certain their prey had not escaped, there was no prospect of their speedy departure. nevertheless the position was not utterly hopeless. none of the enemy could tell how or by whom their companion had been shot. many among the excited horde jabbering beneath actually looked at the cliff over and over again, yet failed to note the potentialities of the ledge, with its few tufts of grass growing where seeds had apparently been blown by the wind or dropped by passing birds. jenks understood, of course, that the real danger would arise when they visited the scene of their comrade's disaster. even then the wavering balance of chance might cast the issue in his favor. he could only wait, with ready rifle, with the light of battle lowering in his eyes. of one thing at least he was certain--before they conquered him he would levy a terrible toll. he glanced back at iris. her face was pale beneath its mask of sunbrown. she was bent over her bible, and jenks did not know that she was reading the st psalm. her lips murmured-- "i will say unto the lord, he is my refuge and my fortress; my god, in him will i trust." the chief was listening intently to the story of the dyak who saw the dead man totter and fall. he gave some quick order. followed by a score or more of his men he walked rapidly to the foot of the cliff where they found the lifeless body. and iris read-- "thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day." jenks stole one more hasty glance at her. the chief and the greater number of his followers were out of sight behind the rocks. some of them must now be climbing to that fatal ledge. was this the end? yet the girl, unconscious of the doom impending, kept her eyes steadfastly fixed on the book. "for he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. "they shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.... "he shall call upon me, and i will answer him: i will be with him in trouble: i will deliver him and honour him." iris did not apply the consoling words to herself. she closed the book and bent forward sufficiently in her sheltering niche to permit her to gaze with wistful tenderness upon the man whom she hoped to see delivered and honored. she knew he would dare all for her sake. she could only pray and hope. after reading those inspired verses she placed implicit trust in the promise made. for he was good: his was the mercy that "endureth forever." enemies encompassed them with words of hatred--fought against them without a cause--but there was one who should "judge among the heathen" and "fill the places with dead bodies." suddenly a clamor of discordant yells fell upon her ears. jenks rose to his knees. the dyaks had discovered their refuge and were about to open fire. he offered them a target lest perchance iris were not thoroughly screened. "keep close," he said. "they have found us. lead will be flying around soon." she flinched back into the crevice; the sailor fell prone. four bullets spat into the ledge, of which three pierced the tarpaulin and one flattened itself against the rock. then jenks took up the tale. so curiously constituted was this man, that although he ruthlessly shot the savage who first spied out their retreat, he was swayed only by the dictates of stern necessity. there was a feeble chance that further bloodshed might be averted. that chance had passed. very well. the enemy must start the dreadful game about to be played. they had thrown the gage and he answered them. four times did the lee-metford carry death, unseen, almost unfelt, across the valley. ere the fourth dyak collapsed limply where he stood, others were there, firing at the little puff of smoke above the grass. they got in a few shots, most of which sprayed at various angles off the face of the cliff. but they waited for no more. when the lever of the lee-metford was shoved home for the fifth time the opposing crest was bare of all opponents save two, and they lay motionless. the fate of the flanking detachment was either unperceived or unheeded by the dyaks left in the vicinity of the house and well. astounded by the firing that burst forth in mid-air, jenks had cleared the dangerous rock before they realized that here, above their heads, were the white man and the maid whom they sought. with stupid zeal they blazed away furiously, only succeeding in showering fragments of splintered stone into the eagle's nest. and the sailor smiled. he quietly picked up an old coat, rolled it into a ball and pushed it into sight amidst the grass. then he squirmed round on his stomach and took up a position ten feet away. of course those who still carried loaded guns discharged them at the bundle of rags, whereupon jenks thrust his rifle beyond the edge of the rock and leaned over. three dyaks fell before the remainder made up their minds to run. once convinced, however, that running was good for their health, they moved with much celerity. the remaining cartridges in the magazine slackened the pace of two of their number. jenks dropped the empty weapon and seized another. he stood up now and sent a quick reminder after the rearmost pirate. the others had disappeared towards the locality where their leader and his diminished troupe were gathered, not daring to again come within range of the whistling dum-dums. the sailor, holding his rifle as though pheasant-shooting, bent forward and sought a belated opponent, but in vain. in military phrase, the _terrain_ was clear of the enemy. there was no sound save the wailing of birds, the soft sough of the sea, and the yelling of the three wounded men in the house, who knew not what terrors threatened, and vainly bawled for succor. again jenks could look at iris. her face was bleeding. the sight maddened him. "my god!" he groaned, "are you wounded?" she smiled bravely at him. "it is nothing," she said. "a mere splash from the rock which cut my forehead." he dared not go to her. he could only hope that it was no worse, so he turned to examine the valley once more for vestige of a living foe. chapter xii a truce though his eyes, like live coals, glowered with sullen fire at the strip of sand and the rocks in front, his troubled brain paid perfunctory heed to his task. the stern sense of duty, the ingrained force of long years of military discipline and soldierly thought, compelled him to keep watch and ward over his fortress, but he could not help asking himself what would happen if iris were seriously wounded. there was one enemy more potent than these skulking dyaks, a foe more irresistible in his might, more pitiless in his strength, whose assaults would tax to the utmost their powers of resistance. in another hour the sun would be high in the heavens, pouring his ardent rays upon them and drying the blood in their veins. hitherto, the active life of the island, the shade of trees, hut or cave, the power of unrestricted movement and the possession of water in any desired quantity, robbed the tropical heat of the day of its chief terrors. now all was changed. instead of working amidst grateful foliage, they were bound to the brown rock, which soon would glow with radiated energy and give off scorching gusts like unto the opening of a furnace-door. this he had foreseen all along. the tarpaulin would yield them some degree of uneasy protection, and they both were in perfect physical condition. but--if iris were wounded! if the extra strain brought fever in its wake! that way he saw nothing but blank despair, to be ended, for her, by delirium and merciful death, for him by a berserk rush among the dyaks, and one last mad fight against overwhelming numbers. then the girl's voice reached him, self-reliant, almost cheerful-- "you will be glad to hear that the cut has stopped bleeding. it is only a scratch." so a kindly providence had spared them yet a little while. the cloud passed from his mind, the gathering mist from his eyes. in that instant he thought he detected a slight rustling among the trees where the cliff shelved up from the house. standing as he was on the edge of the rock, this was a point he could not guard against. when her welcome assurance recalled his scattered senses, he stepped back to speak to her, and in the same instant a couple of bullets crashed against the rock overhead. iris had unwittingly saved him from a serious, perhaps fatal, wound. he sprang to the extreme right of the ledge and boldly looked into the trees beneath. two dyaks were there, belated wanderers cut off from the main body. they dived headlong into the undergrowth for safety, but one of them was too late. the lee-metford reached him, and its reverberating concussion, tossed back and forth by the echoing rocks, drowned his parting scream. in the plenitude of restored vigor the sailor waited for no counter demonstration. he turned and crouchingly approached the southern end of his parapet. through his screen of grass he could discern the long black hair and yellow face of a man who lay on the sand and twisted his head around the base of the further cliff. the distance, oft measured, was ninety yards, the target practically a six-inch bull's-eye. jenks took careful aim, fired, and a whiff of sand flew up. perhaps he had used too fine a sight and ploughed a furrow beneath the dyak's ear. he only heard a faint yell, but the enterprising head vanished and there were no more volunteers for that particular service. he was still peering at the place when a cry of unmitigated anguish came from iris-- "oh, come quick! our water! the casks have burst!" it was not until jenks had torn the tarpaulin from off their stores, and he was wildly striving with both hands to scoop up some precious drops collected in the small hollows of the ledge, that he realized the full magnitude of the disaster which had befallen them. during the first rapid exchange of fire, before the enemy vacated the cliff, several bullets had pierced the tarpaulin. by a stroke of exceeding bad fortune two of them had struck each of the water-barrels and started the staves. the contents quietly ebbed away beneath the broad sheet, and flowing inwards by reason of the sharp slope of the ledge, percolated through the fault. iris and he, notwithstanding their frenzied efforts, were not able to save more than a pint of gritty discolored fluid. the rest, infinitely more valuable to them than all the diamonds of de beers, was now oozing through the natural channel cut by centuries of storm, dripping upon the headless skeleton in the cave, soaking down to the very heart of their buried treasure. jenks was so paralyzed by this catastrophe that iris became alarmed. as yet she did not grasp its awful significance. that he, her hero, so brave, so confident in the face of many dangers, should betray such sense of irredeemable loss, frightened her much more than the incident itself. her lips whitened. her words become incoherent. "tell me," she whispered. "i can bear anything but silence. tell me, i implore you. is it so bad?" the sight of her distress sobered him. he ground his teeth together as a man does who submits to a painful operation and resolves not to flinch beneath the knife. "it is very bad," he said; "not quite the end, but near it." "the end," she bravely answered, "is death! we are living and uninjured. you must fight on. if the lord wills it we shall not die." he looked in her blue eyes and saw there the light of heaven. "god bless you, dear girl," he murmured brokenly. "you would cheer any man through the valley of the shadow, were he christian or faint-heart." her glance did not droop before his. in such moments heart speaks to heart without concealment. "we still have a little water," she cried. "fortunately we are not thirsty. you have not forgotten our supply of champagne and brandy?" there was a species of mad humor in the suggestion. oh for another miracle that should change the wine into water! he could only fall in with her unreflective mood and leave the dreadful truth to its own evil time. in their little nook the power of the sun had not yet made itself felt. by ordinary computation it was about nine o'clock. long before noon they would be grilling. throughout the next few hours they must suffer the torture of dives with one meager pint of water to share between them. of course the wine and spirit must be shunned like a pestilence. to touch either under such conditions would be courting heat, apoplexy, and death. and next day! he tightened his jaws before he answered-- "we will console ourselves with a bottle of champagne for dinner. meanwhile, i hear our friends shouting to those left on this side of the island. i must take an active interest in the conversation." he grasped a rifle and lay down on the ledge, already gratefully warm. there was a good deal of sustained shouting going on. jenks thought he recognized the chief's voice, giving instructions to those who had come from smugglers' cove and were now standing on the beach near the quarry. "i wonder if he is hungry," he thought. "if so, i will interfere with the commissariat." iris peeped forth at him. "mr. jenks!" "yes," without turning his head. he knew it was an ordinary question. "may i come too?" "what! expose yourself on the ledge!" "yes, even that. i am so tired of sitting here alone." "well, there is no danger at present. but they might chance to see you, and you remember what i--" "yes, i remember quite well. if that is all--" there was a rustle of garments. "i am very mannish in appearance. if you promise not to look at me i will join you." "i promise." iris stepped forth. she was flushed a little, and, to cover her confusion, may be, she picked up a lee-metford. "now there are two guns," she said, as she stood near him. he could see through the tail of his eye that a slight but elegantly proportioned young gentleman of the sea-faring profession had suddenly appeared from nowhere. he was glad she had taken this course. it might better the position were the dyaks to see her thus. "the moment i tell you, you must fall flat," he warned her. "no ceremony about it. just flop!" "i don't know anything better calculated to make one flop than a bullet," she laughed. not yet did the tragedy of the broken kegs appeal to her. "yes, but it achieves its purpose in two ways. i want you to adopt the precautionary method." "trust me for that. good gracious!" the sailor's rifle went off with an unexpected bang that froze the exclamation on her lips. three dyaks were attempting to run the gauntlet to their beleaguered comrades. they carried a jar and two wicker baskets. he with the jar fell and broke it. the others doubled back like hares, and the first man dragged himself after them. jenks did not fire again. iris watched the wounded wretch crawling along the ground. her eyes grew moist, and she paled somewhat. when he vanished she looked into the valley and at the opposing ledge; three men lay dead within twenty yards of her. two others dangled from the rocks. it took her some time to control her quavering utterance sufficiently to say-- "i hope i may not have to use a gun. i know it cannot be helped, but if i were to kill a human being i do not think i would ever rest again." "in that case i have indeed murdered sleep today," was the unfeeling reply. "no! no! a man must be made of sterner stuff. we have a right to defend ourselves. if need be i will exercise that right. still it is horrid, oh, so horrid!" she could not see the sailor's grim smile. it would materially affect his rest, for the better, were he able to slay every dyak on the island with a single shot. yet her gentle protest pleased him. she could not at the same time be callous to human suffering and be iris. but he declined the discussion of such sentiments. "you were going to say something when a brief disturbance took place?" he inquired. "yes. i was surprised to find how hot the ledge has become." "you notice it more because you are obliged to remain here." after a pause-- "i think i understand now why you were so upset by the loss of our water supply. before the day ends we will be in great straits, enduring agonies from thirst!" "let us not meet the devil half-way," he rejoined. he preferred the unfair retort to a confession which could only foster dismay. "but, please, i am thirsty now." he moved uneasily. he was only too conscious of the impish weakness, common to all mankind, which creates a desire out of sheer inability to satisfy it. already his own throat was parched. the excitement of the early struggle was in itself enough to engender an acute thirst. he thought it best to meet their absolute needs as far as possible. "bring the tin cup," he said. "let us take half our store and use the remainder when we eat. try to avoid breathing through your mouth. the hot air quickly affects the palate and causes an artificial dryness. we cannot yet be in real need of water. it is largely imagination." iris needed no second bidding. she carefully measured out half a pint of the unsavory fluid--the dregs of the casks and the scourings of the ledge. "i will drink first," she cried. "no, no," he interrupted impatiently. "give it to me." she pretended to be surprised. "as a mere matter of politeness----" "i am sorry, but i must insist." she gave him the cup over his shoulder. he placed it to his lips and gulped steadily. "there," he said, gruffly. "i was in a hurry. the dyaks may make another rush at any moment." iris looked into the vessel. "you have taken none at all," she said. "nonsense!" "mr. jenks, be reasonable! you need it more than i. i d-don't want to--live w-without--you." his hands shook somewhat. it was well there was no call for accurate shooting just then. "i assure you i took all i required," he declared with unnecessary vehemence. "at least drink your share, to please me," she murmured. "you wished to humbug me," he grumbled. "if you will take the first half i will take the second." and they settled it that way. the few mouthfuls of tepid water gave them new life. one sense can deceive the others. a man developing all the symptoms of hydrophobia has been cured by the assurance that the dog which bit him was not mad. so these two, not yet aflame with drought, banished the arid phantom for a little while. nevertheless, by high noon they were suffering again. the time passed very slowly. the sun rose to the zenith and filled earth and air with his ardor. it seemed to be a miracle--now appreciated for the first time in their lives--that the sea did not dry up, and the leaves wither on the trees. the silence, the deathly inactivity of all things, became intolerable. the girl bravely tried to confine her thoughts to the task of the hour. she displayed alert watchfulness, an instant readiness to warn her companion of the slightest movement among the trees or by the rocks to the north-west, this being the arc of their periphery assigned to her. looking at a sunlit space from cover, and looking at the same place when sweltering in the direct rays of a tropical sun, are kindred operations strangely diverse in achievement. iris could not reconcile the physical sensitiveness of the hour with the careless hardihood of the preceding days. her eyes ached somewhat, for she had tilted her sou'wester to the back of her head in the effort to cool her throbbing temples. she put up her right hand to shade the too vivid reflection of the glistening sea, and was astounded to find that in a few minutes the back of her hand was scorched. a faint sound of distant shouting disturbed her painful reverie. "how is it," she asked, "that we feel the heat so much today? i have hardly noticed it before." "for two good reasons--forced idleness and radiation from this confounded rock. moreover, this is the hottest day we have experienced on the island. there is not a breath of air, and the hot weather has just commenced." "don't you think," she said, huskily, "that our position here is quite hopeless?" they were talking to each other sideways. the sailor never turned his gaze from the southern end of the valley. "it is no more hopeless now than last night or this morning," he replied. "but suppose we are kept here for several days?" "that was always an unpleasant probability." "we had water then. even with an ample supply it would be difficult to hold out. as things are, such a course becomes simply impossible." her despondency pierced his soul. a slow agony was consuming her. "it is hard, i admit," he said. "nevertheless you must bear up until night falls. then we will either obtain water or leave this place." "surely we can do neither." "we may be compelled to do both." "but how?" in this, his hour of extremest need, the man was vouchsafed a shred of luck. to answer her satisfactorily would have baffled a talleyrand. but before he could frame a feeble pretext for his too sanguine prediction, a sampan appeared, eight hundred yards from turtle beach, and strenuously paddled by three men. the vague hallooing they had heard was explained. the dyaks, though to the manner born, were weary of sun-scorched rocks and salt water. the boat was coming in response to their signals, and the sight inspired jenks with fresh hope. like a lightning flash came the reflection that if he could keep them away from the well and destroy the sampan now hastening to their assistance, perhaps conveying the bulk of their stores, they would soon tire of slaking their thirst, on the few pitcher-plants growing on the north shore. "come quick," he shouted, adjusting the backsight of a rifle. "lie down and aim at the front of that boat, a little short if anything. it doesn't matter if the bullets strike the sea first." he placed the weapon in readiness for her and commenced operations himself before iris could reach his side. soon both rifles were pitching twenty shots a minute at the sampan. the result of their long-range practice was not long in doubt. the dyaks danced from seat to seat in a state of wild excitement. one man was hurled overboard. then the craft lurched seaward in the strong current, and jenks told iris to leave the rest to him. before he could empty a second magazine a fortunate bullet ripped a plank out and the sampan filled and went down, amidst a shrill yell of execration from the back of the cliff. the two dyaks yet living endeavored to swim ashore, half a mile through shark-invested reefs. the sailor did not even trouble about them. after a few frantic struggles each doomed wretch flung up his arms and vanished. in the clear atmosphere the on-lookers could see black fins cutting the pellucid sea. this exciting episode dispelled the gathering mists from the girl's brain. her eyes danced and she breathed hard. yet something worried her. "i hope i didn't hit the man who fell out of the boat," she said. "oh," came the prompt assurance, "i took deliberate aim at that chap. he was a most persistent scoundrel." iris was satisfied. jenks thought it better to lie than to tell the truth, for the bald facts hardly bore out his assertion. judging from the manner of the dyak's involuntary plunge he had been hit by a ricochet bullet, whilst the sailor's efforts were wholly confined to sinking the sampan. however, let it pass. bullet or shark, the end was the same. they were quieting down--the thirst fiend was again slowly salting their veins--when something of a dirty white color fluttered into sight from behind the base of the opposite cliff. it was rapidly withdrawn, to reappear after an interval. now it was held more steadily and a brown arm became visible. as jenks did not fire, a turbaned head popped into sight. it was the mahommedan. "no shoot it," he roared. "me english speak it." "don't you speak hindustani?" shouted jenks in urdu of the higher proficiency. "hañ, sahib!"[footnote: yes, sir.] was the joyful response. "will your honor permit his servant to come and talk with him?" "yes, if you come unarmed." "and the chief, too, sahib?" "yes, but listen! on the first sign of treachery i shoot both of you!" "we will keep faith, sahib. may kites pick our bones if we fail!" then there stepped into full view the renegade mussulman and his leader. they carried no guns; the chief wore his kriss. [illustration: the two halted some ten paces in front of the cavern. and the belligerents surveyed each other.] "tell him to leave that dagger behind!" cried the sailor imperiously. as the enemy demanded a parley he resolved to adopt the conqueror's tone from the outset. the chief obeyed with a scowl, and the two advanced to the foot of the rock. "stand close to me," said jenks to iris. "let them see you plainly, but pull your hat well down over your eyes." she silently followed his instructions. now that the very crisis of their fate had arrived she was nervous, shaken, conscious only of a desire to sink on her knees, and pray. one or two curious heads were craned round the corner of the rock. "stop!" cried jenks. "if those men do not instantly go away i will fire at them." the indian translated this order and the chief vociferated some clanging syllables which had the desired effect. the two halted some ten paces in front of the cavern, and the belligerents surveyed each other. it was a fascinating spectacle, this drama in real life. the yellow-faced dyak, gaudily attired in a crimson jacket and sky-blue pantaloons of chinese silk--a man with the _beauté du diable_, young, and powerfully built--and the brown-skinned white-clothed mahommedan, bony, tall, and grey with hardship, looked up at the occupants of the ledge. iris, slim and boyish in her male garments, was dwarfed by the six-foot sailor, but her face was blood-stained, and jenks wore a six weeks' stubble of beard. holding their lee-metfords with alert ease, with revolvers strapped to their sides, they presented a warlike and imposing tableau in their inaccessible perch. in the path of the emissaries lay the bodies of the slain. the dyak leader scowled again as he passed them. "sahib," began the indian, "my chief, taung s'ali, does not wish to have any more of his men killed in a foolish quarrel about a woman. give her up, he says, and he will either leave you here in peace, or carry you safely to some place where you can find a ship manned by white men." "a woman!" said jenks, scornfully. "that is idle talk! what woman is here?" this question nonplussed the native. "the woman whom the chief saw half a month back, sahib." "taung s'ali was bewitched. i slew his men so quickly that he saw spirits." the chief caught his name and broke in with a question. a volley of talk between the two was enlivened with expressive gestures by taung s'ali, who several times pointed to iris, and jenks now anathematized his thoughtless folly in permitting the dyak to approach so near. the mahommedan, of course, had never seen her, and might have persuaded the other that in truth there were two men only on the rock. his fears were only too well founded. the mussulman salaamed respectfully and said-- "protector of the poor, i cannot gainsay your word, but taung s'ali says that the maid stands by your side, and is none the less the woman he seeks in that she wears a man's clothing." "he has sharp eyes, but his brain is addled," retorted the sailor. "why does he come here to seek a woman who is not of his race? not only has he brought death to his people and narrowly escaped it himself, but he must know that any violence offered to us will mean the extermination of his whole tribe by an english warship. tell him to take away his boats and never visit this isle again. perhaps i will then forget his treacherous attempt to murder us whilst we slept last night." the chief glared back defiantly, whilst the mahommedan said-- "sahib, it is beet not to anger him too much. he says he means to have the girl. he saw her beauty that day and she inflamed his heart. she has cost him many lives, but she is worth a sultan's ransom. he cares not for warships. they cannot reach his village in the hills. by the tomb of nizam-ud-din, sahib, he will not harm you if you give her up, but if you refuse he will kill you both. and what is one woman more or less in the world that she should cause strife and blood-letting?" the sailor knew the eastern character too well not to understand the man's amazement that he should be so solicitous about the fate of one of the weaker sex. it was seemingly useless to offer terms, yet the native was clearly so anxious for an amicable settlement that he caught at a straw. "you come from delhi?" he asked. "honored one, you have great wisdom." "none but a delhi man swears by the tomb on the road to the kutub. you have escaped from the andamans?" "sahib, i did but slay a man in self-defence." "whatever the cause, you can never again see india. nevertheless, you would give many years of your life to mix once more with the bazaar-folk in the chandni chowk, and sit at night on a charpoy near the lahore gate?" the brown skin assumed a sallow tinge. "that is good speaking," he gurgled. "then help me and my friend to escape. compel your chief to leave the island. kill him! plot against him! i will promise you freedom and plenty of rupees. do this, and i swear to you i will come in a ship and take you away. the miss-sahib's father is powerful. he has great influence with the sirkar."[footnote: the government of india.] taung s'ali was evidently bewildered and annoyed by this passionate appeal which he did not understand. he demanded an explanation, and the ready-witted native was obliged to invent some plausible excuse. yet when he raised his face to jenks there was the look of a hunted animal in his eyes. "sahib," he said, endeavoring to conceal his agitation. "i am one among many. a word from me and they would cut my throat. if i were with you there on the rock i would die with you, for i was in the kumaon rissala[footnote: a native cavalry regiment.] when the trouble befell me. it is of no avail to bargain with a tiger, sahib. i suppose you will not give up the miss-sahib. pretend to argue with me. i will help in any way possible." jenks's heart bounded when this unlooked-for offer reached his ears. the unfortunate mahommedan was evidently eager to get away from the piratical gang into whose power he had fallen. but the chief was impatient, if not suspicious of these long speeches. angrily holding forth a lee-metford the sailor shouted-- "tell taung s'ali that i will slay him and all his men ere tomorrow's sun rises. he knows something of my power, but not all. tonight, at the twelfth hour, you will find a rope hanging from the rock. tie thereto a vessel of water. fail not in this. i will not forget your services. i am anstruther sahib, of the belgaum rissala." the native translated his words into a fierce defiance of taung s'ali and his dyaks. the chief glanced at jenks and iris with an ominous smile. he muttered something. "then, sahib. there is nothing more to be said. beware of the trees on your right. they can send silent death even to the place where you stand. and i will not fail you tonight, on my life," cried the interpreter. "i believe you. go! but inform your chief that once you have disappeared round the rock whence you came i will talk to him only with a rifle." taung s'ali seemed to comprehend the englishman's emphatic motions. waving his hand defiantly, the dyak turned, and, with one parting glance of mute assurance, the indian followed him. and now there came to jenks a great temptation. iris touched his arm and whispered-- "what have you decided? i did not dare to speak lest he should hear my voice." poor girl! she was sure the dyak could not penetrate her disguise, though she feared from the manner in which the conference broke up that it had not been satisfactory. jenks did not answer her. he knew that if he killed taung s'ali his men would be so dispirited that when the night came they would fly. there was so much at stake--iris, wealth, love, happiness, life itself--all depended on his plighted word. yet his savage enemy, a slayer of women, a human vampire soiled with every conceivable crime, was stalking back to safety with a certain dignified strut, calmly trusting to the white man's bond. oh, it was cruel! the ordeal of that ghastly moment was more trying than all that he had hitherto experienced. he gave a choking sob of relief when the silken-clad scoundrel passed out of sight without even deigning to give another glance at the ledge or at those who silently watched him. iris could not guess the nature of the mortal struggle raging in the sailor's soul. "tell me," she repeated, "what have you done?" "kept faith with that swaggering ruffian," he said, with an odd feeling of thankfulness that he spoke truly. "why? have you made him any promise?" "unhappily i permitted him to come here, so i had to let him go. he recognized you instantly." this surprised her greatly. "are you sure? i saw him pointing at me, but he seemed to be in such a bad temper that i imagined that he was angry with you for exchanging a prepossessing young lady for an ill-favored youth." jenks with difficulty suppressed a sigh. her words for an instant had the old piquant flavor. keeping a close watch on the sheltering promontory, he told her all that had taken place. iris became very downcast when she grasped the exact state of affairs. she was almost certain when the dyaks proposed a parley that reasonable terms would result. it horrified her beyond measure to find that she was the rock on which negotiations were wrecked. hope died within her. the bitterness of death was in her breast. "what an unlucky influence i have had on your existence!" she exclaimed. "if it were not for me this trouble at least would be spared you. because i am here you are condemned. again, because i stopped you from shooting that wretched chief and his companions they are now demanding your life as a forfeit. it is all my fault. i cannot bear it." she was on the verge of tears. the strain had become too great for her. after indulging in a wild dream of freedom, to be told that they must again endure the irksome confinement, the active suffering, the slow horrors of a siege in that rocky prison, almost distracted her. jenks was very stern and curt in his reply. "we must make the best of a bad business," he said. "if we are in a tight place the dyaks are not much better off, and eighteen of their number are dead or wounded. you forget, too, that providence has sent us a most useful ally in the mahommedan. when all is said and done, things might be far worse than they are." never before had his tone been so cold, his manner so abrupt, not even in the old days when he purposely endeavored to make her dislike him. she walked along the ledge and timidly bent over him. "forgive me!" she whispered; "i did forget for the moment, not only the goodness of providence, but also your self-sacrificing devotion. i am only a woman, and i don't want to die yet, but i will not live unless you too are saved." once already that day she had expressed this thought in other words. was some shadowy design flitting through her brain? suppose they were faced with the alternatives of dying from thirst or yielding to the dyaks. was there another way out? jenks shivered, though the rock was grilling him. he must divert her mind from this dreadful brooding. "the fact is," he said with a feeble attempt at cheerfulness, "we are both hungry and consequently grumpy. now, suppose you prepare lunch. we will feel ever so much better after we have eaten." the girl choked back her emotion, and sadly essayed the task of providing a meal which was hateful to her. in doing so she saw her bible, lying where she had placed it that morning, the leaves still open at the st psalm. she had indeed forgotten the promise it contained-- "for he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." a few tears fell now and made little furrows down her soiled cheeks. but they were helpful tears, tears of resignation, not of despair. although the "destruction that wasteth at noonday" was trying her sorely she again felt strong and sustained. she even smiled on detecting an involuntary effort to clear her stained face. she was about to carry a biscuit and some tinned meat to the sailor when a sharp exclamation from him caused her to hasten to his side. the dyaks had broken cover. running in scattered sections across the sands, they were risking such loss as the defenders might be able to inflict upon them during a brief race to the shelter and food to be obtained in the other part of the island. jenks did not fire at the scurrying gang. he was waiting for one man, taung s'ali. but that redoubtable person, having probably suggested this dash for liberty, had fully realized the enviable share of attention he would attract during the passage. he therefore discarded his vivid attire, and, by borrowing odd garments, made himself sufficiently like unto the remainder of his crew to deceive the sailor until the rush of men was over. among them ran the mahommedan, who did not look up the valley but waved his hand. when all had quieted down again jenks understood how he had been fooled. he laughed so heartily that iris, not knowing either the cause of his merriment or the reason of his unlooked-for clemency to the flying foe, feared the sun had affected him. he at once quitted the post occupied during so protracted a vigil. "now," he cried, "we can eat in peace. i have stripped the chief of his finery. his men can twit him on being forced to shed his gorgeous plumage in order to save his life. anyhow, they will leave us in peace until night falls, so we must make the best of a hot afternoon." but he was mistaken. a greater danger than any yet experienced now threatened them, though iris, after perusing that wonderful psalm, might have warned him of it had she known the purpose of those long bamboos carried by some of the savages. for taung s'ali, furious and unrelenting, resolved that if he could not obtain the girl he would slay the pair of them; and he had terrible weapons in his possession--weapons that could send "silent death even to the place where they stood." chapter xiii reality _v_. romance--the case for the defendant residents in tropical countries know that the heat is greatest, or certainly least bearable, between two and four o'clock in the afternoon. at the conclusion of a not very luscious repast, jenks suggested that they should rig up the tarpaulin in such wise as to gain protection from the sun and yet enable him to cast a watchful eye over the valley. iris helped to raise the great canvas sheet on the supports he had prepared. once shut off from the devouring sun rays, the hot breeze then springing into fitful existence cooled their blistered but perspiring skin and made life somewhat tolerable. still adhering to his policy of combatting the first enervating attacks of thirst, the sailor sanctioned the consumption of the remaining water. as a last desperate expedient, to be resorted to only in case of sheer necessity, he uncorked a bottle of champagne and filled the tin cup. the sparkling wine, with its volume of creamy foam, looked so tempting that iris would then and there have risked its potency were she not promptly withheld. jenks explained to her that when the wine became quite flat and insipid they might use it to moisten their parched lips. even so, in their present super-heated state, the liquor was unquestionably dangerous, but he hoped it would not harm them if taken in minute quantities. accustomed now to implicitly accept his advice, she fought and steadily conquered the craving within her. oddly enough, the "thawing" of their scorched bodies beneath the tarpaulin brought a certain degree of relief. they were supremely uncomfortable, but that was as naught compared with the relaxation from the torments previously borne. for a long time--the best part of an hour, perhaps--they remained silent. the sailor was reviewing the pros and cons of their precarious condition. it would, of course, be a matter of supreme importance were the indian to be faithful to his promise. here the prospect was decidedly hopeful. the man was an old _sowar_, and the ex-officer of native cavalry knew how enduring was the attachment of this poor convict to home and military service. probably at that moment the mahommedan was praying to the prophet and his two nephews to aid him in rescuing the sahib and the woman whom the sahib held so dear, for the all-wise and all-powerful sirkar is very merciful to offending natives who thus condone their former crimes. but, howsoever willing he might be, what could one man do among so many? the dyaks were hostile to him in race and creed, and assuredly infuriated against the foreign devil who had killed or wounded, in round numbers, one-fifth of their total force. very likely, the hapless mussulman would lose his life that night in attempting to bring water to the foot of the rock. well, he, jenks, might have something to say in that regard. by midnight the moon would illumine nearly the whole of prospect park. if the mahommedan were slain in front of the cavern his soul would travel to the next world attended by a nizam's cohort of slaughtered slaves. even if the man succeeded in eluding the vigilance of his present associates, where was the water to come from? there was none on the island save that in the well. in all likelihood the dyaks had a store in the remaining sampans, but the native ally of the beleaguered pair would have a task of exceeding difficulty in obtaining one of the jars or skins containing it. again, granting all things went well that night, what would be the final outcome of the struggle? how long could iris withstand the exposure, the strain, the heart-breaking misery of the rock? the future was blurred, crowded with ugly and affrighting fiends passing in fantastic array before his vision, and mouthing dumb threats of madness and death. he shook restlessly, not aware that the girl's sorrowful glance, luminous with love and pain, was fixed upon him. summarily dismissing these grisly phantoms of the mind, he asked himself what the mahommedan exactly meant by warning him against the trees on the right and the "silent death" that might come from them. he was about to crawl forth to the lip of the rock and investigate matters in that locality when iris, who also was busy with her thoughts, restrained him. "wait a little while," she said. "none of the dyaks will venture into the open until night falls. and i have something to say to you." there was a quiet solemnity in her voice that jenks had never heard before. it chilled him. his heart acknowledged a quick sense of evil omen. he raised himself slightly and turned towards her. her face, beautiful and serene beneath its disfigurements, wore an expression of settled purpose. for the life of him he dared not question her. "that man, the interpreter," she said, "told you that if i were given up to the chief, he and his followers would go away and molest you no more." his forehead seamed with sudden anger. "a mere bait," he protested. "in any event it is hardly worth discussion." and the answer came, clear and resolute-- "i think i will agree to those terms." at first he regarded her with undisguised and wordless amazement. then the appalling thought darted through his brain that she contemplated this supreme sacrifice in order to save him. a clammy sweat bedewed his brow, but by sheer will power he contrived to say-- "you must be mad to even dream of such a thing. don't you understand what it means to you--and to me? it is a ruse to trap us. they are ungoverned savages. once they had you in their power they would laugh at a promise made to me." "you may be mistaken. they must have some sense of fair dealing. even assuming that such was their intention, they may depart from it. they have already lost a great many men. their chief, having gained his main object, might not be able to persuade them to take further risks. i will make it a part of the bargain that they first supply you with plenty of water. then you, unaided, could keep them at bay for many days. we lose nothing; we can gain a great deal by endeavoring to pacify them." "iris!" he gasped, "what are you saying?" the unexpected sound of her name on his lips almost unnerved her. but no martyr ever went to the stake with more settled purpose than this pure woman, resolved to immolate herself for the sake of the man she loved. he had dared all for her, faced death in many shapes. now it was her turn. her eyes were lit with a seraphic fire, her sweet face resigned as that of an angel. "i have thought it out," she murmured, gazing at him steadily, yet scarce seeing him. "it is worth trying as a last expedient. we are abandoned by all, save the lord; and it does not appear to be his holy will to help us on earth. we can struggle on here until we die. is that right, when one of us may live?" her very candor had betrayed her. she would go away with these monstrous captors, endure them, even flatter them, until she and they were far removed from the island. and then--she would kill herself. in her innocence she imagined that self-destruction, under such circumstances, was a pardonable offence. she only gave a life to save a life, and greater love than this is not known to god or man. the sailor, in a tempest of wrath and wild emotion, had it in his mind to compel her into reason, to shake her, as one shakes a wayward child. he rose to his knees with this half-formed notion in his fevered brain. then he looked at her, and a mist seemed to shut her out from his sight. was she lost to him already? was all that had gone before an idle dream of joy and grief, a wizard's glimpse of mirrored happiness and vague perils? was iris, the crystal-souled--thrown to him by the storm-lashed waves--to be snatched away by some irresistible and malign influence? in the mere physical effort to assure himself that she was still near to him he gathered her up in his strong hands. yes, she was there, breathing, wondering, palpitating. he folded her closely to his breast, and, yielding to the passionate longings of his tired heart, whispered to her-- "my darling, do you think i can survive your loss? you are life itself to me. if we have to die, sweet one, let us die together." then iris flung her arms around his neck. "i am quite, quite happy now," she sobbed brokenly. "i didn't--imagine--it would come--this way, but--i am thankful--it has come." [illustration: love, tremendous in its power, unfathomable in its mystery, had cast its spell over them.] for a little while they yielded to the glamour of the divine knowledge that amidst the chaos of eternity each soul had found its mate. there was no need for words. love, tremendous in its power, unfathomable in its mystery, had cast its spell over them. they were garbed in light, throned in a palace built by fairy hands. on all sides squatted the ghouls of privation, misery, danger, even grim death; but they heeded not the inferno; they had created a paradise in an earthly hell. then iris withdrew herself from the man's embrace. she was delightfully shy and timid now. "so you really do love me?" she whispered, crimson-faced, with shining eyes and parted lips. he drew her to him again and kissed her tenderly. for he had cast all doubt to the winds. no matter what the future had in store she was his, his only; it was not in man's power to part them. a glorious effulgence dazzled his brain. her love had given him the strength of goliath, the confidence of david. he would pluck her from the perils that environed her. the dyak was not yet born who should rend her from him. he fondled her hair and gently rubbed her cheek with his rough fingers. the sudden sense of ownership of this fair woman was entrancing. it almost bewildered him to find iris nestling close, clinging to him in utter confidence and trust. "but i knew, i knew," she murmured. "you betrayed yourself so many times. you wrote your secret to me, and, though you did not tell me, i found your dear words on the sands, and have treasured them next my heart." what girlish romance was this? he held her away gingerly, just so far that he could look into her eyes. "oh, it is true, quite true," she cried, drawing the locket from her neck. "don't you recognize your own handwriting, or were you not certain, just then, that you really did love me?" dear, dear! how often would she repeat that wondrous phrase! together they bent over the tiny slips of paper. there it was again--"i love you"--twice blazoned in magic symbols. with blushing eagerness she told him how, by mere accident of course, she caught sight of her own name. it was not very wrong, was it, to pick up that tiny scrap, or those others, which she could not help seeing, and which unfolded their simple tale so truthfully? wrong! it was so delightfully right that he must kiss her again to emphasize his convictions. all this fondling and love-making had, of course, an air of grotesque absurdity because indulged in by two grimy and tattered individuals crouching beneath a tarpaulin on a rocky ledge, and surrounded by bloodthirsty savages intent on their destruction. such incidents require the setting of convention, the conservatory, with its wealth of flowers and plants, a summer wood, a chippendale drawing-room. and yet, god wot, men and women have loved each other in this grey old world without stopping to consider the appropriateness of place and season. after a delicious pause iris began again---- "robert--i must call you robert now--there, there, please let me get a word in even edgeways--well then, robert dear, i do not care much what happens now. i suppose it was very wicked and foolish of me to speak as i did before--before you called me iris. now tell me at once. why did you call me iris?" "you must propound that riddle to your godfather." "no wriggling, please. why did you do it?" "because i could not help myself. it slid out unawares." "how long have you thought of me only as iris, your iris?" "ever since i first understood that somewhere in the wide world was a dear woman to love me and be loved." "but at one time you thought her name was elizabeth?" "a delusion, a mirage! that is why those who christened you had the wisdom of the gods." another interlude. they grew calmer, more sedate. it was so undeniably true they loved one another that the fact was becoming venerable with age. iris was perhaps the first to recognize its quiet certainty. "as i cannot get you to talk reasonably," she protested, "i must appeal to your sympathy. i am hungry, and oh, so thirsty." the girl had hardly eaten a morsel for her midday meal. then she was despondent, utterly broken-hearted. now she was filled with new hope. there was a fresh motive in existence. whether destined to live an hour or half a century, she would never, never leave him, nor, of course, could he ever, ever leave her. some things were quite impossible--for example, that they should part. jenks brought her a biscuit, a tin of meat, and that most doleful cup of champagne. "it is not exactly _frappé_," he said, handing her the insipid beverage, "but, under other conditions, it is a wine almost worthy to toast you in." she fancied she had never before noticed what a charming smile he had. "'toast' is a peculiarly suitable word," she cried. "i am simply frizzling. in these warm clothes----" she stopped. for the first time since that prehistoric period when she was "miss deane" and he "mr. jenks" she remembered the manner of her garments. "it is not the warm clothing you feel so much as the want of air," explained the sailor readily. "this tarpaulin has made the place very stuffy, but we must put up with it until sundown. by the way, what is that?" a light tap on the tarred canvas directly over his head had caught his ear. iris, glad of the diversion, told him she had heard the noise three or four times, but fancied it was caused by the occasional rustling of the sheet on the uprights. jenks had not allowed his attention to wander altogether from external events. since the dyaks' last escapade there was no sign of them in the valley or on either beach. not for trivial cause would they come again within range of the lee-metfords. they waited and listened silently. another tap sounded on the tarpaulin in a different place, and they both concurred in the belief that something had darted in curved flight over the ledge and fallen on top of their protecting shield. "let us see what the game is," exclaimed the sailor. he crept to the back of the ledge and drew himself up until he could reach over the sheet. he returned, carrying in his hand a couple of tiny arrows. "there are no less than seven of these things sticking in the canvas," he said. "they don't look very terrible. i suppose that is what my indian friend meant by warning me against the trees on the right." he did not tell iris all the mahommedan said. there was no need to alarm her causelessly. even whilst they examined the curious little missile another flew up from the valley and lodged on the roof of their shelter. the shaft of the arrow, made of some extremely hard wood, was about ten inches in length. affixed to it was a pointed fish-bone, sharp, but not barbed, and not fastened in a manner suggestive of much strength. the arrow was neither feathered nor grooved for a bowstring. altogether it seemed to be a childish weapon to be used by men equipped with lead and steel. jenks could not understand the appearance of this toy. evidently the dyaks believed in its efficacy, or they would not keep on pertinaciously dropping an arrow on the ledge. "how do they fire it?" asked iris. "do they throw it?" "i will soon tell you," he replied, reaching for a rifle. "do not go out yet," she entreated him. "they cannot harm us. perhaps we may learn more by keeping quiet. they will not continue shooting these things all day." again a tiny arrow traveled towards them in a graceful parabola. this one fell short. missing the tarpaulin, it almost dropped on the girl's outstretched hand. she picked it up. the fish-bone point had snapped by contact with the floor of the ledge. she sought for and found the small tip. "see," she said. "it seems to have been dipped in something. it is quite discolored." jenks frowned peculiarly. a startling explanation had suggested itself to him. fragments of forgotten lore were taking cohesion in his mind. "put it down. quick!" he cried. iris obeyed him, with wonder in her eyes. he spilled a teasponful of champagne into a small hollow of the rock and steeped one of the fish-bones in the liquid. within a few seconds the champagne assumed a greenish tinge and the bone became white. then he knew. "good heavens!" he exclaimed, "these are poisoned arrows shot through a blowpipe. i have never before seen one, but i have often read about them. the bamboos the dyaks carried were sumpitans. these fish-bones have been steeped in the juice of the upas tree. iris, my dear girl, if one of them had so much as scratched your finger nothing on earth could save you." she paled and drew back in sudden horror. this tiny thing had taken the semblance of a snake. a vicious cobra cast at her feet would be less alarming, for the reptile could be killed, whilst his venomous fangs would only be used in self-defence. another tap sounded on their thrice-welcome covering. evidently the dyaks would persist in their efforts to get one of those poisoned darts home. jenks debated silently whether it would be better to create a commotion, thus inducing the savages to believe they had succeeded in inflicting a mortal wound, or to wait until the next arrow fell, rush out, and try conclusions with dum-dum bullets against the sumpitan blowers. he decided in favor of the latter course. he wished to dishearten his assailants, to cram down their throats the belief that he was invulnerable, and could visit their every effort with a deadly reprisal. iris, of course, protested when he explained his project. but the fighting spirit prevailed. their love idyll must yield to the needs of the hour. he had not long to wait. the last arrow fell, and he sprang to the extreme right of the ledge. first he looked through that invaluable screen of grass. three dyaks were on the ground, and a fourth in the fork of a tree. they were each armed with a blowpipe. he in the tree was just fitting an arrow into the bamboo tube. the others were watching him. jenks raised his rifle, fired, and the warrior in the tree pitched headlong to the ground. a second shot stretched a companion on top of him. one man jumped into the bushes and got away, but the fourth tripped over his unwieldy sumpitan and a bullet tore a large section from his skull. the sailor then amused himself with breaking the bamboos by firing at them. he came back to the white-faced girl. "i fancy that further practice with blowpipes will be at a discount on rainbow island," he cried cheerfully. but iris was anxious and distrait. "it is very sad," she said, "that we are obliged to secure our own safety by the ceaseless slaughter of human beings. is there no offer we can make them, no promise of future gain, to tempt them to abandon hostilities?" "none whatever. these borneo dyaks are bred from infancy to prey on their fellow-creatures. to be strangers and defenceless is to court pillage and massacre at their hands. i think no more of shooting them than of smashing a clay pigeon. killing a mad dog is perhaps a better simile." "but, robert dear, how long can we hold out?" "what! are you growing tired of me already?" he hoped to divert her thoughts from this constantly recurring topic. twice within the hour had it been broached and dismissed, but iris would not permit him to shirk it again. she made no reply, simply regarding him with a wistful smile. so jenks sat down by her side, and rehearsed the hopes and fears which perplexed him. he determined that there should be no further concealment between them. if they failed to secure water that night, if the dyaks maintained a strict siege of the rock throughout the whole of next day, well--they might survive--it was problematical. best leave matters in god's hands. with feminine persistency she clung to the subject, detecting his unwillingness to discuss a possible final stage in their sufferings. "robert!" she whispered fearfully, "you will never let me fall into the power of the chief, will you?" "not whilst i live." "you _must_ live. don't you understand? i would go with them to save you. but i would have died--by my own hand. robert, my love, you must do this thing before the end. i must be the first to die." he hung his head in a paroxysm of silent despair. her words rung like a tocsin of the bright romance conjured up by the avowal of their love. it seemed to him, in that instant, they had no separate existence as distinguished from the great stream of human life--the turbulent river that flowed unceasingly from an eternity of the past to an eternity of the future. for a day, a year, a decade, two frail bubbles danced on the surface and raced joyously together in the sunshine; then they were broken--did it matter how, by savage sword or lingering ailment? they vanished--absorbed again by the rushing waters--and other bubbles rose in precarious iridescence. it was a fatalist view of life, a dim and obscurantist groping after truth induced by the overpowering nature of present difficulties. the famous tentmaker of naishapur blindly sought the unending purpose when he wrote:-- "up from earth's centre through the seventh gate i rose, and on the throne of saturn sate, and many a knot unravel'd by the road; but not the master-knot of human fate. "there was the door to which i found no key; there was the veil through which i could not see: some little talk awhile of me and thee there was--and then no more of thee and me." the sailor, too, wrestled with the great problem. he may be pardoned if his heart quailed and he groaned aloud. "iris," he said solemnly, "whatever happens, unless i am struck dead at your feet, i promise you that we shall pass the boundary hand in hand. be mine the punishment if we have decided wrongly. and now," he cried, tossing his head in a defiant access of energy, "let us have done with the morgue. for my part i refuse to acknowledge i am inside until the gates clang behind me. as for you, you cannot help yourself. you must do as i tell you. i never knew of a case where the question of woman's rights was so promptly settled." his vitality was infectious. iris smiled again. her sensitive highly strung nerves permitted these sharp alternations between despondency and hope. "you must remember," he went on, "that the dyak score is twenty-one to the bad, whilst our loss stands at love. dear me, that cannot be right. love is surely not a loss." "a cynic might describe it as a negative gain." "oh, a cynic is no authority. he knows nothing whatever about the subject." "my father used to say, when he was in parliament, that people who knew least oft-times spoke best. some men get overweighted with facts." they chatted in lighter vein with such pendulum swing back to nonchalance that none would have deemed it possible for these two to have already determined the momentous issue of the pending struggle should it go against them. there is, glory be, in the anglo-saxon race the splendid faculty of meeting death with calm defiance, almost with contempt. moments of panic, agonizing memories of bygone days, visions of dear faces never to be seen again, may temporarily dethrone this proud fortitude. but the tremors pass, the gibbering specters of fear and lamentation are thrust aside, and the sons and daughters of great britain answer the last roll-call with undaunted heroism. they know how to die. and so the sun sank to rest in the sea, and the star, pierced the deepening blue of the celestial arch, whilst the man and the woman awaited patiently the verdict of the fates. before the light failed, jenks gathered all the poisoned arrows and ground their vemoned points to powder beneath his heel. gladly would iris and he have dispensed with the friendly protection of the tarpaulin when the cool evening breeze came from the south. but such a thing might not be even considered. several hours of darkness must elapse before the moon rose, and during that period, were their foes so minded, they would be absolutely at the mercy of the sumpitan shafts if not covered by their impenetrable buckler. the sailor looked long and earnestly at the well. their own bucket, improvised out of a dish-cover and a rope, lay close to the brink. a stealthy crawl across the sandy valley, half a minute of grave danger, and he would be up the ladder again with enough water to serve their imperative needs for days to come. there was little or no risk in descending the rock. soon after sunset it was wrapped in deepest gloom, for night succeeds day in the tropics with wondrous speed. the hazard lay in twice crossing the white sand, were any of the dyaks hiding behind the house or among the trees. he held no foolhardy view of his own powers. the one-sided nature of the conflict thus far was due solely to his possession of lee-metfords as opposed to muzzle-loaders. let him be surrounded on the level at close quarters by a dozen determined men and he must surely succumb. were it not for the presence of iris he would have given no second thought to the peril. it was just one of those undertakings which a soldier jumps at. "here goes for the v.c. or kingdom come!" is the pithy philosophy of thomas atkins under such circumstances. now, there was no v.c., but there was iris. to act without consulting her was impossible, so they discussed the project. naturally she scouted it. "the mahommedan may be able to help us," she pointed out. "in any event let us wait until the moon wanes. that is the darkest hour. we do not know what may happen meanwhile." the words had hardly left her mouth when an irregular volley was fired at them from the right flank of the enemy's position. every bullet struck yards above their heads, the common failing of musketry at night being to take too high an aim. but the impact of the missiles on a rock so highly impregnated with minerals caused sparks to fly, and jenks saw that the dyaks would obtain by this means a most dangerous index of their faulty practice. telling iris to at once occupy her safe corner, he rapidly adjusted a rifle on the wooden rests already prepared in anticipation of an attack from that quarter, and fired three shots at the opposing crest, whence came the majority of gun-flashes. one, at least, of the three found a human billet. there was a shout of surprise and pain, and the next volley spurted from the ground level. this could do no damage owing to the angle, but he endeavored to disconcert the marksmen by keeping up a steady fire in their direction. he did not dream of attaining other than a moral effect, as there is a lot of room to miss when aiming in the dark. soon he imagined that the burst of flame from his rifle helped the dyaks, because several bullets whizzed close to his head, and about this time firing recommenced from the crest. notwithstanding all his skill and manipulation of the wooden supports, he failed to dislodge the occupants. every minute one or more ounces of lead pitched right into the ledge, damaging the stores and tearing the tarpaulin, whilst those which struck the wall of rock were dangerous to iris by reason of the molten spray. he could guess what had happened. by lying flat on the sloping plateau, or squeezing close to the projecting shoulder of the cliff, the dyaks were so little exposed that idle chance alone would enable him to hit one of them. but they must be shifted, or this night bombardment would prove the most serious development yet encountered. "are you all right, iris?" he called out. "yes, dear," she answered. "well, i want you to keep yourself covered by the canvas for a little while--especially your head and shoulders. i am going to stop these chaps. they have found our weak point, but i can baffle them." she did not ask what he proposed to do. he heard the rustling of the tarpaulin as she pulled it. instantly he cast loose the rope-ladder, and, armed only with a revolver, dropped down the rock. he was quite invisible to the enemy. on reaching the ground he listened for a moment. there was no sound save the occasional reports ninety yards away. he hitched up the lower rungs of the ladder until they were six feet from the level, and then crept noiselessly, close to the rock, for some forty yards. he halted beside a small poon-tree, and stooped to find something embedded near its roots. at this distance he could plainly hear the muttered conversation of the dyaks, and could see several of them prone on the sand. the latter fact proved how fatal would be an attempt on his part to reach the well. they must discover him instantly once he quitted the somber shadows of the cliff. he waited, perhaps a few seconds longer than was necessary, endeavoring to pierce the dim atmosphere and learn something of their disposition. a vigorous outburst of firing sent him back with haste. iris was up there alone. he knew not what might happen. he was now feverishly anxious to be with her again, to hear her voice, and be sure that all was well. to his horror he found the ladder swaying gently against the rock. some one was using it. he sprang forward, careless of consequence, and seized the swinging end which had fallen free again. he had his foot on the bottom rung when iris's voice, close at hand and shrill with terror, shrieked-- "robert, where are you?" "here!" he shouted; the next instant she dropped into his arms. a startled exclamation from the vicinity of the house, and some loud cries from the more distant dyaks on the other side of prospect park, showed that they had been overheard. "up!" he whispered. "hold tight, and go as quickly as you can." "not without you!" "up, for god's sake! i follow at your heels." she began to climb. he took some article from between his teeth, a string apparently, and drew it towards him, mounting the ladder at the same time. the end tightened. he was then about ten feet from the ground. two dyaks, yelling fiercely, rushed from the cover of the house. "go on," he said to iris. "don't lose your nerve whatever happens. i am close behind you." "i am quite safe," she gasped. turning, and clinging on with one hand, he drew his revolver and fired at the pair beneath, who could now faintly discern them, and were almost within reach of the ladder. the shooting made them halt. he did not know or care if they were hit. to frighten them was sufficient. several others were running across the sands to the cave, attracted by the noise and the cries of the foremost pursuers. then he gave a steady pull to the cord. the sharp crack of a rifle came from the vicinity of the old quarry. he saw the flash among the trees. almost simultaneously a bright light leapt from the opposite ledge, illumining the vicinity like a meteor. it lit up the rock, showed iris just vanishing into the safety of the ledge, and revealed jenks and the dyaks to each other. there followed instantly a tremendous explosion that shook earth and air, dislodging every loose stone in the south-west pile of rocks, hurling from the plateau some of its occupants, and wounding the remainder with a shower of lead and débris. the island birds, long since driven to the remote trees, clamored in raucous peal, and from the dyaks came yells of fright or anguish. the sailor, unmolested further, reached the ledge to find iris prostrate where she had fallen, dead or unconscious, he knew not which. he felt his face become grey in the darkness. with a fierce tug he hauled the ladder well away from the ground and sank to his knees beside her. he took her into his arms. there was no light. he could not see her eyes or lips. her slight breathing seemed to indicate a fainting fit, but there was no water, nor was it possible to adopt any of the ordinary expedients suited to such a seizure. he could only wait in a dreadful silence--wait, clasping her to his breast--and dumbly wonder what other loss he could suffer ere the final release came. at last she sighed deeply. a strong tremor of returning life stirred her frame. "thank god!" he murmured, and bowed his head. were the sun shining he could not see her now, for his eyes were blurred. "robert!" she whispered. "yes, darling." "are you safe?" "safe! my loved one! think of yourself! what has happened to you?" "i fainted--i think. i have no hurt. i missed you! something told me you had gone. i went to help you, or die with you. and then that noise! and the light! what did you do?" he silenced her questioning with a passionate kiss. he carried her to a little nook and fumbled among the stores until he found a bottle of brandy. she drank some. under its revivifying influence she was soon able to listen to the explanation he offered--after securing the ladder. in a tall tree near the valley of death he had tightly fixed a loaded rifle which pointed at a loose stone in the rock overhanging the ledge held by the dyaks. this stone rested against a number of percussion caps extracted from cartridges, and these were in direct communication with a train of powder leading to a blasting charge placed at the end of a twenty-four inch hole drilled with a crowbar. the impact of the bullet against the stone could not fail to explode some of the caps. he had used the contents of three hundred cartridges to secure a sufficiency of powder, and the bullets were all crammed into the orifice, being tamped with clay and wet sand. the rifle was fired by means of the string, the loose coils of which were secreted at the foot of the poon. by springing this novel mine he had effectually removed every dyak from the ledge, over which its contents would spread like a fan. further, it would probably deter the survivors from again venturing near that fatal spot. iris listened, only half comprehending. her mind was filled with one thought to the exclusion of all others. robert had left her, had done this thing without telling her. she forgave him, knowing he acted for the best, but he must never, never deceive her again in such a manner. she could not bear it. what better excuse could man desire for caressing her, yea, even squeezing her, until the sobs ceased and she protested with a weak little laugh---- "robert, i haven't got much breath--after that excitement--but please--leave me--the remains!" chapter xiv the unexpected happens "you are a dear unreasonable little girl," he said. "have you breath enough to tell me why you came down the ladder?" "when i discovered you were gone, i became wild with fright. don't you see, i imagined you were wounded and had fallen from the ledge. what else could i do but follow, either to help you, or, if that were not possible--" he found her hand and pressed it to his lips. "i humbly crave your pardon," he said. "that explanation is more than ample. it was i who behaved unreasonably. of course i should have warned you. yet, sweetheart, i ran no risk. the real danger passed a week ago." "how can that be?" "i might have been blown to pieces whilst adjusting the heavy stone in front of the caps. i assure you i was glad to leave the place that day with a whole skin. if the stone had wobbled, or slipped, well--it was a case of determined _felo-de-se_." "may i ask how many more wild adventures you undertook without my knowledge?" "one other, of great magnitude. i fell in love with you." "nonsense!" she retorted. "i knew that long before you admitted it to yourself." "date, please?" "well, to begin at the very beginning, you thought i was nice on board the _sirdar_. now, didn't you?" and they were safely embarked on a conversation of no interest to any other person in the wide world, but which provided them with the most delightful topic imaginable. thus the time sped until the rising moon silhouetted the cliff on the white carpet of coral-strewn sand. the black shadow-line traveled slowly closer to the base of the cliff, and jenks, guided also by the stars, told iris that midnight was at hand. they knelt on the parapet of the ledge, alert to catch any unusual sound, and watching for any indication of human movement. but rainbow island was now still as the grave. the wounded dyaks had seemingly been removed from hut and beach; the dead lay where they had fallen. the sea sang a lullaby to the reef, and the fresh breeze whispered among the palm fronds--that was all. "perhaps they have gone!" murmured iris. the sailor put his arm round her neck and gently pressed her lips together. anything would serve as an excuse for that sort of thing, but he really did want absolute silence at that moment. if the mussulman kept his compact, the hour was at hand. an unlooked-for intruder disturbed the quietude of the scene. their old acquaintance, the singing beetle, chortled his loud way across the park. iris was dying--as women say--to remind jenks of their first meeting with that blatant insect, but further talk was impossible; there was too much at stake--water they must have. then the light hiss of a snake rose to them from the depths. that is a sound never forgotten when once heard. it is like unto no other. indeed, the term "hiss" is a misnomer for the quick sibilant expulsion of the breath by an alarmed or angered serpent. iris paid no heed to it, but jenks, who knew there was not a reptile of the snake variety on the island, leaned over the ledge and emitted a tolerably good imitation. the native was beneath. probably the flight of the beetle had helped his noiseless approach. "sahib!" the girl started at the unexpected call from the depths. "yes," said jenks quietly. "a rope, sahib." the sailor lowered a rope. something was tied to it beneath. the mahommedan apparently had little fear of being detected. "pull, sahib." "usually it is the sahib who says 'pull,' but circumstances alter cases," communed jenks. he hauled steadily at a heavy weight--a goatskin filled with cold water. he emptied the hot and sour wine out of the tin cup, and was about to hand the thrice-welcome draught to iris when a suspicious thought caused him to withhold it. "let me taste first," he said. the indian might have betrayed them to the dyaks. more unlikely things had happened. what if the water were poisoned or drugged? he placed the tin to his lips. the liquid was musty, having been in the skin nearly two days. otherwise it seemed to be all right. with a sigh of profound relief he gave iris the cup, and smiled at the most unladylike haste with which she emptied it. "drink yourself, and give me some more," she said. "no more for you at present, madam. in a few minutes, yes." "oh, why not now?" "do not fret, dear one. you can have all you want in a little while. but to drink much now would make you very ill." iris waited until he could speak again. "why did you----" she began. but he bent over the parapet-- "_koi hai_!"[footnote: equivalent to "hello, there!"] "sahib!" "you have not been followed?" "i think not, sahib. do not talk too loud; they are foxes in cunning. you have a ladder, they say, sahib. will not your honor descend? i have much to relate." iris made no protest when jenks explained the man's request. she only stipulated that he should not leave the ladder, whilst she would remain within easy earshot. the sailor, of course, carried his revolver. he also picked up a crowbar, a most useful and silent weapon. then he went quietly downwards. nearing the ground, he saw the native, who salaamed deeply and was unarmed. the poor fellow seemed to be very anxious to help them. "what is your name?" demanded the sailor. "mir jan, sahib, formerly _naik_[footnote: corporal.] in the kumaon rissala." "when did you leave the regiment?" "two years ago, sahib. i killed--" "what was the name of your colonel?" "kurnal i-shpence-sahib, a brave man, but of no account on a horse." jenks well remembered colonel spence--a fat, short-legged warrior, who rolled off his charger if the animal so much as looked sideways. mir jan was telling the truth. "you are right, mir jan. what is taung s'ali doing now?" "cursing, sahib, for the most part. his men are frightened. he wanted them to try once more with the tubes that shoot poison, but they refused. he could not come alone, for he could not use his right hand, and he was wounded by the blowing up of the rock. you nearly killed me, too, sahib. i was there with the bazaar-born whelps. by the prophet's beard, it was a fine stroke." "are they going away, then?" "no, sahib. the dogs have been whipped so sore that they snarl for revenge. they say there is no use in firing at you, but they are resolved to kill you and the miss-sahib, or carry her off if she escapes the assault." "what assault?" "protector of the poor, they are building scaling-ladders--four in all. soon after dawn they intend to rush your position. you may slay some, they say, but you cannot slay three score. taung s'ali has promised a gold _tauk_[footnote: a native ornament.] to every man who survives if they succeed. they have pulled down your signal on the high rocks and are using the poles for the ladders. they think you have a _jadu_[footnote: a charm.] sahib, and they want to use your own work against you." this was serious news. a combined attack might indeed be dangerous, though it had the excellent feature that if it failed the dyaks would certainly leave the island. but his sky-sign destroyed! that was bad. had a vessel chanced to pass, the swinging letters would surely have attracted attention. now, even that faint hope was dispelled. "sahib, there is a worse thing to tell," said mir jan. "say on, then." "before they place the ladders against the cliff they will build a fire of green wood so that the smoke will be blown by the wind into your eyes. this will help to blind your aim. otherwise, you never miss." "that will assuredly be awkward, mir jan." "it will, sahib. soul of my father, if we had but half a troop with us----" but they had not, and they were both so intent on the conversation that they were momentarily off their guard. iris was more watchful. she fancied there was a light rustling amidst the undergrowth beneath the trees on the right. and she could hiss too, if that were the correct thing to do. so she hissed. jenks swarmed half way up the ladder. "yes, iris?" he said. "i am not sure, but i imagine something moved among the bushes behind the house." "all right, dear. i will keep a sharp look-out. can you hear us talking?" "hardly. will you be long?" "another minute." he descended and told mir jan what the miss-sahib said. the native was about to make a search when jenks stopped him. "here,"--he handed the man his revolver--"i suppose you can use this?" mir jan took it without a word, and jenks felt that the incident atoned for previous unworthy doubts of his dark friend's honesty. the mahommedan cautiously examined the back of the house, the neighboring shrubs, and the open beach. after a brief absence he reported all safe, yet no man has ever been nearer death and escaped it than he during that reconnaissance. he, too, forgot that the dyaks were foxes, and foxes can lie close when hounds are a trifle stale. mir jan returned the revolver. "sahib," he said with another salaam, "i am a disgraced man, but if you will take me up there with you, i will fight by your side until both my arms are hacked off. i am weary of these thieves. ill chance threw me into their company: i will have no more of them. if you will not have me on the rock, give me a gun. i will hide among the trees, and i promise that some of them shall die to-night before they find me. for the honor of the regiment, sahib, do not refuse this thing. all i ask is, if your honor escapes, that you will write to kurnal i-shpence-sahib, and tell him the last act of mir jan, _naik_ in b troop." there was an intense pathos in the man's words. he made this self-sacrificing offer with an utter absence of any motive save the old tradition of duty to the colors. here was anstruther-sahib, of the belgaum rissala, in dire peril. very well, then, corporal mir jan, late of the th bengal lancers, must dare all to save him. jenks was profoundly moved. he reflected how best to utilize the services of this willing volunteer without exposing him to certain death in the manner suggested. the native misinterpreted his silence. "i am not a _budmash_,[footnote: rascal.] sahib," he exclaimed proudly. "i only killed a man because--" "listen, mir jan. you cannot well mend what you have said. the dyaks, you are sure, will not come before morning?" "they have carried the wounded to the boats and are making the ladders. such was their talk when i left them." "will they not miss you?" "they will miss the _mussak_,[footnote: goatskin.] sahib. it was the last full one." "mir jan, do as i bid, and you shall see delhi again, have you ever used a lee-metford?" "i have seen them, sahib; but i better understand the mahtini." "i will give you a rifle, with plenty of ammunition, do you go inside the cave, there, and----" mir jan was startled. "where the ghost is, sahib?" he said. "ghost! that is a tale for children. there is no ghost, only a few bones of a man murdered by these scoundrels long ago. have you any food?" "some rice, sahib; sufficient for a day, or two at a pinch." "good! we will get water from the well. when the fighting begins at dawn, fire at every man you see from the back of the cave. on no account come out. then they can never reach you if you keep a full magazine. wait here!" "i thought you were never coming," protested iris when jenks reached the ledge. "i have been quite creepy. i am sure there is some one down there. and, please, may i have another drink?" the sailor had left the crowbar beneath. he secured a rifle, a spare clip, and a dozen packets of cartridges, meanwhile briefly explaining to iris the turn taken by events so far as mir jan was concerned. she was naturally delighted, and forgot her fears in the excitement caused by the appearance of so useful an ally. she drank his health in a brimming beaker of water. she heard her lover rejoin mir jan, and saw the two step out into the moonlight, whilst jenks explained the action of the lee-metford. fortunately iris was now much recovered from the fatigue and privation of the earlier hours. her senses were sharpened to a pitch little dreamed of by stay-at-home young ladies of her age, and she deemed it her province to act as sentry whilst the two men conferred. hence, she was the first to detect, or rather to become conscious of, the stealthy crawl of several dyaks along the bottom of the cliff from turtle beach. they advanced in indian file, moving with the utmost care, and crouching in the murky shadows like so many wild beasts stalking their prey. "robert!" she screamed. "the dyaks! on your left!" but iris was rapidly gaining some knowledge of strategy. before she shrieked her warning she grasped a rifle. holding it at the "ready"--about the level of her waist--and depressing the muzzle sufficiently, she began firing down the side of the rock as fast as she could handle lever and trigger. two of the nickel bullets struck a projection and splashed the leading savages with molten metal. unfortunately the lee-metford beneath was unloaded, being in mir jan's possession for purposes of instruction. jenks whipped out his revolver. "to the cave!" he roared, and mir jan's unwillingness to face a goblin could not withstand the combined impetus of the sahib's order and the onward rush of the enemy. he darted headlong for the entrance. [illustration: iris began firing down the side of the rock as fast as she could handle lever and trigger.] jenks, shooting blindly as he, too, ran for the ladder, emptied the revolver just as his left hand clutched a rung. three dyaks were so close that it would be folly to attempt to climb. he threw the weapon into the face of the foremost man, effectually stopping his onward progress, for the darkness made it impossible to dodge the missile. the sailor turned to dive into the cave and secure the rifle from mir jan, when his shin caught the heavy crowbar resting against the rock. the pain of the blow lent emphasis to the swing with which the implement descended upon some portion of a dyak anatomy. jenks never knew where he hit the second assailant, but the place cracked like an eggshell. he had not time to recover the bar for another blow, so he gave the point in the gullet of a gentleman who was about to make a vicious sweep at him with a parang. the downfall of this worthy caused his immediate successor to stumble, and jenks saw his opportunity. with the agility of a cat he jumped up the ladder. once started, he had to go on. he afterwards confessed to an unpleasant sensation of pins and needles along his back during that brief acrobatic display; but he reached the ledge without further injury, save an agonizing twinge when the unprotected quick of his damaged finger was smartly rapped against the rock. these things happened with the speed of thought. within forty seconds of iris's shrill cry the sailor was breast high with the ledge and calling to her-- "all right, old girl. keep it up!" the cheerful confidence of his words had a wonderful effect on her. iris, like every good woman, had the maternal instinct strong within her--the instinct that inspires alike the mild-eyed sister of charity and the tigress fighting for her cubs. when jenks was down below there, in imminent danger of being cut to pieces, the gentle, lovable girl, who would not willingly hurt the humblest of god's creatures, became terrible, majestic in her frenzied purpose. robert must be saved. if a maxim were planted on the rock she would unhesitatingly have turned the lever and sprayed the dyaks with bullets. but here he was close to her, unhurt and calmly jubilant, as was his way when a stiff fight went well. he was by her side now, firing and aiming too, for the dyaks broke cover recklessly in running for shelter, and one may do fair work by moonlight, as many a hunter of wild duck can testify by the rheumatism in his bones. she had strength enough left to place the rifle out of harm's way before she broke down and sobbed, not tearfully, but in a paroxysm of reaction. soon all was quiet beneath, save for the labored efforts of some wounded men to get far away from that accursed rock. jenks was able to turn to iris. he endeavored to allay her agitation, and succeeded somewhat, for tears came, and she clung to him. it was useless to reproach him. the whole incident was unforeseen: she was herself a party to it. but what an escape! he lifted her in his arms and carried her to a seat where the tarpaulin rested on a broken water-cask. "you have been a very good little girl and have earned your supper," he said. "oh, how can you talk so callously after such an awful experience?" she expostulated brokenly. the jesuits, say their opponents, teach that at times a "white lie" is permissible. surely this was an instance. "it is a small thing to trouble about, sweetheart," he explained. "you spotted the enemy so promptly, and blazed away with such ferocity, that they never got within yards of me." "are you sure?" "i vow and declare that after we have eaten something, and sampled our remaining bottle of wine, i will tell you exactly what happened." "why not now?" "because i must first see to mir jan. i bundled him neck and crop into the cave. i hope i did not hurt him." "you are not going down there again?" "no need, i trust." he went to the side of the ledge, recovered the ladder which he had hastily hauled out of the dyaks' reach after his climb, and cried-- "mir jan." "ah, sahib! praised be the name of the most high, you are alive. i was searching among the slain with a sorrowful heart." the mahommedan's voice came from some little distance on the left. "the slain, you say. how many?" "five, sahib." "impossible! i fired blindly with the revolver, and only hit one man hard with the iron bar. one other dropped near the wood after i obtained a rifle." "then there be six, sahib, not reckoning the wounded. i have accounted for one, so the miss-sahib must have--" "what is he saying about me?" inquired iris, who had risen and joined her lover. "he says you absolutely staggered the dyaks by opening fire the moment they appeared." "how did _you_ come to slay one, mir jan?" he continued. "a son of a black pig followed me into the cave. i waited for him in the darkness. i have just thrown his body outside." "_shabash!_[footnote: "well done!"] is taung s'ali dead, by any lucky chance?" "no, sahib, if he be not the sixth. i will go and see." "you may be attacked?" "i have found a sword, sahib. you left me no cartridges." jenks told him that the clip and the twelve packets were lying at the foot of the rock, where mir jan speedily discovered them. the mahommedan gave satisfactory assurance that he understood the mechanism of the rifle by filling and adjusting the magazine. then he went to examine the corpse of the man who lay in the open near the quarry path. the sailor stood in instant readiness to make a counter demonstration were the native assailed. but there was no sign of the dyaks. mir jan returned with the news that the sixth victim of the brief yet fierce encounter was a renegade malay. he was so confident that the enemy had had enough of it for the night that, after recovering jenks's revolver, he boldly went to the well and drew himself a supply of water. during supper, a feast graced by a quart of champagne worthy of the carlton, jenks told iris so much of the story as was good for her: that is to say, he cut down the casualty list. it was easy to see what had happened. the dyaks, having missed the mahommedan and their water-bag, searched for him and heard the conversation at the foot of the rock. knowing that their presence was suspected, they went back for reinforcements, and returned by the shorter and more advantageous route along turtle beach. iris would have talked all night, but jenks made her go to sleep, by pillowing her head against his shoulder and smoothing her tangled tresses with his hand. the wine, too, was helpful. in a few minutes her voice became dreamy: soon she was sleeping like a tired child. he managed to lay her on a comfortable pile of ragged clothing and then resumed his vigil. mir jan offered to mount guard beneath, but jenks bade him go within the cave and remain there, for the dawn would soon be upon them. left alone with his thoughts, he wondered what the rising sun would bring in its train. he reviewed the events of the last twenty-four hours. iris and he--miss deane, mr. jenks, to each other--were then undiscovered in their refuge, the dyaks were gathered around a roaring fire in the valley, and mir jan was keen in the hunt as the keenest among them. now, iris was his affianced bride, over twenty of the enemy were killed and many wounded, and mir jan, a devoted adherent, was seated beside the skeleton in the gloom of the cavern. what a topsy-turvy world it was, to be sure! what alternations between despair and hope! what rebound from the gates of death to the threshold of eden! how untrue, after all, was the nebulous philosophy of omar, the tentmaker. surely in the happenings of the bygone day there was more than the purposeless "magic shadow-show, play'd in a box whose candle is the sun, round which we phantom figures come and go." he had, indeed, cause to be humbly thankful. was there not one who marked the fall of a sparrow, who clothed the lilies, who knew the needs of his creatures? there, in the solemn temple of the night, he gave thanks for the protection vouchsafed to iris and himself, and prayed that it might be continued. he deplored the useless bloodshed, the horror of mangled limbs and festering bodies, that converted this fair island into a reeking slaughter-house. were it possible, by any personal sacrifice, to divert the untutored savages from their deadly quest, he would gladly condone their misdeeds and endeavor to assuage the torments of the wounded. but he was utterly helpless, a pawn on that tiny chessboard where the game was being played between civilization and barbarism. the fight must go on to the bitter end: he must either vanquish or be vanquished. there were other threads being woven into the garment of his life at that moment, but he knew not of them. sufficient for the day was the evil, and the good thereof. of both he had received full measure. a period of such reflection could hardly pass without a speculative dive into the future. if iris and he were rescued, what would happen when they went forth once more into the busy world? not for one instant did he doubt her faith. she was true as steel, knit to him now by bonds of triple brass. but, what would sir arthur deane think of his daughter's marriage to a discredited and cashiered officer? what was it that poor mir jan called himself?--"a disgraced man." yes, that was it. could that stain be removed? mir jan was doing it. why not he?--by other means, for his good name rested on the word of a perjured woman. wealth was potent, but not all-powerful. he would ask iris to wait until he came to her unsoiled by slander, purged of this odium cast upon him unmerited. and all this goes to show that he, a man wise beyond his fellows, had not yet learned the unwisdom of striving to lift the veil of tomorrow, behind whose mystic curtain what is to be ever jostles out of place what is hoped for. iris, smiling in her dreams, was assailed by no torturing doubts. robert loved her--that was enough. love suffices for a woman; a man asks for honor, reputation, an unblemished record. to awake her he kissed her; he knew not, perchance it might be their last kiss on earth. not yet dawn, there was morning in the air, for the first faint shafts of light were not visible from their eyrie owing to its position. but there was much to be done. if the dyaks carried out the plan described by mir jan, he had a good many preparations to make. the canvas awning was rolled back and the stores built into a barricade intended to shelter iris. "what is that for?" she asked, when she discovered its nature. he told her. she definitely refused to avail herself of any such protection. "robert dear," she said, "if the attack comes to our very door, so to speak, surely i must help you. even my slight aid may stem a rush in one place whilst you are busy in another." he explained to her that if hand-to-hand fighting were necessary he would depend more upon a crowbar than a rifle to sweep the ledge clear. she might be in the way. "very well. the moment you tell me to get behind that fence i will do so. even there i can use a revolver." that reminded him. his own pistol was unloaded. he possessed only five more cartridges of small caliber. he placed them in the weapon and gave it to her. "now you have eleven men's lives in your hands," he said. "try not to miss if you must shoot." in the dim light he could not see the spasm of pain that clouded her face. no dyak would reach her whilst he lived. if he fell, there was another use for one of those cartridges. the sailor had cleared the main floor of the rock and was placing his four rifles and other implements within easy reach when a hiss came from beneath. "mir jan!" exclaimed iris. "what now?" demanded jenks over the side. "sahib, they come!" "i am prepared. let that snake get back to his hole in the rock, lest a mongoose seize him by the head." mir jan, engaged in a scouting expedition on his own account, understood that the officer-sahib's orders must be obeyed. he vanished. soon they heard a great crackling among the bushes on the right, but jenks knew even before he looked that the dyaks had correctly estimated the extent of his fire zone and would keep out of it. the first physical intimation of the enemy's design they received was a pungent but pleasant smell of burning pine, borne to them by the northerly breeze and filling the air with its aroma. the dyaks kindled a huge fire. the heat was perceptible even on the ledge, but the minutes passed, and the dawn broadened into day without any other result being achieved. iris, a little drawn and pale with suspense, said with a timid giggle-- "this does not seem to be so very serious. it reminds me of my efforts to cook." "there is more to follow, i fear, dear one. but the dyaks are fools. they should have waited until night fell again, after wearing us out by constant vigilance all day. if they intend to employ smoke it would be far worse for us at night." phew! a volume of murky vapor arose that nearly suffocated them by the first whiff of its noisome fumes. it curled like a black pall over the face of the rock and blotted out sea and sky. they coughed incessantly, and nearly choked, for the dyaks had thrown wet seaweed on top of the burning pile of dry wood. mir jan, born in interior india, knew little about the sea or its products, and when the savages talked of seaweed he thought they meant green wood. fortunately for him, the ascending clouds of smoke missed the cave, or infallibly he must have been stifled. "lie flat on the rock!" gasped jenks. careless of waste, he poured water over a coat and made iris bury her mouth and nose in the wet cloth. this gave her immediate relief, and she showed her woman's wit by tying the sleeves of the garment behind her neck. jenks nodded comprehension and followed her example, for by this means their hands were left free. the black cloud grew more dense each few seconds. nevertheless, owing to the slope of the ledge, and the tendency of the smoke to rise, the south side was far more tenable than the north. quick to note this favorable circumstance, the sailor deduced a further fact from it. a barrier erected on the extreme right of the ledge would be a material gain. he sprang up, dragged the huge tarpaulin from its former location, and propped it on the handle of the pickaxe, driven by one mighty stroke deep into a crevice of the rock. it was no mean feat of strength that he performed. he swung the heavy and cumbrous canvas into position as if it were a dust cloth. he emerged from the gloom of the driven cloud red-eyed but triumphant. instantly the vapor on the ledge lessened, and they could breathe, even talk. overhead and in front the smoke swept in ever-increasing density, but once again the sailor had outwitted the dyaks' manoeuvres. "we have won the first rubber," he whispered to iris. above, beneath, beyond, they could see nothing. the air they breathed was hot and foetid. it was like being immured in a foul tunnel and almost as dark. jenks looked over the parapet. he thought he could distinguish some vague figures on the sands, so he fired at them. a volley of answering bullets crashed into the rock on all sides. the dyaks had laid their plans well this time. a firing squad stationed beyond the smoke area, and supplied with all the available guns, commenced and kept up a smart fusillade in the direction of the ledge in order to cover the operations of the scaling party. jenks realized that to expose himself was to court a serious wound and achieve no useful purpose. he fell back out of range, laid down his rifle and grabbed the crowbar. at brief intervals a deep hollow boom came up from the valley. at first it puzzled them until the sailor hit upon an explanation. mir jan was busy. the end of a strong roughly made ladder swung through the smoke and banged against the ledge. before jenks could reach it those hoisting it into position hastily retreated. they were standing in front of the cave and the mahommedan made play on them with a lee-metford at thirty feet. jenks, using his crowbar as a lever, toppled the ladder clean over. it fell outwards and disconcerted a section of the musketeers. "well done," cried iris. the sailor, astounded by her tone, gave her a fleeting glance. she was very pale now, but not with fear. her eyes were slightly contracted, her nostrils quivering, her lips set tight and her chin dimpled. she had gone back thirty generations in as many seconds. thus might one of the daughters of boadicea have looked whilst guiding her mother's chariot against the roman phalanx. resting on one knee, with a revolver in each hand, she seemed no puling mate for the gallant man who fought for her. she caught his look. "we will beat them yet!" she cried again, and she smiled, not as a woman smiles, but with the joy of a warrior when the fray is toward. there was no time for further speech. three ladders were reared against the rock. they were so poised and held below that jenks could not force them backwards. a fourth appeared, its coarse shafts looming into sight like the horns of some gigantic animal. the four covered practically the whole front of the ledge save where mir jan cleared a little space on the level. the sailor was standing now, with the crowbar clenched in both hands. the firing in the valley slackened and died away. a dyak face, grinning like a japanese demon, appeared at the top of the ladder nearest to iris. "don't fire!" shouted jenks, and the iron bar crushed downwards. two others pitched themselves half on to the ledge. now both crowbar and revolver were needed. three ladders were thus cumbered somewhat for those beneath, and jenks sprang towards the fourth and most distant. men were crowding it like ants. close to his feet lay an empty water-cask. it was a crude weapon, but effective when well pitched, and the sailor had never made a better shot for a goal in the midst of a hard-fought scrimmage than he made with that tub for the head of the uppermost pirate. another volley came from the sands. a bullet ploughed through his hair, and sent his sou'wester flying. again the besiegers swarmed to the attack. one way or the other, they must succeed. a man and a woman--even such a man and such a woman--could not keep at bay an infuriated horde of fifty savages fighting at close quarters and under these grievous conditions. jenks knew what would happen. he would be shot in the head or breast whilst repelling the scaling party. and iris! dear heart! she was thinking of him. "keep back! they can never gain the ledge!" she shrieked. and then, above the din of the fusillade, the yells of the assailants and the bawling of the wounded, there came through the air a screaming, tearing, ripping sound which drowned all others. it traveled with incredible speed, and before the sailor could believe his ears--for he well knew what it meant--a shrapnel shell burst in front of the ledge and drenched the valley with flying lead. jenks was just able to drag iris flat against the rock ere the time fuse operated and the bullets flew. he could form no theory, hazard no conjecture. all he knew was that a -pounder shell had flown towards them through space, scattering red ruin among the amazed scoundrels beneath. instantly he rose again, lest perchance any of the dyaks should have gained a foothold on the ledge. the ladders were empty. he could hear a good deal of groaning, the footsteps of running men, and some distant shouting. "sahib!" yelled mir jan, drawn from his retreat by the commotion without. "yes," shouted jenks. the native, in a voice cracked with excitement, told him something. the sailor asked a few rapid questions to make quite sure that mir jan was not mistaken. then he threw his arms round iris, drew her close and whispered-- "my darling, we are saved! a warship has anchored just beyond the south reef, and two boats filled with armed sailors are now pulling ashore." and she answered proudly-- "the dyaks could never have conquered us, robert. we were manifestly under god's protection. oh, my love, my love, i am so happy and thankful!" chapter xv the difficulty of pleasing everybody the drifting smoke was still so dense that not even the floor of the valley could be discerned. jenks dared not leave iris at such a moment. he feared to bring her down the ladder lest another shell might be fired. but something must be done to end their suspense. he called to mir jan-- "take off your turban and hold it above your head, if you think they can see you from the warship." "it is all right, sahib," came the cheering answer. "one boat is close inshore. i think, from the uniforms, they are english sahibs, such as i have seen at garden reach. the dyaks have all gone." nevertheless jenks waited. there was nothing to gain by being too precipitate. a false step now might undo the achievements of many weeks. mir jan was dancing about beneath in a state of wild excitement. "they have seen the dyaks running to their sampans, sahib," he yelled, "and the second boat is being pulled in that direction. yet another has just left the ship." a translation made iris excited, eager to go down and see these wonders. "better wait here, dearest," he said. "the enemy may be driven back in this direction, and i cannot expose you to further risk. the sailors will soon land, and you can then descend in perfect safety." the boom of a cannon came from the sea. instinctively the girl ducked for safety, though her companion smiled at her fears, for the shell would have long preceded the report, had it traveled their way. "one of the remaining sampans has got under way," he explained, "and the warship is firing at her." two more guns were fired. the man-o'-war evidently meant business. "poor wretches!" murmured iris. "cannot the survivors be allowed to escape?" "well, we are unable to interfere. those caught on the island will probably be taken to the mainland and hanged for their crimes, so the manner of their end is not of much consequence." to the girl's manifest relief there was no more firing, and mir jan announced that a number of sailors were actually on shore. then her thoughts turned to a matter of concern to the feminine mind even in the gravest moments of existence. she laved her face with water and sought her discarded skirt! soon the steady tramp of boot-clad feet advancing at the double was heard on the shingle, and an officer's voice, speaking the crude hindustani of the engine-room and forecastle, shouted to mir jan-- "hi, you black fellow! are there any white people here?" jenks sang out-- "yes, two of us! perched on the rock over your heads. we are coming down." he cast loose the rope-ladder. iris was limp and trembling. "steady, sweetheart," he whispered. "don't forget the slip between the cup and the lip. hold tight! but have no fear! i will be just beneath." it was well he took this precaution. she was now so unnerved that an unguarded movement might have led to an accident. but the knowledge that her lover was near, the touch of his hand guiding her feet on to the rungs of the ladder, sustained her. they had almost reached the level when a loud exclamation and the crash of a heavy blow caused jenks to halt and look downwards. a dyak, lying at the foot of one of the scaling ladders, and severely wounded by a shell splinter, witnessed their descent. in his left hand he grasped a parang; his right arm was bandaged. though unable to rise, the vengeful pirate mustered his remaining strength to crawl towards the swaying ladder. it was taung s'ali, inspired with the hate and venom of the dying snake. even yet he hoped to deal a mortal stroke at the man who had defied him and all his cut-throat band. he might have succeeded, as jenks was so taken up with iris, were it not for the watchful eyes of mir jan. the mahommedan sprang at him with an oath, and gave him such a murderous whack with the butt of a rifle that the dyak chief collapsed and breathed out his fierce spirit in a groan. at the first glance jenks did not recognize taung s'ali, owing to his change of costume. through the thinner smoke he could see several sailors running up. "look out, there!" he cried. "there is a lady here. if any dyak moves, knock him on the head!" but, with the passing of the chief, their last peril had gone. the next instant they were standing on the firm ground, and a british naval lieutenant was saying eagerly-- "we seem to have turned up in the nick of time. do you, by any chance, belong to the _sirdar_?" "we are the sole survivors," answered the sailor. "you two only?" "yes. she struck on the north-west reef of this island during a typhoon. this lady, miss iris deane, and i were flung ashore--" "miss deane! can it be possible? let me congratulate you most heartily. sir arthur deane is on board the _orient_ at this moment." "the _orient_!" iris was dazed. the uniforms, the pleasant faces of the english sailors, the strange sensation of hearing familiar words in tones other than those of the man she loved, bewildered her. "yes," explained the officer, with a sympathetic smile. "that's our ship, you know, in the offing there." it was all too wonderful to be quite understood yet. she turned to robert-- "do you hear? they say my father is not far away. take me to him." [illustration: "we are the sole survivors," answered the sailor.] "no need for that, miss," interrupted a warrant officer. "here he is coming ashore. he wanted to come with us, but the captain would not permit it, as there seemed to be some trouble ahead." sure enough, even the girl's swimming eyes could distinguish the grey-bearded civilian seated beside an officer in the stern-sheets of a small gig now threading a path through the broken reef beyond turtle beach. in five minutes, father and daughter would meet. meanwhile the officer, intent on duty, addressed jenks again. "may i ask who you are?" "my name is anstruther--robert anstruther." iris, clinging to his arm, heard the reply. so he had abandoned all pretence. he was ready to face the world at her side. she stole a loving glance at him as she cried-- "yes, captain anstruther, of the indian staff corps. if he will not tell you all that he has done, how he has saved my life twenty times, how he has fought single-handed against eighty men, ask me!" the naval officer did not need to look a second time at iris's face to lengthen the list of captain anstruther's achievements, by one more item. he sighed. a good sailor always does sigh when a particularly pretty girl is labeled "engaged." but he could be very polite. "captain anstruther does not appear to have left much for us to do, miss deane," he said. "indeed," turning to robert, "is there any way in which my men will be useful?" "i would recommend that they drag the green stuff off that fire and stop the smoke. then, a detachment should go round the north side of the island and drive the remaining dyaks into the hands of the party you have landed, as i understand, at the further end of the south beach. mir jan, the mahommedan here, who has been a most faithful ally during part of our siege, will act as guide." the other man cast a comprehensive glance over the rock, with its scaling ladders and dangling rope-ladder, the cave, the little groups of dead or unconscious pirates--for every wounded man who could move a limb had crawled away after the first shell burst--and drew a deep breath. "how long were you up there?" he asked. "over thirty hours." "it was a great fight!" "somewhat worse than it looks," said anstruther. "this is only the end of it. altogether, we have accounted for nearly two score of the poor devils." "do you think you can make them prisoners, without killing any more of them?" asked iris. "that depends entirely on themselves, miss deane. my men will not fire a shot unless they encounter resistance." robert looked towards the approaching boat. she would not land yet for a couple of minutes. "by the way," he said, "will you tell me your name?" "playdon--lieutenant philip h. playdon." "do you know to what nation this island belongs?" "it is no-man's land, i think. it is marked 'uninhabited' on the chart." "then," said anstruther, "i call upon you, lieutenant playdon, and all others here present, to witness that i, robert anstruther, late of the indian army, acting on behalf of myself and miss iris deane, declare that we have taken possession of this island in the name of his britannic majesty the king of england, that we are the joint occupiers and owners thereof, and claim all property rights vested therein." these formal phrases, coming at such a moment, amazed his hearers. iris alone had an inkling of the underlying motive. "i don't suppose any one will dispute your title," said the naval officer gravely. he unquestionably imagined that suffering and exposure had slightly disturbed the other man's senses, yet he had seldom seen any person who looked to be in more complete possession of his faculties. "thank you," replied robert with equal composure, though he felt inclined to laugh at playdon's mystification. "i only wished to secure a sufficient number of witnesses for a verbal declaration. when i have a few minutes to spare i will affix a legal notice on the wall in front of our cave." playdon bowed silently. there was something in the speaker's manner that puzzled him. he detailed a small guard to accompany robert and iris, who now walked towards the beach, and asked mir jan to pilot him as suggested by anstruther. the boat was yet many yards from shore when iris ran forward and stretched out her arms to the man who was staring at her with wistful despair. "father! father!" she cried. "don't you know me?" sir arthur deane was looking at the two strange figures on the sands, and each moment his heart sank lower. this island held his final hope. during many weary weeks, since the day when a kindly admiral placed the cruiser _orient_ at his disposal, he had scoured the china sea, the coasts of borneo and java, for some tidings of the ill-fated _sirdar_. he met naught save blank nothingness, the silence of the great ocean mausoleum. not a boat, a spar, a lifebuoy, was cast up by the waves to yield faintest trace of the lost steamer. every naval man knew what had happened. the vessel had met with some mishap to her machinery, struck a derelict, or turned turtle, during that memorable typhoon of march and . she had gone down with all hands. her fate was a foregone conclusion. no ship's boat could live in that sea, even if the crew were able to launch one. it was another of ocean's tragedies, with the fifth act left to the imagination. to examine every sand patch and tree-covered shoal in the china sea was an impossible task. all the _orient_ could do was to visit the principal islands and institute inquiries among the fishermen and small traders. at last, the previous night, a malay, tempted by hope of reward, boarded the vessel when lying at anchor off the large island away to the south, and told the captain a wondrous tale of a devil-haunted place inhabited by two white spirits, a male and a female, whither a local pirate named taung s'ali had gone by chance with his men and suffered great loss. but taung s'ali was bewitched by the female spirit, and had returned there, with a great force, swearing to capture her or perish. the spirits, the malay said, had dwelt upon the island for many years. his father and grandfather knew the place and feared it. taung s'ali would never be seen again. this queer yarn was the first indication they received of the whereabouts of any persons who might possibly be shipwrecked europeans, though not survivors from the _sirdar_. anyhow, the tiny dot lay in the vessel's northward track, so a course was set to arrive off the island soon after dawn. events on shore, as seen by the officer on watch, told their own tale. wherever dyaks are fighting there is mischief on foot, so the _orient_ took a hand in the proceedings. but sir arthur deane, after an agonized scrutiny of the weird-looking persons escorted by the sailors to the water's edge, sadly acknowledged that neither of these could be the daughter whom he sought. he bowed his head in humble resignation, and he thought he was the victim of a cruel hallucination when iris's tremulous accents reached his ears-- "father, father! don't you know me?" he stood up, amazed and trembling. "yes, father dear. it is i, your own little girl given back to you. oh dear! oh dear! i cannot see you for my tears." they had some difficulty to keep him in the boat, and the man pulling stroke smashed a stout oar with the next wrench. and so they met at last, and the sailors left them alone, to crowd round anstruther and ply him with a hundred questions. although he fell in with their humor, and gradually pieced together the stirring story which was supplemented each instant by the arrival of disconsolate dyaks and the comments of the men who returned from cave and beach, his soul was filled with the sight of iris and her father, and the happy, inconsequent demands with which each sought to ascertain and relieve the extent of the other's anxiety. then iris called to him-- "robert, i want you." the use of his christian name created something akin to a sensation. sir arthur deane was startled, even in his immeasurable delight at finding his child uninjured--the picture of rude health and happiness. anstruther advanced. "this is my father," she cried, shrill with joy. "and, father darling, this is captain robert anstruther, to whom alone, under god's will, i owe my life, many, many times since the moment the _sirdar_ was lost." it was no time for questioning. sir arthur deane took off his hat and held out his hand-- "captain anstruther," he said, "as i owe you my daughter's life, i owe you that which i can never repay. and i owe you my own life, too, for i could not have survived the knowledge that she was dead." robert took the proffered hand-- "i think, sir arthur, that, of the two, i am the more deeply indebted. there are some privileges whose value cannot be measured, and among them the privilege of restoring your daughter to your arms takes the highest place." then, being much more self-possessed than the older man, who was naturally in a state of agitation that was almost painful, he turned to iris. "i think," he said, "that your father should take you on board the _orient_, iris. there you may, perhaps, find some suitable clothing, eat something, and recover from the exciting events of the morning. afterwards, you must bring sir arthur ashore again, and we will guide him over the island. i am sure you will find much to tell him meanwhile." the baronet could not fail to note the manner in which these two addressed each other, the fearless love which leaped from eye to eye, the calm acceptance of a relationship not be questioned or gainsaid. robert and iris, without spoken word on the subject, had tactily agreed to avoid the slightest semblance of subterfuge as unworthy alike of their achievements and their love. yet what could sir arthur deane do? to frame a suitable protest at such a moment was not to be dreamed of. as yet he was too shaken to collect his thoughts. anstruther's proposal, however, helped him to blurt out what he intuitively felt to be a disagreeable fact. yet something must be said, for his brain reeled. "your suggestion is admirable," he cried, striving desperately to affect a careless complaisance. "the ship's stores may provide iris with some sort of rig-out, and an old friend of hers is on board at this moment, little expecting her presence. lord ventnor has accompanied me in my search. he will, of course, be delighted--" anstruther flushed a deep bronze, but iris broke in-- "father, why did _he_ come with you?" sir arthur, driven into this sudden squall of explanation, became dignified. "well, you see, my dear, under the circumstances, he felt an anxiety almost commensurate with my own." "but why, why?" iris was quite calm. with robert near, she was courageous. even the perturbed baronet experienced a new sensation as his troubled glance fell before her searching eyes. his daughter had left him a joyous, heedless girl. he found her a woman, strong, self-reliant, purposeful. yet he kept on, choosing the most straightforward means as the only honorable way of clearing a course so beset with unsuspected obstacles. "it is only reasonable, iris, that your affianced husband should suffer an agony of apprehension on your account, and do all that was possible to effect your rescue." "my--affianced--husband?" "well, my dear girl, perhaps that is hardly the correct phrase from your point of view. yet you cannot fail to remember that lord ventnor--" "father, dear," said iris solemnly, but in a voice free from all uncertainty, "my affianced husband stands here! we plighted our troth at the very gate of death. it was ratified in the presence of god, and has been blessed by him. i have made no compact with lord ventnor. he is a base and unworthy man. did you but know the truth concerning him you would not mention his name in the same breath with mine. would he, robert?" never was man so perplexed as the unfortunate shipowner. in the instant that his beloved daughter was restored to him out of the very depths of the sea, he was asked either to undertake the rôle of a disappointed and unforgiving parent, or sanction her marriage to a truculent-looking person of most forbidding if otherwise manly appearance, who had certainly saved her from death in ways not presently clear to him, but who could not be regarded as a suitable son-in-law solely on that account. what could he do, what could he say, to make the position less intolerable? anstruther, quicker than iris to appreciate sir arthur deane's dilemma, gallantly helped him. he placed a loving hand on the girl's shoulder. "be advised by me, sir arthur, and you too, iris," he said. "this is no hour for such explanations. leave me to deal with lord ventnor. i am content to trust the ultimate verdict to you, sir arthur. you will learn in due course all that has happened. go on board, iris. meet lord ventnor as you would meet any other friend. you will not marry him, i know. i can trust you." he said this with a smile that robbed the words of serious purport. "believe me, you two can find plenty to occupy your minds today without troubling yourselves about lord ventnor." "i am very much obliged to you," murmured the baronet, who, notwithstanding his worry, was far too experienced a man of the world not to acknowledge the good sense of this advice, no matter how ruffianly might be the guise of the strange person who gave it. "that is settled, then," said robert, laughing good-naturedly, for he well knew what a weird spectacle he must present to the bewildered old gentleman. even sir arthur deane was fascinated by the ragged and hairy giant who carried himself so masterfully and helped everybody over the stile at the right moment he tried to develop the change in the conversation. "by the way," he said, "how came you to be on the _sirdar_? i have a list of all the passengers and crew, and your name does not appear therein." "oh, that is easily accounted for. i shipped as a steward, in the name of robert jenks." "robert jenks! a steward!" this was worse than ever. the unhappy shipowner thought the sky must have fallen. "yes. that forms some part of the promised explanation." iris rapidly gathered the drift of her lover's wishes. "come, father," she cried merrily. "i am aching to see what the ship's stores, which you and robert pin your faith to, can do for me in the shape of garments. i have the utmost belief in the british navy, and even a skeptic should be convinced of its infallibility if h.m.s. _orient_ is able to provide a lady's outfit." sir arthur deane gladly availed himself of the proffered compromise. he assisted iris into the boat, though that active young person was far better able to support him, and a word to the officer in command sent the gig flying back to the ship. anstruther, during a momentary delay, made a small request on his own account. lieutenant playdon, nearly as big a man as robert, despatched a note to his servant, and the gig speedily returned with a complete assortment of clothing and linen. the man also brought a dressing case, with the result that a dip in the bath, and ten minutes in the hands of an expert valet, made anstruther a new man. acting under his advice, the bodies of the dead were thrown into the lagoon, the wounded were collected in the hut to be attended to by the ship's surgeon, and the prisoners were paraded in front of mir jan, who identified every man, and found, by counting heads, that none was missing. robert did not forget to write out a formal notice and fasten it to the rock. this proceeding further mystified the officers of the _orient_, who had gradually formed a connected idea of the great fight made by the shipwrecked pair, though anstruther squirmed inwardly when he thought of the manner in which iris would picture the scene. as it was, he had the first innings, and he did not fail to use the opportunity. in the few terse words which the militant briton best understands, he described the girl's fortitude, her unflagging cheerfulness, her uncomplaining readiness to do and dare. little was said by his auditors, save to interpolate an occasional question as to why such and such a thing was necessary, or how some particular drawback had been surmounted. standing near the well, it was not necessary to move to explain to them the chief features of the island, and point out the measures he had adopted. when he ended, the first lieutenant, who commanded the boats sent in pursuit of the flying dyaks--the _orient_ sank both sampans as soon as they were launched--summed up the general verdict-- "you do not need our admiration, captain anstruther. each man of us envies you from the bottom of his soul." "i do, i know--from the very bilge," exclaimed a stout midshipman, one of those who had seen iris. robert waited until the laugh died away. "there is an error about my rank," he said. "i did once hold a commission in the indian army, but i was court-marshaled and cashiered in hong kong six months ago. i was unjustly convicted on a grave charge, and i hope some day to clear myself. meanwhile i am a mere civilian. it was only miss deane's generous sympathy which led her to mention my former rank, mr. playdon." had another of the _orient's_ -pounder shells suddenly burst in the midst of the group of officers, it would have created less dismay than this unexpected avowal. court-martialed! cashiered! none but a service man can grasp the awful significance of those words to the commissioned ranks of the army and navy. anstruther well knew what he was doing. somehow, he found nothing hard in the performance of these penances now. of course, the ugly truth must be revealed the moment lord ventnor heard his name. it was not fair to the good fellows crowding around him, and offering every attention that the frank hospitality of the british sailor could suggest, to permit them to adopt the tone of friendly equality which rigid discipline, if nothing else, would not allow them to maintain. the first lieutenant, by reason of his rank, was compelled to say something-- "that is a devilish bad job, mr. anstruther," he blurted out. "well, you know, i had to tell you." he smiled unaffectedly at the wondering circle. he, too, was an officer, and appreciated their sentiments. they were unfeignedly sorry for him, a man so brave and modest, such a splendid type of the soldier and gentleman, yet, by their common law, an outcast. nor could they wholly understand his demeanor. there was a noble dignity in his candor, a conscious innocence that disdained to shield itself under a partial truth. he spoke, not as a wrong-doer, but as one who addresses those who have been and will be once more his peers. the first lieutenant again phrased the thoughts of his juniors-- "i, and every other man in the ship, cannot help but sympathize with you. but whatever may be your record--if you were an escaped convict, mr. anstruther--no one could withhold from you the praise deserved for your magnificent stand against overwhelming odds. our duty is plain. we will bring you to singapore, where the others will no doubt wish to go immediately. i will tell the captain what you have been good enough to acquaint us with. meanwhile we will give you every assistance, and--er--attention in our power." a murmur of approbation ran through the little circle. robert's face paled somewhat. what first-rate chaps they were, to be sure! "i can only thank you," he said unsteadily. "your kindness is more trying than adversity." a rustle of silk, the intrusion into the intent knot of men of a young lady in a paris gown, a paris hat, carrying a trouville parasol, and most exquisitely gloved and booted, made every one gasp. "oh, robert dear, how _could_ you? i actually didn't know you!" thus iris, bewitchingly attired, and gazing now with provoking admiration at robert, who certainly offered almost as great a contrast to his former state as did the girl herself. he returned her look with interest. "would any man believe," he laughed, "that clothes would do so much for a woman?" "what a left-handed compliment! but come, dearest, captain fitzroy and lord ventnor have come ashore with father and me. they want us to show them everything! you will excuse him, won't you?" she added, with a seraphic smile to the others. they walked off together. "jimmy!" gasped the fat midshipman to a lanky youth. "she's got on your togs!" meaning that iris had ransacked the _orient's_ theatrical wardrobe, and pounced on the swell outfit of the principal female impersonator in the ship's company. lieutenant playdon bit the chin strap of his pith helmet, for the landing party wore the regulation uniform for service ashore in the tropics. he muttered to his chief-- "damme if i've got the hang of this business yet." "neither have i. anstruther looks a decent sort of fellow, and the girl is a stunner. yet, d'ye know, playdon, right through the cruise i've always understood that she was the fiancée of that cad, ventnor." "anstruther appears to have arranged matters differently. wonder what pa will say when that johnnie owns up about the court-martial." "give it up, which is more than the girl will do, or i'm much mistaken. funny thing, you know, but i've a sort of hazy recollection of anstruther's name being mixed up with that of a colonel's wife at hong kong. fancy ventnor was in it too, as a witness. stand by, and we'll see something before we unload at singapore." chapter xvi bargains, great and small lord ventnor was no fool. whilst iris was transforming herself from a semi-savage condition into a semblance of an ultra _chic_ parisienne--the _orient's_ dramatic costumier went in for strong stage effects in feminine attire--sir arthur deane told the earl something of the state of affairs on the island. his lordship--a handsome, saturnine man, cool, insolently polite, and plentifully endowed with the judgmatical daring that is the necessary equipment of a society libertine--counseled patience, toleration, even silent recognition of anstruther's undoubted claims for services rendered. "she is an enthusiastic, high-spirited girl," he urged upon his surprised hearer, who expected a very different expression of opinion. "this fellow anstruther is a plausible sort of rascal, a good man in a tight place too--just the sort of fire-eating blackguard who would fill the heroic bill where a fight is concerned. damn him, he licked me twice." further amazement for the shipowner. "yes, it's quite true. i interfered with his little games, and he gave me the usual reward of the devil's apothecary. leave iris alone. at present she is strung up to an intense pitch of gratitude, having barely escaped a terrible fate. let her come back to the normal. anstruther's shady record must gradually leak out. that will disgust her. in a week she will appeal to you to buy him off. he is hard up--cut off by his people and that sort of thing. there you probably have the measure of his scheming. he knows quite well that he can never marry your daughter. it is all a matter of price." sir arthur willingly allowed himself to be persuaded. at the back of his head there was an uneasy consciousness that it was not "all a matter of price." if it were he would never trust a man's face again. but ventnor's well-balanced arguments swayed him. the course indicated was the only decent one. it was humanly impossible for a man to chide his daughter and flout her rescuer within an hour of finding them. lord ventnor played his cards with a deeper design. he bowed to the inevitable. iris said she loved his rival. very well. to attempt to dissuade her was to throw her more closely into that rival's arms. the right course was to appear resigned, saddened, compelled against his will to reveal the distressing truth. further, he counted on anstruther's quick temper as an active agent. such a man would be the first to rebel against an assumption of pitying tolerance. he would bring bitter charges of conspiracy, of unbelievable compact to secure his ruin. all this must recoil on his own head when the facts were laid bare. not even the hero of the island could prevail against the terrible indictment of the court-martial. finally, at singapore, three days distant, colonel costobell and his wife were staying. lord ventnor, alone of those on board, knew this. indeed, he accompanied sir arthur deane largely in order to break off a somewhat trying entanglement. he smiled complacently as he thought of the effect on iris of mrs. costobell's indignant remonstrances when the baronet asked that injured lady to tell the girl all that had happened at hong kong. in a word, lord ventnor was most profoundly annoyed, and he cursed anstruther from the depths of his heart. but he could see a way out. the more desperate the emergency the more need to display finesse. above all, he must avoid an immediate rupture. he came ashore with iris and her father; the captain of the _orient_ also joined the party. the three men watched robert and the girl walking towards them from the group of officers. "anstruther is a smart-looking fellow," commented captain fitzroy. "who is he?" truth to tell, the gallant commander of the _orient_ was secretly amazed by the metamorphosis effected in robert's appearance since he scrutinized him through his glasses. iris, too, unaccustomed to the constraint of high-heeled shoes, clung to the nondescript's arm in a manner that shook the sailor's faith in lord ventnor's pretensions as her favored suitor. poor sir arthur said not a word, but his lordship was quite at ease-- "from his name, and from what deane tells me, i believe he is an ex-officer of the indian army." "ah. he has left the service?" "yes. i met him last in hong kong." "then you know him?" "quite well, if he is the man i imagine." "that is really very nice of ventnor," thought the shipowner. "the last thing i should credit him with would be a forgiving disposition." meanwhile anstruther was reading iris a little lecture. "sweet one," he explained to her, "do not allude to me by my former rank. i am not entitled to it. some day, please god, it will be restored to me. at present i am a plain civilian." "i think you very handsome." "don't tease, there's a good girl. it is not fair with all these people looking." "but really, robert, only since you scraped off the upper crust have i been able to recognize you again. i remember now that i thought you were a most distinguished looking steward." "well, i am helpless. i cannot even squeeze you. by the way, iris, during the next few days say nothing about our mine." "oh, why not?" "just a personal whim. it will please me." "if it pleases you, robert, i am satisfied." he pressed her arm by way of answer. they were too near to the waiting trio for other comment. "captain fitzroy," cried iris, "let me introduce mr. anstruther to you. lord ventnor, you have met mr. anstruther before." the sailor shook hands. lord ventnor smiled affably. "your enforced residence on the island seems to have agreed with you," he said. "admirably. life here had its drawbacks, but we fought our enemies in the open. didn't we, iris?" "yes, dear. the poor dyaks were not sufficiently modernized to attack us with false testimony." his lordship's sallow face wrinkled somewhat. so iris knew of the court-martial, nor was she afraid to proclaim to all the world that this man was her lover. as for captain fitzroy, his bushy eyebrows disappeared into his peaked cap when he heard the manner of their speech. nevertheless ventnor smiled again. "even the dyaks respected miss deane," he said. but anstruther, sorry for the manifest uneasiness of the shipowner, repressed the retort on his lips, and forthwith suggested that they should walk to the north beach in the first instance, that being the scene of the wreck. during the next hour he became auditor rather than narrator. it was iris who told of his wild fight against wind and waves, iris who showed them where he fought with the devil-fish, iris who expatiated on the long days of ceaseless toil, his dauntless courage in the face of every difficulty, the way in which he rescued her from the clutch of the savages, the skill of his preparations against the anticipated attack, and the last great achievement of all, when, time after time, he foiled the dyaks' best-laid plans, and flung them off, crippled and disheartened, during the many phases of the thirty hours' battle. she had an attentive audience. most of the _orient's_ officers quietly came up and followed the girl's glowing recital with breathless interest. robert vainly endeavored more than once to laugh away her thrilling eulogy. but she would have none of it. her heart was in her words. he deserved this tribute of praise, unstinted, unmeasured, abundant in its simple truth, yet sounding like a legend spun by some romantic poet, were not the grim evidences of its accuracy visible on every hand. she was so volubly clear, so precise in fact, so subtle in her clever delineations of humorous or tragic events, that her father was astounded, and even anstruther silently admitted that a man might live until he equaled the years of a biblical patriarch without discovering all the resources of a woman. there were tears in her eyes when she ended; but they were tears of thankful happiness, and lord ventnor, a silent listener who missed neither word nor look, felt a deeper chill in his cold heart as he realized that this woman's love could never be his. the knowledge excited his passion the more. his hatred of anstruther now became a mania, an insensate resolve to mortally stab this meddler who always stood in his path. robert hoped that his present ordeal was over. it had only begun. he was called on to answer questions without number. why had the tunnel been made? what was the mystery of the valley of death? how did he manage to guess the dimensions of the sun-dial? how came he to acquire such an amazing stock of out-of-the-way knowledge of the edible properties of roots and trees? how? why? where? when? they never would be satisfied, for not even the british navypoking its nose into the recesses of the world--often comes across such an amazing story as the adventures of this couple on rainbow island. he readily explained the creation of quarry and cave by telling them of the vein of antimony embedded in the rock near the fault. antimony is one of the substances that covers a multitude of doubts. no one, not excepting the doctors who use it, knows much about it, and in chinese medicine it might be a chief factor of exceeding nastiness. inside the cavern, the existence of the partially completed shaft to the ledge accounted for recent disturbances on the face of the rock, and new-comers could not, of course, distinguish the bones of poor "j.s." as being the remains of a european. anstruther was satisfied that none of them hazarded the remotest guess as to the value of the gaunt rock they were staring at, and chance helped him to baffle further inquiry. a trumpeter on board the _orient_ was blowing his lungs out to summon them to luncheon, when captain fitzroy put a final query. "i can quite understand," he said to robert, "that you have an affection for this weird place." "i should think so indeed," muttered the stout midshipman, glancing at iris. "but i am curious to know," continued the commander, "why you lay claim to the island? you can hardly intend to return here." he pointed to robert's placard stuck on the rock. anstruther paused before he answered. he felt that lord ventnor's dark eyes were fixed on him. everybody was more or less desirous to have this point cleared up. he looked the questioner squarely in the face. "in some parts of the world," he said, "there are sunken reefs, unknown, uncharted, on which many a vessel has been lost without any contributory fault on the part of her officers?" "undoubtedly." "well, captain fitzroy, when i was stationed with my regiment in hong kong i encountered such a reef, and wrecked my life on it. at least, that is how it seemed to me then. fortune threw me ashore here, after a long and bitter submergence. you can hardly blame me if i cling to the tiny speck of land that gave me salvation." "no," admitted the sailor. he knew there was something more in the allegory than the text revealed, but it was no business of his. "moreover," continued robert smilingly, "you see i have a partner." "there cannot be the slightest doubt about the partner," was the prompt reply. then every one laughed, iris more than any, though sir arthur deane's gaiety was forced, and lord ventnor could taste the acidity of his own smile. later in the day the first lieutenant told his chief of anstruther's voluntary statement concerning the court-martial. captain fitzroy was naturally pained by this unpleasant revelation, but he took exactly the same view as that expressed by the first lieutenant in robert's presence. nevertheless he pondered the matter, and seized an early opportunity of mentioning it to lord ventnor. that distinguished nobleman was vastly surprised to learn how anstruther had cut the ground from beneath his feet. "yes," he said, in reply to the sailor's request for information, "i know all about it. it could not well be otherwise, seeing that next to mrs. costobell i was the principal witness against him." "that must have been d----d awkward for you," was the unexpected comment. "indeed! why?" "because rumor linked your name with that of the lady in a somewhat outspoken way." "you astonish me. anstruther certainly made some stupid allegations during the trial; but i had no idea he was able to spread this malicious report subsequently." "i am not talking of hong kong, my lord, but of singapore, months later." captain fitzroy's tone was exceedingly dry. indeed, some people might deem it offensive. his lordship permitted himself the rare luxury of an angry scowl. "rumor is a lying jade at the best," he said curtly. "you must remember, captain fitzroy, that i have uttered no word of scandal about mr. anstruther, and any doubts concerning his conduct can be set at rest by perusing the records of his case in the adjutant-general's office at hong kong." "hum!" said the sailor, turning on his heel to enter the chart-room. this was no way to treat a real live lord, a personage of some political importance, too, such as the special envoy to wang hai. evidently, iris was no mean advocate. she had already won for the "outcast" the suffrages of the entire ship's company. the girl and her father went back to the island with robert. after taking thought, the latter decided to ask mir jan to remain in possession until he returned. there was not much risk of another dyak invasion. the fate of taung s'ali's expedition would not encourage a fresh set of marauders, and the mahommedan would be well armed to meet unforeseen contingencies, whilst on his, anstruther's, representations the _orient_ would land an abundance of stores. in any event, it was better for the native to live in freedom on rainbow island than to be handed over to the authorities as an escaped convict, which must be his immediate fate no matter what magnanimous view the government of india might afterwards take of his services. mir jan's answer was emphatic. he took off his turban and placed it on anstruther's feet. "sahib," he said, "i am your dog. if, some day, i am found worthy to be your faithful servant, then shall i know that allah has pardoned my transgressions. i only killed a man because--" "peace, mir jan. let him rest." "why is he worshiping you, robert?" demanded iris. he told her. "really," she cried, "i must keep up my studies in hindustani. it is quite too sweet." and then, for the benefit of her father, she rattled off into a spirited account of her struggles with the algebraic x and the urdu compound verb. sir arthur deane managed to repress a sigh. in spite of himself he could not help liking anstruther. the man was magnetic, a hero, an ideal gentleman. no wonder his daughter was infatuated with him. yet the future was dark and storm-tossed, full of sinister threats and complications. iris did not know the wretched circumstances which had come to pass since they parted, and which had changed the whole aspect of his life. how could he tell her? why should it be his miserable lot to snatch the cup of happiness from her lips? in that moment of silent agony he wished he were dead, for death alone could remove the burthen laid on him. well, surely he might bask in the sunshine of her laughter for another day. no need to embitter her joyous heart until he was driven to it by dire necessity. so he resolutely brushed aside the woe-begone phantom of care, and entered into the _abandon_ of the hour with a zest that delighted her. the dear girl imagined that robert, her robert, had made another speedy conquest, and anstruther himself was much elated by the sudden change in sir arthur deane's demeanor. they behaved like school children on a picnic. they roared over iris's troubles in the matter of divided skirts, too much divided to be at all pleasant. the shipowner tasted some of her sago bread, and vowed it was excellent. they unearthed two bottles of champagne, the last of the case, and promised each other a hearty toast at dinner. nothing would content iris but that they should draw a farewell bucketful of water from the well and drench the pitcher-plant with a torrential shower. robert carefully secured the pocket-books, money and other effects found on their dead companions. the baronet, of course, knew all the principal officers of the _sirdar_. he surveyed these mournful relics with sorrowful interest. "the _sirdar_ was the crack ship of my fleet, and captain ross my most trusted commander," he said. "you may well imagine, mr. anstruther, what a cruel blow it was to lose such a vessel, with all these people on board, and my only daughter amongst them. i wonder now that it did not kill me." "she was a splendid sea-boat, sir. although disabled, she fought gallantly against the typhoon. nothing short of a reef would break her up." "ah, well," sighed the shipowner, "the few timbers you have shown me here are the remaining assets out of £ , ." "was she not insured?" inquired robert. "no; that is, i have recently adopted a scheme of mutual self-insurance, and the loss falls _pro rata_ on my other vessels." the baronet glanced covertly at iris. the words conveyed little meaning to her. indeed, she broke in with a laugh-- "i am afraid i have heard you say, father dear, that some ships in the fleet paid you best when they ran ashore." "yes, iris. that often happened in the old days. it is different now. moreover, i have not told you the extent of my calamities. the _sirdar_ was lost on march , though i did not know it for certain until this morning. but on march the _bahadur_ was sunk in the mersey during a fog, and three days later the _jemadar_ turned turtle on the james and mary shoal in the hooghly. happily there were no lives lost in either of these cases." even iris was appalled by this list of casualties. "my poor, dear dad!" she cried. "to think that all these troubles should occur the very moment i left you!" yet she gave no thought to the serious financial effect of such a string of catastrophes. robert, of course, appreciated this side of the business, especially in view of the shipowner's remark about the insurance. but sir arthur deane's stiff upper lip deceived him. he failed to realize that the father was acting a part for his daughter's sake. oddly enough, the baronet did not seek to discuss with them the legal-looking document affixed near the cave. it claimed all rights in the island in their joint names, and this was a topic he wished to avoid. for the time, therefore, the younger man had no opportunity of taking him into his confidence, and iris held faithfully to her promise of silence. the girl's ragged raiment, sou'wester, and strong boots were already packed away on board. she now rescued the bible, the copy of tennyson's poems, the battered tin cup, her revolver, and the lee-metford which "scared" the dyaks when they nearly caught anstruther and mir jan napping. robert also gathered for her an assortment of dyak hats, belts, and arms, including taung s'ali's parang and a sumpitan. these were her trophies, the _spolia opima_ of the campaign. his concluding act was to pack two of the empty oil tins with all the valuable lumps of auriferous quartz he could find where he shot the rubbish from the cave beneath the trees. on top of these he placed some antimony ore, and mir jan, wondering why the sahib wanted the stuff, carried the consignment to the waiting boat. lieutenant playdon, in command of the last party of sailors to quit the island, evidently expected mir jan to accompany them, but anstruther explained that the man would await his return, some time in june or july. sir arthur deane found himself speculating on the cause of this extraordinary resolve, but, steadfast to his policy of avoiding controversial matters, said nothing. a few words to the captain procured enough stores to keep the mahommedan for six months at least, and whilst these were being landed, the question was raised how best to dispose of the dyaks. the commander wished to consult the convenience of his guests. "if we go a little out of our way and land them in borneo," he said, "they will be hanged without troubling you further. if i take them to singapore they will be tried on your evidence and sent to penal servitude. which is it to be?" it was iris who decided. "i cannot bear to think of more lives being sacrificed," she protested. "perhaps if these men are treated mercifully and sent to their homes after some punishment their example may serve as a deterrent to others." so it was settled that way. the anchor rattled up to its berth and the _orient_ turned her head towards singapore. as she steadily passed away into the deepening azure, the girl and her lover watched the familiar outlines of rainbow island growing dim in the evening light. for a long while they could see mir jan's tall, thin figure motionless on a rock at the extremity of europa point. their hut, the reef, the ledge, came into view as the cruiser swung round to a more northerly course. iris had thrown an arm across her father's shoulders. the three were left alone just then, and they were silent for many minutes. at last, the flying miles merged the solitary palm beyond the lagoon with the foliage on the cliff. the wide cleft of prospect park grew less distinct. mir jan's white-clothed figure was lost in the dark background. the island was becoming vague, dream-like, a blurred memory. "robert," said the girl devoutly, "god has been very good to us." "yes," he replied. "i was thinking, even this instant, of the verse that is carved on the gate of the memorial well at cawnpore: 'these are they which came out of great tribulation.' we, too, have come out of great tribulation, happily with our lives--and more. the decrees of fate are indeed inscrutable." iris turned to him a face roseate with loving comprehension. "do you remember this hour yesterday?" she murmured--"how we suffered from thirst--how the dyaks began their second attack from the ridge--how you climbed down the ladder and i followed you? oh father, darling," she went on impulsively, tightening her grasp, "you will never know how brave he was, how enduring, how he risked all for me and cheered me to the end, even though the end seemed to be the grave." "i think i am beginning to understand now," answered the shipowner, averting his eyes lest iris should see the tears in them. their calvary was ended, they thought--was it for him to lead them again through the sorrowful way? it was a heartrending task that lay before him, a task from which his soul revolted. he refused even to attempt it. he sought forgetfulness in a species of mental intoxication, and countenanced his daughter's love idyll with such apparent approval that lord ventnor wondered whether sir arthur were not suffering from senile decay. the explanation of the shipowner's position was painfully simple. being a daring yet shrewd financier, he perceived in the troubled condition of the far east a magnificent opportunity to consolidate the trading influence of his company. he negotiated two big loans, one, of a semi-private nature, to equip docks and railways in the chief maritime province of china, the other of a more public character, with the government of japan. all his own resources, together with those of his principal directors and shareholders, were devoted to these objects. contemporaneously, he determined to stop paying heavy insurance premiums on his fleet and make it self-supporting, on the well-known mutual principle. his vessels were well equipped, well manned, replete with every modern improvement, and managed with great commercial skill. in three or four years, given ordinary trading luck, he must have doubled his own fortune and earned a world-wide reputation for far-seeing sagacity. no sooner were all his arrangements completed than three of his best ships went down, saddling his company with an absolute loss of nearly £ , , and seriously undermining his financial credit. a fellow-director, wealthy and influential, resigned his seat on the board, and headed a clique of disappointed stockholders. at once the fair sky became overcast. a sound and magnificent speculation threatened to dissolve in the bankruptcy court. sir arthur deane's energy and financial skill might have enabled him to weather this unexpected gale were it not for the apparent loss of his beloved daughter with the crack ship of his line. half-frenzied with grief, he bade his enemies do their worst, and allowed his affairs to get into hopeless confusion whilst he devoted himself wholly to the search for iris and her companions. at this critical juncture lord ventnor again reached his side. his lordship possessed a large private fortune and extensive estates. he was prudent withal, and knew how admirably the shipowner's plans would develop if given the necessary time. he offered the use of his name and money. he more than filled the gap created by the hostile ex-director. people argued that such a clever man, just returning from the far east after accomplishing a public mission of some importance, must be a reliable guide. the mere cabled intelligence of his intention to join the board restored confidence and credit. but--there was a bargain. if iris lived, she must become the countess of ventnor. his lordship was weary of peripatetic love-making. it was high time he settled down in life, took an interest in the legislature, and achieved a position in the world of affairs. he had a chance now. the certain success of his friend's project, the fortunate completion of his own diplomatic undertaking, marriage with a beautiful and charming woman--these items would consolidate his career. if iris were not available, plenty of women, high-placed in society, would accept such an eligible bachelor. but his heart was set on iris. she was honest, high-principled, pure in body and mind, and none prizes these essentials in a wife more than a worn-out _roué_. he seized the first opportunity that presented itself to make sir arthur deane acquainted with a decision already dreaded by the unfortunate shipowner. iris must either abandon her infatuation for anstruther or bring about the ruin of her father. there was no mean. "if she declines to become countess of ventnor, she can marry whom she likes, as you will be all paupers together," was the earl's caustic summing up. this brutal argument rather overshot the mark. the shipowner's face flushed with anger, and lord ventnor hastened to retrieve a false step. "i didn't exactly mean to put it that way, deane, but my temper is a little short these days. my position on board this ship is intolerable. as a matter of fair dealing to me, you should put a stop to your daughter's attitude towards anstruther, on the ground that her engagement is neither approved of by you nor desirable under any consideration." it may be assumed from this remark that even the earl's sardonic temper was ruffled by the girl's outrageous behavior. nor was it exactly pleasant to him to note how steadily anstruther advanced in the favor of every officer on the ship. by tacit consent the court-martial was tabooed, at any rate until the _orient_ reached singapore. every one knew that the quarrel lay between robert and ventnor, and it is not to be wondered at if iris's influence alone were sufficient to turn the scale in favor of her lover. the shipowner refused point-blank to interfere in any way during the voyage. "you promised your co-operation in business even if we found that the _sirdar_ had gone down with all hands," he retorted bitterly. "do you wish me to make my daughter believe she has come back into my life only to bring me irretrievable ruin?" "that appears to be the result, no matter how you may endeavor to disguise it." "i thought the days were gone when a man would wish to marry a woman against her will." "nonsense! what does she know about it? the glamour of this island romance will soon wear off. it would be different if anstruther were able to maintain her even decently. he is an absolute beggar, i tell you. didn't he ship on your own vessel as a steward? take my tip, deane. tell him how matters stand with you, and he will cool off." he believed nothing of the sort, but he was desperately anxious that iris should learn the truth as to her father's dilemma from other lips than his own. this would be the first point gained. others would follow. the two men were conversing in the earl's cabin. on the deck overhead a very different chat was taking place. the _orient_ was due in singapore that afternoon. iris was invited into the chart-room on some pretext, and lieutenant playdon, delegated by the commander and the first lieutenant, buttonholed robert. with sailor-like directness he came straight to the point-- "a few of us have been talking about you, anstruther, and we cannot be far wrong in assuming that you are hard up. the fact that you took a steward's job on the _sirdar_ shows your disinclination to appeal to your own people for funds. now, once you are ashore, you will be landed in difficulties. to cut any further explanations, i am commissioned to offer you a loan of fifty pounds, which you can repay when you like." robert's mouth tightened somewhat. for the moment he could not find words. playdon feared he was offended. "i am sorry, old chap, if we are mistaken," he said hesitatingly; "but we really thought--" "please do not endeavor to explain away your generous act," exclaimed anstruther. "i accept it thankfully, on one condition." "blow the condition. but what is it?" "that you tell me the names of those to whom i am indebted besides yourself." "oh, that is easy enough. fitzroy and the first luff are the others. we kept it to a small circle, don't you know. thought you would prefer that." anstruther smiled and wrung his hand. there were some good fellows left in the world after all. the three officers acted in pure good nature. they were assisting a man apparently down in his luck, who would soon be called on to face other difficulties by reason of his engagement to a girl apparently so far removed from him in station. and the last thing they dreamed of was that their kindly loan was destined to yield them a better return than all the years of their naval service, for their fifty pounds had gone into the pocket of a potential millionaire, who was endowed with the faculty, rare in millionaires, of not forgetting the friends of his poverty-stricken days. chapter xvii rainbow island again--and afterward sir arthur deane was sitting alone in his cabin in a state of deep dejection, when he was aroused by a knock, and robert entered. "can you give me half an hour?" he asked. "i have something to say to you before we land." the shipowner silently motioned him to a seat. "it concerns iris and myself," continued anstruther. "i gathered from your words when we met on the island that both you and lord ventnor regarded iris as his lordship's promised bride. from your point of view the arrangement was perhaps natural and equitable, but since your daughter left hong kong it happens that she and i have fallen in love with each other. no; please listen to me. i am not here to urge my claims on you. i won her fairly and intend to keep her, were the whole house of peers opposed to me. at this moment i want to tell you, her father, why she could never, even under other circumstances, marry lord ventnor." then he proceeded to place before the astounded baronet a detailed history of his recent career. it was a sordid story of woman's perfidy, twice told. it carried conviction in every sentence. it was possible, of course, to explain matters more fully to the baronet than to iris, and anstruther's fierce resentment of the cruel wrong inflicted upon him blazed forth with overwhelming force. the intensity of his wrath in no way impaired the cogency of his arguments. rather did it lend point and logical brevity. each word burned itself into his hearer's consciousness, for robert did not know that the unfortunate father was being coerced to a distasteful compact by the scoundrel who figured in the narrative as his evil genius. at the conclusion sir arthur bowed his head between his hands. "i cannot choose but believe you," he admitted huskily. "yet how came you to be so unjustly convicted by a tribunal composed of your brother officers?" "they could not help themselves. to acquit me meant that they discredited the sworn testimony not only of my colonel's wife, but of the civil head of an important government mission, not to mention some bought chinese evidence. am i the first man to be offered up as a sacrifice on the altar of official expediency?" "but you are powerless now. you can hardly hope to have your case revised. what chance is there that your name will ever be cleared?" "mrs. costobell can do it if she will. the vagaries of such a woman are not to be depended on. if lord ventnor has cast her off, her hatred may 'prove stronger than her passion. anyhow, i should be the last man to despair of god's providence. compare the condition of iris and myself today with our plight during the second night on the ledge! i refuse to believe that a bad and fickle woman can resist the workings of destiny, and it was a happy fate which led me to ship on board the _sirdar_, though at the time i saw it in another light." how different the words, the aspirations, of the two suitors. quite unconsciously, robert could not have pleaded better. the shipowner sighed heavily. "i hope your faith will be justified. if it be not--the more likely thing to happen--do i understand that my daughter and you intend to get married whether i give or withhold my sanction?" anstruther rose and opened the door. "i have ventured to tell you," he said, "why she should not marry lord ventnor. when i come to you and ask you for her, which i pray may be soon, it will be time enough to answer that question, should you then decide to put it." it must be remembered that robert knew nothing whatever of the older man's predicament, whilst the baronet, full of his own troubles, was in no mood to take a reasonable view of anstruther's position. neither iris nor robert could make him understand the long-drawn-out duel of their early life on the island, nor was it easy to depict the tumultuous agony of that terrible hour on the ledge when the girl forced the man to confess his love by suggesting acceptance of the dyaks' terms. thus, for a little while, these two were driven apart, and anstruther disdained to urge the plea that not many weeks would elapse before he would be a richer man than his rival. the chief sufferer was sir arthur deane. had iris guessed how her father was tormented, she would not have remained on the bridge, radiant and mirthful, whilst the grey-haired baronet gazed with stony-eyed despair at some memoranda which he extracted from his papers. "ten thousand pounds!" he muttered. "not a great sum for the millionaire financier, sir arthur deane, to raise on his note of hand. a few months ago men offered me one hundred times the amount on no better security. and now, to think that a set of jabbering fools in london should so destroy my credit and their own, that not a bank will discount our paper unless they are assured lord ventnor has joined the board! fancy me, of all men, being willing to barter my child for a few pieces of gold!" the thought was maddening. for a little while he yielded to utter despondency. it was quite true that a comparatively small amount of money would restore the stability of his firm. even without it, were his credit unimpaired, he could easily tide over the period of depression until the first fruits of his enterprise were garnered. then, all men would hail him as a genius. wearily turning over his papers, he suddenly came across the last letter written to him by iris's mother. how she doted on their only child! he recalled one night, shortly before his wife died, when the little iris was brought into her room to kiss her and lisp her infantile prayers. she had devised a formula of her own--"god bless father! god bless mother! god bless me, their little girl!" and what was it she cried to him from the beach? "your own little girl given back to you!" given back to him! for what--to marry that black-hearted scoundrel whose pastime was the degradation of women and the defaming of honest men? that settled it. instantly the cloud was lifted from his soul. a great peace came upon him. the ruin of his business he might not be able to avert, but he would save from, the wreck that which he prized more than all else--his daughter's love. the engines dropped to half speed--they were entering the harbor of singapore. in a few hours the worst would be over. if ventnor telegraphed to london his withdrawal from the board, nothing short of a cabled draft for ten thousand pounds would prevent certain creditors from filing a bankruptcy petition. in the local banks the baronet had about a thousand to his credit. surely among the rich merchants of the port, men who knew the potentialities of his scheme, he would be able to raise the money needed. he would try hard. already he felt braver. the old fire had returned to his blood. the very belief that he was acting in the way best calculated to secure his daughter's happiness stimulated and encouraged him. he went on deck, to meet iris skipping down the hatchway. "oh, there you are!" she cried. "i was just coming to find out why you were moping in your cabin. you are missing the most beautiful view--all greens, and blues, and browns! run, quick! i want you to see every inch of it." she held out her hand and pulled him gleefully up the steps. leaning against the taffrail, some distance apart from each other, were anstruther and lord ventnor. need it be said to whom iris drew her father? "here he is, robert," she laughed. "i do believe he was sulking because captain fitzroy was so very attentive to me. yet you didn't mind it a bit!" the two men looked into each other eyes. they smiled. how could they resist the contagion of her sunny nature? "i have been thinking over what you said to me just now, anstruther," said the shipowner slowly. "oh!" cried iris. "have you two been talking secrets behind my back?" "it is no secret to you--my little girl--" her father's voice lingered on the phrase. "when we are on shore, robert, i will explain matters to you more fully. just now i wish only to tell you that where iris has given her heart i will not refuse her hand." "you darling old dad! and is that what all the mystery was about?" she took his face between her hands and kissed him. lord ventnor, wondering at this effusiveness, strolled forward. "what has happened, miss deane?" he inquired. "have you just discovered what an excellent parent you possess?" the baronet laughed, almost hysterically. "'pon my honor," he cried, "you could not have hit upon a happier explanation." his lordship was not quite satisfied. "i suppose you will take iris to smith's hotel?" he said with cool impudence. iris answered him. "yes. my father has just asked robert to come with us--by inference, that is. where are you going?" the adroit use of her lover's christian name goaded his lordship to sudden heat. "indeed!" he snarled. "sir arthur deane has evidently decided a good many things during the last hour." "yes," was the shipowner's quiet retort. "i have decided that my daughter's happiness should be the chief consideration of my remaining years. all else must give way to it." the earl's swarthy face grew sallow with fury. his eyes blazed, and there was a tense vibrato in his voice as he said-- "then i must congratulate you, miss deane. you are fated to endure adventures. having escaped from the melodramatic perils of rainbow island you are destined to experience another variety of shipwreck here." he left them. not a word had robert spoken throughout the unexpected scene. his heart was throbbing with a tremulous joy, and his lordship's sneers were lost on him. but he could not fail to note the malignant purpose of the parting sentence. in his quietly masterful way he placed his hand on the baronet's shoulder. "what did lord ventnor mean?" he asked. sir arthur deane answered, with a calm smile--"it is difficult to talk openly at this moment. wait until we reach the hotel." the news flew fast through the settlement that h.m.s. _orient_ had returned from her long search for the _sirdar_. the warship occupied her usual anchorage, and a boat was lowered to take off the passengers. lieutenant playdon went ashore with them. a feeling of consideration for anstruther prevented any arrangements being made for subsequent meetings. once their courteous duty was ended, the officers of the _orient_ could not give him any further social recognition. lord ventnor was aware of this fact and endeavored to turn it to advantage. "by the way, fitzroy," he called out to the commander as he prepared to descend the gangway, "i want you, and any others not detained by duty, to come and dine with me tonight." captain fitzroy answered blandly--"it is very good of you to ask us, but i fear i cannot make any definite arrangements until i learn what orders are awaiting me here." "oh, certainly. come if you can, eh?" "yes; suppose we leave it at that." it was a polite but decided rebuff. it in no way tended to sweeten lord ventnor's temper, which was further exasperated when he hurt his shin against one of robert's disreputable-looking tins, with its accumulation of debris. the boat swung off into the tideway. her progress shorewards was watched by a small knot of people, mostly loungers and coolies. among them, however, were two persons who had driven rapidly to the landing-place when the arrival of the _orient_ was reported. one bore all the distinguishing marks of the army officer of high rank, but the other was unmistakably a globetrotter. only in piccadilly could he have purchased his wondrous _sola topi_, or pith helmet--with its imitation _puggri_ neatly frilled and puckered--and no tailor who ever carried his goose through the exile's gate would have fashioned his expensive garments. but the old gentleman made no pretence that he could "hear the east a-callin'." he swore impartially at the climate, the place, and its inhabitants. at this instant he was in a state of wild excitement. he was very tall, very stout, exceedingly red-faced. any budding medico who understood the pre-eminence enjoyed by _aq. ad_ in a prescription, would have diagnosed him as a first-rate subject for apoplexy. producing a tremendous telescope, he vainly endeavored to balance it on the shoulder of a native servant. "can't you stand still, you blithering idiot!" he shouted, after futile attempts to focus the advancing boat, "or shall i steady you by a clout over the ear?" his companion, the army man, was looking through a pair of field-glasses. "by jove!" he cried, "i can see sir arthur deane, and a girl who looks like his daughter. there's that infernal scamp, ventnor, too." the big man brushed the servant out of his way, and brandished the telescope as though it were a bludgeon. "the dirty beggar! he drove my lad to misery and death, yet he has come back safe and sound. wait till i meet him. i'll--" "now, anstruther! remember your promise. i will deal with lord ventnor. my vengeance has first claim. what! by the jumping moses, i do believe--yes. it is. anstruther! your nephew is sitting next to the girl!" the telescope fell on the stones with a crash. the giant's rubicund face suddenly blanched. he leaned on his friend for support. "you are not mistaken," he almost whimpered. "look again, for god's sake, man. make sure before you speak. tell me! tell me!" "calm yourself, anstruther. it is robert, as sure as i'm alive. don't you think i know him, my poor disgraced friend, whom i, like all the rest, cast off in his hour of trouble? but i had some excuse. there! there! i didn't mean that, old fellow. robert himself will be the last man to blame either of us. who could have suspected that two people--one of them, god help me! my wife--would concoct such a hellish plot!" the boat glided gracefully alongside the steps of the quay, and playdon sprang ashore to help iris to alight. what happened immediately afterwards can best be told in his own words, as he retailed the story to an appreciative audience in the ward-room. "we had just landed," he said, "and some of the crew were pushing the coolies out of the way, when two men jumped down the steps, and a most fiendish row sprang up. that is, there was no dispute or wrangling, but one chap, who, it turned out, was colonel costobell, grabbed ventnor by the shirt front, and threatened to smash his face in if he didn't listen then and there to what he had to say. i really thought about interfering, until i heard colonel costobell's opening words. after that i would gladly have seen the beggar chucked into the harbor. we never liked him, did we?" "ask no questions, pompey, but go ahead with the yarn," growled the first lieutenant. "well, it seems that mrs. costobell is dead. she got enteric a week after the _orient_ sailed, and was a goner in four days. before she died she owned up." he paused, with a base eye to effect. not a man moved a muscle. "all right," he cried. "i will make no more false starts. mrs. costobell begged her husband's forgiveness for her treatment of him, and confessed that she and lord ventnor planned the affair for which anstruther was tried by court-martial. it must have been a beastly business, for costobell was sweating with rage, though his words were icy enough. and you ought to have seen ventnor's face when he heard of the depositions, sworn to and signed by mrs. costobell and by several chinese servants whom he bribed to give false evidence. he promised to marry mrs. costobell if her husband died, or, in any event, to bring about a divorce when the hong kong affair had blown over. then she learnt that he was after miss iris, and there is no doubt her fury helped on the fever. costobell said that, for his wife's sake, he would have kept the wretched thing secret, but he was compelled to clear anstruther's name, especially as he came across the other old johnnie--" "pompey, you are incoherent with excitement. who is 'the other old johnnie'?" asked the first luff severely. "didn't i tell you? why, anstruther's uncle, of course, a heavy old swell with just a touch of yorkshire in his tongue. i gathered that he disinherited his nephew when the news of the court-martial reached him. then he relented, and cabled to him. getting no news, he came east to look for him. he met costobell the day after the lady died, and the two swore--the stout uncle can swear a treat--anyhow, they vowed to be revenged on ventnor, and to clear anstruther's character, living or dead. poor old chap! he cried like a baby when he asked the youngster to forgive him. it was quite touching. i can tell you----" playdon affected to search for his pocket-handkerchief. "do tell us, or it will be worse for you," cried his mentor. "give me time, air, a drink! what you fellows want is a phonograph. let me see. well, costobell shook ventnor off at last, with the final observation that anstruther's court-martial has been quashed. the next batch of general orders will re-instate him in the regiment, and it rests with him to decide whether or not a criminal warrant shall be issued against his lordship for conspiracy. do you fellows know what conspir----?" "you cuckoo! what did miss deane do?" "clung to anstruther like a weeping angel, and kissed everybody all round when ventnor got away. well--hands off. i mean her father, anstruther and the stout uncle. unfortunately i was not on in that scene. but, for some reason, they all nearly wrung my arm off, and the men were so excited that they gave the party a rousing cheer as their rickshaws went off in a bunch. will no christian gentleman get me a drink?" the next commotion arose in the hotel when sir arthur deane seized the first opportunity to explain the predicament in which his company was placed, and the blow which lord ventnor yet had it in his power to deal. mr. william anstruther was an interested auditor. robert would have spoken, but his uncle restrained him. "leave this to me, lad," he exclaimed. "when i was coming here in the _sirdar_ there was a lot of talk about sir arthur's scheme, and there should not be much difficulty in raising all the brass required, if half what i heard be true. sit you down, sir arthur, and tell us all about it." the shipowner required no second bidding. with the skill for which he was noted, he described his operations in detail, telling how every farthing of the first instalments of the two great loans was paid up, how the earnings of his fleet would quickly overtake the deficit in capital value caused by the loss of the three ships, and how, in six months' time, the leading financial houses of london, paris, and berlin would be offering him more money than he would need. to a shrewd man of business the project could not fail to commend itself, and the yorkshire squire, though a trifle obstinate in temper, was singularly clear-headed in other respects. he brought his great fist down on the table with a whack. "send a cable to your company, sir arthur," he cried, "and tell them that your prospective son-in-law will provide the ten thousand pounds you require. i will see that his draft is honored. you can add, if you like, that another ten will be ready if wanted when this lot is spent. i did my lad one d--er--deuced bad turn in my life. this time, i think, i am doing him a good one." "you are, indeed," said iris's father enthusiastically. "the unallotted capital he is taking up will be worth four times its face value in two years." "all the more reason to make his holding twenty instead of ten," roared the yorkshireman. "but look here. you talk about dropping proceedings against that precious earl whom i saw to-day. why not tell him not to try any funny tricks until robert's money is safely lodged to your account? we have him in our power. dash it all, let us use him a bit." even iris laughed at this naive suggestion. it was delightful to think that their arch enemy was actually helping the baronet's affairs at that very moment, and would continue to do so until he was flung aside as being of no further value. although ventnor himself had carefully avoided any formal commitment, the cablegrams awaiting the shipowner at singapore showed that confidence had already been restored by the uncontradicted use of his lordship's name. robert at last obtained a hearing. "you two are quietly assuming the attitude of the financial magnates of this gathering," he said. "i must admit that you have managed things very well between you, and i do not propose for one moment to interfere with your arrangements. nevertheless, iris and i are really the chief moneyed persons present. you spoke of financial houses in england and on the continent backing up your loans six months hence, sir arthur. you need not go to them. we will be your bankers." the baronet laughed with a whole-hearted gaiety that revealed whence iris got some part, at least, of her bright disposition. "will you sell your island, robert?" he cried. "i am afraid that not even iris could wheedle any one into buying it." "but father, dear," interrupted the girl earnestly, "what robert says is true. we have a gold mine there. it is worth so much that you will hardly believe it until then? can no longer be any doubt in your mind. i suppose that is why robert asked me not to mention his discovery to you earlier." "no, iris, that was not the reason," said her lover, and the older men felt that more than idle fancy inspired the astounding intelligence that they had just heard. "your love was more to me than all the gold in the world. i had won you. i meant to keep you, but i refused to buy you." he turned to her father. his pent-up emotion mastered him, and he spoke as one who could no longer restrain his feelings. "i have had no chance to thank you for the words you uttered at the moment we quitted the ship. yet i will treasure them while life lasts. you gave iris to me when i was poor, disgraced, an outcast from my family and my profession. and i know why you did this thing. it was because you valued her happiness more than riches or reputation. i am sorry now i did not explain matters earlier. it would have saved you much needless suffering. but the sorrow has sped like an evil dream, and you will perhaps not regret it, for your action today binds me to you with hoops of steel. and you, too, uncle. you traveled thousands of miles to help and comfort me in my anguish. were i as bad as i was painted, your kind old heart still pitied me; you were prepared to pluck me from the depths of despair and degradation. why should i hate lord ventnor? what man could have served me as he did? he has given me iris. he gained for me at her father's hands a concession such as mortal has seldom wrested from black-browed fate. he brought my uncle to my side in the hour of my adversity. hate him! i would have his statue carved in marble, and set on high to tell all who passed how good may spring out of evil--how god's wisdom can manifest itself by putting even the creeping and crawling things of the earth to some useful purpose." "dash it all, lad," vociferated the elder anstruther, "what ails thee? i never heard you talk like this before!" the old gentleman's amazement was so comical that further tension was out of the question. robert, in calmer mood, informed them of the manner in which he hit upon the mine. the story sounded like wildest romance--this finding of a volcanic dyke guarded by the bones of "j.s." and the poison-filled quarry--but the production of the ore samples changed wonder into certainty. next day a government metallurgist estimated the value of the contents of the two oil-tins at about £ , yet the specimens brought from the island were not by any means the richest available. and now there is not much more to tell of rainbow island and its castaways. on the day that captain robert anstruther's name appeared in the _gazette_, reinstating him to his rank and regiment, iris and he were married in the english church at hong kong, for it was his wife's wish that the place which witnessed his ignominy should also witness his triumph. a good-natured admiral decided that the urgent requirements of the british navy should bring h.m.s. _orient_ to the island before the date fixed for the ceremony. lieutenant playdon officiated as best man, whilst the _orient_ was left so scandalously short-handed for many hours that a hostile vessel, at least twice her size, might have ventured to attack her. soon afterwards, robert resigned his commission. he regretted the necessity, but the demands of his new sphere in life rendered this step imperative. mining engineers, laborers, stores, portable houses, engines, and equipment were obtained with all haste, and the whole party sailed on one of sir arthur deane's ships to convoy a small steamer specially hired to attend to the wants of the miners. at last, one evening, early in july, the two vessels anchored outside palm-tree rock, and mir jan could be seen running frantically about the shore, for no valid reason save that he could not stand still. the sahib brought him good news. the governor of hong kong felt that any reasonable request made by anstruther should be granted if possible. he had written such a strong representation of the mahommedan's case to the government of india that there was little doubt the returning mail would convey an official notification that mir jan, formerly _naik_ in the kumaon rissala--he who once killed a man--had been granted a free pardon. the mining experts verified robert's most sanguine views after a very brief examination of the deposit. hardly any preliminary work was needed. in twenty-four hours a small concentrating plant was erected, and a ditch made to drain off the carbonic anhydride in the valley. after dusk a party of coolies cleared the quarry of its former occupants. towards the close of the following day, when the great steamer once more slowly turned her head to the north-west, iris could hear the steady thud of an engine at work on the first consignment of ore. robert had been busy up to the last moment. there was so much to be done in a short space of time. the vessel carried a large number of passengers, and he did not wish to detain them too long, though they one and all expressed their willingness to suit his convenience in this respect. now his share of the necessary preparations was concluded. his wife, sir arthur and his uncle were gathered in a corner of the promenade deck when he approached and told them that his last instruction ashore was for a light to be fixed on summit rock as soon as the dynamo was in working order. "when we all come back in the cold weather," he explained gleefully, "we will not imitate the _sirdar_ by running on to the reef, should we arrive by night." iris answered not. her blue eyes were fixed on the fast-receding cliffs. "sweetheart," said her husband, "why are you so silent?" she turned to him. the light of the setting sun! illumined her face with its golden radiance. "because i am so happy," she said. "oh, robert, dear, so happy and thankful." * * * * * postscript the latest news of col. and mrs. anstruther is contained in a letter written by an elderly maiden lady, resident in the north riding of yorkshire, to a friend in london. it is dated some four years after the events already recorded. although its information is garbled and, to a certain extent, inaccurate, those who have followed the adventures of the young couple under discussion will be able to appreciate its opinions at their true value. when the writer states facts, of course, her veracity is unquestionable, but occasionally she flounders badly when she depends upon her own judgment. here is the letter: "my dear helen: "i have not seen or heard of you during so long a time that i am _simply dying_ to tell you all that is happening here. you will remember that some people named anstruther bought the fairlawn estate near our village some three years ago. they are, as you know, _enormously_ rich. the doctor tells me that when they are not squeezing money out of the wretched chinese, they dig it in _barrow-loads_ out of some magic island in the atlantic or the pacific--i really forget which. "anyhow, they could afford to _entertain_ much more than they do. mrs. anstruther is very nice looking, and could be a leader of society if she chose, but she _seems_ to care for no one but her husband and her babies. she has a boy and a girl, very charming children, i admit, and you seldom see her without them. they have a french _bonne_ apiece, and a most _murderous_-looking person--a mahommedan native, i believe--stalks alongside and behaves as if he would _instantly decapitate_ any person who as much as looked at them. such a procession you never saw! mrs. anstruther's devotion to her husband is _too_ absurd. he is a tall, handsome man, of distinguished appearance, but on the few occasions i have spoken to him he impressed me as somewhat _taciturn_. yet to see the way in which his wife even _looks_ at him you would imagine that he had not his equal in the world! "i believe there is some _secret_ in their lives. colonel anstruther used to be in the army--he is now in command of our local yeomanry--and although his name is 'robert,' _tout court_, i have often heard mrs. anstruther call him 'jenks.' their boy, too, is christened robert _jenks_ anstruther.' now, my dear helen, _do_ make inquiries about them in town circles. i _particularly_ wish you to find out who is this person 'jenks'--a most vulgar name. i am sure you will unearth something curious, because mrs. anstruther was a miss deane, daughter of the baronet, and anstruther's people are well known in yorkshire. there are absolutely no jenkses connected with them on either side. "i think i can help you by another _clue_, as a very _odd_ incident occurred at our hunt ball last week. the anstruthers, i must tell you, usually go away for the winter, to china, or to their fabulous island. this year they remained at home, and colonel anstruther became m.f.h., as he is certainly a most liberal man so far as _sport_ and _charity_ are concerned. "well, dear, the dodgsons--you remember the leeds clothier people--having _contrived_ to enter county society, invited the earl of ventnor down for the ball. he, it seems, knew nothing about anstruther being m.f.h., and of course mrs. anstruther _received_. the moment lord ventnor heard her name he was very angry. he said he did not care to meet her, and left for london by the next train. the dodgsons were _awfully_ annoyed with him, and mrs. dodgson had the bad taste to tell mrs, anstruther all about it. and what do you think _she_ said--'lord ventnor need not have been so frightened. my husband has not brought his hunting-crop with him!' "i was not there, but young barker told me that mrs. anstruther looked very _impressive_ as she said this. 'stunning!' was the word he used, but young barker is a _fool_, and thinks mrs. a. is the most beautiful woman in yorkshire. her dress, they say, was _magnificent_, which i can hardly credit, as she usually goes about in the _plainest_ tailor-made clothes. by the way. i forgot to mention that the anstruthers have restored our parish church. the vicar, of course, is enraptured with them. i dislike people who are so free with their money and yet reserved in their friendship. it is a sure sign, when they _court_ popularity, that they dread something leaking out about the _past_. "_do_ write soon. don't forget 'jenks' and 'lord ventnor'; those are the lines of _inquiry_. "yours, "matilda. "ps.--perhaps i am misjudging them. mrs. anstruther has just sent me an invitation to an 'at home' next thursday.--m. "pps.--dear me, this letter will never get away, i have just destroyed another envelope to tell you that the vicar came in to tea. from what he told me about lord ventnor, i imagine that mrs. anstruther said no more than he deserved.--m." note.--colonel anstruther's agents discovered, after long and costly inquiry, that a shields man named james spence, a marine engineer, having worked for a time as a miner in california, shipped as third engineer on a vessel bound for shanghai. there be quitted her. he passed some time ashore in dissipation, took another job on a chinese river steamer, and was last heard of some eighteen months before the _sirdar_ was wrecked. he then informed a chinese boarding-house keeper that he was going to make his fortune by accompanying some deep-sea fishermen, and he bought some stores and tools from a marine-store dealer. no one knew when or where he went, but from that date all trace of him disappeared. the only persons who mourned his loss were his mother and sister. the last letter they received from him was posted in shanghai. though the evidence connecting him with the recluse of rainbow island was slight, and purely circumstantial, colonel anstruther provided for the future of his relatives in a manner that secured their lasting gratitude. personal reminiscences of early days in california, with other sketches. by stephen j. field. to which is added the story of his attempted assassination by a former associate on the supreme bench of the state. by hon. george c. gorham. printed for a few friends. not published. copyright, , by stephen j. field. * * * * * the following sketches were taken down by a stenographer in the summer of , at san francisco, from the narrative of judge field. they are printed at the request of a few friends, to whom they have an interest which they could not excite in others. * * * * * personal reminiscences of early days in california, with other sketches. index. why and how i came to california. first experiences in san francisco.--visit to marysville, and elected first alcalde of that district. experiences as alcalde. the turner controversy. running for the legislature. the turner controversy continued. life in the legislature. friendship for david c. broderick. legislation secured and beginning a new life. the barbour difficulty. removal from marysville.--life on the supreme bench.--end of judge turner. career on the supreme bench of california, as described by judge baldwin. the annoyances of my judicial life. rosy views of judicial life gradually vanishing.--unsettled land titles of the state.--asserted ownership by the state of gold and silver found in the soil.--present of a torpedo. hostility to the supreme court after the civil war.--the scofield resolution. the moulin vexation. the hastings malignity. appendix. ex. a.--notice of departure from new york for california, november , . ex. b.--aid at election of alcalde by wm. h. parks.--a sketch of my opponent. ex. c.--oath of office as alcalde. ex. d.--order of district court imprisoning and fining me for alleged contempt of court; also order expelling messrs. goodwin and mulford and myself from the bar; and order imprisoning and fining judge haun for releasing me from imprisonment upon a writ of habeas corpus, and directing that the order to imprison me be enforced. ex. e.--record of proceedings in the court of sessions, when attempt was made to arrest its presiding judge; and the testimony of the clerk of the district court in reference to its proceedings relating to myself and judge haun. ex. f.--petition of citizens of marysville to the governor to suspend judge turner from office . ex. g.--letters of ira a. eaton and a.m. winn. ex. h, no. i.--letters from surviving members of the legislature of , who voted to indefinitely postpone the proceedings for the impeachment of judge turner. ex. h, no. ii.--letter of judge mott on the difficulty with judge barbour. ex. i.--letter of l. martin, the friend of judge barbour in his street attack. ex. j.--sections , , and of the act of july , , to expedite the settlement of titles to lands in california; and the act of march , , to quiet the title to certain lands in san francisco. ex. k.--letter of judge lake giving an account of the torpedo. ex. l.--extract from the report of the register and receiver of the land-office in the matter of the contests for lands on the soscol ranch * * * * * the attempted assassination of mr. justice field index. attempted assassination of justice field by a former associate on the state supreme bench chapter i the sharon-hill-terry litigation. chapter ii proceedings in the superior court of the state. chapter iii proceedings in the united states circuit court. [transcriber's note: there is no chapter iv] chapter v decision of the case in the federal court. chapter vi the marriage of terry and miss hill. chapter vii the bill of revivor. chapter viii the terrys imprisoned for contempt. chapter ix terry's petition to the circuit court for a release--its refusal--he appeals to the supreme court--unanimous decision against him there. chapter x president cleveland refuses to pardon terry--false statements of terry refuted. chapter xi terry's continued threats to kill justice field--return of the latter to california in . chapter xii further proceedings in the state court.--judge sullivan's decision reversed. chapter xiii attempted assassination of justice field, resulting in terry's own death at the hands of a deputy united states marshal. chapter xiv sarah althea terry charges justice field and deputy marshal neagle with murder. chapter xv justice field's arrest and petition for release on habeas corpus. chapter xvi judge terry's funeral--refusal of the supreme court of california to adjourn on the occasion. chapter xvii habeas corpus proceedings in justice field's case. chapter xviii habeas corpus proceedings in neagle's case. chapter xix expressions of public opinion. chapter xx the appeal to the supreme court of the united states, and the second trial of sarah althea's divorce case. chapter xxi concluding observations. * * * * * why and how i came to california. some months previous to the mexican war, my brother david dudley field, of new york city, wrote two articles for the democratic review upon the subject of the northwestern boundary between the territory of the united states and the british possessions. one of these appeared in the june, and the other in the november number of the review for .[ ] while writing these articles he had occasion to examine several works on oregon and california, and, among others, that of greenhow, then recently published, and thus became familiar with the geography and political history of the pacific coast. the next spring, and soon after the war broke out, in the course of a conversation upon its probable results, he remarked, that if he were a young man, he would go to san francisco; that he was satisfied peace would never be concluded without our acquiring the harbor upon which it was situated; that there was no other good harbor on the coast, and that, in his opinion, that town would, at no distant day, become a great city. he also remarked that if i would go he would furnish the means, not only for the journey, but also for the purchase of land at san francisco and in its vicinity. this conversation was the first germ of my project of coming to california. some months afterwards, and while col. stevenson's regiment was preparing to start from new york for california, my brother again referred to the same subject and suggested the idea of my going out with the regiment. we had at that time a clerk in the office by the name of sluyter, for whom i had great regard. with him i talked the matter over, it being my intention, if i should go at all, to induce him if possible to accompany me. but he wished to get married, and i wished to go to europe. the result of our conference was, that the california project was deferred, with the understanding, however, that after my return from europe we should give it further consideration. but the idea of going to california thus suggested, made a powerful impression upon my mind. it pleased me. there was a smack of adventure in it. the going to a country comparatively unknown and taking a part in fashioning its institutions, was an attractive subject of contemplation. i had always thought that the most desirable fame a man could acquire was that of being the founder of a state, or of exerting a powerful influence for good upon its destinies; and the more i thought of the new territory about to fall into our hands beyond the sierra nevada, the more i was fascinated with the idea of settling there and growing up with it. but i was anxious first to visit, or rather to revisit, europe. i was not able, however, to make the necessary arrangements to do so until the summer of . on the first of may of that year, i dissolved partnership with my brother, and in june started for europe. in the following december, while at galignani's news room in paris, i read in the new york herald the message of president polk, which confirmed previous reports, that gold had been discovered in california, then recently acquired. it is difficult to describe the effect which that message produced upon my mind. i read and re-read it, and the suggestion of my brother to go to that country recurred to me, and i felt some regret that i had not followed it. i remained in europe, however, and carried out my original plan of seeing its most interesting cities, and returned to the united states in , arriving at new york on the st of october of that year. there was already at that early period a steamer leaving that city once or twice every month for chagres. it went crowded every trip. the impulse which had been started in me by my brother in , strengthened by the message of president polk, had now become irresistible. i joined the throng, and on november th, , took passage on the "crescent city;" and in about a week's time, in company with many others, i found myself at the little old spanish-american town of chagres, on the isthmus of panama. there we took small boats and were poled up the river by indians to cruces, at which place we mounted mules and rode over the mountain to panama. there i found a crowd of persons in every degree of excitement, waiting for passage to california. there were thousands of them. those who came on the "crescent city" had engaged passage on the pacific side also; but such was the demand among the multitude at panama for the means of transportation, that some of the steerage passengers sold their tickets from that place to san francisco for $ apiece and took their chances of getting on cheaper. these sales, notwithstanding they appeared at the time to be great bargains, proved, in most cases, to be very unfortunate transactions; for the poor fellows who thus sold their tickets, besides losing their time, exposed themselves to the malaria of an unhealthy coast. there was in fact a good deal of sickness already among those on the isthmus, and many deaths afterwards occurred; and among those who survived there was much suffering before they could get away. the vessel that conveyed us, and by "us" i mean the passengers of the "crescent city," and as many others as could by any possibility procure passage from panama to san francisco was the old steamer "california." she was about one thousand tons burden; but probably no ship of two thousand ever carried a greater number of passengers on a long voyage. when we came to get under way, there did not seem to be any spare space from stem to stern. there were over twelve hundred persons on board, as i was informed.[ ] unfortunately many of them carried with them the seeds of disease. the infection contracted under a tropical sun, being aggravated by hardships, insufficient food, and the crowded condition of the steamer, developed as the voyage proceeded. panama fever in its worst form broke out; and it was not long before the main deck was literally covered with the sick. there was a physician attached to the ship; but unfortunately he was also prostrated. the condition of things was very sad and painful. among the passengers taken sick were two by the name of gregory yale and stephen smith; and i turned myself into a nurse and took care of them. mr. yale, a gentleman of high attainments, and who afterwards occupied a prominent place at the bar of the state, was for a portion of the time dangerously ill, and i believe that but for my attentions he would have died. he himself was of this opinion, and afterwards expressed his appreciation of my attention in every way he could. in the many years i knew him he never failed to do me a kindness whenever an opportunity presented. finally, on the evening of december , , after a passage of twenty-two days from panama, we reached san francisco, and landed between eight and nine o'clock that night. [ ] the first article was entitled "the oregon question," and the second "the edinburgh and foreign quarterly on the oregon question." [ ] note.--the number of passengers reported to the journals of san francisco on the arrival of the steamer was much less than this, probably to avoid drawing attention to the violation of the statute which restricted the number. first experiences in san francisco. upon landing from the steamer, my baggage consisted of two trunks, and i had only the sum of ten dollars in my pocket. i might, perhaps, have carried one trunk, but i could not manage two; so i was compelled to pay out seven of my ten dollars to have them taken to a room in an old adobe building on the west side of what is now known as portsmouth square. this room was about ten feet long by eight feet wide, and had a bed in it. for its occupation the sum of $ a week was charged. two of my fellow-passengers and myself engaged it. they took the bed, and i took the floor. i do not think they had much the advantage on the score of comfort. the next morning i started out early with three dollars in my pocket. i hunted, up a restaurant and ordered the cheapest breakfast i could get. it cost me two dollars. a solitary dollar was, therefore, all the money in the world i had left, but i was in no respect despondent over my financial condition. it was a beautiful day, much like an indian summer day in the east, but finer. there was something exhilarating and exciting in the atmosphere which made everybody cheerful and buoyant. as i walked along the streets, i met a great many persons i had known in new york, and they all seemed to be in the highest spirits. every one in greeting me, said "it is a glorious country," or "isn't it a glorious country?" or "did you ever see a more glorious country?" or something to that effect. in every case the word "glorious" was sure to come out. there was something infectious in the use of the word, or rather in the feeling, which made its use natural. i had not been out many hours that morning before i caught the infection; and though i had but a single dollar in my pocket and no business whatever, and did not know where i was to get the next meal, i found myself saying to everybody i met, "it is a glorious country." the city presented an appearance which, to me, who had witnessed some curious scenes in the course of my travels, was singularly strange and wild. the bay then washed what is now the east side of montgomery street, between jackson and sacramento streets; and the sides of the hills sloping back from the water were covered with buildings of various kinds, some just begun, a few completed,--all, however, of the rudest sort, the greater number being merely canvas sheds. the locality then called happy valley, where mission and howard streets now are, between market and folsom streets, was occupied in a similar way. the streets were filled with people, it seemed to me, from every nation under heaven, all wearing their peculiar costumes. the majority of them were from the states; and each state had furnished specimens of every type within its borders. every country of europe had its representatives; and wanderers without a country were there in great numbers. there were also chilians, sonorians, kanakas from the sandwich islands, and chinese from canton and hong kong. all seemed, in hurrying to and fro, to be busily occupied and in a state of pleasurable excitement. everything needed for their wants; food, clothing, and lodging-quarters, and everything required for transportation and mining, were in urgent demand and obtained extravagant prices. yet no one seemed to complain of the charges made. there was an apparent disdain of all attempts to cheapen articles and reduce prices. news from the east was eagerly sought from all new comers. newspapers from new york were sold at a dollar apiece. i had a bundle of them, and seeing the price paid for such papers, i gave them to a fellow-passenger, telling him he might have half he could get for them. there were sixty-four numbers, if i recollect aright, and the third day after our arrival, to my astonishment he handed me thirty-two dollars, stating that he had sold them all at a dollar apiece. nearly everything else brought a similarly extravagant price. and this reminds me of an experience of my own with some chamois skins. before i left new york, i purchased a lot of stationery and the usual accompaniments of a writing-table, as i intended to practise my profession in california. the stationer, learning from some remark made by my brother cyrus, who was with me at the time, that i intended to go to california, said that i ought to buy some chamois skins in which to wrap the stationery, as they would be needed there to make bags for carrying gold-dust. upon this suggestion, i bought a dozen skins for ten dollars. on unpacking my trunk, in marysville, these chamois skins were of course exposed, and a gentleman calling at the tent, which i then occupied, asked me what i would take for them. i answered by inquiring what he would give for them. he replied at once, an ounce apiece. my astonishment nearly choked me, for an ounce was taken for sixteen dollars; at the mint, it often yielded eighteen or nineteen dollars in coin. i, of course, let the skins go, and blessed the hunter who brought the chamois down. the purchaser made bags of the skins, and the profit to him from their sale amounted to two ounces on each skin. from this transaction, the story arose that i had sold porte-monnaies in marysville before practising law, which is reported in the interesting book of messrs. barry and patten, entitled "men and memories of san francisco in the spring of ." the story has no other foundation. but i am digressing from the narrative of my first experience in san francisco. after taking my breakfast, as already stated, the first thing i noticed was a small building in the plaza, near which a crowd was gathered. upon inquiry, i was told it was the court-house. i at once started for the building, and on entering it, found that judge almond, of the san francisco district, was holding what was known as the court of first instance, and that a case was on trial. to my astonishment i saw two of my fellow-passengers, who had landed the night before, sitting on the jury. this seemed so strange that i waited till the case was over, and then inquired how it happened they were there. they said that they had been attracted to the building by the crowd, just as i had been, and that while looking on the proceedings of the court the sheriff had summoned them. they replied to the summons, that they had only just arrived in the country. but he said that fact made no difference; nobody had been in the country three months. they added that they had received eight dollars each for their services. at this piece of news i thought of my solitary dollar, and wondered if similar good fortune might not happen to me. so i lingered in the court-room, placing myself near the sheriff in the hope that on another jury he might summon me. but it was not my good luck. so i left the temple of justice and strolled around the busy city, enjoying myself with the novelty of everything. passing down clay street, and near kearney street, my attention was attracted by a sign in large letters, "jonathan d. stevenson, gold dust bought and sold here." as i saw this inscription i exclaimed, "hallo, here is good luck," for i suddenly recollected that when i left new york my brother dudley had handed me a note against stevenson for $ or $ ; stating that he understood the colonel had become rich in california, and telling me, that if such were the case, to ask him to pay the note. i had put the paper in my pocket-book and thought no more of it until the sight of the sign brought it to my recollection, and also reminded me of my solitary dollar. of course i immediately entered the office to see the colonel. he had known me very well in new york, and was apparently delighted to see me, for he gave me a most cordial greeting. after some inquiries about friends in new york, he commenced talking about the country. "ah," he continued, "it is a glorious country. i have made two hundred thousand dollars." this was more than i could stand. i had already given him a long shake of the hand but i could not resist the impulse to shake his hand again, thinking all the time of my financial condition. so i seized his hand again and shook it vigorously, assuring him that i was delighted to hear of his good luck. we talked over the matter, and in my enthusiasm i shook his hand a third time, expressing my satisfaction at his good fortune. we passed a long time together, he dilating all the while upon the fine country it was in which to make money. at length i pulled out the note and presented it to him. i shall never forget the sudden change, from wreaths of smiles to an elongation of physiognomy, expressive of mingled surprise and disgust, which came over his features on seeing that note. he took it in his hands and examined it carefully; he turned it over and looked at its back, and then at its face again, and then, as it were, at both sides at once. at last he said in a sharp tone, "that's my signature," and began to calculate the interest; that ascertained, he paid me the full amount due. if i remember rightly he paid me $ in spanish doubloons, but some of it may have been in gold dust. if it had not been for this lucky incident, i should have been penniless before night. the good fortune which the colonel then enjoyed has not always attended him since. the greater part of his property he lost some years afterwards, but he has always retained, and now in his seventy-eighth year[ ] still retains, great energy and vigor of mind, and a manly independence of character, which have made him warm friends. in all the changes of my life his name is pleasantly associated with the payment of the note, and the timely assistance which he thus gave me. his career as commander of the well-known regiment of new york volunteers which arrived in california in march, , and subsequently in the state, are matters of public history. as soon as i found myself in funds i hired a room as an office at the corner of montgomery and clay streets for one month for $ , payable in advance. it was a small room, about fifteen feet by twenty. i then put out my shingle as attorney and counsellor-at-law, and waited for clients; but none came. one day a fellow-passenger requested me to draw a deed, for which i charged him an ounce. he thought that too much, so i compromised and took half an ounce. for two weeks this was the only call i had upon my professional abilities. but i was in no way discouraged. to tell the truth i was hardly fit for business. i was too much excited by the stirring life around me. there was so much to hear and see that i spent half my time in the streets and saloons talking with people from the mines, in which i was greatly interested. i felt sure that there would soon be occasion in that quarter for my services. whilst i was excited over the news which was daily brought from the mines in the interior of the state, and particularly from the northern part, an incident occurred which determined my future career in california. i had brought from new york several letters of introduction to persons who had preceded me to the new country, and among them one to the mercantile firm of simmons, hutchinson & co., of san francisco, upon whom i called. they received me cordially, and inquired particularly of my intentions as to residence and business. they stated that there was a town at the head of river navigation, at the junction of sacramento and feather rivers, which offered inducements to a young lawyer. they called it vernon, and said they owned some lots in it which they would sell to me. i replied that i had no money. that made no difference, they said; they would let me have them on credit; they desired to build up the town and would let the lots go cheap to encourage its settlement. they added that they owned the steamer "mckim," going the next day to sacramento, and they offered me a ticket in her for that place, which they represented to be not far from vernon. accordingly i took the ticket, and on january th, , left for sacramento, where i arrived the next morning. it was the time of the great flood of that year, and the entire upper country seemed to be under water. upon reaching the landing place at sacramento, we took a small boat and rowed to the hotel. there i found a great crowd of earnest and enthusiastic people, all talking about california, and in the highest spirits. in fact i did not meet with any one who did not speak in glowing terms of the country and anticipate a sudden acquisition of fortune. i had already caught the infection myself, and these new crowds and their enthusiasm increased my excitement. the exuberance of my spirits was marvelous. the next day i took the little steamer "lawrence," for vernon, which was so heavily laden as to be only eighteen inches out of water; and the passengers, who amounted to a large number, were requested not to move about the deck, but to keep as quiet as possible. in three or four hours after leaving sacramento, the captain suddenly cried out with great energy, "stop her! stop her!"; and with some difficulty the boat escaped running into what seemed to be a solitary house standing in a vast lake of water. i asked what place that was, and was answered, "vernon,"--the town where i had been advised to settle as affording a good opening for a young lawyer. i turned to the captain and said, i believed i would not put out my shingle at vernon just yet, but would go further on. the next place we stopped at was nicolaus, and the following day we arrived at a place called nye's ranch, near the junction of feather and yuba rivers. no sooner had the vessel struck the landing at nye's ranch than all the passengers, some forty or fifty in number, as if moved by a common impulse, started for an old adobe building, which stood upon the bank of the river, and near which were numerous tents. judging by the number of the tents, there must have been from five hundred to a thousand people there. when we reached the adobe and entered the principal room, we saw a map spread out upon the counter, containing the plan of a town, which was called "yubaville," and a man standing behind it, crying out, "gentlemen, put your names down; put your names down, all you that want lots." he seemed to address himself to me, and i asked the price of the lots. he answered, "two hundred and fifty dollars each for lots by feet." i replied, "but, suppose a man puts his name down and afterwards don't want the lots?" he rejoined, "oh, you need not take them if you don't want them: put your names down, gentlemen, you that want lots." i took him at his word and wrote my name down for sixty-five lots, aggregating in all $ , . this produced a great sensation. to the best of my recollection i had only about twenty dollars left of what col. stevenson had paid me; but it was immediately noised about that a great capitalist had come up from san francisco to invest in lots in the rising town. the consequence was that the proprietors of the place waited upon me and showed me great attention. two of the proprietors were french gentlemen, named covillaud and sicard. they were delighted when they found i could speak french and insisted on showing me the town site. it was a beautiful spot, covered with live-oak trees that reminded me of the oak parks in england, and the neighborhood was lovely. i saw at once that the place, from its position at the head of practical river navigation, was destined to become an important depot for the neighboring mines, and that its beauty and salubrity would render it a pleasant place for residence. in return for the civilities shown me by mr. covillaud, and learning that he read english, i handed him some new york papers i had with me, and among them a copy of the new york "evening post" of november th, , which happened to contain a notice of my departure for california with an expression of good wishes for my success.[ ] the next day mr. covillaud came to me and in an excited manner said: "ah, monsieur, are you the monsieur field, the lawyer from new york, mentioned in this paper?" i took the paper and looked at the notice with apparent surprise that it was marked, though i had myself drawn a pencil line around it, and replied, meekly and modestly, that i believed i was. "well, then," he said, "we must have a deed drawn for our land." upon making inquiries i found that the proprietors had purchased the tract upon which the town was laid out, and several leagues of land adjoining, of general--then captain--john a. sutter, but had not yet received a conveyance of the property. i answered that i would draw the necessary deed; and they immediately dispatched a couple of vaqueros for captain sutter, who lived at hock farm, six miles below, on feather river. when he arrived the deed was ready for signature. it was for some leagues of land; a considerably larger tract than i had ever before put into a conveyance. but when it was signed there was no officer to take the acknowledgment of the grantor, nor an office in which it could be recorded, nearer than sacramento. i suggested to those present on the occasion, that in a place of such fine prospects, and where there was likely in a short time to be much business and many transactions in real property, there ought to be an officer to take acknowledgments and record deeds, and a magistrate for the preservation of order and the settlement of disputes. it happened that a new house, the frame of which was brought in the steamer, was put up that day; and it was suggested by mr. covillaud that we should meet there that evening and celebrate the execution of the deed, and take into consideration the subject of organizing a town by the election of magistrates. when evening came the house was filled. it is true it had no floor, but the sides were boarded up and a roof was overhead, and we improvised seats out of spare planks. the proprietors sent around to the tents for something to give cheer to the meeting, and, strange as it may seem, they found two baskets of champagne. these they secured, and their contents were joyously disposed of. when the wine passed around, i was called upon and made a speech. i started out by predicting in glowing colors the prosperity of the new town, and spoke of its advantageous situation on the feather and yuba rivers; how it was the most accessible point for vessels coming up from the cities of san francisco and sacramento, and must in time become the depot for all the trade with the northern mines. i pronounced the auriferous region lying east of the feather river and north of the yuba the finest and richest in the country; and i felt certain that its commerce must concentrate at the junction of those rivers. but, said i, to avail ourselves of all these advantages we must organize and establish a government, and the first thing to be done is to call an election and choose magistrates and a town council. these remarks met with general favor, and it was resolved that a public meeting should be held in front of the adobe house the next morning, and if it approved of the project, that an election should be held at once. accordingly, on the following morning, which was the th of january, , a public meeting of citizens was there held, and it was resolved that a town government should be established and that there should be elected an ayuntamiento or town council, a first and second alcalde, (the latter to act in the absence or sickness of the former,) and a marshal. the alcalde was a judicial officer under the spanish and mexican laws, having a jurisdiction something like that of a justice of the peace; but in the anomalous condition of affairs in california at that time, he, as a matter of necessity, assumed and exercised very great powers. the election ordered took place in the afternoon of the same day. i had modestly whispered to different persons at the meeting in the new house the night before, that my name was mentioned by my friends for the office of alcalde; and my nomination followed. but i was not to have the office without a struggle; an opposition candidate appeared, and an exciting election ensued. the main objection urged against me was that i was a new comer. i had been there only three days; my opponent had been there six. i beat him, however, by nine votes.[ ] on the evening of the election, there was a general gathering of people at the adobe house, the principal building of the place, to hear the official announcement of the result of the election. when this was made, some one proposed that a name should be adopted for the new town. one man suggested "yubafield," because of its situation on the yuba river; and another, "yubaville," for the same reason. a third, urged the name "circumdoro," (surrounded with gold, as he translated the word,) because there were mines in every direction round about. but there was a fourth, a solid and substantial old man, evidently of kindly domestic affections, who had come out to california to better his fortunes. he now rose and remarked that there was an american lady in the place, the wife of one of the proprietors; that her name was mary; and that, in his opinion, her name ought to be given to the town, and it should be called, in her honor, "marysville." no sooner had he made the suggestion, than the meeting broke out into loud hurrahs; every hat made a circle around its owner's head, and we christened the new town "marysville," without a dissenting voice. for a few days afterwards, the town was called both yubaville and marysville, but the latter name was soon generally adopted, and the place is so called to this day. the lady, in whose honor it was named was mrs. covillaud. she was one of the survivors of the donner party, which suffered so frightfully while crossing the sierra nevadas in the winter of - , and had been living in the country ever since that terrible time. with my notions of law, i did not attach much importance to the election, but i had a certificate of election made out and signed by the inspectors, stating that at a meeting of the residents of the district of yubaville, on the day named, an election for officers had been held, and designating the inspectors who were appointed, the number of votes that had been cast for the office of alcalde, and the number received by myself, and the number received by my opponent, and that as i had received a majority of all the votes cast, i was elected to that office. it was made out with all possible formality, and when completed, was sent to the prefect of the district. this officer, a mr. e.o. crosby, afterwards minister to one of the south american republics, wrote back approving my election, and advising me to act. his advice, under the circumstances, was a matter of some moment. the new constitution of the state had gone into effect, though it was still uncertain whether it would be recognized by congress. mr. crosby, therefore, thought it best for me to procure, in addition to my commission as alcalde, an appointment as justice of the peace; and through his kind offices, i obtained from governor burnett the proper document bearing his official seal. after my election, i went to sacramento, and on the d of january, , was sworn into office as first alcalde of yubaville, by the judge of the court of first instance, as that was the name of the district in the certificate of election; but i was always designated, after the name of the town had been adopted, as first alcalde of marysville.[ ] captain sutter, whose deed i had drawn, was a remarkable character. he was about five feet nine inches in height, and was thick-set. he had a large head and an open, manly face, somewhat hardened and bronzed by his life in the open air. his hair was thin and light, and he wore a mustache. he had the appearance of an old officer of the french army, with a dignified and military bearing. i subsequently became well acquainted with him, and learned both to respect and to pity him. i respected him for his intrepid courage, his gentle manners, his large heart, and his unbounded benevolence. i pitied him for his simplicity, which, while suspecting nothing wrong in others, led him to trust all who had a kind word on their lips, and made him the victim of every sharper in the country. he was a native of switzerland and was an officer in the swiss guards, in the service of the king of france, in , and for some years afterwards. in , he emigrated to america, and had varied and strange adventures among the indians at the west; in the sandwich islands, at fort vancouver, in alaska, and along the pacific coast. in july, , the vessel which he was aboard of, was stranded in the harbor of san francisco. he then penetrated into the interior of california and founded the first white settlement in the valley of the sacramento, on the river of that name, at the mouth of the american river, which settlement he named helvetia. he built a fort there and gathered around it a large number of native indians and some white settlers. in , the mexican government granted to him a tract of land eleven square leagues in extent; and, subsequently, a still larger concession was made to him by the governor of the department. but the governor being afterwards expelled from the country, the concession was held to be invalid. the emigrants arriving in the country after the discovery of gold proved the ruin of his fortunes. they squatted upon his land, denied the validity of his title, cut down his timber, and drove away his cattle. sharpers robbed him of what the squatters did not take, until at last he was stripped of everything; and, finally, he left the state, and for some years has been living with relatives in pennsylvania. even the stipend of $ , , which the state of california for some years allowed him, has been withdrawn, and now in his advanced years, he is almost destitute. yet, in his days of prosperity, he was always ready to assist others. his fort was always open to the stranger, and food, to the value of many thousand dollars, was, every year, so long as he had the means, sent out by him for the relief of emigrants crossing the plains. it is a reproach to california that she leaves the pioneer and hero destitute in his old age. [ ] col. stevenson was born at the commencement of the century, and is therefore now, , in his ninety-fourth year. [ ] see exhibit a, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit b, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit c, in appendix. experiences as alcalde. under the mexican law, alcaldes had, as already stated, a very limited jurisdiction. but in the anomalous condition of affairs under the american occupation, they exercised almost unlimited powers. they were, in fact, regarded as magistrates elected by the people for the sake of preserving public order and settling disputes of all kinds. in my own case, and with the approval of the community, i took jurisdiction of every case brought before me. i knew nothing of mexican laws; did not pretend to know anything of them; but i knew that the people had elected me to act as a magistrate and looked to me for the preservation of order and the settlement of disputes; and i did my best that they should not be disappointed. i let it be known that my election had been approved by the highest authority. the first case i tried was in the street. two men came up to me, one of them leading a horse. he said, "mr. alcalde, we both claim this horse, and we want you to decide which of us is entitled to it." i turned to the man who had the horse, administered an oath to him, and then examined him as to where he got the horse, of whom and when, whether he had a bill of sale, whether there was any mark or brand on the animal, and, in short, put all those questions which would naturally be asked in such a case to elicit the truth. i then administered an oath to the other man and put him through a similar examination, paying careful attention to what each said. when the examination was completed i at once decided the case. "it is very plain, gentlemen," i said, "that the horse belongs to this man (pointing to one of them) and the other must give him up." "but," said the man who had lost and who held the horse, "the bridle certainly belongs to me, he does not take the bridle, does he?" i said, "oh no, the bridle is another matter." as soon as i said this the owner of the bridle turned to his adversary and said, "what will you take for the horse?" "two hundred and fifty dollars," was the instant reply. "agreed," retorted the first, and then turning to me, he continued: "and now, mr. alcalde, i want you to draw me up a bill of sale for this horse which will stick." i, of course, did as he desired. i charged an ounce for trying the case and an ounce for the bill of sale; charges which were promptly paid. both parties went off perfectly satisfied. i was also well pleased with my first judicial experience. soon after my election i went to san francisco to get my effects; and while there i purchased, on credit, a frame house and several zinc houses, which were at once shipped to marysville. as soon as the frame house was put up i opened my office in it, and exercised not only the functions of a magistrate and justice, but also of a supervisor of the town. i opened books for the record of deeds and kept a registry of conveyances in the district. i had the banks of the river graded so as to facilitate the landing from vessels. the marshal of my court, elected at the same time with myself, having refused to act, i appointed an active and courageous person in his place, r.b. buchanan by name, and directed him to see that peace was preserved, and for that purpose to appoint as many deputies as might be necessary. he did so, and order and peace were preserved throughout the district, not only in marysville, but for miles around. as a judicial officer, i tried many cases, both civil and criminal, and i dictated the form of process suited to the exigency. thus, when a complaint was made to me by the owner of a river boat, that the steamer, which plied between marysville and sacramento, had run down his boat, by which a part of its cargo was lost, i at once dictated process to the marshal, in which the alleged injury was recited, and he was directed to seize the steamer, and hold it until further orders, unless the captain or owner gave security to appear in the action commenced by the owner of the boat, and pay any judgment that might be recovered therein. upon service of the process the captain appeared, gave the required security, and the case was immediately tried. judgment was rendered and paid within five hours after the commission of the injury. in civil cases, i always called a jury, if the parties desired one; and in criminal cases, when the offence was of a high grade, i went through the form of calling a grand jury, and having an indictment found; and in all cases i appointed an attorney to represent the people, and also the accused, when necessary. the americans in the country had a general notion of what was required for the preservation of order and the due administration of justice; and as i endeavored to administer justice promptly, but upon a due consideration of the rights of every one, and not rashly, i was sustained with great unanimity by the community. i have reported a civil case tried before me as alcalde. i will now give a few criminal prosecutions and their circumstances. one morning, about five o'clock, a man tapped at my window, and cried, "alcalde, alcalde, there has been a robbery, and you are wanted." i got up at once, and while i was dressing he told his story. nearly every one in those days lived in a tent and had his gold dust with him. the man, who proved to be gildersleeve, the famous runner, upon going to bed the previous evening had placed several pounds of gold dust in his trunk, which was not locked. in the night some one had cut through his tent and taken the gold dust. i asked him if he suspected anybody; and he named two men, and gave such reasons for his suspicion that i immediately dictated a warrant for their arrest; and in a short time the two men were arrested and brought before me. the gold dust was found on one of them. i immediately called a grand jury, by whom he was indicted. i then called a petit jury, and assigned counsel for the prisoner. he was immediately placed upon his trial, and was convicted. the whole proceeding occupied only a part of the day. there was a great crowd and much excitement, and some talk of lynching. curiously enough, my real trouble did not commence until after the conviction. what was to be done with the prisoner? how was he to be punished? imposing a fine would not answer; and, if he had been discharged, the crowd would have immediately hung him. when at san francisco, mayor geary, of that place, told me if i would send my convicts to him, with money enough to pay for a ball and chain for each one, he would put them in the chain-gang. but at that time the price of passage by steamer from marysville to san francisco was fifty dollars, which, with the expense of an officer to accompany the prisoner, and the price of a ball and chain, would have amounted to a much larger sum than the prosecution could afford; so it was clearly impracticable to think of sending him to san francisco. nor is it at all likely that the people would have consented to his removal. under these circumstances there was but one course to pursue, and, however repugnant it was to my feelings to adopt it, i believe it was the only thing that saved the man's life. i ordered him to be publicly whipped with fifty lashes, and added that if he were found, within the next two years, in the vicinity of marysville, he should be again whipped. i, however, privately ordered a physician to be present so as to see that no unnecessary severity was practiced. in accordance with this sentence, the fellow was immediately taken out and flogged; and that was the last seen of him in that region. he went off and never came back. the latter part of the sentence, however, was supererogatory; for there was something so degrading in a public whipping, that i have never known a man thus whipped who would stay longer than he could help, or ever desire to return. however this may have been, the sense of justice of the community was satisfied. no blood had been shed; there had been no hanging; yet a severe public example had been given. on another occasion a complaint was made that a man had stolen fifteen hundred dollars from a woman. he was arrested, brought before me, indicted, tried, and convicted. i had the same compunctions about punishment as before, but, as there was no other course, i ordered him to receive fifty lashes on his back on two successive days, unless he gave up the money, in which case he was to receive only fifty lashes. as soon as the sentence was written down the marshal marched the prisoner out to a tree, made him hug the tree, and in the presence of the crowd that followed, began inflicting the lashes. the man stood it for awhile without flinching, but when he had received the twenty-second lash he cried out, "stop, for god's sake, and i will tell you where the money is." the marshal stopped and, accompanied by the crowd, took the man to the place indicated, where the money was recovered; and the thief was then made to carry it back to the woman and apologize for stealing it. the marshal then consulted the sentence, and, finding that it prescribed fifty lashes at any rate, he marched the wretch back to the tree and gave him the balance, which was his due. but the case which made the greatest impression upon the people, and did more to confirm my authority than anything else, was the following: there was a military encampment of united states soldiers on bear river, about fifteen miles from marysville, known as "camp far west." one day an application was made to me to issue a warrant for the arrest of one of the soldiers for a larceny he had committed. it was stated that a complaint had been laid before the local alcalde near the camp; but that the officer in charge had refused to give up the soldier unless a warrant for that purpose were issued by me, it being the general impression that i was the only duly commissioned alcalde in the district above sacramento. on this showing i issued my warrant, and a lieutenant of the army brought the soldier over. the soldier was indicted, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be publicly whipped with the usual number of lashes, and the officer stood by and saw the punishment inflicted. he then took the soldier back to camp, where it was afterwards reported that he received an additional punishment. but before the lieutenant left me that day, and while we were dining together, he took occasion to say that, if at any time i had any trouble in enforcing the law, i had but to send him word and he would order out a company of troops to support me. this offer i permitted to become known through the town; and people said--and with what effect may be imagined--"why here is an alcalde that has the troops of the united states at his back." i have already stated that i had the banks of the yuba river graded so as to facilitate the landing from vessels. i will now mention another instance of my administration as general supervisor of the town. there were several squatters on the landing at the river, which, according to the plan of the town, was several hundred feet wide. the lots fronting on this landing being the best for business, commanded the highest prices. but on account of the squatters the owners were deprived of the benefit of the open ground of the landing in front of their property, and they complained to me. i called upon the squatters and told them that they must leave, and that if they were not gone by a certain time, i should be compelled to remove them by force, and, if necessary, to call to my aid the troops of the united states. this was enough; the squatters left, the landing was cleared, and business went on smoothly. in addition to my ordinary duties as a judicial officer and as general supervisor of the town, i acted as arbitrator in a great number of controversies which arose between the citizens. in such cases the parties generally came to my office together and stated that they had agreed to leave the matter in dispute between them to my decision. i immediately heard their respective statements--sometimes under oath, and sometimes without oath--and decided the matter at once. the whole matter was disposed of without any written proceedings, except in some instances i gave to parties a memorandum of my decision. thus on one occasion a dispute arose as to the rate of wages, between several workmen and their employer; the workmen insisting upon twelve dollars a day and the employer refusing to give more than ten. to settle the dispute they agreed to leave the matter to me. i heard their respective statements, and after stating that both of them ought to suffer a little for not having made a specific contract at the outset, decided that the workingmen should receive eleven dollars a day, with which both appeared to be well satisfied. on another occasion parties disputed as to whether freight on a box of crockery should be charged by measurement or by weight, a specific contract having been made that all articles shipped by the owner should be carried at a fixed price per hundred pounds. they agreed to leave the matter to my determination, and i settled it in five minutes. again, on one occasion a woman, apparently about fifty-six, rushed into my office under great excitement, exclaiming that she wanted a divorce from her husband, who had treated her shamefully. a few moments afterwards the husband followed, and he also wanted relief from the bonds of matrimony. i heard their respective complaints, and finding that they had children, i persuaded them to make peace, kiss, and forgive; and so they left my office arm-in-arm, each having promised the other never to do so again, amid the applause of the spectators. in this way i carried out my conception of the good cadi of the village, from which term (al cadi) my own official designation, alcalde, was derived. to make a long story short, until i was superseded by officers under the state government, i superintended municipal affairs and administered justice in marysville with success. whilst there was a large number of residents there of high character and culture, who would have done honor to any city, there were also unfortunately many desperate persons, gamblers, black-legs, thieves, and cut-throats; yet the place was as orderly as a new england village. there were no disturbances at night, no riots, and no lynching. it was the model town of the whole country for peacefulness and respect for law. and now a word about my speculations. in a short time after going to marysville and writing my name down for sixty-five town lots, property increased ten-fold in value. within ninety days i sold over $ , worth, and still had most of my lots left. my frame and zinc houses brought me a rental of over $ , a month. the emoluments of my office of alcalde were also large. in criminal cases i received nothing for my services as judge, and in civil cases the fees were small; but as an officer to take acknowledgments and affidavits and record deeds, the fees i received amounted to a large sum. at one time i had $ , in gold dust in my safe, besides the rentals and other property. one day whilst i was alcalde, a bright-looking lad, with red cheeks and apparently about seventeen years of age, came into the office and asked if i did not want a clerk. i said i did, and would willingly give $ a month for a good one; but that i had written to sacramento and was expecting one from there. the young man suggested that perhaps the one from sacramento would not come or might be delayed, and he would like to take the place in the meanwhile. i replied, very well, if he was willing to act until the other arrived, he might do so. and thereupon he took hold and commenced work. three days afterwards the man from sacramento arrived; but in the meanwhile i had become so much pleased with the brightness and quickness of my young clerk that i would not part with him. that young clerk was george c. gorham, the present secretary of the united states senate. i remember him distinctly as he first appeared to me, with red and rosy cheeks. his quickness of comprehension was really wonderful. give him half an idea of what was wanted, and he would complete it as it were by intuition. i remember on one occasion he wanted to know what was necessary for a marriage settlement. i asked him why. he replied that he had been employed by a french lady to prepare such a settlement, and was to receive twenty-five dollars for the instrument. i gave him some suggestions, but added that he had better let me see the document after he had written it. in a short time afterwards he brought it to me, and i was astonished to find it so nearly perfect. there was only one correction to make. and thus ready i always found him. with the most general directions he would execute everything committed to his charge, and usually with perfect correctness. he remained with me several months, and acted as clerk of my alcalde court, and years afterwards, at different times was a clerk in my office. when i went upon the bench of the supreme court, i appointed him clerk of the circuit court of the united states for the district of california, and, with the exception of the period during which he acted as secretary of gov. low, he remained as such clerk until he was nominated for the office of governor of the state, when he resigned. through the twenty-seven years of our acquaintance, from to the present time, july, , his friendship and esteem have been sincere and cordial, which no personal abuse of me could change and no political differences between us could alienate. his worldly possessions would have been more abundant had he pursued the profession of the law, which i urged him to do; and his success as a public man would have been greater, had he been more conciliatory to those who differed from him in opinion. the turner controversy. towards the end of may, , william e. turner, who had been appointed judge of the eighth judicial district of the state by the first legislature which convened under the constitution, made his appearance and announced that he intended to open the district court at marysville on the first monday of the next month. we were all pleased with the prospect of having a regular court and endeavored, as far as lay in our power, to make the stay of the judge with us agreeable. i had been in the habit of receiving a package of new york newspapers by every steamer, and among them came copies of the new york "evening post," which was at that time the organ of the so-called free-soil party. when judge turner arrived, i waited on him to pay my respects, and sent him the various newspapers i had received. he had lived for years in texas, and, as it proved, was a man of narrow mind and bitter prejudices. he seems to have had a special prejudice against new yorkers and regarded a free-soiler as an abomination. i have been told, and i believe such to be the fact, that my sending him these newspapers, and particularly the "evening post," led him to believe that i was an "abolitionist"--a person held in special abhorrence in those days by gentlemen from the south. at any rate he conceived a violent dislike of me, which was destined in a short time to show itself and cause me great annoyance. what was intended on my part as an act of courtesy, turned out to be the beginning of a long, bitter, and on his part, ferocious quarrel. at that time my affairs were in a very prosperous condition, as i have already stated. i had $ , in gold dust, a rental of over a thousand dollars a month, and a large amount of city property constantly increasing in value. such being the case, i thought i would go east on a visit, and accordingly began making arrangements to leave. but shortly before the opening of the june term of the district court, captain sutter came to me and told me he had been sued by a man named cameron, and wished me to appear as his counsel. i answered that i was making arrangements to go east and he had better retain some one else. he replied that i ought to remain long enough to appear for him and assist his attorney, and begged of me as an act of friendship to do so. i finally consented, and deferred my departure. soon after the opening of the court, some time during the first week, the case of captain sutter was called. a preliminary motion, made by his attorney, was decided against him. mr. jesse o. goodwin, a member of the bar, sitting near, said to me that the practice act, passed at the recent session of the legislature, contained a section bearing upon the question; and at the same time handed me the act. i immediately rose, and addressing the court, remarked that i was informed there was a statutory provision applicable to the point, and begged permission to read it; and commenced turning over the pages of the act in search of it, when judge turner, addressing me and apparently irritated, said in a petulant manner;--"the court knows the law--the mind of the court is made up--take your seat, sir." i was amazed at hearing such language; but in a respectful and quiet manner stated that i excepted to the decision, and appealed, or would appeal from the order. the judge instantly replied, in a loud and boisterous manner, "fine that gentleman two hundred dollars." i replied quietly, "very well," or "well, sir." he immediately added, in an angry tone, "i fine him three hundred dollars, and commit him to the custody of the sheriff eight hours." i again replied, "very well." he instantly exclaimed, in the same violent manner, "i fine him four hundred dollars and commit him twelve hours." i then said that it was my right by statute to appeal from any order of his honor, and that it was no contempt of court to give notice of an exception or an appeal, and asked the members of the bar present if it could be so regarded. but the judge, being very ignorant of the practice of the law, regarded an exception to his decision as an impeachment of his judgment, and, therefore, something like a personal affront. and so, upon my statement, he flew into a perfect rage, and in a loud and boisterous tone cried out, "i fine him five hundred dollars and commit him twenty-four hours--forty-eight hours--turn him out of court--subpoena a posse--subpoena me." i then left the court-room. the attorney in the case accompanied me, and we were followed by the deputy sheriff. after going a few steps we met the coroner, to whom the deputy sheriff transferred me; and the coroner accompanied me to my office, and after remaining there a few moments left me to myself. on the way an incident occurred, which probably inflamed judge turner against me more than anything else that could have happened. the attorney, who was much exasperated at the conduct of the judge, said to me as we met the coroner, "never mind what the judge does; he is an old fool." i replied, "yes, he is an old jackass." this was said in an ordinary conversational tone; but a man by the name of captain powers, with whom turner boarded, happened to overhear it, and running to the court-house, and opening the door, he hallooed out, "judge turner! oh, judge turner! judge field says you are an old jackass." a shout followed, and the judge seemed puzzled whether or not he should send an officer after me, or punish his excitable friend for repeating my language. i remained in my office the remainder of the day, and many people who were present in court, or heard of what had occurred, called to see me. i immediately wrote out a full statement of everything that happened in the court-room, and had it verified by a number of persons who were eye and ear witnesses of the affair. towards evening the deputy sheriff met the judge, who asked him what he had done with me. the deputy answered that i had gone to my office and was still there. the judge said, "go and put him under lock and key, and, if necessary, put him in irons." the deputy came to me and said, "the judge has sent me to put you under lock and key; let me turn the key upon you in your own office." at this i became indignant, and asked for his warrant or commitment to hold me. he replied that he had none, that only a verbal order was given to him by the judge in the street. i then told him he must go away from me and leave me alone. he replied that, "as he was acting by the orders of the sheriff, whose deputy he was, in obeying the judge, he must do as he had been directed." he added, "i will lock the door anyway," and doing so he went off. i immediately sued out a writ of habeas corpus returnable before henry p. haun, the county judge. the writ was executed forthwith, and the same evening i was taken before the judge. there was a great crowd present. i called the sheriff to the stand and asked him if he had any writ, process, commitment, or order by which he held me in custody. he replied that he had none. i then put on the stand samuel b. mulford and jesse o. goodwin and several others, who were present in the district court where the scenes narrated had occurred, and they testified that there was nothing disrespectful in my language or manner; that i had not used an expression at which anybody could justly take offence; and that they had been utterly surprised at the conduct of the judge, which was violent and tyrannical; and that they saw no possible excuse for it. this testimony was of course of no consequence on the question presented by the habeas corpus; because, as there was no order or warrant for my arrest in the possession of the officer, i could not, under any circumstances, be held; but i wished to show my friends, who had not been present in the court-room, the facts of the case. i was of course at once discharged. but the matter did not end there. an excited crowd was present, and as i left the court-room they cheered enthusiastically. i thereupon invited them to the covillaud house, a public house in the town, and directed the keeper to dispense to them the good things of his bar. the champagne was accordingly uncorked without stint, and the best havana boxes were soon emptied of their most fragrant cigars. a bill of $ paid the next day settled the account. whilst the boys were thus enjoying themselves, judge turner, who was not far off, entered the covillaud house, perfectly furious, and applied obscene and vile epithets to the county judge, declaring with an oath that he would teach "that fellow" that he was an inferior judge, and that the witnesses before him were a set of "perjured scoundrels" who should be expelled from the bar. similar threats were made by him in different saloons in the town, to the disgust of every one. that evening he was burned in effigy in the public plaza. i had nothing to do with that act, and did not approve of it. i did not know then, and do not know to this day who were engaged in it. he attributed it to me, however, and his exasperation towards me in consequence became a malignant fury. on the monday following, june th, which was the first day on which the court was held after the scenes narrated, judge turner, on the opening of the court, before the minutes of the previous session were read, and without notice to the parties, or any hearing of them, although they were present at the time, ordered that judge haun be fined fifty dollars and be imprisoned forty-eight hours for his judicial act in discharging me from arrest, under some pretence that the order of the court had been thus obstructed by him. at the same time he ordered that i should be re-imprisoned, and that mr. mulford, mr. goodwin, and myself should be expelled from the bar; myself for suing out the writ, and those two gentlemen for being witnesses on its return, under the pretence that we had "vilified the court and denounced its proceedings." judge haun paid his fine and left the court-room, and i was again taken into custody by the sheriff.[ ] it happened to be the day appointed by law for the opening of the court of sessions of the county, over which the county judge presided. judge haun proceeded from the district court to the room engaged for the court of sessions, and there, in connection with an associate justice, opened that court. immediately afterwards i sued out another writ of _habeas corpus_, returnable forthwith, and whilst before the court arguing for my discharge under the writ, the sheriff entered and declared his intention of taking me out of the room, and of taking judge haun from the bench and putting us in confinement, pursuant to the order of judge turner. judge haun told the sheriff that the court of sessions was holding its regular term; that he was violating the law, and that the court must not be disturbed in its proceedings. judge turner was then informed that the court of sessions was sitting; that judge haun was on the bench, and that i was arguing before the court on a writ of habeas corpus. judge turner immediately ordered a posse to be summoned and appealed to gentlemen in the court-room to serve on it, and directed the sheriff to take judge haun and myself into custody by force, notwithstanding judge haun was on the bench, and i was arguing my case; and if necessary to put judge haun in irons--to handcuff him. soon afterwards the sheriff, with a posse, entered the room of the court of sessions, and forced me out of it, and was proceeding to seize judge haun on the bench, when the judge stepped to a closet and drew from it a navy revolver, cocked it, and, pointing it towards the sheriff, informed him in a stern manner that he was violating the law; that whilst on the bench he, the judge, could not be arrested, and that if the sheriff attempted to do so he would kill him. at the same time he fined the sheriff for contempt of court $ , and appointed a temporary bailiff to act, and directed him to clear the court-room of the disturbers. the new bailiff summoned all the bystanders, who instantly responded, and the court-room was immediately cleared. judge haun then laid his revolver on a drawer before him, and inquired if there was any business ready; for if so the court would hear it. there being none, the court adjourned. i regret to be compelled to add, that notwithstanding the manly and courageous conduct which judge haun had thus shown, no sooner was the court adjourned than he was persuaded to make a qualified apology to the district court for discharging me, by sending a communication to it, stating "that if he was guilty of obstructing the order of the court in releasing field, he did it ignorantly, not intending any contempt by so doing;" and thereupon the district court ordered that he be released from confinement, and that his fine be remitted.[ ] of course there was great excitement through the town as soon as these proceedings became known. that night nearly all marysville came to my office. i made a speech to the people. afterwards some of them passed in front of turner's house, and gave him three groans. they then dispersed, and in returning home some of them fired off their pistols as a sort of finale to the proceedings of the evening. the firing was not within three hundred yards of turner's house; but he seized hold of the fact of firing, and stated that he had been attacked in his house by an armed mob. he also charged that i had instigated the crowd to attack him, but the facts are as i have stated them. there was a great deal of feeling on the part of the people, who generally sided with me; but i did nothing to induce them to violate the law or disturb the peace. even if i wished to do so, prudence and policy counselled otherwise. when turner caused the names of mulford, goodwin, and myself, to be stricken from the roll of attorneys, we, of course, could no longer appear as counsel in his court. i at once prepared the necessary papers, and applied to the supreme court of the state for a mandamus to compel him to vacate the order and reinstate us. i took the ground that an attorney and counsellor, by his admission to the bar, acquired rights of which he could not be arbitrarily deprived; that he could not, under any circumstances, be expelled from the bar without charges being preferred against him and an opportunity afforded to be heard in his defence; that the proceedings of judge turner being ex-parte, without charges preferred, and without notice, were void; and that a mandate, directing him to vacate the order of expulsion and restore us to the bar, ought to be issued immediately. in addition, to this application, i also moved for a mandamus to him to vacate the order imposing a fine and imprisonment upon me for the alleged contempt of his court, or for such other order in the premises as might be just. i took the ground, that as the order did not show any act committed which could constitute a contempt of court, it was void on its face, and should be so declared. my old friend, gregory yale, assisted me in the presentation of these motions. in deciding them, the court delivered two opinions, in which these positions were sustained. they are reported under the titles of people, ex rel. mulford et al., vs. turner, cal., ; and people, ex rel. field vs. turner, cal., . in the first case, a peremptory writ of mandamus was issued, directed to judge turner, ordering him to reinstate us as attorneys; in the second, a writ of certiorari was issued to bring up the order imposing a fine, which was subsequently reversed and vacated, as shown in ex-parte field, cal., . the opinions referred to were delivered by judge bennett, and are models of their kind. many years afterwards, when a somewhat similar question came before the supreme court of the united states, i was called upon to announce its judgment; and in doing so, i followed these opinions, as may be seen by reference to the case of ex-parte robinson, wallace, . i there repeated substantially the doctrine of judge bennett, which is the only doctrine that will protect an attorney and counsellor from the tyranny of an arbitrary and capricious officer, and preserve to him his self-respect and independence. when the order for our restoration came down from the supreme court, turner refused to obey it; and wrote a scurrilous "address to the public" about us, which he published in one of the newspapers. we replied in a sharp and bitter article, signed by ourselves and five other gentlemen; and at the same time we published a petition to the governor, signed by all the prominent citizens of marysville, asking for judge turner's removal. there was a general impression in those days that judges appointed before the admission of the state into the union held their offices subject to removal by the governor. i hardly know how this impression originated, but probably in some vague notions about the powers of mexican governors. however this may be, such was the general notion, and in accordance with it, a petition for turner's removal was started, and, as i have said, was very generally signed.[ ] the matter had by this time assumed such a serious character, and the judge's conduct was so atrocious, that the people became alarmed and with great unanimity demanded his deposition from office. in the article referred to as published by us, we said, after setting forth the facts, that "judge turner is a man of depraved tastes, of vulgar habits, of an ungovernable temper, reckless of truth when his passions are excited, and grossly incompetent to discharge the duties of his office." unfortunately the statement was perfectly true. he refused to obey the mandate of the supreme court, even talked of setting that court at defiance, and went around saying that every one who had signed an affidavit against him was a "perjured villain," and that as to goodwin, mulford, and field, he would "cut their ears off." he frequented the gambling saloons, associated with disreputable characters, and was addicted to habits of the most disgusting intoxication. besides being abusive in his language, he threatened violence, and gave out that he intended to insult me publicly the first time we met, and that, if i resented his conduct, he would shoot me down on the spot. this being reported to me by various persons, i went to san francisco and consulted judge bennett as to what course i ought to pursue. judge bennett asked if i were certain that he had made such a threat. i replied i was. "well," said the judge, "i will not give you any advice; but if it were my case, i think i should get a shot-gun and stand on the street, and see that i had the first shot." i replied that "i could not do that; that i would act only in self-defence." he replied, "that would be acting in self-defence." when i came to california, i came with all those notions, in respect to acts of violence, which are instilled into new england youth; if a man were rude, i would turn away from him. but i soon found that men in california were likely to take very great liberties with a person who acted in such a manner, and that the only way to get along was to hold every man responsible, and resent every trespass upon one's rights. though i was not prepared to follow judge bennett's suggestion, i did purchase a pair of revolvers and had a sack-coat made with pockets in which the barrels could lie, and be discharged; and i began to practice firing the pistols from the pockets. in time i acquired considerable skill, and was able to hit a small object across the street. an object so large as a man i could have hit without difficulty. i had come to the conclusion that if i had to give up my independence; if i had to avoid a man because i was afraid he would attack me; if i had to cross the street every time i saw him coming, life itself was not worth having. having determined neither to seek him nor to shun him, i asked a friend to carry a message to him, and to make sure that it would reach him, i told different parties what i had sent, and i was confident that they would repeat it to him. "tell him from me," i said, "that i do not want any collision with him; that i desire to avoid all personal difficulties; but that i shall not attempt to avoid him; that i shall not cross the street on his account, nor go a step out of my way for him; that i have heard of his threats, and that if he attacks me or comes at me in a threatening manner i will kill him."[ ] i acted on my plan. i often met him in the streets and in saloons, and whenever i drew near him i dropped my hand into my pocket and cocked my pistols to be ready for any emergency. people warned me to look out for him; to beware of being taken at a disadvantage; and i was constantly on my guard. i felt that i was in great danger; but after awhile this sense of danger had a sort of fascination, and i often went to places where he was, to which i would not otherwise have gone. whenever i met him i kept my eye on him, and whenever i passed him on the street i turned around and narrowly watched him until he had gone some distance. i am persuaded if i had taken any other course, i should have been killed. i do not say turner would have deliberately shot me down, or that he would have attempted anything against me in his sober moments; but when excited with drink, and particularly when in the presence of the lawless crowds who heard his threats, it would have taken but little to urge him on. as it turned out, however, he never interfered with me, perhaps because he knew i was armed and believed that, if i were attacked, somebody, and perhaps more than one, would be badly hurt. i have been often assured by citizens of marysville that it was only the seeming recklessness of my conduct, and the determination i showed not to avoid him or go out of his way, that saved me. but at the same time my business was ruined. not only was i prevented, by his refusal to obey the mandate of the supreme court, from appearing as an advocate, but i could not, on account of the relation i occupied towards him, practice at all; nor could i, under the circumstances, leave marysville and make my intended visit east. having nothing else to do, i went into speculations which failed, and in a short time--a much shorter time than it took to make my money--i lost nearly all i had acquired and became involved in debt. [ ] see exhibit d, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit e, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit f, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit g, in appendix. running for the legislature. one morning about this time i unexpectedly found myself in the newspapers, nominated by my friends as a candidate for the lower house of the legislature. who the friends were that named me i did not know; but the nomination opened a new field and suggested new ideas. i immediately accepted the candidacy. judge turner had threatened, among other things, to drive me into the yuba river. i now turned upon him, and gave out that my object in wishing to go to the legislature was to reform the judiciary, and, among other things, to remove him from the district. i canvassed the county thoroughly and was not backward in portraying him in his true colors. he and his associates spared no efforts to defeat me. their great reliance consisted in creating the belief that i was an abolitionist. if that character could have been fastened upon me it would have been fatal to my hopes, for it was a term of great reproach. yuba county then comprised the present county of that name, and also what are now nevada and sierra counties. it was over a hundred miles in length and about fifty in width, and had a population of twenty-five thousand people, being the most populous mining region in the state. i visited nearly every precinct and spoke whenever i could get an audience. an incident of the canvass may not be uninteresting. i went to the town of nevada a little more than a week before the election. as i was riding through its main street a gentleman whom i had long known, general john anderson, hailed me, and, after passing a few words, said, "field, you won't get fifty votes here." i asked, "why not?" he replied, "because everybody is for mccarty, your opponent." i said, somewhat sharply, "anderson, i have come here to fight my own battle and i intend to carry nevada." he laughed and i rode on. the first man i met after reaching the hotel was captain morgan, who afterwards commanded a steamer on the bay of san francisco. after talking for some time on general topics, he asked me about a story in circulation that i was an abolitionist. i saw at once the work of enemies, and i now understood the meaning of general anderson's remark. i assured morgan that the story was entirely false, and added; "to-morrow will be sunday; everybody will be in town; i will then make a speech and show the people what kind of a man i am, and what my sentiments are on this and other subjects." accordingly, the next day, in the afternoon, when the miners from the country were in town and had nothing else to do than to be amused, i mounted a platform erected for the purpose in the main street, and commenced speaking. i soon had a crowd of listeners. i began about my candidacy, and stated what i expected to do if elected. i referred to the necessity of giving greater jurisdiction to the local magistrates, in order that contests of miners respecting their claims might be tried in their vicinity. as things then existed the right to a mule could not be litigated without going to the county seat, at a cost greater than the value of the animal. i was in favor of legislation which would protect miners in their claims, and exempt their tents, rockers, and utensils used in mining from forced sale. i was in favor of dividing the county, and making nevada the seat of the new county. i had heard of numerous measures they wanted, and i told them how many of these measures i advocated. having got their attention and excited their interest, i referred to the charge made against me of being an abolitionist, and denounced it as a base calumny. in proof of the charge i was told that i had a brother in new york who was a free-soiler. so i had, i replied, and a noble fellow he is--god bless him wherever he may be. but i added, i have another brother who is a slaveholder in tennessee, and with which one, i asked, in the name of all that is good, were they going to place me. i wondered if these "honorable" men, who sought by such littleness to defeat me, did not find out whether i did not have some other relatives,--women, perhaps, who believed in things unearthly and spiritual,--whose opinions they could quote to defeat me. shame on such tactics, i said, and the crowd answered by loud cheering. i then went on to give my views of our government, of the relation between the general government of the union and the government of the states, to show that the former was created for national purposes which the states could not well accomplish--that we might have uniformity of commercial regulations, one army and one navy, a common currency, and the same postal system, and present ourselves as one nation to foreign countries--but that all matters of domestic concern were under the control and management of the states, with which outsiders could not interfere; that slavery was a domestic institution which each state must regulate for itself, without question or interference from others. in other words, i made a speech in favor of state rights, which went home to my hearers, who were in great numbers from the south. i closed with a picture of the future of california, and of the glories of a country bounded by two oceans. when i left the platform the cheers which followed showed that i had carried the people with me. mccarty, my opponent, followed, but his speech fell flat. half his audience left before he had concluded. the election took place a week from the following monday. i remained in nevada until it was over. at the precinct in town where i had spoken, i had between three and four hundred majority, and in another precinct in the outskirts i had a majority of two to one. in the county generally i ran well, and was elected, notwithstanding the fact that i was not the nominee of any convention or the candidate of any party. the morning following the election, as i was leaving nevada, i rode by the store of general anderson, and hailing him, inquired what he thought now of my getting fifty votes in the town. "well," he replied, "it was that sunday speech of yours which did the business. mccarty could not answer it." there was one thing in the election which i regretted, and that was that i did not carry marysville; a majority of the votes of its citizens was cast for my opponent. it is true that there the greater number of gamblers and low characters of the county were gathered, but the better class predominated in numbers, and i looked with confidence to its support. my regret, however, was sensibly diminished when i learned the cause of the failure of a portion of the people to give me their votes. some few weeks previous to the day of election a man was killed in the street by a person by the name of keiger, who was immediately arrested. the person killed was about leaving the state, and owed a small debt to keiger, which he refused either to pay or to give security for its payment. exasperated by his refusal, keiger drew a pistol and shot him. i was sent for by an acquaintance of keiger to attend his examination before the local magistrate, by whom he was held for the action of the grand jury. in the afternoon of the same day a large crowd assembled in the streets, with the purpose of proceeding to the summary execution of keiger. whilst the people were in a great state of excitement i made a speech to them, begging them not to resort to violence and thus cast reproach upon the good name of marysville, but to let the law take its course, assuring them that justice would certainly be administered by the courts. my remarks were received with evident displeasure, and i am inclined to think that violence would have been resorted to had not the prisoner been secretly removed from the city and taken to sacramento. the exasperation of a large number, at this escape of their intended victim, vented itself on me, and cost me at least a hundred votes in the city. i would not have acted otherwise had i known beforehand that such would be the result of my conduct. when the civil tribunals are open and in the undisturbed exercise of their jurisdiction, a resort to violence can never be approved or excused. i witnessed some strange scenes during the campaign, which well illustrated the anomalous condition of society in the county. i will mention one of them. as i approached grass valley, then a beautiful spot among the hills, occupied principally by mr. walsh, a name since become familiar to californians, i came to a building by the wayside, a small lodging-house and drinking-saloon, opposite to which a lynch jury were sitting, trying a man upon a charge of stealing gold dust. i stopped and watched for awhile the progress of the trial. on an occasion of some little delay in the proceedings, i mentioned to those present, the jury included, that i was a candidate for the legislature, and that i would be glad if they would join me in a glass in the saloon, an invitation which was seldom declined in those days. it was at once accepted, and leaving the accused in the hands of an improvised constable, the jury entered the house and partook of the drinks which its bar afforded. i had discovered, or imagined from the appearance of the prisoner, that he had been familiar in other days with a very different life from that of california, and my sympathies were moved towards him. so, after the jurors had taken their drinks and were talking pleasantly together, i slipped out of the building and approaching the man, said to him, "what is the case against you? can i help you?" the poor fellow looked up to me and his eyes filled with great globules of tears as he replied. "i am innocent of all i am charged with. i have never stolen anything nor cheated any one; but i have no one here to befriend me." that was enough for me. those eyes, filled as they were, touched my heart. i hurried back to the saloon; and as the jurors were standing about chatting with each other i exclaimed, "how is this? you have not had your cigars? mr. bar-keeper, please give the gentlemen the best you have; and, besides, i added, let us have another 'smile'--it is not often you have a candidate for the legislature among you." a laugh followed, and a ready acceptance was given to the invitation. in the meantime my eyes rested upon a benevolent-looking man among the jury, and i singled him out for conversation. i managed to draw him aside and inquired what state he came from. he replied, from connecticut. i then asked if his parents lived there. he answered, with a faltering voice, "my father is dead; my mother and sister are there." i then said, "your thoughts, i dare say, go out constantly to them; and you often write to them, of course." his eyes glistened, and i saw pearl-like dew-drops gathering in them; his thoughts were carried over the mountains to his old home. "ah, my good friend," i added "how their hearts must rejoice to hear from you." then, after a short pause, i remarked, "what is the case against your prisoner? he, too, perhaps, may have a mother and sister in the east, thinking of him as your mother and sister do of you, and wondering when he will come back. for god's sake remember this." the heart of the good man responded in a voice which, even to this day--now nearly twenty-seven years past--sounds like a delicious melody in my ears: "i will do so." passing from him i went to the other jurors, and, finding they were about to go back to the trial, i exclaimed, "don't be in a hurry, gentlemen, let us take another glass." they again acceded to my request, and seeing that they were a little mellowed by their indulgence, i ventured to speak about the trial. i told them that the courts of the state were organized, and there was no necessity or justification now for lynch juries; that the prisoner appeared to be without friends, and i appealed to them, as men of large hearts, to think how they would feel if they were accused of crime where they had no counsel and no friends. "better send him, gentlemen, to marysville for trial, and keep your own hands free from stain." a pause ensued; their hearts were softened; and, fortunately, a man going to marysville with a wagon coming up at this moment, i prevailed upon them to put the prisoner in his charge to be taken there. the owner of the wagon consenting, they swore him to take the prisoner to that place and deliver him over to the sheriff; and to make sure that he would keep the oath, i handed him a "slug," a local coin of octagonal form of the value of fifty dollars, issued at that time by assayers in san francisco. we soon afterwards separated. as i moved away on my horse my head swam a little, but my heart was joyous. of all things which i can recall of the past, this is one of the most pleasant. i believe i saved the prisoner's life; for in those days there was seldom any escape for a person tried by a lynch jury. the expenses of the election were very great. it was difficult to interest the miners in it; most of them had come to the country in the hope of improving their fortunes in one or two years, and then returning to "the states." it was, therefore, a matter of little moment to them who were chosen members of the coming legislature. party lines were not regarded among them, and party questions could not draw many of them from their labors. as i was an independent candidate, not supported by any party, i had to bear the whole expenses of the campaign. how great those expenses were may be imagined from the following bill, one of a large number sent to me after the election. i had told the saloon-keepers in the vicinity of the polling places in the different precincts to be liberally disposed towards my friends on the day of election. they took me literally at my word, as this bill from the keeper of a saloon where the polls were opened in downieville precinct will show: mr. s.j. field, to orleans house. to drinks................................ $ cigars................................ ------ downieville, _october th, _. $ [endorsed:] "we hereby certify that the within account is correct. "p.l. moore. "wm. s. spear." "received payment of the within bill in full from stephen j. field. "j. stratman. "_october th, _." the turner controversy continued it was not until after my election that judge turner paid any attention to the mandate of the supreme court commanding him to vacate his order of expulsion against myself and messrs. goodwin and mulford, and to restore us to the bar. the mandate was issued on the fourth of july, and was served on the judge on the sixteenth. he immediately and publicly declared that he would not obey it, but would stand an impeachment first. whilst attending the supreme court on the application for the writ, mr. goodwin, mr. mulford, and myself, were admitted as attorneys and counsellors of that court, and that admission under its rules entitled us to practice in all the courts of the state. the effect of this, which re-instated us in the district court, he determined to defeat. he accordingly directed the sheriff of the county to notify us to show cause, before the court in sutter county, why we should not be again expelled from the bar for the publication of the article in the placer times, to which i have referred, written in reply to his attack on us in his "address to the public." the order was dated on the fourth of october, and was served on the eighth, and required us to appear on the first thursday of the month, which was the third. as the time for appearance was previous to the day of service and to the date of the order, no attention was paid to it. the judge, however, proceeded, and on the eleventh of the month made another order of expulsion. after the adjournment of the court, he discovered his blunder, and at once issued another direction to the sheriff to notify us that the last order of expulsion was suspended until the twenty-eighth of october, and to show cause on that day why we should not be again expelled. in the meantime, the judge made no concealment of his purposes, but publicly declared in the saloons of the town that if we did not appear upon this second notice, he would make an order for our expulsion, and if we did appear, he would expel us for contempt in publishing the reply to his article, which he termed a false and slanderous communication. we knew, of course, that it would be useless to appear and attempt to resist his threatened action; still we concluded to appear and put in an answer. accordingly, on the day designated, we presented ourselves before the court in sutter county. i was the first one called upon to show cause why i should not be again expelled. i stated that i was ready, and first read an affidavit of one of the associate justices of the court of sessions, to show that the judge had declared his purpose to expel myself and the other gentlemen in any event, and that it was an idle ceremony to call upon us to show cause against such threatened action. as soon as it was read, the judge declared that it was not respectful and could not be received. i then began to read my answer to the order to show cause, but was stopped when i had read about one half of it, and was told that it was not respectful and could not be received. i then requested permission to file it, but my request was refused. mr. mulford being called upon to show cause why he should not be expelled, began to read an answer, but was stopped after reading a few lines. his answer was respectful, and was substantially to the effect that he had been admitted as attorney and counsellor in the supreme court on the previous july, and was thus entitled to practice in all the courts of the state; that the communication in the placer times was written in reply to an article of the judge, and that he was ready at the proper time and place to substantiate its truth; and he protested against the judge's interfering in the matter in the manner indicated in the notice. mr. goodwin being called upon, took in his answer substantially the same grounds as mr. mulford. immediately after mr. goodwin took his seat, without a moment's hesitation, the judge made an order that his previous order of the eleventh of october, expelling us, should be confirmed, and that the order should be published in the sacramento times and the san francisco herald. i immediately took the proper steps to obtain another mandate from the supreme court to vacate this second expulsion; and also to attach the judge for non-compliance with the original mandate, the first order of expulsion still being unvacated on the records of the court. at the january term, , the applications to the court in both cases were decided, and they are reported in the st california reports, at pages and . in the attachment case, the court denied the application on the ground that no motion had been made by us or any one on our behalf to cause the original order of expulsion to be vacated, and that the judge had, in the proceedings to expel us, substantially recognized us as re-instated. in the other case, the court decided that the proceedings to re-expel us were irregular, and directed an alternative writ to issue, commanding the judge to vacate the order and to permit us to practice in all the courts of the district, or to show cause to the contrary, at the next term. no cause was ever shown; and thus ended the attempts of an ignorant, malicious, and brutal judge to keep us out of the profession of our choice. mr. goodwin has since held many positions of honor and trust in the state. he was elected district attorney at the same time that i was elected to the legislature, and afterwards was judge of yuba county, and is now ( ) a member of the state senate. mr. mulford was afterwards and until his death a successful practitioner at the bar of marysville, and was in all the affairs of life respected as a high-spirited and honorable man. but with judge turner i have not yet done. i have a long story still to relate with respect to him. after my election to the legislature was ascertained, he became exceedingly solicitous to prevent in advance my exerting any influence in it. he expected that i would attack him, and endeavor to secure his impeachment, and he wanted to break me down if possible. he accordingly published a pamphlet purporting to be a statement of the charges that i preferred against him, which was, however, little else than a tirade of low abuse of myself and the editor of the marysville herald, in the columns of which the conduct of the judge had been the subject of just criticism and censure. there was nothing in the miserable swaggering billingsgate of the publication which merited a moment's notice, but as in one passage he stated that he had attempted to chastise me with a whip, and that i had fled to avoid him, i published in the marysville herald the following card: a card. judge william e. turner, in a "statement" published over his signature on the th instant, asserts that he attempted to chastise me with a switch, and that i fled to avoid him. this assertion is a _shameless lie_. i never, to my recollection, saw judge turner with a switch or a whip in his hand. he has made, as i am informed, many threats of taking personal vengeance on myself, but he has never attempted to put any of them into execution. i have never avoided him, but on the contrary have passed him in the street almost every day for the last four months. when he attempts to carry any of his threats into execution, i trust that i shall not forget, at the time, what is due to myself. judge turner says he holds himself personally responsible in and under all circumstances. this he says _in print_; but it is well understood in this place that he has stated he should feel bound by his oath of office to endeavor to obtain an indictment against any gentleman who should attempt to call him to account. shielded behind his oath of office he has displayed his character by childish boasts of personal courage and idle threats of vengeance. stephen j. field. marysville, _dec. st, _. there were also annexed to the publication of turner, letters from different persons expressive of their opinion of his general bearing on the bench and courtesy to them. among these was one from john t. mccarty, the candidate against me at the recent election, in which he spoke in high terms of the judge's conduct on the bench, and assailed me as his calumniator, applying to me sundry coarse epithets. in answer to this letter i published in the herald the following card: john t. mccarty. john t. mccarty, in a letter to judge william e. turner, dated the d of november, takes occasion to apply several vile epithets to myself, and uses the following language to judge turner: "having been present at the first term of your court ever held in this district, and most of your courts since that time, and being familiar with almost every decision and your entire conduct upon the bench, i take pleasure in saying that i never have practiced before any court where there was so great a dispatch of business, so much order and general satisfaction rendered by the rules and decisions of the court, and that, notwithstanding the base denunciations of your enemies, a large majority of the people who have attended your courts approve and sustain your positions and decisions." during the session of the district court, at its first term, this same john t. mccarty was called before the county judge to give his testimony on the return of a writ of _habeas corpus_, and then he testified "_that the conduct of judge turner on the bench was the most outrageous he had ever witnessed in any court in which he had practiced;" and the tenor and effect of his whole testimony was in the highest degree condemnatory of the conduct of judge turner_. one of two things follows: if the statement in the letter be true, then john t. mccarty was guilty of perjury before the county judge; but if he testified to the truth, then his statement in the letter is false. in the one case he is a liar and in the other a perjured scoundrel. thus convicted out of his own mouth, his vile epithets respecting myself are not worth a moment's consideration. stephen j. field. marysville, _dec. st, _. on my return from the legislature, and afterwards, this same mccarty was in my presence the most abject and humble wretch i knew in marysville. he almost piteously begged recognition by me, and was ready to go down on his knees for it. he was a blustering miscreant, full of courage where no force was required, and ready to run at the first appearance of a fight. he was one of a class, all of whom are alike, in whom bluster, toadyism, and pusillanimity go in concert, and are about equally developed in degree. life in the legislature immediately after the election i commenced the preparation of a bill relating to the courts and judicial officers of the state, intending to present it early in the session. the legislature met at san jose on the first monday of january, , and i was placed on the judiciary committee of the house. my first business was to call the attention of the committee to the bill i had drawn. it met their approval, was reported with a favorable recommendation, and after a full discussion was passed. its principal provisions remained in force for many years, and most of them are retained in the code, which went into effect in january, . it created eleven judicial districts and defined the jurisdiction and powers of every judicial officer in the state, from a supreme judge to a justice of the peace. it provided that the then incumbent district judges should continue to be the judges of the new districts according to their respective numbers. at the same time i introduced a bill dividing the county of trinity, and creating that of klamath; and also a bill dividing the county of yuba, and creating that of nevada; and i so arranged it that out of trinity and klamath a new eighth judicial district was created, and out of yuba, nevada, and sutter a tenth judicial district. thus turner, being judge of the eighth district, was sent to the then comparative wilderness of trinity and klamath; and the tenth district was to have a new judge. after this bill was passed i presented petitions from the citizens of yuba county, and of that part which now constitutes nevada county, praying for the impeachment of turner, and his removal from office, charging as grounds for it his incompetency from ignorance to discharge its duties, his arbitrary and tyrannical conduct towards the county judge and members of the marysville bar, the particulars of which i have related, his contemptuous treatment of the writ of _habeas corpus_, and his general immoral conduct. a committee was thereupon appointed to which the petitions were referred, with power to send for persons and papers. the testimony taken by them fully established the charges preferred. indeed, there was no serious attempt made to refute them. the only evidence offered in behalf of the judge was that of a few persons who testified that they had been treated by him with courtesy in some instances and that good order had been maintained in court when they were present. there is no doubt that the impeachment would have been ordered but for a strong desire of the members to bring the session to a close, and a report which had obtained credence, that after the passage of the court bill, by which turner was sent out of the eighth district, i was content to let the question of impeachment be indefinitely postponed. the testimony taken was reported by the committee on the th of april. his impeachment would have required a trial by the senate, which would have prolonged the session at least a month, and to this members were much averse. parties came to me and said, "judge, what's the use of pressing this matter. you have sent turner where there are only grizzly bears and indians; why not let him remain there? he can do no harm there." i replied that he was not fit to be a judge anywhere, and i refused assent to a postponement of the matter. afterwards, when the vote was about to be taken, a senator and a personal friend of turner, misinterpreting some expressions of mine that i desired to bring the matter to a speedy close, privately stated to members of the house that i had declared myself satisfied by the passage of the court bill and was willing to let the impeachment be dropped, it being understood that this course would not be taken as a sanction of the judge's conduct. to my astonishment, members who had said only half an hour before that they should vote for the impeachment now voted for an indefinite postponement, which was carried by three votes--fifteen to twelve. i did not vote, and three members who strongly favored the impeachment were absent at the time. seven of the members who voted for the indefinite postponement afterwards informed me that they had done so under the impression that such a disposition of the matter would be satisfactory to me, and that if a direct vote had been taken on the charges they should have voted for the impeachment. here the matter ended; i did not pursue it. turner did not go back to marysville and i had no further trouble with him.[ ] to understand fully the legislation with which i was connected, and its effect upon the state, one must be familiar with the history of the country and the condition of its people. in addition to the act concerning the courts and judicial officers referred to, i took up the code of civil procedure, as reported by the commissioners in new york, remodelled it so as to adapt it to the different condition of things and the different organization of the courts in california, and secured its passage. it became what was known as the california civil practice act, and was afterwards adopted in nevada and in the territories west of the rocky mountains. i also took up the code of criminal procedure, as reported by the same commissioners, and remodelled that in the same way and secured its passage. it constituted what was afterwards known as the california criminal practice act, and was also adopted in the state and territories mentioned. the amount of labor bestowed upon these acts will be appreciated when i state that i recast, in the two, over three hundred sections, and added over one hundred new ones. i devoted so much attention and earnestness to the work, that in a short time the legislature placed implicit confidence in everything relating to the judiciary which i recommended. the criminal practice act, for instance, remodelled as stated, consisting of over six hundred sections, was never read before the legislature at all. the rules were suspended and the bill read by its title and passed. when it came before the governor, on the last day of the session, he said he could not sign it without reading it, and it was too late for him to do that. i represented to him that its passage was essential to secure the harmonious working of laws already passed. turning to me he said, "you say it is all right?" i replied, "yes;" and thereupon he signed it. i have already stated that i moved turner's impeachment. after the testimony was taken i addressed the house upon the subject. in reply to my remarks a member, by the name of b.f. moore, from tuolumne county, took occasion to make an abusive attack on me. it was the common practice in those days to go armed. of the thirty-six members of which the assembly then consisted, over two-thirds never made their appearance without having knives or pistols upon their persons, and frequently both. it was a thing of every-day occurrence for a member, when he entered the house, before taking his seat, to take off his pistols and lay them in the drawer of his desk. he did it with as little concern and as much a matter of course, as he took off his hat and hung it up. nor did such a thing excite surprise or comment. but when mr. moore rose to reply to me, he first ostentatiously opened his drawer, took out his revolvers, cocked them, and laid them in the open drawer before him. he then launched out into a speech of the most opprobrious language, applying to me offensive epithets, and frequently interspersing his remarks with the declaration that he was responsible for what he said, both there and elsewhere. it is difficult for me to describe the indignation i felt at this outrageous assault and the manner in which it was made. its very fierceness made me calm, as it is said that a tempest at sea is sometimes so violent as to still the waves. so when i came to make my rejoinder, i answered only such portions of his speech as attempted argument, and made no allusion to the personal language he had used towards me. but as soon as the vote was had on the question of postponing the impeachment, i took measures to call him to account. for this purpose i applied to mr. samuel a. merritt, a member from mariposa county, to carry a note from me to him, calling upon him to apologize for his offensive conduct or give me the satisfaction which it was understood one gentleman had the right to demand from another. at that time it was generally supposed that the constitutional provision in regard to duelling was self-operative, and that any person who either sent or accepted a challenge, or acted as a second to one who thus offended, would _ipso facto_ be disqualified from afterwards holding any public office. upon this understanding of the law, mr. merritt, with many expressions of regard for me and regret at the law, declined to carry the note. i then applied to mr. richardson, also a member, but he declined for the same reason. i was afraid, as matters stood, that i could not get anybody to act for me, and i did not know to whom to apply or what to do. whilst thinking the matter over, i happened, about nine o'clock in the evening, to walk into the senate chamber, and there found mr. david c. broderick, afterwards united states senator, sitting at his desk writing. he was at that time president _pro tem._ of the senate. i had known him for some time, but not intimately; we were merely bowing acquaintances. as i entered he looked up and said, "why, judge, you don't look well, what is the matter?" i answered that i did not feel well, for i had not a friend in the world. he replied, "what is it that worries you?" i then related to him everything that had happened, giving the particulars of the gross and violent assault upon my character, and stated that i was determined, at all hazards, to call moore to account. mr. broderick, without hesitation, said, "my dear field, i will be your friend in this matter; go and write at once a note to moore, and i will deliver it myself." i accordingly sat down at an adjoining desk and wrote him a note, the purport of which was that i required him either to make a public retraction of his insulting language in the legislature, or to give me the satisfaction i had a right to demand. broderick approved of its terms and at once proceeded to deliver it. when he called on moore and presented it, the latter said he expected to be a candidate for congress before the coming convention, and he could not accept a challenge because it would disqualify him under the constitution from holding the office. but at the same time he observed that he was willing to meet me at any time and place; in other words, that he had no objection to a street fight. broderick replied that a street fight was not exactly the thing among gentlemen; but that if moore would do no better, a street fight there should be; and thereupon named a time and place when and where i would be found the next morning. within an hour afterwards moore changed his mind, and informed mr. broderick that drury baldwin, another member of the house, would act as his friend, and give a reply to my note the next morning. in anticipation of a possible collision, mr. broderick took me out early the following morning to try my skill in the use of a pistol. i tried a navy revolver and succeeded in hitting a knot on a tree, at a distance of thirty yards, three times out of five. broderick declared himself satisfied, and i then urged upon him the necessity of bringing the matter to a speedy issue. in all this he concurred, and before the meeting of the house, called upon baldwin for an answer to my note. baldwin replied that his principal had made up his mind to do nothing further in the matter. "then," said broderick, "as soon as the house meets, judge field will arise in his seat and refer to the attack on him and to the language of moore, that he held himself responsible for what he said, and state that respect for the dignity of the house had prevented him from replying to the attack at the time in the terms it deserved; that he had since demanded satisfaction of moore for his language, and that moore had refused to respond, and will thereupon pronounce him a liar and a coward." "then," said baldwin, "judge field will get shot in his seat." "in that case," rejoined broderick, "there will be others shot too." mr. broderick soon afterwards informed me of his conversation with baldwin, and asked me if i would act as he had stated i would. "most certainly," i replied; "never fear for me; i will meet the case as it should be met." accordingly, when the house opened, i took my seat at my desk as usual. looking around i saw that broderick was seated near me, and behind him were eight or nine of his personal friends, all armed to the teeth and ready for any emergency. in the meantime, and just before the house met, general john e. addison, who had found out what was going on and knew the seriousness of the affair, called on moore, who was his friend, and urged him to retract what he had said and make a suitable apology, and for that purpose drew up a document for him to read to the house, but of this i was not at the time informed. as soon as the journal was read i rose in my seat and said, "mr. speaker." at the same moment moore rose in his seat and said, "mr. speaker." the speaker recognized moore first; and moore thereupon proceeded to read the written apology prepared by addison for his conduct and language to me. it was full, ample, and satisfactory; and of course with that the matter ended. from that time forward to the end of the session i had no further trouble with any one. [ ] see exhibit h, in appendix. friendship for david c. broderick. the narrative which i have given of my difficulty with moore explains how broderick befriended me at a very trying time. but that was not the only occasion on which he befriended me. when i came to san francisco after the adjournment of the legislature, in may, , i went several times to see him at the hotel where he stopped. on one occasion in the evening, while we were in the saloon of the hotel, he asked me to take a glass of wine with him. we stepped up to the bar and were about drinking, when he suddenly threw himself before me and with great violence pushed me out of the room. the proceeding was so sudden and unexpected that i was astonished and for a moment indignant. i demanded an explanation, saying "what does this mean, mr. broderick?" he then told me that while we were standing at the bar he had noticed vi.--or to give his full name, vicesimus--turner, a brother of the judge, a man of desperate character, come into the bar-room, throw back his spanish cloak, draw forth a navy revolver, and level it at me. seeing the movement, he had thrown himself between me and the desperado and carried me off. these good offices on the part of mr. broderick filled me with a profound sense of gratitude. for years afterwards i thought and felt as if there was nothing i could do that would be a sufficient return for his kindness. on his account i took much greater interest in political matters than i otherwise should. in order to aid him in his aspirations for election to the united states senate, upon which he had set his heart, i attended conventions and gave liberally, often to my great inconvenience, to assist the side to which he belonged. to many persons it was a matter of surprise that i should take such an interest in his success and through good and evil report remain so constant and determined in my support of him; but the explanation lies in the circumstances i have narrated and the brave manner in which he had stood by me in a most critical moment of my life. i regret to state that this friendship was ever broken. it was not by me; but broken it was. shortly after mr. broderick was elected to the senate, he quarrelled with mr. buchanan over appointments to office in california; and when he returned to the state, he expressed a good deal of hostility to the administration. in that hostility i did not participate, and he complained of me for that reason. i was then spoken of throughout the state as a probable candidate for the bench, and he announced his opposition to my nomination. i made no complaints of his conduct, but was much hurt by it. my nomination and election soon afterwards removed me from the sphere of politics. i seldom met him after my election, and never had any conversation with him. though he was offended at my failure to take sides with him in his controversy with the president, and our intimacy ceased, i could never forget his generous conduct to me; and for his sad death there was no more sincere mourner in the state. legislation secured and beginning a new life. my legislative career was not without good results. i drew, as already stated, and carried through the legislature a bill defining the powers and jurisdiction of the courts and judicial officers of the state; and whilst thus doing good, i also got rid of the ignorant and brutal judge of our district who had outraged my rights, assaulted my character, and threatened my life. i also, as i have mentioned, introduced bills regulating the procedure in civil and criminal cases, remodelled with many changes from the codes of civil and criminal procedure reported by the commissioners of new york; and secured their passage. in the civil practice act i incorporated provisions making the most liberal exemptions from forced sale of the personal property of a debtor, including not merely a limited amount of household furniture, and provisions sufficient for individual or family use for one month, but also the instruments or tools by which he earned his livelihood. the exemptions embraced necessary household and kitchen furniture, wearing apparel, beds and bedding of the debtor, whatever his calling; and also the farming utensils and implements of husbandry of the farmer, two beasts of burden employed by him, and one cart or wagon; the tools and implements of a mechanic or artisan necessary to carry on his trade; the instruments and chests of a surgeon, physician, surveyor, and dentist; the law libraries of an attorney and counsellor; the cabin or dwelling of a miner, and his pick, rocker, wheelbarrow, and other implements necessary to carry on mining operations; two oxen, two horses or two mules and their harness, and one cart or wagon of the cartman, hackman, or teamster; and one horse with vehicle and harness and other equipments used by a physician, surgeon, or minister of the gospel in making his professional visits; and all arms and accoutrements required by law to be kept by any person. i never could appreciate the wisdom of that legislation which would allow a poor debtor to be stripped of all needed articles of his household and of the implements by which alone he could earn the means of supporting himself and family and of ultimately discharging his obligations. it has always seemed to me that an exemption from forced sale of a limited amount of household and kitchen furniture of the debtor, and of the implements used in his trade or profession, was not only the dictate of humanity, but of sound policy. i also incorporated a provision into the civil practice act respecting suits for mining claims, which was the foundation of the jurisprudence respecting mines in the country. the provision was that in actions before magistrates for such claims, evidence should be admitted of the usages, regulations, and customs prevailing in the vicinity, and that such usages, regulations, and customs, when not in conflict with the constitution and laws of the state, or of the united states, should govern the decision of the action. at this time suits for mining claims, the mines being confessedly on the property of the united states, were brought upon an alleged forcible or unlawful detainer. this rule, thus for the first time adopted by legislative enactment, was soon extended to actions for such claims in all courts, and has since been adopted in all the states and territories west of the rocky mountains and substantially by the legislation of congress. simple as the provision is, it solved a difficult problem. i also advocated and aided the passage of the homestead exemption bill. that bill was introduced by mr. g.d. hall, a member from el dorado, and now a resident of san francisco. it provided for an exemption of the homestead to the value of $ , . an effort was made to reduce the amount to $ , , and i think i rendered some aid in defeating this reduction, which has always been to me a source of great gratification. i also secured the passage of an act concerning attorneys and counsellors-at-law, in which i incorporated provisions that rendered it impossible for any judge to disbar an attorney in the arbitrary manner in which judge turner had acted towards me, without notice of the charges against him and affording him an opportunity to be heard upon them. i also introduced a bill creating the counties of nevada and klamath, the provisions of which were afterwards incorporated into a general bill which was passed, dividing the state into counties and establishing the seats of justice therein, and by which also the county of placer was created. i drafted and secured the passage of an act concerning county sheriffs, in which the duties and responsibilities of those officers, not only in the execution of process and the detention of prisoners, but as keepers of the county jail, were declared and defined; also an act concerning county recorders, in which the present system of keeping records was adopted. this latter act, though drawn by me, was introduced by mr. merritt, of mariposa, but he does not hesitate to speak publicly of my authorship of it. i also prepared a bill concerning divorces, which was reported from the judiciary committee as a substitute for the one presented by mr. carr, of san francisco, and was passed. in this act, aside from the ordinary causes of adultery, and consent obtained by force or fraud, for which divorces are granted, i made extreme cruelty and habitual intemperance, wilful desertion of either husband or wife for a period of two years, and wilful neglect of the husband to provide for the wife the common necessaries of life, having the ability to provide the same, for a period of three years, also causes of divorce. i also drew the charters of the cities of marysville, nevada, and monterey, which were adopted--that of monterey being reported by the judiciary committee as a substitute for one introduced by a member from that district. other bills drawn or supported by me were passed, the provisions of which are still retained in the laws of the state. but notwithstanding all this, when i turned my face towards marysville i was, in a pecuniary sense, ruined. i had barely the means to pay my passage home. my ventures, after my expulsion from the bar, in june, , had proved so many maelstroms into which the investments were not only drawn but swallowed up. my affairs had got to such a pass that before i left marysville for the legislature i felt it to be my duty to transfer all my real property to trustees to pay my debts, and i did so. and now when i stepped upon the landing in marysville my whole available means consisted of eighteen and three-quarter cents, and i owed about eighteen thousand dollars, the whole of which bore interest at the rate of ten per cent. a month. i proceeded at once to the united states hotel, kept by a mr. peck, who had known me in the days of my good fortune. "my dear mr. peck," i said, "will you trust me for two weeks' board?" "yes," was the reply, "and for as long as you want." "will you also send for my trunks on the steamer, for i have not the money to pay the carman." "certainly," the good man added, and so the trunks were brought up. on the next day i looked around for quarters. i found a small house, thirty feet by sixteen, for an office, at eighty dollars a month, and took it. it had a small loft or garret, in which i placed a cot that i had purchased upon credit. upon this cot i spread a pair of blankets, and used my valise for a pillow. i secured a chair without a back for a wash-stand, and with a tin basin, a pail, a piece of soap, a toothbrush, a comb, and a few towels, i was rigged out. i brought myself each day the water i needed from a well near by. i had an old pine table and a cane-bottomed sofa, and with these and the bills which had passed the legislature, corrected as they became laws, and the statutes of the previous session, i put out my sign as an attorney and counsellor-at-law, and began the practice of my profession. soon afterwards i found my name mentioned as a candidate for the state senate. the idea of returning to the legislature as a senator pleased me. the people of the county seemed to favor the suggestion. accordingly i made a short visit to neighboring precincts, and finding my candidacy generally approved i went to work to make it successful. at the election of delegates to the county convention, which was to nominate candidates, a majority was returned in my favor. several of them being unable to attend the convention, which was to be held at downieville, a distance of about seventy miles from marysville, sent me their proxies made out in blank to be filled with the name of any one whom i might designate. to one supposed friend i gave ten proxies, to another five, and to a third two. when the members met, just previous to the assembling of the convention, it was generally conceded that i had a majority of the delegates. but i had a new lesson in manipulation to learn. just before the opening of the convention my supposed friend, who had the ten proxies, was approached by the other side, and by promises to give the office of sheriff to his partner--an office supposed to be worth thirty thousand a year--his ten votes were secured for my opponent. the one to whom i had given five proxies was promised for those votes the county judgeship. so when the convention voted, to my astonishment and that of my friends, fifteen of my proxies were cast for my opponent, joseph c. mckibbin, afterwards a member of congress, who acted so fearlessly when the kansas question came up. i was accordingly beaten by two votes. for the moment i was furious, and hunted up the man who had held my ten proxies, and had been seduced from my support. when i found him in the room of the convention, i seized him and attempted to throw him out of the window. i succeeded in getting half his body out, when bystanders pulled me back and separated us. this was fortunate for both of us; for just underneath the window there was a well or shaft sunk fifty feet deep. the following morning i left downieville, returned to my office and loft at marysville, and gave my attention to the practice of the law. my business soon became very large; and, as my expenses were moderate, within two years and a half i paid off all my indebtedness, amounting with the accumulations of interest to over thirty-eight thousand dollars. part of this amount was paid by a surrender of the property mortgaged, or a sale of that previously assigned, but the greater part came from my earnings. i paid every creditor but one in full; to each i gave his pound of flesh, i mean his interest, at ten per cent. a month. i never asked one of them to take less than the stipulated rate. the exceptional creditor was mr. berry, a brother lawyer, who refused to receive more than five per cent. a month on a note he held for $ . by this time i had become so much interested in my profession as to have no inclination for office of any kind. on several occasions i was requested by influential party leaders to accept a nomination for the state senate, but i refused. i am inclined to think that i had for some time a more lucrative practice than any lawyer in the state, outside of san francisco. no such fees, however, were paid in those days as have been common in mining cases since the discovery of the silver mines of nevada and the organization of great corporations to develop them. the bar of marysville during this period, and afterwards while i remained in that city--which was until october, --was a small, but a very able body of men. many of its members have since attained distinction and held offices of honor and trust. richard s. mesick, who settled there in , became a state senator, and after his removal to nevada, a district judge of that state. he ranks now among the ablest lawyers of the coast. charles h. bryan, who settled there the same year, was an eloquent speaker, and in his forensic contests gave great trouble to his opponent whenever he got at the jury. he was on the supreme court of the state for a short period, under the appointment of governor bigler. jesse o. goodwin, of whom i have already spoken, settled in marysville in . he was a ready speaker, and sometimes rose to genuine eloquence. he was distinguished in criminal cases. as already stated, he was elected district attorney in , and afterwards became county judge, and is now state senator. gabriel n. swezy, who settled there in , was learned in his profession, and quick of apprehension. few lawyers could equal him in the preparation of a brief. he afterwards at different times represented the county in the assembly and the senate of the state. william walker, who afterwards figured so conspicuously in the filibustering expeditions to nicaragua, and was called by his followers "the grey-eyed man of destiny," had an office in marysville in and ' . he was a brilliant speaker, and possessed a sharp but not a very profound intellect. he often perplexed both court and jury with his subtleties, but seldom convinced either. john v. berry, who came to marysville from the mines in , was a fine lawyer, deeply read in the law of adjudged cases. he died in from poison given to him in mistake by a druggist. edward d. wheeler, who came there in , and thomas b. reardon, who came in , were both men of strong minds. mr. wheeler represented yuba county at one time in the senate, and is now the district judge of the nineteenth district, at san francisco. he is regarded as among the ablest and best of the state judges. mr. reardon has been a district judge for some years in the fourteenth district, greatly respected by the profession for his ability and learning. isaac s. belcher, who came to marysville at a later period--in , i believe--was noted for his quiet manners and studious habits. he has since been district judge, and has worthily filled a seat on the bench of the supreme court of the state, where he was greatly respected by his associates and members of the bar. edward c. marshall, the brilliant orator, who at one time represented the state in congress, had his office in marysville in and ' . he occasionally appeared in court, though he was generally occupied in politics, and in his case, as in nearly all others, the practice of the law and the occupation of politics did not always move harmoniously together. charles e. filkins, afterwards county judge; charles lindley, afterwards also county judge and one of the code commissioners; henry p. haun, the first county judge, and afterwards appointed to the united states senate by governor weller; n.e. whitesides, afterwards a member of the legislature from yuba, and speaker of the house; f.l. hatch, now county judge of colusa; george howe, afterwards treasurer of the county; and wm. s. belcher, who afterwards rendered good service to the public as a school commissioner, also practiced at the marysville bar with success. charles e. delong, afterwards a member of the state senate, and our minister to japan, and henry k. mitchell, afterwards a nominee of the democrats for the u.s. senate in nevada, were just getting a good position at the bar when i left, and gave evidence of the ability which they afterwards exhibited. others might be named who held fine positions in the profession. these mentioned show a bar of great respectability, and i may add that its members were, with few exceptions, gentlemen of general information and courteous manners. the litigation which chiefly occupied them and gave the largest remuneration related to mines and mining claims. the enforcement of mortgages and collection of debts was generally--by me, at least--entrusted to clerks, unless a contest was made upon them. there was one case which i recall with pleasure, because of the result obtained in face of unconcealed bribery on the other side. the subject of the suit was the right to a "placer" mine in yuba river, at park's bar. its value may be estimated from the fact that within two or three weeks after the decision of the case, the owners took from the mine over ninety thousand dollars in gold dust. the suit was brought before a justice of the peace, and was for an alleged forcible entry and detainer, a form of action generally adopted at the time for the recovery of mining claims, because the title to the lands in which the mines were found was in the united states. it was prosecuted as a purely possessory action. the constable whose duty it was to summon the jurors had received the sum of two hundred dollars to summon certain parties, named by the other side. this fact was established beyond controversy by evidence placed in my hands. and whilst i was in bed in one of the tents or canvas sheds at the bar, which the people occupied in the absence of more substantial buildings, i heard a conversation in the adjoining room--i could not help hearing it, as it was carried on without any attempt at concealment, and the room was only separated from me by the canvas--between one of the jurors and one of the opposite party, in which the juror assured the party that it was "all right," and he need not worry as to the result of the suit; his side would have the verdict; the jury were all that way. on the next day, when the case was summed up, the saloon in which the trial was had was crowded with spectators, most of whom were partisans of the other side. i addressed the jury for over three hours, and after having commented upon the evidence at length and shown conclusively, as i thought, that my client was entitled to a verdict, i said substantially as follows: "gentlemen, we have not endeavored to influence your judgment except by the evidence; we have not approached you secretly and tried to control your verdict; we have relied solely upon the law and the evidence to maintain our rights to this property. but the other side have not thus acted; they have not been content that you should weigh only the evidence; they have endeavored to corrupt your minds and pervert your judgments; they have said that you were so low and debased that although you had with uplifted hands declared that so might the ever-living god help you, as you rendered a verdict according to the evidence, you were willing, to please them, to decide against the evidence, and let perjury rest on your souls. i know that you [pointing to one of the jurors] have been approached. did you spurn the wretch away who made a corrupt proposal to you, or did you hold counsel, sweet counsel with him? i know that you [pointing to another juror] talked over this case with one of the other side at the house on the hill last night, for i overheard the conversation--the promise made to you and your pledge to him. in the canvas houses here all rooms are as one; the words uttered in one are voices in all. you did not dream that any but you two were in the tent; but i was there and overheard the foul bargain." at this thrust there was great excitement, and click, click, was heard all through the room, which showed a general cocking of pistols; for every one in those days went armed. i continued: "there is no terror in your pistols, gentlemen; you will not win your case by shooting me; you can win it only in one way--by evidence showing title to the property; you will never win it by bribery or threats of violence. i charge openly attempted bribery, and if what i say be not true, let the jurors speak out now from their seats. attempted bribery, i say--whether it will be successful bribery, will depend upon what may occur hereafter. if, after invoking the vengeance of heaven upon their souls should they not render a verdict according to the evidence, the jurors are willing to sell their souls, let them decide against us." this home-thrust produced a great sensation. it was evident that the jury were disturbed. when the case was submitted to them, they were absent only a few minutes. they returned a verdict in our favor. some of them afterwards came to me and admitted that they had been corruptly approached, but added that they were not low enough to be influenced in their verdict in that way. "of course not," i replied; though i had little doubt that it was only the fear of exposure which forced them to do right. i have said that in those days everyone went armed; it would be more correct to say that this was true in the mining regions of the state and when travelling. i, myself, carried a derringer pistol and a bowie-knife until the summer of , though of course out of sight. i did so by the advice of judge mott, of the district court, who remarked that, though i never abused a witness or a juror, or was discourteous to any one in court, there were desperate men in the country, and no one could know to what extremity they might go, as i would not be deterred by any considerations from the discharge of my whole duty to my clients. so, until the summer of , i carried weapons. and yet they were not such provocatives of difficulty as some of our eastern friends are accustomed to think. on the contrary, i found that a knowledge that they were worn generally created a wholesome courtesy of manner and language. i continued to occupy my small office and slept in its loft through the summer and fall of , and felt quite contented with them. twice i was summarily dislodged, being threatened by a fire on the other side of the street. on one occasion a most ludicrous incident occurred, which i cannot recall without a smile. a little after midnight we were aroused, on the occasion referred to, by a loud thumping at our door, accompanied by a cry of "fire." my loft was shared with three others, and at the cry we all leaped from our cots and two of our number seizing whatever was convenient and portable carried it out of the house to a distance of about one hundred yards, where gathered a multitude of people, fleeing before the flames with all sorts of baggage, trunks, chairs, beds, and utensils of every kind which they had brought from their houses. i hastily threw the papers of sundry suits and a dozen law books, recently purchased, into a box, and with the assistance of the other occupant of my loft, carried it off. just as we reached the crowd, a pair of young grizzly bears which the owner had kept in a cage near by were let loose, and they came towards us growling in their peculiar way. at their sight, there was a general _stampede_ of men, women, and children, in all directions. boxes and everything else portable were instantly dropped, and such an indiscriminate flight was never before seen except from a panic in battle. the barbour difficulty. when the bill of , dividing the state into new judicial districts, became a law, there were several candidates for the office of judge of the tenth judicial district, which comprised the counties of yuba, nevada, and sutter. henry p. haun, the county judge of yuba, was one candidate; john v. berry, a lawyer of the same county was another; and gordon n. mott, a lawyer of sutter county, was a third. my first choice was berry; but, finding that he had very little chance, i gave what influence i had in favor of mr. mott, and he received from the governor the appointment of judge of the new district. in the summer of , the governor issued his proclamation for the fall elections, and, among others, for an election to fill the office of judge of the tenth district. i had supposed--and there were many others who agreed with me--that judge mott's term under his appointment would continue until the election of . but there being some doubts about the matter and the governor having issued his proclamation for an election, candidates were nominated by the conventions; and at the ensuing election one of them, william t. barbour, a lawyer of nevada county, received a majority of the votes cast and was declared elected. when he came, however, to demand the office, judge mott expressed his opinion that there had been no vacancy to be filled and declined to surrender. this led to a suit between them. the question involved being exclusively one of law, an agreed case was made up and presented to the supreme court, and that tribunal decided in favor of barbour. a report of the case is given in the d california reports, under the title of people, ex rel. barbour, vs. mott. in the case i appeared as counsel for judge mott and argued his cause. this offended judge barbour, and he gave free expression to his displeasure. afterwards, when his term for the vacancy was about to expire and a new election was to be held, he presented himself as a candidate for a second term. it was my opinion that he was not qualified for the position, and i therefore recommended my friends to vote for his opponent. for some weeks previous to the election i was absent from the district; but i returned two days before it was to take place and at once took a decided part against barbour and did all i could to defeat him. this action on my part, in connection with my previous zeal in behalf of judge mott, led barbour to make some very bitterly vituperative remarks about me, which being reported to me, i called on him for an explanation. some harsh words passed between us at the interview. the result was that barbour refused to make any explanation, but gave me a verbal challenge to settle our difficulties in the usual way among gentlemen. i instantly accepted it and designated judge mott as my friend. in half an hour afterwards judge mott was called upon by mr. charles s. fairfax as the friend of barbour, who stated that barbour had been challenged by me, and that his object in calling upon mott was to arrange the terms of a hostile meeting. mott answered that he understood the matter somewhat differently; that the challenge, as he had been informed, came from barbour, and that i, instead of being the challenging, was the accepting party. fairfax, however, insisted upon his version of the affair; and upon consulting with mott, i waived the point and accepted the position assigned me. fairfax then stated that barbour, being the challenged party, had the right to choose the weapons and the time and place of meeting; to all of which mott assented. fairfax then said that, upon consultation with his principal, he had fixed the time for that evening; the place, a room twenty feet square, describing it; the weapons, colt's revolvers and bowie-knives; that the two principals so armed were to be placed at opposite sides of the room with their faces to the wall; that they were to turn and fire at the word, then advance and finish the conflict with their knives. mott answered that the terms were unusual, unprecedented, and barbarous, and that he could not consent to them. fairfax admitted that they were so; but replied that they were those barbour had prescribed. he would, however, see barbour and endeavor to obtain a modification of them. soon afterwards he reported that barbour still insisted upon the terms first named and would not agree to any other. when mott reported the result of his conference with fairfax, i at once said that barbour was a coward and would not fight at all. i knew perfectly well that such terms could come only from a bully. i saw that it was a game of bluff he was playing. so i told mott to accept them by all means. mott accordingly called on fairfax and accepted the terms as proposed, and gave notice that i would be on hand and ready at the time and place designated. this being reported to barbour, fairfax soon afterwards made his appearance with a message that his principal would waive the bowie-knives; and not long afterwards he came a second time with another message that it would not do to have the fight in the room designated, because the firing would be heard outside and attract a crowd. in accordance with my instructions, mott assented to all the modifications proposed, and it was finally agreed that the meeting should take place the next morning in sutter county. i was to take a private conveyance, and barbour was to take one of the two daily stages that ran to sacramento. at a specified place we were to leave our conveyances and walk to a retired spot, which was designated, where the hostile meeting was to take place. the next morning, accordingly, i took a carriage, and with my friend judge mott drove down to the appointed place. after we had been there some time the first stage appeared and stopped. soon after the second stage appeared and stopped, and judge barbour and mr. fairfax got out. but instead of proceeding to the designated place, barbour declared that he was a judicial officer, and as such could not engage in a duel. at the same time he would take occasion to say that he would protect himself, and, if assaulted, would kill the assailant. with these words, leaving fairfax standing where he was, he walked over to the first stage, and mounting rode on to sacramento. seeing fairfax standing alone on the ground i sent word to him that i would be happy to give him a place in my carriage--an invitation which he accepted, and we then drove to nicolaus, where we breakfasted, and thence returned to marysville.[ ] the conduct of barbour on the ground, after his fierce and savage terms at the outset, produced a great deal of merriment and derision; and some very sharp squibs appeared in the newspapers. one of them gave him great annoyance, and he inquired for its author. i told the editor of the paper in which it appeared that if it was necessary to protect the writer, to give my name, although i did not write it, or know beforehand that it was to be written. on the following morning, whilst in front of my office gathering up kindling-wood for a fire, and having my arms full--for each man was his own servant in those days--barbour came up and, placing a cocked navy revolver near my head, cried out, "draw and defend yourself." as i had not observed his approach i was taken by surprise, but turning on him i said, "you infernal scoundrel, you cowardly assassin--you come behind my back and put your revolver to my head and tell me to draw; you haven't the courage to shoot; shoot and be damned." there were at least ten witnesses of this scene; and it was naturally supposed that having advanced so far he would go farther; but as soon as he found i was not frightened, he turned away and left me. it is impossible to express the contempt i felt for him at that moment for his dastardly conduct, a feeling which the spectators shared with me, as they have since often stated.[ ] i do not give these details as having any importance in themselves; but they illustrate the semi-barbarous condition of things in those early days, and by comparison show out of what our existing condition has been evolved, and how far we have advanced. i give them also for the reason that barbour afterwards wrote a letter to turner, which the latter published, referring to the affair, in which he boasted of having given me a "whipping." how far his boast was warranted the above facts show. for a long time afterwards he expressed his bitterness towards me in every possible way. he did not take turner's plan of expelling me from the bar; but he manifested his feelings by adverse rulings. in such cases, however, i generally took an appeal to the supreme court, and in nearly all of them procured a reversal. the result was that he suddenly changed his conduct and commenced ruling the other way. while this was his policy, there was hardly any position i could take in which he did not rule in my favor. at last i became alarmed lest i should lose my cases in the appellate court by winning them before him. about a year afterwards he sent one of his friends to ask me if i was willing to meet him half-way--stating that my conduct in court had always been courteous, and he was satisfied that he had done me injustice. i answered that i was always willing to meet any one half-way, but in this case it must be without explanations for the past. this condition was accepted; accordingly we met, and taking a glass of wine, i said, "here is to an act of oblivion, but no explanations." for a long time no allusion was made by either to the old difficulties. but at last he insisted upon telling me how tales had been brought to him, and how they exasperated him; and he expressed great regret for what had taken place; and to make amends, as far as he was able, for what he had written about me, he sent me the following letter: "marysville, _dec. , _. "hon. s.j. field. "dear sir: on yesterday i learned through our mutual friend charles s. fairfax, esq., that judge w.r. turner has recently issued a publication which contains a letter of mine, written him some four years ago. i have not been able to procure a copy of this publication, and i have entirely forgotten the language used; in truth i do not remember to have written him on the subject of yourself or otherwise; but i suppose i must have done so, and have given expressions of opinion that i have long since ceased to entertain, and to invectives that i have no disposition to justify. you will recall that, at the time referred to, there unfortunately existed between us feelings of deep hostility; and i may at the time have used harsh terms indicative of my then feelings, which i regret and do not now approve, if they are as represented by others." "judge turner has taken an unwarranted liberty in publishing the letter, be it of what character it may. he never requested my permission for this purpose, nor did i know that it was his intention." "trusting that this explanation may be satisfactory, i remain," "very respectfully yr. obt. servant," "wm. t. barbour." he ever afterwards, as occasion offered, spoke of me in the highest terms as a gentleman and lawyer. my resentment accordingly died out, but i never could feel any great regard for him. he possessed a fair mind and a kindly disposition, but he was vacillating and indolent. moreover, he loved drink and low company. he served out his second term and afterwards went to nevada, where his habits became worse, and he sunk so low as to borrow of his acquaintances from day to day small sums--one or two dollars at a time--to get his food and lodging. he died from the effects of his habits of intemperance. in stating the result of the intended hostile meeting with him, i mentioned that when he proceeded on his way to sacramento, he left his second, mr. fairfax, standing alone on the ground, and that i invited the latter to take a seat in my carriage. from this time the intercourse between mr. fairfax and myself became more frequent than it had been previously, and a friendship followed which continued as long as he lived. he was not sparing in his censure of the conduct of his principal, whilst his language was complimentary of mine. in a few months i became quite intimate with him, and i found him possessed of a noble and chivalric spirit. with great gentleness of manner, he had the most intrepid courage. his fidelity to his friends and devotion to their interests attached them strongly to him. he was beloved by all who knew him. no man in the state was more popular. he represented the county of yuba in the legislature two or three times, and at one session was speaker of the assembly. when the land office at marysville was established in , he was appointed register; and in , he was elected clerk of the supreme court of the state. it was my good fortune to aid him in securing both of these positions. at my suggestion, mr. mcdougal, a member of congress from california, urged the establishment of the land office, and obtained for him the appointment of register. in , when he sought the clerkship of the supreme court of the state, i became a delegate from yuba county to the state convention, and made his nomination for that office my special object, and with the aid of the rest of the delegation, succeeded in obtaining it. two or three incidents which i will relate will illustrate the character of the man. it was either in the session of or , i forget which, that a petition was presented to the assembly of california on the part of some of the colored people of the state, requesting that the laws then in force, which excluded them from being witnesses in cases where a white person was a party, might be repealed so as to allow them to testify in such cases. at that time there was a great deal of feeling throughout the country on the subject of slavery, and any attempt to legislate in behalf of the colored people was sure to excite opposition, and give rise to suggestions that its promoter was not sound on the slavery question. the presentation of the petition accordingly stirred up angry feelings. it created a perfect outburst of indignation, and some one moved that the petition should be thrown out of the window; and the motion was passed almost unanimously. if i recollect aright, there was but a single vote in the negative. i was standing by mr. fairfax when he was informed of the proceeding. he at once denounced it, and said, in energetic terms--"this is all wrong--the petition should have been received. if my horse or my dog could in any way express its wishes to me i would listen to it. it is a shame that a petition from any one, black or white, should not be received by the legislature of the state, whether it be granted or not." i was greatly impressed at that time with the manliness of this expression in a community which looked with suspicion on any movement in favor of extending any rights to the colored race. on another occasion, some years afterwards, when i was judge of the supreme court of the state and he was the clerk of the court, there was a good deal of complaint against harvey lee, the reporter of the court, who was appointed to the office by governor weller. i believe that lee was instrumental, but of this i am not certain, in getting a law passed which took the appointment of the reporter from the court and gave it to the governor. he was an inferior lawyer, and, of course, had very little practice. the appointment, therefore, to which a fair salary was attached, was eagerly sought by him. his reports, however, were so defective that an effort was made by the judges to get the law repealed and have the appointment restored to the court. this led to a bitter feeling on his part towards the judges, and in a conversation with mr. fairfax he gave vent to it in violent language. mr. fairfax resented the attack and an altercation ensued, when lee, who carried a sword-cane, drew the sword and ran it into fairfax's body. fortunately it entered the chest above the heart. withdrawing the sword lee made a second lunge at fairfax, which the latter partially avoided so as to receive only a flesh wound in the side. by this time fairfax had drawn his pistol and covered the body of lee, as he was raising his sword for a third thrust. lee, seeing the pistol, stepped back and threw up his arms exclaiming, "i am unarmed"--though he had only that moment withdrawn his sword from the body of fairfax, and it was then dripping with blood. "shoot the damned scoundrel," cried the latter's friend, samuel b. smith, then standing by his side. but fairfax did not shoot. looking at lee, whose body was covered with his pistol, while the blood was trickling from his own person, he said, "you are an assassin! you have murdered me! i have you in my power! your life is in my hands!" and gazing on him, he added, "but for the sake of your poor sick wife and children i will spare you." he thereupon uncocked his pistol and handed it to his friend, into whose arms he fell fainting. he had known the wife of lee when a young girl; and, afterwards, in speaking of the affair to a friend, he said, "i thought my wife would be a widow before sundown, and i did not wish to leave the world making another." all california rang with the story of this heroic act. it has its parallel only in the self-abnegation of the dying hero on the battle-field, who put away from his parched lips the cup of water tendered to him, and directed that it be given to a wounded soldier suffering in agony by his side, saying, "his need is greater than mine." during the war his sympathies, as was the case with most southerners in california, were with his people in virginia. he told me on one occasion that he could not but wish they would succeed; but, he said; "though i am a virginian by birth, i have adopted california, and whilst i live in a state which has taken her stand with the northern people, i cannot in honor do anything, and i will not, to weaken her attachment to the union. if my health were good i should leave the state and return to virginia and give my services to her; but, as that is impossible, i shall remain in california, and, whilst here, will not be false to her by anything i do or say." these incidents, better than any elaborate description, illustrate the character of the man. he was a lineal descendant of the great fairfax family which has figured so conspicuously in the history of england and of virginia. he was its tenth baron in a direct line. but notwithstanding the rank of his family he was a republican in his convictions. he loved his country and its institutions. he was himself more noble than his title. he came east to attend the national democratic convention in at the head of the delegates from california. after the convention, he spent some months among his friends and relatives at the old family residence in maryland. at this time the seeds of consumption, which had long been lurking in his system, began to be developed, and he was taken down with a severe illness which proved fatal. he became so ill as to be unable to walk, and was conveyed to baltimore to procure the best medical attendance; and there he died on the th of april, , in the arms of his devoted wife, who had come from california to be with him in his last hours. his body was brought to washington and interred within sight of the capitol, near hock creek church, in which his ancestors had worshipped. i have mentioned that when fairfax was stabbed by lee he fell into the arms of mr. samuel b. smith. this gentleman i had known slightly before my difficulty with judge barbour; but the intimacy which sprung up between fairfax and myself, after that affair, brought me more in contact with mr. smith, who was his constant companion. mr. smith came to california from new jersey in , and passed through some stirring scenes during that and the following year. he came with mr. john s. hagar, who was afterwards state senator, district judge, and united states senator, and was engaged with him in the mines in the winter of -' . in he settled in sutter county; and in the fall of was elected state senator from that county. having become more intimately acquainted with him after he was elected senator, i requested him to introduce a bill into the legislature, revising and amending the one which i had originally drawn concerning the courts and judicial officers of the state; and he cheerfully consented to do so, and took great interest in securing its passage. indeed, it was through his influence that the bill became a law. many circumstances threw us together after that, and i learned to appreciate his manly character, his generous disposition, and his great devotion to his friends. finally, in the fall of , we agreed to form a partnership after my return from the eastern states, which i then proposed to visit. after the barbour affair the course of my professional life was much the same as that of any other lawyer. my business was large and i gave to it my unremitting attention. in i determined to go east to see my parents and brothers and sisters, who had never been out of my mind a single day since i left them in . accordingly, i went east, and after passing a few months with them i returned to california in january, . after that i continued to practice my profession, with mr. smith as my partner, until the spring of , though during this period he went to washington as commissioner of the state to obtain from congress the payment of moneys expended by her in suppressing the hostilities of indians within her borders, and was absent several months. in april of that year we dissolved our partnership. a few months afterwards i was nominated for the bench of the supreme court of the state, and was elected by a large majority. there were two candidates besides myself for the position, and , votes were polled. of these i received a majority of , over each of my opponents, and , over them both together.[ ] the term to which i was elected was for six years, commencing january st, . in september, , hugh c. murray, then chief justice, died, and associate justice peter h. burnett was appointed to fill the vacancy. this left the balance of judge burnett's term of service to be filled, and i was urged by the governor of the state to accept his appointment to it, as it was for less than three months, and immediately preceded my own term. at first i refused, as i desired to revisit the east; but being assured by the judges that taking the place need not prevent my intended visit, i accepted the appointment, and on the th of october, , took my seat on the bench. [ ] see letter of judge mott detailing the particulars of the affair; exhibit h, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit i, in appendix. [ ] the exact vote was as follows: for myself , for nathaniel bennett , for j.p. ralston , ------ total vote , majority over bennett , majority over balston , majority over both , removal from marysville--life on the supreme bench.--end of judge turner. the day following my acceptance of the governor's appointment to the supreme court of the state, i returned to marysville to close my business before taking up my residence in sacramento, where the court held its sessions. i had gone to sacramento to argue some cases before the court when the appointment was tendered to me; and, of course, did not expect to remain there very long. in a few days i arranged my affairs at marysville and then removed permanently to sacramento. i left marysville with many regrets. i had seen it grow from a collection of tents with a few hundred occupants to a town of substantial buildings with a population of from eight to ten thousand inhabitants. from a mere landing for steamers it had become one of the most important places for business in the interior of the state. when i left, it was a depot of merchandise for the country lying north and east of it; and its streets presented a scene of bustle and activity. trains of wagons and animals were constantly leaving it with goods for the mines. its merchants were generally prosperous; some of them were wealthy. its bankers were men of credit throughout the state. steamers plied daily between it and sacramento, and stages ran to all parts of the country and arrived every hour. two daily newspapers were published in it. schools were opened and fully attended. churches of different denominations were erected and filled with worshippers. institutions of benevolence were founded and supported. a provident city government and a vigorous police preserved order and peace. gambling was suppressed or carried on only in secret. a theatre was built and sustained. a lecture-room was opened and was always crowded when the topics presented were of public interest. substantial stores of brick were put up in the business part of the city; and convenient frame dwellings were constructed for residences in the outskirts, surrounded with plats filled with trees and flowers. on all sides were seen evidences of an industrious, prosperous, moral, and happy people, possessing and enjoying the comforts, pleasures, and luxuries of life. and they were as generous as they were prosperous. their hearts and their purses were open to all calls of charity. no one suffering appealed to them in vain. no one in need was turned away from their doors without having his necessities relieved. it is many years since i was there, but i have never forgotten and i shall never forget the noble and generous people that i found there in all the walks of life. the supreme court of the state then consisted of three members, the senior in commission being the chief justice. david s. terry was the chief justice and peter h. burnett was the associate justice. both of these gentlemen have had a conspicuous career in california, and of both i have many interesting anecdotes which would well illustrate their characters and which at some future day i may put upon paper. they were both men of vigorous minds, of generous natures and of positive wills; but in all other respects they differed as widely as it was possible for two extremes. mr. terry had the virtues and prejudices of men of the extreme south in those days. his contact and larger experience since with men of the north have no doubt modified many of those prejudices, and his own good sense must have led him to alter some of his previous judgments. probably his greatest regret is his duel with mr. broderick, as such encounters, when they terminate fatally to one of the parties, never fail to bring life-long bitterness to the survivor. a wiser mode of settling difficulties between gentlemen has since been adopted in the state; but those who have not lived in a community where the duel is practiced cannot well appreciate the force of the public sentiment which at one time existed, compelling a resort to it when character was assailed. mr. burnett was one of the early settlers in oregon, and had held positions of honor and trust there before settling in california. he came here soon after the discovery of gold, took an interest in public affairs, and was elected the first governor of the state, when the constitution was adopted. judge terry resigned his office in september, , when he determined to send a challenge to mr. broderick, and i succeeded him as chief justice; and w.w. cope, of amador, was elected to fill the vacant place on the bench. i was absent from the state at the time, or i should have exerted all the power i possessed by virtue of my office to put a stop to the duel. i would have held both of the combatants to keep the peace under bonds of so large an amount as to have made them hesitate about taking further steps; and in the meantime i should have set all my energies to work, and called others to my aid, to bring about a reconciliation. i believe i should have adjusted the difficulty. mr. cope, who filled the vacant place on the bench, possessed a superior mind and a genial nature. he made an excellent judge. he studiously examined every case and carefully prepared his opinions. he remained on the bench until january, , when the new constitutional amendments, reorganizing the court, went into effect. he is now in practice in san francisco, and has a large clientage. judge burnett continued in office until the election of his successor in the fall of . his successor was joseph g. baldwin, a lawyer of distinction and a gentleman of literary reputation. he was the author of "the flush times of alabama and mississippi," and of "party leaders." the first is a work full of humor and a great favorite in the section of the country whose "times" it portrays with such spirit and glee as to excite roars of laughter in the reader. the latter is a thoughtful history of the character and influence upon the country of jefferson, hamilton, jackson, clay, and randolph. his portraitures present these men in the fullness and freshness of living beings, whom we see and hear, and whose power we feel. my friendship for mr. baldwin commenced long before he came to the bench, and it afterwards warmed into the attachment of a brother. he had a great and generous heart; there was no virtue of humanity of which he did not possess a goodly portion. he was always brimful of humor, throwing off his jokes, which sparkled without burning, like the flashes of a rocket. there was no sting in his wit. you felt as full of merriment at one of his witticisms, made at your expense, as when it was played upon another. yet he was a profound lawyer, and some of his opinions are models of style and reasoning. he remained on the bench until january, , when he was succeeded by edward norton, of san francisco. this gentleman was the exemplar of a judge of a subordinate court. he was learned, patient, industrious, and conscientious; but he was not adapted for an appellate tribunal. he had no confidence in his own unaided judgment. he wanted some one upon whom to lean. oftentimes he would show me the decision of a tribunal of no reputation with apparent delight, if it corresponded with his own views, or with a shrug of painful doubt, if it conflicted with them. he would look at me in amazement if i told him that the decision was not worth a fig; and would appear utterly bewildered at my waywardness when, as was sometimes the case, i refused to look at it after hearing by what court it was pronounced. it is not my purpose to speak of my own career on the bench of the supreme court of california. it is only for reminiscences of my previous life that you, mr. hittell, have asked.[ ] i am tempted, however, to hand to you a letter of judge baldwin, my associate for over three years, in which he presents, in terms exaggerated by his friendship, the result of my labors there.[ ] there is only one scene to which i wish to refer. about a year and a half after i went upon the bench, a contested election case came up from trinity county. it appeared that judge turner, who had been sent to the district composed of the counties of trinity and klamath, by the act concerning the courts and judicial officers of the state, at the end of his term offered himself for re-election as judge of that district. when the vote was counted there appeared to be a majority of one against him, and his opponent was declared elected. he instituted a contest for the office, and, being defeated in the court below, appealed to the supreme court. he then became very much exercised over his appeal, because i was one of the justices. there were not wanting persons who, out of sheer malice, or not comprehending any higher motives of conduct than such as governed themselves, represented that i would improve the opportunity to strike him a blow. when his case came on for hearing, i left the bench to my associates, judges terry and baldwin, and they decided in his favor. at this action of mine turner was amazed. it was something wholly unexpected and surprising to him. soon after the decision he sent one of his friends, named snowden, to know if i would speak to him if he should make the first advance. i answered that under no circumstances would i ever consent to speak to him; that he had done me injuries which rendered any intercourse with him impossible; that the world was wide enough for us both, and he must go his own way. this answer snowden communicated to him. the next morning he stationed himself at the foot of the stairway leading up to the supreme court rooms, which was on the outside of the building, and, as i passed up, he cried out; "i am now at peace with all the world; if there is any man who feels that i have done him an injury, i am ready to make him amends." i turned and looked at him for a moment, and then passed on without saying a word. on the following morning he took the same position and repeated substantially the same language. i stopped and gazed at him for a moment, and then passed on in silence. this was the last time i saw him. he returned to trinity, and held his office for the balance of his term, six years, under the decision of the supreme court, and was re-elected in . but his character and habits unfitted him for a judicial position. he was addicted to gambling and drinking, and he consorted with the lowest characters; and the same tyrannical temper and conduct which he had exhibited towards me in marysville, were displayed in his new district. accordingly measures were taken by citizens of trinity to secure his impeachment by the legislature. mr. westmoreland, a member of the assembly from that county in offered a resolution for the appointment of a committee to inquire whether articles of impeachment should be presented against him for high crimes and misdemeanors, with power to send for persons and papers and report articles if warranted by the evidence. in offering the resolution mr. westmoreland charged, that during the time turner had held the office of district judge he had been grossly tyrannical; that he had imprisoned citizens, depriving them of their liberty without process of law; that he had neglected and refused to perform the duties incumbent upon him by statute; that by a standing rule he allowed no witness to be called in a case unless he was subpoenaed and in attendance on the first day of the term; that he had used the power of his position for the furtherance of his own ends of private hate; that he was an habitual drunkard, with rare intervals of sobriety, and had upon occasions come into the court-room to sit upon the trial of causes so intoxicated as to be unable to stand, and had fallen helplessly upon the floor, whence he had been removed by officers of the court; that upon one occasion, when engaged in a trial, he had in the presence of jurors, witnesses, and other persons attending the court, deliberately gone out of the court-room and openly entered a house of ill-fame near by; and that by his disgraceful conduct he had become a burden upon the people of that district too grievous to be borne. these things mr. westmoreland stated he stood prepared to prove, and he invoked the interposition of the legislature to protect the people of the eighth judicial district who were suffering from the deportment and conduct of this officer. the resolution was passed. finding that articles of impeachment would be presented against him, turner resigned his office. after this his habits of drinking became worse, and he was sent to the asylum for inebriates, where he died. in thinking over my difficulties with turner at this distant day, there is nothing in my conduct which i in the least regret. had i acted differently; had i yielded one inch, i should have lost my self-respect and been for life an abject slave. there was undoubtedly an unnecessary severity of language in two or three passages of my answers to his attacks; and some portion of my answer in court to his order to show cause why i should not be re-expelled from the bar might better have been omitted. i have since learned that one is never so strong as when he is calm, and never writes so forcibly as when he uses the simplest language. my justification in these particulars, if they require any, must be found in the savage ferocity with which i was assailed, the brutal language applied to my character and conduct, and the constant threats made of personal violence. malignity and hate, with threats of assassination, followed me like a shadow for months. i went always armed for protection against assault. i should have been less or more than man had i preserved at all times perfect calmness either in my language or conduct. in the contest with this man i was cheered by the support of the best men of the state. but of all of them no one aided me so much, and so freely, as the editor of the marysville herald, mr. robert h. taylor, a gentleman still living, in the full strength of his intellect, and honored and trusted as a learned member of the legal profession in nevada. may length of years and blessings without number attend him. * * * * * here my narrative of "personal experiences" must for the present end. i could have given you, mr. hittell, more interesting matter. i could have given you sketches of fremont, halleck, gwin, broderick, weller, geary, sherman, bigler, mcdougal, bennett, heydenfeldt, murray, and others, with many striking anecdotes illustrative of their characters. they were all remarkable men, and the history of their lives would be full of interest and instruction. i could have related the story of the vigilance committees of and , and shown how the men of order and virtue acquired and maintained ascendency over the irregular and disorderly elements of society. i could have told you of the gradual development of the industries of the state until her yearly products have become one of the marvels of the world. i could have described the wild excitement produced by the supposed discoveries of gold in boundless quantities on fraser river; and the later but more substantial movement upon the development of the silver mines of nevada. i could have recounted the efforts made in and to keep the state in the union against the movements of the secessionists, and the communications had with president lincoln by relays of riders over the plains. i could have described the commencement, progress, and completion of the pacific railroad, and the wonderful energy and unfailing resolution of its constructors. i could have told you stories without number, full of interest, of the judges of california, state and federal, who preceded me on the bench, and of members of the profession; of hastings, bennett, lyons, wells, anderson, heydenfeldt, and murray, of the state supreme court; of hoffman and mcallister of the federal bench; of robinson, crittenden, randolph, williams, yale, mcconnell, felton, and others of the bar, now dead, and of some who are at its head, now living; composing as a whole a bar not exceeded in ability, learning, eloquence, and literary culture by that of any other state of the union. but you asked me merely for personal reminiscences, of occurrences at marysville and during the days preceding my going there. i will, therefore, postpone until another occasion a narrative which i think will be more interesting than anything i have here related. [ ] these sketches were in the main dictated to a short-hand writer at the request of mr. theodore h. hittell, of san francisco. [ ] the letter is printed at the end of this narrative at page . the career of judge field on the supreme bench of california, by judge joseph g. baldwin, his associate for three years. [_from the sacramento union, of may , ._] "the resignation by judge field of the office of chief justice of the supreme court of california, to take effect on the th instant, has been announced. by this event the state has been deprived of the ablest jurist who ever presided over her courts. judge field came to california from new york in , and settled in marysville. he immediately commenced the practice of law and rose at once to a high position at the local bar, and upon the organization of the supreme court soon commanded a place in the first class of the counsel practicing in that forum. for many years, and until his promotion to the bench, his practice was as extensive, and probably as remunerative, as that of any lawyer in the state. he served one or two sessions in the legislature, and the state is indebted to him for very many of the laws which constitute the body of her legislation.[ ] in he was nominated for judge of the supreme court for a full term, and in october of the same year was appointed by governor johnson to fill the unexpired term of justice heydenfeldt, resigned. he immediately entered upon the office, and has continued ever since to discharge its duties. recently, as the reader knows, he was appointed, by the unanimous request of our delegation in congress, to a seat upon the bench of the supreme court of the united states, and was confirmed, without opposition, by the senate. "like most men who have risen to distinction in the united states, judge field commenced his career without the advantages of wealth, and he prosecuted it without the factitious aids of family influence or patronage. he had the advantage, however--which served him better than wealth or family influence--of an accomplished education, and careful study and mental discipline. he brought to the practice of his profession a mind stored with professional learning, and embellished with rare scholarly attainments. he was distinguished at the bar for his fidelity to his clients, for untiring industry, great care and accuracy in the preparation of his cases, uncommon legal acumen, and extraordinary solidity of judgment. as an adviser, no man had more the confidence of his clients, for he trusted nothing to chance or accident when certainty could be attained, and felt his way cautiously to his conclusions, which, once reached, rested upon sure foundations, and to which he clung with remarkable pertinacity. judges soon learned to repose confidence in his opinions, and he always gave them the strongest proofs of the weight justly due to his conclusions. "when he came to the bench, from various unavoidable causes the calendar was crowded with cases involving immense interests, the most important questions, and various and peculiar litigation. california was then, as now, in the development of her multiform physical resources. the judges were as much pioneers of law as the people of settlement. to be sure something had been done, but much had yet to be accomplished; and something, too, had to be undone of that which had been done in the feverish and anomalous period that had preceded. it is safe to say that, even in the experience of new countries hastily settled by heterogeneous crowds of strangers from all countries, no such example of legal or judicial difficulties was ever before presented as has been illustrated in the history of california. there was no general or common source of jurisprudence. law was to be administered almost without a standard. there was the civil law, as adulterated or modified by mexican provincialism, usages, and habitudes, for a great part of the litigation; and there was the common law for another part, but _what that was_ was to be decided from the conflicting decisions of any number of courts in america and england, and the various and diverse considerations of policy arising from local and other facts. and then, contracts made elsewhere, and some of them in semi-civilized countries, had to be interpreted here. besides all which may be added that large and important interests peculiar to the state existed--mines, ditches, etc.--for which the courts were compelled to frame the law, and make a system out of what was little better than chaos. "when, in addition, it is considered that an unprecedented number of contracts, and an amount of business without parallel, had been made and done in hot haste, with the utmost carelessness; that legislation was accomplished in the same way, and presented the crudest and most incongruous materials for construction; that the whole scheme and organization of the government, and the relation of the departments to each other, had to be adjusted by judicial construction--it may well be conceived what task even the ablest jurist would take upon himself when he assumed this office. it is no small compliment to say that judge field entered upon the duties of this great trust with his usual zeal and energy, and that he leaves the office not only with greatly increased reputation, but that he has raised the character of the jurisprudence of the state. he has more than any other man given tone, consistency, and system to our judicature, and laid broad and deep the foundation of our civil and criminal law. the land titles of the state--the most important and permanent of the interests of a great commonwealth--have received from his hand their permanent protection, and this alone should entitle him to the lasting gratitude of the bar and the people. "his opinions, whether for their learning, logic, or diction, will compare favorably, in the judgment of some of our best lawyers, with those of any judge upon the supreme bench of the union. it is true what he has accomplished has been done with labor; but this is so much more to his praise, for such work was not to be hastily done, and it was proper that the time spent in perfecting the work should bear some little proportion to the time it should last. we know it has been said of judge field that he is too much of a 'case lawyer,' and not sufficiently broad and comprehensive in his views. this criticism is not just. it is true he is reverent of authority, and likes to be sustained by precedent; but an examination of his opinions will show that, so far from being a timid copyist, or the passive slave of authority, his rulings rest upon clearly defined principles and strong common sense. "he retires from office without a stain upon his ermine. millions might have been amassed by venality. he retires as poor as when he entered, owing nothing and owning little, except the title to the respect of good men, which malignant mendacity cannot wrest from a public officer who has deserved, by a long and useful career, the grateful appreciation of his fellow-citizens. we think that we may safely predict that, in his new place, justice field will fulfill the sanguine expectations of his friends." j.g.b. san francisco, _may , _. [ ] he was in the legislature only one session. * * * * * in a circuit court for california was created by congress, and clothed with the ordinary jurisdiction of the several circuit courts of the united states. hon. m. hall mcallister was appointed its judge. in january, , he resigned and my appointment as his successor was recommended by our senators. they telegraphed me what they had done, and i replied that i could not accept the place, that i preferred to remain chief justice of the supreme court of the state than to be a judge of an inferior federal court, but that if a new justice were added to the supreme court of the united states, i would accept the office if tendered to me. notwithstanding this reply my appointment was urged, and i was nominated by the president. the senators have since told me that they pressed my nomination from a belief that another justice would soon be added to the supreme court, and that the appointment would be made from the pacific states, and that if i were circuit judge it would more likely be tendered to me than to any one else. the interests of those states were so great, and from the character of their land titles, and their mines of gold and silver, were in some respects so different from those of the eastern states, that it was deemed important to have some one familiar with them on the supreme bench of the united states. accordingly, while my nomination for circuit judge was pending before the senate, a bill providing for an additional justice of the supreme court, and making the pacific states a new circuit, was introduced into both houses of congress, and on the last day of the session, march d, , it became a law. soon after the adjournment of congress, the entire delegation from the pacific states united in recommending my appointment to the new office. the delegation then consisted of four senators and four members of the house, of whom five were democrats and three republicans; all of them were union men. i was accordingly nominated by the president, and the nomination was unanimously confirmed by the senate. my commission was signed on the th of march, , and forwarded to me. i did not, however, take the oath of office and enter upon its duties until the th of may following. at the time i received the commission there were many important cases pending in the supreme court of california, which had been argued when only myself and one of the associate justices were present. i thought that these cases should be disposed of before i resigned, as otherwise a re-argument of them would be required, imposing increased expense and delay upon the parties. i therefore sent my resignation as chief justice to the governor, to take effect on the th of may. i selected that day, as i believed the cases argued could be decided by that time, and because it was the birthday of my father. i thought it would be gratifying to him to know that on the eighty-second anniversary of his birth his son had become a justice of the supreme court of the united states. accordingly on that day i took the oath of office.[ ] [ ] although i had informed the attorney-general of my action and delay in taking the oath of office, the salary of the office was sent to me from the date of my commission, march th, . i immediately deposited with the sub-treasurer at san francisco, to the credit of the united states, the proportion for the time between that date and the th of may, and informed the secretary of the treasury of the deposit, enclosing to him the sub-treasurer's receipt. * * * * * the annoyances of my judicial life. after the narrative of my personal reminiscences was completed, i concluded to dictate an account of some strange annoyances to which i had been subjected in the course of my judicial life. the account will have an interest to those of my friends for whom the reminiscences were printed, and it is intended for their perusal alone. rosy views of judicial life gradually vanishing.--unsettled land titles of the state.--asserted ownership by the state of gold and silver found in the soil.--present of a torpedo. when i went on the bench, i not only entertained elevated notions of the dignity and importance of the judicial office, but looked forward confidently to the respect and honor of the community from a faithful discharge of its duties. i soon discovered, however, that there would be but little appreciation for conscientious labor on the bench, except from a small number of the legal profession, until after the lapse of years. for the heavy hours of toil which the judges endured, for the long examination which they gave to voluminous records, for their nights of sleeplessness passed in anxious thought to ascertain what was true and right amidst a mass of conflicting evidence and doubtful principles, the public at large appeared to have little thought and less consideration. the cry of disappointment over frustrated schemes of cupidity and fraud was sufficient for the time to drown all other expressions of judgment upon the action of the court. the unsettled condition of the land titles of the state gave occasion to a great deal of litigation and was for a long time the cause of much bad feeling towards the judges who essayed to administer impartial justice. when california was acquired, the population was small and widely scattered. to encourage colonization, grants of land in large quantities, varying from one to eleven leagues, had been made to settlers by the mexican government. only small tracts were subjected to cultivation. the greater part of the land was used for grazing cattle, which were kept in immense herds. the grants were sometimes of tracts with defined boundaries, and sometimes of places by name, but more frequently of specified quantities within boundaries embracing a greater amount. by the mexican law, it was incumbent upon the magistrates of the vicinage to put the grantees in possession of the land granted to them; and for that purpose to measure off and segregate the quantity designated. owing to the sparseness of the population there was little danger of dispute as to boundaries, and this segregation in the majority of cases had been neglected before our acquisition of the country. from the size of the grants and the want of definite boundaries, arose nearly all the difficulties and complaints of the early settlers. upon the discovery of gold, immigrants from all parts of the world rushed into the country, increasing the population in one or two years from a few thousand to several hundred thousand. a large number crossed the plains from the western states, and many of them sought for farming lands upon which to settle. to them a grant of land, leagues in extent, seemed a monstrous wrong to which they could not be reconciled. the vagueness, also, in many instances, of the boundaries of the land claimed gave force and apparent reason to their objections. they accordingly settled upon what they found unenclosed or uncultivated, without much regard to the claims of the mexican grantees. if the land upon which they thus settled was within the tracts formerly occupied by the grantees with their herds, they denied the validity of grants so large in extent. if the boundaries designated enclosed a greater amount than that specified in the grants, they undertook to locate the supposed surplus. thus, if a grant were of three leagues within boundaries embracing four, the immigrant would undertake to appropriate to himself a portion of what he deemed the surplus; forgetting that other immigrants might do the same thing, each claiming that what he had taken was a portion of such surplus, until the grantee was deprived of his entire property. when i was brought to consider the questions to which this condition of things gave rise, i assumed at the outset that the obligations of the treaty with mexico were to be respected and enforced. this treaty had stipulated for the protection of all rights of property of the citizens of the ceded country; and that stipulation embraced inchoate and equitable rights, as well as those which were perfect. it was not for the supreme court of california to question the wisdom or policy of mexico in making grants of such large portions of her domain, or of the united states in stipulating for their protection. i felt the force of what judge grier had expressed in his opinion in the case of the united states vs. sutherland, in the th of howard, that the rhetoric which denounced the grants as enormous monopolies and princedoms might have a just influence when urged to those who had a right to give or refuse; but as the united states had bound themselves by a treaty to acknowledge and protect all _bona fide_ titles granted by the previous government, the court had no discretion to enlarge or contract such grants to suit its own sense of propriety or to defeat just claims, however extensive, by stringent technical rules of construction to which they were not originally subjected. since then, while sitting on the bench of the supreme court of the united states, i have heard this obligation of our government to protect the rights of mexican grantees stated in the brilliant and powerful language of judge black. in the fossat case, referring to the land claimed by one justo larios, a mexican grantee, he said: "the land we are claiming never belonged to this government. it was private property under a grant made long before our war with mexico. when the treaty of guadalupe hidalgo came to be ratified--at the very moment when mexico was feeling the sorest pressure that could be applied to her by the force of our armies, and the diplomacy of our statesmen--she utterly refused to cede her public property in california unless upon the express condition that all private titles should be faithfully protected. we made the promise. the gentleman sits on this bench who was then our minister there.[ ] with his own right hand he pledged the sacred honor of this nation that the united states would stand over the grantees of mexico and keep them safe in the enjoyment of their property. the pledge was not only that the government itself would abstain from all disturbance of them, but that every blow aimed at their rights, come from what quarter it might, should be caught upon the broad shield of our blessed constitution and our equal laws." "it was by this assurance thus solemnly given that we won the reluctant consent of mexico to part with california. it gave us a domain of more than imperial grandeur. besides the vast extent of that country, it has natural advantages such as no other can boast. its valleys teem with unbounded fertility, and its mountains are filled with inexhaustible treasures of mineral wealth. the navigable rivers run hundreds of miles into the interior, and the coast is indented with the most capacious harbors in the world. the climate is more healthful than any other on the globe: men can labor longer with less fatigue. the vegetation is more vigorous and the products more abundant; the face of the earth is more varied, and the sky bends over it with a lovelier blue.--that was what we gained by the promise to protect men in the situation of justo larios, their children, their alienees, and others claiming through them. it is impossible that in this nation they will ever be plundered in the face of such a pledge."--( wallace, .) actuated by this principle--that fidelity to a nation's pledge is a sacred duty, and that justice is the highest interest of the country, i endeavored, whenever the occasion presented itself, and my associates heartily co-operated with me, to protect the mexican grantees. their grants contained a stipulation for the possession of the lands granted, inasmuch as they were subject to the conditions of cultivation and occupancy, and a failure to comply with the conditions was considered by the tribunals of the united states as a most material circumstance in the determination of the right of the grantees to a confirmation of their claims. i held, therefore, with the concurrence of my associates, that the grantees, whether they were to be considered as having a legal or an equitable right to the lands, were entitled to their possession until the action of the government upon their claims, and, therefore, that they could recover in ejectment. and when the grant was not a mere float, but was of land within defined boundaries, which embraced a greater quantity than that specified in it, with a provision that the surplus should be measured off by the government, i held that until such measurement the grantee could hold the whole as against intruders, and until then he was a tenant in common with the government. as i said in one of my opinions, speaking for the court, until such measurement no individual could complain, much less could he be permitted to determine in advance, that any particular locality would fall within the supposed surplus, and thereby justify its forcible seizure and detention by himself. "if one person could in this way appropriate a particular parcel to himself, all persons could do so; and thus the grantee, who is the donee of the government, would be stripped of its bounty for the benefit of those who were not in its contemplation and were never intended to be the recipients of its favors."[ ] these views have since met with general assent in california and have been approved by the supreme court of the united states.[ ] but at that time they gave great offence to a large class, and the judges were denounced in unmeasured terms as acting in the interests of monopolists and land-grabbers. even now, when the wisdom and justice of their action are seen and generally recognized, words of censure for it are occasionally whispered through the press. persons sometimes seem to forget that to keep the plighted faith of the nation, to preserve from reproach its fair fame, where its honor is engaged, is one of the highest duties of all men in public life. the action of the court as to the possession of the public lands of the united states met with more favor. the position of the people of california with respect to the public lands was unprecedented. the discovery of gold brought, as already stated, an immense immigration to the country. the slopes of the sierra nevada were traversed by many of the immigrants in search of the precious metals, and by others the tillable land was occupied for agricultural purposes. the title was in the united states, and there had been no legislation by which it could be acquired. conflicting possessory claims naturally arose, and the question was presented as to the law applicable to them. as i have mentioned in my narrative of reminiscences, the legislature in had provided that in suits before magistrates for mining claims, evidence of the customs, usages, and regulations of miners in their vicinage should be admissible, and, when not in conflict with the constitution and laws of the united states, should govern their decision, and that the principle thus approved was soon applied in actions for mining claims in all courts. in those cases it was considered that the first possessor or appropriator of the claim had the better right as against all parties except the government, and that he, and persons claiming under him, were entitled to protection. this principle received the entire concurrence of my associates, and was applied by us, in its fullest extent, for the protection of all possessory rights on the public lands. thus, in coryell vs. cain, i said, speaking for the court: "it is undoubtedly true, as a general rule, that the claimant in ejectment must recover upon the strength of his own title, and not upon the weakness of his adversary's, and that it is a sufficient answer to his action to show title out of him and in a third party. but this general rule has, in this state, from the anomalous condition of things arising from the peculiar character of the mining and landed interests of the country, been, to a certain extent, qualified and limited. the larger portion of the mining lands within the state belong to the united states, and yet that fact has never been considered as a sufficient answer to the prosecution of actions for the recovery of portions of such lands. actions for the possession of mining claims, water privileges, and the like, situated upon the public lands, are matters of daily occurrence, and if the proof of the paramount title of the government would operate to defeat them, confusion and ruin would be the result. in determining controversies between parties thus situated, this court proceeds upon the presumption of a grant from the government to the first appropriator of mines, water privileges, and the like. this presumption, which would have no place for consideration as against the assertion of the rights of the superior proprietor, is held absolute in all those controversies. and with the public lands which are not mineral lands, the title, as between citizens of the state, where neither connects himself with the government, is considered as vested in the first possessor, and to proceed from him."--( cal., p. .) the difficulties attendant upon any attempt to give security to landed possessions in the state, arising from the circumstances i have narrated, were increased by an opinion, which for some time prevailed, that the precious metals, gold and silver, found in various parts of the country, whether in public or private lands, belonged to the state by virtue of her sovereignty. to this opinion a decision of the supreme court of the state, made in , gave great potency. in hicks vs. bell, decided that year, the court came to that conclusion, relying upon certain decisions of the courts of england recognizing the right of the crown to those metals. the principal case on the subject was that of the queen vs. the earl of northumberland, reported in plowden. the counsel of the queen in that case gave, according to our present notions, some very fanciful reasons for the conclusion reached, though none were stated in the judgment of the court. there were three reasons, said the counsel, why the king should have the mines and ores of gold and silver within the realm, in whatsoever land they were found: "the first was, in respect to the excellency of the thing, for of all things which the soil within this realm produces or yields, gold and silver are the most excellent, and of all persons in the realm, the king is, in the eye of the law, most excellent. and the common law, which is founded upon reason, appropriates everything to the person whom it best suits, as common and trivial things to the common people, things of more worth to persons in a higher and superior class, and things most excellent to those persons who excel all others; and because gold and silver are the most excellent things which the soil contains, the law has appointed them (as in reason it ought) to the person who is most excellent, and that is the king.--the second reason was, in respect of the necessity of the thing. for the king is the head of the weal-public and the subjects are his members; and the office of the king, to which the law has appointed him, is to preserve his subjects; and their preservation consisted in two things, viz., in an army to defend them against hostilities, and in good laws. and an army cannot be had and maintained without treasure, for which reason some authors, in their books, call treasure the sinews of war; and, therefore, inasmuch as god has created mines within this realm, as a natural provision of treasure for the defence of the realm, it is reasonable that he who has the government and care of the people, whom he cannot defend without treasure, should have the treasure wherewith to defend them.--the third reason was, in respect of its convenience to the subjects in the way of mutual commerce and traffic. for the subjects of the realm must, of necessity, have intercourse or dealing with one another, for no individual is furnished with all necessary commodities, but one has need of the things which another has, and they cannot sell or buy together without coin.--and if the subject should have it (the ore of gold or silver) the law would not permit him to coin it, nor put a print or value upon it, for it belongs to the king only to fix the value of coin, and to ascertain the price of the quantity, and to put the print upon it, which being done, the coin becomes current for so much as the king has limited.--so that the body of the realm would receive no benefit or advantage if the subject should have the gold and silver found in mines in his land; but on the other hand, by appropriating it to the king, it tends to the universal benefit of all the subjects in making their king able to defend them with an army against all hostilities, and when he has put the print and value upon it, and has dispersed it among his subjects, they are thereby enabled to carry on mutual commerce with one another, and to buy and sell as they have occasion, and to traffic at their pleasure. therefore, for these reasons, viz., for the excellency of the thing, and for the necessity of it, and the convenience that will accrue to the subjects, the common law, which is no other than pure and tried reason, has appropriated the ore of gold and silver to the king, in whatever land it be found." the supreme court of the state, without considering the reasons thus assigned in the case in plowden, adopted its conclusion; and as the gold and silver in the british realm are there held to belong to the crown, it was concluded, on the hypothesis that the united states have no municipal sovereignty within the limits of the state, that they must belong in this country to the state. the state, therefore, said the court, "has solely the right to authorize them" (the mines of gold and silver) "to be worked; to pass laws for their regulation; to license miners; and to affix such terms and conditions as she may deem proper to the freedom of their use. in the legislation upon this subject she has established the policy of permitting all who desire it to work her mines of gold and silver, with or without conditions, and she has wisely provided that their conflicting claims shall be adjudicated by the rules and customs which may be established by bodies of them working in the same vicinity."--( cal., .) the miners soon grasped the full scope of this decision, and the lands of private proprietors were accordingly invaded for the purpose of mining as freely as the public lands. it was the policy of the state to encourage the development of the mines, and no greater latitude in exploration could be desired than was thus sanctioned by the highest tribunal of the state. it was not long, however, before a cry came up from private proprietors against the invasion of their possessions which the decision had permitted; and the court was compelled to put some limitation upon the enjoyment by the citizen of this right of the state. accordingly, within two years afterwards, in stoakes vs. barrett, ( cal., ,) it held that although the state was the owner of the gold and silver found in the lands of private individuals as well as in the public lands, "yet to authorize an invasion of private property in order to enjoy a public franchise would require more specific legislation than any yet resorted to." the spirit to invade other people's lands, to which the original decision gave increased force against the intention of its authors, could not be as easily repressed as it was raised in the crowd of adventurers, who filled the mining regions. accordingly, long before i went on the bench, the right to dig for the precious metals on the lands of private individuals was stoutly asserted under an assumed license of the state. and afterwards, in the case of biddle boggs vs. the merced mining co., which came before the court in , where the plaintiff claimed under a patent of the united states, issued upon the confirmation of a mexican grant, the existence of this license was earnestly maintained by parties having no connection with the government, nor any claim of title to the land. its existence was, however, repudiated by the court, and speaking for it in that case i said: "there is gold in limited quantities scattered through large and valuable districts, where the land is held in private proprietorship, and under this pretended license the whole might be invaded, and, for all useful purposes, destroyed, no matter how little remunerative the product of the mining. the entry might be made at all seasons, whether the land was under cultivation or not, and without reference to its condition, whether covered with orchards, vineyards, gardens, or otherwise. under such a state of things, the proprietor would never be secure in his possessions, and without security there would be little development, for the incentive to improvement would be wanting. what value would there be to a title in one man, with a right of invasion in the whole world? and what property would the owner possess in mineral land--the same being in fact to him poor and valueless just in proportion to the actual richness and abundance of its products? there is something shocking to all our ideas of the rights of property in the proposition that one man may invade the possessions of another, dig up his fields and gardens, cut down his timber, and occupy his land, under the pretence that he has reason to believe there is gold under the surface, or if existing, that he wishes to extract and remove it." at a later day the court took up the doctrine, that the precious metals belonged to the state by virtue of her sovereignty, and exploded it. the question arose in moore vs. smaw, reported in th california, and in disposing of it, speaking for the court, i said: "it is undoubtedly true that the united states held certain rights of sovereignty over the territory which is now embraced within the limits of california, only in trust for the future state, and that such rights at once vested in the new state upon her admission into the union. but the ownership of the precious metals found in public or private lands was not one of those rights. such ownership stands in no different relation to the sovereignty of a state than that of any other property which is the subject of barter and sale. sovereignty is a term used to express the supreme political authority of an independent state or nation. whatever rights are essential to the existence of this authority are rights of sovereignty. thus the right to declare war, to make treaties of peace, to levy taxes, to take private property for public uses, termed the right of eminent domain, are all rights of sovereignty, for they are rights essential to the existence of supreme political authority. in this country, this authority is vested in the people, and is exercised through the joint action of their federal and state governments. to the federal government is delegated the exercise of certain rights or powers of sovereignty; and with respect to sovereignty, rights and powers are synonymous terms; and the exercise of all other rights of sovereignty, except as expressly prohibited, is reserved to the people of the respective states, or vested by them in their local governments. when we say, therefore, that a state of the union is sovereign, we only mean that she possesses supreme political authority, except as to those matters over which such authority is delegated to the federal government, or prohibited to the states; in other words, that she possesses all the rights and powers essential to the existence of an independent political organization, except as they are withdrawn by the provisions of the constitution of the united states. to the existence of this political authority of the state--this qualified sovereignty, or to any part of it--the ownership of the minerals of gold and silver found within her limits is in no way essential. the minerals do not differ from the great mass of property, the ownership of which may be in the united states, or in individuals, without affecting in any respect the political jurisdiction of the state. they may be acquired by the state, as any other property may be, but when thus acquired she will hold them in the same manner that individual proprietors hold their property, and by the same right; by the right of ownership, and not by any right of sovereignty." and referring to the argument of counsel in the case in plowden, i said that it would be a waste of time to show that the reasons there advanced in support of the right of the crown to the mines could not avail to sustain any ownership of the state in them. the state takes no property by reason of "the excellency of the thing," and taxation furnishes all requisite means for the expenses of government. the convenience of citizens in commercial transactions is undoubtedly promoted by a supply of coin, and the right of coinage appertains to sovereignty. but the exercise of this right does not require the ownership of the precious metals by the state, nor by the federal government, where this right is lodged under our system, as the experience of every day demonstrates. i also held that, although under the mexican law the gold and silver found in land did not pass with a grant of the land, a different result followed, under the common law, when a conveyance of land was made by an individual or by the government. by such conveyance everything passed in any way connected with the land, forming a portion of its soil or fixed to its surface. the doctrine of the right of the state by virtue of her sovereignty to the mines of gold and silver perished with this decision. it was never afterwards seriously asserted. but for holding what now seems so obvious, the judges were then grossly maligned as acting in the interest of monopolists and land owners, to the injury of the laboring class. the decisions, however, which caused for the time the greatest irritation, and excited the bitterest denunciation of the judges, related to the titles to land in the city of san francisco, though in the end they proved to be of incalculable benefit. upon the acquisition of california, there was a mexican pueblo upon the site of the city. the term _pueblo_ is aptly translated by the english word _town_. it has all the vagueness of that term, and is equally applicable to a settlement of a few individuals at a particular place, or to a regularly organized municipality. the _pueblo_ of san francisco was composed of a small population; but, as early as , it was of sufficient importance to have an _ayuntamiento_ or town council, composed of alcaldes and other officers, for its government. at the time of our acquisition of the country it was under the government of alcaldes or justices of the peace. by the laws of mexico, then in force, _pueblos_ or towns, when once officially recognized as such by the appointment of municipal magistrates, became entitled to four square leagues of land, to be measured off and assigned to them by the officers of the government. under these laws the city of san francisco, as successor of the mexican pueblo, asserted a claim to such lands, to be measured off from the northern portion of the peninsula upon which the city is situated. and the alcaldes, assuming an authority similar to that possessed by _alcaldes_ in other _pueblos_, exercised the power of distributing these municipal lands in small parcels to settlers for building, cultivation, and other uses. when the forces of the united states took possession of the city, the alcaldes, holding under the mexican government, were superseded by persons appointed by our military or naval officers having command of the place. with the increase of population which followed the discovery of gold, these magistrates were besieged by applicants for grants of land; and it was refreshing to see with what generous liberality they disposed of lots in the city--a liberality not infrequent when exercised with reference to other people's property. lots, varying in size from fifty to one hundred varas square, (a measure nearly equal to our yard,) were given away as freely as they were asked, only a small fee to meet necessary charges for preparing and recording the transfers being demanded. thus, for the lot occupied by the lick house, and worth now nearly a million, only a few dollars, less i believe than twenty, were paid. and for the lot covered by the grand hotel, admitted to be now worth half a million, less than thirty-five dollars were paid. the authority of the alcaldes to dispose of the lands was questioned by many of the new immigrants, and the validity of their grants denied. they asserted that the land was part of the public property of the united states. many holding these views gave evidence of the earnestness of their convictions by immediately appropriating to themselves as much vacant land in the city as they could conveniently occupy. disputes followed, as a matter of course, between claimants under the alcalde grants and those holding as settlers, which often gave rise to long and bitter litigation. the whole community was in fact divided between those who asserted the existence of a _pueblo_ having a right to the lands mentioned, and the power of the alcaldes to make grants of them; and those who insisted that the land belonged to the united states. early in , after the state government was organized, the legislature incorporated the city of san francisco; and, as is usual with municipal bodies not restrained by the most stringent provisions, it contracted more debts than its means warranted, and did not always make provision for their payment at maturity. numerous suits, therefore, were instituted and judgments were recovered against the city. executions followed, which were levied upon the lands claimed by her as successor of the _pueblo_. where the occupants denied the title of the city, they were generally indifferent to the sales by the sheriff. property of immense value, in some cases many acres in extent, was, in consequence, often struck off to bidders at a merely nominal price. upon the deeds of the officer, suits in ejectment were instituted in great numbers; and thus questions as to the existence of the alleged _pueblo_, and whether, if existing, it had any right to land, and the nature of such right, if any, were brought before the lower courts; and, finally, in a test case--hart vs. burnett--they found their way to the supreme court of the state. in the meantime a large number of persons had become interested in these sales, aside from the occupants of the land, and the greatest anxiety was manifested as to the decision of the court. previous decisions on the questions involved were not consistent; nor had they met the entire approval of the profession, although, the opinion prevailed generally that a mexican pueblo of some kind, owning or having an interest in lands, had existed on the site of the city upon the acquisition of the country, and that such lands, like other property of the city not used for public purposes, were vendible on execution. in , after the sale in respect to which the test case was made, the council of the city passed "the van ness ordinance," so called from the name of its author, the object of which was to settle and quiet, as far as practicable, the title of persons occupying land in the city. it relinquished and granted the right and interest of the city to lands within its corporate limits, as defined by the charter of , with certain exceptions, to parties in the actual possession thereof, by themselves or tenants, on or before the first of january, , if the possession were continued to the time of the introduction of the ordinance into the common council in june of that year; or, if interrupted by an intruder or trespasser, it had been or might be recovered by legal process. and it declared that, for the purposes of the act, all persons should be deemed in possession who held titles to land within the limits mentioned, by virtue of a grant made by the authorities of the pueblo, including alcaldes among them, before the th of july, ,--the day when the jurisdiction over the country is deemed to have passed from mexico to the united states,--or by virtue of a grant subsequently made by those authorities, if the grant, or a material portion of it, had been entered in a proper book of record deposited in the office or custody of the recorder of the county of san francisco on or before april d, . this ordinance was approved by an act of the legislature of the state in march, , and the benefit of it and of the confirmatory act was claimed by the defendant in the test case. that case was most elaborately argued by able and learned counsel. the whole law of mexico respecting _pueblos_, their powers, rights, and property, and whether, if possessing property, it was subject to forced sale, the effect upon such land of the change of sovereignty to the united states, the powers of alcaldes in disposing of the property of these municipalities, the effect of the van ness ordinance, and the confirmatory act of the legislature, were all discussed with a fullness and learning which left nothing unexplained or to be added. for weeks afterwards the judges gave the most laborious attention to the questions presented, and considered every point and the argument on both sides of it with anxious and painful solicitude to reach a just conclusion. the opinion of the court, prepared by mr. justice baldwin, is without precedent for the exhaustive learning and research it exhibits upon the points discussed. the court held, among other things, that, at the date of the conquest and cession of the country, san francisco was a pueblo, having the rights which the law of mexico conferred upon such municipal organizations; that as such pueblo it had proprietary rights to certain lands, which were held in trust for the public use of the city, and were not subject to seizure and sale under execution; that such portions as were not set apart for common use or special purposes could be granted in lots to private persons by its ayuntamiento or by alcaldes or other officers who represented or had succeeded to its powers; that the lands, and the trusts upon which they were held, were public and municipal in their nature, and since the organization of the state were under its control and supervision; that the act of the legislature confirming the van ness ordinance was a proper exercise of the power of the state, and vested in the possessors therein described, as against the city and state, a title to the lands mentioned; and that the city held the lands of the pueblo, not legally disposed of by its officers, unaffected by sheriff's sales under executions against her. this decision was of the greatest importance both to the city and the occupants of land within its limits. the van ness ordinance had reserved from grant for the uses of the city all the lots which it then occupied or had set apart for public squares, streets, sites for school-houses, city hall and other buildings belonging to the corporation, and also such other lots as it might subsequently select for public purposes within certain designated limits. all these were by the decision at once released from any possible claim by virtue of sales on executions. all persons occupying lands not thus reserved were by the decision quieted in their possession, so far as any claim of the city or state could be urged against them. property to the value of many millions was thereby rescued from the spoiler and speculator, and secured to the city or settler. peace was given to thousands of homes. yet for this just and most beneficent judgment there went up from a multitude, who had become interested in the sales, a fierce howl of rage and hate. attacks full of venom were made upon judge baldwin and myself, who had agreed to the decision. no epithets were too vile to be applied to us; no imputations were too gross to be cast at us. the press poured out curses upon our heads. anonymous circulars filled with falsehoods, which malignity alone could invent, were spread broadcast throughout the city, and letters threatening assassination in the streets or by-ways were sent to us through the mail. the violence of the storm, however, was too great to last. gradually it subsided and reason began to assert its sway. other words than those of reproach were uttered; and it was not many months before the general sentiment of the people of the city was with the decision. a year did not elapse before the great good it had conferred upon the city and settler was seen and appreciated. since then its doctrines have been repeatedly re-affirmed. they have been approved by the supreme court of the united states; and now no one doubts their soundness. after that decision there was still wanting for the complete settlement of titles in the city the confirmation by the tribunals of the united states of her claim to the lands. the act of congress of march d, , creating the board of land commissioners, provided that all claims to land in california, by virtue of any right or title derived from the spanish or mexican government, should be presented to the board for examination and adjudication. accordingly, the city of san francisco, soon after the organization of the board, in , presented her claim for four square leagues as successor of the _pueblo_, and asked for its confirmation. in december, , the board confirmed the claim for a portion of the four square leagues, but not for the whole; the portion confirmed being embraced within the charter limits of . the city was dissatisfied with this limitation, and appealed from the decision of the commissioners to the district court of the united states. an appeal was also taken by the united states, but was subsequently withdrawn. the case remained in the district court without being disposed of until september, , nearly ten years, when, under the authority of an act of congress of july st of that year, it was transferred to the circuit court of the united states. whilst the case was pending in the district court, the population of the city had increased more than four-fold; and improvements of a costly character had been made in all parts of it. the magnitude of the interests which had thus grown up demanded that the title to the land upon which the city rested should be in some way definitely settled. to expedite this settlement, as well as the settlement of titles generally in the state, was the object of the act of july st, . its object is so stated in its title. it was introduced by senator conness, of california, who was alive to everything that could tend to advance the interests of the state. he felt that nothing would promote its peace and prosperity more than giving security to its land titles, and he labored earnestly to bring about that result. in framing the act, he consulted me, and at my suggestion introduced sections four, five, and seven, which i drafted and gave to him, but without the exception and proviso to the fifth section, which were added at the request of the commissioner of the land office.[ ] the fourth section authorized the district court to transfer to the circuit court cases pending before it arising under the act of march d, , affecting the title to lands within the corporate limits of a city or town, and provided that in such cases both the district and circuit judges might sit. by the fifth section, all the right and title of the united states to the land within the corporate limits of the city, as defined by its charter of , were relinquished and granted to the city and its successors for the uses and purposes specified in the van ness ordinance. the exceptions incorporated at the suggestion of the commissioner of the land office related to parcels of land previously or then occupied by the united states for military, naval, or other public purposes, and such other parcels as might be subsequently designated for such purposes by the president within one year after the return to the land office of an approved plat of the exterior limits of the city. the holders of grants from the authorities of the _pueblo_ and the occupants of land within the limits of the charter of were thus quieted in their possessions. but as the claim of the city was for a much greater quantity, the case for its confirmation was still prosecuted. under the fourth section it was transferred to the circuit court, as already stated; and it was soon afterwards brought to a hearing. on the th of october, , it was decided. for some reason i do not now recall, the district judge was unable to sit with me, and the case was, therefore, heard before me alone. i held that a pueblo of some kind existed at the site of the present city of san francisco upon the cession of the country; that as such it was entitled to the possession of certain lands to the extent of four square leagues; and that the present city had succeeded to such rights, following, in these particulars, the decision which had previously been made in the case of hart vs. burnett, by the supreme court of the state, in which i had participated. i accordingly decided that the city was entitled to have her claim confirmed to four square leagues of land, subject to certain reservations. but i also added that the lands to which she was entitled had not been given to her by the laws of the former government in absolute property with full right of disposition and alienation, but to be held in trust for the benefit of the whole community, with such powers of use, disposition, and alienation as had been or might thenceforth be conferred upon her or her officers for the execution of the trust. the trust character of the city's title was expressed in the decree of confirmation. the decision was rendered on the th of october, , as stated, and a decree was soon afterwards entered; but as a motion was made for a re-hearing, the control over it was retained by the circuit court until may of the following year. upon the suggestion of counsel, it was then modified in some slight particulars so as to limit the confirmation to land above ordinary high water mark, as it existed at the date of the acquisition of the country, namely, the th of july, . on the th of may, , the decree was finally settled and entered. appeals from it were prosecuted to the supreme court both by the united states and by the city; by the united states from the whole decree, and by the city from so much of it as included certain reservations in the estimate of the quantity of land confirmed. in october following i proceeded as usual to washington to attend the then approaching term of the supreme court, and thought no more of the case until my attention was called to it by a most extraordinary circumstance. just before leaving san francisco mr. rulofson, a photographer of note, requested me to sit for a photograph, expressing a desire to add it to his gallery. i consented, and a photograph of a large size was taken. as i was leaving his rooms he observed that he intended to make some pictures of a small size from it, and would send me a few copies. on the morning of the th of january following ( ), at washington, mr. delos lake, a lawyer of distinction in california, at one time a district judge of the state, and then district attorney of the united states, joined me, remarking, as he did so, that the arrival of the california steamer at new york had been telegraphed, and he hoped that i had received some letters for him, as he had directed his letters to be forwarded to my care. i replied that when i left my room my messenger had not brought my mail; but if he would accompany me there we would probably find it. accordingly, we proceeded to my room, where on the centre-table lay my mail from california, consisting of a large number of letters and papers. among them i noticed a small package about an inch and a half thick, three inches in breadth, and three and a half in length. it was addressed as follows, the words being printed: [illustration: per steamer. [three postage stamps.] hon. stephen j. field, washington, d.c.] it bore the stamp of the san francisco post-office upon the address. my name had evidently been cut from the california reports, but the words "washington, d.c.," and "per steamer," had been taken from a newspaper. the slips were pasted on the package. on the opposite side were the words in print: [illustration: from geo. h. johnson's pioneer gallery, and clay street, san francisco.] as i took up the package i remarked that this must come from rulofson;--no, i immediately added, rulofson has nothing to do with the pioneer gallery. it then occurred to me that it might be a present for my wife, recollecting at the moment that the mail came by the steamer which sailed from san francisco about christmas time. it may be, i said to myself, a christmas present for my wife. i will open it just far enough to see, and, if it be intended for her, i will close it and forward it to new york, where she was at the time. i accordingly tore off the covering and raised the lid just far enough to enable me to look inside. i was at once struck with the black appearance of the inside. "what is this, lake?" i said, addressing myself to my friend. judge lake looked over my shoulder into the box, as i held it in my hand, and at once exclaimed, "it is a torpedo. don't open it." i was startled by the suggestion, for the idea of a torpedo was the last thing in the world to occur to me. i immediately laid the package on the sill of the window, where it was subjected to a careful inspection by us both, so far as it could be made with the lid only an eighth of an inch open. soon afterwards judge lake took the package to the capitol, which was directly opposite to my rooms, and to the office of the clerk of the supreme court, and showed it to mr. broom, one of the deputies. they dipped the package into water and left it to soak for some minutes. they then took it into the carriage way under the steps leading to the senate chamber, and shielding themselves behind one of the columns threw the box against the wall. the blow broke the hinge of the lid and exposed the contents. a murderous contrivance it was;--a veritable infernal machine! twelve cartridges such as are used in a common pistol, about an inch in length, lay imbedded in a paste of some kind, covered with fulminating powder, and so connected with a bunch of friction matches, a strip of sand-paper, and a piece of linen attached to the lid, that on opening the box the matches would be ignited and the whole exploded. the package was sent to the war department, and the following report was returned, giving a detailed description of the machine: washington arsenal, _jan. , _. _gen. a.b. dyer, chief of ordnance, washington, d.c._ sir: agreeably to your instructions, i have examined the explosive machine sent to this arsenal yesterday. it is a small miniature case containing twelve copper cartridges, such as are used in a smith & wesson pocket pistol, a bundle of sensitive friction matches, a strip of sand-paper, and some fulminating powder. the cartridges and matches are imbedded in common glue to keep them in place. the strip of sand-paper lies upon the heads of the matches. one end has been thrown back, forming a loop, through which a bit of thread evidently passed to attach it to the lid of the case. this thread may be seen near the clasp of the lid, broken in two. there are two wire staples, under which the strip of sand-paper was intended to pass to produce the necessary pressure on the matches. the thread is so fixed that the strip of sand-paper could be secured to the lid after it was closed. the whole affair is so arranged that the opening of the lid would necessarily ignite the matches, were it not that the lower end of the strip has become imbedded in the glue, which prevents it from moving. that the burning of the matches may explode the cartridges, there is a hole in each case, and all are covered with mealed powder. one of the cartridges has been examined and found to contain ordinary grain powder. two of the cartridges were exploded in a closed box sent herewith. the effect of the explosion was an indentation on one side of the box. very respectfully, your obedient servant, j.g. benton, _major of ord. and bvt. col. comdg._ between the outside covering and the box there were two or three folds of tissue-paper--placed there, no doubt, to prevent the possibility of an explosion from the stamping at the post office, or the striking against other packages during the voyage from san francisco to new york. on the inside of the lid was pasted a slip cut from a san francisco paper, dated october st, , stating that on the day previous i had decided the case of the city against the united states, involving its claim to four square leagues of land, and giving the opening lines of my opinion. the secretary of war, mr. stanton, immediately telegraphed in cypher to general halleck, then in command in san francisco, to take active measures to find out, if possible, the person who made and sent the infernal machine. general halleck put the detectives of his department on the search. others employed detectives of the san francisco police--but all in vain. suspicions were excited as to the complicity of different parties, but they were never sustained by sufficient evidence to justify the arrest of any one. the instrument, after remaining in the hands of the detectives in san francisco for nearly two years, was returned to me and it is now in my possession.[ ] it has often been a matter of wonder to me how it was that some good angel whispered to me not to open the box. my impetuous temperament would naturally have led me to tear it open without delay. probably such hesitation in opening a package directed to me never before occurred, and probably never will again. who knows but that a mother's prayer for the protection of her son, breathed years before, was answered then? who can say that her spirit was not then hovering over him and whispering caution in his ear? that i should on that occasion have departed from my usual mode of action is strange--passing strange. * * * * * as already stated, the fifth section of the act of congress of july st, , which granted the interest of the united states to the lands within the charter limits of to the city and its successors, in trust for the benefit of possessors under the van ness ordinance, among other things provided for certain reservations to be subsequently made by the president, within one year after an approved plat showing the exterior limits of the city had been filed in the land office. no such map was filed nor were any reservations made. the case on appeal in the meantime was not reached in the supreme court, and was not likely to be for a long period. ascertaining from general halleck that the secretary of war would not recommend any further reservations to be made from the municipal lands, and that probably none would be made, i drew a bill to quiet the title of the city to all the lands embraced within the decree of confirmation, and gave it to senator conness, who being ready, as usual, to act for the interests of the city, immediately took charge of it and secured its passage in the senate. in the house mr. mcruer, member of congress from california, took charge of it, and with the assistance of the rest of the delegation from the state, procured its passage there. it was signed by the president and became a law on the th of march, . by it all the right and title of the united states to the land covered by the decree of the circuit court were relinquished and granted to the city, and the claim to the land was confirmed, subject, however, to certain reservations and exceptions; and upon trust that all the land not previously granted to the city, should be disposed of and conveyed by the city to the parties in the bona fide actual possession thereof, by themselves or tenants, on the passage of the act, in such quantities, and upon such terms and conditions, as the legislature of the state of california might prescribe, except such parcels thereof as might be reserved and set apart by ordinance of the city for public uses. not long afterwards both the appeals to the supreme court were dismissed by stipulation of parties. the litigation over the source of title to lands within the limits of the city, not disposed of by independent grants of the government previous to the acquisition of the country, was thus settled and closed. the title of the city rests, therefore, upon the decree of the circuit court entered on the th day of may, , and this confirmatory act of congress. it has been so adjudged by the supreme court of the united states.--(see townsend vs. greely, wall., ; grisar vs. mcdowell, wall., .) the title of the city being settled, the municipal authorities took measures, under the provisions of the confirmatory act, to set apart lands for school-houses, hospitals, court-house buildings, and other public purposes, and through their exertions, instigated and encouraged by mr. mccoppin, the accomplished and efficient mayor of the city at that time, the ocean park, which looks out upon the pacific ocean and the golden gate, and is destined to be one of the finest parks in the world, was set apart and secured to the city for all time. as the grounds thus taken were, in many instances, occupied by settlers, or had been purchased from them, an assessment was levied by the city and sanctioned by the legislature upon other lands conveyed to the occupants, as a condition of their receiving deeds from the city; and the money raised was applied to compensate those whose lands had been appropriated. [ ] mr. justice clifford. [ ] cornwall vs. culver, cal., . [ ] van reynegan vs. bolton, u.s., . [ ] see exhibit j, in appendix. [ ] see exhibit k, in appendix. hostility to the supreme court after the civil war.--the scofield resolution. the irritations and enmities created by the civil war did not end with the cessation of active hostilities. they were expressed whenever any acts of the military officers of the united states were called in question; or any legislation of the states or of congress in hostility to the insurgents was assailed; or the validity of the "reconstruction acts" was doubted. and they postponed that cordial reconciliation which all patriotic men earnestly desired. the insurrection was overthrown after a contest which, for its magnitude and the number and courage of the belligerents, was without a parallel in history. the immense loss of life and destruction of property caused by the contest, and the burden of the enormous debt created in its prosecution, left a bitterness in the hearts of the victors which it was difficult to remove. the assassination of mr. lincoln added intensity to the feeling. that act of a madman, who had conceived the idea that he might become in our history what brutus was in the history of rome, the destroyer of the enemy of his country, was ascribed to a conspiracy of leading confederates. the proclamation of the secretary of war, offering a reward for the arrest of parties charged with complicity in the act, gave support to this notion. the wildest stories, now known to have had no foundation, were circulated and obtained ready credence among the people of the north, already wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement. they manifested, therefore, great impatience when a doubt was cast upon the propriety or validity of the acts of the government, or of its officers, which were taken for the suppression of the rebellion or "the reconstruction" of the states; and to question their validity was almost considered proof of hostility to the union. by those who considered the union indissoluble, except by the common consent of the people of the several states, the organization known as the confederate states could only be regarded as unlawful and rebellious, to be suppressed, if necessary, by force of arms. the constitution prohibits any treaty, alliance, or confederation by one state with another, and it declares on its face that it is the supreme law of the land. the confederate government, therefore, could only be treated by the united states as the military representative of the insurrection against their authority. belligerent rights were accorded to its armed forces in the conduct of the war, and they thus had the standing and rights of parties engaged in lawful warfare. but no further recognition was ever given to it, and when those forces were overthrown its whole fabric disappeared. but not so with the insurgent states which had composed the confederacy. they retained the same form of government and the same general system of laws, during and subsequent to the war, which they had possessed previously. their organizations as distinct political communities were not destroyed by the war, although their relations to the central authority were changed. and their acts, so far as they did not impair or tend to impair the supremacy of the general government, or the rights of citizens of the loyal states, were valid and binding. all the ordinary authority of government for the protection of rights of persons and property, the enforcement of contracts, the punishment of crime, and the due order of society, continued to be exercised by them as though no civil war had existed. there was, therefore, a general expectation throughout the country, upon the cessation of actual hostilities, that these states would be restored to their former relations in the union as soon as satisfactory evidence was furnished to the general government that resistance to its authority was overthrown and abandoned, and its laws were enforced and obeyed. some little time might elapse before this result would clearly appear. it was not expected that they would be immediately restored upon the defeat of the armies of the confederacy, nor that their public men, with the animosities of the struggle still alive, would at once be admitted into the councils of the nation, and allowed to participate in its government. but whenever it was satisfactorily established that there would be no renewal of the struggle and that the laws of the united states would be obeyed, it was generally believed that the restoration of the states would be an accomplished fact. president johnson saw in the institution of slavery the principal source of the irritation and ill-feeling between the north and the south, which had led to the war. he believed, therefore, that its abolition should be exacted, and that this would constitute a complete guaranty for the future. at that time the amendment for its abolition, which had passed the two houses of congress, was pending before the states for their action. he was of opinion, and so expressed himself in his first message to congress, that its ratification should be required of the insurgent states on resuming their places in the family of the union; that it was not too much, he said, to ask of them "to give this pledge of perpetual loyalty and peace." "until it is done," he added, "the past, however much we may desire it, will not be forgotten. the adoption of the amendment re-unites us beyond all power of disruption. it heals the wound that is still imperfectly closed; it removes slavery, the element which has so long perplexed and divided the country; it makes of us once more a united people, renewed and strengthened, bound more than ever to mutual affection and support." it would have been most fortunate for the country had this condition been deemed sufficient and been accepted as such. but the north was in no mood for a course so simple and just. its leaders clamored for more stringent measures, on the ground that they were needed for the protection of the freedmen, and the defeat of possible schemes for a new insurrection. it was not long, therefore, before a system of measures was adopted, which resulted in the establishment at the south of temporary governments, subject to military control, the offices of which were filled chiefly by men alien to the states and indifferent to their interests. the misrule and corruption which followed are matters of public history. it is no part of my purpose to speak of them. i wish merely to refer to the state of feeling existing upon the close of the civil war as introductory to what i have to say of the unfriendly disposition manifested at the north towards the supreme court and some of its members, myself in particular. acts of the military officers, and legislation of some of the states and of congress, during and immediately succeeding the war, were soon brought to the consideration of the court. its action thereon was watched by members of the republican party with manifest uneasiness and distrust. its decision in the dred scott case had greatly impaired their confidence in its wisdom and freedom from political influences. many of them looked upon that decision as precipitating the war upon the country, by the sanction it gave to efforts made to introduce slavery into the territories; and they did not hesitate to express their belief that the sympathies of a majority of the court were with the confederates. intimations to that effect were thrown out in some of the journals of the day, at first in guarded language, and afterwards more directly, until finally it came to be generally believed that it was the purpose of the court, if an opportunity offered, to declare invalid most of the legislation relating to the southern states which had been enacted during the war and immediately afterwards. nothing could have been more unjust and unfounded. many things, indeed, were done during the war, and more after its close, which could not be sustained by any just construction of the limitations of the constitution. it was to be expected that many things would be done in the heat of the contest which could not bear the examination of calmer times. mr. chief justice chase expressed this fact in felicitous language when speaking of his own change of views as to the validity of the provision of law making government notes a legal tender, he said: "it is not surprising that amid the tumult of the late civil war, and under the influence of apprehensions for the safety of the republic almost universal, different views, never before entertained by american statesmen or jurists, were adopted by many. the time was not favorable to considerate reflection upon the constitutional limits of legislative or executive authority. if power was assumed from patriotic motives, the assumption found ready justification in patriotic hearts. many who doubted yielded their doubts; many who did not doubt were silent. those who were strongly averse to making government notes a legal tender felt themselves constrained to acquiesce in the views of the advocates of the measure. not a few who then insisted upon its necessity, or acquiesced in that view, have, since the return of peace, and under the influence of the calmer time, reconsidered this conclusion, and now concur in those which we have just announced." similar language might be used with reference to other things done during the war and afterwards, besides making government notes a legal tender. the court and all its members appreciated the great difficulties and responsibilities of the government, both in the conduct of the war, and in effecting an early restoration of the states afterwards, and no disposition was manifested at any time to place unnecessary obstacles in its way. but when its measures and legislation were brought to the test of judicial judgment there was but one course to pursue, and that was to apply the law and the constitution as strictly as though no war had ever existed. the constitution was not one thing in war, and another in peace. it always spoke the same language, and was intended as a rule for all times and occasions. it recognized, indeed, the possibility of war, and, of course, that the rules of war had to be applied in its conduct in the field of military operations. the court never presumed to interfere there, but outside of that field, and with respect to persons not in the military service within states which adhered to the union, and after the war in all the states, the court could not hesitate to say that the constitution, with all its limitations upon the exercise of executive and legislative authority, was, what it declares on its face to be, the supreme law of the land, by which all legislation, state and federal, must be measured. the first case growing out of the acts of military officers during the war, which attracted general attention and created throughout the north an uneasy feeling, was the milligan case, which was before the court on habeas corpus. in october, , milligan, a citizen of the united states and a resident of indiana, had been arrested by order of the military commander of the district and confined in a military prison near the capital of the state. he was subsequently, on the st of the same month, put on trial before a military commission convened at indianapolis, in that state, upon charges of: st. conspiring against the government of the united states; d. affording aid and comfort to the rebels against the authority of the united states; d. inciting insurrection; th. disloyal practices; and th. violations of the laws of war; and was found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. he had never been in the military service; there was no rebellion in indiana; and the civil courts were open in that state and in the undisturbed exercise of their jurisdiction. the sentence of the military commission was affirmed by the president, who directed that it should be carried into immediate execution. the condemned thereupon presented a petition to the circuit court of the united states in indiana for a writ of habeas corpus, praying to be discharged from custody, alleging the illegality of his arrest and of the proceedings of the military commission. the judges of the circuit court were divided in opinion upon the question whether the writ should be issued and the prisoner be discharged, which, of course, involved the jurisdiction of the military commission to try the petitioner. upon a certificate of the division the case was brought to the supreme court at the december term of . the case has become historical in the jurisprudence of the country, and it is unnecessary to state the proceedings at length. suffice it to say that it was argued with great ability by eminent counsel--consisting of mr. joseph e. mcdonald, now u.s. senator from indiana, mr. james a. garfield, a distinguished member of congress, mr. jeremiah s. black, the eminent jurist of pennsylvania, and mr. david dudley field, of new york, for the petitioner; and by mr. henry stanbery, the attorney-general, and gen. b.f. butler, for the government. their arguments were remarkable for learning, research, ability, and eloquence, and will repay the careful perusal not only of the student of law, but of all lovers of constitutional liberty. only a brief synopsis of them is given in the report of the case in th wallace. the decision of the court was in favor of the liberty of the citizen. its opinion was announced by mr. justice davis, and it will stand as a perpetual monument to his honor. it laid down in clear and unmistakable terms the doctrine that military commissions organized during the war, in a state not invaded nor engaged in rebellion, in which the federal courts were open and in the undisturbed exercise of their judicial functions, had no jurisdiction to try a citizen who was not a resident of a state in rebellion, nor a prisoner of war, nor a person in the military or naval service; and that congress could not invest them with any such power; and that in states where the courts were thus open and undisturbed the guaranty of trial by jury contained in the constitution was intended for a state of war as well as a state of peace, and is equally binding upon rulers and people at all times and under all circumstances. this decision was concurred in by justices nelson, grier, clifford, and myself, then constituting, with justice davis, a majority of the court. at this day it seems strange that its soundness should have been doubted by any one, yet it was received by a large class--perhaps a majority of the northern people--with disfavor, and was denounced in unmeasured terms by many influential journals. it was cited as conclusive evidence of the hostility of the court to the acts of the government for the suppression of the rebellion. the following, taken from the _daily chronicle_ of january th, , a journal of washington, edited by mr. forney, then secretary of the senate, is a fair sample of the language applied to the decision: "the opinion of the supreme court on one of the most momentous questions ever submitted to a judicial tribunal, has not startled the country more by its far-reaching and calamitous results, than it has amazed jurists and statesmen by the poverty of its learning and the feebleness of its logic. it has surprised all, too, by its total want of sympathy with the spirit in which the war for the union was prosecuted, and, necessarily, with those great issues growing out of it, which concern not only the life of the republic, but the very progress of the race, and which, having been decided on the battle-field, are now sought to be reversed by the very theory of construction which led to rebellion." at the same term with the milligan case the test-oath case from missouri was brought before the court and argued. in january, , a convention had assembled in that state to amend its constitution. its members had been elected in november previous. in april, , the constitution, as revised and amended, was adopted by the convention, and in june following by the people. elected, as the members were, in the midst of the war, it exhibited throughout traces of the animosities which the war had engendered. by its provisions the most stringent and searching oath as to past conduct known in history was required, not only of officers under it, but of parties holding trusts and pursuing avocations in no way connected with the administration of the government. the oath, divided into its separates parts, contained more than thirty distinct affirmations touching past conduct, and even embraced the expression of sympathies and desires. every person unable to take the oath was declared incapable of holding, in the state, "any office of honor, trust, or profit under its authority, or of being an officer, councilman, director, or trustee, or other manager of any corporation, public or private, now existing or hereafter established by its authority, or of acting as a professor or teacher in any educational institution, or in any common or other school, or of holding any real estate or other property in trust for the use of any church, religious society, or congregation." and every person holding, at the time the amended constitution took effect, any of the offices, trusts, or positions mentioned, was required, within sixty days thereafter, to take the oath; and, if he failed to comply with this requirement, it was declared that his office, trust, or position should _ipso facto_ become vacant. no person, after the expiration of the sixty days, was permitted, without taking the oath, "to practice as an attorney or counsellor-at-law," nor, after that period could "any person be competent as a bishop, priest, deacon, minister, elder, or other clergyman, of any religious persuasion, sect, or denomination, to teach, or preach, or solemnize marriages." fine and imprisonment were prescribed as a punishment for holding or exercising any of "the offices, positions, trusts, professions, or functions" specified, without having taken the oath; and false swearing or affirmation in taking it was declared to be perjury, punishable by imprisonment in the penitentiary. mr. cummings of missouri, a priest of the roman catholic church, was indicted and convicted in one of the circuit courts of that state, of the crime of teaching and preaching as a priest and minister of that religious denomination without having first taken the oath thus prescribed, and was sentenced to pay a fine of five hundred dollars and to be committed to jail until the same was paid. on appeal to the supreme court of the state the judgment was affirmed, and the case was brought on a writ of error to our court. it was there argued with great learning and ability by mr. montgomery blair, of washington, mr. david dudley field, of new york, and mr. reverdy johnson, of maryland, for mr. cummings; and by mr. g.p. strong and mr. john b. henderson, of missouri, the latter then united states senator for the state. it was evident, after a brief consideration of the case, that the power asserted by the state of missouri to exact this oath for past conduct from parties, as a condition of their continuing to pursue certain professions, or to hold certain trusts, might, if sustained, be often exercised in times of excitement to the oppression, if not ruin, of the citizen. for, if the state could require the oath for the acts mentioned, it might require it for any other acts of one's past life, the number and character of which would depend upon the mere will of its legislature. it might compel one to affirm, under oath, that he had never violated the ten commandments, nor exercised his political rights except in conformity with the views of the existing majority. indeed, under this kind of legislation, the most flagrant wrongs might be committed and whole classes of people deprived, not only of their political, but of their civil rights. it is difficult to speak of the whole system of expurgatory oaths for past conduct without a shudder at the suffering and oppression they were not only capable of effecting but often did effect. such oaths have never been exacted in england, nor on the continent of europe; at least i can recall no instance of the kind. test-oaths there have always been limited to an affirmation on matters of present belief, or as to present disposition towards those in power. it was reserved for the ingenuity of legislators in our country during the civil war to make test-oaths reach to past conduct. the court held that enactments of this character, operating, as they did, to deprive parties by legislative decree of existing rights for past conduct, without the formality and the safeguard of a judicial trial, fell within the inhibition of the constitution against the passage of bills of attainder. in depriving parties of existing rights for past conduct, the provisions of the constitution of missouri imposed, in effect, a punishment for such conduct. some of the acts for which such deprivation was imposed were not punishable at the time; and for some this deprivation was added to the punishments previously prescribed, and thus they fell under the further prohibition of the constitution against the passage of an _ex post facto_ law. the decision of the court, therefore, was for the discharge of the catholic priest. the judgment against him was reversed, and the supreme court of missouri was directed to order the inferior court by which he was tried to set him at liberty. immediately following the case of cummings that of _ex-parte_ garland was argued, involving the validity of the iron-clad oath, as it was termed, prescribed for attorneys and counsellors-at-law by the act of congress of january th, . mr. a.h. garland, now united states senator from arkansas, had been a member of the bar of the supreme court of the united states before the civil war. when arkansas passed her ordinance of secession and joined the confederate states, he went with her, and was one of her representatives in the congress of the confederacy. in july, , he received from the president a full pardon for all offences committed by his participation, direct or implied, in the rebellion. at the following term of the court he produced his pardon and asked permission to continue to practice as an attorney and counsellor without taking the oath required by the act of congress, and the rule of the court made in conformity with it, which he was unable to take by reason of the offices he had held under the confederate government. the application was argued by mr. matthew h. carpenter, of wisconsin, and mr. reverdy johnson, of maryland, for the petitioner--mr. garland and mr. marr, another applicant for admission, who had participated in the rebellion, filing printed arguments--and by mr. speed, of kentucky, and mr. henry stanbery, the attorney-general, on the other side. the whole subject of expurgatory oaths was discussed, and all that could be said on either side was fully and elaborately presented. the court in its decision followed the reasoning of the cummings case and held the law invalid, as applied to the exercise of the petitioner's right to practice his profession; that such right was not a mere indulgence, a matter of grace and favor, revocable at the pleasure of the court, or at the command of the legislature; but was a right of which the petitioner could be deprived only by the judgment of the court for moral or professional delinquency. the court also held that the pardon of the petitioner released him from all penalties and disabilities attached to the offence of treason committed by his participation in the rebellion, and that, so far as that offence was concerned, he was placed beyond the reach of punishment of any kind. but to exclude him by reason of that offence--that is, by requiring him to take an oath that he had never committed it--was to enforce a punishment for it notwithstanding the pardon; and that it was not within the constitutional power of congress thus to inflict punishment beyond the reach of executive clemency. i had the honor to deliver the opinion of the court in these cases--the cummings case and the garland case. at the present day both opinions are generally admitted to be sound, but when announced they were received by a portion of the northern press with apparent astonishment and undisguised condemnation. it is difficult to appreciate at this day the fierceness with which the majority of the court was assailed. that majority consisted of justices wayne, nelson, grier, clifford, and myself. i was particularly taken to task, however, as it was supposed--at least i can only so infer from the tone of the press--that because i had been appointed by mr. lincoln, i was under some sort of moral obligation to support all the measures taken by the states or by congress during the war. the following, respecting the opinion in the garland case, from the editor of the _daily chronicle_, of washington, to the _press_, of philadelphia, under date of january , , is moderate in its language compared with what appeared in many other journals: "dred scott number three has just been enacted in the supreme court of the united states, justice field, of california, taking the leading part as the representative of the majority decision against the constitutionality of the iron-clad test-oath, to prevent traitors from practicing before that high tribunal. i understand it takes the ground that, as the law is a living or profession, the oath cannot be insisted upon to take that living away, and that the president's pardon restores all such rights. the country has been repeatedly admonished that such a decision would be made about this time; nevertheless, a very considerable sensation was created when it was officially enunciated. all these movements are but preparations for a counter-revolution in the interest of slavery and treason." ---- "i learn that the opinion of justice field against the test-oath, like that against military trials in time of war, goes outside of the immediate case in issue, and indulges in a fierce onslaught upon test-oaths in general. if so, it will only add another reason for such a re-organization as will prevent the judges in the last resort from becoming the mere agents of party, or the mere defenders of rebellion. the adage constantly quoted, yet never out of fashion, that 'whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad,' is having a pointed illustration in these successive judicial assaults upon the rights of the people. although the supreme judges hold for life, there is at once precedent, necessity, and law for such a change in the present system as will in a short time make it a fearless interpreter of republican institutions, instead of the defender and apologist of treason." the decisions were announced on the th of january, . on the d of the month, mr. boutwell, from massachusetts, introduced a bill into the house far more stringent in its provisions than the act of congress just declared invalid. it was a pitiable exhibition of hate and vengeance against all persons who had been engaged, directly or indirectly, in the rebellion. it declared that no person who had been thus engaged should be permitted to act as an attorney and counsellor in any courts of the united states; and made it the duty of the judges, when it was suggested in open court, or when they had reason to believe that any person was thus debarred, to enquire and ascertain whether he had been so engaged, and if the court was of opinion that such was the fact, he was to be excluded. the court was thus, upon the suggestion of any one, to be turned into a tribunal for the summary trial of the accused without the ordinary safeguards for the protection of his rights. in introducing it mr. boutwell, referring to the decision of the court, said that-- "if there be five judges upon the bench of the highest tribunal who have not that respect for themselves to enact rules, and to enforce proper regulations, by which they will protect themselves from the contamination of conspirators and traitors against the government of the country, then the time has already arrived when the legislative department of the government should exercise its power to declare who shall be officers of the government in the administration of the law in the courts of the union; and this bill is for that purpose." and he called for the previous question upon it. in subsequently advocating its passage, he said: "i say here upon my responsibility, with reference to the recent decision of the supreme court, that it is an offence to the dignity and respectability of the nation that this tribunal, under the general authority vested in it under the constitution and laws, does not protect itself from the contamination of rebels and traitors, until the rebellion itself shall be suppressed and those men shall be restored to their former rights as citizens of the country." this language was used in , and the last gun of the war had been fired in may, . it showed the irritation of violent partisans of the north against the court because it gave no sanction to their vindictive and proscriptive measures. the bill was passed, under a suspension of the rules, by a vote of to .[ ] the reconstruction acts, so-called--that is, "an act to provide for the more efficient government of the rebel states," of march d, , and an act of the d of the same month, supplementary to the former--were at once attacked, as may well be supposed, as invalid, unconstitutional, and arbitrary measures of the government; and various steps were taken at an early day to bring them to the test of judicial examination and arrest their enforcement. those acts divided the late insurgent states, except tennessee, into five military districts, and placed them under military control to be exercised until constitutions, containing various provisions stated, were adopted and approved by congress, and the states declared to be entitled to representation in that body. in the month of april following the state of georgia filed a bill in the supreme court, invoking the exercise of its original jurisdiction, against stanton, secretary of war, grant, general of the army, and pope, major-general, assigned to the command of the third military district, consisting of the states of georgia, florida, and alabama; to restrain those officers from carrying into effect the provisions of those acts. the bill set forth the existence of the state of georgia as one of the states of the union; the civil war in which she, with other states forming the confederate states, had been engaged with the government of the united states; the surrender of the confederate armies in , and her submission afterwards to the constitution and laws of the union; the withdrawal of the military government from georgia by the president as commander-in-chief of the army of the united states; the re-organization of the civil government of the state under his direction and with his sanction; and that the government thus re-organized was in the full possession and enjoyment of all the rights and privileges, executive, legislative, and judicial, belonging to a state in the union under the constitution, with the exception of a representation in the senate and house of representatives. the bill alleged that the acts were designed to overthrow and annul the existing government of the state, and to erect another and a different government in its place, unauthorized by the constitution and in defiance of its guarantees; that the defendants, acting under orders of the president, were about to set in motion a portion of the army to take military possession of the state, subvert her government, and subject her people to military rule. the presentation of this bill and the argument on the motion of the attorney-general to dismiss it produced a good deal of hostile comment against the judges, which did not end when the motion was granted. it was held that the bill called for judgment upon a political question, which the court had no jurisdiction to entertain.[ ] soon afterwards the validity of the reconstruction acts was again presented in the celebrated mcardle case, and in such a form that the decision of the question could not well be avoided. in november, , mcardle had been arrested and held in custody by a military commission organized in mississippi under the reconstruction acts, for trial upon charges of ( ) disturbance of the public peace; ( ) inciting to insurrection, disorder, and violence; ( ) libel; and ( ) impeding reconstruction. he thereupon applied to the circuit court of the united states for the district of mississippi for a writ of habeas corpus, in order that he might be discharged from his alleged illegal imprisonment. the writ was accordingly issued, but on the return of the officer showing the authority under which the petitioner was held, he was ordered to be remanded. from that judgment he appealed to the supreme court. of course, if the reconstruction acts were invalid, the petitioner could not be held, and he was entitled to his discharge. the case excited great interest throughout the country. judge sharkey and robert j. walker, of mississippi, david dudley field and charles o'connor, of new york, and jeremiah s. black, of pennsylvania, appeared for the appellant; and matthew h. carpenter, of wisconsin, lyman trumbull, of illinois, and henry stanbery, the attorney-general, appeared for the other side. the hearing of it occupied four days, and seldom has it been my fortune during my judicial life, now ( ) of nearly twenty years, to listen to arguments equal in learning, ability, and eloquence. the whole subject was exhausted. as the arguments were widely published in the public journals, and read throughout the country, they produced a profound effect. the impression was general that the reconstruction acts could not be sustained; that they were revolutionary and destructive of a republican form of government in the states, which the constitution required the federal government to guarantee. i speak now merely of the general impression. i say nothing of the fact, as the court never expressed its opinion in judgment. the argument was had on the d, d, th, and th of march, , and it ought to have been decided in regular course of proceedings when it was reached on the second subsequent consultation day, the st. the judges had all formed their conclusions, and no excuse was urged that more time was wanted for examination. in the meantime an act was quietly introduced into the house, and passed, repealing so much of the law of february th, , as authorized an appeal to the supreme court from the judgment of the circuit court on writs of _habeas corpus_, or the exercise of jurisdiction on appeals already taken. the president vetoed the bill, but congress passed it over his veto, and it became a law on the th of the month.[ ] whilst it was pending in congress the attention of the judges was called to it, and in consultation on the st they postponed the decision of the case until it should be disposed of. it was then that mr. justice grier wrote the following protest, which he afterwards read in court: in re } mcardle.} protest of mr. justice geier. this case was fully argued in the beginning of this month. it is a case that involves the liberty and rights not only of the appellant, but of millions of our fellow-citizens. the country and the parties had a right to expect that it would receive the immediate and solemn attention of this court. by the postponement of the case we shall subject ourselves, whether justly or unjustly, to the imputation that we have evaded the performance of a duty imposed on us by the constitution, and waited for legislation to interpose to supersede our action and relieve us from our responsibility. i am not willing to be a partaker either of the eulogy or opprobrium that may follow; and can only say: "pudet haec opprobria nobis, et dici potuisse; et non potuisse repelli."[ ] r.c. grier. i am of the same opinion with my brother grier, and unite in his protest. field, j. after the passage of the repealing act, the case was continued; and at the ensuing term the appeal was dismissed for want of jurisdiction.--( wall., .) the record had been filed early in the term, and, as the case involved the liberty of the citizen, it was advanced on the calendar on motion of the appellant. from that time until its final disposition the judges were subjected to close observation, and most of them to unfriendly comment. their every action and word were watched and canvassed as though national interests depended upon them. i was myself the subject of a most extraordinary exhibition of feeling on the part of members of the lower house of congress, the immediate cause of which was a circumstance calculated to provoke merriment. towards the close of january, , i was invited to a dinner given by mr. samuel ward to the secretary of the treasury, mr. mccullough. it was understood that the dinner was to be one of unusual excellence, and that gentlemen of distinction in congress would be present. as some of the invited guests desired to go to new york on the same evening, the hour was fixed at five. a distinguished party assembled at that time at the rooms of welcker, a noted restaurateur in washington. our host, mr. ward, was a character deserving of special notice. he had been a member of the noted firm of bankers, prime, ward & king, of new york; and afterwards represented our government in brazil. he was an accomplished linguist, familiar with several languages, ancient and modern. he was a profound mathematician, and had read, without the assistance of bowditch's translation, laplace's celebrated work, the "mécanique céleste." he passed most of his time during the sessions of congress in washington, looking after the interests of bankers and others in new york, as they might be affected by pending legislation. though called "king of the lobby," he had little of the character of the lobbyist. he was a gentleman in manners and education, and as such he always drew the company of gentlemen to his entertainments. on the occasion mentioned, some of the brightest spirits of congress were present. as we took our seats at the table i noticed on the menu a choice collection of wines, johannisberg among others. the dinner was sumptuous and admirably served. our host saw that the appropriate wine accompanied the successive courses. as the dinner progressed, and the wine circulated, the wit of the guests sparkled. story and anecdote, laughter and mirth abounded, and each guest seemed joyous and happy. at about eight song had been added to other manifestations of pleasure. i then concluded that i had better retire. so i said to my host, that if he would excuse me, i would seek the open air; and i left. just at this moment mr. rodman m. price, formerly governor of new jersey, made his appearance and exclaimed, "how is this? i was invited to dinner at eight"--producing his card of invitation. "look again," said ward, "and you will see that your eight is a five," and so it was, "but never mind," said ward; "the dinner is not over. judge field has just left. take his seat." and so price took my place. he had been travelling in the southern states, and had been an observer of the proceedings of various state conventions then in session to frame constitutions under the reconstruction acts, which he termed "congo conventions." to the amusement of the party he gave an account of some curious scenes he had witnessed in these conventions; and wound up one or two of his stories by expressing his opinion that the whole reconstruction measures would soon be "smashed up" and sent to "kingdom come" by the supreme court. the loud mirth and the singing attracted the attention of news-hunters for the press--item gatherers in the rooms below. unfortunately one of these gentlemen looked into the banquet-hall just as price had predicted the fate of the reconstruction measures at the hands of the supreme court. he instantly smelt news, and enquired of one of the waiters the name of the gentleman who had thus proclaimed the action of the court. the waiter quietly approached the seat of the governor, and, whilst he was looking in another direction, abstracted the card near his plate which bore my name. here was, indeed, a grand item for a sensational paragraph. straight way the newsgatherer communicated it to a newspaper in washington, and it appeared under an editorial notice. it was also telegraphed to a paper in baltimore. but it was too good to be lost in the columns of a newspaper. mr. scofield, a member of congress from pennsylvania, on the th of january, , asked and obtained unanimous consent of the house to present the following preamble and resolution: "whereas it is editorially stated in the _evening express_, a newspaper published in this city, on the afternoon of wednesday, january , as follows: 'at a private gathering of gentlemen of both political parties, one of the justices of the supreme court spoke very freely concerning the reconstruction measures of congress, and declared in the most positive terms that all those laws were unconstitutional, and that the court would be sure to pronounce them so. some of his friends near him suggested that it was quite indiscreet to speak so positively; when he at once repeated his views in a more emphatic manner; 'and whereas several cases under said reconstruction measures are now pending in the supreme court: therefore, be it-- "_resolved_, that the committee on the judiciary be directed to enquire into the truth of the declarations therein contained, and report whether the facts as ascertained constitute such a misdemeanor in office as to require this house to present to the senate articles of impeachment against said justice of the supreme court; and that the committee have power to send for persons and papers, and have leave to report at any time." an excited debate at once sprung up in the house, and in the course of it i was stated to be the offending justice referred to. thereupon the members for california vouched for my loyalty during the war. other members wished to know whether an anonymous article in a newspaper was to be considered sufficient evidence to authorize a committee of the house to enquire into the private conversation of members of the supreme court. the mover of the resolution, mr. scofield, declared that he knew nothing of the truth of the statement in the paper, but deemed it sufficient authority for his action, and moved the previous question on the resolution. several of the members protested against the resolution, declaring that it was unworthy of the house to direct an investigation into the conduct of a judicial officer upon a mere newspaper statement. but it was of no use. the resolution was adopted by a vote of to -- not voting. some members, indeed, voted for its passage, stating that it was due to myself that i should be vindicated from the charge implied in the debate; the force of which reason i have never been able to appreciate. the resolution was evidently intended to intimidate me, and to act as a warning to all the judges as to what they might expect if they presumed to question the wisdom or validity of the reconstruction measures of congress. what little effect it had on me my subsequent course in the mcardle case probably showed to the house. i had only one feeling for the movement--that of profound contempt; and i believe that a similar feeling was entertained by every right-thinking person having any knowledge of the proceeding. the facts of the case soon became generally known, and created a good deal of merriment in washington. but all through the country the wildest stories were circulated. communications of a sensational character relating to the matter were published in the leading journals. here is one which appeared in the new york _evening post_ from its correspondent: "it is the intention of the committee to examine the matter thoroughly, and in view of this a large number of witnesses have been summoned to appear on friday. "the friends of justice field are endeavoring to hush the matter up, and, if possible, to avert an investigation; but in this they will be disappointed, for the members of the judiciary committee express themselves firmly determined to sift the case, and will not hesitate to report articles of impeachment against justice field if the statements are proved." other papers called for the strictest scrutiny and the presentation of articles of impeachment, representing that i was terribly frightened by the threatened exposure. so for some months i was amused reading about my supposed terrible excitement in anticipation of a threatened removal from office. but, as soon as the author of the objectionable observations was ascertained, the ridiculous nature of the subsequent proceedings became manifest. the chairman of the judiciary committee, mr. wilson, of iowa, occupied a seat next to me at mr. ward's dinner, and knew, of course, that, so far as i was concerned, the whole story was without foundation. and so he said to his associates on the judiciary comnfittee. near the close of the session--on june th, --the committee were discharged from the further consideration of the resolution, and it was laid on the table--a proceeding which was equivalent to its indefinite postponement. the amusing mistake which gave rise to this episode in the lower house of congress would be unworthy of the notice i have taken of it, except that it illustrates the virulent and vindictive spirit which occasionally burst forth for some time after the close of the war, and which, it is to be greatly regretted, is not yet wholly extinguished. [ ] congressional globe, th congress, d session, part i., pp. - . when the bill reached the senate it was referred to the judiciary committee, and by them to a sub-committee of which mr. stewart, senator from nevada, was chairman. he retained it until late in the session, and upon his advice, the committee then recommended its indefinite postponement. the bill was thus disposed of. [ ] th wallace, . [ ] stats. at large, . [ ] "it fills us with shame that these reproaches can be uttered, and cannot be repelled." the words are found in ovid's metamorphoses, book i., lines - . in some editions the last word is printed _refelli_. the moulin vexation. soon after my appointment to the bench of the u.s. supreme court, i had a somewhat remarkable experience with a frenchman by the name of alfred moulin. it seems that this man, sometime in the year had shipped several sacks of onions and potatoes on one of the mail steamers, from san francisco to panama. during the voyage the ship's store of fresh provisions ran out, and the captain appropriated the vegetables, and out of this appropriation originated a long and bitter prosecution, or rather persecution, on the part of moulin, who proved to be not only one of the most malignant, but one of the most persevering and energetic men i have ever known. upon the return of the steamer from panama to san francisco, moulin presented himself at the steamship company's office, and complained, as he properly might, of the appropriation of his property, and demanded compensation. the company admitted his claim and expressed a willingness to make him full compensation; but when it came to an adjustment of it, moulin preferred one so extravagant that it could not be listened to. the property at the very most was not worth more than one or two hundred dollars, but moulin demanded thousands; and when this was refused, he threatened messrs. forbes and babcock, the agents of the company, with personal violence. these threats he repeated from time to time for two or three years, until at length becoming annoyed and alarmed by his fierce manner, they applied to the police court and had him bound over to keep the peace. notwithstanding he was thus put upon his good behavior, moulin kept continually making his appearance and reiterating his demands at the steamship company's office. forbes and babcock repeatedly told him to go to a lawyer and commence suit for his claim; but moulin refused to do so, saying that he could attend to his own business as well as, and he thought better than, any lawyer. at length, to get rid of further annoyance, they told him he had better go to new york and see mr. aspinwall, the owner of the vessel, about the matter; and, to enable him to do so, gave him a free ticket over the entire route from san francisco to that city. upon arriving in new york, moulin presented himself to mr. aspinwall and asked that his claim should be allowed. mr. aspinwall said that he knew nothing about his claim and that he did not want to be bothered with it. moulin still insisted, and mr. aspinwall told him to go away. moulin thereupon became excited, said he was determined to be paid, and that he would not be put off. he thereupon commenced a regular system of annoyance. when mr. aspinwall started to go home from his office, moulin walked by his side along the street. when aspinwall got into an omnibus, moulin got in also; when aspinwall got out, moulin got out too. on the following morning, when aspinwall left his residence to go to his office, moulin was on hand, and taking his place, marched along by his side as before. if aspinwall hailed an omnibus and got in, moulin got in at the same time. if aspinwall got out and hailed a private carriage, moulin got out and hailed another carriage, and ordered the driver to keep close to mr. aspinwall's carriage. in fact, wherever aspinwall went moulin went also, and it seemed as if nothing could tire him out or deter him from his purpose. at length mr. aspinwall, who had become nervous from the man's actions, exclaimed, "my god, this man is crazy; he will kill me;" and calling him into the office, asked him what he wanted in thus following and persecuting him. moulin answered that he wanted pay for his onions and potatoes. aspinwall replied, "but i don't know anything about your onions and potatoes; how should i? go back to my agents in california, and they will do what is right. i will direct them to do so." "but," said moulin, "i have no ticket to go to california;" and thereupon aspinwall gave him a free ticket back to san francisco. moulin departed, and in due course of time again presented himself to forbes and babcock, in san francisco. at the re-appearance of the man, they were more annoyed than ever; but finally managed to induce him to commence a suit in the united states district court. when the case was called, by an understanding between his lawyer and the lawyer of the steamship company, judgment was allowed to be entered in moulin's favor for four hundred and three dollars and a half, besides costs. the amount thus awarded greatly exceeded the actual value of the onions and potatoes appropriated. it was thought by the defendant that on the payment of so large a sum, the whole matter would be ended. but moulin was very far from being satisfied. he insisted that the judgment ought to have been for three thousand and nine hundred dollars, besides interest, swelling the amount to over six thousand dollars, and applied to judge hoffman of the district court to set it aside. but as the judgment had been rendered for the full value of the property taken, as admitted by his lawyer, the judge declined to interfere. this was in . in i received my appointment as judge of the supreme court of the united states, and was assigned to the circuit embracing the district of california. moulin then appealed to the circuit court from the judgment in his favor, and at the first term i held, a motion was made to dismiss the appeal. i decided that the appeal was taken too late, and dismissed it. moulin immediately went to mr. gorham, the clerk of the court, for a copy of the papers, insisting that there was something wrong in the decision. gorham asked him what he meant, and he replied that i had no right to send him out of court, and that there was something wrong in the matter, but he could not tell exactly what it was. at this insinuation, gorham told him to leave the office, and in such a tone, that he thought proper to go at once and not stand upon the order of his going. the following year, after mr. delos lake had been appointed united states district attorney, moulin went to his office to complain of gorham and myself; but lake, after listening to his story, told him to go away. two or three years afterwards he again presented himself to lake and demanded that judge hoffman, gorham, and myself should be prosecuted. lake drove him a second time from his office; and thereupon he went before the united states grand jury and complained of all four of us. as the grand jury, after listening to his story for a while, dismissed him in disgust, be presented himself before their successors at a subsequent term and complained of them. from the federal court he proceeded to the state tribunals; and first of all he went to the county court of san francisco with a large bundle of papers and detailed his grievances against the united states judges, clerks, district attorney and grand jury. judge stanley, who was then county judge, after listening to moulin's story, told the bailiff to take possession of the papers, and when he had done so, directed him to put them into the stove, where they were soon burned to ashes. moulin then complained of stanley. at the same time, one of the city newspapers, the "evening bulletin," made some comments upon his ridiculous and absurd proceedings, and moulin at once sued the editors. he also brought suit against the district judge, district attorney and his assistant, myself, the clerk of the court, the counsel against him in the suit with the steamship company and its agents, and numerous other parties who had been connected with his various legal movements. and whenever the united states grand jury met, he besieged it with narratives of his imaginary grievances; and, when they declined to listen to him, he complained of them. the courts soon became flooded with his voluminous and accumulated complaints against judges, clerks, attorneys, jurors, editors, and, in fact, everybody who had any connection with him, however remote, who refused to listen to them and accede to his demands. by this course moulin attracted a good deal of attention, and an inquiry was suggested and made as to whether he was _compos mentis_. the parties who made the inquiry reported that he was not insane, but was actuated by a fiendish malignity, a love of notoriety and the expectation of extorting money by blackmail. for years--indeed until september, --he continued to besiege and annoy the grand juries of the united states courts with his imaginary grievances, until he became an intolerable nuisance. his exemption from punishment had emboldened him to apply to the officers of the court--the judges, clerks, and jurors--the most offensive and insulting language. papers filled with his billingsgate were scattered all through the rooms of the court, on the desks of the judges, and on the seats of jurors and spectators. it seemed impossible, under existing law, to punish him, for his case did not seem to fall within the class of contempts for which it provided. but in september of his insolence carried him beyond the limits of impunity. in that month he came to the united states circuit court, where judge sawyer (then united states circuit judge) and myself were sitting, and asked that the grand jury which was about to be discharged might be detained; as he proposed to have us indicted for corruption, and commenced reading a long string of vituperative and incoherent charges of criminal conduct. the proceeding was so outrageous that we could not overlook it. we accordingly adjudged him guilty of contempt, fined him five hundred dollars, and ordered him to be committed to prison until the fine should be paid. whilst in prison, and not long after his commitment, he was informed that upon making a proper apology for his conduct, he would he discharged. instead, however, of submitting to this course, he commenced writing abusive articles to the newspapers, and sending petitions to the legislature charging us with arbitrary and criminal conduct. his articles were of such a character as to create quite erroneous impressions of our action. the newspapers, not waiting to ascertain the facts, at first took sides with him and assailed us. these attacks, of course, had no effect upon the man's case; but, after he had remained in prison for several weeks, on understanding that his health was infirm, and being satisfied that he had been sufficiently punished, we ordered his discharge. the hastings malignity. whilst the moulin matter was in progress, an individual by the name of william hastings was practising before the united states courts. he had been, as i am told, a sailor, and was then what is known as a "sailor's lawyer." he was a typical specimen of that species of the profession called, in police court parlance, "shysters." he was always commencing suits for sailors who had wrongs to redress, and particularly for steerage passengers who complained that they had not had sufficient accommodations and proper fare. he generally took their cases on speculation, and succeeded very often in forcing large sums from vessels libelled, as he was generally careful to bring his actions so as to arrest the vessels on the eve of their departure, when the payment of a few hundred dollars was a much cheaper mode of proceeding for the captains than detention even for a few days. but in one of his suits in the united states district court, in the year , brought for a steerage passenger against a vessel from australia, the captain declined to be blackmailed and defended himself. when the matter came on for hearing, hastings was found to have no cause of action, and the case was thereupon dismissed by judge hoffman. hastings then appealed to the united states circuit court, and that court affirmed the judgment of the district court. this happened as i was about leaving for europe; and i left supposing that i had heard the last of the case. during my absence, hastings moved judge hoffman, of the united states district court, from whose decision the appeal had been taken, to vacate the decision of the united states circuit court. this, of course, judge hoffman refused. hastings thereupon made a motion that my decision should be set aside, on the ground that it was rendered by fraud and corruption. when judge hoffman became aware of the charges thus made, he was indignant and immediately cited hastings before him to show cause why he should not be disbarred and punished for contempt. hastings refused to make any explanation or withdraw his offensive language; and thereupon judge hoffman expelled him from the bar and ordered his name to be stricken from the roll of attorneys. i was then absent in europe, and knew nothing whatever of the proceedings. about this time mr. george w. julian, a member of congress from indiana, came to california and pretended to be a great friend of the settlers. he obtained the confidence of that large class of the community, and especially of those who were known as the suscol claimants. these were the men who, upon the rejection by the united states supreme court of the so-called suscol grant, in napa and solano counties, rushed in and squatted upon the most valuable land in the state. the title to this land had previously been considered as good as any in california; it had been held valid by the local tribunals, and also by the board of land commissioners and by the district court of the united states. on the strength of these confirmations the land had been divided into farms, upon which, besides cultivated fields, there were numerous orchards, vineyards, gardens, and two cities, each of which had been the capital of the state. the farms and city lots had been sold, in good faith, to purchasers at full value. but when the question came before the united states supreme court, and it appeared that the grant had been made to general vallejo, in consideration of military services, and for moneys advanced to the mexican government, and not for colonization purposes, it was held that there was no authority under the mexican laws for such a disposition of the public domain, and that the grant was, therefore, invalid. at the same time judge grier filed a dissenting opinion, in which he expressed a hope that congress would not allow those who had purchased in good faith from vallejo, and expended their money in improving the land, to be deprived of it. congress at once acted upon the suggestion thus made and passed an act allowing the grantees of vallejo to purchase the lands occupied by them at a specified sum per acre. mr. john b. frisbie, vallejo's son-in-law, who had bought and sold large quantities, took immediate steps to secure himself and his grantees by purchasing the lands and obtaining patents for them. in the meanwhile the squatters had located themselves all over the property; most of them placing small shanties on the land in the night-time, near the houses, gardens, and vineyards, and on cultivated fields of the vallejo grantees. they then filed claims in the land office as pre-emptioners, under the general land laws of the united states, and insisted that, as their settlements were previous to the act of congress, their rights to the land were secure. in this view julian, when he came to california, encouraged them, and, as was generally reported and believed, in consideration of a portion of the land to be given to him in case of success, undertook to defend their possessions.[ ] when frisbie applied, under the provisions of the act of congress, for a patent to the land, a man named whitney, one of the squatters, protested against its issue, on the ground that under the pre-emption laws he, whitney, having settled upon the land, had acquired a vested right, of which congress could not deprive him. but the land department took a different view of the matter and issued the patent to frisbie. whitney thereupon commenced a suit against frisbie in the supreme court of the district of columbia to have him declared a trustee of the land thus patented, and to compel him, as such trustee, to execute a conveyance to the complainant. the supreme court of the district of columbia decided the case in favor of whitney, and ordered frisbie to execute a conveyance; but on appeal to the supreme court the decision was reversed; and it was held that a pre-emptioner did not acquire any vested right as against the united states by making his settlement, nor until he had complied with all the requirements of the law, including the payment of the purchase-money; and that until then congress could reserve the land from settlement, appropriate it to the uses of the government, or make any other disposition thereof which it pleased. the court, therefore, adjudged that the suscol act was valid, that the purchasers from vallejo had the first right of entry, and that frisbie was accordingly the owner of the land purchased by him. soon after the decision was rendered julian rose in his seat in the house of representatives and denounced it as a second dred scott decision, and applied to the members of the court remarks that were anything but complimentary. it so happened that previous to this decision a similar suit had been decided in favor of frisbie by the supreme court of california, in which a very able and elaborate opinion was rendered by the chief justice. i did not see the opinion until long after it was delivered, and had nothing whatever to do with it; but in some way or other, utterly inexplicable to me, it was rumored that i had been consulted by the chief justice with respect to that case, and that the decision had been made through my instrumentality. with this absurd rumor hastings, after he had been disbarred by judge hoffman, went on to washington. there he joined julian; and after concocting a long series of charges against judge hoffman and myself, he placed them in julian's hands, who took charge of them with alacrity. the two worthies were now to have their vengeance--hastings for his supposed personal grievances and julian for the suscol decision which injured his pocket. these charges on being signed by hastings were presented to congress by julian; and at his request they were referred to the judiciary committee. that committee investigated them, considered the whole affair a farce, and paid no further attention to it. but the next year mr. holman, of indiana, who succeeded julian, the latter having failed of a re-election, re-introduced hastings' memorial at julian's request and had it referred to the judiciary committee, with express instructions to report upon it. hastings appeared for the second time before that committee and presented a long array of denunciatory statements, in which judge hoffman, myself, and others were charged with all sorts of misdemeanors. the committee permitted him to go to any length he pleased, untrammelled by any rules of evidence; and he availed himself of the license to the fullest extent. there was hardly an angry word that had been spoken by a disappointed or malicious litigant against whom we had ever decided, that hastings did not rake up and reproduce; and there was hardly an epithet or a term of villification which he did not in some manner or other manage to lug into his wholesale charges. as a specimen of his incoherent and wild ravings, he charged that "the affairs of the federal courts for the district of california were managed principally in the interests of foreign capitalists and their co-conspirators, and that the judges thereof appeared to be under the control of said foreign capitalists, and that the said courts and the process thereof were being used or abused to deprive the government of the united states and the citizens thereof of the property that legally and equitably belonged to them respectively, and to transfer the same, in violation of law and through a perversion of public justice, to said foreign capitalists and their confederates and co-conspirators, and that nearly the whole of the sovereign powers of the state were under the control and management of said foreign capitalists and their confederates and co-conspirators;" and he alleged that he "was aware of the existence in the united states of a well-organized, oath-bound band of confederated public officials who are in league with the subjects of foreign powers, and who conspire against the peace, prosperity, and best interests of the united states, and who prey upon and plunder the government of the united states and the city and county governments thereof, and also upon private citizens, and who now are carrying into practice gigantic schemes of plunder through fraud, usurpation, and other villainy, in order to enrich themselves, bankrupt the nation, and destroy our government, and that their power is so great that they can and do obstruct the administration of public justice, corrupt its fountains, and paralyze to some extent the sovereign powers of the government of the united states and the people thereof." the judiciary committee after having patiently listened to this rigmarole, absurd and ludicrous as it was, unanimously reported that hastings' memorial should be laid upon the table and the committee discharged from any further consideration of the subject. the house adopted the report, and, so far as congress was concerned, there the matter dropped. but in the meanwhile it had been telegraphed all over the country that articles of impeachment were pending against the judges, and sensational newspaper articles appeared in different parts of the country. some expressed regret that the conduct of the judges had been of a character to necessitate such proceedings. others said it was not to be wondered at that the judicial ermine should be soiled in a country of such loose morals as california. still others thought it no more than proper to impeach a few of the judges, in order to teach the remainder of them a salutary lesson. these articles were paraded in large type and with the most sensational headings. when the action of the house on the memorial was announced, hastings and julian became furious. it then appeared that the only charge which had made any impression upon the minds of the committee was that relating to moulin, the frenchman. three, indeed, of the members, (messrs. voorhees, of indiana, potter, of new york, and peters, of maine,) said it was a shame and disgrace that such ridiculous and monstrous twaddle should be listened to for a moment; but a majority considered it their duty, under the order of reference, to hear the matter patiently. they had, therefore, allowed hastings the widest latitude and listened to everything that his malice could invent. as a comical conclusion to these extraordinary proceedings, hastings commenced a suit in the u.s. circuit court for the state of new york against the judiciary committee for dismissing his memorial. being a non-resident he was required by that court to give security for costs, and as that was not given the action was dismissed. this result was so distasteful to him that he presented a petition to the chief justice of the u.s. supreme court, stating that judge hunt had too much to do with churches, banks, and rings, and asking that some other judge might be appointed to hold the court. the petition was regarded as unique in its character, and caused a great deal of merriment. but the chief justice sent it back, with an answer that he had no jurisdiction of the matter. after this hastings took up his residence in new york, and at different times worried the judges there by suits against them--judge blatchford, among others--generally charging in his peculiar way a conspiracy between them and others to injure him and the rest of mankind. * * * * * the above was written upon my dictation in the summer of . in november of that year hastings again appeared at washington and applied to a senator to move his admission to the supreme court. the senator inquired if he was acquainted with any of the judges, and was informed in reply of that gentleman's proceedings against myself; whereupon the senator declined to make the motion. hastings then presented to the house of representatives a petition to be relieved from his allegiance as a citizen of the united states. as illustrative of the demented character of the man's brain, some portions of the petition are given. after setting forth his admission to the supreme court of california as an attorney and counsellor-at-law, and his taking the oath then required, he proceeded to state that on the th of november, , he entered the chamber of the supreme court of the united states to apply for admission as an attorney and counsellor of that court; that he was introduced by a friend to a senator, with a request that the senator would move his admission; that the senator asked him if he knew a certain justice of the supreme court, and upon being informed that he did, and that his relations with said justice were not friendly, as he had endeavored to get him impeached, and that the damaging evidence he produced against such justice had been secreted and covered up by the judiciary committee of the house, whom he had accordingly sued, the petition continued as follows: "whereupon said senator replied, i have a cause to argue as counsel before this court this morning, and i would, therefore, prefer not to move your admission. said senator then and there arose and took his seat in front of the bench of said court; and your petitioner remained in said u.s. supreme court until one application for admission was made and granted on motion of one s.p. nash, of tweed-sweeney ring settlement fame [thereby demonstrating poetic injustice], and until the chief justice of the united states--shadow not shade of selden--called the first case on the docket for that day, and a moment or two after the argument of said cause commenced, your petitioner arose and left the court-room of said united states supreme court, (to which the genius of a marshall and a story has bid a long farewell,) and as your petitioner journeyed towards his hotel, your petitioner soliloquized thus: 'senator w---- is evidently afraid of justice ----, with whom i have had a difficulty, and he possesses neither the manly independence of a freeman, nor moral nor physical courage, and he is, therefore, an improper person (possibly infamous) for such a high and responsible position, and my rights as a citizen are not safe in the keeping of such a poltroon and conniving attorney, and he is probably disqualified to hold the high and responsible office of senator of the united states--that he improperly accepts fees from clients, possibly in part for the influence which his exalted position as senator gives him as counsel for parties having cases before the u.s. supreme court, and which practice is wholly inconsistent with the faithful, impartial performance of his sworn duty as such senator; and by thus accepting fees he has placed himself in a position where his personal interests conflict with the obligations of his oath of office; while the justices of the supreme court are, i conceive, derelict in the performance of their sworn duty, for permitting such practices to be inaugurated and continued.' "cowardice taints the character with moral turpitude; and i believe the facts related above show that said senator is a coward; at all events he lacks moral courage, and is afraid of the justices of the united states supreme court, whose judge the senator-attorney of the court becomes in case of trial of any of said justices by impeachment; surely this is one unclean body incestuously holding illicit commerce with another unclean body, and both become interchangeably soiled, and too impure to touch the spotless robes of the judicial ermine; still, as this government has ceased to be a government of law and justice, and has become a foul and unclean machine of corrupt compromises, carried on by colluding and conniving shyster bartering attorneys, the practice of said supreme court of the united states, above referred to, is strictly in accord therewith." the petition continued in a similar strain, and wound up by asking the passage of a concurrent resolution of the houses releasing him from his allegiance to the united states! [ ] see exhibit l, in appendix. appendix. exhibit a. [from the new york _evening post_ of november th, .] among the passengers leaving in the crescent city to-day is stephen j. field, esq., of this city, brother and late law-partner of d.d. field, esq., one of the commissioners of the code of practice. mr. field is on his way to san francisco, where he proposes to practise his profession, and take up his future residence. if he should realize either the hopes or the expectations of the numerous friends he leaves behind, he will achieve an early and desirable distinction in the promising land of his adoption. * * * * * exhibit b. mr. william h. parks, of marysville, has always asserted that my election as alcalde was owing to a wager for a dinner made by him with a friend. he was at the time engaged in transporting goods to the mines from the landing at nye's ranch on the yuba river, called yubaville, and arriving at the latter place whilst the election was going on he made the wager that i would be elected, and voted all his teamsters, numbering eleven, for me. as i had a majority of only nine, he claims that he had the honor of giving me my first office. the claim must be allowed, unless the person with whom he wagered offset this number, or at least some of the teamsters, by votes for my opponent. after the election mr. parks introduced himself to me, and from that time to this he has been a warm and steadfast friend. he afterwards settled in sutter county, but now resides in marysville. he has amassed a handsome fortune, and takes an interest in all public affairs. he has represented his county as a senator in the legislature of the state. he is a gentleman of high character and has the confidence and respect of the community. my opponent for the office of alcalde was mr. c.b. dodson, from illinois. i afterwards met him only once or twice in california, and knew little of his history. but when i was a member of the electoral commission, in february of this year ( ), a copy of a paper published in geneva, illinois--the _republican_, of the th of that month--was sent to me, containing the following account of him, from which it appears that he, too, has lived a life of strange vicissitudes and stirring adventure: reminiscences. an account of the various positions of the selected arbitrators says that in judge field was elected alcalde and recorder of marysville, california. judge field's competitor for the position was our townsman, capt. c.b. dodson, who was defeated by nine votes. as there is no doubt that had the captain gained the position of alcalde he would have risen as his competitor did, to various judicial positions, and finally to the arbitrator's seat, these nine votes must be considered as the only reasons why geneva does not number one of her citizens among the arbitrators for the highest of the world's official positions. among the votes polled for our friend dodson on that occasion was that of macaulay, one of the family of the famous historian of england's greatest days and proudest times. the captain has been a natural and inveterate pioneer, and few citizens of the state have figured more prominently or proudly in its early annals. in , forty-three years ago, mr. dodson came to dispute with the aboriginal pottawatomies the possession of the fox river valley. white faces were rare in those days, and scarcely a squatter's cabin rose among the indian lodges. the captain built the first saw-mill on the river, and he and col. lyon were the hardy spirits about whom the early settlers clustered for encouragement and advice. in he was employed by the government to superintend the removal of the indians to council bluffs and kansas, and their successful emigration, as well as their uniform good will toward the whites prior to their removal, were largely due to his sagacity and influence among them. when capt. sutter first found the yellow gold gleaming in the dirt of his mill-race, and all the world joined in a mad rush to the mines, the venturesome spirit of capt. dodson led him to press forward with the first, and he was a "forty-niner," that pride of the old californians. in that surging crowd of wild adventurers from the ends of the earth, the captain was, as he has been among the early pioneers of illinois, a directing and controlling spirit. though he failed in his judicial aspirations for alcalde, and judge field succeeded, yet his continued exertions and marked influence caused him to leave a name richly associated with all the early history of marysville and vicinity. when the war broke out, mr. dodson was among the very first to proffer his services, and he raised the first company of cavalry which went to the front from kane county. the captain is not an old man yet in health and vigor, although an "old settler" in varied and numerous experiences. his name is marked in unmistakable characters on every prominent event of the early settlement of northern illinois, and blended and associated with all the pioneer way-marks of california. a friend and companion of all the great illinoians of the generation which is now passing into old age, he has not yet ceased to be a spirit actively mingling in all the affairs of the present times. but we only started to tell of his contest with field, not to write an eulogium on the captain, for here where he is known it is better pronounced in his record, which lies in the memories of his friends. * * * * * exhibit c. _oath of office as alcalde._ state of california, } sacramento district. } _ss._ sacramento city, _january d, _. personally appeared before me stephen j. field, first alcalde of yubaville, in the district of sacramento, and made oath that he would discharge the duties of the office of first alcalde as aforesaid with faithfulness and fidelity to the best of his ability, and that he would support the constitution of the united states and the constitution of the state of california. r.a. wilson, _judge of st instance, sacramento district._ * * * * * exhibit d. the following are the orders of the district court mentioned in the narrative. _order imprisoning and fining mr. field for alleged contempt of court._ district court, } eighth judicial district, } county of yuba. } at a term of said district court held at marysville, county of yuba, on the th of june, , present, hon. wm. b. turner, judge, the following proceeding was had: _ordered_. that stephen j. field be imprisoned forty-eight hours and fined five hundred dollars for contempt of court. * * * * * _order expelling messrs. field, goodwin, and mulford from the bar._ district court, } eighth judicial district, } county of yuba. } at a term of said court held at marysville, on the th of june, , present, hon. william r. turner, judge, the following proceeding was had: whereas, messrs. field, goodwin, and mulford, having set at defiance the authority of this court, and having vilified the court and denounced its proceedings, the said field, goodwin, and mulford are hereby, by order of the court, expelled from the bar of the same. * * * * * _order imprisoning and fining judge haun for releasing mr. field from imprisonment upon a writ of habeas corpus, and directing that the order to imprison mr. field be enforced._ district court, } eighth judicial district, } county of yuba. } at a term of said district court held at marysville, county of yuba, on the th of june, , present, hon. wm. b. turner, judge, the following proceeding was had: whereas, judge haun having, in defiance of the authority of this court, and in violation of the law, obstructed and prevented the execution of an order of this court to imprison mr. field for a contempt offered to the court while in session, by releasing the said field from the custody of the sheriff; the said haun is hereby sentenced to forty-eight hours' imprisonment and to pay a fine of fifty dollars. the sheriff will enforce the order of the court to imprison mr. field for forty-eight hours. * * * * * exhibit e. _record of proceedings in the court of sessions, mentioned in the narrative._ court of sessions of yuba county. met at marysville, june th, a.d. , at o'clock a.m., and was duly opened by r.b. buchanan, sheriff of the county. present, hon. h.p. haun, county judge, f.w. barnard, associate justice. in the matter of } stephen j. field } application for habeas corpus. on the reading of the petition of the applicant, duly authenticated by his oath, it is ordered that the prayer of the petitioner be granted, and that r.b. buchanan, sheriff of yuba county, or any person acting under him and having said field in custody, bring the said field into court forthwith, to be dealt with according to law. in pursuance of the above order, the said field came into court, and proceeded to address the court on the matter touching the cause of his confinement, and while making his remarks, and previous to the close thereof, and while the court was in session, r.b. buchanan, sheriff of yuba county, at the head of fifty men, entered the court, and stated that he came there for the purpose and with the intent to seize h.p. haun, county judge as aforesaid, and place him in close confinement, under and by virtue of a certain order or decree made by one william r. turner, judge of the eighth judicial district of the state of california. the court informed the said sheriff buchanan that it was holding its regular term, and that order must be preserved while it was in session. the said sheriff buchanan then left the court, whereupon the business before the court was again resumed. at the expiration of some five minutes, the said r.b. buchanan, as aforesaid, re-entered the court, and stated that the said h.p. haun, county judge as aforesaid, must leave the court and go with him, as he was peremptorily ordered by william r. turner, the judge as aforesaid, to arrest the said h.p. haun and keep him in close confinement for the space of forty-eight hours. r.b. buchanan was here notified that he was violating the laws of the land, and that he would be fined if he persisted in disturbing the session of the court. the reply of said buchanan was "that he could not be trifled with," and immediately seized the said h.p. haun, county judge as aforesaid, by the arm, and attempted to drag him from the room where the court was in session. whereupon a fine of two hundred dollars was then and there imposed upon the said r.b. buchanan for a contempt of court. the said r.b. buchanan then and there called upon the fifty persons ordered out by him as his posse to take hold of the said h.p. haun, and take him from the court. but the persons in attendance, conceiving the order to arrest the hon. h.p. haun to be illegal and unjustifiable, refused to assist the sheriff in the execution of his illegal order. the sheriff then retired, and the court was then adjourned to o'clock p.m. court met pursuant to adjournment. court adjourned to to-morrow morning at o'clock. i hereby certify the above to be a true transcript of the record of the proceedings of the court of sessions on the th day of june, a.d. . witness e.d. wheeler, clerk of the court of sessions of yuba county, california, with the seal of the court affixed, this th day of december, a.d. . [l.s.] e.d. wheeler, _clerk_. * * * * * the records of the district court show the following entry made the same day, june , : "a communication was received from h.p. haun, stating 'that if he was guilty of obstructing the order of the court in releasing field, he did it ignorantly, not intending any contempt by so doing.' whereupon the court ordered that h.p. haun be released from confinement, and his fine be remitted." the following is taken from the deposition of mr. wheeler, the clerk of the court, before the committee of the assembly to whom was referred the petition of citizens of yuba county for the impeachment of judge turner: march th, . e.d. wheeler,[ ] being duly sworn, says: i reside in marysville, yuba county; i am the county clerk of that county; i know wm. r. turner, judge of the eighth judicial district; i am clerk of his court in and for yuba county. question. were you in court on the th day of june last, when stephen j. field was fined by judge turner and ordered to be imprisoned? if so, please to state what took place at that time in court. ans. i was in court on the th day of june last. a motion was made in a suit (cameron against sutter) in which stephen j. field was counsel for the defendant, upon which motion a discussion arose among the members of the bar employed in the case. during the remarks of mr. field, judge turner said that it was useless to say more, as the mind of the court was made up. i think mr. field then offered to read from the statutes, whereupon judge turner ordered him to take his seat, and that a fine of two hundred dollars be entered up against him, and that he be imprisoned eight hours or thereabout. mr. field replied, "very well." then judge turner said, fine him three hundred dollars and imprison him--i do not remember the precise time--but think it was twenty-four hours. mr. field made some quiet reply--i think it was "very well;" whereupon the fine was increased to four hundred dollars and the imprisonment made something longer. i think mr. field said something about his rights at the bar, and i think he appealed to the members of the bar. then judge turner became quite furious, and in loud and boisterous language ordered the fine to be five hundred dollars and the imprisonment to be forty-eight hours, and ordered the sheriff to take him out of court. he was boisterous, and several times ordered the sheriff to take him out; to summon a posse; to summon the court, and he would turn him out. q. did you see anything disrespectful in the manner, or hear anything disrespectful in the language of mr. field which occasioned the fine and imprisonment? ans. i did not. q. did mr. field, in consequence of the order of judge turner, leave the court-room in company with the deputy sheriff? ans. he left in company with the deputy sheriff, and i suppose it was in consequence of the order of judge turner. q. was the trial of cameron against sutter proceeded with after mr. field left? ans. it was. q. who took the place of mr. field after he left? ans. john v. berry, esq. q. were you in court on the th day of june? ans. i was. q. were any members of the bar expelled by judge turner on that day? and if so, please state who they were and whether they were in court at the time, and whether or not the order was made upon a hearing of the parties. ans. there were three persons expelled, to wit: s.j. field, s.b. mulford, and j.o. goodwin. i do not recollect whether the parties were all in court at the time. i am sure that mr. goodwin was in court. there was no hearing had to my knowledge. q. after the order imprisoning mr. field, on the th of june and before the th, were any steps taken by mr. field to be discharged on a writ of habeas corpus? ans. there were, and mr. field was discharged by the judge of the county of yuba. q. what was done by judge turner with judge haun, the county judge, in consequence of his discharging mr. field from imprisonment on the writ of habeas corpus? ans. judge haun was fined fifty dollars by judge turner and ordered to be imprisoned forty-eight hours. this was on the th of june, at the same time that the other gentlemen were expelled from the bar. q. did the court of sessions of yuba county hold a session on that day? ans. yes. q. did you continue in the district court or did you go to the court of sessions? ans. i continued in the district court. q. who made up the records of the court of sessions on that day? ans. f.w. barnard, one of the associate justices of the court. q. look at this paper and state whether it is a copy of the proceedings of that court on the th of june, certified by you as the clerk. ans. it is.[ ] q. whilst you were in the district court on that day did the sheriff of yuba county give any information to the district court about the court of sessions being in session? ans. he did. q. did judge turner give any directions to the sheriff to arrest judge haun, notwithstanding he was holding his court? ans. he did, and told the sheriff to put him in irons, if necessary to handcuff him. q. were any directions given about a posse? ans. there were. he told the sheriff to summon a posse forthwith and enforce the orders of the court. he addressed two or three professional gamblers present and asked them if they would not join the posse to arrest judge haun. then the excitement became so great that several of the members of the bar requested him to adjourn the court; but before the court adjourned the judge asked several of the members of the bar to join the posse; but they made excuses, whereupon the court adjourned. q. was the order entered on the records of the district court, expelling messrs. field, goodwin, and mulford? ans. it was. q. what day was that order entered? ans. on the th day of june. q. has that order ever been vacated on the records of the district court? ans. so far as it relates to mr. goodwin it has been vacated, but no further. q. has mr. field or mr. mulford ever been restored to the bar by the district court since the order of expulsion on the th of june? ans. no. [ ] mr. wheeler is at present ( ) district judge of the nineteenth district of the state. [ ] the record of the proceedings is printed above. * * * * * exhibit f. the following is the petition to the governor mentioned in the narrative. of course the governor possessed no power to suspend a judicial officer from office. but at the time the petition was signed and sent to him the state had not been admitted into the union, and congress had not approved of the action of the people in calling a convention and framing a constitution; and it appeared very doubtful whether such approval would be given. there was a general impression that in the meantime the governor could exercise the power to remove and suspend officers of the state which the former governors under mexico possessed, or were supposed to possess. the petition, however, is none the less significant, as the expression of the opinions of the people of marysville upon the conduct of judge turner. _to his excellency peter h. burnett, governor of california._ the undersigned citizens of marysville, yuba county, in this state, respectfully request that your excellency would suspend william r. turner, district judge of the eighth judicial district of this state, from his judicial office. st. because the said william r. turner is grossly incompetent to discharge the duties of a judge, he having exhibited during his judicial career, and particularly during the session of the district court held at marysville, in yuba county, during the present month, ignorance of the most elementary principles of law,--such as to excite the derision of counsel, jurors, witnesses, and persons in attendance upon the court. d. because the said william r. turner has, during the session of the district court held at marysville, exercised the power vested in him as judge, in an arbitrary and tyrannical manner, outraging the rights of counsel, clients, and witnesses. d. because the said william r. turner has refused to hear counsel on questions of vital importance to the suits of their clients, and in one instance fined and imprisoned counsel for stating in the most respectful manner and in the most respectful language, that he appealed from an order made by him, though such is an acknowledged right of all counsel, and a right given by statute--under pretence that counsel by so doing was guilty of a contempt. th. because the said wm. r. turner has trampled upon and spurned with contempt the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus which is guaranteed to all citizens by the constitution of the united states and by the constitution of the state of california, and fined and imprisoned the hon. henry p. haun, judge of yuba county, for the exercise by him of a judicial act in discharging a gentleman from arrest under a writ of habeas corpus. th. because the said william r. turner, to carry out his arbitrary order to fine and imprison the hon. henry p. haun, judge of yuba county, for the exercise of a judicial act, ordered the sheriff of said county with a posse to invade the court of sessions of yuba county while the said court was sitting, and over which the said haun presided, and to carry off by force the said county judge and put him in close custody. th. because the said william r. turner ordered the sheriff of yuba county, with a posse, to force mr. s.j. field from the court of sessions of said county whilst said field was before said court on a writ of habeas corpus arguing for his discharge, and the said william r. turner was informed that the court of sessions forbid the sheriff from disturbing the proceedings of the court on the hearing of said writ. th. because the said william r. turner has, in the exercise of arbitrary power, expelled counsel from the bar for giving their testimony as witnesses on the return of a writ of habeas corpus before the hon. henry p. haun, judge of the county court, under pretence that by so doing they were vilifying the court and denouncing its proceedings. th. because the said william r. turner, during the session of the district court at marysville, yuba county, in the present month, frequently went into court with revolving pistols upon his person, to the great scandal of the court and of the county. for the above, and other reasons, your petitioners respectfully request that the said william r. turner may be suspended from his office, as the further exercise by him of judicial power will destroy all confidence of the community in the administration of justice, and all respect for the tribunals of the country; and your petitioners will ever pray. marysville, june th, . stephen j. field, ira a. eaton, james s. green, t.b. parker, e.w. judkins, harrington osgood, chas. w. gleason, geo. w. hastat, s. sartwell, jr., m.s. ebright, s.c. stambaugh, p. steinman, henry cuttcher, m. cunningham, ed. b. jefferds, wm. h. mitchell, benj. barker, h. cecil & co., osbourn & co., asa stearns, john bennett, jr., j.p.f. haskell, w.a. crampton, j.c. jewett, h. stenhome, john parks, absalom parks, david parks, james imbrie, alfred parry, h.c. ward, richard mcrae, wm. johnson, f. prunean, h.w. taylor, r.a. eddy, s.t. brewster, c. sala, dericerpre, m. donaldson kinney, r.m. foltz., jas. f. hibbard, thomas gaffney, allen gries, w.h. swain, oben lacey, e.s. peck, b. smith, john graham, wm. kyle, s.c. tompkins, a.c. ladd, c.b. kinnard, cyrus crouch, h.h. welch, jas. stuart, jas. debell, uriah davis, l.h. babb & co., i.b. purdy, g. dimon, henry j. williams, d.w.c. rice, n. purdy, william k. coit, james b. cushing, thomas west, s.b. mulford, j. ford, wm. ford, charles a. van dorn, gustavus b. wright, j. burlingame, g. beaulamy, a. mace, f. frossard, c.w. durkee, john s. ryder, geo. h. childs, ezra f. nye, s.t. nye, geo. w. durkee, john c. marks, john l. carpenter, leonard crofford, robert lacy, french paige, l.a. allen, james hughes, j.c. sargent, wm. p. hoyt, f.l. reed, j.s. bell, henry b. compton, g.f. kussel, reuben scott, warren drury, joel f. whitney, o.c. gardner, b.f. taber, johnson thompson, jr., ganahl & co., t.w. hall, j. donnel, wm. irwin, wm. w. nelson, r.h. mccall, b.g. bixby, geo. l. boswell, wm. w. tinker, robert s. baker, n.f. cooke, edwards woodruff, j.n. briceland, joseph f. emeric, john f. delong, james q. packard, sibley & co., boone, larrow & co., p.w. hayes & co., geo. c. gorham, r. dunlap, m. cameron, r. brown, a.w. loynes, f. owradon, j.w. turner, p.d. bailey, james l. springer, matthew s. smith, wm. fulton, john george smith, isaiah porter, wm. r. taylor, john mcclellan, r.h. macy, charles b. mitchell, thomas r. anthony, geo. w. webster, daniel m. shepherd, m.j. eavyerberth, lewis a. gosey, john rueyer, tehan van de wett, wm. cassede, g.p. russell, s.g. haywood, g.w. hopkins, wm. e. wightman, e. ferris, samuel r. st. john, a.o. garrett, d.c. benham. * * * * * exhibit g. _letter of mr. eaton, by whom the message mentioned in the narrative was sent to judge turner._ wednesday afternoon, _aug. , ' _. dear judge: i have given your message to turner. he does not like it much and flared up considerably when i told him. but it was no use. i have made him understand that you do not want any personal difficulty with him, but that you are ready for him, and if he attacks you he will get badly hurt. i will see you soon and explain. give him ----. you can always count on me. yours truly, ira a. eaton. the narrative of reminiscences was sent to a friend in san francisco, soon after it was printed, and was shown to gen. a.m. winn of that city. he was in marysville in and also gave judge turner to understand the line of conduct i intended to pursue. the following letter has since been received from him. san francisco, _may th ' _. friend field: in looking over the early reminiscences of california i was pleased with the faithful recital of your trouble with judge turner at marysville in . being there about that time i recollect to have met with judge turner and found him in a fighting rage, making threats of what he would do on meeting you. although i have not an exalted opinion of men's courage, when they talk so much about it, i thought he might put his threats into execution and warned you of approaching danger. the course you pursued was generally approved, and public opinion culminated in your favor. you made many warm friends, though turner and his friends were the more enraged in consequence of that fact. with great respect, i am, as ever, your friend, a.m. winn. hon. stephen j. field, _washington, d.c._ * * * * * exhibit h, no. i.[ ] after the narrative of reminiscences was written, the proceedings of the assembly of california of , on the petition of citizens of yuba and nevada counties for the impeachment of judge turner, were published. annexed to them was a statement by the editor of the causes of the indefinite postponement of the matter. they are there stated to be: st, that it was supposed that i had acquiesced in such a disposition of the case, because by the act concerning the courts of justice and judicial officers, turner had been sent to the northern portion of the state, where he could do no harm; d, that the legislature did not wish to extend the session for the period which the trial of an impeachment would require; and, d, that the whole matter had become extremely distasteful to me. a copy of this statement with the record of the proceedings was sent to the surviving members of the seven, mentioned in the narrative, who voted for the indefinite postponement of the matter; and they wrote the replies which are given below as part of this exhibit. they are preceded by a letter from a member, written soon after the vote was taken. * * * * * _letter of mr. bennett._ house of assembly, san jose, _april d, _. hon. stephen j. field. dr. sir: i take pleasure in adopting this form to explain to you my vote upon the question put to the house in the final disposition of the case for the impeachment of judge turner. had the house been called for a direct vote upon the question of impeachment, i should certainly have voted for the impeachment; but finding that some of the members thought the wishes of the citizens of yuba county had been accomplished by the removal of judge turner from your district, and on that account would vote against the impeachment, i thought there was less injustice in postponing the whole matter indefinitely, than in coming to a direct vote. i will also say that it was understood by many members that you would be satisfied with such a disposition. i am very truly your friend, f.c. bennett. to the hon. stephen j. field, _san jose_. * * * * * _letter of mr. merritt._ salt lake city, utah, _may th, _. my dear judge: your letter of the th of april reached me day before yesterday, and the copy of the proceedings in the matter of the impeachment of w.r. turner, on yesterday. the editorial comments on the case, so far as i am concerned, are exactly correct. i remember distinctly having voted for the indefinite postponement of the charges against turner on the distinct understanding that you consented to it, or at least acquiesced, for the reasons: st, that turner, by the passage of the bill concerning courts of justice, etc., had been sent to a district where he could do no harm and was out of the way; d, that you did not desire to extend the session of the legislature; and, d, that the whole matter was extremely distasteful and disagreeable to you. i remember further very distinctly, even after this great lapse of time, that i was very much astonished when you told me that i had voted under a misapprehension as to your views and wishes. it is very certain that turner would have been impeached had not a false report, as to your views and wishes on the subject, been industriously circulated among the members of the assembly a short time before the vote was taken. that report alone saved turner from impeachment. very truly your friend, saml. a. merritt. hon. s.j. field, _sup. ct. u.s._ * * * * * _letter of mr. mccorkle._ washington, city, d.c., _may th, _. hon. s.j. field. my dear sir: i have received your note and the printed record of the "proceedings of the assembly of the state of california of , on the petition of the citizens of yuba and nevada counties for the impeachment of wm. r. turner, judge of the eighth judicial district of california." the simple reading of the record recalls vividly to my mind all of the circumstances of the case and enables me to answer your inquiry in regard to the indefinite postponement of the motion to impeach judge turner. a bill introduced by yourself, increasing and changing the numbers of the judicial districts of the state, had passed the legislature, and became a law some weeks before the motion to impeach judge turner was called up. by this law judge turner was banished to the klamath--a region inhabited almost exclusively by savage red-skins, the elk, and grizzly bear, and as turner was supposed by anthropologists to be a resultant of that mysterious law of generation denominated atavism or reversionary heredity, and bore the impression, in not only the bodily form, but the instincts, passions, manners, and habits of the "cave-dwellers" of the rough-stone age, there appeared to be a fitness and adaptation in the new locality and its surroundings to the man, which was at once appreciated and approved by all persons familiar with him, and his conduct and behavior, both on and off the bench. under these circumstances the report obtained general credence, that you and your constituents were satisfied with the removal of judge turner from the bench of the eighth judicial district; and i have no doubt influenced all or nearly all who voted to indefinitely postpone his impeachment. as for myself, having a personal knowledge of the truth of the charges made against judge turner by the citizens of yuba and nevada counties, i am free to say that no consideration other than that you and your constituents were satisfied with judge turner's removal from the eighth judicial district, could have induced me to cast my vote for the indefinite postponement of judge turner's impeachment. do you realize the fact, my dear judge, that more than a quarter of a century has elapsed since these events transpired? though my respect for you as a man, and my admiration for you as a jurist, have increased since we were actors in these scenes; yet i am frank enough to say to you, that if i had to play my part again, with my increased experience, i would not vote to indefinitely postpone the impeachment of a judge whom i knew to be guilty of the charges made against judge turner by yourself and others, _even though the report were true_ that you and your constituents were satisfied with his simple removal from your judicial district. respectfully and truly yours, &c., jos. w. mccorkle. * * * * * _letter of mr. bradford._ springfield, ill, _may th, _. judge field. my dear friend: yours of the th april should have been answered ere this, but before doing so i desired to get all the reminders that i could. i looked carefully over the journal. all that i had recollected in the whole matter was that i had an intense feeling in favor of sustaining your position, and when you informed me that i had voted to dismiss the proceedings i was profoundly astonished. i thought you must be mistaken until i saw the journal.... some very satisfactory assurance must have been given me that such vote would be satisfactory to you, and i only wonder that i did not have the assurance verified.... i assume that the editor is correct in the explanation as given. very truly, j.s. braford. * * * * * _letter of mr. carr._ san francisco, _may th, _. my dear judge: i have received your letter and a printed copy of the record of the proceedings of the assembly of california of , in the matter of the impeachment of william r. turner, judge of the then eighth judicial district of the state. in reply, i have to say, that the statement of the editor as to the vote on the motion to indefinitely postpone the proceedings is correct, so far as i am concerned. it was distinctly understood by me, and to my knowledge by other members of the assembly, that you had consented to such postponement, it being explained that the postponement was not to be taken as an approval of the judge's conduct. on no other ground could the motion have been carried. if the vote had been taken on the charges made, articles of impeachment against the judge would undoubtedly have been ordered. your consent to the postponement was understood to have been given, because of the change in the judicial districts by an act introduced into the assembly by yourself, under which judge turner was sent to a district in the northern part of the state, where there was at the time scarcely any legal business, and which was removed to a great distance from the district in which you resided, and because of the general desire manifested by others to bring the session of the legislature to a speedy close. the impeachment of the judge would have necessitated a great prolongation of the session. no member of the assembly justified or excused the atrocious and tyrannical conduct of the judge towards yourself and others. i am, very truly, yours, jesse d. carr. hon. stephen j. field. [ ] by mistake, there are two exhibits h; they are, therefore, marked no. i. and no. ii. * * * * * exhibit h, no. ii. _letter of judge gordon n. mott giving the particulars of the difficulty with judge barbour._ san francisco, _apr. th, _. hon. stephen j. field. dear sir: your letter of the eleventh instant, in which you requested me to give you, in writing, an account of the affair between yourself and judge w.t. barbour, at marysville in , was duly received. the facts in relation to that unpleasant affair are as fresh in my memory as if they had happened yesterday; and i give them to you the more willingly for the reason that you incurred the spite and malice of judge barbour, by acts of personal and professional kindness to me, which gave him no just or reasonable cause of offence; and though the following statement of facts will place the character of judge barbour, now deceased, in a very bad and even ludicrous light, the events in mind are nevertheless a part of the history of our early days in california, and i see no impropriety in complying with your request. the facts are as follows: you and i were walking together along d street in the city of marysville, when we met judge barbour, who, after using some offensive and insolent remarks, gave you a verbal challenge to meet him in the way resorted to by gentlemen for the settlement of their personal difficulties. you accepted the challenge instantly, and referred him to me, as your friend, who would act for you in settling the preliminaries of a hostile meeting. in half an hour i was called upon by hon. chas. s. fairfax as the friend of judge barbour. he said judge barbour had told him that judge field had challenged him to mortal combat, and requested him to meet me for the purpose of arranging the terms of the meeting between them. i told mr. fairfax at once that such was not my understanding of the matter; that i was present when the challenge was given by judge barbour and accepted by judge field. after further consultation with you we agreed that it was better for you to accept the false position in which judge barbour seemed determined to place you, and "to fight it out on that line," than longer submit to the insolence and persecution of a bitter and unscrupulous adversary. mr. fairfax then claimed, in behalf of judge barbour, that, as he was the party challenged, he had the right to the choice of weapons, and the time, place, and manner of the combat; to which i assented. he then stated that judge barbour proposed that the meeting should take place that evening in a room twenty feet square; that each party was to be armed with a colt's navy revolver and a _bowie-knife_; that they should be stationed at opposite sides of the room, and should fire at the word, and advance at pleasure, and finish the conflict with the knives. i told mr. fairfax that the terms proposed by his principal were unusual and inconsistent with the "code," and that i could not consent to them or countenance a conflict so unprecedented and barbarous. mr. fairfax agreed with me that judge barbour had no right to insist upon the terms proposed, and said that he would consult with him and get him to modify his proposition. upon doing so he soon returned, and stated that judge barbour insisted upon the terms he had proposed as his ultimatum, and requested me to go with him and call on judge barbour, which i did. i had now come to the conclusion that barbour was playing the role of the bravo and bully, and that he did not intend to fight, and resolved on the course that i would pursue with him. mr. fairfax and myself then called on judge barbour, and i repeated what i had said to mr. fairfax, adding that it would be shameful for two gentlemen, occupying such positions as they in society, to fall upon each other with knives like butchers or savages, and requesting him to dispense with the knives, which he still refused to do. i then looked him straight in the eye and said, well, sir, if you insist upon those terms, we shall accept. i saw his countenance change instantly. "his coward lips did from their color fly;" and he finally stammered out that he would "waive the knife." without consulting you, i had determined that if barbour still insisted upon a conflict with bowie-knives i would take your place, believing that he would not have any advantage over me in any fight he could make; and knowing, moreover, that you had involved yourself in the difficulty on my account, i thought it only just for me to do so. but it was demonstrated in the sequel that barbour was playing the game of bluff, and that he did not intend to fight from the start. it was finally settled, however, that the combat should take place as first proposed, except that pistols only were to be used. mr. fairfax and myself then commenced looking about for a room; but in the meantime the affair had been noised about town and we found it impossible to get one. mr. fairfax then, after consulting judge barbour, proposed that the meeting should take place the next morning in sutter county; to which i assented; and all the terms and preliminaries were arranged and agreed upon. at that time there were two daily lines of stages leaving marysville for sacramento, and you and your friends were to go down the sacramento road to a point below bear river in advance of the stages, and i was to select a suitable place for the meeting. judge barbour and his friends were to follow us in one of the coaches and i was to hail the driver as he approached the place of meeting. you and your adversary were to be stationed one hundred yards apart, each armed with as many colt's revolvers as he chose to carry; to fire upon each other at the word, and to advance at pleasure and finish the conflict. our party was promptly on the ground according to agreement; and when the first coach came in sight i hailed the driver and found that judge barbour and his friends were not aboard, and the coach passed on a little below us and turned out of the road and stopped. soon after the other coach came in sight, and i again hailed the driver, who stopped the coach, and judge barbour instantly jumped out, and in a very excited manner said that he was going forward to the other coach, and called on the passengers "to take notice, that if that d----d rascal" (pointing to you) "attacked him he would kill him." i stepped in front of judge barbour and said: hold! judge field will not attack you, sir; remarking at the same time to mr. fairfax that this was strange conduct on the part of his friend, and not in accordance with our understanding and agreement; that each party was to bear his portion of the responsibility of the meeting which was to take place between them. mr. fairfax appeared both astonished and mortified at the pusillanimous conduct of his principal, who seemed determined to rush forward to the other coach; and i requested him to wait until i could go back and consult you in the matter, for i was afraid that you might possibly be provoked to make the attack. when i returned to you and explained what had been said at the coach, you asked if it would be proper for you to make the attack. i told you most decidedly not; to let the coward go, and he would never annoy or trouble you again. mr. fairfax, who possessed a nice sense of honor, and was a gallant and accomplished gentleman, was so disgusted and mortified at the conduct of his principal that he left him and came over and joined our party, and after taking breakfast with us at nicolaus, returned with us to marysville, while judge barbour went on his way to sacramento. thus, what threatened in its inception to be a sanguinary tragedy, ended in a ridiculous farce. the determined and resolute stand which you assumed in this affair with judge barbour, saved you from any farther insolence or persecution from men of his class. this letter has been drawn out to a most tedious length, and yet there are many circumstances connected with our early life and times in marysville that i would add but for fear of trying your patience. please write to me on receipt of this, and tell me how my memory of the facts contained in this letter agrees with yours. very respectfully and truly your friend, gordon n. mott. * * * * * exhibit i. _letter of l. martin, esq., the friend of judge barbour in his street attack._ marysville, _tuesday, march , ' _. dear judge: i was glad to hear a few days ago from our friend filkins that the trouble between you and judge barbour had been settled, and that the hatchet was buried. i wish now to explain my connection with the assault made upon you about a year ago by barbour.[ ] you have always appeared to think me in some way implicated in that affair, because i was seen by you at that time not far off from him. the facts are these: judge barbour told me the night before that he expected to have a street fight with you, and wanted me to accompany him. i had heard of his conduct in the affair of the intended duel in sutter county, and knew there was bad blood between you, but i was astonished at his saying there was going to be a difficulty between you in the street. i consented to accompany him, but i supposed of course that you had received notice of his purpose, and that there would be no unfair advantage taken by him. i was, therefore, surprised when i saw you in front of your office with your arms partly filled with small pieces of board, apparently to kindle a fire. barbour's drawing a pistol upon you under these circumstances, and calling upon you to draw and defend yourself, was not what we call at the south very chivalric. it was not justified by me then, and never has been in any way or manner, and i told him he had acted badly. i was glad to hear you defy him as you did, and dare him to shoot. i reckon he is not very proud of his conduct. i have never approved of his action, and should never have accompanied him had i believed or suspected he had not given you notice of his purpose. with great respect i am very truly yours, l. martin. hon. judge field. [ ] it was february , . * * * * * exhibit j. _sections four, five, and seven of the act entitled "an act to expedite the settlement of titles to lands in the state of california," approved july st, ._ sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that whenever the district judge of any one of the district courts of the united states for california is interested in any land, the claim to which, under the said act of march third, eighteen hundred and fifty-one, is pending before him on appeal from the board of commissioners created by said act, the said district court shall order the case to be transferred to the circuit court of the united states for california, which court shall thereupon take jurisdiction and determine the same. the said district courts may also order a transfer to the said circuit court of any other cases arising under said act, pending before them, affecting the title to lands within the corporate limits of any city or town, and in such cases both the district and circuit judges may sit. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that all the right and title of the united states to the lands within the corporate limits of the city of san francisco, as defined in the act incorporating said city, passed by the legislature of the state of california, on the fifteenth of april, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, are hereby relinquished and granted to the said city and its successors, for the uses and purposes specified in the ordinance of said city, ratified by an act of the legislature of the said state, approved on the eleventh of march, eighteen hundred and fifty-eight, entitled "an act concerning the city of san francisco, and to ratify and confirm certain ordinances of the common council of said city," there being excepted from this relinquishment and grant all sites or other parcels of lands which have been, or now are, occupied by the united states for military, naval, or other public uses, [or such other sites or parcels as may hereafter be designated by the president of the united states, within one year after the rendition to the general land-office, by the surveyor-general, of an approved plat of the exterior limits of san francisco, as recognized in this section, in connection with the lines of the public surveys: _and provided_, that the relinquishment and grant by this act shall in no manner interfere with or prejudice any bona fide claims of others, whether asserted adversely under rights derived from spain, mexico, or the laws of the united states, nor preclude a judicial examination and adjustment thereof.] sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that it shall be the duty of the surveyor-general of california, in making surveys of the private land claims finally confirmed, to follow the decree of confirmation as closely as practicable whenever such decree designates the specific boundaries of the claim. but when such decree designates only the out-boundaries within which the quantity confirmed is to be taken, the location of such quantity shall be made, as near as practicable, in one tract and in a compact form. and if the character of the land, or intervening grants, be such as to render the location impracticable in one tract, then each separate location shall be made, as near as practicable, in a compact form. and it shall be the duty of the commissioner of the general land-office to require a substantial compliance with the directions of this section before approving any survey and plat forwarded to him.--[ stats. at large, pp. - .] that part of the fifth section, which is included within brackets, was inserted at the suggestion of the commissioner of the general land-office. * * * * * _the act entitled "an act to quiet the title to certain lands within the corporate limits of the city of san francisco," approved march th, ._ _be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled_, that all the right and title of the united states to the land situated within the corporate limits of the city of san francisco, in the state of california, confirmed to the city of san francisco by the decree of the circuit court of the united states for the northern district of california, entered on the eighteenth day of may, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-five, be, and the same are hereby, relinquished and granted to the said city of san francisco and its successors, and the claim of the said city to said land is hereby confirmed, subject, however, to the reservations and exceptions designated in said decree, and upon the following trusts, namely, that all the said land, not heretofore granted to said city, shall be disposed of and conveyed by said city to parties in the bona fide actual possession thereof, by themselves or tenants, on the passage of this act, in such quantities and upon such terms and conditions as the legislature of the state of california may prescribe, except such parcels thereof as may be reserved and set apart by ordinance of said city for public uses: _provided, however_, that the relinquishment and grant by this act shall not interfere with or prejudice any valid adverse right or claim, if such exist, to said land or any part thereof, whether derived from spain, mexico, or the united states, or preclude a judicial examination and adjustment thereof.--[ stat. at large, p. .] * * * * * exhibit k. _letter of judge lake giving an account of the torpedo._ san francisco, _april , ' _. honorable stephen j. field. my dear sir: in the winter of i was in washington attending the united states supreme court, and was frequently a visitor at your room. one morning in january of that year i accompanied you to your room, expecting to find letters from san francisco, as i had directed that my letters should be forwarded to your care. i found your mail lying on the table. among other matter addressed to you was a small package, about four inches square, wrapped in white paper, and bearing the stamp of the pioneer photographic gallery of san francisco. two printed slips were pasted upon the face of the package and formed the address: your name, evidently cut from the title-page of the "california law reports;" and "washington, d.c.," taken from a newspaper. you supposed it to be a photograph, and said as much to me, though from the first you professed surprise at the receipt of it. you were standing at the window, when you began to open it, and had some difficulty in making the cover yield. when you had removed the cover you raised the lid slightly, but in a moment said to me, "what is this, lake? it can hardly be a photograph." a sudden suspicion flashed upon me, and stepping to your side, i exclaimed, "don't open it; it means mischief!" when i had looked at it more nearly, i said, "it's an infernal machine" or "a torpedo." i carried it over to the capitol, opposite to your rooms, where mr. broom, one of the clerks of the supreme court, joined me in the examination of your mysterious looking present. it was put in water, and afterwards we dashed off the lid of the box by throwing it against the wall in the carriage way under the senate steps. about a dozen copper cartridges were disclosed--those used in a smith & wesson pocket pistol, it appeared afterward--six of them lying on each side of a bunch of friction matches in the centre. the sides of the cartridges had been filed through, so that the burning of the matches might explode the cartridges. the whole was kept in place in a bed of common glue, and a strip of sand-paper lying upon the heads of the matches was bent into a loop to receive the bit of thread, whose other end, secured to the clasp of the box, produced that tension and consequent pressure requisite to ignite the matches upon the forcible opening of the lid. to make assurance doubly sure, a paste of fulminating powder and alcohol had been spread around the matches and cartridges. there was a newspaper slip also glued to the inside of the lid, with words as follows: "monday, oct. , . the city of san francisco vs. united states. judge field yesterday delivered the following opinion in the above case. it will be read with great interest by the people of this city." then followed several lines of the opinion. even that gave no clue to the source of the infernal machine, but from the fact that it was evidently made by a scientific man, and that from its size it must have been passed through the window at the post office, instead of into the letter-box, it was thought [that there was] a sufficiently conspicuous mode of action to expose the sender of the torpedo to detection. whoever it may have been took a late vengeance for the decision of the pueblo case--if such was the veritable motive of the frustrated assassination--as the decision referred to was rendered in . on that account it was conjectured that the contriver of the machine might be some guilty person, who had received sentence from you, and who used the reference to the pueblo case to divert suspicion from himself. so far as i know, all efforts to discover the author of the intended mischief have been fruitless. the box with its contents, was sent to the secretary of war, who directed an examination by the ordnance department. general dyer, then chief of ordnance, pronounced it a most cleverly combined torpedo, and exploded one of the cartridges in a closed box, producing a deep indentation upon its sides. general dyer added, among other analytical details, that the ball weighed grains. all the circumstances connected with the reception of the infernal machine were too singular and, at that time, ominous, not to remain vividly impressed upon my memory. very truly, your friend, delos lake. * * * * * exhibit l. _the following is an extract from the report to the commissioner of the general land-office by the register and receiver of the land-office in california, to whom the matter of the contests for lands on the soscol ranch was submitted for investigation, showing the condition and occupation of the lands previous to the rejection of the grant by the supreme court of the united states, and the character of the alleged pre-emption settlements which julian undertook to defend._ a general report of the facts established by said evidence is briefly as follows:[ ] when the united states government took possession of california, don mariana guadaloupe vallejo was in the occupancy of the rancho of soscol, claiming to own it by virtue of the grant from the mexican nation, which has recently (december term, ) been declared invalid by the supreme court of the united states. his occupancy was the usual one of the country and in accordance with the primitive habits of the people. he possessed the land by herding stock upon it. general vallejo, as military commandante of his district, consisting of all alta california lying north of the bay of san francisco, was necessarily the leading personage of the country. his influence among the rude inhabitants of the territory was almost monarchical, and his establishment was in accordance with his influence. his residence at sonoma was the capital of his commandancy, and the people of the country for hundreds of miles around looked to general vallejo for advice and assistance in business and for protection and defence in time of trouble. these things are part of the history of california. he had other ranches besides that of soscol, as that at sonoma, which was devoted to agriculture and residences. the soscol he especially devoted to the herding and grazing of stock, for which purpose it was most admirably adapted. wild oats grew in great luxuriance all over this tract, from the water's edge to the tops of the highest hills, and being surrounded on three sides by the waters of the bays and rivers, required little attention in the way of herdsmen. on this rancho general vallejo kept as many as fifteen thousand head of horses and horned cattle running at will, attended only by the necessary vaqueros employed to watch and attend them. there was no other use to which the land could at that time be devoted. the want of reliable labor and lack of a market both forbade agricultural operations beyond personal or family necessities. it was not practicable then, nor for years after, to put the land to any use other than stock pasturing. we have, therefore, to report that the possession that general vallejo had of "soscol" in was the usual use and possession of the time and the country, and that it was the best and most perfect use and occupation of which the land was capable. the rancho was, therefore, reduced to possession by general vallejo before the americans took possession of the country. soon after the american occupation or conquest, general vallejo began to sell off portions of the "soscol," and continued this practice until about the year , at which time he sold the last of it, and does not appear to have had or claimed any interest since. this sale and consequent dividing the land into small parcels produced its usual effect in the way of improvements. from to the "rancho of soscol" was almost entirely reduced to absolute and actual possession and control by his vendees, being by them fenced up into fields, surrounded by substantial enclosures, and improved with expensive farm-houses, out-buildings, orchards, and the like, and was cultivated to grain wherever suitable for that purpose. it had upon it two cities of considerable importance, viz: benicia and vallejo, each of which had been at one time the capital of the state of california. no rural district of california was more highly improved than this, and but a very small portion equal to it. the title to "soscol," before its rejection by the united states supreme court, was considered the very best in all california. all the really valuable agricultural land in california was held under mexican grants, and, as a consequence, all had to pass the ordeal of the land commission. from to about very few had been finally passed upon by the courts, so that during that time the question for the farmer to decide was not what title is perfect, but what title is most likely to prove so by the final judgment of the supreme court. amongst the very best, in the opinion of the public, stood "soscol." one conclusive, unanswerable proof of that fact is this, that there was not a single settler on the grant at the time it was rejected. not one person on it, except in subordination to the vallejo title. every resident on the whole tract held his land by purchase from vallejo, or his assigns, and held just precisely the land so purchased, and not one acre more or less. this fact was not even disputed during the whole eight months of investigation through which we have just passed. it is a notorious fact that of the grants in california which have stood the test of the supreme court, very many have been entirely in the possession of squatters, and all with more or less of such possessions, and the final patent has alone succeeded in recovering the long-lost possession to the grantholder. there were no settlers on the "soscol." the people had the most perfect confidence in the title. it had been twice confirmed by tribunals of high authority and great learning--first by the united states land commission, and then by the district court of the united states. it only wanted the final confirmation by the supreme court, and none doubted that it would follow of course. business could not, and would not, await the nine years consumed in adjudicating this title. farmers were obliged to have lands, and they bought them. capital must and would seek investment, and it was lent on mortgage. when all titles required the same confirmatory decree, the citizen could not discriminate, but exercised his best judgment. the sales of lands upon the "soscol" were made at prices which called for perfect title; they brought the full improved value of the land. money was lent on mortgage in the same way. the deeds and mortgages, which accompany the respective cases, are the very best evidence of the opinion the public entertained of the character of the soscol grant title. the people were amazed when it was announced that the soscol grant had been rejected. no fact developed by this examination has appeared so surprising to the mind of the register and receiver as that there were no pre-emption settlers on the "soscol." this is so unusual in california that we expected to find the contrary. there was no possession on the tract adverse to the grant title. thus stood matters until early in the year , when the intelligence reached california that the grant had been rejected by the supreme court. the struggle soon began. there was at that time employed upon the united states navy-yard at mare island, and also upon the pacific mail company's works at benicia, a large number of mechanics and laborers. there was also in the towns of benicia and vallejo a large floating population. tempted by the great value of these lands in their highly improved state, many of these persons squatted upon the rancho. the landholders in possession resisted. the houses of the great majority of the settlers were erected in the night time, as it was necessary to enter the enclosed fields by stealth. these houses were built of rough redwood boards set up edgewise, with shed roof, and without window, fire place, or floor. they were about eight feet square, sometimes eight by ten feet, and never over six feet high. we have no hesitation in saying that they were utterly unfit for the habitation of human beings, and further that they were never designed for permanent residences. the mode of erecting these shanties was as follows: the planks were sawed the right length in the town of vallejo or benicia, in the afternoon of the day, and at nightfall were loaded upon a cart. about eleven o'clock at night the team would start for the intended settlement, reaching there about one or two o'clock in the morning. between that hour and daylight the house would be erected and finished. sometimes the house would be put together with nails, but when too near the residence of the landholder in possession, screws would be used to prevent the sound of the hammer attracting attention. very few of this class of settlers remained upon their claims above a few days, but soon returned to their ordinary occupations in the towns. generally after they would leave the landholders would remove the shanties from the ground. in some cases they would pull them down with force immediately upon discovering them, and in the presence of the settlers. a few of them got settlements near enough to their places of employment to enable them to work in town, or at the navy-yard, and to sleep in their shanties; some regularly, others only occasionally. these generally remained longer than the others, but none of this class remained up to the time of trial. none of the settlers, who went on since the grant was rejected, have attempted regular improvements or cultivation. a few have harvested the grain planted by the landholders, as it grew on their / [quarter-section]; they would harvest it, and offer this as evidence of good faith and cultivation. we have no hesitation in pronouncing, from the evidence, that these are not settlers within the spirit of the pre-emption laws, but are mere speculators, desirous of getting the improvements of another to sell and to make money. [ ] the evidence taken before those officers. * * * * * the preceding personal reminiscences of early days in california by judge field, with other sketches, were dictated by him to a stenographer in the summer of , at san francisco. they were afterwards printed for a few friends, but not published. the edition was small and soon exhausted, and each year since the judge has been asked for copies. the reprint is therefore made. the history of the attempt at his assassination by a former associate on the supreme bench of california is added. it is written by hon. george c. gorham, a warm personal friend of the judge for many years, who is thoroughly informed of the events described. * * * * * the story of the attempted assassination of justice field by a former associate on the supreme bench of california. by hon. george c. gorham. note by the publishers. mr. gorham is a life-long friend of justice field. he was his clerk when the latter held the alcalde's court in marysville, in ; and was clerk of the u. . circuit court of the district of california when it was organized, after judge field's appointment to the u.s. supreme bench. subsequently, and for several years, he was secretary of the u.s. senate. since his retirement from office he has resided in washington. for a part of the time he edited a republican paper in that city, but of late years he has been chiefly engaged in literary works, of which the principal one is the life and history of the late secretary of war, edwin m. stanton. * * * * * index. attempted assassination of justice field by a former associate on the state supreme bench chapter i the sharon-hill-terry litigation. chapter ii proceedings in the superior court of the state. chapter iii proceedings in the united states circuit court. [transriber's note: there is no chapter iv] chapter v decision of the case in the federal court. chapter vi the marriage of terry and miss hill. chapter vii the bill of revivor. chapter viii the terrys imprisoned for contempt. chapter ix terry's petition to the circuit court for a release--its refusal--he appeals to the supreme court--unanimous decision against him there. chapter x president cleveland refuses to pardon terry--false statements of terry refuted. chapter xi terry's continued threats to kill justice field--return of the latter to california in . chapter xii further proceedings in the state court.--judge sullivan's decision reversed. chapter xiii attempted assassination of justice field, resulting in terry's own death at the hands of a deputy united states marshal. chapter xiv sarah althea terry charges justice field and deputy marshal neagle with murder. chapter xv justice field's arrest and petition for release on habeas corpus. chapter xvi judge terry's funeral--refusal of the supreme court of california to adjourn on the occasion. chapter xvii habeas corpus proceedings in justice field's case. chapter xviii habeas corpus proceedings in neagle's case. chapter xix expressions of public opinion. chapter xx the appeal to the supreme court of the united states, and the second trial of sarah althea's divorce case. chapter xxi concluding observations. * * * * * attempted assassination of justice field by a former associate on the state supreme bench. the most thrilling episode in the eventful life of justice field was his attempted assassination at lathrop, california, on the th day of august, , by david s. terry, who had been chief justice of the state during a portion of justice field's service on that bench. terry lost his own life in his desperate attempt, by the alertness and courage of david s. neagle, a deputy united states marshal, who had been deputed by his principal, under an order from the attorney-general of the united states, to protect justice field from the assassin, who had, for nearly a year, boldly and without concealment, proclaimed his murderous purpose. the motive of terry was not in any manner connected with their association on the state supreme bench, for there had never been any but pleasant relations between them. terry resigned from the bench in to challenge senator broderick of california to the duel in which the latter was killed. he entered the confederate service during the war, and some time after its close he returned to california, and entered upon the practice of the law. in he was a candidate for presidential elector on the democratic ticket. his associates on that ticket were all elected, while he was defeated by the refusal of a number of the old friends of broderick to give him their votes. it is probable that his life was much embittered by the intense hatred he had engendered among the friends of broderick, and the severe censure of a large body of the people of the state, not especially attached to the political fortunes of the dead senator. these facts are mentioned as furnishing a possible explanation of judge terry's marked descent in character and standing from the chief-justiceship of the state to being the counsel, partner, and finally the husband of the discarded companion of a millionaire in a raid upon the latter's property in the courts. it was during the latter stages of this litigation that judge terry became enraged against justice field, because the latter, in the discharge of his judicial duties, had been compelled to order the revival of a decree of the united states circuit court, in the rendering of which he had taken no part. a proper understanding of this exciting chapter in the life of justice field renders necessary a narrative of the litigation referred to. it is doubtful if the annals of the courts or the pages of romance can parallel this conspiracy to compel a man of wealth to divide his estate with adventurers. whether it is measured by the value of the prize reached for, by the character of the conspirators, or by the desperate means to which they resorted to accomplish their object, it stands in the forefront of the list of such operations. chapter i. the sharon-hill-terry litigation. the victim, upon a share of whose enormous estate, commonly estimated at $ , , , these conspirators had set their covetous eyes, was william sharon, then a senator from the state of nevada. the woman with whom he had terminated his relations, because he believed her to be dangerous to his business interests, was sarah althea hill. desirous of turning to the best advantage her previous connection with him, she sought advice from an old negress of bad repute, and the result was a determination to claim that she had a secret contract of marriage with him. this negress, who during the trial gave unwilling testimony to having furnished the sinews of war in the litigation to the extent of at least five thousand dollars, then consulted g.w. tyler, a lawyer noted for his violent manner and reckless practices, who explained to her what kind of a paper would constitute a legal marriage contract under the laws of california. no existing contract was submitted to him, but he gave his written opinion as to what kind of a contract it would be good to have for the purpose. the pretended contract was then manufactured by sarah althea in accordance with this opinion, and tyler subsequently made a written agreement with her by which he was to act as her attorney, employ all necessary assistance, and pay all expenses, and was to have one-half of all they could get out of sharon by their joint efforts as counsel and client. this contract was negotiated by an australian named neilson, who was to have one-half of the lawyer's share. on the th of september, , a demand was made upon mr. sharon for money for miss hill. he drove her emissary, neilson, out of the hotel where he had called upon him, and the latter appeared the next day in the police court of san francisco and made an affidavit charging mr. sharon with the crime of adultery. a warrant was issued for the latter's arrest, and he was held to bail in the sum of $ , . this charge was made for the avowed purpose of establishing the manufactured contract of marriage already referred to, which bore date three years before. a copy of this alleged contract was furnished to the newspapers together with a letter having sharon's name appended to it, addressed at the top to "my dear wife," and at the bottom to "miss hill." this pretended contract and letter mr. sharon denounced as forgeries. on the d of october, , mr. sharon commenced suit in the united states circuit court at san francisco against sarah althea hill, setting forth in his complaint that he was a citizen of the state of nevada, and she a citizen of california; "that he was, and had been for years, an unmarried man; that formerly he was the husband of maria ann sharon, who died in may, , and that he had never been the husband of any other person; that there were two children living, the issue of that marriage, and also grandchildren, the children of a deceased daughter of the marriage; that he was possessed of a large fortune in real and personal property; was extensively engaged in business enterprises and ventures, and had a wide business and social connection; that, as he was informed, the defendant was an unmarried woman of about thirty years of age, for some time a resident of san francisco; that within two months then past she had repeatedly and publicly claimed and represented that she was his lawful wife; that she falsely and fraudulently pretended that she was duly married to him on the twenty-fifth day of august, , at the city and county of san francisco; that on that day they had jointly made a declaration of marriage showing the names, ages, and residences of the parties, jointly doing the acts required by the civil code of california to constitute a marriage between them, and that thereby they became and were husband and wife according to the law of that state. "the complainant further alleged that these several claims, representations, and pretensions were wholly and maliciously false, and were made by her for the purpose of injuring him in his property, business, and social relations; for the purpose of obtaining credit by the use of his name with merchants and others, and thereby compelling him to maintain her; and for the purpose of harassing him, and in case of his death, his heirs and next of kin and legatees, into payment of large sums of money to quiet her false and fraudulent claims and pretensions. he also set forth what he was informed was a copy of the declaration of marriage, and alleged that if she had any such instrument, it was 'false, forged, and counterfeited;' that he never, on the day of its date, or at any other time, made or executed any such document or declaration, and never knew or heard of the same until within a month previous to that time, and that the same was null and void as against him, and ought, in equity and good conscience, to be so declared, and ordered to be delivered up, to be annulled and cancelled." the complaint concluded with a prayer that it be adjudged and decreed that the said sarah althea hill was not and never had been his wife; that he did not make the said joint declaration of marriage with her, or any marriage between them; that said contract or joint declaration of marriage be decreed and adjudged false, fraudulent, forged, and counterfeited, and ordered to be delivered up and cancelled and annulled, and that she be enjoined from setting up any claims or pretensions of marriage thereby. sharon was a citizen of nevada, while miss hill was a citizen of california.[ ] before the time expired in which miss hill was required to answer the complaint of mr. sharon in the united states circuit court, but not until after the federal jurisdiction had attached in that court, she brought suit against him, november st, in a state superior court, in the city and county of san francisco, to establish their alleged marriage and then obtain a decree, and a division of the property stated to have been acquired since such marriage. in her complaint she alleged that on the th day of august, , they became, by mutual agreement, husband and wife, and thereafter commenced living together as husband and wife; that on that day they had jointly made a declaration of marriage in writing, signed by each, substantially in form as required by the civil code of california, and until the month of november, , had lived together as husband and wife; that since then the defendant had been guilty of sundry violations of the marriage contract. the complaint also alleged that when the parties intermarried the defendant did not have in money or property more than five millions of dollars, with an income not exceeding thirty thousand dollars a month, but that since their intermarriage they had by their prudent management of mines, fortunate speculations, manipulations of the stock market, and other business enterprises, accumulated in money and property more than ten millions of dollars, and that now he had in his possession money and property of the value at least of fifteen millions of dollars, from which he received an income of over one hundred thousand dollars a month. the complaint concluded with a prayer that the alleged marriage with the defendant might be declared legal and valid, and that she might be divorced from him, and that an account be taken of the common property, and that the same be equally divided between them. the campaign was thus fully inaugurated, which for more than six years disgraced the state with its violence and uncleanness, and finally ended in bloodshed. the leading combatants were equally resolute and determined. mr. sharon, who was a man of remarkable will and energy, would have expended his entire fortune in litigation before he would have paid tribute to those who thus attempted to plunder him. sarah althea hill was respectably connected, but had drifted away from her relations, and pursued, without restraint, her disreputable course. she affected a reckless and daredevil character, carrying a pistol, and exhibiting it on occasions in cow-boy fashion, to convey the impression that those who antagonized her had a dangerous character with whom to deal. she was ignorant, illiterate, and superstitious. the forged document which she thought to make a passport to the enjoyment of a share of sharon's millions was a clumsy piece of work. it was dated august , , and contained a clause pledging secrecy for two years thereafter. but she never made it public until september, , although she had, nearly two years before that, been turned out of her hotel by sharon's orders. at this treatment she only whimpered and wrote begging letters to him, not once claiming, even in these private letters to him, to be his wife. she could then have published the alleged contract without any violation of its terms, and claimed any rights it conferred, and it is obvious to any sane man that she would have done so had any such document then been in existence. although sharon's case against sarah althea hill was commenced in the federal court before the commencement of miss hill's case against sharon in the state court, the latter case was first brought to trial, on the th of march, . [ ] note.--a court of equity having jurisdiction to lay its hands upon and control forged and fraudulent instruments, it matters not with what pretensions and claims their validity may be asserted by their possessor; whether they establish a marriage relation with another, or render him an heir to an estate, or confer a title to designated pieces of property, or create a pecuniary obligation. it is enough that, unless set aside or their use restrained, they may impose burdens upon the complaining party, or create claims upon his property by which its possession and enjoyment may be destroyed or impaired. (sharon vs. terry, sawyer's rep., .) the civil code of california also declares that "a written instrument in respect to which there is a reasonable apprehension that, if left outstanding, it may cause serious injury to a person against whom it is void or voidable, may, upon his application, be so adjudged, and ordered to be delivered up or cancelled" (sec. ). chapter ii. proceedings in the superior court of the state. mr. sharon defended in the state court, and prosecuted in the federal court with equal energy. in the former he made an affidavit that the pretended marriage contract was a forgery and applied to the court for the right to inspect it, and to have photographic copies of it made. sarah althea resisted the judge's order to produce the document in question, until he informed her that, if she did not obey, the paper would not be admitted as evidence on the trial of the action. on the second day of the trial in the state court miss hill reinforced her cause by the employment of judge david s. terry as associate counsel. he brought to the case a large experience in the use of deadly weapons, and gave the proceedings something of the character of the ancient "wager of battle." numerous auxiliaries and supernumeraries in the shape of lesser lawyers, fighters, and suborned witnesses were employed in the proceedings, as from time to time occasion required. the woman testified in her own behalf that upon a visit to mr. sharon's office he had offered to pay her $ , per month if she would become his mistress; that she declined his offer in a business-like manner, without anger, and entered upon a conversation about getting married; she swore at a subsequent interview she drafted a marriage contract at sharon's dictation. this document, to which she testified as having been thus drawn up, is as follows: "in the city and county of san francisco, state of california, on the th day of august, a.d., , i, sarah althea hill, of the city and county of san francisco, state of california, aged twenty-seven years, do here, in the presence of almighty god, take senator william sharon, of the state of nevada, to be my lawful and wedded husband, and do here acknowledge and declare myself to be the wife of senator william sharon, of the state of nevada. sarah althea hill. august , , san francisco, cal." * * * * * "i agree not to make known the contents of this paper or its existence for two years unless mr. sharon, himself, sees fit to make it known. sarah althea hill." * * * * * "in the city and county of san francisco, state of california, on the th day of august, a.d. , i, senator william sharon, of the state of nevada, aged sixty years, do here, in the presence of almighty god, take sarah althea hill, of the city and county of san francisco, california, to be my lawful and wedded wife, and do here acknowledge myself to be the husband of sarah althea hill. william sharon, nevada. august , ." in his testimony mr. sharon contradicted every material statement made by sarah althea hill. he denied every circumstance connected with the alleged drawing up of the marriage contract. he testified that on the th day of november, , he terminated his relations with and dismissed her, and made a full settlement with her by the payment of $ , in cash, and notes amounting to $ , . for these she gave him a receipt in full. he charged her with subsequently stealing that receipt at one of two or three visits made by her after her discharge. it is unnecessary to review the voluminous testimony introduced by the parties in support of their respective contentions. the alleged contract was clearly proven to be a forgery. a number of witnesses testified to conversations had with miss hill long after the date of the pretended marriage contract, in which she made statements entirely inconsistent with the existence of such a document. she employed fortune-tellers to give her charms with which she could compel mr. sharon to marry her, and this, too, when she pretended to have in her possession the evidence that she was already his wife. not an appearance of probability attended the claim of this bold adventuress. every statement she made concerning the marriage contract, and every step she took in her endeavor to enforce it, betrayed its false origin. the trial of the case in the state court continued from march th until may th, when the summer recess intervened. it was resumed july th, and occupied the court until september th, on which day the argument of counsel was concluded and the case submitted. no decision was rendered until more than three months afterwards, namely, december th. nearly two months were then allowed to pass before the decree was entered, february , . the case was tried before judge sullivan without a jury, by consent of the parties. he decided for the plaintiff, holding the marriage contract to be genuine, and to constitute a valid marriage. it was manifest that he made his decision solely upon the evidence given by sarah althea herself, whom he nevertheless branded in his opinion as a perjurer, suborner of perjury, and forger. lest this should seem an exaggeration his own words are here quoted. she stated that she was introduced by sharon to certain parties as his wife. of her statements to this effect the judge said: "plaintiff's testimony as to these occasions is directly contradicted, and in my judgment her testimony as to these matters is wilfully false." concerning $ , paid her by sharon, which she alleged she had placed in his hands in the early part of her acquaintance with him, the judge said: "this claim, in my judgment, is utterly unfounded. no such advance was ever made." at another place in his opinion the judge said: "plaintiff claims that defendant wrote her notes at different times after her expulsion from the grand hotel. if such notes were written, it seems strange that they have not been preserved and produced in evidence. i do not believe she received any such notes." with respect to another document which purported to have been signed by mr. sharon, and which sarah althea produced under compulsion, then withdrew it, and failed to produce it afterwards, when called for, saying she had lost it, judge sullivan said: "among the objections suggested to this paper as appearing on its face, was one made by counsel that the signature was evidently a forgery. the matters recited in the paper are, in my judgment, at variance with the facts it purports to recite. considering the stubborn manner in which the production of this paper was at first resisted and the mysterious manner of its disappearance, i am inclined to regard it in the light of one of the fabrications for the purpose of bolstering up plaintiff's case. i can view the paper in no other light than as a fabrication." in another part of his opinion judge sullivan made a sort of a general charge of perjury against her in the following language: "i am of the opinion that to some extent plaintiff has availed herself of the aid of false testimony for the purpose of giving her case a better appearance in the eyes of the court, but sometimes parties have been known to resort to false testimony, where in their judgment it would assist them in prosecuting a lawful claim. as i understand the facts of this case, that was done in this instance." in another place judge sullivan said: "i have discussed fully, in plain language, the numerous false devices resorted to by the plaintiff for the purpose of strengthening her case." miss sarah and her attorneys had now come in sight of the promised land of sharon's ample estate. regular proceedings, however, under the law, seemed to them too slow; and besides there was the peril of an adverse decision of the supreme court on appeal. they then decided upon a novel course. section of the civil code of california provides that while an action for divorce is pending, the court may, in its discretion, require the husband to pay as alimony any money necessary to enable the wife to support herself and to prosecute or defeat the action. the enterprising attorneys, sharing the bold spirit of their client, and presuming upon the compliance of a judge who had already done so well by them, went into the court, on the th of january, , and modestly demanded for sarah althea, upon the sole authority of the provision of law above quoted, $ , per month, as the money necessary to enable her to support herself, and $ , for attorneys' fees to prosecute the action. this was to include back pay for thirty-eight months, making a sum of $ , , which added to the $ , , attorneys' fees, would have made a grand total of $ , . this was an attempt, under the color of a beneficent law, applicable only to actions for divorce, in which the marriage was not denied, to extort from a man more than one-half million dollars, for the benefit of a woman, seeking first to establish a marriage, and then to secure a divorce, in a case in which no decree had as yet been entered, declaring her to be a wife. it was not merely seeking the money necessary to support the plaintiff and prosecute the case; it was a request that the inferior court should confiscate more than half a million dollars, in anticipation of a decision of the supreme court on appeal. it was as bold an attempt at spoliation as the commencement of the suit itself. the supreme court of the state had decided that the order of a superior court allowing alimony during the pendency of any action for divorce is not appealable, but it had not decided that, under the pretence of granting alimony, an inferior judge could apportion a rich man's estate among champerty lawyers, and their adventurous client, by an order from which there could be no appeal, made prior to any decree that there had ever been a marriage between the parties, when the fact of the marriage was the main issue in the case. the counsel for sharon insisted upon his right to have a decree entered from which he could appeal, before being thus made to stand and deliver, and the court entertained the motion. upon this motion, among other affidavits read in opposition, was one by mr. sharon himself, in which he recited the agreement between miss hill and her principal attorney, george w. tyler, in which she was to pay him for his services, one-half of all she might receive in any judgment obtained against sharon, he, tyler, advancing all the costs of the litigation. the original of this agreement had been filed by tyler with the county clerk immediately after the announcement of the opinion in the case as an evidence of his right to half of the proceeds of the judgment. it was conclusive evidence that sarah althea required no money for the payment of counsel fees. after the filing of a mass of affidavits, and an exhaustive argument of the motion, judge sullivan rendered his decision, february , , granting to sarah althea hill an allowance of $ , per month, to take effect as of the date of the motion, january , , and further sums of $ , each to be paid on the th day of april, and of each succeeding month until further order of the court. this the judge thought reasonable allowance "in view of the plaintiff's present circumstances and difficulties." for counsel fees he allowed the sum of $ , , and at the request of the victors, made in advance, he divided the spoils among them as follows: to tyler and tyler $ , to david s. terry , to moon and flournoy , to w.h. levy , to clement, osmond and clement , by what rule $ , was awarded as a proper monthly allowance to the woman whose services to mr. sharon had commanded but $ per month it is difficult to conjecture. it was benevolence itself to give $ , to a troop of lawyers enlisted under the command of tyler, who had agreed to conduct the proceedings wholly at his own cost, for one-half of what could be made by the buccaneering enterprise. it seemed to be the purpose of these attorneys to see how much of mr. sharon's money they could, with judge sullivan's assistance, lay their hands upon before the entry of the judgment in the case. from the judgment an appeal could be taken. by anticipating its entry they thought that they had obtained an order from which no appeal would lie. it was not until three days after this remarkable order was made that the decree was entered by judge sullivan declaring plaintiff and defendant to be husband and wife; that he had deserted her, and that she was entitled to a decree of divorce, with one-half of the common property accumulated by the parties since the date of what he decided to be a valid marriage contract. sharon appealed from the final judgment, and also from the order for alimony. notwithstanding this appeal, and the giving of a bond on appeal in the sum of $ , to secure the payment of all alimony and counsel fees, judge sullivan granted an order directing mr. sharon to show cause why he should not be punished for contempt in failing to pay alimony and counsel fees, as directed by the order. the supreme court, upon application, granted an order temporarily staying proceedings in the case. this stay of proceedings was subsequently made permanent, during the pendency of the appeal. mr. sharon died november , . that very day had been set for a hearing of sharon's motion for a new trial. the argument was actually commenced on that day and continued until the next, at which time the motion was ordered off the calendar because meantime mr. sharon had deceased. chapter iii. proceedings in the united states circuit court. while these proceedings were being had in the state courts the case of sharon vs. hill in the federal court was making slow progress. miss hill's attorneys seemed to think that her salvation depended upon reaching a decision in her case before the determination of sharon's suit in the united states circuit court. they were yet to learn, as they afterwards did, that after a united states court takes jurisdiction in a case, it cannot be ousted of that jurisdiction by the decision of a state court, in a proceeding subsequently commenced in the latter. seldom has "the law's delay" been exemplified more thoroughly than it was by the obstacles which her attorneys were able to interpose at every step of the proceedings in the federal court. sharon commenced his suit in the united states circuit court october , , twenty-eight days before his enemy commenced hers in the state superior court. by dilatory pleas her counsel succeeded in delaying her answer to sharon's suit until after the decision in her favor in the state court. she did not enter an appearance in the federal court until the very last day allowed by the rule. a month later she filed a demurrer. her counsel contrived to delay the argument of this demurrer for seven weeks after it was filed. it was finally argued and submitted on the st of january, . on the d of march it was overruled and the defendant was ordered to answer in ten days, to wit, march th. then the time for answering was extended to april th. when that day arrived her counsel, instead of filing an answer, filed a plea in abatement, denying the non-residence of mr. sharon in the state of california, on which depended his right to sue in the federal court. to this mr. sharon's counsel filed a replication on the th of may. it then devolved upon miss hill's counsel to produce evidence of the fact alleged in the plea, but, after a delay of five months and ten days, no evidence whatever was offered, and the court ordered the plea to be argued on the following day. it was overruled, and thirty days were given to file an answer to sharon's suit. the case in the state court had then been tried, argued, and submitted thirty days before, but miss hill's counsel were not yet ready to file their answer within the thirty days given them, and the court extended the time for answer until december th. six days before that day arrived judge sullivan rendered his decision. at last, on the th of december, , fourteen months after the filing of sharon's complaint, sarah althea's answer was filed in the federal court, in which, among other things, she set up the proceedings and decree of the state court, adjudging the alleged marriage contract to be genuine and legal, and the parties to be husband and wife, and three days later sharon filed his replication. there was at no time any delay or want of diligence on the part of the plaintiff in prosecuting this suit to final judgment. on the contrary, as is plainly shown in the record above stated, the delays were all on the part of the defendant. the taking of the testimony in the united states circuit court commenced on the th of february, , and closed on the th of august following. the struggle in the state court was going on during all the time of the taking of the testimony in the federal court, and intensified the excitement attendant thereon. miss hill was in constant attendance before the examiner who took the testimony, often interrupting the proceedings with her turbulent and violent conduct and language, and threatening the lives of mr. sharon's counsel. she constantly carried a pistol, and on occasions exhibited it during the examination of witnesses, and, pointing it at first one and then another, expressed her intention of killing them at some stage of the proceedings. she was constantly in contempt of the court, and a terror to those around her. her conduct on one occasion, in august, , became so violent that the taking of the testimony could not proceed, and justice field, the presiding judge of the circuit, made an order that she should be disarmed, and that a bailiff of the court should sit constantly at her side to restrain her from any murderous outbreak, such as she was constantly threatening. her principal attorney, tyler, was also most violent and disorderly. judge terry, while less explosive, was always ready to excuse and defend his client. (see report of proceedings in sharon vs. hill, sawyer's circuit court reps., .) upon the request of counsel for the complainant, the examiner in one case reported to the court the language and the conduct of miss hill. among other things, he reported her as saying: "when i see this testimony [from which certain scandalous remarks of hers were omitted] i feel like taking that man stewart[ ] out and cowhiding him. i will shoot him yet; that very man sitting there. to think that he would put up a woman to come here and deliberately lie about me like that. i will shoot him. they know when i say i will do it that i will do it. i shall shoot him as sure as you live; that man that is sitting right there. and i shall have that woman mrs. smith arrested for this, and make her prove it." and again: "i can hit a four-bit piece nine times out of ten." the examiner said that pending the examination of one of the witnesses, on the occasion mentioned, the respondent drew a pistol from her satchel, and held it in her right hand; the hand resting for a moment upon the table, with the weapon pointed in the direction of judge evans. he also stated that on previous occasions she had brought to the examiner's room during examinations a pistol, and had sat for some length of time holding it in her hand, to the knowledge of all persons present at the time. after the reading of the examiner's report in open court, justice field said: "in the case of william sharon versus sarah althea hill, the examiner in chancery appointed by the court to take the testimony has reported to the court that very disorderly proceedings took place before him on the d instant; that at that day, in his room, when counsel of the parties and the defendant were present, and during the examination of a witness by the name of piper, the defendant became very much excited, and threatened to take the life of one of the counsel, and that subsequently she drew a pistol and declared her intention to carry her threat into effect. it appears also from the report of the examiner that on repeated occasions the defendant has attended before him, during the examination of witnesses, armed with a pistol. such conduct is an offense against the laws of the united states punishable by fine and imprisonment. it interferes with the due order of proceedings in the administration of justice, and is well calculated to bring them into contempt. i, myself, have not heretofore sat in this case and do not expect to participate in its decision; i intend in a few days to leave for the east, but i have been consulted by my associate, and have been requested to take part in this side proceeding, for it is of the utmost importance for the due administration of justice that such misbehavior as the examiner reports should be stopped, and measures be taken which will prevent its recurrence. my associate will comment on the laws of congress which make the offense a misdemeanor, punishable by fine and imprisonment. "the marshal of the court will be directed to disarm the defendant whenever she goes before the examiner or into court in any future proceeding, and to appoint an officer to keep strict surveillance over her, in order that she may not carry out her threatened purpose. this order will be entered. the justice then said that it is to be observed that this block, embracing this building--the court-house--is under the exclusive jurisdiction of the united states. every offense committed within it is an offense against the united states, and the state has no jurisdiction whatever. this fact seems to have been forgotten by the parties." the following is the order then entered as directed by justice field: "whereas it appears from the report to this court of the examiner in chancery in this case appointed to take the depositions of witnesses, that on the d day of august, instant, at his office, counsel of the parties appeared, namely, william m. stewart, esquire, and oliver p. evans, esquire, for the complainant, and w.b. tyler, esquire, for the defendant, and the defendant in person, and that during the examination before said examiner of a witness named piper, the defendant became excited and threatened the life of the counsel of the complainant present, and exhibited a pistol with a declared intention to carry such threat into effect, thereby obstructing the order of the proceedings, and endeavoring to bring the same into contempt; and "whereas it further appears that said defendant habitually attends before said examiner carrying a pistol, "_it is ordered_, that the marshal of this court take such measures as may be necessary to disarm the said defendant, and keep her disarmed, and under strict surveillance, while she is attending the examination of witnesses before said examiner, and whenever attending in court, and that a deputy be detailed for that purpose." [ ] senator stewart, who was one of the counsel against her in the suit. chapter v. decision of the case in the federal court. the taking of the testimony being completed, the cause was set for a hearing on september th. after an argument of thirteen days the cause was submitted on the th of september, . on the th of december, , the court rendered its decision, that the alleged declaration of marriage and the letters purporting to have been addressed "my dear wife" were false and forged, and that the contemporaneous conduct of the parties, and particularly of the defendant, was altogether incompatible with the claim of marriage or the existence of any such declaration or letters. a decree was ordered accordingly, and the court made the following further order: "as the case was argued and submitted during the lifetime of the complainant, who has since deceased, the decree will be entered nunc pro tunc, as of september , , the date of its submission and a day prior to the decease of the complainant." the opinion of the court was delivered by judge deady, of the united states district court of oregon, who sat in the case with judge sawyer, the circuit judge. of the old negress under whose direction the fraudulent marriage contract had been manufactured, and under whose advice and direction the suit in the state court had been brought, the judge said: "mary e. pleasant, better known as mammie pleasant, is a conspicuous and important figure in this affair; without her it would probably never have been brought before the public. she appears to be a shrewd old negress of some means. "in my judgment this case and the forgeries and perjuries committed in its support had their origin largely in the brain of this scheming, trafficking, crafty old woman." he found that the declaration of marriage was forged by the defendant by writing the declaration over a simulated signature, and that her claim to be the wife of the plaintiff was wholly false, and had been put forth by her and her co-conspirators for no other purpose than to despoil the plaintiff of his property. judge sawyer also filed an opinion in the case, in which he declared that the weight of the evidence satisfactorily established the forgery and the fraudulent character of the instrument in question. chapter vi. the marriage of terry and miss hill. sarah althea now received a powerful recruit, who enlisted for the war. this was one of her lawyers, david s. terry, whom she married on the th day of january, , twelve days after the decision of the circuit court against her, and which he had heard announced, but before a decree had been entered in conformity with the decision. terry seemed willing to take the chances that the decree of the superior court would not be reversed in the supreme court of the state. the decision of the federal court he affected to utterly disregard. it was estimated that not less than $ , , would be sarah althea's share of sharon's estate, in the event of success in her suit. she would be a rich widow if it could be established that she had ever been a wife. she had quarreled with tyler, her principal attorney, long before, and accused him of failing in his professional duty. if she could escape from the obligations of her contract with him, she would not be compelled to divide with him the hoped-for $ , , . although judge terry had been chief justice of the supreme court of california, the crimes of perjury and forgery and subornation of perjury which had been loudly charged in judge sullivan's opinion against the woman, in whose favor he gave judgment, seemed to him but trifles. strangely enough, neither he nor sarah althea ever uttered a word of resentment against him on account of these charges. the marriage of terry with this desperate woman in the face of an adverse decision of the circuit court, by which jurisdiction was first exercised upon the subject-matter, was notice to all concerned that, by all the methods known to him, he would endeavor to win her cause, which he thus made his own. he took the position that any denial of sarah althea's pretense to have been the wife of sharon was an insult to her, which could only be atoned by the blood of the person who made it. this was the proclamation of a vendetta against all who should attempt to defend the heirs of mr. sharon in the possession of that half of their inheritance which he and sarah althea had marked for their own. his subsequent course showed that he relied upon the power of intimidation to secure success. he was a man of powerful frame, accustomed all his life to the use of weapons, and known to be always armed with a knife. he had the reputation of being a fighting man. he had decided that sarah althea had been the lawful wife of sharon, and that therefore he had married a virtuous widow. he had not often been crossed in his purpose or been resisted when he had once taken a position. by his marriage he virtually served notice on the judges of the supreme court of the state, before whom the appeal was then pending, that he would not tamely submit to be by them proclaimed to be the dupe of the discarded woman of another. it was well understood that he intended to hold them personally responsible to him for any decision that would have that effect. these intentions were said to have been made known to them. his rule in life, as once stated by himself, was to compel acquiescence in his will by threats of violence, and known readiness to carry his threats into effect. this, he said, would in most cases insure the desired result. he counted on men's reluctance to engage in personal difficulties with him. he believed in the persuasiveness of ruffianism. whether he thought his marriage would frighten judges sawyer and deady, who had just rendered their decision in the united states circuit court, and cause them either to modify the terms of the decree not yet entered, or deter them from its enforcement, is a matter of uncertainty. he was of the ultra state's-rights school and had great faith in the power of the courts of a state when arrayed against those of the united states. he had always denied the jurisdiction of the latter in the case of sarah althea, both as to the subject-matter and as to the parties. he refused to see any difference between a suit for a divorce and a suit to cancel a forged paper, which, if allowed to pass as genuine, would entitle its holder to another's property. he persisted in denying that sharon had been a citizen of nevada during his lifetime, and ignored the determination of this question by the circuit court. but if judge terry had counted on the fears of the united states judges of california he had reckoned too boldly, for on the th of january, , eight days after his marriage, the decree of the circuit court was formally entered. this decree adjudged the alleged marriage contract of august , , false, counterfeited, fabricated, and fraudulent, and ordered that it be surrendered to be cancelled and annulled, and be kept in the custody of the clerk, subject to the further order of the court; and sarah althea hill and her representatives were perpetually enjoined from alleging the genuineness or the validity of the instrument, or making use of it in any way to support her claims as wife of the complainant. the execution of this decree would, of course, put an end to sarah althea's claim, the hope of maintaining which was supposed to have been the motive of the marriage. to defeat its execution then became the sole object of terry's life. this he hoped to do by antagonizing it with a favorable decision of the supreme court of the state, on the appeals pending therein. it has heretofore been stated that the case against sharon in the superior court was removed from the calendar on the th day of november, , because of the defendant's death on the previous day. the th of february following, upon proper application, the court ordered the substitution of frederick w. sharon as executor and sole defendant in the suit in the place of william sharon, deceased. the motion for a new trial was argued on the th of the following may, and held under advisement until the th of the following october, when it was denied. from this order of denial an appeal was taken by the defendant. it must be borne in mind that there were now two appeals in this case to the supreme court of the state from the superior court. one taken on the th of february, , from the judgment of judge sullivan, and from his order for alimony and fees, and the other an appeal taken october , , from the order denying the new trial in the cause. on the st of january, , the supreme court rendered its decision, affirming the judgment of the superior court in favor of sarah althea, but reversing the order made by judge sullivan granting counsel fees, and reducing the allowance for alimony from $ , per month to $ . four judges concurred in this decision, namely, mckinstry, searles, patterson, and temple. three judges dissented, to wit, thornton, sharpstein, and mcfarland. there then remained pending in the same court the appeal from the order granting a new trial. it was reasonable that terry should expect a favorable decision on this appeal, as soon as it could be reached. this accomplished, he and sarah althea thought to enter upon the enjoyment of the great prize for which they had contended with such desperate energy. terry had always regarded the decree of the circuit court as a mere harmless expression of opinion, which there would be no attempt to enforce, and which the state courts would wholly ignore. whatever force it might finally be given by the supreme court of the united states appeared to him a question far in the future, for he supposed he had taken an appeal from the decree. this attempted appeal was found to be without effect, because when ordered the suit had abated by the death of the plaintiff, and no appeal could be taken until the case was revived by order of the court. this order was never applied for. the two years within which an appeal could have been taken expired january , . the decree of the circuit court had therefore become final at that time. chapter vii. the bill of revivor. it was at this stage of the prolonged legal controversy that justice field first sat in the case. the executor of the sharon estate, on the th of march, , filed a bill of revivor in the united states circuit court. this was a suit to revive the case of sharon vs. hill, that its decree might stand in the same condition and plight in which it was at the time of its entry, which, being _nunc pro tunc_, was of the same effect as if the entry had preceded the death of mr. sharon, the case having been argued and submitted during his lifetime. the decree directed the surrender and cancellation of the forged marriage certificate, and perpetually enjoined sarah althea hill, and her representatives, from alleging the genuineness or validity of that instrument, or making any use of the same in evidence, or otherwise to support any rights claimed under it. the necessity for this suit was the fact that the forged paper had not been surrendered for cancellation, as ordered by the decree, and the plaintiff feared that the defendant would claim and seek to enforce property rights as wife of the plaintiff, by authority of the alleged written declaration of marriage, under the decree of another court, essentially founded thereupon, contrary to the perpetual injunction ordered by the circuit court. to this suit, david s. terry, as husband of the defendant, was made a party. it merely asked the circuit court to place its own decree in a position to be executed, and thereby prevent the spoliation of the sharon estate, under the authority of the decree of judge sullivan in the suit in the state court subsequently commenced. a demurrer was filed by the defendant. it was argued in july before justice field, judge sawyer, and district judge sabin. it was overruled on the d of september, when the court ordered that the original suit of sharon against hill, and the final decree therein, stand revived in the name of frederick w. sharon as executor, and that the said suit and the proceedings therein be in the same plight and condition they were in at the death of william sharon, so as to give the executor, complainant as aforesaid, the full benefit, rights, and protection of the decree, and full power to enforce the same against the defendants, and each of them, at all times and in all places, and in all particulars. the opinion in the case was delivered by justice field. during its delivery he was interrupted by mrs. terry with violent and abusive language, and an attempt by her to take a pistol from a satchel which she held in her hand. her removal from the court-room by order of justice field; her husband's assault upon the marshal with a deadly weapon for executing the order, and the imprisonment of both the terrys for contempt of court, will be more particularly narrated hereafter. the commencement of the proceedings for the revival of the suit was well calculated to alarm the terrys. they saw that the decree in the circuit court was to be relied upon for something more than its mere moral effect. their feeling towards judges sawyer and deady was one of most intense hatred. judge deady was at his home in oregon, beyond the reach of physical violence at their hands, but judge sawyer was in san francisco attending to his official duties. upon him they took an occasion to vent their wrath. it was on the th of august, , after the commencement of the revivor proceedings, but before the decision. judge sawyer was returning in the railway train to san francisco from los angeles, where he had been to hold court. judge terry and his wife took the same train at fresno. judge sawyer occupied a seat near the center of the sleeping-car, and judge and mrs. terry took the last section of the car, behind him, and on the same side. a few minutes after leaving fresno, mrs. terry walked down the aisle to a point just beyond judge sawyer, and turning around with an ugly glare at him, hissed out, in a spiteful and contemptuous tone: "are you here?" to which the judge quietly replied: "yes, madam," and bowed. she then resumed her seat. a few minutes after, judge terry walked down the aisle about the same distance, looked over into the end section at the front of the car, and finding it vacant, went back, got a small hand-bag, and returned and seated himself in the front section, with his back to the engine and facing judge sawyer. mrs. terry did not (at the moment) accompany him. a few minutes later she walked rapidly down the passage, and as she passed judge sawyer, seized hold of his hair at the back of his head, gave it a spiteful twitch and passed quickly on, before he could fully realize what had occurred. after passing she turned a vicious glance upon him, which was continued for some time after taking her seat by the side of her husband. a passenger heard mrs. terry say to her husband: "i will give him a taste of what he will get bye and bye." judge terry was heard to remark: "the best thing to do with him would be to take him down the bay and drown him." upon the arrival of judge sawyer at san francisco, he entered a street car, and was followed by the terrys. mrs. terry took a third seat from him, and seeing him, said: "what, are you in this car too?" when the terrys left the car mrs. terry addressed some remark to judge sawyer in a spiteful tone, and repeated it. he said he did not quite catch it, but it was something like this: "we will meet again. this is not the end of it." persons at all familiar with the tricks of those who seek human life, and still contrive to keep out of the clutches of the law, will see in the scene above recited an attempt to provoke an altercation which would have been fatal to judge sawyer, if he had resented the indignity put upon him by mrs. terry, by even so much as a word. this could easily have been made the pretext for an altercation between the two men, in which the result would not have been doubtful. there could have been no proof that judge terry knew of his wife's intention to insult and assault judge sawyer as she passed him, nor could it have been proven that he knew she had done so. a remonstrance from sawyer could easily have been construed by terry, upon the statement of his wife, into an original, unprovoked, and aggressive affront. it is now, however, certain that the killing of judge sawyer was not at that time intended. it may have been, to use mrs. terry's words, "to give him a taste of what he would get bye and bye," if he should dare to render the decision in the revivor case adversely to them. this incident has been here introduced and dwelt upon for the purpose of showing the tactics resorted to by the terrys during this litigation, and the methods by which they sought to control decisions. it is entirely probable that they had hopes of intimidating the federal judges, as many believed some state judges had been, and that thus they might "from the nettle danger, pluck the flower safety." we have seen that they reckoned without their host. we shall now see to what extent their rage carried them on the day that the decision was rendered reviving the decree. chapter viii. the terrys imprisoned for contempt. on the day after judge sawyer's return from los angeles he called the marshal to his chambers, and notified him of mrs. terry's violent conduct towards him on the train in the presence of her husband, so that he might take such steps as he thought proper to keep order when they came into the court-building, and see that there was no disturbance in the court-room. on the morning of september d, the marshal was again summoned to judge sawyer's room, where judge field was also present. they informed him that the decision in the revival suit would be rendered that day, and they desired him to be present, with a sufficient number of bailiffs to keep order in court. they told him that judging from the action of the terrys on the train, and the threats they were making so publicly, and which were being constantly published in the newspapers, it was not impossible that they might create a disturbance in the court-room. when the court opened that day, it found terry and his wife already seated within the bar, and immediately in front of the judges. as it afterward appeared, they were both on a war-footing, he being armed with a concealed bowie-knife, and she with a -calibre revolver, which she carried in a small hand-bag, five of its chambers being loaded. the judges took their seats on the bench, and very shortly afterward justice field, who presided, began reading the opinion of the court in which both of his associates concurred. a printed pamphlet copy of this opinion contains pages, of which are taken up with a statement of the case. the opinion commences at page and covers the remaining pages of the pamphlet. from time to time, as the reading of the opinion progressed, mrs. terry, who was greatly excited, was observed to unclasp and clasp again the fastening of her satchel which contained her pistol, as if to be sure she could do so at any desired moment. at the th page of the opinion the following passage occurs: "the original decree is not self-executing in all its parts; it may be questioned whether any steps could be taken for its enforcement, until it was revived, but if this were otherwise, the surrender of the alleged marriage contract for cancellation, as ordered, requires affirmative action on the part of the defendant. the relief granted is not complete until such surrender is made. when the decree pronounced the instrument a forgery, not only had the plaintiff the right that it should thus be put out of the way of being used in the future to his embarrassment and the embarrassment of his estate, but public justice required that it should be formally cancelled, that it might constantly bear on its face the evidence of its bad character, whenever or wherever presented or appealed to." when mrs. terry heard the above words concerning the surrender of the alleged marriage contract for cancellation, she first endeavored for a few seconds, but unsuccessfully, to open the satchel containing her pistol. for some reason the catch refused to yield. then, rising to her feet, and placing the satchel before her on the table, she addressed the presiding justice, saying: "are you going to make me give up my marriage contract?" justice field said, "be seated, madam." she repeated her question: "are you going to take the responsibility of ordering me to deliver up that contract?" she was again ordered to resume her seat. at this she commenced raving loudly and violently at the justice in coarse terms, using such phrases as these: "mr. justice field, how much have you been bought for? everybody knows that you have been bought; that this is a paid decision." "how big was the sack?" "how much have you been paid for the decision?" "you have been bought by newland's coin; everybody knows you were sent out here by the newlands to make this decision." "every one of you there have been paid for this decision." at the commencement of this tirade, and after her refusal to desist when twice ordered to do so, the presiding justice directed the marshal to remove her from the court-room. she said defiantly: "i will not be removed from the court-room; you dare not remove me from the court-room." judge terry made no sign of remonstrance with her, had not endeavored to restrain her, but had, on the contrary, been seen to nod approvingly to her, as if assenting to something she had said to him just before she sprang to her feet. the instant, however, the court directed her removal from the room, of which she had thus taken temporary possession, to the total suspension of the court proceedings, his soul was "in arms and eager for the fray." as the marshal moved toward the offending woman, he rose from his seat, under great excitement, exclaiming, among other things, "no living man shall touch my wife!" or words of that import, and dealt the marshal a violent blow in the face,[ ] breaking one of his front teeth. he then unbuttoned his coat and thrust his hand under his vest, where his bowie-knife was kept, apparently for the purpose of drawing it, when he was seized by persons present, his hands held from drawing his weapon, and he himself forced down on his back. the marshal, with the assistance of a deputy, then removed mrs. terry from the court-room, she struggling, screaming, kicking, striking, and scratching them as she went, and pouring out imprecations upon judges field and sawyer, denouncing them as "corrupt scoundrels," and declaring she would kill them both. she was taken from the room into the main corridor, thence into the marshal's business office, and then into an inner room of his office. she did not cease struggling when she reached that room, but continued her frantic abuse. while mrs. terry was being removed from the court-room terry was held down by several strong men. he was thus, by force alone, prevented from drawing his knife on the marshal. while thus held he gave vent to coarse and denunciatory language against the officers. when mrs. terry was removed from the court-room he was allowed to rise. he at once made a swift rush for the door leading to the corridor on which was the marshal's office. as he was about leaving the room or immediately after stepping out of it, he succeeded in drawing his knife. as he crossed the threshold he brandished the knife above his head, saying, "i am going to my wife." there was a terrified cry from the bystanders: "he has got a knife." his arms were then seized by a deputy marshal and others present, to prevent him from using it, and a desperate struggle ensued. four persons held on to the arms and body of terry, and one presented a pistol to his head, threatening at the same time to shoot him if he did not give up the knife. to these threats terry paid no attention, but held on to the knife, actually passing it during the struggle from one hand to the other. david neagle then seized the handle of the knife and commenced drawing it through terry's hand, when terry relinquished it. the whole scene was one of the wildest alarm and confusion. to use the language of one of the witnesses, "terry's conduct throughout this affair was most violent. he acted like a demon, and all the time while in the corridor he used loud and violent language, which could be plainly heard in the court-room, and, in fact, throughout the building," applying to the officers vile epithets, and threatening to cut their hearts out if they did not let him go to his wife. the knife which terry drew, and which he afterwards designated as "a small sheath knife," was, including the handle, nine and a quarter inches long, the blade being five inches, having a sharp point, and is commonly called a bowie-knife. he himself afterwards represented that he drew this knife, not "because he wanted to hurt anybody, but because he wanted to force his way into the marshal's office." the presiding justice had read only a small portion of the opinion of the court when he was interrupted by the boisterous and violent proceedings described. on their conclusion, by the arrest of the terrys, he proceeded with the reading of the opinion, which occupied nearly a whole hour. the justices, without adjourning the court, then retired to the adjoining chambers of the presiding justice for deliberation. they there considered of the action which should be taken against the terrys for their disorderly and contemptuous conduct. after determining what that should be they returned to the court-room and announced it. for their conduct and resistance to the execution of the order of the court both were adjudged guilty of contempt and ordered, as a punishment, to be imprisoned in the county jail, terry for six months and his wife for thirty days. when terry heard of the order, and the commitment was read to him, he said, "judge field" (applying to him a coarse and vituperative epithet) "thinks when i get out, when i get released from jail, that he will be in washington, but i will meet him when he comes back next year, and it will not be a very pleasant meeting for him." mrs. terry said that she would kill both judges field and sawyer, and repeated the threat several times. while the prisoners were being taken to jail, mrs. terry said to her husband, referring to judge sawyer: "i wooled him good on the train coming from los angeles. he has never told that." to which he replied: "he will not tell that; that was too good." she said she could have shot judge field and killed him from where she stood in the court-room, but that she was not ready then to kill the old villain; she wanted him to live longer. while crossing the ferry to oakland she said, "i could have killed judges field and sawyer; i could shoot either one of them, and you would not find a judge or a jury in the state would convict me." she repeated this, and terry answered, saying: "no, you could not find a jury that would convict any one for killing the old villain," referring to judge field. the jailer at alameda testified that one day mrs. terry showed him the sheath of her husband's knife, saying: "that is the sheath of that big bowie-knife that the judge drew. don't you think it is a large knife?" judge terry was present, and laughed and said: "yes; i always carry that," meaning the knife. to j.h. o'brien, a well-known citizen, judge terry said that "after he got out of jail he would horsewhip judge field. he said he did not think he would ever return to california, but this earth was not large enough to keep him from finding judge field, and horsewhipping him," and said, "if he resents it i will kill him." to a newspaper writer, thomas t. williams, he said: "judge field would not dare to come out to the pacific coast, and he would have a settlement with him if he did come." j.m. shannon, a friend of terry's for thirty years, testified that while the terrys were in jail he called there with mr. wigginton, formerly a member of congress from california; that during the call mrs. terry said something to her husband to the effect that they could not do anything at all in regard to it. he said: "yes, we can." she asked what they could do. he said: "i can kill old sawyer, damn him. i will kill old sawyer, and then the president will have to appoint some one in his place." in saying this "he brought his fist down hard and seemed to be mad." ex-congressman wigginton also testified concerning this visit to terry. it occurred soon after the commitment. he went to arrange about some case in which he and terry were counsel on opposite sides. he told terry of a rumor that there was some old grudge or difference between him and judge field. terry said there was none he knew of. he said: "'when judge field's name was mentioned as candidate for president of the united states,'--i think he said,--'when i was a delegate to the convention, it being supposed that i had certain influence with a certain political element, that also had delegates in the convention, some friend or friends'--i will not be sure whether it was friend or friends--'of judge field came to me and asked for my influence with these delegates to secure the nomination for judge field. my answer'--i am now stating the language as near as i can of judge terry's--'my answer was, 'no, i have no influence with that element.' i understood it to be the workingmen's delegates. i could not control these delegates, and if i could would not control them for field.' he said: 'that may have caused some alienation, but i do not know that field knew that.'" mr. wigginton said that mrs. terry asked her husband what he could do, and he replied, showing more feeling than he had before: "do? i can kill old sawyer, and by god, if necessary, i will, and the president will then have to appoint some one else in his place." [ ] one of the witnesses stated that terry also said, "get a written order from the court." chapter ix. terry's petition to the circuit court for a release--its refusal--he appeals to the supreme court--unanimous decision against him there--president cleveland refuses to pardon him--falsehoods refuted. on the th of september terry petitioned the circuit court for a revocation of the order of imprisonment in his case, and in support thereof made the following statement under oath: "that when petitioner's wife, the said sarah a. terry, first arose from her seat, and before she uttered a word, your petitioner used every effort in his power to cause her to resume her seat and remain quiet, and he did nothing to encourage her in her acts of indiscretion; when this court made the order that petitioner's wife be removed from the court-room your petitioner arose from his seat with the intention and purpose of himself removing her from the court-room quietly and peaceably, and that he had no intention or design of obstructing or preventing the execution of said order of the court; that he never struck or offered to strike the united states marshal until the said marshal had assaulted himself, and had in his presence violently, and as he believed unnecessarily, assaulted the petitioner's wife. "your petitioner most solemnly swears that he neither drew nor attempted to draw any deadly weapon of any kind whatever in said court-room, and that he did not assault or attempt to assault the u.s. marshal with any deadly weapon in said court-room or elsewhere. and in this connection he respectfully represents that after he left said court-room he heard loud talking in one of the rooms of the u.s. marshal, and among the voices proceeding therefrom he recognized that of his wife, and he thereupon attempted to force his way into said room through the main office of the united states marshal; the door of the room was blocked by such a crowd of men that the door could not be closed; that your petitioner then, for the first time, drew from inside his vest a small sheath-knife, at the same time saying to those standing in his way in said door, that he did not want to hurt any one; that all he wanted was to get into the room where his wife was. the crowd then parted and your petitioner entered the doorway, and there saw a united states deputy marshal with a revolver in his hand pointed to the ceiling of the room. some one then said: 'let him in if he will give up his knife,' and your petitioner immediately released hold of the knife to some one standing by. "in none of these transactions did your petitioner have the slightest idea of showing any disrespect to this honorable court or any of the judges thereof. "that he lost his temper, he respectfully submits was a natural consequence of himself being assaulted when he was making an honest effort to peaceably and quietly enforce the order of the court, so as avoid a scandalous scene, and of his seeing his wife so unnecessarily assaulted in his presence." it will be observed that terry, in his petition, contradicts the facts recited in the orders for the commitment of himself and his wife. these orders were made by justice field. circuit judge sawyer, and district judge sabin from the district of nevada, who did not depend upon the testimony of others for information as to the facts in the case, but were, themselves, eye-witnesses and spoke from personal observation and absolute knowledge. in passing upon terry's petition, these judges, speaking through justice field, who delivered the opinion of the court, bore testimony to a more particular account of the conduct of terry and his wife than had been given in the order for the commitment. as the scene has already been described at length, this portion of the opinion of the court would be a mere repetition, and is therefore omitted. after reciting the facts, justice field referred to the gravity of terry's offense in the following terms: "the misbehavior of the defendant, david s. terry, in the presence of the court, in the court-room, and in the corridor, which was near thereto, and in one of which (and it matters not which) he drew his bowie-knife, and brandished it with threats against the deputy of the marshal and others aiding him, is sufficient of itself to justify the punishment imposed. but, great as this offense was, the forcible resistance offered to the marshal in his attempt to execute the order of the court, and beating him, was a far greater and more serious affair. the resistance and beating was the highest possible indignity to the government. when the flag of the country is fired upon and insulted, it is not the injury to the bunting, the linen, or silk on which the stars and stripes are stamped which startles and arouses the country. it is the indignity and insult to the emblem of the nation's majesty which stirs every heart, and makes every patriot eager to resent them. so, the forcible resistance to an officer of the united states in the execution of the process, orders, and judgments of their courts is in like manner an indignity and insult to the power and authority of the government which can neither be overlooked nor extenuated." after reviewing terry's statement, justice field said: "we have read this petition with great surprise at its omissions and misstatements. as to what occurred under our immediate observation, its statements do not accord with the facts as we saw them; as to what occurred at the further end of the room and in the corridor, its statements are directly opposed to the concurring accounts of the officers of the court and parties present, whose position was such as to preclude error in their observations. according to the sworn statement of the marshal, which accords with our own observations, so far from having struck or assaulted terry, he had not even laid his hands upon him when the violent blow in the face was received. and it is clearly beyond controversy that terry never voluntarily surrendered his bowie-knife, and that it was wrenched from him only after a violent struggle. "we can only account for his misstatement of facts as they were seen by several witnesses, by supposing that he was in such a rage at the time that he lost command of himself, and does not well remember what he then did, or what he then said. some judgment as to the weight this statement should receive, independently of the incontrovertible facts at variance with it, may be formed from his speaking of the deadly bowie-knife he drew as 'a small sheath-knife,' and of the shameless language and conduct of his wife as 'her acts of indiscretion.' "no one can believe that he thrust his hand under his vest where his bowie-knife was carried without intending to draw it. to believe that he placed his right hand there for any other purpose--such as to rest it after the violent fatigue of the blow in the marshal's face or to smooth down his ruffled linen--would be childish credulity. "but even his own statement admits the assaulting of the marshal, who was endeavoring to enforce the order of the court, and his subsequently drawing a knife to force his way into the room where the marshal had removed his wife. yet he offers no apology for his conduct; expresses no regret for what he did, and makes no reference to his violent and vituperative language against the judges and officers of the court, while under arrest, which is detailed in the affidavits filed." in refusing to grant the petition the court said: "there is nothing in his petition which would justify any remission of the imprisonment. the law imputes an attempt to accomplish the natural result of one's acts, and when these acts are of a criminal nature it will not accept, against such implication, the denial of the transgressor. no one would be safe if the denial of a wrongful or criminal act would suffice to release the violator of the law from the punishment due his offenses." on september , , after the announcement of the opinion of the court by mr. justice field denying the petition of d.s. terry for a revocation of the order committing him for contempt, mr. terry made public a correspondence between himself and judge solomon heydenfeldt, which explains itself, and is as follows: "my dear terry: "the papers which our friend stanley sends you will explain what we are trying to do. i wish to see field to-morrow and sound his disposition, and if it seems advisable i will present our petition. but in order to be effective, and perhaps successful, i wish to feel assured and be able to give the assurance that failure to agree will not be followed by any attempt on your part to break the peace either by action or demonstration. i know that you would never compromise me in any such manner, but it will give me the power to make an emphatic assertion to that effect and that ought to help. "please answer promptly. "s. heydenfeldt." the reply of judge terry is as follows: "dear heydenfeldt: "your letter was handed me last evening. i do not expect a favorable result from any application to the circuit court, and i have very reluctantly consented that an application be made to judge field, who will probably wish to pay me for my refusal to aid his presidential aspirations four years ago. i had a conversation with garber on saturday last in which i told him if i was released i would seek no personal satisfaction for what had passed. you may say as emphatically as you wish that i do not contemplate breaking the peace, and that, so far from seeking, i will avoid meeting any of the parties concerned. i will not promise that i will refrain from denouncing the decision or its authors. i believe that the decision was purchased and paid for with coin from the sharon estate, and i would stay here for ten years before i would say that i did not so believe. if the judges of the circuit court would do what is right they would revoke the order imprisoning my wife. she certainly was in contempt of court, but that great provocation was given by going outside the record to smirch her character ought to be taken into consideration in mitigation of the sentence. field, when a legislator, thought that no court should be allowed to punish for contempt by imprisonment for a longer period than five days. my wife has already been in prison double that time for words spoken under very great provocation. no matter what the result, i propose to stay here until my wife is dismissed. "yours truly, "d.s. terry." in the opinion of the court, referred to in the foregoing letter as "smirching the character" of mrs. terry, there was nothing said reflecting upon her, except what was contained in quotations from the opinion of judge sullivan of the state court in the divorce case of sharon vs. hill in her favor. these quotations commenced at page of the pamphlet copy of justice field's opinion, when less than three pages remained to be read. it was at page of the pamphlet that justice field was reading when mrs. terry interrupted him and was removed from the court-room. after her removal he resumed the reading of the opinion, and only after reading pages, occupying nearly an hour, did he reach the quotations in which judge sullivan expressed his own opinion that mrs. terry had committed perjury several times in his court. the reading of them could not possibly have furnished her any provocation for her conduct. she had then been removed from the court-room more than an hour. besides, if they "smirched" her character, why did she submit to them complacently when they were originally uttered from the bench by judge sullivan in his opinion rendered in her favor? justice field, in what he was reading that so incensed mrs. terry, was simply stating the effect of a decree previously rendered in a case, in the trial of which he had taken no part. he was stating the law as to the rights established by that decree. the efforts then made by terry, and subsequently by his friends and counsel, to make it appear that his assault upon the marshal and defiance of the court were caused by his righteous indignation at assaults made by judge field upon his wife's character were puerile, because based on a falsehood. the best proof of this is the opinion itself. judge terry next applied to the supreme court of the united states for a writ of habeas corpus. in that application he declared that on the th day of september, , he addressed to the circuit court a petition duly verified by his oath, and then stated the petition for release above quoted. yet in a communication published in the _san francisco examiner_ of october d he solemnly declared that this very petition was not filed by any one on his behalf. after full argument by the supreme court the writ was denied, november , , by an unanimous court, justice field, of course, not sitting in the case. justice harlan delivered the opinion of the court. chapter x. president cleveland refuses to pardon terry--false statements of terry refuted. before the petition for habeas corpus was presented to the supreme court of the united states, judge terry's friends made a strenuous effort to secure his pardon from president cleveland. the president declined to interfere. in his efforts in that direction judge terry made gross misrepresentations as to judge field's relations with himself, which were fully refuted by judge heydenfeldt, the very witness he had invoked. judge heydenfeldt had been an associate of judge terry on the state supreme bench. these representations and their refutation are here given as a necessary element in this narrative. five days after he had been imprisoned, to wit, september , terry wrote a letter to his friend zachariah montgomery at washington, then assistant attorney-general for the interior department under the cleveland administration, in which he asked his aid to obtain a pardon from the president. knowing that it would be useless to ask this upon the record of his conduct as shown by the order for his commitment, he resorted to the desperate expedient of endeavoring to overcome that record by putting his own oath to a false statement of the facts, against the statement of the three judges, made on their own knowledge, as eye-witnesses, and supported by the affidavits of court officers, lawyers, and spectators. to montgomery he wrote: "i have made a plain statement of the facts which occurred in the court, and upon that propose to ask the intervention of the president, and i request you to see the president; tell him all you know of me, and what degree of credit should be given to a statement by me upon my own knowledge of the facts. when you read the statement i have made you will be satisfied that the statement in the order of the court is false." he then proceeded to tell his story as he told it in his petition to the circuit court. his false representations as to the assault he made upon the marshal, and as to his alleged provocation therefor, were puerile in the extreme. he stood alone in his declaration that the marshal first assaulted him, while the three judges and a dozen witnesses declared the very opposite. his denial that he had assaulted the marshal with a deadly weapon was contradicted by the judges and others, who said that they saw him attempt to draw a knife in the court-room, which attempt, followed up as it was continually until successful, constituted an assault with that weapon. to call his bowie-knife "a small sheath-knife," and the outrageous conduct of his wife "acts of indiscretion;" to pretend that he lost his temper because he was assaulted "while making an honest effort to peaceably and quietly enforce the order of the court," and finally to pretend that his wife had been "unnecessarily assaulted" in his presence, was all not only false, but simply absurd and ridiculous. he said: "i don't want to stay in prison six months for an offense of which i am not guilty. there is no way left except to appeal to the president. the record of a court imports absolute verity, so i am not allowed to show that the record of the circuit court is absolutely false. if you can help me in this matter you will confer on me the greatest possible favor." he told montgomery that it had been suggested to him that one reason for field's conduct was his refusal to support the latter's aspirations for the presidency. in this connection he made the following statement: "in march, , i received a note from my friend judge heydenfeldt, saying that he wished to see me on important business, and asking me to call at his office. i did so, and he informed me that he had received a letter from judge field, who was confident that if he could get the vote of california in the democratic national convention, which would assemble that year, he would be nominated for president and would be elected as, with the influence of his family and their connection, that he would certainly carry new york; that judge field further said that a congressman from california and other of his friends had said that if i would aid him, i could give him the california delegation; that he understood i wanted official recognition as, because of my duel years ago, i was under a cloud; that if i would aid him, i should have anything i desired." it will be observed that he here positively states that judge heydenfeldt told him he had received a letter from judge field, asking terry's aid and promising, for it, a reward. judge heydenfeldt, in a letter dated august , , to the _san francisco examiner_, branded terry's assertion as false. the letter to the _examiner_ is as follows: "the statement made in to-day's _examiner_ in reference to the alleged letter from justice field to me, derived, as is stated by mr. ashe, from a conversation with judge terry, is utterly devoid of truth. "i had at one time, many years ago, a letter from justice field, in which he stated that he was going to devote his leisure to preparing for circulation among his friends his reminiscences, and, referring to those of early california times, he requested me to obtain from judge terry his, terry's, version of the terry-broderick duel, in order that his account of it might be accurate. as soon as i received this letter, i wrote to judge terry, informing him of judge field's wishes, and recommending him to comply, as coming, as the account would, from friendly hands, it would put him correct upon the record, and would be in a form which would endure as long as necessary for his reputation on that subject. "i received no answer from judge terry, but meeting him, some weeks after, on the street in this city, he excused himself, saying that he had been very busy, and adding that it was unnecessary for him to furnish a version of the duel, as the published and accepted version was correct. "the letter to me from justice field above referred to is the only letter from justice field to me in which judge terry's name was ever mentioned, and, with the exception of the above-mentioned street conversation, judge field was never the subject of conversation between judge terry and myself, from the time i left the bench, on the st of january, , up to the time of terry's death. "as to the statement that during terry's trouble with the sharon case, i offered terry the use of field's letter, it results from what i have above stated--that it is a vile falsehood, whoever may be responsible for it. "i had no such letter, and consequently could have made no such offer. "san francisco, august , . "s. heydenfeldt." judge heydenfeldt subsequently addressed the following letter to judge field: "san francisco, _august , _. "my dear judge: i received yours of yesterday with the extract from the washington _post_ of the d inst., containing a copy of a letter from the late judge terry to the hon. zack montgomery. "the statement in that letter of a conversation between terry and myself in reference to you is untrue. the only conversation terry and i ever had in relation to you was, as heretofore stated, in regard to a request from you to me to get from terry his version of the terry-broderick duel, to be used in your intended reminiscences. "i do not see how terry could have made such an erroneous statement, unless, possibly, he deemed that application as an advance made by you towards obtaining his political friendship, and upon that built up a theory, which he moulded into the fancy written by him in the montgomery letter. "in all of our correspondence, kept up from time to time since your first removal to washington down to the present, no letter of yours contained a request to obtain the political support of any one. "i remain, dear judge, very truly yours, "s. heydenfeldt. "hon. stephen j. field, "palace hotel, san francisco." at the hearing of the neagle case, justice field was asked if he had been informed of any statements made by judge terry of ill feeling existing between them before the latter's imprisonment for contempt. he replied: "yes, sir. since that time i have seen a letter purporting to come from terry to zack montgomery, published in washington, in which he ascribed my action to personal hostility, because he had not supported me in some political aspiration. there is not one particle of truth in that statement. it is a pure invention. in support of his statement he referred to a letter received or an interview had with judge heydenfeldt. there is not the slightest foundation for it, and i cannot understand it, except that the man seems to me to have been all changed in the last few years, and he did not hesitate to assert that the official actions of others were governed by improper considerations. i saw charges made by him against judges of the state courts; that they had been corrupt in their decisions against him; that they had been bought. that was the common assertion made by him when decisions were rendered against him." he then referred to the above letters of judge heydenfeldt, declaring terry's assertion to be false. it should be borne in mind that terry's letter to montgomery was written september th. it directly contradicts what he had said to ex-congressman wigginton on the th or th of the same month. to that gentleman he declared that he knew of no "old grudge or little difference" between himself and judge field. he said he had declined to support the latter for the presidency, and added: "that may have caused some alienation, but i do not know that judge field knew that." in his insane rage terry did not realize how absurd it was to expect people to believe that judge sawyer and judge sabin, both republicans, had participated in putting him in jail, to punish him for not having supported justice field for the presidency in a national democratic convention years before. perhaps terry thought his reference to the fact that judge field's name had been previously used in democratic conventions, in connection with the presidency, might have some effect upon president cleveland's mind. this letter was not forwarded to zachariah montgomery until a week after it was written. he then stated in a postscript that he had delayed sending it upon the advice of his attorneys pending the application to the circuit court for his release. again he charged that the judges had made a false record against him, and that evidence would be presented to the president to show it. terry and his friends brought all the pressure to bear that they could command, but the president refused his petition for a pardon, and, as already shown, the supreme court unanimously decided that his imprisonment for contempt had been lawfully ordered. he was therefore obliged to serve out his time. mrs. terry served her thirty days in jail, and was released on the d of october. there is a federal statute that provides for the reduction of a term of imprisonment of criminals for good behavior. judge terry sought to have this statute applied in his case, but without success. the circuit court held that the law relates to state penitentiaries, and not to jails, and that the system of credits could not be applied to prisoners in jail. besides this, the credits in any case are counted by the year, and not by days or months. the law specifies that prisoners in state prisons are entitled to so many months' time for the first year, and so many for each subsequent year. as terry's sentence ran for six months, the court said the law could not apply. he consequently remained in jail until the d of march, . chapter xi. terry's continued threats to kill justice field--return of the latter to california in . justice field left california for washington in september, , a few days after the denial of terry's petition to the circuit court for a release. the threats against his life and that of judge sawyer so boldly made by the terrys were as well known as the newspaper press could make them. in addition to this source of information, reports came from many other directions, telling of the rage of the terrys and their murderous intentions. from october, , till his departure for california, in june following, , his mail almost every day contained reports of what they were saying, and the warnings and entreaties of his friends against his return to that state. these threats came to the knowledge of the attorney-general of the united states, who gave directions to the marshal of the northern district of california to see to it that justice field and judge sawyer should be protected from personal violence at the hands of these parties. justice field made but one answer to all who advised against his going to hold court in california in , and that was, "i cannot and will not allow threats of personal violence to deter me from the regular performance of my judicial duties at the times and places fixed by law. as a judge of the highest court of the country, i should be ashamed to look any man in the face if i allowed a ruffian, by threats against my person, to keep me from holding the regular courts in my circuit." terry's murderous intentions became a matter of public notoriety, and members of congress and senators from the pacific coast, in interviews with the attorney-general, confirmed the information derived by him from other sources of the peril to which the united states judges in california were subjected. he, in consequence, addressed the following letter on the subject to marshal franks: "department of justice, "washington, _april , _. "john c. franks, "_united states marshal, san francisco, cal._ "sir: the proceedings which have heretofore been had in the case of mr. and mrs. terry in your united states circuit court have become matter of public notoriety, and i deem it my duty to call your attention to the propriety of exercising unusual precaution, in case further proceedings shall be had in that case, for the protection of his honor justice field, or whoever may be called upon to hear and determine the matter. of course, i do not know what may be the feelings or purpose of mr. and mrs. terry in the premises, but many things which have happened indicate that violence on their part is not impossible. it is due to the dignity and independence of the court and the character of its judges that no effort on the part of the government shall be spared to make them feel entirely safe and free from anxiety in the discharge of their high duties. "you will understand, of course, that this letter is not for the public, but to put you upon your guard. it will be proper for you to show it to the district attorney if deemed best. "yours truly, "w.h.h. miller, "_attorney-general_." a month later the attorney-general authorized the employment of special deputies for the purpose named in the foregoing letter. chapter xii. further proceedings in the state court.--judge sullivan's decision reversed. mrs. terry did not wait for the release of her husband from jail before renewing the battle. on the d of january, , she gave notice of a motion in the superior court for the appointment of a receiver who should take charge of the sharon estate, which she alleged was being squandered to the injury of her interest therein acquired under the judgment of judge sullivan. on the th of january an injunction was issued by the united states circuit court commanding her and all others to desist from this proceeding. the terrys seemed to feel confident that this would bring on a final trial of strength between the federal and state courts, and that the state court would prevail in enforcing its judgment and orders. the motion for a receiver was submitted after full argument, and on the d of june following judge sullivan rendered a decision asserting the jurisdiction of his court to entertain the motion for a receiver, and declaring the decree of the united states circuit court inoperative. in his opinion judge sullivan reviewed the opinion of justice field in the revivor suit, taking issue therewith. as that decision had been affirmed by the supreme court of the united states nearly a month before, to wit, on the th of may, , it was rather late for such a discussion. having thus decided, however, that the motion for a receiver could be made, he set the hearing of the same for july , . on the th of may, one week before the rendering of this decision by judge sullivan, the mandate of the united states supreme court had been filed in the circuit court at san francisco, by which the decree of that court was affirmed. whether a receiver would be appointed by judge sullivan, in the face of the decision of the supreme court of the united states, became now an interesting question. terry and his lawyers affected to hold in contempt the supreme court decree, and seemed to think no serious attempt would be made to enforce it. meantime, both of the terrys had been indicted in the united states circuit court for the several offenses committed by them in assaulting the marshal in the court-room as hereinbefore described. these indictments were filed on the th of september. dilatory motions were granted from time to time, and it was not until the th of june that demurrers to the indictments were filed. the summer vacation followed without any argument of these demurrers. it was during this vacation that justice field arrived in california, on the th of june. the situation then existing was as follows: the criminal proceedings against the terrys were at a standstill, having been allowed to drag along for nine months, with no further progress than the filing of demurrers to the indictments. the appeal to the supreme court of the state from judge sullivan's order denying a new trial had been argued and submitted on the th of may, but no decision had been rendered. despite the pendency of that appeal, by reason of which the judgment of the supreme court of the state had not yet become final, and despite the mandate of the united states supreme court affirming the decree in the revivor case, judge sullivan had, as we have already seen, set the th of july for the hearing of the motion of the terrys for the appointment of a receiver to take charge of the sharon estate. for them to proceed with this motion would be a contempt of the united states circuit court. the arrival of justice field should have instructed judge terry that the decree of that court could not be defied with impunity, and that the injunction issued in it against further proceedings upon the judgment in the state court would be enforced with all the power authorized by the constitution and laws of the united states for the enforcement of judicial process. as the th of july approached, the lawyers who had been associated with terry commenced discussing among themselves what would be the probable consequence to them of disobeying an injunction of the united states circuit court. the attorneys for the sharon estate made known their determination to apply to that court for the enforcement of its writ in their behalf. the terrys' experience in resisting the authority of that court served as a warning for their attorneys. on the morning of the th of july judge terry and his wife appeared, as usual, in the superior court room. two of their lawyers came in, remained a few minutes and retired. judge terry himself remained silent. his wife arose and addressed the court, saying that her lawyers were afraid to appear for her. she said they feared if they should make a motion in her behalf, for the appointment of a receiver, judge field would put them in jail; therefore, she said, she appeared for herself. she said if she got in jail she would rather have her husband outside, and this was why she made the motion herself, while he remained a spectator. the hearing was postponed for several days. before the appointed day therefor, the supreme court of the state, on the th of july, rendered its decision, reversing the order of judge sullivan refusing a new trial, thereby obliterating the judgment in favor of sarah althea, and the previous decision of the appellate court affirming it. the court held that this previous judgment had not become the law of the case pending the appeal from the order denying a new trial. it held that where two appeals are taken in the same case, one from the judgment and the other from the order denying a new trial, the whole case must be held to be under the control of the supreme court until the whole is disposed of, and the case remanded for further proceedings in the court below. the court reversed its previous decision, and declared that if the statements made by sarah althea and by her witnesses had been true, she never had been the wife of william sharon, for the reason that, after the date of the alleged contract of marriage, the parties held themselves out to the public as single and unmarried people, and that even according to the findings of fact by judge sullivan the parties had not assumed marital rights, duties, and obligations. the case was therefore remanded to the superior court for a new trial. on the d of august the demurrers to the several indictments against the terrys came up to be heard in the united states district court. the argument upon them concluded on the th. on the th the demurrer to one of the indictments against sarah althea was overruled and she entered a plea of not guilty. no decision was rendered at that time upon either of the five other indictments. on the following day, august th, justice field left san francisco and went to los angeles for the purpose of holding court. chapter xiii. attempted assassination of justice field, resulting in terry's own death at the hands of a deputy united states marshal. in view of what was so soon to occur, it is important to understand the condition of mind into which judge terry and his wife had now wrought themselves. they had been married about two years and a half. in their desperate struggle for a share of a rich man's estate they had made themselves the terror of the community. armed at all times and ready for mortal combat with whoever opposed their claims, they seemed, up to the th of july, to have won their way in the state courts by intimidation. the decision of the united states circuit court was rendered before they were married. it proclaimed the pretended marriage agreement a forgery, and ordered it to be delivered to the clerk of the court for cancellation. terry's marriage with sarah althea, twelve days after this, was a declaration of intention to resist its authority. the conduct of the pair in the circuit court on the d of september must have had some object. they may have thought to break up the session of the court for that day, and to so intimidate the judges that they would not carry out their purpose of rendering the decision; or they may have hoped that, if rendered, it would be allowed to slumber without any attempt to enforce it; or even that a rehearing might be granted, and a favorable decision forced from the court. it takes a brave man on the bench to stand firmly for his convictions in the face of such tactics as were adopted by the terrys. the scene was expected also to have its effect upon the minds of the judges of the supreme court of the state, who then were yet to pass finally upon sullivan's judgment on the appeal from the order denying a new trial. but the terrys had not looked sufficiently at the possible consequence of their actions. they had thus far gone unresisted. as district attorney carey wrote to the attorney-general: "they were unable to appreciate that an officer should perform his official duty when that duty in any way requires that his efforts be directed against them." when, therefore, justice field directed the removal of mrs. terry from the court, and when her doughty defendant and champion, confident of being able to defeat the order, found himself vanquished in the encounter, disarmed, arrested, and finally imprisoned, his rage was boundless. he had found a tribunal which cared nothing for his threats, and was able to overcome his violence. a court that would put him in the alameda jail for six months for resisting its order would enforce all its decrees with equal certainty. from the time of the terrys' incarceration in the alameda county jail their threats against justice field became a matter of such notoriety that the drift of discussion was not so much whether they would murder the justice, as to when and under what circumstances they would be likely to do so. there is little doubt that terry made many threats for the express purpose of having them reach the knowledge of judge field at washington, in the hope and belief that they would deter him from going to california. he probably thought that the judge would prefer to avoid a violent conflict, and that if his absence could be assured it might result in allowing the decree of the united states circuit court to remain a dead letter. he told many people that justice field would not dare come out to the pacific coast. he got the idea into his mind, or pretended to, that justice field had put him in jail in order to be able to leave for washington before a meeting could be had with him. terry would of course have preferred field's absence and a successful execution of sullivan's judgment to his presence in the state and the enforcement of the federal decree. when the announcement was made that justice field had left washington for san francisco, public and private discussions were actively engaged in, as to where he would be likely to encounter danger. a special deputy was sent by the marshal to meet the overland train on which he was travelling, at reno, in nevada. the methods of mrs. terry defied all calculations. she was as likely to make her appearance, with her burly husband as an escort, at the state line, as she finally did at the breakfast table at lathrop. justice field reached his quarters in san francisco on the th of june. from that day until the th of august public discussion of what the terrys would do continued. some of the newspapers seemed bent upon provoking a conflict, and inquired with devilish mischief when terry was going to carry out his threatened purpose. the threats of the terrys and the rumors of their intended assault upon justice field were reported to him and he was advised to go armed against such assault, which would be aimed against his life. he answered: "no, sir! i will not carry arms, for when it is known that the judges of our courts are compelled to arm themselves against assaults in consequence of their judicial action it will be time to dissolve the courts, consider government a failure, and let society lapse into barbarism." as the time approached for the hearing of the motion for a receiver before judge sullivan, july th, grave apprehensions were entertained of serious trouble. great impatience was expressed with the supreme court of the state for not rendering its decision upon the appeal from the order denying a new trial. it was hoped that the previous decision might be reversed, and a conflict between the two jurisdictions thus avoided. when the decision came, on the th of july, there seemed to be some relaxation of the great tension in the public mind. with the supreme court of the state, as well as the supreme court of the united states, squarely on the record against mrs. terry's pretensions to have been the wife of william sharon, it was hoped that the long war had ended. when justice field left san francisco for los angeles he had no apprehensions of danger, and strenuously objected to being accompanied by the deputy marshal. some of his friends were less confident. they realized better than he did the bitterness that dwelt in the hearts of terry and his wife, intensified as it was by the realization of the dismal fact that their last hope had expired with the decision of the supreme court of the state. the marshal was impressed with the danger that would attend justice field's journey to and from the court at los angeles. he went from san francisco on the th of august. after holding court in los angeles he took the train for san francisco august th, the deputy marshal occupying a section in the sleeping car directly opposite to his. judge terry and his wife left san francisco for their home in fresno the day following justice field's departure for los angeles. fresno is a station on the southern pacific between los angeles and san francisco. his train left los angeles for san francisco at : tuesday afternoon, august th. the deputy marshal got out at all the stations at which any stop was made for any length of time, to observe who got on board. before retiring he asked the porter of the car to be sure and wake him in time for him to get dressed before they reached fresno. at fresno, where they arrived during the night, he got off the train and went out on the platform. among the passengers who took the train at that station were judge terry and wife. he immediately returned to the sleeper and informed justice field, who had been awakened by the stopping of the train, that terry and his wife had got on the train. he replied: "very well. i hope that they will have a good sleep." neagle slept no more that night. the train reached merced, an intervening station between fresno and lathrop, at : that morning. neagle there conferred with the conductor, on the platform, and referred to the threats so often made by the terrys. he told him that justice field was on the train, and that he was accompanying him. he requested him to telegraph to lathrop, to the constable usually in attendance there, to be at hand, and that if any trouble occurred he would assist in preventing violence. justice field got up before the train reached lathrop, and told the deputy marshal that he was going to take his breakfast in the dining-room at that place. the following is his statement of what took place: "he said to me, 'judge, you can get a good breakfast at the buffet on board.' i did not think at the time what he was driving at, though i am now satisfied that he wanted me to take breakfast on the car and not get off. i said i prefer to have my breakfast at this station. i think i said i had come down from the yosemite valley a few days before, and got a good breakfast there, and was going there for that purpose. "he replied: 'i will go with you.' we were among the first to get off from the train." as soon as the train arrived, justice field, leaning on the arm of neagle, because of his lameness, proceeded to the dining-room, where they took seats for breakfast. there were in this dining-room fifteen tables, each one of which was ten feet long and four feet wide. they were arranged in three rows of five each, the tables running lengthwise with each other, with spaces between them of four feet. the aisles between the two rows were about seven feet apart, the rows running north and south. justice field and neagle were seated on the west side of the middle table in the middle row, the justice being nearer the lower corner of the table, and neagle at his left. very soon after--justice field says "a few minutes," while neagle says "it may be a minute or so"--judge terry and his wife entered the dining-room from the east. they walked up the aisle, between the east and middle rows of tables, so that justice field and neagle were faced towards them. judge terry preceded his wife. justice field saw them and called neagle's attention to them. he had already seen them. as soon as mrs. terry had reached a point nearly in front of justice field, she turned suddenly around, and scowling viciously, went in great haste out of the door at which she had come in. this was for the purpose, as it afterwards appeared, of getting her satchel with the pistol in it, which she had left in the car. judge terry apparently paid no attention to this movement, but proceeded to the next table above and seated himself at the upper end of it, facing the table at which justice field was seated. thus there were between the two men as they sat at the tables a distance equal to two table-lengths and one space of four feet, making about twenty-four feet. terry had been seated but a very short time--justice field thought it a moment or two, neagle thought it three or four minutes--when he arose and moved down towards the door, this time walking through the aisle _behind_ justice field, instead of the one in front of him as before. justice field supposed, when he arose, that he was going out to meet his wife, as she had not returned, and went on with his breakfast; but when terry had reached a point behind him, and a little to the right, within two or three feet of him, he halted. justice field was not aware of this, nor did he know that terry had stopped, until he was struck by him a violent blow in the face from behind, followed instantaneously by another blow at the back of his head. neagle had seen terry stop and turn. between this and terry's assault there was a pause of four or five seconds. instantaneously upon terry's dealing a blow, neagle leaped from his chair and interposed his diminutive form between justice field and the enraged and powerful man, who now sought to execute his long-announced and murderous purpose. terry gave justice field no warning of his presence except a blow from behind with his right hand. as neagle rose, he shouted: "stop, stop, i am an officer." judge terry had drawn back his right arm for a third blow at justice field, and with clinched fist was about to strike, when his attention was thus arrested by neagle, and looking at him he evidently recognized in him the man who had drawn the knife from his hand in the corridor before the marshal's office on the third of september of the preceding year, while he was attempting to cut his way into the marshal's office. neagle put his right hand up as he ordered terry to stop, when terry carried his right hand at once to his breast, evidently to seize the knife which he had told the alameda county jailer he "always carried." says neagle: "this hand came right to his breast. it went a good deal quicker than i can explain it. he continued looking at me in a desperate manner and his hand got there." the expression of terry's face at that time was described by neagle in these words: "the most desperate expression that i ever saw on a man's face, and i have seen a good many in my time. it meant life or death to me or him." having thus for a moment diverted the blow aimed at justice field and engaged terry himself, neagle did not wait to be butchered with the latter's ready knife, which he was now attempting to draw, but raised his six-shooter with his left hand (he is left-handed) and holding the barrel of it with his right hand, to prevent the pistol from being knocked out of his hands, he shot twice; the first shot into terry's body and the second at his head. terry immediately commenced sinking very slowly. knowing by experience that men mortally wounded have been often known to kill those with whom they were engaged in such an encounter, neagle fired the second shot to defend himself and justice field against such a possibility. the following is an extract from justice field's testimony, commencing at the point where judge terry rose from his seat at the breakfast table: "i supposed, at the time, he was going out to meet his wife, as she had not returned, so i went on with my breakfast. it seems, however, that he came around back of me. i did not see him, and he struck me a violent blow in the face, followed instantaneously by another blow. coming so immediately together, the two blows seemed like one assault. i heard 'stop, stop,' cried by neagle. of course i was for a moment dazed by the blows. i turned my head around and saw that great form of terry's with his arm raised and fist clinched to strike me. i felt that a terrific blow was coming, and his arm was descending in a curved way as though to strike the side of my temple, when i heard neagle cry out: 'stop, stop, i am an officer.' instantly two shots followed. i can only explain the second shot from the fact that he did not fall instantly. i did not get up from my seat, although it is proper for me to say that a friend of mine thinks i did, but i did not. i looked around and saw terry on the floor. i looked at him and saw that particular movement of the eyes that indicates the presence of death. of course it was a great shock to me. it is impossible for any one to see a man in the full vigor of life, with all those faculties that constitute life instantly extinguished without being affected, and i was. i looked at him for a moment, then went around and looked at him again, and passed on. great excitement followed. a gentleman came to me, whom i did not know, but i think it was mr. lidgerwood, who has been examined as a witness in this case, and said: 'what is this?' i said: 'i am a justice of the supreme court of the united states. my name is judge field. judge terry threatened my life and attacked me, and the deputy marshal has shot him.' the deputy marshal was perfectly cool and collected, and stated: 'i am a deputy marshal, and i have shot him to protect the life of judge field.' i cannot give you the exact words, but i give them to you as near as i can remember them. a few moments afterwards the deputy marshal said to me: 'judge, i think you had better go to the car.' i said, 'very well.' then this gentleman, mr. lidgerwood, said: 'i think you had better.' and with the two i went to the car. i asked mr. lidgerwood to go back and get my hat and cane, which he did. the marshal went with me, remained some time, and then left his seat in the car, and, as i thought, went back to the dining-room. (this is, however, i am told, a mistake, and that he only went to the end of the car.) he returned, and either he or some one else stated that there was great excitement; that mrs. terry was calling for some violent proceedings. i must say here that, dreadful as it is to take life, it was only a question of seconds whether my life or judge terry's life should be taken. i am firmly convinced that had the marshal delayed two seconds both he and myself would have been the victims of terry. "in answer to a question whether he had a pistol or other weapon on the occasion of the homicide, justice field replied: 'no, sir. i have never had on my person or used a weapon since i went on the bench of the supreme court of this state, on the th of october, , except once, when, years ago, i rode over the sierra nevada mountains in a buggy with general hutchinson, and at that time i took a pistol with me for protection in the mountains. with that exception, i have not had on my person, or used, any pistol or other deadly weapon.'" judge terry had fallen very near the place where he first stopped, near the seat occupied by justice field at the table. neagle testified that if justice field had had a weapon, and been active in using it, he was at such a disadvantage, seated as he was, with terry standing over him, that he would have been unable to raise his hand in his own defense. a large number of witnesses were examined, all of whom agreed upon the main facts as above stated. some of them distinctly heard the blows administered by terry upon justice field's face and head. all testified to the loud warning given terry by neagle that he was an officer of the law, accompanied by his command that terry should desist. it was all the work of a few seconds. terry's sudden attack, the quick progress of which, from the first blow, was neither arrested nor slackened until he was disabled by the bullet from neagle's pistol, could have been dealt with in no other way. it was evidently a question of the instant whether terry's knife or neagle's pistol should prevail. says neagle: "he never took his eyes off me after he looked at me, or i mine off him. i did not hear him say anything. the only thing was he looked like an infuriated giant to me. i believed if i waited two seconds i should have been cut to pieces. i was within four feet of him." q. "what did the motion that judge terry made with his right hand indicate to you?" a. "that he would have had that knife out there within another second and a half, and trying to cut my head off." terry, in action at such a time, from all accounts, was more like an enraged wild animal than a human being. the supreme moment had arrived to which he had been looking forward for nearly a year, when the life of the man he hated was in his hands. he had repeatedly sworn to take it. not privately had he made these threats. with an insolence and an audacity born of lawlessness and of a belief that he could hew his way with a bowie-knife in courts as well as on the streets, he had publicly sentenced judge field to death as a penalty for vindicating the majesty of the law in his imprisonment for contempt. it would have been the wildest folly that can be conceived of for the murderous assault of such a man to have been met with mild persuasion, or an attempt to arrest him. as well order a hungry tiger to desist from springing at his prey, to sheathe his outstretched claws and suffer himself to be bound, as to have met terry with anything less than the force to which he was himself appealing. every man who knows anything of the mode of life and of quarrelling and fighting among the men of terry's class knows full well that when they strike a blow they mean to follow it up to the death, and they mean to take no chances. the only way to prevent the execution of terry's revengeful and openly avowed purpose was by killing him on the spot. only a lunatic or an imbecile or an accomplice would have pursued any other course in neagle's place than the one he pursued, always supposing he had neagle's nerve and cool self-possession to guide him in such a crisis. while this tragedy was being enacted mrs. terry was absent, having returned to the car for the satchel containing her pistol. before she returned, the shot had been fired that defeated the conspiracy between her and her husband against the life of a judge for the performance of his official duties. she returned to the hotel with her satchel in her hand just as her husband met his death. the manager of the hotel stopped her at the door she was entering, and seized her satchel. she did not relinquish it, but both struggled for its possession. a witness testified that she screamed out while so struggling: "let me get at it; i will fix him." many witnesses testified to her frantic endeavor to get the pistol. she called upon the crowd to hang the man that killed judge terry, and cried out, "lynch judge field." again and again she made frantic appeals to those present to lynch judge field. she tried to enter the car where he was, but was not permitted to do so. she cried out, "if i had my pistol i would fix him." the testimony subsequently taken left no room to doubt that terry had his deadly knife in its place in his breast at the time he made the attack on justice field. as the crowd were all engaged in breakfasting, his movements attracted little attention, and his motion toward his breast for the knife escaped the notice of all but neagle and one other witness. neagle rushed between terry and justice field, and the latter had not a complete view of his assailant at the moment when the blow intended for him was changed into a movement for the knife with which judge terry intended to dispose of the alert little man, with whom he had had a former experience, and who now stood between him and the object of his greater wrath. but the conduct of mrs. terry immediately after the homicide was proof enough that her husband's knife had been in readiness. the conductor of the train swore that he saw her lying over the body of her husband about a minute, and when she rose up she unbuttoned his vest and said: "you may search him; he has got no weapon on him." not a word had been said about his having had a weapon. no one had made a movement towards searching him, as ought to have been done; but this woman, who had been to the car for her pistol and returned with it to join, if necessary, in the murderous work, had all the time and opportunity necessary for taking the knife from its resting-place under his vest, smearing one of her hands with his blood, which plainly showed where it had been and what she had been doing. neagle could not search the body, for his whole attention was directed to the protection of justice field. mrs. terry repeated the challenge to search the body for the knife after it had been removed. this showed clearly that the idea uppermost in her mind was to then and there manufacture testimony that he had not been armed at all. her eagerness on this subject betrayed her. had she herself then been searched, after rising from terry's body, the knife would doubtless have been found concealed upon her person. a number of witnesses testified to her conduct as above described. she said also: "you will find that he has no arms, for i took them from him in the car, and i said to him that i did not want him to shoot justice field, but i did not object to a fist bout." this reference to a fist bout was, of course, an admission that they had premeditated the assault. it was judge terry's knife and not a pistol that judge field had to fear. terry's threats had always pointed to some gross indignity that he would put upon justice field, and then kill him if he resented or resisted it. one of his threats was that he would horsewhip judge field, and that if he resented it he would kill him. in short, his intentions seem to have been to commit an assassination in alleged self-defense. the train soon left the station for san francisco. a constable of lathrop had taken the train, and addressing neagle told him that he would have to arrest him. this officer had no warrant and did not himself witness the homicide. justice field told him that he ought to have a warrant before making the arrest, remarking, if a man should shoot another when he was about to commit a felony, such as setting fire to your house, you would not arrest him for a murder; or if a highwayman got on the train to plunder. the officer replied very courteously by the suggestion that there would have to be an inquest. neagle at once said, "i am ready to go," thinking it better to avoid all controversy, and being perfectly willing to answer anywhere for what he had done. arriving at the next station (tracy), neagle and the officer took a buggy and went to the county jail at stockton. thus was a deputy marshal of the united states withdrawn from the service of his government while engaged in a most important and as yet unfinished duty because he had with rigid faithfulness performed that duty. he was arrested by an officer who had no warrant and had not witnessed the homicide, and lodged in jail. meanwhile a detective in san francisco received a telegram from the sheriff of san joaquin county to arrest judge field. supposing it to be his duty to comply with this command, the detective crossed the bay to meet the train for that purpose. marshal franks said to him: "you shall not arrest him. you have no right to do so. it would be an outrage, and if you attempt it i will arrest you." the news of these exciting events produced an intense excitement in san francisco. upon his arrival at this place, under the escort of the marshal and many friends, justice field repaired to his quarters in the palace hotel. chapter xiv. sarah althea terry charges justice field and deputy marshal neagle with murder. the body of judge terry was taken from lathrop to stockton, accompanied by his wife, soon after his death. on that very evening sarah althea terry swore to a complaint before a justice of the peace named swain, charging justice field and deputy marshal neagle with murder. after the investigation before the coroner assistant district attorney gibson stated that the charge against justice field would be dismissed, as there was no evidence whatever to connect him with the killing. mrs. terry did not see the shooting and was not in the hotel at the time of the homicide. having, therefore, no knowledge upon which to base her statement, her affidavit was entitled to no greater consideration than if it had stated that it was made solely upon her belief without any positive information on the subject. only the most violent of terry's friends favored the wanton indignity upon justice field, and his arrest, but they had sufficient influence with the district attorney, mr. white, a young and inexperienced lawyer, to carry him along with them. the justice of the peace before whom sarah althea had laid the information issued a warrant on the following day for the arrest both of justice field and neagle. from this time this magistrate and the district attorney appeared to act under orders from mrs. terry. the preliminary examination was set for wednesday of the following week, during which time the district attorney stated for publication that justice field would have to go to jail and stay there during the six intervening days. it was obvious to all rational minds that mrs. terry's purpose was to use the machinery of the magistrate's court for the purpose of taking judge field to stockton, where she could execute her threats of killing him or having him killed; and if she should fail to do so, or postpone it, then to have the satisfaction of placing a justice of the supreme court of the united states in a prisoner's cell, and hold him there for six days awaiting an examination, that being the extreme length of time that he could be so held under the statute. the district attorney was asked if he had realized the danger of bringing justice field to stockton, where he might come in contact with mrs. terry. the officer replied: "we had intended that if justice field were brought here, mrs. terry would be placed under the care of _her friends_, and that all precautions to prevent any difficulty that was in the power of the district attorney would be taken." that was to say, mrs. terry would do no violence to justice field unless "her friends" permitted her to do so. as some of them were possessed of the same murderous feelings towards justice field as those named here, the whole transaction had the appearance of a conspiracy to murder him. no magistrate can lawfully issue a warrant without sufficient evidence before him to show probable cause. it was a gross abuse of power and an arbitrary and lawless act to heed the oath of this frenzied woman, who notoriously had not witnessed the shooting, and had, but a few hours before, angrily insisted upon having her own pistol returned to her that she, herself, might kill justice field. it was beyond belief that the magistrate believed that there was probable cause, or the slightest appearance of a cause, upon which to base the issue of the warrant. neagle was brought into court at stockton at o'clock on the morning after the shooting, to wit, on thursday, the th, and his preliminary examination set for wednesday, the st. bail could not be given prior to that examination. this examination could have proceeded at once, and a delay of six days can only be accounted for by attributing it to the malice and vindictiveness of the woman who seemed to be in charge of the proceedings. the keen disappointment of mrs. terry, and those who were under her influence, at judge terry's failure to murder justice field, must have been greatly soothed by the prospect of having yet another chance at the latter's life, and, in any event, of seeing him in a cell in the jail during the six days for which the examination could be delayed for that express purpose. the sheriff of san joaquin county proceeded to san francisco with the warrant for his arrest on thursday evening. in company with the chief of police and marshal franks, he called upon justice field, and after a few moments' conversation it was arranged that he should present the warrant at one o'clock on the following day, at the building in which the federal courts are held. chapter xv. justice field's arrest and petition fob release on habeas corpus. at the appointed hour justice field awaited the sheriff in his chambers, surrounded by friends, including judges, ex-judges, and members of the bar. as the sheriff entered justice field arose and pleasantly greeted him. the sheriff bore himself with dignity, and with a due sense of the extraordinary proceeding in which his duty as an officer required him to be a participant. with some agitation he said: "justice field, i presume you are aware of the nature of my errand." "yes," replied the justice, "proceed with your duty; i am ready. an officer should always do his duty." the sheriff stated to him that he had a warrant, duly executed and authenticated, and asked him if he should read it. "i will waive that, mr. sheriff," replied the justice. the sheriff then handed him the warrant, which he read, folded it up and handed it back, saying pleasantly: "i recognize your authority, sir, and submit to the arrest; i am, sir, in your custody." meanwhile a petition had been prepared to be presented to judge sawyer for a writ of _habeas corpus_, returnable at once before the united states court. as soon as the arrest was made the petition was signed and presented to judge sawyer, who ordered the writ to issue returnable forthwith. in a very few minutes u.s. marshal franks served the writ on the sheriff. while the proceedings looking to the issue of the writ were going on, justice field had seated himself, and invited the sheriff to be seated. the latter complied with the invitation, and began to say something in regard to the unpleasant duty which had devolved upon him, but justice field promptly replied: "not so, not so; you are but doing your plain duty, and i mine in submitting to arrest. it is the first duty of judges to obey the law." as soon as the _habeas corpus_ writ had been served, the sheriff said he was ready to go into the court. "let me walk with you," said justice field, as they arose, and took the sheriff's arm. in that way they entered the court-room. justice field seated himself in one of the chairs usually occupied by jurors. time was given to the sheriff to make a formal return to the writ; and in a few minutes he formally presented it. the petition of judge field for the writ set forth his official character, and the duties imposed upon him by law, and alleged that he had been illegally arrested, while he was in the discharge of those duties, and that his illegal detention interfered with and prevented him from discharging them. then followed a statement of the facts, showing the arrest and detention to be illegal. this statement embraced the principal facts connected with the contempt proceedings in , and the threats then and thereafter made by the terrys of violence upon justice field; the precautions taken in consequence thereof by the department of justice for his protection from violence at their hands, and the murderous assault made upon him, and his defense by deputy marshal neagle, resulting in the death of terry, and that he, the petitioner, in no manner defended or protected himself, and gave no directions to the deputy marshal, and that he was not armed with any weapon. the petition then states: "that under the circumstances detailed, the said sarah althea terry, as your petitioner is informed and believes, and upon such information and belief alleges, falsely and maliciously swore out the warrant of arrest hereinbefore set out against your petitioner, without any further basis for the charge of murder than the facts hereinbefore detailed, and that the warrant aforesaid was issued by such justice of the peace, without any just or probable cause therefor. * * * and your petitioner further represents that the charge against him, and the warrant of arrest in the hands of said sheriff, are founded upon the sole affidavit of mrs. sarah althea terry, who was not present and did not see the shooting which caused the death of said david s. terry." in order to show the little reliance to be placed in the oath of mrs. terry, the petition stated: "that in a suit brought by william sharon, now deceased, against her before her marriage to the said terry, it was proved and held by the circuit court of the united states that she had committed the forgery of the document produced in that case, and had attempted to support it by perjury and subornation of perjury, and had also been guilty of acts and conduct showing herself to be an abandoned woman, without veracity. * * * "your petitioner further represents that the abandoned character of the said sarah althea terry, and the fact that she was found guilty of perjury and forgery in the case above mentioned by the said circuit court, and the fact of the revengeful malice entertained toward your petitioner by said sarah althea terry, are notorious in the state of california, and are notorious in the city of stockton, and as your petitioner believes are well known to the district attorney of the said county of san joaquin, and also to the said justice of the peace who issued the said warrant; and your petitioner further alleges that had either of the said officers taken any pains whatever to ascertain the truth in the case, he would have ascertained and known that there was not the slightest pretext or foundation for any such charge as was made, and also that the affidavit of the said sarah althea terry was not entitled to the slightest consideration whatever. "your petitioner further states that it is to him incomprehensible how any man, acting in a consideration of duty, could have listened one moment to charges from such a source, and without having sought some confirmation from disinterested witnesses; and your petitioner believes and charges that the whole object of the proceeding is to subject your petitioner to the humiliation of arrest and confinement at stockton, where the said sarah althea terry may be able, by the aid of partisans of hers, to carry out her long-continued and repeated threats of personal violence upon your petitioner, and to prevent your petitioner from discharging the duties of his office in cases pending against her in the federal court at san francisco." the sheriff's return was as follows: "return of sheriff of san joaquin county, cala., county of san joaquin, state of california: "sheriff's office. "_to the honorable circuit court of the united states for the northern district of california:_ "i hereby certify and return that before the coming to me of the hereto-annexed writ of _habeas corpus_, the said stephen j. field was committed to my custody, and is detained by me by virtue of a warrant issued out of the justice's court of stockton township, state of california, county of san joaquin, and by the endorsement made upon said warrant. copy of said warrant and endorsement is annexed hereto, and made a part of this return. nevertheless, i have the body of the said stephen j. field before the honorable court, as i am in the said writ commanded. "august , . "thomas cunningham, "_sheriff, san joaquin co., california_." in order to give the petitioner time to traverse the return if he thought it expedient to do so, and to give him and the state time to produce witnesses, the further hearing upon the return was adjourned until the following thursday morning, the d, and the petitioner was released on his recognizance with a bond fixed at $ , . on the same day a petition on the part of neagle was presented to judge sawyer asking that a writ of _habeas corpus_ issue in his behalf to sheriff cunningham. the petition was granted at once, and served upon the sheriff immediately after the service of the writ issued on behalf of justice field. early on the morning of saturday, august , neagle was brought from stockton by the sheriff at : a.m. district attorney white and mrs. terry's lawyer, maguire, were duly notified of this movement and were passengers on the same train. at : sheriff cunningham appeared in the circuit court with neagle to respond to the writ. he returned that he held neagle in custody, under a warrant issued by a justice of the peace of that county, a copy of which he produced; and also a copy of the affidavit of sarah althea terry upon which the warrant was issued. a traverse to that return was then filed, presenting various grounds why the petitioner should not be held, the most important of which were that an officer of the united states, specially charged with a particular duty, that of protecting one of the justices of the supreme court of the united states whilst engaged in the performance of his duty, could not, for an act constituting the very performance of that duty, be taken from the further discharge of his duty and imprisoned by the state authorities, and that when an officer of the united states in the discharge of his duties is charged with an offense consisting in the performance of those duties, and is sought to be arrested, and taken from the further performance of them, he can be brought before the tribunals of the nation of which he is an officer, and the fact then inquired into. the attorney-general of the state appeared with the district attorney of san joaquin county, and contended that the offense of which the petitioner was charged could only be inquired into before the tribunals of the state. chapter xvi. judge terry's funeral--refusal of the supreme court of california to adjourn on the occasion. the funeral of judge terry occurred on friday, the th. an unsuccessful attempt was made for a public demonstration. the fear entertained by some that eulogies of an incendiary character would be delivered was not realized. the funeral passed off without excitement. the rector being absent, the funeral service was read by a vestryman of the church. on the day after judge terry's death the following proceedings occurred in the supreme court of the state: late in the afternoon, just after the counsel in a certain action had concluded their argument, and before the next cause on the calendar was called, james l. crittenden, esq., who was accompanied by w.t. baggett, esq., arose to address the court. he said: "your honors, it has become my painful and sad duty to formally announce to the court the death of a former chief justice"-- chief justice beatty: "mr. crittenden, i think that is a matter which should be postponed until the court has had a consultation about it." the court then, without leaving the bench, held a whispered consultation. mr. crittenden then went on to say: "i was doing this at the request of several friends of the deceased. it has been customary for the court to take formal action prior to the funeral. in this instance, i understand the funeral is to take place to-morrow." chief justice beatty: "mr. crittenden, the members of the court wish to consult with each other on this matter, and you had better postpone your motion of formal announcement until to-morrow morning." mr. crittenden and mr. baggett then withdrew from the court-room. on the following day, in the presence of a large assembly, including an unusually large attendance of attorneys, mr. crittenden renewed his motion. he said: "if the court please, i desire to renew the matter which i began to present last evening. as a friend--a personal friend--of the late judge terry, i should deem myself very cold, indeed, and very far from discharging the duty which is imposed upon that relation, if i did not present the matter which i propose to present to this bench this morning. i have known the gentleman to whom i have reference for over thirty years, and i desire simply now, in stating that i make this motion, to say that the friendship of so many years, and the acquaintance and intimacy existing between that gentleman and his family and myself for so long a period, require that i should at this time move this court, as a court, out of recollection for the memory of the man who presided in the supreme court of this state for so many years with honor, ability, character, and integrity, and, therefore, i ask this court, out of respect for his memory, to adjourn during the day on which he is to be buried, which is to-day." chief justice beatty said: "i regret very much that counsel should have persisted in making this formal announcement, after the intimation from the court. upon full consultation we thought it would be better that it should not be done. the circumstances of judge terry's death are notorious, and under these circumstances this court had determined that it would be better to pass this matter in silence, and not to take any action upon it; and that is the order of the court." the deceased had been a chief justice of the tribunal which, by its silence, thus emphasized its condemnation of the conduct by which he had placed himself without the pale of its respect. chapter xvii. habeas corpus proceedings in justice field's case. on thursday, august d, the hearing of the _habeas corpus_ case of justice field commenced in the united states circuit court, under orders from the attorney-general, to whom a report of the whole matter had been telegraphed. the united states district attorney appeared on behalf of justice field. in addition to him there also appeared as counsel for justice field, hon. richard t. mesick, saml. m. wilson, esq., and w.f. herrin, esq. the formal return of the writ of _habeas corpus_ had been made by the sheriff of san joaquin county on the th. to that return justice field presented a traverse, which was in the following language, and was signed and sworn to by him: "the petitioner, stephen j. field, traverses the return of the sheriff of san joaquin county, state of california, made by him to the writ of _habeas corpus_ by the circuit judge on the ninth circuit, and made returnable before the circuit court of said circuit, and avers: "that he is a justice of the supreme court of the united states, allotted to the ninth judicial circuit, and is now and has been for several weeks in california, in attendance upon the circuit court of said circuit in the discharge of his judicial duties; and, further, that the said warrant of the justice of the peace, h.v.j. swain, in stockton, california, issued on the th day of august, , under which the petitioner is held, was issued by said justice of the peace without reasonable or probable cause, upon the sole affidavit of one sarah althea terry, who did not see the commission of the act which she charges to have been a murder, and who is herself a woman of abandoned character, and utterly unworthy of belief respecting any matter whatever; and, further, that the said warrant was issued in the execution of a conspiracy, as your petitioner is informed, believes, and charges, between the said sarah althea terry and the district attorney, white, and the said justice of the peace, h.v.j. swain, and one e.l. colnon, of said stockton, to prevent by force and intimidation your petitioner from discharging the duties of his office hereafter, and to injure him in his person on account of the lawful discharge of the duties of his office heretofore, by taking him to stockton, where he could be subjected to indignities and humiliation, and where they might compass his death. "that the said conspiracy is a crime against the united states, under the laws thereof, and was to be executed by an abuse of the process of the state court, two of said conspirators being officers of the said county of san joaquin, one the district attorney and the other a justice of the peace, the one to direct and the other to issue the warrant upon which your petitioner could be arrested. "and the petitioner further avers that the issue of said writ of _habeas corpus_ and the discharge of your petitioner thereunder were and are essential to defeat the execution of the said conspiracy. "and your petitioner further avers that the accusation of crime against him, upon which said warrant was issued, is a malicious and malignant falsehood, for which there is not even a pretext; that he neither advised nor had any knowledge of the intention of any one to commit the act which resulted in the death of david s. terry, and that he has not carried or used any arm or weapon of any kind for nearly thirty years. "all of which your petitioner is ready to establish by full and competent proof. "wherefore your petitioner prays that he may be discharged from said arrest and set at liberty. "stephen j. field." the facts alleged in this document were beyond dispute, and constituted an outrageous crime, and one for which the conspirators were liable to imprisonment for a term of six years, under section of the revised statutes of the united states. to this traverse the counsel for the sheriff filed a demurrer, on the ground that it did not appear by it that justice field was in custody for an act done or omitted in pursuance of any law of the united states, or of any order or process or decree of any court or judge thereof, and it did not appear that he was in custody in violation of the constitution or any law or treaty of the united states. the case was thereupon submitted with leave to counsel to file briefs at any time before the th of august, to which time the further hearing was adjourned. before that hearing the governor of the state addressed the following communication to the attorney-general: "executive department, "state of california, "sacramento, _august , _. "hon. a.g. johnston, "_attorney-general, sacramento_. "dear sir: the arrest of hon. stephen j. field, a justice of the supreme court of the united states, on the unsupported oath of a woman who, on the very day the oath was taken, and often before, threatened his life, will be a burning disgrace to the state unless disavowed. i therefore urge upon you the propriety of at once instructing the district attorney of san joaquin county to dismiss the unwarranted proceedings against him. "the question of the jurisdiction of the state courts in the case of the deputy united states marshal, neagle, is one for argument. the unprecedented indignity on justice field does not admit of argument. "yours truly, "r.w. waterman, "_governor_." this letter of governor waterman rang out like an alarm bell, warning the chief law officer of the state that a subordinate of his was prostituting its judicial machinery to enable a base woman to put a gross indignity upon a justice of the supreme court of the united states, whom she had just publicly threatened to kill, and also to aid her in accomplishing that purpose. the wretched proceeding had already brought upon its authors indignant denunciation and merciless ridicule from every part of the union. the attorney-general responded to the call thus made upon him by instructing the district attorney to dismiss the charge against justice field, because no evidence existed to sustain it. the rash young district attorney lost no time in extricating himself from the position in which the arrest of justice field had placed him. on the th of august, upon his motion, and the filing of the attorney-general's letter, the charge against justice field was dismissed by the justice of the peace who had issued the warrant against him. the dismissal of this charge released him from the sheriff's claim to his custody, and the _habeas corpus_ proceedings in his behalf fell to the ground. on the th, the day appointed for the further hearing, the sheriff announced that in compliance with the order of the magistrate he released justice field from custody, whereupon the case of _habeas corpus_ was dismissed. in making the order, circuit judge sawyer severely animadverted on what he deemed the shameless proceeding at stockton. he said: "we are glad that the prosecution of mr. justice field has been dismissed, founded, as it was, upon the sole, reckless, and as to him manifestly false affidavit of one whose relation to the matters leading to the tragedy, and whose animosity towards the courts and judges who have found it their duty to decide against her, and especially towards mr. justice field, is a part of the judicial and notorious public history of the country. "it was, under the circumstances, and upon the sole affidavit produced, especially after the coroner's inquest, so far as mr. justice field is concerned, a shameless proceeding, and, as intimated by the governor of the commonwealth, if it had been further persevered in, would have been a lasting disgrace to the state. "while a justice of the supreme court of the united states, like every other citizen, is amenable to the laws, he is not likely to commit so grave an offense as murder, and should he be so unfortunate as to be unavoidably involved in any way in a homicide, he could not afford to escape, if it were in his power to do so; and when the act is so publicly performed by another, as in this instance, and is observed by so many witnesses, the officers of the law should certainly have taken some little pains to ascertain the facts before proceeding to arrest so distinguished a dignitary, and to attempt to incarcerate him in prisons with felons, or to put him in a position to be further disgraced, and perhaps assaulted by one so violent as to be publicly reported, not only then but on numerous previous occasions, to have threatened his life. "we are extremely gratified to find that, through the action of the chief magistrate, and the attorney-general, a higher officer of the law, we shall be spared the necessity of further inquiring as to the extent of the remedy afforded the distinguished petitioner, by the constitution and laws of the united states, or of enforcing such remedies as exist, and that the stigma cast upon the state of california by this hasty and, to call it by no harsher term, ill-advised arrest will not be intensified by further prosecution." thus ended this most remarkable attempt upon the liberty of a united states supreme court justice, under color of state authority, the execution of which would again have placed his life in great peril. the grotesque feature of the performance was aptly presented by the following imaginary dialogue which appeared in an eastern paper: newsboy: "man tried to kill a judge in california!" customer: "what was done about it?" newsboy: "oh! they arrested the judge." the illegality of justice field's arrest will be perfectly evident to whoever will read sections , , and of the penal code of california. these sections provide that no warrant can be issued by a magistrate until he has examined, on oath, the informant, taken depositions setting forth the facts tending to establish the commission of the offense and the guilt of the accused, and himself been satisfied by these depositions that there is reasonable ground that the person accused has committed the offense. none of these requirements had been met in justice field's case. it needs no lawyer to understand that a magistrate violates the plain letter as well as the spirit of these provisions of law when he issues a warrant without first having before him some evidence of the probable, or at least the possible, guilt of the accused. if this were otherwise, private malice could temporarily sit in judgment upon the object of its hatred, however blameless, and be rewarded for perjury by being allowed the use of our jails as places in which to satisfy its vengeance. such a view of the law made sarah althea the magistrate at stockton on the th of august, and justice swain her obsequious amanuensis. such a view of the law would enable any convict who had just served a term in the penitentiary to treat himself to the luxury of dragging to jail the judge who sentenced him, and keeping him there without bail as long as the magistrate acting for him could be induced to delay the examination. the arrest of justice field was an attempt to kidnap him for a foul purpose, and if the united states circuit judge had not released him he would have been the victim of as arbitrary and tyrannical treatment as is ever meted out in russia to the most dangerous of nihilists, to punish him for having narrowly escaped assassination by no act or effort of his own. chapter xviii. habeas corpus proceedings in neagle's case. this narrative would not be complete without a statement of the proceedings in the united states circuit court, and in the united states supreme court on appeal, in the _habeas corpus_ proceedings in the case of neagle, the deputy marshal, whose courageous devotion to his official duties had saved the life of justice field at the expense of that of his would-be assassin. we have already seen that neagle, being in the custody of the sheriff of san joaquin county, upon a charge of murder in the shooting of judge terry, had presented a petition to the united states circuit court for a writ of _habeas corpus_ to the end that he might thereby be restored to his liberty. a writ was issued, and upon its return, august th, the sheriff of san joaquin county produced neagle and a copy of the warrant under which he held him in custody, issued by the justice of the peace of that county, and also of the affidavit of sarah althea terry, upon which the warrant was granted. neagle being desirous of traversing the return of the sheriff, further proceedings were adjourned until the d of the month, and in the meantime he was placed in the custody of the united states marshal for the district. on the d a traverse of the return was filed by him stating the particulars of the homicide with which he was charged as narrated above, and averring that he was at the time of its commission a deputy marshal of the united states for the district, acting under the orders of his superior, and under the directions of the attorney-general of the united states in protecting the associate justice, whilst in the discharge of his duties, from the threatened assault and violence of terry, who had declared that on meeting the justice he would insult, assault, and kill him, and that the homicide with which the petitioner is charged was committed in resisting the attempted execution of these threats in the belief that terry intended at the time to kill the justice, and that but for such homicide he would have succeeded in his attempt. these particulars are stated with great fullness of detail. to this traverse, which was afterwards amended, but not in any material respect, a demurrer was interposed for the sheriff by the district attorney of san joaquin county. its material point was that it did not appear from the traverse that neagle was in the custody of the sheriff for an act done or omitted in pursuance of any law of the united states, or any order, process, or decree of any court or judge thereof, or in violation of the constitution or a treaty of the united states. the court then considered whether it should hear testimony as to the facts of the case, or proceed with the argument of the demurrer to the traverse. it decided to take the testimony, and to hear counsel when the whole case was before it, on the merits as well as on the question of jurisdiction. the testimony was then taken. it occupied several days, and brought out strongly the facts which have been already narrated, and need not here be repeated. when completed, the question of the jurisdiction of the circuit court of the united states to interfere in the matter was elaborately argued by the attorney-general of the state, and special counsel who appeared with the district attorney of san joaquin county on behalf of the state, they contending that the offense, with which the petitioner was charged, could only be inquired into before a tribunal of the state. mr. carey, united states district attorney, and messrs. herrin, mesick, and wilson, special counsel, appeared on behalf of the petitioner, and contended for the jurisdiction, and for the discharge of the petitioner upon the facts of the case. they did not pretend that any person in the state, be he high or low, might not be tried by the local authorities for a crime committed against the state, but they did contend that when the alleged crime consisted in an act which was claimed to have been done in the performance of a duty devolving upon him by a law of the united states, it was within the competency of their courts to inquire, in the first instance, whether that act thus done was in the performance of a duty devolving upon him; and if it was, that the alleged offender had not committed a crime against the state, and was entitled to be discharged. their arguments were marked by great ability and learning, and their perusal would be interesting and instructive, but space will not allow me to give even a synopsis of them. the court, in deciding the case, went into a full and elaborate consideration, not only of its jurisdiction, but of every objection on the merits presented by counsel on behalf of the state. only a brief outline can be given. the court held that it was within the competency of the president, and of the attorney-general as the head of the department of justice, representing him, to direct that measures be taken for the protection of officers of the government whilst in the discharge of their duties, and that it was specially appropriate that such protection should be given to the justices of the supreme court of the united states, whilst thus engaged in their respective circuits, and in passing to and from them; that the attorney-general, representing the president, was fully justified in giving orders to the marshal of the california district to appoint a deputy to look specially to the protection of justices field and sawyer from assault and violence threatened by terry and his wife; and that the deputy marshal, acting under instructions for their protection, was justified in any measures that were necessary for that purpose, even to taking the life of the assailant. the court recognized that the government of the united states exercised full jurisdiction, within the sphere of its powers, over the whole territory of the country, and that when any conflict arose between the state and the general government in the administration of their respective powers, the authority of the united states must prevail, for the constitution declares that it and the laws of the united states in pursuance thereof "shall be the supreme law of the land, and that the judges in every state shall be bound thereby, anything in the constitution and laws of any state to the contrary notwithstanding." the court quoted the language of the supreme court in tennessee v. davis ( u.s. , ), that "it [the general government] can act only through its officers and agents, and they must act within the states. if, when thus acting and within the scope of their authority, those officers can be arrested and brought to trial in a state court, for an alleged offense against the law of the state, yet warranted by the federal authority they possess, and if the general government is powerless to interfere at once for their protection--if their protection must be left to the action of the state court--the operations of the general government may, at any time, be arrested at the will of one of its members. the legislation of a state may be unfriendly. it may affix penalties to acts done under the immediate direction of the national government and in obedience to its laws. it may deny the authority conferred by those laws. the state court may administer not only the laws of the state, but equally federal law, in such a manner as to paralyze the operations of the government. and even if, after trial and final judgment in the state court, a case can be brought into the united states court for review, the officer is withdrawn from the discharge of his duty during the pendency of the prosecution, and the exercise of acknowledged federal power arrested. we do not think such an element of weakness is to be found in the constitution. the united states is a government with authority extending over the whole territory of the union, acting upon the states and upon the people of the states. while it is limited in the number of its powers, so far as its sovereignty extends, it is supreme. no state government can exclude it from the exercise of any authority conferred upon it by the constitution, obstruct its authorized officers against its will, or withhold from it, for a moment, the cognizance of any subject which that instrument has committed to it." to this strong language the circuit court added: "the very idea of a government composed of executive, legislative, and judicial departments necessarily comprehends the power to do all things, through its appropriate officers and agents, within the scope of its general governmental purposes and powers, requisite to preserve its existence, protect it and its ministers, and give it complete efficiency in all its parts. it necessarily and inherently includes power in its executive department to enforce the laws, keep the national peace with regard to its officers while in the line of their duty, and protect by its all-powerful arm all the other departments and the officers and instrumentalities necessary to their efficiency while engaged in the discharge of their duties." in language attributed to mr. ex-secretary bayard, used with reference to this very case, which we quote, not as a controlling judicial authority, but for its intrinsic, sound, common sense, "the robust and essential principle must be recognized and proclaimed, that the inherent powers of every government which is sufficient to authorize and enforce the judgment of its courts are, equally, and at all times, and in all places, sufficient to protect the individual judge who, fearlessly and conscientiously in the discharge of his duty, pronounces those judgments." in reference to the duties of the president and the powers of the attorney-general under him, and of the latter's control of the marshals of the united states, the court observed that the duties of the president are prescribed in terse and comprehensive language in section of article ii of the constitution, which declares that "he shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed;" that this gives him all the authority necessary to accomplish the purposes intended--all the authority necessarily inherent in the office, not otherwise limited, and that congress, added the court, in pursuance of powers vested in it, has provided for seven departments, as subordinate to the president, to aid him in performing his executive functions. section , r.s., provides that "there shall be at the seat of government an executive department to be known as the department of justice, and an attorney-general, who shall be the head thereof." he thus has the general supervision of the executive branch of the national judiciary, and section provides, as a portion of his powers and duties, that he "shall exercise general superintendence and direction over the attorneys and marshals of all the districts in the united states and the territories as to the manner of discharging their respective duties; and the several district attorneys and marshals are required to report to the attorney-general an account of their official proceedings, and of the state and condition of their respective offices, in such time and manner as the attorney-general may direct." section , r.s., provides that "the marshals and their deputies shall have, in each state, the same powers in executing the laws of the united states as the sheriffs and their deputies in such state may have, by law, in executing the laws thereof." by section of the penal code of california the sheriff is a "peace officer," and by section of the political code he is "to preserve the peace" and "prevent and suppress breaches of the peace." the marshal is, therefore, under the provisions of the statute cited, "a peace officer," so far as keeping the peace in any matter wherein the powers of the united states are concerned, and as to such matters he has all the powers of the sheriff, as peace officer under the laws of the state. he is, in such matters, "to preserve the peace" and "prevent and suppress breaches of the peace." an assault upon or an assassination of a judge of a united states court while engaged in any matter pertaining to his official duties, on account or by reason of his judicial decisions, or action in performing his official duties, is a breach of the peace, affecting the authority and interests of the united states, and within the jurisdiction and power of the marshal or his deputies to prevent as a peace officer of the national government. such an assault is not merely an assault upon the person of the judge as a man; it is an assault upon the national judiciary, which he represents, and through it an assault upon the authority of the nation itself. it is, necessarily, a breach of the national peace. as a national peace officer, under the conditions indicated, it is the duty of the marshal and his deputies to prevent a breach of the national peace by an assault upon the authority of the united states, in the person of a judge of its highest court, while in the discharge of his duty. if this be not so, in the language of the supreme court, "why do we have marshals at all?" what useful functions can they perform in the economy of the national government? section of the revised statutes also declares that "it shall be the duty of the marshal of each district to attend the district and circuit courts when sitting therein, and to execute throughout the district all lawful precepts directed to him and issued under the authority of the united states, and he shall have power to command all necessary assistance in the execution of his duty." there is no more authority specifically conferred upon the marshal by this section to protect the judge from assassination in open court, without a specific order or command, than there is to protect him out of court, when on the way from one court to another in the discharge of his official duties. the marshals are in daily attendance upon the judges, and performing official duties in their chambers. yet no statute specifically points out those duties or requires their performance. indeed, no such places as chambers for the circuit judges or circuit justices are mentioned at all in the statutes. yet the marshal is as clearly authorized to protect the judges there as in the court-room. all business done out of court by the judge is called chamber business. but it is not necessary to be done in what is usually called chambers. chamber business may be done, and often is done, on the street, in the judge's own house, at the hotel where he stops, when absent from home, or it may be done in transitu, on the cars in going from one place to another within the proper jurisdiction to hold court. mr. justice field could, as well, and as authoritatively, issue a temporary injunction, grant a writ of _habeas corpus_, an order to show cause, or do any other chamber business for the district in the dining-room at lathrop, as at his chambers in san francisco, or in the court-room. the chambers of the judge, where chambers are provided, are not an element of jurisdiction, but are a convenience to the judge, and to suitors--places where the judge at proper times can be readily found, and the business conveniently transacted. but inasmuch as the revised statutes of the united states (sec. ) declare that the writ of _habeas corpus_ shall not extend to "a prisoner in jail unless where he is in custody--for an act done or omitted in pursuance of a _law_ of the united states, or of an order, process, or decree of a court or judge thereof, or in custody in violation of the constitution or of a law or treaty of the united states," it was urged in the argument by counsel for the state that there is no statute which specifically makes it the duty of a marshal or deputy marshal to protect the judges of the united states whilst out of the court-room, travelling from one point to another in their circuits, on official business, from the violence of litigants who have become offended at the adverse decisions made by them in the performance of their judicial duties, and that such officers are not within the provisions of that section. to this the court replied that the language of the section is, "an act done in pursuance of a _law_ of the united states"--not in pursuance of a statute of the united states; and that the statutes do not present in express terms all the law of the united states; that their incidents and implications are as much a part of the law as their express provisions; and that when they prescribe duties providing for the accomplishment of certain designated objects, or confer authority in general terms, they carry with them all the powers essential to effect the ends designed. as said by chief justice marshall in osborn v. bank of the united states ( wheaton, - ), "it is not unusual for a legislative act to involve consequences which are not expressed. an officer, for example, is ordered to arrest an individual. it is not necessary, nor is it usual, to say that he shall not be punished for obeying this order. his security is implied in the order itself. it is no unusual thing for an act of congress to imply, without expressing, this very exemption from state control, which is said to be so objectionable in this instance. the collectors of the revenue, the carriers of the mail, the mint establishment, and all those institutions which are public in their nature, are examples in point. it has never been doubted that all who are employed in them are protected while in the line of duty; and yet this protection is not expressed in any act of congress. it is incidental to, and is implied in, the several acts by which these institutions are created; and is secured to the individuals employed in them by the judicial power alone--that is, the judicial power is the instrument employed by the government in administering this security." upon this the circuit court observed: "if the officers referred to in the preceding passage are to be protected while in the line of their duty, without any special law or statute requiring such protection, the judges of the courts, the principal officers in a department of the government second to no other, are also to be protected, and their executive subordinates--the marshals and their deputies--shielded from harm by the national laws while honestly engaged in protecting the heads of the courts from assassination."[ ] to the position that the preservation of the peace of the state is devolved solely upon the officers of the state, and not in any respect upon the marshals of the united states, the court replied: this position is already answered by what has been said. but it is undoubtedly true that it was the imperative duty of the state to preserve the public peace and amply protect the life of justice field, _but it did not do it_, and had the united states relied upon the state to keep the peace as to him--one of the justices of the highest court--in relation to matters concerning the performance of his official duties, they would have leaned upon a broken reed. the result of the efforts to obtain an officer from the state to assist in preserving the peace and protecting him at lathrop was anything but successful. the officer of the state at lathrop, instead of arresting the conspirator of the contemplated murderer, the wife of the deceased, arrested the officer of the united states, assigned by the government to the special duty of protecting the justice against the very parties, while in the actual prosecution of duties assigned to him, without warrant, thereby leaving his charge without the protection provided by the government he was serving, at a time when such protection seemed most needed. and, besides, the use of the state police force beyond the limits of a county for the protection of justice field would have been impracticable, as the powers of the sheriff would have ended at its borders, and of other township and city peace officers at the boundaries of their respective townships and cities. only a united states marshal or his deputy could have exercised these official functions throughout the judicial district, which embraces many counties. the only remedy suggested on the part of the state was to arrest the deceased and hold him to bail to keep the peace under section of the penal code, the highest limit of the amount of bail being $ , . but although the threats are conceded to have been publicly known in the state, no state officer took any means to provide this flimsy safeguard. and the execution of a bond in this amount to keep the peace would have had no effect in deterring the intended assailants from the, commission of the offense contemplated, when the penalties of the law would not deter them. as to the deliberation and wisdom of neagle's conduct under the circumstances, the court, after stating the established facts, concludes as follows: "when the deceased left his seat, some thirty feet distant, walked stealthily down the passage in the rear of justice field and dealt the unsuspecting jurist two preliminary blows, doubtless by way of reminding him that the time for vengeance had at last come, justice field was already at the traditional 'wall' of the law. he was sitting quietly at a table, back to the assailant, eating his breakfast, the side opposite being occupied by other passengers, some of whom were women, similarly engaged. when, in a dazed condition, he awoke to the reality of the situation and saw the stalwart form of the deceased with arm drawn back for a final mortal blow, there was no time to get under or over the table, had the law, under any circumstances, required such an act for his justification. neagle could not seek a 'wall' to justify his acts without abandoning his charge to certain death. when, therefore, he sprang to his feet and cried, 'stop! i am an officer,' and saw the powerful arm of the deceased drawn back for the final deadly stroke instantly change its direction to his left breast, apparently seeking his favorite weapon, the knife, and at the same time heard the half-suppressed, disappointed growl of recognition of the man who, with the aid of half a dozen others, had finally succeeded in disarming him of his knife at the court-room a year before, the supreme moment had come, or, at least, with abundant reason he thought so, and fired the fatal shot. the testimony all concurs in showing this to be the state of facts, and the almost universal consensus of public opinion of the united states seems to justify the act. on that occasion a second, or two seconds, signified, at least, two valuable lives, and a reasonable degree of prudence would justify a shot one or two seconds too soon rather than a fraction of a second too late. upon our minds the evidence leaves no doubt whatever that the homicide was fully justified by the circumstances. neagle on the scene of action, facing the party making a murderous assault, knowing by personal experience his physical powers and his desperate character, and by general reputation his life-long habit of carrying arms, his readiness to use them, and his angry, murderous threats, and seeing his demoniac looks, his stealthy assault upon justice field from behind, and, remembering the sacred trust committed to his charge--neagle, in these trying circumstances, was the party to determine when the supreme moment for action had come, and if he, honestly, acted with reasonable judgment and discretion, the law justifies him, even if he erred. but who will have the courage to stand up in the presence of the facts developed by the testimony in this case, and say that he fired the smallest fraction of a second too soon? "in our judgment he acted, under the trying circumstances surrounding him, in good faith and with consummate courage, judgment, and discretion. the homicide was, in our opinion, clearly justifiable in law, and in the forum of sound, practical common sense commendable. this being so, and the act having been 'done * * * in pursuance of a law of the united states,' as we have already seen, it cannot be an offense against, and he is not amenable to, the laws of the state." the petitioner was accordingly discharged from arrest. [ ] note.--i find the following apt illustrations of this doctrine in a journal of the day: if a military or naval officer of the united states, in the necessary suppression of a mutiny or enforcement of obedience, should wound or take the life of a subordinate, would it be contended that, if arrested for that act by the state authority, he could not be released on _habeas corpus_, because no statute expressly authorized the performance of the act? if the commander of a revenue cutter should be directed to pursue and retake a vessel which, after seizure, had escaped from the custody of the law, and the officer in the performance of that duty, and when necessary to overcome resistance, should injure or kill a member of the crew of the vessel he was ordered to recapture, and if for that act he should be arrested and accused of crime under the state authority, will any sensible person maintain that the provisions of the _habeas corpus_ act could not be invoked for his release, notwithstanding that no statute could be shown which directly authorized the act for which he was arrested? if by command of the president a company of troops were marched into this city to protect the subtreasury from threatened pillage, and in so doing life were taken, would not the act of the officer who commanded the troops be an act done in pursuance of the laws of the united states, and in the lawful exercise of its authority? could he be imprisoned and tried before a state jury on the charge of murder, and the courts of the united states be powerless to inquire into the facts on _habeas corpus_, and to discharge him if found to have acted in the performance of his duty? can the authority of the united states for the protection of their officers be less than their authority to protect their property? there appears to be but one rational answer to these questions. in all these cases the authority vested in the officer to suppress a mutiny, or to overtake and capture an escaped vessel, or to protect the subtreasury from threatened pillage, carries with it power to do all things necessary to accomplish the object desired, even the killing of the offending party. the law conferring the authority thus extended to the officer in these cases, is in the sense of the _habeas corpus_ act, a law of the united states to do all things necessary for the execution of that authority. chapter xix. expressions of public opinion. this case and all the attendant circumstances--the attempted assassination of justice field by his former associate, terry; the defeat of this murderous attempt by deputy marshal neagle; the arrest of justice field and the deputy marshal upon the charge of murder, and their discharge--created very great interest throughout the united states. they were the subject of articles in all the leading journals of the country; and numerous telegrams and letters of congratulation were sent to the justice on his escape from the murderous attempt. satisfaction was very generally expressed at the fate which terry met, and much praise was given to the courageous conduct of neagle and at the bearing of justice field under the trying circumstances. a few of the letters received by him are here given, and citations are made from some of the periodicals, which indicated the general sentiment of the country. letter from hon. t.f. bayard, ex-secretary of state: wilmington, delaware, _august , _. my dear brother field: i was absent from home when i first saw in the newspapers an account of the infamous assault of the terrys--husband and wife--upon you, and the prompt and courageous action of deputy marshal neagle that happily frustrated the iniquitous plot against your life. accept, my dear friend, my fervent congratulations on your escape from the designs of this madman and of the shameless creature who was his wife and accomplice. for the sake of our country and its reputation in the eyes of christendom, i am indeed grateful that this vile stab at its judicial power, as vested in your personality, miscarried, and that by good fortune the insane malice of a disappointed suitor should have been thwarted. your dignified courage in this tragical episode is most impressive, and, while it endears you the more to those who love you, will wring even from your foes a tribute of respect and admiration. passing over the arguments that may be wrought out of the verbiage of our dual constitution of government, the robust and essential principle _must_ be recognized and proclaimed--that the _inherent powers_ of every government which are sufficient to authorize and enforce the judgments of its courts are equally and at all times and in all places sufficient to protect the individual judge who fearlessly and conscientiously, in the discharge of his duty, pronounces those judgments. the case, my dear friend, is not yours alone; it is equally mine and that of every other american. a principle so vital to society, to the body politic, was never more dangerously and wickedly assailed than by the assault of terry and his wife upon you for your just and honorable performance of your duty as a magistrate. i can well comprehend the shock to which this occurrence has subjected you, and i wish i could be by your side to give you assurance orally (if any were needed) of that absolute sympathy and support to which you are so fully entitled. but these lines will perhaps suffice to make you feel the affectionate and steadfast regard i entertain for you, and which this terrible event has but increased. i cannot forbear an expression of the hope that the arguments of jurisdictional and other points which must attend the litigation and settlement of this tragedy may not be abated or warped to meet any temporary local or partisan demand. the voice of justice can never speak in clearer or more divine accents than when heard in vindication and honor of her own faithful ministers. ever, my dear judge field, sincerely yours, t.f. bayard. the hon. stephen j. field, _san francisco, cal_. letter from hon. e.j. phelps, former minister to england: burlington, vermont, _august , _. my dear judge field: pray let me congratulate you most heartily on the terry transaction. nothing that has ever occurred in the administration of justice has given me more satisfaction than this prompt, righteous, and effectual vindication through an officer of the court of the sanctity of the judiciary when in the discharge of its duty. what your marshal did was exactly the right thing, at the right time, and in the right way. i shall be most happy to join in a suitable testimonial to him, if our profession will, as they ought, concur in presenting it. * * * your own coolness and carriage in confronting this danger in the discharge of your duty must be universally admired, and will shed an additional lustre on a judicial career which was distinguished enough without it. you have escaped a great peril--acquired a fresh distinction--and vindicated most properly the dignity of your high station. i am glad to perceive that this is the general opinion. anticipating the pleasure of seeing you in washington next term, i am always, dear sir, most sincerely yours, e.j. phelps. letter from hon. george f. hoar, senator from massachusetts: worcester, _august , _. my dear judge field: i think i ought to tell you, at this time, how high you stand in the confidence and reverence of all good men here, how deeply they were shocked by this outrage attempted not so much on you as on the judicial office itself, and how entirely the prompt action of the officer is approved. i hope you may long be spared to the public service. i am faithfully yours, geo. f. hoar. letter from hon. j. proctor knott, for many years a member of congress from kentucky and chairman of the judiciary committee of the house of representatives, and afterwards governor of kentucky: lebanon, kentucky, _september , _. my dear judge: * * * i have had it in mind to write you from the moment i first heard of your fortunate escape from the fiendish assassination with which you were so imminently threatened, but i have, since the latter part of may, been suffering from a most distressing affection of the eyes which has rendered it extremely difficult, and frequently, for days together, quite impossible to do so. even now, though much improved, i write in great pain, but i cannot get my consent to delay it longer on any account. you are to be congratulated, my dear friend, and you know that no one could possibly do so with more genuine, heartfelt sincerity than i do myself. * * * i had been troubled, ever since i saw you had gone to your circuit, with apprehensions that you would be assassinated, or at least subjected to some gross outrage, and cannot express my admiration of the serene heroism with which you went to your post of duty, determined not to debase the dignity of your exalted position by wearing arms for your defense, notwithstanding you were fully conscious of the danger which menaced you. it didn't surprise me, however; for i knew the stuff you were made of had been tested before. but i _was_ surprised and disgusted, too, that _you_ should have been charged or even suspected of anything wrong in the matter. the magistrate who issued the warrant for your arrest may possibly have thought it his duty to do so, without looking beyond the "railing accusation" of a baffled and infuriated murderess, which all the world instinctively knew to be false, yet i suppose there is not an intelligent man, woman, or child on the continent who does not consider it an infamous and unmitigated outrage, or who is not thoroughly satisfied that the brave fellow who defended you so opportunely was legally and morally justifiable in what he did. i have not been in a condition to _think_ very coherently, much less to read anything in relation to the question of jurisdiction raised by the state authorities in the _habeas corpus_ issued in your behalf by the u.s. circuit court, and it may be that, from the mere newspaper's reports that have reached me, i have been unable to fully apprehend the objections which are made to the courts hearing all the facts on the trial of the writ; but it occurs to me as a plain principle of common sense that the federal government should not only have the power, but that it is necessary to its own preservation, to protect its officers from being wantonly or maliciously interfered with, hindered or obstructed in the lawful exercises of their official duties, not arbitrarily of course, but through its regularly constituted agencies, and according to the established principles of law; and where such obstruction consists in the forcible restraint of the officer's liberty, i see no reason why the federal judiciary should not inquire into it on _habeas corpus_, when it is alleged to be not only illegal but contrived for the very purpose of hindering the officer in the discharge of his official duties, and impairing the efficiency of the public service. it is true that in such an investigation a real or apparent conflict between state and federal authority may be presented, which a due regard to the respective rights of the two governments would require to be considered with the utmost caution, such caution, at least, as it is fair to presume an intelligent court would always be careful to exercise, in view of the absolute importance of maintaining as far as possible the strictest harmony between the two jurisdictions. yet those rights are determined and by fixed legal principles, which it would be impossible for a court to apply in any case without a competent knowledge of the _facts_ upon which their application in the particular case might depend. for instance, if your court should issue a writ of _habeas corpus_ for the relief of a federal officer upon the averments in his petition that he was forcibly and illegally restrained of his liberty for the purpose of preventing him from performing his official duties, and it should appear in the return to the writ that the person detaining the prisoner was a ministerial officer of the state government authorized by its laws to execute its process, and that he held the petitioner in custody by virtue of a warrant of arrest in due form, issued by a competent magistrate, to answer for an offense against the state laws, i presume the court, in the absence of any further showing, would instantly remand the petitioner to the custody of the state authorities without regard to his official position or the nature of his public duties. but, on the other hand, suppose there should be a traverse of the return, averring that the warrant of the arrest, though apparently regular in all respects, was in truth but a fraudulent contrivance designed and employed for the sole purpose of hindering and obstructing the petitioner in the performance of his duties as an officer of the government of the united states; that the magistrate who issued it, knowingly and maliciously abused his authority for that purpose in pursuance of a conspiracy between himself and others, and not in good faith, and upon probable cause to bring the prisoner to justice for a crime against the state. how then? here is an apparent conflict--not a _real_ one--between the rights of the government of the united states and the government of the state. the one has a right to the service of its officer, and the right to prevent his being unlawfully interfered with or obstructed in the performance of his official duties; the other has the right to administer its laws for the punishment of crime through its own tribunals; but it must be observed that the former has no right to shield one of its officers from a valid prosecution for a violation of the laws of the latter not in conflict with the constitution and laws of the united states, nor can it be claimed that the latter has any right to suffer its laws to be prostituted, and its authority fraudulently abused, in aid of a conspiracy to defeat or obstruct the functions of the former. such an abuse of authority is not, and cannot be in any sense, a _bona fide_ administration of state laws, but is itself a crime against them. what, then, would your court do? you would probably say: if it is true that this man is held without probable cause under a fraudulent warrant, issued in pursuance of a conspiracy to which the magistrate who issued it was a party, to give legal color to a malicious interference with his functions as a federal official, he is the victim of a double crime--a crime against the united states and a crime against the state--and it is not only our duty to vindicate his right to the free exercise of his official duties, but the right of the federal government to his services, and its right to protect him in the legal performance of the same. but if, on the other hand, he has raised a mere "false clamor"--if he is held in good faith upon a valid warrant to answer for a crime committed against the state, it is equally as obligatory upon us to uphold its authority, and maintain its right to vindicate its own laws through its own machinery. to determine between these two hypotheses we must know the _facts_. * * * the same simple reasoning, it occurs to me, applies to mr. neagle's case. whether he acted in the line of his duty under the laws of the united states, as an officer of that government, is clearly a question within the jurisdiction of the federal judiciary. if he _did_, he cannot be held responsible to the state authority; if he did _not_, he should answer, if required, before its tribunals of justice. i presume no court of ordinary intelligence, state or federal, would question these obvious principles; but how _any_ court could determine whether he did or did not act in the line of his official duty under the laws of his government without a judicial inquiry into the _facts_ connected with the transaction i am unable to imagine. * * * i am, as always, your faithful friend, j. proctor knott. hon. s.j. field, _associate justice supreme court u.s._ letter from hon. william d. shipman, formerly u.s. district judge for the district of connecticut: new york, _october , _. dear judge: * * * * * i have attentively read judge sawyer's opinion in the neagle _habeas corpus_ case, and i agree with his main conclusions. it seems to me that the whole question of jurisdiction turns on the fact whether you were, at the time the assault was made on you, engaged in the performance of your official duty. you had been to los angeles to hold court there and had finished that business. in going there you were performing an official duty as much as you were when you had held court there. it was then your official duty to go from los angeles to san francisco and hold court there. you could not hold court at the latter place without going, and you were engaged in the line of your official duty in performing that journey for that purpose, as you were in holding the court after you got there. the idea that a judge is not performing official duty when he goes from court-house to court-house or from court-room to court-room in his own circuit seems to me to be absurd. the distance from one court-house or court-room to another is not material, and does not change or modify the act or duty of the judge. now, neagle was an officer of your court, charged with the duty of protecting your person while you were engaged in the performance of your official duty. _his_ duty was to see to it that you were not unlawfully prevented from performing _your_ official duty--not hindered or obstructed therein. for the state authorities to indict him for repelling the assault on you in the only way which he could do so effectually seems to me to be as unwarranted by law as it would be for them to indict him for an assault on terry when he assisted in disarming the latter in the court-room last year. when, therefore, it was conceded on the argument that if the affair at lathrop had taken place in the court-room during the sitting of the court, the jurisdiction of the circuit court would be unquestionable, it is difficult for me to see why the whole question of federal jurisdiction was not embraced in that concession. assassinating a judge _on_ the bench would no more obstruct and defeat public justice than assassinating him on his way to the bench. in each case he is _proceeding in the line of official duty imposed on him by law and_ his official oath. the law requires him to go to court wherever the latter is held, and he is as much engaged in performing the duty thus imposed on him while he is proceeding to the place of his judicial labors as he is in performing the latter after he gets there. it would, therefore, seem to go without saying that any acts done in defense and protection of the judge in the performance of the duties of his office must pertain to the exclusive jurisdiction of the court of which he forms a part. the fact that the assault on you was avowedly made in revenge for your judicial action in a case heard by you gives a darker tinge to the deed, but, perhaps, does not change the legal character of the assault itself. that neagle did his whole duty, and in no way exceeded it, is too plain for argument. yours faithfully, w.d. shipman mr. justice field. letter from james c. welling, president of columbian university, washington: hartford, _august , ._ my dear judge: it is a relief to know that justice, as well as the honored justice of our supreme judiciary, has been avenged by the pistol-shot of neagle. the life of terry has long since been forfeited to law, to decency, and to morals. he has already exceeded the limit assigned by holy scripture to men of his ilk. "the bloody-minded man shall not live out half his days." the mode of his death was in keeping with his life. men who break all the laws of nature should not expect to die by the laws of nature. in all this episode you have simply worn the judicial ermine without spot or stain. you defeated a bold, bad man in his machinations, and the enmity you thereby incurred was a crown of honor. i am glad that you are to be no longer harassed by the menace of this man's violence, for such a menace is specially trying to a minister of the law. we all know that judge field the _man_ would not flinch from a thousand terrys, but judge field the _justice_ could hardly take in his own hands the protection of his person, where the threatened outrage sprang _entirely_ from his official acts. i wish, therefore, to congratulate you on your escape alike from the violence of terry and from the necessity of killing him with your own hands. it was meet that you should have been defended by an executive officer of the court assailed in your person. for doubtless terry, and the hag who was on the hunt with him, were minded to murder you. convey my cordial felicitations to mrs. field, and believe me ever, my dear mr. justice, your faithful friend, james c. welling. mr. justice field. letter from right rev. b. wistar morris, episcopal bishop of oregon: bishopcroft, portland, oregon, _august , _. my dear judge field: i hope a word of congratulation from your oregon friends for your escape in the recent tragedy will not be considered an intrusion. of course we have all been deeply interested in its history, and proud that you were found as you were, without the defenses of a bully. i will not trespass further on your time than to subscribe myself, very truly your friend, b. wistar morris. mr. justice field. a copy of the following card was enclosed in this letter: an unarmed justice. portland oregon, _august _. _to the editor of the oregonian_: there is one circumstance in the history of the field and terry tragedy that seems to me is worthy of more emphatic comment than it has yet received. i mean the fact that judge field had about his person no weapon of defense whatever, though he knew that this miserable villain was dogging his steps for the purpose of assaulting him, perhaps of taking his life. his brother, mr. cyrus w. field, says: "it was common talk in the east here, among my brother's friends, that terry's threats to do him bodily harm were made with the full intent to follow them up. terry threatened openly to shoot the justice, and we, who knew him, were convinced he would certainly do it if he ever got a chance. "i endeavored to dissuade my brother from making the trip west this year, but to no purpose, and he said, 'i have a duty to perform there, and this sort of thing can't frighten me away. i know terry will do me harm if he gets a chance, and as i shall be in california some time, he will have chances enough. let him take them.' "when urged to arm himself he made the same reply. he said that when it came to such a pass in this country that judges find it necessary to go armed, it will be time to close the courts themselves." this was a manly and noble reply and must recall to many minds that familiar sentiment: "he is thrice armed who has his quarrel just." with the daily and hourly knowledge that this assassin was ever upon his track, this brave judge goes about his duty and scorns to take to himself the defenses of a bully or a brigand; and in doing so, how immeasurably has he placed himself above the vile creature that sought his life, and all others who resort to deeds of violence. "they that take the sword shall perish with the sword," is a saying of wide application, and had it been so in this case; had this brave and self-possessed man been moved from his high purpose by the importunity of friends, and when slain by his enemy, had been found armed in like manner with the murderer himself, what a stain would it have been upon his name and honor? and how would our whole country have been disgraced in the eyes of the civilized world, that her highest ministers of justice must be armed as highwaymen as they go about their daily duties! well said this undaunted servant of the state: "then will it be time to close the courts themselves." may we not hope, mr. editor, that this example of one occupying this high place in our country may have some influence in staying the spirit and deeds of violence now so rife, and that they who are so ready to resort to the rifle and revolver may learn to regard them only as the instruments of the coward or the scoundrel? b. wistak morris. the citations given below from different journals, published at the time, indicated the general opinion of the country. with rare exceptions it approved of the action of the government, the conduct of neagle, and the bearing of justice field. the _alta california_, a leading paper in california, had, on august , , the day following the tragedy, the following article: the terry tragedy. the killing of david s. terry by the united states marshal david neagle yesterday was an unfortunate affair, regretted, we believe, by no one more than by justice field, in whose defense the fatal shot was fired. there seems, however, to be an almost undivided sentiment that the killing was justifiable. every circumstance attending the tragedy points to the irresistible conclusion that there was a premeditated determination on the part of terry and his wife to provoke justice field to an encounter, in which terry might either find an excuse for killing the man against whom he had threatened vengeance, or in which his wife might use the pistol which she always carries, in the pretended defense of her husband. for some time past it has been feared that a meeting between terry and justice field would result in bloodshed. there is now indisputable proof that terry had made repeated threats that he would assault justice field the first time he met him off the bench, and that if the judge resisted he would kill him. viewed in the light of these threats, terry's presence on the same train with justice field will hardly be regarded as accidental, and his actions in the breakfast-room at lathrop were directly in line with the intentions he had previously expressed. neagle's prompt and deadly use of his revolver is to be judged with due reference to the character and known disposition of the man with whom he had to deal and to his previous actions and threats. he was attending justice field, against the will of the latter and in spite of his protest, in obedience to an order from the attorney-general of the united states to marshal franks to detail a deputy to protect the person of justice field from terry's threatened violence. a slap in the face may not, under ordinary circumstances, be sufficient provocation to justify the taking of human life; but it must be remembered that there were no ordinary circumstances and that terry was no ordinary man. terry was a noted pistol-shot; it was known that he invariably carried arms and that he boasted of his ability to use them. if on this occasion he was unarmed, as mrs. terry asserts,[ ] neagle had no means of knowing that fact; on the contrary, to his mind every presumption was in favor of the belief that he carried both pistol and knife, in accordance with his usual habit. as a peace officer, even apart from the special duty which had been assigned to him, he was justified in taking the means necessary to prevent terry from continuing his assault; but the means necessary in the case of one man may be wholly inadequate with a man bearing the reputation of david s. terry, a man who only a few months previously had drawn a knife while resisting the lawful authority of another united states officer. it is true that if terry was unarmed, the deputy marshal might have arrested him without taking his life or seriously endangering his own; but terry was a man of gigantic stature, and though aged, in possession of a giant's strength; and there is no one who was acquainted with him, or has had opportunity to learn his past history, who does not know that he was a desperate man, willing to take desperate chances and to resort to desperate means when giving way to his impulses of passion, and that any person who should at such a moment attempt to stay his hand would do so at the risk of his life. whether he had a pistol with him at that moment or not, there was every reason to believe that he was armed, and that the blow with his hand was intended only as the precursor to a more deadly blow with a weapon. at such moments little time is allowed for reflection. the officer of the law was called upon to act and to act promptly. he did so, and the life of david s. terry was the forfeit. he fell, a victim to his own ungovernable passions, urged on to his fate by the woman who was at once his wife and his client, and perhaps further incited by sensational newspaper articles which stirred up the memory of his resentment for fancied wrongs, and taunted him with the humiliation of threats unfulfilled. the close of judge terry's life ends a career and an era. he had the misfortune to carry into a ripened state of society the conditions which are tolerable only where social order is not fully established. restless under authority, and putting violence above law, he lived by the sword and has perished by it. that example which refused submission to judicial finalities was becoming offensive to california, but the incubus of physical fear was upon many who realized that the survival of frontier ways into non-frontier period was a damage to the state. but, be this as it may, the stubborn spirit that defied the law has fallen by the law. when justice field showed the highest judicial courage in the opening incidents of the tragedy that has now closed, the manhood of california received a distinct impetus. when the justice, with threats made against his life, returned to the state unarmed, and resentful of protection against assault, declaring that when judges must arm to defend themselves from assault offered in reprisal of their judicial actions society must be considered dissolved, he was rendering to our institutions the final and highest possible service. the event that followed, the killing of terry in the act of striking him the second time from behind, while he sat at table in a crowded public dining-room, was the act of the law. the federal department of justice, by its chief, the attorney-general of the united states, had ordered its officer, the united states marshal for the northern district of california, to take such means and such measures as might be necessary to protect the persons of the judges against assault by judge terry, in carrying out the threats that he had made. this order was from the executive arm of the government, and it was carried out to the letter. judge terry took the law into his own hands and fell. nothing can add to the lesson his fate teaches. it is established now that in california no man is above the law; that no man can affect the even poise of justice by fear. confiding in his own strength as superior to the law, david s. terry fell wretchedly. no more need be said. new california inscribes upon her shield, "obedience to the law the first condition of good citizenship," and the past is closed. _the record-union_ of sacramento, one of the leading papers of california, on august , , the day following the tragedy, had the following article under the head-- killing of judge terry. in the news columns of the _record-union_ will be found all the essential details of the circumstances of the killing of d.s. terry. it will be evident to the reader that they readily sap the whole case, and that there is no substantial dispute possible concerning the facts. these truths we assert, without fear of successful contradiction, establish the justifiableness of the act of the united states marshal who fired upon and killed terry. we think there will be no dispute among sensible men that a federal circuit judge or a justice of the supreme bench, passing from one portion of the circuit to another in which either is required to open a court and hear causes, and for the purpose of fully discharging his official duties, is while en route in the discharge of an official function, and constructively his court is open to the extent that an assault upon him, because of matters pending in his court, or because of judgments he has rendered or is to render, is an assault upon the court, and his bailiff or marshal detailed to attend the court or to aid in preserving the order and dignity of the court has the same right to protect him from assault then that he would have, had the judge actually reached his court-room. but further than this, we hold that in view of the undeniable fact that the justice had knowledge of the fact that the terrys, man and wife, had sworn to punish him; that they had indulged in threats against him of the most pronounced character; that they had boarded a train on which it is probable they knew he had taken passage from one part of his circuit to another in his capacity as a magistrate; in view of the fact that terry sought the first opportunity to approach and strike him, and that, too, when seated; and in view of the notorious fact that terry always went armed--the man who shot terry would have been justified in doing so had he not even been commissioned as an officer of the court. he warned the assailant to desist, and knowing his custom to go armed, and that he had threatened the justice, and terry refusing to restrain his blows, it was neagle's duty to save life, to strike down the assailant in the most effectual manner. men who, having the ability to prevent murder, stand by and see it committed, may well be held to accountability for criminal negligence. but in this case it is clear that murder was intended on the part of the terrys. one of them ran for her pistol and brought it, and would have reached the other's side with it in time, had she not been detained by strong men at the door. neagle saw this woman depart, and coupling it with the advance of terry, knew, as a matter of course, what it meant. he had been deputed by the chief law officer of the government--in view of previous assaults by the terrys and their threats and display of weapons in court--to stand guard over the judges and protect them. he acted, therefore, precisely as it was proper he should do. had he been less prompt and vigorous, all the world knows that not he but terry would to-day be in custody, and not terry but the venerable justice of the supreme court of the united states would to-day be in the coffin. these remarks have grown too extended for any elaboration of the moral of the tragedy that culminated in the killing of david s. terry yesterday. but we cannot allow the subject to be even temporarily dismissed without calling the thought of the reader to contemplation of the essential truth that society is bound to protect the judges of the courts of the land from violence and the threats of violence; otherwise the decisions of our courts must conform to the violence threatened, and there will be an end of our judicial system, the third and most valuable factor in the scheme of representative government. society cannot, therefore, punish, but must applaud the man who defends the courts of the people and the judges of those courts from such violence and threats of violence. for it must be apparent to even the dullest intellect that all such violence is an outrage upon the judicial conscience, and therefore involves and puts in peril the liberties of the people. the new orleans _times-democrat,_ in one of its issues at this period, used the following language: the judge in america who keeps his official ermine spotless, who faithfully attends to the heavy and responsible duties of his station, deserves that the people should guard the sanctity of his person with a strength stronger than armor of steel and readier than the stroke of lance or sword. though the judges be called to pass on tens of thousands of cases, to sentence to imprisonment or to death thousands of criminals, they should be held by the people safe from the hate and vengeance of those criminals as if they were guarded by an invulnerable shield. if judge field, of the supreme court, one of the nine highest judges under our republican government, in travelling recently over his circuit in california, had been left to the mercy of the violent man who had repeatedly threatened his life, who had proved himself ready with the deadly knife or revolver, it would have been a disgrace to american civilization; it would have been a stigma and stain upon american manhood; it would have shown that the spirit of american liberty, which exalts and pays reverence to our judiciary, had been replaced by a public apathy that marked the beginning of the decline of patriotism. judge field recognized this when, in being advised to arm himself in case his life was endangered, he uttered the noble words: "no, sir; i do not and will not carry arms, for when it is known that the judges of the court are compelled to arm themselves against assaults offered in consequence of their judicial action it will be time to dissolve the courts, consider the government a failure, and let society lapse into barbarism." that ringing sentence has gone to the remotest corner of the land, and everywhere it has gone it should fire the american heart with a proud resolve to protect forever the sanctity of our judiciary. had not neagle protected the person of judge field from the assault of a dangerous and violent ruffian, apparently intent on murder, by his prompt and decisive action, shooting the assailant down to his death, it is certain that other brave men would have rushed quickly to his rescue; but neagle's marvelous quickness forestalled the need of any other's action. the person of one of the very highest american judges was preserved unharmed, while death palsied the murderous hand that had sworn to take his life. that act of neagle's was no crime. it was a deed that any and every american should feel proud of having done. it was an act that should be applauded over the length and breadth of this great land. it should not have consigned him for one minute to prison walls. it should have lifted him high in the esteem of all the american people. when criminals turn executioners, and judges are the victims, we might as well close our courts and hoist the red flag of anarchy over their silent halls and darkened chambers. the new york _herald_, in its issue of august , , said: the sensation of the past week is a lesson in republicanism and a eulogium on the majesty of the law. it was not a personal controversy between stephen j. field and david s. terry. it was a conflict between law and lawlessness--between a judicial officer who represented the law and a man who sought to take it into his own hands. one embodied the peaceful power of the nation, the will of the people; the other defied that power and appealed to the dagger. justice field's whole course shows a conception of judicial duty that lends grandeur to a republican judiciary. it is an inspiring example to the citizens and especially to the judges of the country. he was reminded of the danger of returning to california while judge terry and his wife were at large. his firm answer was that it was his duty to go and his would go. he was then advised to arm himself for self-defense. his reply embodies a nobility that should make it historic: "when it comes to such a pass in this country that judges of the courts find it necessary to go armed it will be time to close the courts themselves." this sentiment was not born of any insensibility to danger; justice field fully realized the peril himself. but above all feeling of personal concern arose a lofty sense of the duty imposed upon a justice of the nation's highest court. the officer is a representative of the law--a minister of peace. he should show by his example that the law is supreme; that all must bow to its authority; that all lawlessness must yield to it. when judges who represent the law resort to violence even in self-defense, the pistol instead of the court becomes the arbiter of controversies, and the authority of the government gives way to the power of the mob. rather than set a precedent that might tend to such a result, that would shake popular confidence in the judiciary, that would lend any encouragement to violence, a judge, as justice field evidently felt, may well risk his own life for the welfare of the commonwealth. he did not even favor the proposition that a marshal be detailed to guard him. the course of the venerable justice is an example to all who would have the law respected. it is also a lesson to all who would take the law into their own hands. not less exemplary was his recognition of the supremacy of the law when the sheriff of san joaquin appeared before him with a warrant of arrest on the grave charge of murder. the warrant was an outrage, but it was the duty of the officer to serve it, even on a justice of the united states supreme court. when the sheriff hesitated and began to apologize before discharging his painful duty, justice field promptly spoke out: "officer, proceed with your duty. i am ready, and an officer should always do his duty." these are traits of judicial heroism worthy the admiration of the world. the _albany evening union_, in one of its issues at this time, has the following: justice field relies upon the law for his defense. the courage of justice stephen j. field in declining to carry weapons and declaring that it is time to close the courts when judges have to arm themselves, and at the same time proceeding to do his duty on the bench when his life was threatened by a desperate man, is without parallel in the history of our judiciary. we do not mean by this that he is the only judge on the bench that would be as brave as he was under the circumstances, but every phase of the affair points to the heroism of the man. he upheld the majesty of the law in a fearless manner and at the peril of his life. he would not permit the judiciary to be lowered by any fear of the personal harm that might follow a straightforward performance of his duty. his arrest for complicity in a murder was borne by the same tranquil bravery--a supreme reliance upon a due process of law. he did not want the officer to apologize to him for doing his duty. he had imprisoned judge terry and his wife sarah althea for contempt of court. * * * the threats by judge terry did not even frighten him to carry weapons of self-defense. this illustration of upholding the majesty of the law is without precedent, and is worth more to the cause of justice than the entire united states army could be if called out to suppress a riotous band of law-breakers. justice field did what any justice should do under the circumstances, but how many judges would have displayed a like courage had they been in his place? the _new york world_, in its issue of monday evening, august th, has the following article: a new leaf turned. when judge field, knowing that his life was threatened, went back unarmed into the state of california and about his business there, he gave wholesome rebuke to the cowardice that prompts men to carry a pistol--a cowardice that has been too long popular on the coast. he did a priceless service to the cause of progress in his state, and added grace to his ermine when he disdained to take arms in answer to the threats of assassins. the men who have conspired to take judge field's life ought to need only one warning that a new day has dawned in california, and to find that warning in the doom of the bully terry. the law will protect the ermine of its judges. the new york _world_ of august th treats of the arrest of justice field as an outrage, and speaks of it as follows: the arrest of field an outrage and an absurdity. the california magistrate who issued a warrant for justice field's arrest is obviously a donkey of the most precious quality. the justice had been brutally assailed by a notorious ruffian who had publicly declared his intention to kill his enemy. before justice field could even rise from his chair a neat-handed deputy united states marshal shot the ruffian. justice field had no more to do with the shooting than any other bystander, and even if there had been doubt on that point it was certain that a justice of the united states supreme court was not going to run away beyond the jurisdiction. his arrest was, therefore, as absurd as it was outrageous. it was asked for by the demented widow of the dead desperado simply as a means of subjecting the justice to an indignity, and no magistrate possessed of even a protoplasmic possibility of common sense and character would have lent himself in that way to such a service. the kansas city _times_, in its issue at this period, uses the following language: no one will censure. _gratitude for judge field's escape the chief sentiment._ deputy marshal neagle acted with terrible promptitude in protecting the venerable member of the supreme court with whose safety he was specially charged, but few will be inclined to censure him. he had to deal with a man of fierce temper, whose readiness to use firearms was part of the best known history of california. it is a subject for general congratulation that justice field escaped the violence of his assailant. the american nation would be shocked to learn that a judge of its highest tribunal could not travel without danger of assault from those whom he had been compelled to offend by administering the laws. justice field has the respect due his office and that deeper and more significant reverence produced by his character and abilities. since most of the present generation were old enough to observe public affairs he has been a jurist of national reputation and a sitting member of the supreme court. in that capacity he has earned the gratitude of his countrymen by bold and unanswerable defense of sound constitutional interpretation on more than one occasion. in all the sad affair the most prominent feeling will be that of gratitude at his escape. _the army and navy journal_, in its issue of august , , had the following article under the head of-- marshal neagle's crime. the public mind appears to be somewhat unsettled upon the question of the right of neagle to kill terry while assaulting judge field. his justification is as clear as is the benefit of his act to a long-suffering community. judge field was assaulted unexpectedly from behind, while seated at a dining-table, by a notorious assassin and ruffian, who had sworn to kill him, and who, according to the testimony of at least one witness, was armed with a long knife, had sent his wife for a pistol, and was intending to use it as soon as obtained. * * * the rule is that the danger which justifies homicide in self-defense must be actual and urgent. and was it not so in this case? no one who reflects upon the features of the case--an old man without means of defense, fastened in a sitting posture by the table at which he sat and the chair he occupied, already smitten with one severe blow and about to receive another more severe from a notorious ruffian who had publicly avowed his intention to slay him--no one surely can deny that the peril threatening judge field was both actual and urgent in the very highest degree. "a man may repel force by force in the defense of his person, habitation, or property, against one or many who manifestly intend and endeavor by violence or surprise to commit a known felony on either." "in such a case he is not obliged to retreat, but may pursue his adversary till he find himself out of danger; and if in a conflict between them he happens to kill, such killing is justifiable. the right of self-defense in case of this kind is founded on the law of nature, and is not, nor can be, superseded by any law of society. where a known felony is attempted upon the person, be it to rob or murder, the party assaulted may repel force by force; and even his servant attendant on him, or any person present, may interpose for preventing mischief, and, if death ensue, the party interposing will be justified." (wharton amer. crim. law, vol. , sec. .) this is the law, as recognized at the present day and established by centuries of precedent, and it completely exonerates neagle--of course judge field needs no exoneration--from any, the least, criminality in what he did. he is acquitted of wrong-doing, not only in his character of attendant servant, but in that of bystander simply. he was as much bound to kill terry under the circumstances as every bystander in the room was bound to kill him; and in his capacity of guard, especially appointed to defend an invaluable life against a known and imminent felony, he was so bound in a much greater degree. "a sincere and apparently well-grounded belief that a felony is about to be perpetrated will extenuate a homicide committed in prevention of it, though the defendant be but a private citizen" ( ala., .) see wharton, above quoted, who embodies the doctrine in his text (vol. , sec. ). * * * * * let us be grateful from our hearts that the old mosaic law, "whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed," is shown by this memorable event to have not yet fallen altogether into innocuous desuetude; and let us give thanks to god that he has seen fit on this occasion to preserve from death at the hands of an intolerable ruffian the life of that high-minded, pure-handed, and excellent jurist and magistrate, stephen j. field. the philadelphia _times_ of august th has the following: only one opinion. _marshal neagle could not stand idly by._ the killing of judge terry of california is a homicide that will occasion no regret wherever the story of his stormy and wicked life is known. at the same time, the circumstances that surrounded it will be deeply lamented. this violent man, more than once a murderer, met his death while in the act of assaulting justice field of the supreme court of the united states. had he not been killed when he was, judge field would probably have been another of his victims. terry had declared his purpose of killing the justice, and this was their first meeting since his release from deserved imprisonment. in regard to the act of united states marshal neagle, there can be only one opinion. he could not stand idly by and see a judge of the suprene court murdered before his eyes. the contumely that terry sought to put upon the judge was only the insult that was to go before premeditated murder. the case has no moral except the certainty that a violent life will end in a violent death. the _philadelphia inquirer_ of the same date says as follows: a premeditated insult. _followed quickly by a deserved retribution._ ex-judge terry's violent death was a fitting termination to a stormy life, and the incidents of his last encounter were characteristic of the man and his methods. he was one of the few lingering representatives of the old-time population of california. he was prominent there when society was organizing itself, and succeeded in holding on to life and position when many a better man succumbed to the rude justice of the period. most of his early associates died with their boots on, a generation ago. terry lived, assailed on all sides, despised by the better element and opposed by the law, in trouble often, but never punished as he deserved. his last act was to offer a gross, premeditated insult to the venerable justice field, and the retribution he had long defied followed it quickly. california will have little reason to mourn his loss. the _cleveland leader_, in its issue of august th, speaks of the conduct of neagle as follows: the killing of terry. we have already expressed the opinion in these columns that the killing of david s. terry by deputy marshal neagle at lathrop, california, wednesday, was entirely justifiable. in that opinion it is a pleasure to note that the press of the country concur almost unanimously. the judgment of eminent members of the legal profession, as published in our telegraph columns and elsewhere, support and bear out that view of the case. the full account of the trouble makes the necessity of some such action on the part of the deputy marshal clear. the judgment of the country is that neagle only did his duty in defending the person of justice field, and in that judgment the california jury will doubtless concur when the case is brought before it. the _argonaut_, a leading paper of san francisco, not a political, but a literary paper, and edited with great ability, in its issue of august , , used the following language: the course of judge field throughout this troublesome business has been in the highest degree creditable to him. he has acted with dignity and courage, and his conduct has been characterized by most excellent taste. his answer, when requested to go armed against the assault of terry, is worthy of preservation. and now that his assailant has been arrested in his career by death, all honest men who respect the law will breathe more freely. judge terry had gained a most questionable reputation, not for courage in the right direction; not for generosity which overlooked or forgave, or forgot offenses against himself or his interests. he never conceded the right to any man to hold an opinion in opposition to his prejudices, or cross the path of his passion with impunity. he could with vulgar whisper insult the judge who rendered an opinion adverse to his client, and with profane language insult the attorney who had the misfortune to be retained by a man whose cause he did not champion. he had become a terror to society and a walking menace to the social circle in which he revolved. his death was a necessity, and, except here and there a friend of blunted moral instincts, there will be found but few to mourn his death or criticise the manner of his taking off. to say that marshal neagle should have acted in any other manner than he did means that he was to have left justice field in the claws of a tiger, and at the mercy of an infuriated, angry monster, who had never shown mercy or generosity to an enemy in his power. * * * judge field has survived the unhappy conflict which carried judge terry to his grave. he is more highly honored now than when this quarrel was thrust upon him; he has lost no friends; he has made thousands of new ones who honor him for protecting with his life the honor of the american bench, the dignity of the american law, and the credit of the american name. in the home where judge terry lived he went to the grave almost unattended by the friends of his social surroundings, no clergyman consenting to read the service at his burial. the supreme court over which he had presided as chief justice refused to adjourn in honor of his death, the press and public opinion, for a wonder, in accord over the manner of his taking off. indeed, the public opinion of the country, as shown by the press and declarations of prominent individuals, was substantially one in its approval of the action of the government, the conduct of neagle, and the bearing of justice field.[ ] the _daily report_, a paper of influence in san francisco at the time, published the following article on "the lesson of the hour," from the pen of an eminent lawyer of california, who was in no way connected with the controversy which resulted in judge terry's death: the universal acquiescence of public opinion in the justifiable character of the act which terminated the life of the late david s. terry is to be accounted for by the peculiar nature of the offense which he had committed. it was not for a mere assault, though perpetrated under circumstances which rendered it peculiarly reprehensible, that he met his death without eliciting from the community one word of condemnation for the slayer or of sympathy with the slain. mr. justice field is an officer of high rank in the most important department of the government of the united states, namely, that which is charged with the administration of legal justice. when david s. terry publicly and ostentatiously slapped the face of this high official--this representative of public justice--the blow being in all probability the intended prelude to a still more atrocious offense, he committed a gross violation of the peace and dignity of the united states. the echo of the blow made the blood tingle in the veins of every true american, and from every quarter, far and near, thick and fast, came denunciations of the outrage. that any man under a government created "by the people, for the people" shall assume to be a law unto himself, the sole despot in a community based on the idea of the equality of all before the law, and the willing submission and obedience of all to established rule, is simply intolerable. in his audacious assault on "the powers that be" terry took his life in his hand, and no lover of peace and good order can regret that, of the two lives in peril, his was extinguished. he threw down the gage of battle to the whole community, and it is well that he was vanquished in the strife. in the early part of the war of the rebellion general dix, of new york, was placed in charge of one of the disaffected districts. we had then hardly begun to see that war was a very stern condition of things, and that it actually involved the necessity of killing. those familiar with the incidents of that time will remember how the general's celebrated order, "if any one attempts to haul down the american flag, shoot him on the spot," thrilled the slow pulses of the northern heart like the blast of a bugle. yet some adverse obstructionist might object that the punishment pronounced far exceeded the offense, which was merely the effort to detach from its position a piece of colored bunting. but it is the _animus_ that characterizes the act. an insult offered to a mere symbol of authority becomes, under critical circumstances, an unpardonable crime. if the symbol, instead of being an inanimate object, be a human being--a high officer of the government--does not such an outrage as that committed by terry exceed in enormity the offense denounced by general dix? and if so, why should the punishment be less? in every civilized community, society, acting with a keen instinct of self-preservation, has always punished with just severity those capital offenders against peace and good order who strike at the very foundation on which all government must rest. [ ] it has been conclusively established since that he was armed with his usual bowie-knife at the time. [ ] note.--whilst there was a general concurrence of opinion as to the threats of terry and of the fate he met at the hands of neagle and of the bearing of justice field through all the proceedings, there were exceptions to this judgment. there were persons who sympathized with terry and his associates and grieved at his fate, although he had openly avowed his intention not merely to insult judicial officers for their judicial conduct, but to kill them in case they resented the insult offered. he married sarah althea hill after the united states circuit court had delivered its opinion, in open court, announcing its decision that she had committed forgery, perjury, and subornation of perjury, and was a woman of abandoned character. and yet a writer in the _overland monthly_ in october, , attributes his assault upon the marshal--striking him violently in the face for the execution of the order of the court to remove her from the court-room because of her gross imputation upon the judges--chiefly to his chivalric spirit to protect his wife, and declares that "the universal verdict" upon him "will be that he was possessed of _sterling integrity of purpose_, and stood out from the rest of his race as a strongly individualized character, which has been well called an anachronism in our civilization." and governor pennoyer, of oregon, in his message to the legislature of that state, pronounced the officer appointed by the marshal under the direction of the attorney-general to protect justices field and sawyer from threatened violence and murder as a "_secret armed assassin_," who accompanied a federal judge in california, and who shot down in cold blood an unarmed citizen of that state. chapter xx. the appeal to the supreme court of the united states, and the second trial of sarah althea's divorce case. with the discharge from arrest of the brave deputy marshal, neagle, who had stood between justice field and the would-be assassin's assault, and the vindication by the circuit court of the right of the general government to protect its officers from personal violence, for the discharge of their duties, at the hands of disappointed litigants, the public mind, which had been greatly excited by the proceedings narrated, became quieted. no apprehension was felt that there would be any reversal of the decision of the circuit court on the appeal which was taken to the supreme court. general and absolute confidence was expressed in the determination of the highest tribunal of the nation. the appeal was argued on the part of neagle by the attorney-general of the united states and joseph h. choate, esq., of the new york bar; and the briefs of counsel in the circuit court were also filed. the attorney-general of california and mr. zachariah montgomery appeared upon behalf of the state, and briefs of messrs. shellabarger and wilson were also filed in its behalf. the argument of the attorney-general of the united states was exceedingly able. he had watched all the proceedings of the case from the outset. he had directed that protection should be extended by the marshal to justice field and judge sawyer against any threatened violence, and he believed strongly in the doctrine that the officers of the general government were entitled to receive everywhere throughout the country full protection against all violence whilst in the discharge of their duties. he believed that such protection was necessary to the efficiency and permanency of the government; and its necessity in both respects was never more ably presented. the argument of mr. choate covered all the questions of law and fact in the case and was marked by that great ability and invincible logic and by that clearness and precision of statement which have rendered him one of the ablest of advocates and jurists in the country, one who all acknowledge has few peers and no superiors at the bar of the nation.[ ] the argument of the attorney-general of the state consisted chiefly of a repetition of the doctrine that, for offenses committed within its limits, the state alone has jurisdiction to try the offenders--a position which within its proper limits, and when not carried to the protection of resistance to the authority of the united states, has never been questioned. the most striking feature of the argument on behalf of the state was presented by zachariah montgomery. it may interest the reader to observe the true terry flavor introduced into his argument, and the manifest perversion of the facts into which it led him. he deeply sympathized with terry in the grief and mortification which he suffered in being charged with having assaulted the marshal with a deadly weapon in the presence of the circuit court in september, . he attempted to convince the supreme court that one of its members had deliberately made a misrecital, in the order committing terry for contempt, and treated this as a mitigation of that individual's subsequent attack on justice field. he did not, however, attempt to gainsay the testimony of the numerous witnesses who swore that terry did try to draw his knife while yet in the court-room on that occasion, and that, being temporarily prevented from doing so by force, he completed the act as soon as this force was withdrawn, and pursued the marshal with knife in hand, loudly declaring in the hearing of the court, in language too coarse and vulgar to be repeated, that he would do sundry terrible things to those who should obstruct him on his way to his wife. as she was then in the custody of the marshal and in his office, under an order of the court; and as terry had resisted her arrest and removal from the court-room until overpowered by several strong men, and as he had instantly on being released rushed madly from the court-room, drawing and brandishing his knife as he went, the conclusion is irresistible that he was determined upon her rescue from the marshal, if, with the aid of his knife, he could accomplish it. that mr. montgomery allowed these facts, which constitute the offense of an assault with a deadly weapon, to go unchallenged, compels us to the charitable presumption that he did not know the law. a reading of the decisions on this subject would have taught him that in order to constitute that offense it is not necessary that the assailant should actually stab with his knife or shoot with his pistol. the assault by terry was commenced in the court-room, under the eyes of the judges, and was a continuing act, ending only-with the wrenching of the knife from his hands. it was all committed "in the presence of the court," for the supreme court has decided in the savin case that "the jury-room and hallway were parts of the place in which the court was required by law to hold its sessions, and that the court, at least when in session, is present in every part of the place set apart for its own use and for the use of its officers, jurors, and witnesses, and that misbehavior in such a place is misbehavior in the presence of the court. (see vol. , u.s. reports, page , where the case is reported.) mr. montgomery was feckless enough to contradict the record when he stated that justice field in his opinion in the revivor case "took occasion to discuss at considerable length the question of the genuineness of the aforesaid marriage document, maintaining very strenuously that it was a forgery, and that this it was that so aroused the indignation of mrs. terry that she sprang to her feet and charged justice field with having been bought." there is not a word of truth in this statement. justice field, in overruling the demurrer, never discussed at all the genuineness of the marriage agreement. how, then, could it be true that words, nowhere to be found in judge field's opinion, "so aroused the indignation of mrs. terry that she sprang to her feet and charged justice field with having been bought"? justice field discussed only the legal effect of the decree already rendered by the united states circuit court. he said nothing to excite the woman's ire, except to state the necessary steps to be taken to enforce the decree. he had not participated in the trial of the original case, and had never been called upon to express any opinion concerning the agreement. mr. montgomery said in his brief that the opinion read by justice field, "while overruling a demurrer, assails this contract, in effect pronouncing it a forgery." this statement is totally unfounded. from it the casual reader would suppose that the demurrer was to the complaint in the original case, and that the court was forestalling evidence, whereas it was a demurrer in a proceeding to revive the suit, which had abated by the death of the party, and to give effect to the decree already rendered therein, after a full hearing of the testimony. mr. montgomery said: "the opinion also charges mrs. terry with perjury, after she has sworn that it was genuine." the judgment of a court may be referred to by one of its judges, even though the rendering of the judgment convicted a party or a witness, of perjury, without furnishing the perjurer with a justification for denouncing the judge. mr. montgomery furthermore said that the "opinion charged her not only with forgery and perjury, but with unchastity as well; for if she had not been sharon's wife, she had unquestionably been his kept mistress." he says: "at the announcement of this decision from the bench in the presence of a crowded court-room; a decision which she well knew, before the going down of another sun, would be telegraphed to the remotest corners of the civilized world, to be printed and reprinted with sensational head-lines in every newspaper, and talked over by every scandal-monger on the face of the earth; was it any wonder--not that it was right--but was it any wonder that this high-spirited, educated woman, sprung from as respectable a family as any in the great state of missouri, proud of her ancestry, and prizing her good name above everything on this earth, when she heard herself thus adjudged in one breath to be guilty of forgery, perjury, and unchastity, and thus degraded from the exalted position of wife--to which the supreme court of her state had said she was entitled--down to that of a paid harlot; was it any wonder, i say, that like an enraged tigress she sprang to her feet, and in words of indignation sought to defend her wounded honor?" mr. montgomery did not speak truly when he said that on this occasion such a decision was announced from the bench. the decision was announced on the th of december, , nearly three years before. the only decision announced on this occasion was that the case did not die with the plaintiff therein--william sharon--but that the executor of his estate had the right to act--had a right to be substituted for the deceased, and to have the decree executed just as it would have been if mr. sharon had lived. it was amazing effrontery and disregard of the truth on the part of mr. montgomery to make such a statement as he did to the supreme court, when the record, lying open before them, virtually contradicted what he was saying. towards the close of the decision justice field did make reference to mrs. terry's testimony in the superior court. he said that in the argument some stress had been laid upon the fact that in a state court, where the judge had decided in mrs. terry's favor, the witnesses had been examined in open court, where their bearing could be observed by the judge; while in the federal court the testimony had been taken before an examiner, and the court had not the advantage of hearing and seeing the witnesses. in reply to this justice field called attention to the fact that judge sullivan, while rendering his decision in favor of mrs. terry, had accused her of having wilfully perjured herself in several instances while testifying in her own case, and of having suborned perjury, and of having knowingly offered in evidence a forged document. but this reference to judge sullivan's accusations against mrs. terry was not reached in the reading of justice field's opinion until nearly an hour after mrs. terry had been forcibly removed from the court-room for contempt, and therefore she did not hear it. this fact appears on record in the contempt proceedings. but the most extraordinary feature of mr. montgomery's brief is yet to be noticed. he says that "if the assault so made by judge terry was not for the purpose of then and there killing or seriously injuring the party assaulted, but for the purpose of provoking him into a duel, then the killing of the assailant for such an assault was a crime." and again he says: "i have said that if the purpose of judge terry's assault upon field was for the purpose of killing him then and there, neagle, and not neagle only, but anybody else, would have been justifiable in killing terry to save the life of field; but that if terry's object in assaulting field was not then and there to kill or otherwise greatly injure him, but to draw him into a duel, then such an assault was not sufficient to justify the killing." he then proceeds to speak of judge terry's duel with senator broderick, in which the latter was killed. he refers to many eminent citizens who have fought duels, although he admits that dueling is a sin. he then explains that "as a rule the duelist who considers himself wronged by another, having the position and standing of a gentleman, tenders him an insult, either by a slap in the face or otherwise, in order to attract a challenge. such undoubtedly was terry's purpose in this case. all of terry's threats point precisely to that." here mr. montgomery seems to be in accord with sarah althea terry, who, as we have seen, stated that "judge terry intended to take out his satisfaction in slaps." in the same direction is the declaration of porter ashe, when he said: "instant death is a severe punishment for slapping a man on the face. i have no suspicion that terry meant to kill field or to do him further harm than to humiliate him." and also that of mr. baggett, one of terry's counsel, who said: "i have had frequent conversations with terry about field, and he has often told me that field has used his court and his power as a judge to humiliate him, and that he intended to humiliate him in return to the extent of his power. 'i will slap his face,' said terry to me, 'if i run across him, but i shall not put myself out of the way to meet him. i do not intend to kill him, but i will insult him by slapping his face, knowing that he will not resent it.'" what knightly courage was here. if ever a new edition of the dueling code is printed, it should have for a frontispiece a cut representing the stalwart terry dealing stealthy blows from behind upon a justice of the united states supreme court, years of age, after having previously informed a trusted friend that he believed himself safe from any resistance by the object of his attack. it may be here also said that justice field, as was well known to every one, had for many years suffered from great lameness in consequence of an injury received by him in early life, and with difficulty could walk without assistance. mr. montgomery, with freezing candor, informs the supreme court that, in strict accordance with the chivalrous code of honor, judge terry administered blows upon a member of that court, to force him into a duel, because of a judicial act with which he was displeased. he says: "the most conclusive proof that terry had no intention, for the time being, of seriously hurting field, but that his sole purpose was to tender him an insult, is found in the fact that he only used his open hand, and that, too, in a mild manner." we often hear of the "mild-mannered men" who "scuttle ships" and "cut throats," but this is the very first one whose "very mild manner" of beating a justice of the supreme court of the united states with his hand was ever certified to by an attorney and counsellor of that court in the argument of a case before it. it would be difficult to conceive of anything more puerile or absurd than this pretense that terry had the slightest expectation of provoking a man of justice field's age, official position, and physical condition, to fight a duel with him in vindication of the right of the court over which he presided to imprison a man for contempt for beating the marshal in the face with his fist, and afterwards pursuing him with a knife, in the presence of the court, for obeying an order of the court. mr. montgomery appears to have been imported into the case mainly for the purpose of reviewing the facts and giving them the terry stamp. his ambition seems to have been to insult justice field and his associates in the circuit court by charging them with misrepresenting the facts of the occurrence, thus repeating terry's reckless accusations to that effect. for terry he had only words of eulogy and admiration, and said he was "straightforward, candid, and incapable of concealment or treachery himself, and therefore never suspected treachery, even in an enemy." these noble qualities terry had illustrated by assaulting justice field from behind while the latter was in a position which placed him entirely at the mercy of his assailant. montgomery thought that not only neagle, but the president, attorney-general, district attorney, and marshal franks should be arraigned for terry's murder. although justice field had expressly advised the marshal that it was unnecessary for anybody to accompany him to los angeles, and although neagle went contrary to his wish, and only because the marshal considered himself instructed by the attorney-general to send him, yet mr. montgomery especially demanded that he (justice field) should be tried for terry's homicide. this, too, in the face of the fact that under instructions from the attorney-general of the state of california, aroused to his duty by the governor, the false, malicious, and infamous charge made against justice field by sarah althea terry was dismissed by the magistrate who had entertained it, on the ground that it was manifestly destitute of the shadow of a foundation, and that any further proceedings against him would be "a burning disgrace to the state." the decision of the circuit court discharging neagle from the custody of the sheriff of san joaquin county was affirmed by the supreme court of the united states on the th of april, . justice field did not sit at the hearing of the case, and took no part in its decision, nor did he remain in the conference room with his associate justices at any time while it was being considered or on the bench when it was delivered. the opinion of the court was delivered by justice miller. dissenting opinions were filed by chief justice fuller and justice lamar. justice miller's opinion concludes as follows: "we have thus given, in this case, a most attentive consideration to all the questions of law and fact which we have thought to be properly involved in it. we have felt it to be our duty to examine into the facts with a completeness justified by the importance of the case, as well as from the duty imposed upon us by the statute, which we think requires of us to place ourselves, as far as possible, in the place of the circuit court and to examine the testimony and the arguments in it, and to dispose of the party as law and justice require. "the result at which we have arrived upon this examination is, that in the protection of the person and the life of mr. justice field, while in the discharge of his official duties, neagle was authorized to resist the attack of terry upon him; that neagle was correct in the belief that without prompt action on his part the assault of terry upon the judge would have ended in the death of the latter; that such being his well-founded belief, he was justified in taking the life of terry, as the only means of preventing the death of the man who was intended to be his victim; that in taking the life of terry, under the circumstances, he was acting under the authority of the law of the united states, and was justified in doing so; and that he is not liable to answer in the courts of california on account of his part in that transaction. "we therefore affirm the judgment of the circuit court authorizing his discharge from the custody of the sheriff of san joaquin county." [ ] note.--mr. choate took great interest in the question involved--the right of the government of the united states to protect its officers from violence whilst engaged in the discharge of their duties,--deeming its maintenance essential to the efficiency of the government itself; and he declined to make any charge or take any fee for his professional services in the case. the privilege of supporting this great principle before the highest tribunal of the country, where his powers would be most effectively engaged in securing its recognition, was considered by him as sufficient reward. certainly he has that reward in the full establishment of that principle--for which, also, both he and attorney-general miller will receive the thanks of all who love and revere our national government and trust that its existence may be perpetuated. mr. james c. carter, the distinguished advocate of new york, also took a deep interest in the questions involved, and had several consultations with mr. choate upon them; and his professional services were given with the same generous and noble spirit that characterized the course of mr. choate. chapter xxi. concluding observations. thus ends the history of a struggle between brutal violence and the judicial authority of the united states. commencing in a mercenary raid upon a rich man's estate, relying wholly for success on forgery, perjury, and the personal fear of judges, and progressing through more than six years of litigation in both the federal and the state courts, it eventuated in a vindication by the supreme court of the united states of the constitutional power of the federal government, through its executive department, to protect the judges of the united states courts from the revengeful and murderous assaults of defeated litigants, without subjecting its appointed agents to malicious prosecutions for their fidelity to duty, by petty state officials, in league with the assailants. the dignity and the courage of justice field, who made the stand against brute force, and who, refusing either to avoid a great personal danger or to carry a weapon for his defense, trusted his life to that great power which the constitution has placed behind the judicial department for its support, was above all praise. the admirable conduct of the faithful deputy marshal, neagle, in whose small frame the power of a nation dwelt at the moment when, like a modern david, he slew a new goliath, illustrated what one frail mortal can do, who scorns danger when it crosses the path of duty. the prompt action of the executive department, through its attorney-general, in directing the marshal to afford all necessary protection against threatened danger, undoubtedly saved a justice of the supreme court from assassination, and the government from the disgrace of having pusillanimously looked on while the deed was done. the skill and learning of the lawyers who presented the case of neagle in the lower and in the appellate courts reflected honor on the legal profession. the exhaustive and convincing opinion of circuit judge sawyer, when ordering the release of neagle, seemed to have made further argument unnecessary. the grand opinion of justice miller, in announcing the decision of the supreme court affirming the order of the circuit court, was the fitting climax of all. its statement of the facts is the most graphic and vivid of the many that have been written. its vindication of the constitutional right of the federal government to exist, and to preserve itself alive in all its powers, and on every foot of its territory, without leave of, or hindrance by, any other authority, makes it one of the most important of all the utterances of that great tribunal. its power is made the more apparent by the dissent, which rests rather upon the assertion that congress had not legislated in exact terms for the case under consideration, than upon any denial of the power of the federal government to protect its courts from violence. the plausibility of this ground is dissipated by the citations in the majority opinion of the california statute concerning sheriffs, and of the federal statute concerning marshals, by which the latter are invested with all the powers of the sheriffs in the states wherein they reside, thus showing clearly that marshals possess the authority to protect officers of the united states which sheriffs possess to protect officers of the state against criminal assaults of every kind and degree. during the argument in the neagle case, as well as in the public discussions of the subject, much stress was laid by the friends of terry upon the power and duty of the state to afford full protection to all persons within its borders, including the judges of the courts of the united states. they could not see why it was necessary for the attorney-general of the united states to extend the arm of the federal government. they held that the police powers of the state were sufficient for all purposes, and that they were the sole lawful refuge for all whose lives were in danger. but they did not explain why it was that the state never did afford protection to judges field and sawyer, threatened as they notoriously were by two desperate persons. the laws of the state made it the duty of every sheriff to preserve the peace of the state, but the terrys were permitted, undisturbed and unchecked, to proclaim their intention to break the peace. if they had announced their intention, for nearly a year, to assassinate the judges of the supreme court of the state, would they have been permitted to take their lives, before being made to feel the power of the state? would an organized banditti be permitted to unseat state judges by violence, and only feel the strong halter of the law after they had accomplished their purpose? can no preventive measures be taken under the police powers of the state, when ruffians give notice that they are about to obstruct the administration of justice by the murder of high judicial officers? it was not so much to insure the punishment of terry and his wife if they should murder justice field, as to prevent the murder, that the executive branch of the united states government surrounded him with the necessary safeguards. how can justice be administered under the federal statutes if the federal judges must fight their way, while going from district to district, to overcome armed and vindictive litigants who differ with them concerning the judgments they have rendered? but it was said judge terry could have been held to bail to keep the peace. the highest bail that can be required in such cases under the law of the state is five thousand dollars. what restraint would that have been upon terry, who was so filled with malice and so reckless of consequences that he finally braved the gallows by attempting the murder of the object of his hate? but even this weak protection never was afforded. shall it be said that justice field ought to have gone to the nearest justice of the peace and obsequiously begged to have terry placed under bonds? but this he could not have done until he reached the state, and he was in peril from the moment that he reached the state line. the dust had not been brushed from his clothing before some of the papers which announced his arrival eagerly inquired what terry would do and when he would do it. some of them seemed most anxious for the sensation that a murder would produce. the state was active enough when terry had been prevented from doing his bloody work upon justice field. the constable who had been telegraphed for before the train reached lathrop on the fatal day, but who could not be found, and was not at the station to aid in preserving the peace, was quick enough to _arrest neagle without a warrant, for an act not committed in his presence_, and therefore known only to him by hearsay. against the remonstrances of a supreme justice of the united states, who had also been chief justice of california, and who might have been supposed to know the laws as well at least as a constable, the protection placed over him by the executive branch of the federal government was unlawfully taken from him and the protector incarcerated in jail. the constable doubtless did only what he was told and what he believed to be his duty. neagle declined to make any issue with him of a technical character and went with him uncomplainingly. if neagle's pistol had missed fire, or his aim had been false, he might have been arrested on the spot for his attempt to protect justice field, while terry would have been left free at the same time to finish his murderous work then, or to have pursued justice field into the car and, free from all interference by neagle, have despatched him there. the state officials were all activity to protect the would-be murderer, but seemed never to have been ruffled in the least degree over the probable assassination of a justice of the supreme court of the united states. the terrys were never thought to be in any danger. the general belief was that judges field and sawyer were in great danger from them. the death of terry displeased three classes: first, all who were willing to see justice field murdered; second, all who naturally sympathize with the tiger in his hunt for prey, and who thought it a pity that so good a fighter as terry should lose his life in seeking that of another; and, third, all who preferred to see sarah althea enjoy the property of the sharon estate in place of its lawful heirs. it is plain from the foregoing review that the state authorities of california presented no obstruction to terry and his wife as they moved towards the accomplishment of their deadly purpose against justice field. it was the executive arm of the nation operating through the deputy united states marshal, under orders from the department of justice, that prevented the assassination of justice field by david s. terry. * * * * * it only remains to state the result of the second trial of the case between sarah althea hill, now mrs. terry, and the executor of william sharon before the superior court of the city of san francisco. it will be remembered that on the first trial in that court, presided over by judge sullivan, a judgment was entered declaring that miss hill and william sharon had intermarried on the th of august, , and had at the time executed a written contract of marriage under the laws of california, and had assumed marital relations and subsequently lived together as husband and wife. from the judgment rendered an appeal was taken to the supreme court of the state. a motion was also made for a new trial in that case, and from the order denying the new trial an appeal was also taken to the supreme court. the decision on the appeal from the judgment resulted in its affirmance. the result of the appeal from the order denying a new trial was its reversal, with a direction for a new trial. the effect of that reversal was to open the whole case. in the meantime william sharon had died and miss hill had married david s. terry. the executor of william sharon, frederick w. sharon, appeared as his representative in the suit, and filed a supplemental answer. the case was tried in the superior court, before judge shafter, in july, , and on the th of august following the judge filed his findings and conclusions of law, which were, briefly, as follows: that the plaintiff and william sharon, deceased, did not, on the th of august, , or at any other time, consent to intermarry or become, by mutual agreement or otherwise, husband and wife; nor did they, thereafter, or at any time, live or cohabit together as husband and wife, or mutually or otherwise assume marital duties, rights, or obligations; that they did not, on that day or at any other time, in the city and county of san francisco, or elsewhere, jointly or otherwise, make or sign a declaration of marriage in writing or otherwise; and that the declaration of marriage mentioned in the complaint was false, counterfeited, fabricated, forged, and fraudulent, and, therefore, null and void. the conclusion of the court was that the plaintiff and william sharon were not, on august , , and never had been husband and wife, and that the plaintiff had no right or claim, legal or equitable, to any property or share in any property, real or personal, of which william sharon was the owner or in possession, or which was then or might thereafter be held by the executor of his last will and testament the defendant, frederick w. sharon. accordingly, judgment was entered for the defendant. an appeal was taken from that judgment to the supreme court of california, and on the th of august, , sarah althea terry having become insane pending the appeal, and p.p. ashe, esq., having been appointed and qualified as the general guardian of her person and estate, it was ordered that he be substituted in the case, and that she subsequently appear by him as her guardian. in october following, the appeal was dismissed. thus ended the legal controversy initiated by this adventuress to obtain a part of the estate of the deceased millionaire. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the cross-cut by courtney ryley cooper with frontispiece by george w. gage [frontispiece: carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him.] boston little, brown, and company copyright, , by little, brown, and company. all rights reserved published may, to g. f. c. i've threatened you with a dedication for a long time and here it is! the cross-cut chapter i it was over. the rambling house, with its rickety, old-fashioned furniture--and its memories--was now deserted, except for robert fairchild, and he was deserted within it, wandering from room to room, staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar gaze of one whose vision suddenly has been warned by the visitation of death and the sense of loneliness that it brings. loneliness, rather than grief, for it had been robert fairchild's promise that he would not suffer in heart for one who had longed to go into a peace for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. year after year, thornton fairchild had sat in the big armchair by the windows, watching the days grow old and fade into night, studying sunset after sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the twilight of his own existence,--a silent man except for this, rarely speaking of the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared for him, worshiped him, the slightest inkling of what might have happened in the dim days of the long ago to transform him into a beaten thing, longing for the final surcease. and when the end came, it found him in readiness, waiting in the big armchair by the windows. even now, a book lay on the frayed carpeting of the old room, where it had fallen from relaxing fingers. robert fairchild picked it up, and with a sigh restored it to the grim, fumed oak case. his days of petty sacrifices that his father might while away the weary hours with reading were over. memories! they were all about him, in the grate with its blackened coals, the old-fashioned pictures on the walls, the almost gloomy rooms, the big chair by the window, and yet they told him nothing except that a white-haired, patient, lovable old man was gone,--a man whom he was wont to call "father." and in that going, the slow procedure of an unnatural existence had snapped for robert fairchild. as he roamed about in his loneliness, he wondered what he would do now, where he could go; to whom he could talk. he had worked since sixteen, and since sixteen there had been few times when he had not come home regularly each night, to wait upon the white-haired man in the big chair, to discern his wants instinctively, and to sit with him, often in silence, until the old onyx clock on the mantel had clanged eleven; it had been the same program, day, week, month and year. and now robert fairchild was as a person lost. the ordinary pleasures of youth had never been his; he could not turn to them with any sort of grace. the years of servitude to a beloved master had inculcated within him the feeling of self-impelled sacrifice; he had forgotten all thought of personal pleasures for their sake alone. the big chair by the window was vacant, and it created a void which robert fairchild could neither combat nor overcome. what had been the past? why the silence? why the patient, yet impatient wait for death? the son did not know. in all his memories was only one faint picture, painted years before in babyhood: the return of his father from some place, he knew not where, a long conference with his mother behind closed doors, while he, in childlike curiosity, waited without, seeking in vain to catch some explanation. then a sad-faced woman who cried at night when the house was still, who faded and who died. that was all. the picture carried no explanation. and now robert fairchild stood on the threshold of something he almost feared to learn. once, on a black, stormy night, they had sat together, father and son before the fire, silent for hours. then the hand of the white-haired man had reached outward and rested for a moment on the young man's knee. "i wrote something to you, boy, a day or so ago," he had said. "that little illness i had prompted me to do it. i--i thought it was only fair to you. after i 'm gone, look in the safe. you 'll find the combination on a piece of paper hidden in a hole cut in that old european history in the bookcase. i have your promise, i know--that you 'll not do it until after i 'm gone." now thornton fairchild was gone. but a message had remained behind; one which the patient lips evidently had feared to utter during life. the heart of the son began to pound, slow and hard, as, with the memory of that conversation, he turned toward the bookcase and unlatched the paneled door. a moment more and the hollowed history had given up its trust, a bit of paper scratched with numbers. robert fairchild turned toward the stairs and the small room on the second floor which had served as his father's bedroom. there he hesitated before the little iron safe in the corner, summoning the courage to unlock the doors of a dead man's past. at last he forced himself to his knees and to the numerals of the combination. the safe had not been opened in years; that was evident from the creaking of the plungers as they fell, the gummy resistance of the knob as fairchild turned it in accordance with the directions on the paper. finally, a great wrench, and the bolt was drawn grudgingly back; a strong pull, and the safe opened. a few old books; ledgers in sheepskin binding. fairchild disregarded these for the more important things that might lie behind the little inner door of the cabinet. his hand went forward, and he noticed, in a hazy sort of way, that it was trembling. the door was unlocked; he drew it open and crouched a moment, staring, before he reached for the thinner of two envelopes which lay before him. a moment later he straightened and turned toward the light. a crinkling of paper, a quick-drawn sigh between clenched teeth; it was a letter; his strange, quiet, hunted-appearing father was talking to him through the medium of ink and paper, after death. closely written, hurriedly, as though to finish an irksome task in as short a space as possible, the missive was one of several pages,--pages which robert fairchild hesitated to read. the secret--and he knew full well that there was a secret--had been in the atmosphere about him ever since he could remember. whether or not this was the solution of it, robert fairchild did not know, and the natural reticence with which he had always approached anything regarding his father's life gave him an instinctive fear, a sense of cringing retreat from anything that might now open the doors of mystery. but it was before him, waiting in his father's writing, and at last his gaze centered; he read: my son: before i begin this letter to you i must ask that you take no action whatever until you have seen my attorney--he will be yours from now on. i have never mentioned him to you before; it was not necessary and would only have brought you curiosity which i could not have satisfied. but now, i am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. i am gone. you are young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good fortune that may possibly come to you. i am praying that the years have made a difference, and that fortune may smile upon you as she frowned on me. certainly, she can injure me no longer. my race is run; i am beyond earthly fortunes. therefore, when you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in the larger envelope and go to st. louis. there, look up henry f. beamish, attorney-at-law, in the princess building. he will explain them to you. beyond this, i fear, there is little that can aid you. i cannot find the strength, now that i face it, to tell you what you may find if you follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you. there is always the hope that fortune may be kind to me at last, and smile upon my memory by never letting you know why i have been the sort of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a father should be. but there are certain things, my son, which defeat a man. it killed your mother--every day since her death i have been haunted by that fact; my prayer is that it may not kill you, spiritually, if not physically. therefore is it not better that it remain behind a cloud until such time as fortune may reveal it--and hope that such a time will never come? i think so--not for myself, for when you read this, i shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and aged me, long before my time. if he lives, and i am sure he does, there is one who will hurry to your aid as soon as he knows you need him. accept his counsels, laugh at his little eccentricities if you will, but follow his judgment implicitly. above all, ask him no questions that he does not care to answer--there are things that he may not deem wise to tell. it is only fair that he be given the right to choose his disclosures. there is little more to say. beamish will attend to everything for you--if you care to go. sell everything that is here; the house, the furniture, the belongings. it is my wish, and you will need the capital--if you go. the ledgers in the safe are only old accounts which would be so much chinese to you now. burn them. there is nothing else to be afraid of--i hope you will never find anything to fear. and if circumstances should arise to bring before you the story of that which has caused me so much darkness, i have nothing to say in self-extenuation. i made one mistake--that of fear--and in committing one error, i shouldered every blame. it makes little difference now. i am dead--and free. my love to you, my son. i hope that wealth and happiness await you. blood of my blood flows in your veins--and strange though it may sound to you--it is the blood of an adventurer. i can almost see you smile at that! an old man who sat by the window, staring out; afraid of every knock at the door--and yet an adventurer! but they say, once in the blood, it never dies. my wish is that you succeed where i failed--and god be with you! your father. for a long moment robert fairchild stood staring at the letter, his heart pounding with excitement, his hands grasping the foolscap paper as though with a desire to tear through the shield which the written words had formed about a mysterious past and disclose that which was so effectively hidden. so much had the letter told--and yet so little! dark had been the hints of some mysterious, intangible thing, great enough in its horror and its far-reaching consequences to cause death for one who had known of it and a living panic for him who had perpetrated it. as for the man who stood now with the letter clenched before him, there was promise of wealth, and the threat of sorrow, the hope of happiness, yet the foreboding omen of discoveries which might ruin the life of the reader as the existence of the writer had been blasted,--until death had brought relief. of all this had the letter told, but when robert fairchild read it again in the hope of something tangible, something that might give even a clue to the reason for it all, there was nothing. in that super-calmness which accompanies great agitation, fairchild folded the paper, placed it in its envelope, then slipped it into an inside pocket. a few steps and he was before the safe once more and reaching for the second envelope. heavy and bulky was this, filled with tax receipts, with plats and blueprints and the reports of surveyors. here was an assay slip, bearing figures and notations which robert fairchild could not understand. here a receipt for money received, here a vari-colored map with lines and figures and conglomerate designs which fairchild believed must relate in some manner to the location of a mining camp; all were aged and worn at the edges, giving evidence of having been carried, at some far time of the past, in a wallet. more receipts, more blueprints, then a legal document, sealed and stamped, and bearing the words: county of clear creek, ) ss. state of colorado. ) deed patent. know all men by these presents: that on this day of our lord, february , , thornton w. fairchild, having presented the necessary affidavits and statements of assessments accomplished in accordance with-- on it trailed in endless legal phraseology, telling in muddled, attorney-like language, the fact that the law had been fulfilled in its requirements, and that the claim for which thornton fairchild had worked was rightfully his, forever. a longer statement full of figures, of diagrams and surveyor's calculations which fairchild could neither decipher nor understand, gave the location, the town site and the property included within the granted rights. it was something for an attorney, such as beamish, to interpret, and fairchild reached for the age-yellowed envelope to return the papers to their resting place. but he checked his motion involuntarily and for a moment held the envelope before him, staring at it with wide eyes. then, as though to free by the stronger light of the window the haunting thing which faced him, he rose and hurried across the room, to better light, only to find it had not been imagination; the words still were before him, a sentence written in faint, faded ink proclaiming the contents to be "papers relating to the blue poppy mine", and written across this a word in the bolder, harsher strokes of a man under stress of emotion, a word which held the eyes of robert fairchild fixed and staring, a word which spelled books of the past and evil threats of the future, the single, ominous word: "accursed!" chapter ii one works quickly when prodded by the pique of curiosity. and in spite of all that omens could foretell, in spite of the dull, gloomy life which had done its best to fashion a matter-of-fact brain for robert fairchild, one sentence in that letter had found an echo, had started a pulsating something within him that he never before had known: "--it is the blood of an adventurer." and it seemed that robert fairchild needed no more than the knowledge to feel the tingle of it; the old house suddenly became stuffy and prison-like as he wandered through it. within his pocket were two envelopes filled with threats of the future, defying him to advance and fight it out,--whatever _it_ might be. again and again pounded through his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between indianapolis and st. louis; within twelve hours he could be in the office of henry beamish. and then-- a hurried resolution. a hasty packing of a traveling bag and the cashing of a check at the cigar store down on the corner. a wakeful night while the train clattered along upon its journey. then morning and walking of streets until office hours. at last: "i 'm robert fairchild," he said, as he faced a white-haired, cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices of the princess building. a slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial appearing attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the office's extra chair. "sit down, son," came casually. "need n't have announced yourself. i 'd have known you--just like your father, boy. how is he?" then his face suddenly sobered. "i 'm afraid your presence is the answer. am i right?" fairchild nodded gravely. the old attorney slowly placed his fat hands together, peaking the fingers, and stared out of the window to the grimy roof and signboards of the next building. "perhaps it's better so," he said at last. "we had n't seen each other in ten years--not since i went up to indianapolis to have my last talk with him. did he get any cheerier before--he went?" "no." "just the same, huh? always waiting?" "afraid of every step on the veranda, of every knock at the door." again the attorney stared out of the window. "and you?" "i?" fairchild leaned forward in his chair. "i don't understand." "are you afraid?" "of what?" the lawyer smiled. "i don't know. only--" and he leaned forward--"it's just as though i were living my younger days over this morning. it doesn't seem any time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now, and gad, boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! the same gray-blue, earnest eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders, and good, manly chin, the same build--and look of determination about him. the call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my advice--although he would n't have followed it if i had given it. back home was a baby and the woman he loved, and out west was sudden wealth, waiting for the right man to come along and find it. gad!" white-haired old beamish chuckled with the memory of it. "he almost made me throw over the law business that morning and go out adventuring with him! then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came back." "what then?" fairchild was on the edge of his chair. but beamish only spread his hands. "truthfully, boy, i don't know. i have guessed--but i won't tell you what. all i know is that your father found what he was looking for and was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened. then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. that was all. one of them was your father--" "but you said that he 'd found--" "silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! i know, because he had written me that, a month before." "and he abandoned it?" "he 'd forgotten what he had written when i saw him again. i did n't question him. i did n't want to--his face told me enough to guess that i would n't learn. he went home then, after giving me enough money to pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. i did it. eight years or so later, i saw him in indianapolis. he gave me more money--enough for eleven or twelve years--" "and that was ten years ago?" robert fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. "i remember--i was only a kid. he sold off everything he had, except the house." henry beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return at last with a few slips of paper. "here 's the answer," he said quietly, "the taxes are paid until ." robert fairchild studied the receipts carefully--futilely. they told him nothing. the lawyer stood looking down upon him; at last he laid a hand on his shoulder. "boy," came quietly, "i know just about what you 're thinking. i 've spent a few hours at the same kind of a job myself, and i 've called old henry beamish more kinds of a fool than you can think of for not coming right out flat-footed and making thornton tell me the whole story. but some way, when i 'd look into those eyes with the fire all dead and ashen within them, and see the lines of an old man in his young face, i--well, i guess i 'm too soft-hearted to make folks suffer. i just couldn't do it!" "so you can tell me nothing?" "i 'm afraid that's true--in one way. in another i 'm a fund of information. to-night you and i will go to indianapolis and probate the will--it's simple enough; i 've had it in my safe for ten years. after that, you become the owner of the blue poppy mine, to do with as you choose." "but--" the old lawyer chuckled. "don't ask my advice, boy. i have n't any. your father told me what to do if you decided to try your luck--and silver 's at $ . . it means a lot of money for anybody who can produce pay ore--unless what he said about the mine pinching out was true." again the thrill of a new thing went through robert fairchild's veins, something he never had felt until twelve hours before; again the urge for strange places, new scenes, the fire of the hunt after the hidden wealth of silver-seamed hills. somewhere it lay awaiting him; nor did he even know in what form. robert fairchild's life had been a plodding thing of books and accounts, of high desks which as yet had failed to stoop his shoulders, of stuffy offices which had been thwarted so far in their grip at his lung power; the long walk in the morning and the tired trudge homeward at night to save petty carfare for a silent man's pettier luxuries had looked after that. but the recoil had not exerted itself against an office-cramped brain, a dusty ledger-filled life that suddenly felt itself crying out for the free, open country, without hardly knowing what the term meant. old beamish caught the light in the eyes, the quick contraction of the hands, and smiled. "you don't need to tell me, son," he said slowly. "i can see the symptoms. you 've got the fever--you 're going to work that mine. perhaps," and he shrugged his shoulders, "it's just as well. but there are certain things to remember." "name them." "ohadi is thirty-eight miles from denver. that's your goal. out there, they 'll tell you how the mine caved in, and how thornton fairchild, who had worked it, together with his two men, harry harkins, a cornishman, and 'sissie' larsen, a swede, left town late one night for cripple creek--and that they never came back. that's the story they 'll tell you. agree with it. tell them that harkins, as far as you know, went back to cornwall, and that you have heard vaguely that larsen later followed the mining game farther out west." "is it the truth?" "how do i know? it 's good enough--people should n't ask questions. tell nothing more than that--and be careful of your friends. there is one man to watch--if he is still alive. they call him 'squint' rodaine, and he may or may not still be there. i don't know--i 'm only sure of the fact that your father hated him, fought him and feared him. the mine tunnel is two miles up kentucky gulch and one hundred yards to the right. a surveyor can lead you to the very spot. it's been abandoned now for thirty years. what you 'll find there is more than i can guess. but, boy," and his hand clenched tight on robert fairchild's shoulder, "whatever you do, whatever you run into, whatever friends or enemies you find awaiting you, don't let that light die out of your eyes and don't pull in that chin! if you find a fight on your hands, whether it's man, beast or nature, sail into it! if you run into things that cut your very heart out to learn--beat 'em down and keep going! and win! there--that's all the advice i know. meet me at the : train for indianapolis. good-by." "good-by--i 'll be there." fairchild grasped the pudgy hand and left the office. for a moment afterward, old henry beamish stood thinking and looking out over the dingy roof adjacent. then, somewhat absently, he pressed the ancient electric button for his more ancient stenographer. "call a messenger, please," he ordered when she entered, "i want to send a cablegram." chapter iii two weeks later, robert fairchild sat in the smoking compartment of the overland limited, looking at the rocky mountains in the distance. in his pocket were a few hundred dollars; in the bank in indianapolis a few thousand, representing the final proceeds of the sale of everything that had connected him with a rather dreary past. out before him-- the train had left limon junction on its last, clattering, rushing leg of the journey across the plains, tearing on through a barren country of tumbleweed, of sagebrush, of prairie-dog villages and jagged arroyos toward the great, crumpled hills in the distance,--hills which meant everything to robert fairchild. two weeks had created a metamorphosis in what had been a plodding, matter-of-fact man with dreams which did not extend beyond his ledgers and his gloomy home--but now a man leaning his head against the window of a rushing train, staring ahead toward the rockies and the rainbow they held for him. back to the place where his father had gone with dreams aglow was the son traveling now,--back into the rumpled mountains where the blue haze hung low and protecting as though over mysteries and treasures which awaited one man and one alone. robert fairchild momentarily had forgotten the foreboding omens which, like murky shadows, had been cast in his path by a beaten, will-broken father. he only knew that he was young, that he was strong, that he was free from the drudgery which had sought to claim him forever; he felt only the surge of excitement that can come with new surroundings, new country, new life. out there before him, as the train rattled over culverts spanning the dry arroyos, or puffed gingerly up the grades toward the higher levels of the plains, were the hills, gray and brown in the foreground, blue as the blue sea farther on, then fringing into the sun-pinked radiance of the snowy range, forming the last barrier against a turquoise sky. it thrilled fairchild, it caused his heart to tug and pull,--nor could he tell exactly why. still eighty miles away, the range was sharply outlined to fairchild, from the ragged hump of pikes peak far to the south, on up to where the gradual lowering of the mighty upheaval slid away into wyoming. eighty miles, yet they were clear with the clearness that only altitudinous country can bring; alluring, fascinating, beckoning to him until his being rebelled against the comparative slowness of the train, and the minutes passed in a dragging, long-drawn-out sequence that was almost an agony to robert fairchild. hours! the hills came closer. still closer; then, when it seemed that the train must plunge straight into them, they drew away again, as though through some optical illusion, and brooded in the background, as the long, transcontinental train began to bang over the frogs and switches as it made its entrance into denver. fairchild went through the long chute and to a ticket window of the union station. "when can i get a train for ohadi?" the ticket seller smiled. "you can't get one." "but the map shows that a railroad runs there--" "ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk. "the best you can do is get to forks creek and walk the rest of the way. that's a narrow-gauge line, and clear creek 's been on a rampage. it took out about two hundred feet of trestle, and there won't be a train into ohadi for a week." the disappointment on fairchild's face was more than apparent, almost boyish in its depression. the ticket seller leaned closer to the wicket. "stranger out here?" "very much of one." "in a hurry to get to ohadi?" "yes." "then you can go uptown and hire a taxi--they 've got big cars for mountain work and there are good roads all the way. it 'll cost fifteen or twenty dollars. or--" fairchild smiled. "give me the other system if you 've got one. i 'm not terribly long on cash--for taxis." "certainly. i was just going to tell you about it. no use spending that money if you 've got a little pep, and it is n't a matter of life or death. go up to the central loop--anybody can direct you--and catch a street car for golden. that eats up fifteen miles and leaves just twenty-three miles more. then ask somebody to point out the road over mount lookout. machines go along there every few minutes--no trouble at all to catch a ride. you 'll be in ohadi in no time." fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time until it carried only necessities. a luncheon, then the street car. three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters mount lookout. a rumbling sound behind him, then as he stepped to one side, a grimy truck driver leaned out to shout as he passed: "want a lift? hop on! can't stop--too much grade." a running leap, and fairchild seated himself on the tailboard of the truck, swinging his legs and looking out over the fading plains as the truck roared and clattered upward along the twisting mountain road. higher, higher, while the truck labored along the grade, and while the buildings in golden below shrank smaller and smaller. the reservoir lake in the center of the town, a broad expanse of water only a short time before, began to take on the appearance of some great, blue-white diamond glistening in the sun. gradually a stream outlined itself in living topography upon a map which seemed as large as the world itself. denver, fifteen miles away, came into view, its streets showing like seams in a well-sewn garment, the sun, even at this distance, striking a sheen from the golden dome of the capitol building. higher! the chortling truck gasped at the curves and tugged on the straightaway, but robert fairchild had ceased to hear. his every attention was centered on the tremendous stage unfolded before him, the vast stretches of the plains rolling away beneath, even into kansas and wyoming and nebraska, hundreds of miles away, plains where once the buffalo had roamed in great, shaggy herds, where once the emigrant trains had made their slow, rocking progress into a land of heart's desire; and he began to understand something of the vastness of life, the great scope of ambition; new things to a man whose world, until two weeks before, had been the four chalky walls of an office. cool breezes from pine-fringed gulches brushed his cheek and smoothed away the burning touch of a glaring sun; the truck turned into the hairpin curves of the steep ascent, giving him a glimpse of deep valleys, green from the touch of flowing streams, of great clefts with their vari-hued splotches of granite, and on beyond, mound after mound of pine-clothed hills, fringing the peaks of eternal snow, far away. the blood suddenly grew hot in fairchild's veins; he whistled, he repressed a wild, spasmodic desire to shout. the spirit that had been the spirit of the determined men of the emigrant trains was his now; he remembered that he was traveling slowly toward a fight--against whom, or what, he knew not--but he welcomed it just the same. the exaltation of rarefied atmosphere was in his brain; dingy offices were gone forever. he was free; and for the first time in his life, he appreciated the meaning of the word. upward, still upward! the town below became merely a checkerboard thing, the lake a dot of gleaming silver, the stream a scintillating ribbon stretching off into the foothills. a turn, and they skirted a tremendous valley, its slopes falling away in sheer descents from the roadway. a darkened, moist stretch of road, fringed by pines, then a jogging journey over rolling table-land. at last came a voice from the driver's seat, and fairchild turned like a man suddenly awakened. "turn off up here at genesee mountain. which way do you go?" "trying to get to ohadi." fairchild shouted it above the roar of the engine. the driver waved a hand forward. "keep to the main road. drop off when i make the turn. you 'll pick up another ride soon. plenty of chances." "thanks for the lift." "aw, forget it." the truck wheeled from the main road and chugged away, leaving fairchild afoot, making as much progress as possible toward his goal until good fortune should bring a swifter means of locomotion. a half-mile he walked, studying the constant changes of the scenery before him, the slopes and rises, the smooth valleys and jagged crags above, the clouds as they drifted low upon the higher peaks, shielding them from view for a moment, then disappearing. then suddenly he wheeled. behind him sounded the swift droning of a motor, cut-out open, as it rushed forward along the road,--and the noise told a story of speed. far at the brow of a steep hill it appeared, seeming to hang in space for an instant before leaping downward. rushing, plunging, once skidding dangerously at a small curve, it made the descent, bumped over a bridge, was lost for a second in the pines, then sped toward him, a big touring car, with a small, resolute figure clinging to the wheel. the quarter of a mile changed to a furlong, the furlong to a hundred yards,--then, with a report like a revolver shot, the machine suddenly slewed in drunken fashion far to one side of the road, hung dangerously over the steep cliff an instant, righted itself, swayed forward and stopped, barely twenty-five yards away. staring, robert fairchild saw that a small, trim figure had leaped forth and was waving excitedly to him, and he ran forward. his first glance had proclaimed it a boy; the second had told a different story. a girl--dressed in far different fashion from robert fairchild's limited specifications of feminine garb--she caused him to gasp in surprise, then to stop and stare. again she waved a hand and stamped a foot excitedly; a vehement little thing in a snug, whipcord riding habit and a checkered cap pulled tight over closely braided hair, she awaited him with all the impatience of impetuous womanhood. "for goodness' sake, come here!" she called, as he still stood gaping. "i 'll give you five dollars. hurry!" fairchild managed to voice the fact that he would be willing to help without remuneration, as he hurried forward, still staring at her, a vibrant little thing with dark-brown wisps of hair which had been blown from beneath her cap straying about equally dark-brown, snapping eyes and caressing the corners of tightly pressed, momentarily impatient lips. only a second she hesitated, then dived for the tonneau, jerking with all her strength at the heavy seat cushion, as he stepped to the running board beside her. "can't get this dinged thing up!" she panted. "always sticks when you 're in a hurry. that's it! jerk it. thanks! here!" she reached forward and a small, sun-tanned hand grasped a greasy jack, "slide under the back axle and put this jack in place, will you? and rush it! i 've got to change a tire in nothing flat! hurry!" fairchild, almost before he knew it, found himself under the rear of the car, fussing with a refractory lifting jack and trying to keep his eyes from the view of trimly clad, brown-shod little feet, as they pattered about at the side of the car, hurried to the running board, then stopped as wrenches and a hammer clattered to the ground. then one shoe was raised, to press tight against a wheel; metal touched metal, a feminine gasp sounded as strength was exerted in vain, then eddying dust as the foot stamped, accompanied by an exasperated ejaculation. "ding these old lugs! they 're rusted! got that jack in place yet?" "yes! i'm raising the car now." "oh, please hurry." there was pleading in the tone now. "please!" the car creaked upward. out came fairchild, brushing the dust from his clothes. but already the girl was pressing the lug wrench into his hands. "don't mind that dirt," came her exclamation. "i 'll--i 'll give you some extra money to get your suit cleaned. loosen those lugs, while i get the spare tire off the back. and for goodness' sake, please hurry!" astonishment had taken away speech for fairchild. he could only wonder--and obey. swiftly he twirled the wrench while lug after lug fell to the ground, and while the girl, struggling with a tire seemingly almost as big as herself, trundled the spare into position to await the transfer. as for fairchild, he was in the midst of a task which he had seen performed far more times than he had done it himself. he strove to remove the blown-out shoe with the cap still screwed on the valve stem; he fussed and swore under his breath, and panted, while behind him a girl in whipcord riding habit and close-pulled cap fidgeted first on one tan-clad foot, then on the other, anxiously watching the road behind her and calling constantly for speed. at last the job was finished, the girl fastening the useless shoe behind the machine while fairchild tightened the last of the lugs. then as he straightened, a small figure shot to his side, took the wrench from his hand and sent it, with the other tools, clattering into the tonneau. a tiny hand went into a pocket, something that crinkled was shoved into the man's grasp, and while he stood there gasping, she leaped to the driver's seat, slammed the door, spun the starter until it whined, and with open cutout roaring again, was off and away, rocking down the mountain side, around a curve and out of sight--while fairchild merely stood there, staring wonderingly at a ten-dollar bill! a noise from the rear, growing louder, and the amazed man turned to see a second machine, filled with men, careening toward him. fifty feet away the brakes creaked, and the big automobile came to a skidding, dust-throwing stop. a sun-browned man in a stetson hat, metal badge gleaming from beneath his coat, leaned forth. "which way did he go?" "he?" robert fairchild stared. "yeh. did n't a man just pass here in an automobile? where'd he go--straight on the main road or off on the circuit trail?" "it--it was n't a man." "not a man?" the four occupants of the machine stared at him. "don't try to bull us that it was a woman." "oh, no--no--of course not." fairchild had found his senses. "but it was n't a man. it--it was a boy, just about fifteen years old." "sure?" "oh, yes--" fairchild was swimming in deep water now. "i got a good look at him. he--he took that road off to the left." it was the opposite one to which the hurrying fugitive in whipcord had taken. there was doubt in the interrogator's eyes. "sure of that?" he queried. "i 'm the sheriff of arapahoe county. that's an auto bandit ahead of us. we--" "well, i would n't swear to it. there was another machine ahead, and i lost 'em both for a second down there by the turn. i did n't see the other again, but i did get a glimpse of one off on that side road. it looked like the car that passed me. that's all i know." "probably him, all right." the voice came from the tonneau. "maybe he figured to give us the slip and get back to denver. you did n't notice the license number?" this to fairchild. that bewildered person shook his head. "no. did n't you?" "could n't--covered with dust when we first took the trail and never got close enough afterward. but it was the same car--that's almost a cinch." "let's go!" the sheriff was pressing a foot on the accelerator. down the hill went the car, to skid, then to make a short turn on to the road which led away from the scent, leaving behind a man standing in the middle of the road, staring at a ten-dollar bill,--and wondering why he had lied! chapter iv wonderment which got nowhere. the sheriff's car returned before fairchild reached the bottom of the grade, and again stopped to survey the scene of defeat, while fairchild once more told his story, deleting items which, to him, appeared unnecessary for consumption by officers of the law. carefully the sheriff surveyed the winding road before him and scratched his head. "don't guess it would have made much difference which way he went," came ruefully at last, "i never saw a fellow turn loose with so much speed on a mountain road. we never could have caught him!" "dangerous character?" fairchild hardly knew why he asked the question. the sheriff smiled grimly. "if it was the fellow we were after, he was plenty dangerous. we were trailing him on word from denver--described the car and said he 'd pulled a daylight hold-up on a pay-wagon for the smelter company--so when the car went through golden, we took up the trail a couple of blocks behind. he kept the same speed for a little while until one of my deputies got a little anxious and took a shot at a tire. man, how he turned on the juice! i thought that thing was a jack rabbit the way it went up the hill! we never had a chance after that!" "and you 're sure it was the same person?" the sheriff toyed with the gear shift. "you never can be sure about nothing in this business," came finally. "but there 's this to think about: if that fellow was n't guilty of something, why did he run?" "it might have been a kid in a stolen machine," came from the back seat. "if it was, we 've got to wait until we get a report on it. i guess it's us back to the office." the automobile went its way then, and fairchild his, still wondering; the sheriff's question, with a different gender, recurring again and again: "if she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" and why had she? more, why had she been willing to give ten dollars in payment for the mere changing of a tire? and why had she not offered some explanation of it all? it was a problem which almost wiped out for robert fairchild the zest of the new life into which he was going, the great gamble he was about to take. and so thoroughly did it engross him that it was not until a truck had come to a full stop behind him, and a driver mingled a shout with the tooting of his horn, that he turned to allow its passage. "did n't hear you, old man," he apologized. "could you give a fellow a lift?" "guess so." it was friendly, even though a bit disgruntled; "hop on." and fairchild hopped, once more to sit on the tailboard, swinging his legs, but this time his eyes saw the ever-changing scenery without noticing it. in spite of himself, fairchild found himself constantly staring at a vision of a pretty girl in a riding habit, with dark-brown hair straying about equally dark-brown eyes, almost frenzied in her efforts to change a tire in time to elude a pursuing sheriff. some way, it all did n't blend. pretty girls, no doubt, could commit infractions of the law just as easily as ones less gifted with good looks. yet if this particular pretty girl had held up a pay wagon, why did n't the telephoned notice from denver state the fact, instead of referring to her as a man? and if she had n't committed some sort of depredation against the law, why on earth was she willing to part with ten dollars, merely to save a few moments in changing a tire and thus elude a sheriff? if there had been nothing wrong, could not a moment of explanation have satisfied any one of the fact? anyway, were n't the officers looking for a man instead of for a woman? and yet: "if she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" it was too much for any one, and fairchild knew it. yet he clung grimly to the mystery as the truck clattered on, mile after mile, while the broad road led along the sides of the hills, finally to dip downward and run beside the bubbling clear creek,--clear no longer in the memory of the oldest inhabitant; but soiled by the silica from ore deposits that, churned and rechurned, gave to the stream a whitish, almost milk-like character, as it twisted in and out of the tortuous cañon on its turbulent journey to the sea. but fairchild failed to notice either that or the fact that ancient, age-whitened water wheels had begun to appear here and there, where gulch miners, seekers after gold in the silt of the creek's bed, had abandoned them years before; that now and then upon the hills showed the gaunt scars of mine openings,--reminders of dreams of a day long past; or even the more important fact that in the distance, softened by the mellowing rays of a dying sun, a small town gradually was coming into view. a mile more, then the truck stopped with a jerk. "where you bound for, pardner?" fairchild turned absently, then grinned in embarrassment. "ohadi." "that's it, straight ahead. i turn off here. stranger?" "yep." "miner?" fairchild shrugged his shoulders and nodded noncommittally. the truck driver toyed with his wheel. "just thought i 'd ask. plenty of work around here for single and double jackers. things are beginning to look up a bit--at least in silver. gold mines ain't doing much yet--but there 's a good deal happening with the white stuff." "thanks. do you know a good place to stop?" "yeh. mother howard's boarding house. everybody goes there, sooner or later. you 'll see it on the left-hand side of the street before you get to the main block. good old girl; knows how to treat anybody in the mining game from operators on down. she was here when mining was mining!" which was enough recommendation for mother howard. fairchild lifted his bag from the rear of the vehicle, waved a farewell to the driver and started into the village. and then--for once--the vision of the girl departed, momentarily, to give place to other thoughts, other pictures, of a day long gone. the sun was slanting low, throwing deep shadows from the hills into the little valley with its chattering, milk-white stream, softening the scars of the mountains with their great refuse dumps; reminders of hopes of twenty years before and as bare of vegetation as in the days when the pick and gad and drill of the prospector tore the rock loose from its hiding place under the surface of the ground. nature, in the mountainous country, resents any outrage against her dignity; the scars never heal; the mine dumps of a score of years ago remain the same, without a single shrub or weed or blade of grass growing in the big heaps of rocky refuse to shield them. but now it was all softened and aglow with sunset. the deep red buildings of the argonaut tunnel--a great, criss-crossing hole through the hills that once connected with more than thirty mines and their feverish activities--were denuded of their rust and lack of repair. the steam from the air-compressing engine, furnishing the necessary motive power for the drills that still worked in the hills, curled upward in billowy, rainbow-like coloring. the scrub pines of the almost barren mountains took on a fluffier, softer tone; the jutting rocks melted away into their own shadows, it was a picture of peace and of memories. and it had been here that thornton fairchild, back in the nineties, had dreamed his dreams and fought his fight. it had been here--somewhere in one of the innumerable cañons that led away from the little town on every side--that thornton fairchild had followed the direction of "float ore" to its resting place, to pursue the vagrant vein through the hills, to find it at last, to gloat over it in his letters to beamish and then to--what? a sudden cramping caught the son's heart, and it pounded with something akin to fear. the old foreboding of his father's letter had come upon him, the mysterious thread of that elusive, intangible thing, great enough to break the will and resistance of a strong man and turn him into a weakling--silent, white-haired--sitting by a window, waiting for death. what had it been? why had it come upon his father? how could it be fought? all so suddenly, robert fairchild had realized that he was in the country of the invisible enemy, there to struggle against it without the slightest knowledge of what it was or how it could be combated. his forehead felt suddenly damp and cold. he brushed away the beady perspiration with a gesture almost of anger, then with a look of relief, turned in at a small white gate toward a big, rambling building which proclaimed itself, by the sign on the door, to be mother howard's boarding house. a moment of waiting, then he faced a gray-haired, kindly faced woman, who stared at him with wide-open eyes as she stood, hands on hips, before him. "don't you tell me i don't know you!" she burst forth at last. "i 'm afraid you don't." "don't i?" mother howard cocked her head. "if you ain't a fairchild, i 'll never feed another miner corned beef and cabbage as long as i live. ain't you now?" she persisted, "ain't you a fairchild?" the man laughed in spite of himself. "you guessed it." "you 're thornton fairchild's boy!" she had reached out for his handbag, and then, bustling about him, drew him into the big "parlor" with its old-fashioned, plush-covered chairs, its picture album, its glass-covered statuary on the old, onyx mantel. "did n't i know you the minute i saw you? land, you're the picture of your dad! sakes alive, how is he?" there was a moment of silence. fairchild found himself suddenly halting and boyish as he stood before her. "he 's--he 's gone, mrs. howard." "dead?" she put up both hands. "it don't seem possible. and me remembering him looking just like you, full of life and strong and--" "our pictures of him are a good deal different. i--i guess you knew him when everything was all right for him. things were different after he got home again." mother howard looked quickly about her, then with a swift motion closed the door. "son," she asked in a low voice, "did n't he ever get over it?" "it?" fairchild felt that he stood on the threshold of discoveries. "what do you mean?" "didn't he ever tell you anything, son?" "no. i--" "well, there was n't any need to." but mother howard's sudden embarrassment, her change of color, told fairchild it was n't the truth. "he just had a little bad luck out here, that was all. his--his mine pinched out just when he thought he 'd struck it rich--or something like that." "are you sure that is the truth?" for a second they faced each other, robert fairchild serious and intent, mother howard looking at him with eyes defiant, yet compassionate. suddenly they twinkled, the lips broke from their straight line into a smile, and a kindly old hand reached out to take him by the arm. "don't you stand there and try to tell mother howard she don't know what she 's talking about!" came in tones of mock severity. "hear me? now, you get up them steps and wash up for dinner. take the first room on the right. it's a nice, cheery place. and get that dust and grime off of you. the dinner bell will ring in about fifteen minutes, and they 's always a rush for the food. so hurry!" in his room, fairchild tried not to think. his brain was becoming too crammed with queries, with strange happenings and with the aggravating mysticisms of the life into which his father's death had thrown him to permit clearness of vision. even in mother howard, he had not been able to escape it; she told all too plainly, both by her actions and her words, that she knew something of the mystery of the past,--and had falsified to keep the knowledge from him. it was too galling for thought. robert fairchild hastily made his toilet, then answered the ringing of the dinner bell, to be introduced to strong-shouldered men who gathered about the long tables; cornishmen, who talked an "h-less" language, ruddy-faced americans, and a sprinkling of english, all of whom conversed about things which were to fairchild as so much greek,--of "levels" and "stopes" and "winzes", of "skips" and "manways" and "raises", which meant nothing to the man who yet must master them all, if he were to follow his ambition. some ate with their knives, meeting the food halfway from their plates; some acted and spoke in a manner revealing a college education and the poise that it gives. but all were as one, all talking together; the operator no more enthusiastic than the man whose sole recompense was the five dollars a day he received for drilling powder holes; all happy, all optimistic, all engrossed in the hopes and dreams that only mining can give. and among them mother howard moved, getting the latest gossip from each, giving her views on every problem and incidentally seeing that the plates were filled to the satisfaction of even the hungriest. as for robert fairchild, he spoke but seldom, except to acknowledge the introductions as mother howard made him known to each of his table mates. but it was not aloofness; it was the fact that these men were talking of things which fairchild longed to know, but failed, for the moment, to master. from the first, the newcomer had liked the men about him, liked the ruggedness, the mingling of culture with the lack of it, liked the enthusiasm, the muscle and brawn, liked them all,--all but two. instinctively, from the first mention of his name, he felt they were watching him, two men who sat far in the rear of the big dining room, older than the other occupants, far less inviting in appearance. one was small, though chunky in build, with sandy hair and eyebrows; with weak, filmy blue eyes over which the lids blinked constantly. the other, black-haired with streaks of gray, powerful in his build, and with a walrus-like mustache drooping over hard lips, was the sort of antithesis naturally to be found in the company of the smaller, sandy complexioned man. who they were, what they were, fairchild did not know, except from the general attributes which told that they too followed the great gamble of mining. but one thing was certain; they watched him throughout the meal; they talked about him in low tones and ceased when mother howard came near; they seemed to recognize in him some one who brought both curiosity and innate enmity to the surface. and more; long before the rest had finished their meal, they rose and left the room, intent, apparently, upon some important mission. after that, fairchild ate with less of a relish. in his mind was the certainty that these two men knew him--or at least knew about him--and that they did not relish his presence. nor were his suspicions long in being fulfilled. hardly had he reached the hall, when the beckoning eyes of mother howard signaled to him. instinctively he waited for the other diners to pass him, then looked eagerly toward mother howard as she once more approached. "i don't know what you 're doing here," came shortly, "but i want to." fairchild straightened. "there is n't much to tell you," he answered quietly. "my father left me the blue poppy mine in his will. i 'm here to work it." "know anything about mining?" "not a thing." "or the people you 're liable to have to buck up against?" "very little." "then, son," and mother howard laid a kindly hand on his arm, "whatever you do, keep your plans to yourself and don't talk too much. and what's more, if you happen to get into communication with blindeye bozeman and taylor bill, lie your head off. maybe you saw 'em, a sandy-haired fellow and a big man with a black mustache, sitting at the back of the room?" fairchild nodded. "well, stay away from them. they belong to 'squint' rodaine. know him?" she shot the question sharply. again fairchild nodded. "i 've heard the name. who is he?" a voice called to mother howard from the dining room. she turned away, then leaned close to robert fairchild. "he 's a miner, and he 's always been a miner. right now, he 's mixed up with some of the biggest people in town. he 's always been a man to be afraid of--and he was your father's worst enemy!" then, leaving fairchild staring after her, she moved on to her duties in the kitchen. chapter v impatiently fairchild awaited mother howard's return, and when at last she came forth from the kitchen, he drew her into the old parlor, shadowy now in the gathering dusk, and closed the doors. "mrs. howard," he began, "i--" "mother howard," she corrected. "i ain't used to being called much else." "mother, then--although i 'm not very accustomed to using the title. my own mother died--shortly after my father came back from out here." she walked to his side then and put a hand on his shoulders. for a moment it seemed that her lips were struggling to repress something which strove to pass them, something locked behind them for years. then the old face, dim in the half light, calmed. "what do you want to know, son?" "everything!" "but there is n't much i can tell." he caught her hand. "there is! i know there is. i--" "son--all i can do is to make matters worse. if i knew anything that would help you--if i could give you any light on anything, old mother howard would do it! lord, did n't i help out your father when he needed it the worst way? did n't i--" "but tell me what you know!" there was pleading in fairchild's voice. "can't you understand what it all means to me? anything--i 'm at sea, mother howard! i 'm lost--you 've hinted to me about enemies, my father hinted to me about them--but that's all. is n't it fair that i should know as much as possible if they still exist, and i 'm to make any kind of a fight against them?" "you 're right, son. but i 'm as much in the dark as you. in those days, if you were a friend to a person, you didn't ask questions. all that i ever knew was that your father came to this boarding house when he was a young man, the very first day that he ever struck ohadi. he did n't have much money, but he was enthusiastic--and it was n't long before he 'd told me about his wife and baby back in indianapolis and how he 'd like to win out for their sake. as for me--well, they always called me mother howard, even when i was a young thing, sort of setting my cap for every good-looking young man that came along. i guess that's why i never caught one of 'em--i always insisted on darning their socks and looking after all their troubles for 'em instead of going out buggy-riding with some other fellow and making 'em jealous." she sighed ever so slightly, then chuckled. "but that ain't getting to the point, though, is it?" "if you could tell me about my father--" "i 'm going to--all i know. things were a lot different out here then from what they were later. silver was wealth to anybody that could find it; every month, the secretary of the treasury was required by law to buy three or four million ounces for coining purposes, and it meant a lot of money for us all. everywhere around the hills and gulches you could see prospectors, with their gads and little picks, fooling around like life did n't mean anything in the world to 'em, except to grub around in those rocks. that was the idea, you see, to fool around until they 'd found a bit of ore or float, as they called it, and then follow it up the gorge until they came to rock or indications that 'd give 'em reason to think that the vein was around there somewhere. then they 'd start to make their tunnel--to drift in on the vein. i 'm telling you all this, so you 'll understand." fairchild was listening eagerly. a moment's pause and the old lodging-house keeper went on. "your father was one of these men. 'squint' rodaine was another--they called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot faster than the other fellow--and did n't do it. the bullet hit right between his eyes, but it must have had poor powder behind it--all it did was to cut through the skin and go straight up his forehead. when the wound healed, the scar drew his eyes close together, like a chinaman's. you never see squint's eyes more than half open. "and he's crooked, just like his eyes--" mother howard's voice bore a touch of resentment. "i never liked him from the minute i first saw him, and i liked him less afterward. then i got next to his game. "your father had been prospecting just like everybody else. he 'd come on float up kentucky gulch and was trying to follow it to the vein. squint saw him--and what's more, he saw that float. it looked good to squint--and late that night, i heard him and his two drinking partners, blindeye bozeman and taylor bill--they just reverse his name for the sound of it--talking in blindeye's room. i 'm a woman--" mother howard chuckled--"so i just leaned my head against the door and listened. then i flew downstairs to wait for your father when he came in from sitting up half the night to get an assay on that float. and you bet i told him--folks can't do sneaking things around me and get away with it, and it was n't more 'n five minutes after he 'd got home that your father knew what was going on--how squint and them two others was figuring on jumping his claim before he could file on it and all that. "well, there was a big cornishman here that i was kind of sweet on--and i guess i always will be. he 's been gone now though, ever since your father left. i got him and asked him to help. and harry was just the kind of a fellow that would do it. out in the dead of night they went and staked out your father's claim--harry was to get twenty-five per cent--and early the next morning your dad was waiting to file on it, while harry was waiting for them three. and what a fight it must have been--that harry was a wildcat in those younger days." she laughed, then her voice grew serious. "but all had its effect. rodaine did n't jump that claim, and a few of us around here filed dummy claims enough in the vicinity to keep him off of getting too close--but there was one way we couldn't stop him. he had power, and he 's always had it--and he 's got it now. a lot of awful strange things happened to your father after that--charges were filed against him for things he never did. men jumped on him in the dark, then went to the district attorney's office and accused him of making the attack. and the funny part was that the district attorney's office always believed them--and not him. once they had him just at the edge of the penitentiary, but i--i happened to know a few things that--well, he did n't go." again mother howard chuckled, only to grow serious once more. "those days were a bit wild in ohadi--everybody was crazy with the gold or silver fever; out of their head most of the time. men who went to work for your father and harry disappeared, or got hurt accidentally in the mine or just quit through the bad name it was getting. once harry, coming down from the tunnel at night, stepped on a little bridge that always before had been as secure and safe as the hills themselves. it fell with him--they went down together thirty feet, and there was nothing but nature to blame for it, in spite of what we three thought. then, at last, they got a fellow who was willing to work for them in spite of what rodaine's crowd--and it consisted of everybody in power--hinted about your father's bad reputation back east and--" "my father never harmed a soul in his life!" fairchild's voice was hot, resentful. mother howard went on: "i know he did n't, son. i 'm only telling the story. miners are superstitious as a general rule, and they 're childish at believing things. it all worked in your father's case--with the exception of harry and 'sissie' larsen, a swede with a high voice, just about like mine. that's why they gave him the name. your father offered him wages and a ten per cent. bonus. he went to work. a few months later they got into good ore. that paid fairly well, even if it was irregular. it looked like the bad luck was over at last. then--" mother howard hesitated at the brink of the very nubbin of it all, to robert fairchild. a long moment followed, in which he repressed a desire to seize her and wrest it from her, and at last-- "it was about dusk one night," she went on. "harry came in and took me with him into this very room. he kissed me and told me that he must go away. he asked me if i would go with him--without knowing why. and, son, i trusted him, i would have done anything for him--but i was n't as old then as i am now. i refused--and to this day, i don't know why. it--it was just woman, i guess. then he asked me if i would help him. i said i would. "he did n't tell me much; except that he had been uptown spreading the word that the ore had pinched out and that the hanging rock had caved in and that he and 'sissie' and your father were through, that they were beaten and were going away that night. but--and harry waited a long time before he told me this--'sissie' was not going with them. "'i'm putting a lot in your hands,' he told me, 'but you 've got to help us. "sissie" won't be there--and i can't tell you why. the town must think that he is. your voice is just like "sissie's." you 've got to help us out of town.' "and i promised. late that night, the three of us drove up the main street, your father on one side of the seat. harry on the other, and me, dressed in some of sissie's clothes, half hidden between them. i was singing; that was sissie's habit,--to get roaring drunk and blow off steam by yodelling song after song as he rolled along. our voices were about the same; nobody dreamed that i was any one else but the swede--my head was tipped forward, so they couldn't see my features. and we went our way with the miners standing on the curb waving to us, and not one of them knowing that the person who sat between your father and harry was any one except larsen. we drove outside town and stopped. then we said good-by, and i put on an old dress that i had brought with me and sneaked back home. nobody knew the difference." "but larsen--?" "you know as much as i do, son." "but did n't they tell you?" "they told me nothing and i asked 'em nothing. they were my friends and they needed help. i gave it to them--that's all i know and that's all i 've wanted to know." "you never saw larsen again?" "i never saw any of them. that was the end." "but rodaine--?" "he 's still here. you 'll hear from him--plenty soon. i could see that, the minute blindeye bozeman and taylor bill began taking your measure. you noticed they left the table before the meal was over? it was to tell rodaine." "then he'll fight me too?" mother howard laughed,--and her voice was harsh. "rodaine's a rattlesnake. his son 's a rattlesnake. his wife 's crazy--old crazy laura. he drove her that way. she lives by herself, in an old house on the georgeville road. and she 'd kill for him, even if he does beat her when she goes to his house and begs him to take her back. that's the kind of a crowd it is. you can figure it out for yourself. she goes around at night, gathering herbs in graveyards; she thinks she 's a witch. the old man mutters to himself and hates any one who doesn't do everything he asks,--and just about everybody does it, simply through fear. and just to put a good finish on it all, the young 'un moves in the best society in town and spends most of his time trying to argue the former district judge's daughter into marrying him. so there you are. that's all mother howard knows, son." she reached for the door and then, turning, patted fairchild on the shoulder. "boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head. rodaine beat your father--don't let him beat you. and always remember one thing: old mother howard 's played the game before, and she 'll play it with you--against anybody. good night. go to bed--dark streets are n't exactly the place for you." robert fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was far away. again and again there rose before him the vision of two men in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between them whom ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced swede; in reality, only a woman. and why had they adopted the expedient? why had not larsen been with them in reality? fairchild avoided the obvious conclusion and turned to other thoughts, to rodaine with his squint eyes, to crazy laura, gathering herbs at midnight in the shadowy, stone-sentineled stretches of graveyards, while the son, perhaps, danced at some function of ohadi's society and made love in the rest periods. it was all grotesque; it was fantastic, almost laughable,--had it not concerned him! for rodaine had been his father's enemy, and mother howard had told him enough to assure him that rodaine did not forget. the crazed woman of the graveyards was squint's lunatic wife, ready to kill, if necessary, for a husband who beat her. and the young rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that was enough. it was hours before fairchild found sleep, and even then it was a thing of troubled visions. streaming sun awakened him, and he hurried to the dining room to find himself the last lodger at the tables. he ate a rather hasty meal, made more so by an impatient waitress, then with the necessary papers in his pocket, fairchild started toward the courthouse and the legal procedure which must be undergone before he made his first trip to the mine. a block or two, and then fairchild suddenly halted. crossing the street at an angle just before him was a young woman whose features, whose mannerisms he recognized. the whipcord riding habit had given place now to a tailored suit which deprived her of the boyishness that had been so apparent on their first meeting. the cap had disappeared before a close-fitting, vari-colored turban. but the straying brown hair still was there, the brown eyes, the piquant little nose and the prettily formed lips. fairchild's heart thumped,--nor did he stop to consider why. a quickening of his pace, and he met her just as she stepped to the curbing. "i 'm so glad of this opportunity," he exclaimed happily. "i want to return that money to you. i--i was so fussed yesterday i did n't realize--" "aren't you mistaken?" she had looked at him with a slight smile. fairchild did not catch the inflection. "oh, no. i 'm the man, you know, who helped you change that tire on the denver road yesterday." "pardon me." this time one brown eye had wavered ever so slightly, indicating some one behind fairchild. "but i was n't on the denver road yesterday, and if you 'll excuse me for saying it, i don't remember ever having seen you before." there was a little light in her eyes which took away the sting of the denial, a light which seemed to urge caution, and at the same time to tell fairchild that she trusted him to do his part as a gentleman in a thing she wished forgotten. more fussed than ever, he drew back and bent low in apology, while she passed on. half a block away, a young man rounded a corner and, seeing her, hastened to join her. she extended her hand; they chatted a moment, then strolled up the street together. fairchild watched blankly, then turned at a chuckle just behind him emanating from the bearded lips of an old miner, loafing on the stone coping in front of a small store. "pick the wrong filly, pardner?" came the query. fairchild managed to smile. "guess so." then he lied quickly. "i thought she was a girl from denver." "her?" the old miner stretched. "nope. that's anita richmond, old judge richmond's daughter. guess she must have been expecting that young fellow--or she would n't have cut you off so short. she ain't usually that way." "her fiancé?" fairchild asked the question with misgiving. the miner finished his stretch and added a yawn to it. then he looked appraisingly up the street toward the retreating figures. "well, some say he is and some say he ain't. guess it mostly depends on the girl, and she ain't telling yet." "and the man--who is he?" "him? oh, he 's maurice rodaine. son of a pretty famous character around here, old squint rodaine. owns the silver queen property up the hill. ever hear of him?" the eyes of robert fairchild narrowed, and a desire to fight--a longing to grapple with squint rodaine and all that belonged to him--surged into his heart. but his voice, when he spoke, was slow and suppressed. "squint rodaine? yes, i think i have. the name sounds rather familiar." then, deliberately, he started up the street, following at a distance the man and the girl who walked before him. chapter vi there was no specific reason why robert fairchild should follow maurice rodaine and the young woman who had been described to him as the daughter of judge richmond, whoever he might be. and fairchild sought for none--within two weeks he had been transformed from a plodding, methodical person into a creature of impulses, and more and more, as time went on, he was allowing himself to be governed by the snap judgment of his brain rather than by the carefully exacting mind of a systematic machine, such as he had been for the greater part of his adult life. all that he cared to know was that resentment was in his heart,--resentment that the family of rodaine should be connected in some way with the piquant, mysterious little person he had helped out of a predicament on the denver road the day before. and, to his chagrin, the very fact that there _was_ a connection added a more sinister note to the escapade of the exploded tire and the pursuing sheriff; as he walked along, his gaze far ahead, fairchild found himself wondering whether there could be more than mere coincidence in it all, whether she was a part of the rodaine schemes and the rodaine trickery, whether-- but he ceased his wondering to turn sharply into a near-by drug store, there absently to give an order at the soda fountain and stand watching the pair who had stopped just in front of him on the corner. she was the same girl; there could be no doubt of that, and he raged inwardly as she chatted and chaffed with the man who looked down upon her with a smiling air of proprietorship which instilled instant rebellion in fairchild's heart. nor did he know the reason for that, either. after a moment they parted, and fairchild gulped at his fountain drink. she had hesitated, then with a quick decision turned straight into the drug store. "buy a ticket, mr. mccauley?" she asked of the man behind the counter. "i 've sold twenty already, this morning. only five more, and my work 's over." "going to be pretty much of a crowd, is n't there?" the druggist was fishing in his pocket for money. fairchild, dallying with his drink now, glanced sharply toward the door and went back to his refreshment. she was standing directly in the entrance, fingering the five remaining tickets. "oh, everybody in town. please take the five, won't you? then i 'll be through." "i 'll be darned if i will, 'nita!" mccauley backed against a shelf case in mock self-defense. "every time you 've got anything you want to get rid of, you come in here and shove it off on me. i 'll be gosh gim-swiggled if i will. there 's only four in my family and four 's all i 'm going to take. fork 'em over--i 've got a prescription to fill." he tossed four silver dollars on the showcase and took the tickets. the girl demurred. "but how about the fifth one? i 've got to sell that too--" "well, sell it to him!" and fairchild, looking into the soda-fountain mirror, saw himself indicated as the druggist started toward the prescription case. "i ain't going to let myself get stuck for another solitary, single one!" there was a moment of awkward silence as fairchild gazed intently into his soda glass, then with a feeling of queer excitement, set it on the marble counter and turned. anita richmond had accepted the druggist's challenge. she was approaching--in a stranger-like manner--a ticket of some sort held before her. "pardon me," she began, "but would you care to buy a ticket?" "to--to what?" it was all fairchild could think of to say. "to the old timers' dance. it's a sort of municipal thing, gotten up by the bureau of mines--to celebrate the return of silver mining." "but--but i 'm afraid i 'm not much on dancing." "you don't have to be. nobody 'll dance much--except the old-fashioned affairs. you see, everybody 's supposed to represent people of the days when things were booming around here. there 'll be a fiddle orchestra, and a dance caller and everything like that, and a bar--but of course there 'll only be imitation liquor. but," she added with quick emphasis, "there 'll be a lot of things really real--real keno and roulette and everything like that, and everybody in the costume of thirty or forty years ago. don't you want to buy a ticket? it's the last one i 've got!" she added prettily. but robert fairchild had been listening with his eyes, rather than his ears. jerkily he came to the realization that the girl had ceased speaking. "when's it to be?" "a week from to-morrow night. are you going to be here that long?" she realized the slip of her tongue and colored slightly. fairchild, recovered now, reached into a pocket and carefully fingered the bills there. then, with a quick motion, as he drew them forth, he covered a ten-dollar bill with a one-dollar note and thrust them forward. "yes, i 'll take the ticket." she handed it to him, thanked him, and reached for the money. as it passed into her hand, a corner of the ten-dollar bill revealed itself, and she hastily thrust it toward him as though to return money paid by mistake. just as quickly, she realized his purpose and withdrew her hand. "oh!" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper, "i understand." she flushed and stood a second hesitant, flustered, her big eyes almost childish as they looked up into his. "you--you must think i 'm a cad!" then she whirled and left the store, and a slight smile came to the lips of robert fairchild as he watched her hurrying across the street. he had won a tiny victory, at least. not until she had rounded a corner and disappeared did fairchild leave his point of vantage. then, with a new enthusiasm, a greater desire than ever to win out in the fight which had brought him to ohadi, he hurried to the courthouse and the various technicalities which must be coped with before he could really call the blue poppy mine his own. it was easier than he thought. a few signatures, and he was free to wander through town to where idlers had pointed out kentucky gulch and to begin the steep ascent up the narrow road on a tour of prospecting that would precede the more legal and more safe system of a surveyor. the ascent was almost sheer in places, for in kentucky gulch the hills huddled close to the little town and rose in precipitous inclines almost before the city limits had been reached. beside the road a small stream chattered, milk-white from the silica deposits of the mines, like the waters of clear creek, which it was hastening to join. along the gullies were the scars of prospect holes, staring like dark, blind eyes out upon the gorge;--reminders of the lost hopes of a day gone by. here and there lay some discarded piece of mining machinery, rust-eaten and battered now, washed down inch by inch from the higher hill where it had been abandoned when the demonetization of silver struck, like a rapier, into the hearts of grubbing men, years before. it was a cañon of decay, yet of life, for as he trudged along, the roar of great motors came to fairchild's ears; and a moment later he stepped aside to allow the passage of ore-laden automobile trucks, loaded until the springs had flattened and until the engines howled with their compression as they sought to hold back their burdens on the steep grade. and it was as he stood there, watching the big vehicles travel down the mountain side, that fairchild caught a glimpse of a human figure which suddenly darted behind a clump of scrub pine and skirted far to one side, taking advantage of every covering. a new beat came into fairchild's heart. he took to the road again, plodding upward apparently without a thought of his pursuer, stopping to stare at the bleak prospect holes, or to admire the pink-white beauties of the snowy range in the far distance, seemingly a man entirely bereft of suspicion. a quarter of a mile he went, a half. once, as the road turned beside a great rock, he sought its shelter and looked back. the figure still was following, running carefully now along the bank of the stream in an effort to gain as much ground as possible before the return of the road to open territory should bring the necessity of caution again. a mile more, then, again in the shelter of rocks, he swerved and sought a hiding place, watching anxiously from his concealment for evidences of discovery. there were none. the shadower came on, displaying more and more caution as he approached the rocks, glancing hurriedly about him as he moved swiftly from cover to cover. closer--closer--then fairchild repressed a gasp. the man was old, almost white-haired, with hard, knotted hands which seemed to stand out from his wrists; thin and wiry with the resiliency that outdoor, hardened muscles often give to age, and with a face that held fairchild almost hypnotized. it was like a hawk's; hook-beaked, colorless, toneless in all expressions save that of a malicious tenacity; the eyes were slanted until they resembled those of some fantastic chinese image, while just above the curving nose a blue-white scar ran straight up the forehead,--squint rodaine! so he was on the trail already! fairchild watched him pass, sneak around the corner of the rocks, and stand a moment in apparent bewilderment as he surveyed the ground before him. a mumbling curse and he went on, his cautious gait discarded, walking briskly along the rutty, boulder-strewn road toward a gaping hole in the hill, hardly a furlong away. there he surveyed the ground carefully, bent and stared hard at the earth, apparently for a trace of footprints, and finding none, turned slowly and looked intently all about him. carefully he approached the mouth of the tunnel and stared within. then he straightened, and with another glance about him, hurried off up a gulch leading away from the road, into the hills. fairchild lay and watched him until he was out of sight, and he knew instinctively that a surveyor would only cover beaten territory now. squint rodaine, he felt sure, had pointed out to him the blue poppy mine. but he did not follow the direction given by his pursuer. squint rodaine was in the hills. squint rodaine might return, and the consciousness of caution bade that fairchild not be there when he came back. hurriedly he descended the rocks once more to turn toward town and toward mother howard's boarding house. he wanted to tell her what he had seen and to obtain her help and counsel. quickly he made the return trip, crossing the little bridge over the turbulent clear creek and heading toward the boarding house. half a block away he halted, as a woman on the veranda of the big, squarely built "hotel" pointed him out, and the great figure of a man shot through the gate, shouting, and hurried toward him. a tremendous creature he was, with red face and black hair which seemed to scramble in all directions at once, and with a mustache which appeared to scamper in even more directions than his hair. fairchild was a large man; suddenly he felt himself puny and inconsequential as the mastodonic thing before him swooped forward, spread wide the big arms and then caught him tight in them, causing the breath to puff over his lips like the exhaust of a bellows. a release, then fairchild felt himself lifted and set down again. he pulled hard at his breath. "what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed testily. "you 've made a mistake!" "i 'm blimed if i 'ave!" bellowed a tornado-like voice. "blime! you look just like 'im!" "but you 're mistaken, old man!" fairchild was vaguely aware that the spray-like mustache was working like a dust-broom, that snappy blue eyes were beaming upon him, that the big red nose was growing redder, while a tremendous paw had seized his own hand and was doing its best to crush it. "blimed if i 'ave!" came again. "you're your dad's own boy! you look just like 'im! don't you know me?" he stepped back then and stood grinning, his long, heavily muscled arms hanging low at his sides, his mustache trying vainly to stick out in more directions than ever. fairchild rubbed a hand across his eyes. "you 've got me!" came at last. "i--" "you don't know me? 'onest now, don't you? i 'm arry! don't you know now? 'arry from cornwall!" chapter vii it came to fairchild then,--the sentence in his father's letter regarding some one who would hurry to his aid when he needed him, the references of beamish, and the allusion of mother howard to a faithful friend. he forgot the pain as the tremendous cornishman banged him on the back, he forgot the surprise of it all; he only knew that he was laughing and welcoming a big man old enough in age to be his father, yet young enough in spirit to want to come back and finish a fight he had seen begun, and strong enough in physique to stand it. again the heavy voice boomed: "you know me now, eh?" "you bet! you 're harry harkins!" "'arkins it is! i came just as soon as i got the cablegram!" "the cablegram?" "yeh." harry pawed at his wonderful mustache. "from mr. beamish, you know. 'e sent it. said you 'd started out 'ere all alone. and i could n't stand by and let you do that. so 'ere i am!" "but the expense, the long trip across the ocean, the--" "'ere i am!" said harry again. "ain't that enough?" they had reached the veranda now, to stand talking for a moment, then to go within, where mother howard awaited, eyes glowing, in the parlor. harry flung out both arms. "and i still love you!" he boomed, as he caught the gray-haired, laughing woman in his arms. "even if you did run me off and would n't go back to cornwall!" red-faced, she pushed him away and slapped his cheek playfully; it was like the tap of a light breeze against granite. then harry turned. "'ave you looked at the mine?" the question brought back to fairchild the happenings of the morning and the memory of the man who had trailed him. he told his story, while mother howard listened, her arms crossed, her head bobbing, and while harry, his big grin still on his lips, took in the details with avidity. then for a moment a monstrous hand scrambled vaguely about in the region of the cornishman's face, grasping a hair of that radiating mustache now and then and pulling hard at it, at last to drop,--and the grin faded. "le 's go up there," he said quietly. this time the trip to kentucky gulch was made by skirting town; soon they were on the rough, narrow roadway leading into the mountains. both were silent for the most part, and the expression on harry's face told that he was living again the days of the past, days when men were making those pock-marks in the hills, when the prospector and his pack jack could be seen on every trail, and when float ore in a gulley meant riches waiting somewhere above. a long time they walked, at last to stop in the shelter of the rocks where fairchild had shadowed his pursuer, and to glance carefully ahead. no one was in sight. harry jabbed out a big finger. "that's it," he announced, "straight a'ead!" they went on, fairchild with a gripping at his throat that would not down. this had been the hope of his father--and here his father had met--what? he swerved quickly and stopped, facing the bigger man. "harry," came sharply, "i know that i may be violating an unspoken promise to my father. but i simply can't stand it any longer. what happened here?" "we were mining--for silver." "i don't mean that--there was some sort of tragedy." harry chuckled,--in concealment, fairchild thought, of something he did not want to tell him. "i should think so! the timbers gave way and the mine caved in!" "not that! my father ran away from this town. you and mother howard helped him. you didn't come back. neither did my father. eventually it killed him." "so?" harry looked seriously and studiously at the young man. "'e did n't write me of'en." "he did n't need to write you. you were here with him--when it happened." "no--" harry shook his head. "i was in town." "but you knew--" "what's mother howard told you?" "a lot--and nothing." "i don't know any more than she does." "but--" "friends did n't ask questions in those days," came quietly. "i might 'ave guessed if i 'd wanted to--but i did n't want to." "but if you had?" harry looked at him with quiet, blue eyes. "what would you guess?" slowly robert fairchild's gaze went to the ground. there was only one possible conjecture: sissie larsen had been impersonated by a woman. sissie larsen had never been seen again in ohadi. "i--i would hate to put it into words," came finally. harry slapped him on the shoulder. "then don't. it was nearly thirty years ago. let sleeping dogs lie. take a look around before we go into the tunnel." they reconnoitered, first on one side, then on the other. no one was in sight. harry bent to the ground, and finding a pitchy pine knot, lighted it. they started cautiously within, blinking against the darkness. a detour and they avoided an ore car, rusty and half filled, standing on the little track, now sagging on moldy ties. a moment more of walking and harry took the lead. "it's only a step to the shaft now," he cautioned. "easy--easy--look out for that 'anging wall--" he held the pitch torch against the roof of the tunnel and displayed a loose, jagged section of rock, dripping with seepage from the hills above. "just a step now--'ere it is." the outlines of a rusty "hoist", with its cable leading down into a slanting hole in the rock, showed dimly before them,--a massive, chunky, deserted thing in the shadows. about it were clustered drills that were eaten by age and the dampness of the seepage; farther on a "skip", or shaft-car, lay on its side, half buried in mud and muck from the walls of the tunnel. here, too, the timbers were rotting; one after another, they had cracked and caved beneath the weight of the earth above, giving the tunnel an eerie aspect, uninviting, dangerous. harry peered ahead. "it ain't as bad as it looks," came after a moment's survey. "it's only right 'ere at the beginning that it's caved. but that does n't do us much good." "why not?" fairchild was staring with him, on toward the darkness of the farther recesses. "if it is n't caved in farther back, we ought to be able to repair this spot." but harry shook his head. "we did n't go into the vein 'ere," he explained. "we figured we 'ad to 'ave a shaft anyway, sooner or later. you can't do under'and stoping in a mine--go down on a vein, you know. you 've always got to go up--you can't get the metal out if you don't. that's why we dug this shaft--and now look at it!" he drew the flickering torch to the edge of the shaft and held it there, staring downward. fairchild beside him. twenty feet below there came the glistening reflection of the flaring flame. water! fairchild glanced toward his partner. "i don't know anything about it," he said at last. "but i should think that would mean trouble." "plenty!" agreed harry lugubriously. "that shaft's two 'unnerd feet deep and there 's a drift running off it for a couple o' 'unnerd feet more before it 'its the vein. four 'unnerd feet of water. 'ow much money 'ave you got?" "about twenty-five hundred dollars." harry reached for his waving mustache, his haven in time of storm. thoughtfully he pulled at it, staring meanwhile downward. then he grunted. "and i ain't got more 'n five 'unnerd. it ain't enough. we 'll need to repair this 'oist and put the skip in order. we 'll need to build new track and do a lot of things. three thousand dollars ain't enough." "but we 'll have to get that water out of there before we can do anything." fairchild interposed. "if we can't get at the vein up here, we 'll have to get at it from below. and how 're we going to do that without unwatering that shaft?" again harry pulled at his mustache. "that's just what 'arry 's thinking about," came his answer finally. "le 's go back to town. i don't like to stand around this place and just look at water in a 'ole." they turned for the mouth of the tunnel, sliding along in the greasy muck, the torch extinguished now. a moment of watchfulness from the cover of the darkness, then harry pointed. on the opposite hill, the figure of a man had been outlined for just a second. then he had faded. and with the disappearance of the watcher, harry nudged his partner in the ribs and went forth into the brighter light. an hour more and they were back in town. harry reached for his mustache again. "go on down to mother 'oward's," he commanded. "i 've got to wander around and say 'owdy to what's left of the fellows that was 'ere when i was. it's been twenty years since i 've been away, you know," he added, "and the shaft can wait." fairchild obeyed the instructions, looking back over his shoulder as he walked along toward the boarding house, to see the big figure of his companion loitering up the street, on the beginning of his home-coming tour. it was evident that harry was popular. forms rose from the loitering places on the curbings in front of the stores, voices called to him; even as the distance grew greater, fairchild could hear the shouts of greeting which were sounding to harry as he announced his return. the blocks passed. fairchild turned through the gate of mother howard's boarding house and went to his room to await the call for dinner. the world did not look exceptionally good to him; his brilliant dreams had not counted upon the decay of more than a quarter of a century, the slow, but sure dripping of water which had seeped through the hills and made the mine one vast well, instead of the free open gateway to riches which he had planned upon. true, there had been before him the certainty of a cave-in, but fairchild was not a miner, and the word to him had been a vague affair. now, however, it was taking on a new aspect; he was beginning to realize the full extent of the fight which was before him if the blue poppy mine ever were to turn forth the silver ore he hoped to gain from it, if the letter of his father, full of threats though it might be, were to be realized in that part of it which contained the promise of riches in abundance. pitifully small his capital looked to fairchild now. inadequate--that was certain--for the needs which now stood before it. and there was no person to whom he could turn, no one to whom he could go, for more. to borrow, one must have security; and with the exception of the faith of the red-faced harry, and the promise of a silent man, now dead, there was nothing. it was useless; an hour of thought and fairchild ceased trying to look into the future, obeying, instead, the insistent clanging of the dinner bell from downstairs. slowly he opened the door of his room, trudged down the staircase,--then stopped in bewilderment. harry stood before him, in all the splendor that a miner can know. he had bought a new suit, brilliant blue, almost electric in its flashiness, nor had he been careful as to style. the cut of the trousers was somewhat along the lines of fifteen years before, with their peg tops and heavy cuffs. beneath the vest, a glowing, watermelon-pink shirt glared forth from the protection of a purple tie. a wonderful creation was on his head, dented in four places, each separated with almost mathematical precision. below the cuffs of the trousers were bright, tan, bump-toed shoes. harry was a complete picture of sartorial elegance, according to his own dreams. what was more, to complete it all, upon the third finger of his right hand was a diamond, bulbous and yellow and throwing off a dull radiance like the glow of a burnt-out arclight; full of flaws, it is true, off color to a great degree, but a diamond nevertheless. and harry evidently realized it. "ain't i the cuckoo?" he boomed, as fairchild stared at him. "ain't i? i 'ad to 'ave a outfit, and-- "it might as well be now!" he paraphrased, to the tune of the age-whitened sextette from "floradora." "and look at the sparkler! look at it!" fairchild could do very little else but look. he knew the value, even in spite of flaws and bad coloring. and he knew something else, that harry had confessed to having little more than five hundred dollars. "but--but how did you do it?" came gaspingly. "i thought--" "installments!" the cornishman burst out. "ten per cent. down and the rest when they catch me. installments!" he jabbed forth a heavy finger and punched fairchild in the ribs. "where's mother 'oward? won't i knock 'er eyes out?" fairchild laughed--he couldn't help it--in spite of the fact that five hundred dollars might have gone a long way toward unwatering that shaft. harry was harry--he had done enough in crossing the seas to help him. and already, in the eyes of fairchild, harry was swiftly approaching that place where he could do no wrong. "you 're wonderful, harry," came at last. the cornishman puffed with pride. "i'm a cuckoo!" he admitted. "where's mother 'oward? where's mother 'oward? won't i knock 'er eyes out, now?" and he boomed forward toward the dining room, to find there men he had known in other days, to shake hands with them and to bang them on the back, to sight blindeye bozeman and taylor bill sitting hunched over their meal in the corner and to go effusively toward them. "'arry" was playing no favorites in his "'ome-coming." "'arry" was "'appy", and a little thing like the fact that friends of his enemies were present seemed to make little difference. jovially he leaned over the table of bozeman and bill, after he had displayed himself before mother howard and received her sanction of his selections in dress. happily he boomed forth the information that fairchild and he were back to work the blue poppy mine and that they already had made a trip of inspection. "i 'm going back this afternoon," he told them. "there 's water in the shaft. i 've got to figure a wye to get it out." then he returned to his table and fairchild leaned close to him. "is n't that dangerous?" "what?" harry allowed his eyes to become bulbous as he whispered the question. "telling them two about what we 're going to do? won't they find it out anyway?" "i guess that's true. what time are you going to the mine?" "i don't know that i 'm going. and then i may. i 've got to kind of sye 'ello around town first." "then i 'm not to go with you?" harry beamed at him. "it's your day off, robert," he announced, and they went on with their meal. that is, fairchild proceeded. harry did little eating. harry was too busy. around him were men he had known in other days, men who had stayed on at the little silver camp, fighting against the inevitable downward course of the price of the white metal, hoping for the time when resuscitation would come, and now realizing that feeling of joy for which they had waited a quarter of a century. there were a thousand questions to be answered, all asked by harry. there was gossip to relate and the lives of various men who had come and gone to be dilated upon. fairchild finished his meal and waited. but harry talked on. bozeman and bill left the dining room again to make a report to the narrow-faced squint rodaine. harry did not even notice them. and as long as a man stayed to answer his queries, just so long did harry remain, at last to rise, brush a few crumbs from his lightning-like suit, press his new hat gently upon his head with both hands and start forth once more on his rounds of saying hello. and there was nothing for fairchild to do but to wait as patiently as possible for his return. the afternoon grew old. harry did not come back. the sun set and dinner was served. but harry was not there to eat it. dusk came, and then, nervous over the continued absence of his eccentric partner, fairchild started uptown. the usual groups were in front of the stores, and before the largest of them fairchild stopped. "do any of you happen to know a fellow named harry harkins?" he asked somewhat anxiously. the answer was in the affirmative. a miner stretched out a foot and surveyed it studiously. "ain't seen him since about five o'clock," he said at last. "he was just starting up to the mine then." "to the mine? that late? are you sure?" "well--i dunno. may have been going to center city. can't say. all i know is he said somethin' about goin' to th' mine earlier in th' afternoon, an' long about five i seen him starting up kentucky gulch." "who 's that?" the interruption had come in a sharp, yet gruff voice. fairchild turned to see before him a man he recognized, a tall, thin, wiry figure, with narrowed, slanting eyes, and a scar that went straight up his forehead. he evidently had just rounded the corner in time to hear the conversation. fairchild straightened, and in spite of himself his voice was strained and hard. "i was merely asking about my partner in the blue poppy mine." "the blue poppy?" the squint eyes narrowed more than ever. "you 're fairchild, ain't you? well, i guess you 're going to have to get along without a partner from now on." "get along without--?" a crooked smile came to the other man's lips. "that is, unless you want to work with a dead man. harry harkins got drowned, about an hour ago, in the blue poppy shaft!" chapter viii the news caused fairchild to recoil and stand gasping. and before he could speak, a new voice had cut in, one full of excitement, tremulous, anxious. "drowned? where 's his body?" "how do i know?" squint rodaine turned upon his questioner. "guess it's at the foot of the shaft. all i saw was his hat. what 're you so interested for?" the questioner, small, goggle-eyed and given to rubbing his hands, stared a moment speechlessly. then he reached forward and grasped at the lapels of rodaine's coat. "he--he bought a diamond from me this morning--on the installment plan!" rodaine smiled again in his crooked fashion. then he pushed the clawlike hands of the excited jeweler away from his lapels. "that's your own fault, sam," he announced curtly. "if he 's at the bottom of the shaft, your diamond 's there too. all i know about it is that i was coming down from the silver queen when i saw this fellow go into the tunnel of the blue poppy. he was all dressed up, else i don't guess i would have paid much attention to him. but as it was, i kind of stopped to look, and seen it was harry harkins, who used to work the mine with this"--he pointed to fairchild--"this fellow's father. about a minute later, i heard a yell, like somebody was in trouble, then a big splash. naturally i ran in the tunnel and struck a match. about twenty feet down, i could see the water was all riled up, and a new hat was floating around on top of it. i yelled a couple of times and struck a lot of matches--but he did n't come to the surface. that's all i know. you can do as you please about your diamond. i 'm just giving you the information." he turned sharply and went on then, while sam the jeweler, the rest of the loiterers clustered around him, looked appealingly toward fairchild. "what 'll we do?" he wailed. fairchild turned. "i don't know about you--but i 'm going to the mine." "it won't do any good--bodies don't float. it may never float--if it gets caught down in the timbers somewheres." "have to organize a bucket brigade." it was a suggestion from one of the crowd. "why not borry the argonaut pump? they ain't using it." "go get it! go get it!" this time it was the wail of the little jeweler. "tell 'em sam herbenfelder sent you. they 'll let you have it." "can't carry the thing on my shoulder." "i 'll get the sampler's truck"--a new volunteer had spoken--"there won't be any kick about it." another suggestion, still another. soon men began to radiate, each on a mission. the word passed down the street. more loiterers--a silver miner spends a great part of his leisure time in simply watching the crowd go by--hurried to join the excited throng. groups, en route to the picture show, decided otherwise and stopped to learn of the excitement. the crowd thickened. suddenly fairchild looked up sharply at the sound of a feminine voice. "what is the matter?" "harry harkins got drowned." all too willingly the news was dispersed. fairchild's eyes were searching now in the half-light from the faint street bulbs. then they centered. it was anita richmond, standing at the edge of the crowd, questioning a miner, while beside her was a thin, youthful counterpart of a hard-faced father, maurice rodaine. just a moment of queries, then the miner's hand pointed to fairchild as he turned toward her. "it's his partner." she moved forward then and fairchild went to meet her. "i 'm sorry," she said, and extended her hand. fairchild gripped it eagerly. "thank you. but it may not be as bad as the rumors." "i hope not." then quickly she withdrew her hand, and somewhat flustered, turned as her companion edged closer. "maurice, this is mr. fairchild," she announced, and fairchild could do nothing but stare. she knew his name! a second more and it was explained; "my father knew his father very well." "i think my own father was acquainted too," was the rejoinder, and the eyes of the two men met for an instant in conflict. the girl did not seem to notice. "i sold him a ticket this morning to the dance, not knowing who he was. then father happened to see him pass the house and pointed him out to me as the son of a former friend of his. funny how those things happen, is n't it?" "decidedly funny!" was the caustic rejoinder of the younger rodaine. fairchild laughed, to cover the air of intensity. he knew instinctively that anita richmond was not talking to him simply because she had sold him a ticket to a dance and because her father might have pointed him out. he felt sure that there was something else behind it,--the feeling of a debt which she owed him, a feeling of companionship engendered upon a sunlit road, during the moments of stress, and the continuance of that meeting in those few moments in the drug store, when he had handed her back her ten-dollar bill. she had called herself a cad then, and the feeling that she perhaps had been abrupt toward a man who had helped her out of a disagreeable predicament was prompting her action now; fairchild felt sure of that. and he was glad of the fact, very glad. again he laughed, while rodaine eyed him narrowly. fairchild shrugged his shoulders. "i 'm not going to believe this story until it's proven to me," came calmly. "rumors can be started too easily. i don't see how it was possible for a man to fall into a mine shaft and not struggle there long enough for a man who had heard his shout to see him." "who brought the news?" rodaine asked the question. fairchild deliberately chose his words: "a tall, thin, ugly old man, with mean squint eyes and a scar straight up his forehead." a flush appeared on the other man's face. fairchild saw his hands contract, then loosen. "you 're trying to insult my father!" "your father?" fairchild looked at him blankly. "would n't that be a rather difficult job--especially when i don't know him?" "you described him." "and you recognized the description." "maurice! stop it!" the girl was tugging at rodaine's sleeve. "don't say anything more. i 'm sorry--" and she looked at fairchild with a glance he could not interpret--"that anything like this could have come up." "i am equally so--if it has caused you embarrassment." "you 'll get a little embarrassment out of it yourself--before you get through!" rodaine was scowling at him. again anita richmond caught his arm. "maurice! stop it! how could the thing have been premeditated when he did n't even know your father? come--let's go on. the crowd's getting thicker." the narrow-faced man obeyed her command, and together they turned out into the street to avoid the constantly growing throng, and to veer toward the picture show, fairchild watching after them, wondering whether to curse or luck himself. his temper, his natural enmity toward the two men whom he knew to be his enemies, had leaped into control, for a moment, of his tongue and his senses, and in that moment what had it done to his place in the estimation of the woman whom he had helped on the denver road? yet, who was she? what connection had she with the rodaines? and had she not herself done something which had caused a fear of discovery should the pursuing sheriff overtake her? bewildered, robert fairchild turned back to the more apparent thing which faced him: the probable death of harry--the man upon whom he had counted for the knowledge and the perspicacity to aid him in the struggle against nature and against mystery--who now, according to the story of squint rodaine, lay dead in the black waters of the blue poppy shaft. carbide lights had begun to appear along the street, as miners, summoned by hurrying gossip mongers, came forward to assist in the search for the missing man. high above the general conglomeration of voices could be heard the cries of the instigator of activities, sam herbenfelder, bemoaning the loss of his diamond, ninety per cent. of the cost of which remained to be paid. to sam, the loss of harry was a small matter, but that loss entailed also the disappearance of a yellow, carbon-filled diamond, as yet unpaid for. his lamentations became more vociferous than ever. fairchild went forward, and with an outstretched hand grasped him by the collar. "why don't you wait until we 've found out something before you get the whole town excited?" he asked. "all we 've got is one man's word for this." "yes," sam spread his hands, "but look who it was! squint rodaine! ach--will i ever get back that diamond?" "i 'm starting to the mine," fairchild released him. "if you want to go along and look for yourself, all right. but wait until you 're sure about the thing before you go crazy over it." however, sam had other thoughts. hastily he shot through the crowd, organizing the bucket brigade and searching for news of the argonaut pump, which had not yet arrived. half-disgusted, fairchild turned and started up the hill, a few miners, their carbide lamps swinging beside them, following him. far in the rear sounded the wails of sam herbenfelder, organizing his units of search. fairchild turned at the entrance of the mine and waited for the first of the miners and the accompanying gleam of his carbide. then, they went within and to the shaft, the light shining downward upon the oily, black water below. two objects floated there, a broken piece of timber, torn from the side of the shaft, where some one evidently had grasped hastily at it in an effort to stop a fall, and a new, four-dented hat, gradually becoming water-soaked and sinking slowly beneath the surface. and then, for the first time, fear clutched at fairchild's heart,--fear which hope could not ignore. "there 's his hat." it was a miner staring downward. fairchild had seen it, but he strove to put aside the thought. "true," he answered, "but any one could lose a hat, simply by looking over the edge of the shaft." then, as if in proof of the forlorn hope which he himself did not believe; "harry 's a strong man. certainly he would know how to swim. and in any event he should have been able to have kept afloat for at least a few minutes. rodaine says that he heard a shout and ran right in here; but all that he could see was ruffled water and a floating hat. i--" then he paused suddenly. it had come to him that rodaine might have helped in the demise of harry! shouts sounded from outside, and the roaring of a motor truck as it made its slow, tortuous way up the boulder-strewn road with its gullies and innumerable ruts. voices came, rumbling and varied. lights. gaining the mouth of the tunnel. fairchild could see a mass of shadows outlined by the carbides, all following the leadership of a small, excited man, sam herbenfelder, still seeking his diamond. the big pump from the argonaut tunnel was aboard the truck, which was followed by two other auto vehicles, each loaded with gasoline engines and smaller pumps. a hundred men were in the crowd, all equipped with ropes and buckets. sam herbenfelder's pleas had been heard. the search was about to begin for the body of harry and the diamond that circled one finger. and fairchild hastened to do his part. until far into the night they worked and strained to put the big pump into position; while crews of men, four and five in a group, bailed water as fast as possible, that the aggregate might be lessened to the greatest possible extent before the pumps, with their hoses, were attached. then the gasoline engines began to snort, great lengths of tubing were let down into the shaft, and spurting water started down the mountain side as the task of unwatering the shaft began. but it was a slow job. morning found the distance to the water lengthened by twenty or thirty feet, and the bucket brigades nearly at the end of their ropes. men trudged down the hills to breakfast, sending others in their places. fairchild stayed on to meet mother howard and assuage her nervousness as best he could, dividing his time between her and the task before him. noon found more water than ever tumbling down the hills--the smaller pumps were working now in unison with the larger one--for sam herbenfelder had not missed a single possible outlet of aid in his campaign; every man in ohadi with an obligation to pay, with back interest due, or with a bill yet unaccounted for was on his staff, to say nothing of those who had volunteered simply to still the tearful remonstrances of the hand-wringing, diamond-less, little jeweler. afternoon--and most of ohadi was there. fairchild could distinguish the form of anita richmond in the hundreds of women and men clustered about the opening of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of maurice rodaine. he hurried to her and she smiled at his approach. "have they found anything yet?" "nothing--so far. except that there is plenty of water in the shaft. i 'm trying not to believe it." "i hope it is n't true." her voice was low and serious. "father was talking to me--about you. and we hoped you two would succeed--this time." evidently her father had told her more than she cared to relate. fairchild caught the inflection in her voice but disregarded it. "i owe you an apology," he said bluntly. "for what?" "last night. i could n't resist it--i forgot for a moment that you were there. but i--i hope that you 'll believe me to be a gentleman, in spite of it." she smiled up at him quickly. "i already have had proof of that. i--i am only hoping that you will believe me--well, that you 'll forget something." "you mean--" "yes," she countered quickly, as though to cut off his explanation. "it seemed like a great deal. yet it was nothing at all. i would feel much happier if i were sure you had disregarded it." fairchild looked at her for a long time, studying her with his serious, blue eyes, wondering about many things, wishing that he knew more of women and their ways. at last he said the thing that he felt, the straightforward outburst of a straightforward man: "you 're not going to be offended if i tell you something?" "certainly not." "the sheriff came along just after you had made the turn. he was looking for an auto bandit." "a what?" she stared at him with wide-open, almost laughing eyes. "but you don't believe--" "he was looking for a man," said fairchild quietly. "i--i told him that i had n't seen anything but--a boy. i was willing to do that then--because i could n't believe that a girl like you would--" then he stumbled and halted. a moment he sought speech while she smiled up at him. then out it came: "i--i don't care what it was. i--i like you. honest, i do. i liked you so much when i was changing that tire that i did n't even notice it when you put the money in my hand. i--well, you 're not the kind of a girl who would do anything really wrong. it might be a prank--or something like that--but it would n't be wrong. so--so there 's an end to it." again she laughed softly, in a way tantalizing to robert fairchild, as though she were making game of him. "what do you know about women?" she asked finally, and fairchild told the truth: "nothing." "then--" the laugh grew heartier, finally, however, to die away. the girl put forth her hand. "but i won't say what i was going to. it would n't sound right. i hope that i--i live up to your estimation of me. at least--i 'm thankful to you for being the man you are. and i won't forget!" and once more her hand had rested in his,--a small, warm, caressing thing in spite of the purely casual grasp of an impersonal action. again robert fairchild felt a thrill that was new to him, and he stood watching her until she had reached the motor car which had brought her to the big curve, and had faded down the hill. then he went back to assist the sweating workmen and the anxious-faced sam herbenfelder. the water was down seventy feet. that night robert fairchild sought a few hours' sleep. two days after, the town still divided its attention between preparations for the old times dance and the progress in the dewatering of the blue poppy shaft. now and then the long hose was withdrawn, and dynamite lowered on floats to the surface of the water, far below, a copper wire trailing it. a push of the plunger, a detonation, and a wait of long moments; it accomplished nothing, and the pumping went on. if the earthly remains of harry harkins were below, they steadfastly refused to come to the surface. the volunteers had thinned now to only a few men at the pumps and the gasoline engine, and sam herbenfelder was taking turns with fairchild in overseeing the job. spectators were not as frequent either; they came and went,--all except mother howard, who was silently constant. the water had fallen to the level of the drift, two hundred feet down; the pumps now were working on the main flood which still lay below, while outside the townspeople came and went, and twice daily the owner and proprietor and general assignment reporter of the _daily bugle_ called at the mouth of the tunnel for news of progress. but there was no news, save that the water was lower. the excitement of it began to dim. besides, the night of the dance was approaching, and there were other calls for volunteers, for men to set up the old-time bar in the lodge rooms of the elks club; for others to dig out ancient roulette wheels and oil them in preparation for a busy play at a ten-cent limit instead of the sky-high boundaries of a day gone by; for some one to go to denver and raid the costume shops, to say nothing of buying the innumerable paddles which must accompany any old-time game of keno. but sam stayed on--and fairchild with him--and the loiterers, who would refuse to work at anything else for less than six dollars a day, freely giving their services at the pumps and the engines in return for a share of sam's good will and their names in the papers. a day more and a day after that. through town a new interest spread. the water was now only a few feet high in the shaft; it meant that the whole great opening, together with the drift tunnel, soon would be dewatered to an extent sufficient to permit of exploration. again the motor cars ground up the narrow roadway. outside the tunnel the crowds gathered. fairchild saw anita richmond and gritted his teeth at the fact that young rodaine accompanied her. farther in the background, narrow eyes watching him closely, was squint rodaine. and still farther-- fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain side. he put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous herbenfelder by the shoulder, whirled him around. "look!" he exclaimed. "look there! did n't i tell you! did n't i have a hunch?" for, coming toward them jauntily, slowly, was a figure in beaming blue, a fedora on his head now, but with the rest of his wardrobe intact, yellow, bump-toed shoes and all. some one shouted. everybody turned. and as they did so, the figure hastened its pace. a moment later, a booming voice sounded, the unmistakable voice of harry harkins: "i sye! what's the matter over there? did somebody fall in?" the puffing of gasoline engines ceased. a moment more and the gurgling cough of the pumps was stilled, while the shouting and laughter of a great crowd sounded through the hills. a leaping form went forward, sam herbenfelder, to seize harry, to pat him and paw him, as though in assurance that he really was alive, then to grasp wildly at the ring on his finger. but harry waved him aside. "ain't i paid the installment on it?" he remonstrated. "what's the rumpus?" fairchild, with mother howard, both laughing happily, was just behind herbenfelder. and behind them was thronging half of ohadi. "we thought you were drowned!" "me?" harry's laughter boomed again, in a way that was infectious. "me drowned, just because i let out a 'oller and dropped my 'at?" "you did it on purpose?" sam herbenfelder shook a scrawny fist under harry's nose. the big cornishman waved it aside as one would brush away an obnoxious fly. then he grinned at the townspeople about him. "well," he confessed, "there was an un'oly lot of water in there, and i didn't 'ave any money. what else was i to do?" "you--!" a pumpman had picked up a piece of heavy timbering and thrown it at him in mock ferocity. "work us to death and then come back and give us the laugh! where you been at?" "center city," confessed harry cheerily. "and you knew all the time?" mother howard wagged a finger under his nose. "well," and the cornishman chuckled, "i did n't 'ave any money. i 'ad to get that shaft unwatered, did n't i?" "get a rail!" another irate--but laughing--pumpman had come forward. "think you can pull that on us? get a rail!" some one seized a small, dead pine which lay on the ground near by. others helped to strip it of the scraggly limbs which still clung to it. harry watched them and chuckled--for he knew that in none was there malice. he had played his joke and won. it was their turn now. shouting in mock anger, calling for all dire things, from lynchings on down to burnings at the stake, they dragged harry to the pine tree, threw him astraddle of it, then, with willing hands volunteering on every side, hoisted the tree high above them and started down the mountain side, sam herbenfelder trotting in the rear and forgetting his anger in the joyful knowledge that his ring at last was safe. behind the throng of men with their mock threats trailed the women and children, some throwing pine cones at the booming harry, juggling himself on the narrow pole; and in the crowd, fairchild found some one he could watch with more than ordinary interest,--anita richmond, trudging along with the rest, apparently remonstrating with the sullen, mean-visaged young man at her side. instinctively fairchild knew that young rodaine was not pleased with the return of harkins. as for the father-- fairchild whirled at a voice by his side and looked straight into the crooked eyes of thornton fairchild's enemy. the blue-white scar had turned almost black now, the eyes were red from swollen, blood-stained veins, the evil, thin, crooked lips were working in sullen fury. they were practically alone at the mouth of the mine, fairchild with a laugh dying on his lips, rodaine with all the hate and anger and futile malice that a human being can know typified in his scarred, hawklike features. a thin, taloned hand came upward, to double, leaving one bony, curved finger extending in emphasis of the words which streamed from the slit of a mouth: "funny, weren't you? played your cheap jokes and got away with 'em. but everybody ain't like them fools!" he pointed to the crowd just rounding the rocks, harry bobbing in the foreground. "there 's some that remember--and i 'm one of 'em. you 've put over your fake; you 've had your laugh; you 've framed it so i 'll be the butt of every numbskull in ohadi. but just listen to this--just listen to this!" he repeated, the harsh voice taking on a tone that was almost a screech. "there's another time coming--and that time 's going to be mine!" and before fairchild could retort, he had turned and was scrambling down the mountain side. chapter ix it was just as well. fairchild could have said nothing that would have helped matters. he could have done nothing that would have damaged them. the cards were still the same; the deck still bore its markings, and the deal was going on without ever a change, except that now the matter of concealment of enmities had turned to an open, aboveboard proposition. whether harry had so intended it or not, he had forced squint rodaine to show his hand, and whether squint realized it, that amounted to something. fairchild was almost grateful for the fact as he went back into the tunnel, spun the flywheels of the gasoline engines and started them revolving again, that the last of the water might be drained from the shaft before the pumps must be returned to their owners. several hours passed, then harry returned, minus his gorgeous clothing and his diamond ring, dressed in mining costume now, with high leather boots into which his trousers were tucked, and carrying a carbide lantern. dolefully he looked at the vacant finger where once a diamond had sparkled. then he chuckled. "sam took it back," he announced. "and i took part of the money and paid it out for rent on these pumps. we can keep 'em as long as we want 'em. it's only costing about a fourth of what it might of. drowning 's worth something," he laughed again. fairchild joined him, then sobered. "it brought rodaine out of the bushes," he said. "squint threatened us after they 'd hauled you down town on the rail." harry winked jovially. "ain't it just what i expected? it's better that wye than to 'ave 'im snoopin' around. when i came up to the mine, 'e was right behind me. i knew it. and i 'd figured on it. so i just gave 'im something to get excited about. it was n't a minute after i 'd thrown a rock and my 'at in there and let out a yell that he came thumping in, looking around. i was 'iding back of the timbers there. out 'e went, muttering to 'imself, and i--well, i went to center city and read the papers." they chuckled together then; it was something to know that they had not only forced squint rodaine to show his enmity openly, but it was something more to make him the instrument of helping them with their work. the pumps were going steadily now, and a dirty stream of water was flowing down the ditch that had been made at one side of the small tram track. harry looked down the hole, stared intently at nothing, then turned to the rusty hoist. "'ere 's the thing we 've got to fix up now. this 'ere chiv wheel's all out of gear." "what makes your face so red?" fairchild asked the question as the be-mustached visage of harry came nearer to the carbide. harry looked up. "mother 'oward almost slapped it off!" came his rueful answer. "for not telling 'er what i was going to do, and letting 'er think i got drownded. but 'ow was i to know?" he went to tinkering with the big chiv wheel then, supported on its heavy timbers, and over which the cable must pass to allow the skip to travel on its rails down the shaft. fairchild absently examined the engines and pumps, supplying water to the radiators and filling an oil cup or two. then he turned swiftly, voicing that which was uppermost in his mind. "when you were here before, harry, did you know a judge richmond?" "yeh." harry pawed his mustache and made a greasy, black mark on his face. "but i don't think i want to know 'im now." "why not?" "'e's mixed up with the rodaines." "how much?" "they own 'im--that's all." there was silence for a moment. it had been something which fairchild had not expected. if the rodaines owned judge richmond, how far did that ownership extend? after a long time, he forced himself to a statement. "i know his daughter." "you?" harry straightened. "'ow so?" "she sold me a ticket to a dance," fairchild carefully forgot the earlier meeting. "then we 've happened to meet several times after that. she said that her father had told her about me--it seems he used to be a friend of my own father." harry nodded. "so 'e was. and a good friend. but that was before things 'appened--like they 've 'appened in the last ten years. not that i know about it of my own knowledge. but mother 'oward--she knows a lot." "but what's caused the change? what--?" harry's intent gaze stopped him. "'ow many times 'ave you seen the girl when she was n't with young rodaine?" "very few, that's true." "and 'ow many times 'ave you seen judge richmond?" "i have n't ever seen him." "you won't--if mother 'oward knows anything. 'e ain't able to get out. 'e's sick--apoplexy--a stroke. rodaine's taken advantage of it." "how?" "'ow does anybody take advantage of somebody that's sick? 'ow does anybody get a 'old on a person? through money! judge richmond 'ad a lot of it. then 'e got sick. rodaine, 'e got 'old of that money. now judge richmond 'as to ask 'im for every penny he gets--and 'e does what rodaine says." "but a judge--" "judges is just like anybody else when they're bedridden and only 'arf their faculties working. the girl, so mother 'oward tells me, is about twenty now. that made 'er just a little kid, and motherless, when rodaine got in 'is work. she ain't got a thing to sye. and she loves 'er father. suppose," harry waved a hand, "that you loved somebody awful strong, and suppose that person was under a influence? suppose it meant 'is 'appiness and 'is 'ealth for you to do like 'e wanted you? wouldn't you go with a man? what's more, if 'e don't die pretty soon, you 'll see a wedding!" "you mean--?" "she 'll be mrs. maurice rodaine. she loves 'er father enough to do it--after 'er will's broken. and i don't care 'oo it is; there ain't a woman in the world that's got the strength to keep on saying no to a sick father!" again robert fairchild filled an oil cup, again he tinkered about the pumps. then he straightened. "how are we going to work this mine?" he asked shortly. harry stared at him. "'ow should i know? you own it!" "i don't mean that way. we were fifty-fifty from the minute you showed up. there never has been any other thought in my mind--" "fifty-fifty? you're making me a bloated capitalist!" "i hope i will. or rather, i hope that you 'll make such a thing possible for both of us. but i was talking about something else; are we going to work hard and fight it out day and night for awhile until we can get things going, or are we just going at it by easy stages?" "suppose," answered harry after a communication with his magic mustache, "that we go dye and night 'til we get the water out? it won't be long. then we 'll 'ave to work together. you 'll need my vast store of learning and enlightenment!" he grinned. "good. but the pumping will last through tomorrow night. can you take the night trick?" "sure. but why?" "i want to go to that dance!" harry whistled. harry's big lips spread into a grin. "and she 's got brown eyes!" he chortled to himself. "and she 's got brown 'air, and she 's a wye about 'er. oh! she's got a wye about 'er! and i 'll bet she 's going with maurice rodaine! oh! she's got a wye about'er!" "oh, shut up!" growled fairchild, but he grinned in schoolboy fashion as he said it. harry poured half a can of oil upon the bearings of the chiv wheel with almost loving tenderness. "she 's got a wye about 'er!" he echoed. fairchild suddenly frowned. "just what do you mean? that she 's in love with rodaine and just--" "'ow should i know? but she 's got a wye about 'er!" "well," the firm chin of the other man grew firmer, "it won't be hard to find out!" and the next night he started upon his investigations. nor did he stop to consider that social events had been few and far between for him, that his dancing had progressed little farther than the simple ability to move his feet in unison to music. years of office and home, home and office, had not allowed robert fairchild the natural advantages of the usual young man. but he put that aside now; he was going to that dance, and he was going to stay there as long as the music sounded, or rather as long as the brown eyes, brown hair and laughing lips of anita richmond were apparent to him. what's more, he carried out his resolution. the clock turned back with the entrance to that dance hall. men were there in the rough mining costumes of other days, with unlighted candles stuck through patent holders into their hats, and women were there also, dressed as women could dress only in other days of sudden riches, in costumes brought from denver, bespangled affairs with the gorgeousness piled on until the things became fantastic instead of the intensely beautiful creations that the original wearers had believed them to be. there was only one idea in the olden mining days, to buy as much as possible and to put it all on at once. high, spanish combs surmounted ancient styles of hairdressing. rhinestones glittered in lieu of the real diamonds that once were worn by the queens of the mining camps. dancing girls, newly rich cooks, poverty-stricken prospectors' wives suddenly beaming with wealth, nineteenth-century vamps, gambling hall habitués,--all were represented among the femininity of ohadi as they laughed and giggled at the outlandish costumes they wore and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. far at one side, making a brave effort with the "near" beer and "almost there" concoctions of a prohibition buried country, was the "old-fashioned bar" with its old-fashioned bartender behind it, roaring out his orders and serving drinks with one hand while he waved and pulled the trigger of a blank-cartridged revolver with the other. farther on was the roulette wheel, and fairchild strolled to it, watching the others to catch the drift of the game before he essayed it, playing with pennies where, in the old days, men had gambled away fortunes; surrounded by a crowd that laughed and chattered and forgot its bets, around a place where once a "sleeper" might have meant a fortune. the spirit of the old times was abroad. the noise and clatter of a dance caller bellowed forth as he shouted for everybody to grab their "podners one an' all, do-se-do, promenade th' hall!" and fairchild, as he watched, saw that his lack of dancing ability would not be a serious handicap. there were many others who did not know the old numbers. and those who did had worn their hobnailed boots, sufficient to take the spring out of any one's feet. the women were doing most of the leading, the men clattered along somewhere in the rear, laughing and shouting and inadvertently kicking one another on the shins. the old times had come back, boisterously, happily,--and every one was living in those days when the hills gushed wealth, and when poverty to-day might mean riches tomorrow. again and again fairchild's eyes searched the crowds, the multicolored, overdressed costumes of the women, the old-fashioned affairs with which many of the men had arrayed themselves, ranging all the way from high leather boots to frock suits and stovepipe beaver hats. from one face to another his gaze went; then he turned abstractedly to the long line of tables, with their devotees of keno, and bought a paddle. from far away the drone of the caller sounded in a voice familiar, and fairchild looked up to see the narrow-eyed, scarred face of squint rodaine, who was officiating at the wheel. he lost interest in the game; lackadaisically he placed the buttons on their squares as the numbers were shouted, finally to brush them all aside and desert the game. his hatred of the rodaines had grown to a point where he could enjoy nothing with which they were connected, where he despised everything with which they had the remotest affiliation,--excepting, of course, one person. and as he rose, fairchild saw that she was just entering the dance hall. quaint in an old-fashioned costume which represented more the civil war days than it did those of the boom times of silver mining, she seemed prettier than ever to robert fairchild, more girlish, more entrancing. the big eyes appeared bigger now, peeping from the confines of a poke bonnet; the little hands seemed smaller with their half-length gloves and shielded by the enormous peacock feather fan they carried. only a moment fairchild hesitated. maurice rodaine, attired in a mauve frock suit and the inevitable accompanying beaver, had stopped to talk to some one at the door. she stood alone, looking about the hall, laughing and nodding,--and then she looked at him! fairchild did not wait. from the platform at the end of the big room the fiddles had begun to squeak, and the caller was shouting his announcements. couples began to line up on the floor. the caller's voice grew louder: "two more couples--two more couples! grab yo' podners!" fairchild was elbowing his way swiftly forward, apologizing as he went. a couple took its place beside the others. once more the plea of the caller sounded: "one more couple--then the dance starts. one more couple, lady an' a gent! one more--" "please!" robert fairchild had reached her and was holding forth his hand. she looked up in half surprise, then demurred. "but i don't know these old dances." "neither do i--or any other, for that matter," he confessed with sudden boldness. "but does that make any difference? please!" she glanced quickly toward the door. maurice rodaine was still talking, and fairchild saw a little gleam come into her eyes,--the gleam that shows when a woman decides to make some one pay for rudeness. again he begged: "won't you--and then we 'll forget. i--i could n't take my payment in money!" she eyed him quickly and saw the smile on his lips. from the platform the caller voiced another entreaty: "one more cou-ple! ain't there no lady an' gent that's goin' to fill out this here dance? one more couple--one more couple!" fairchild's hand was still extended. again anita richmond glanced toward the door, chuckled to herself while fairchild watched the dimples that the merriment caused, and then--fairchild forgot the fact that he was wearing hobnailed shoes and that his clothes were worn and old. he was going forward to take his place on the dance floor, and she was beside him! some way, as through a haze, he saw her. some way he realized that now and then his hand touched hers, and that once, as they whirled about the room, in obedience to the monarch on the fiddler's rostrum, his arm was about her waist, and her head touching his shoulder. it made little difference whether the dance calls were obeyed after that. fairchild was making up for all the years he had plodded, all the years in which he had known nothing but a slow, grubbing life, living them all again and rightly, in the few swift moments of a dance. the music ended, and laughing they returned to the side of the hall. out of the haze he heard words, and knew indistinctly that they were his own: "will--will you dance with me again tonight?" "selfish!" she chided. "but will you?" for just a moment her eyes grew serious. "did you ever realize that we 've never been introduced?" fairchild was finding more conversation than he ever had believed possible. "no--but i realize that i don't care--if you 'll forgive it. i--believe that i 'm a gentleman." "so do i--or i would n't have danced with you." "then please--" "pardon me." she had laid a hand on his arm for just a moment, then hurried away. fairchild saw that she was approaching young rodaine, scowling in the background. that person shot an angry remark at her as she approached and followed it with streaming sentences. fairchild knew the reason. jealousy! couples returning from the dance floor jostled against him, but he did not move. he was waiting--waiting for the outcome of the quarrel--and in a moment it came. anita richmond turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm. she looked anxiously about her, sighted fairchild, and then started toward him, while he advanced to meet her. "i 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement. "i 'll dance the next one with you." "and the next after that?" again: "selfish!" but fairchild did not appear to hear. "and the next and the next and the next!" he urged as the caller issued his inevitable invitations for couples. anita smiled. "maybe--i 'll think about it." "i 'll never know how to dance, unless you teach me." fairchild pleaded, as they made their way to the center of the floor. "i 'll--" "don't work on my sympathies!" "but it's the truth. i never will." "s'lute yo' podners!" the dance was on. and while the music squealed from the rostrum, while the swaying forms some way made the rounds according to the caller's viewpoint of an old-time dance, anita richmond evidently "thought about it." when the next dance came, they went again on the floor together, robert fairchild and the brown-eyed girl whom he suddenly realized he loved, without reasoning the past or the future, without caring whom she might be or what her plans might contain; a man out of prison lives by impulse, and fairchild was but lately released. a third dance and a fourth, while in the intervals fairchild's eyes sought out the sulky, sullen form of maurice rodaine, flattened against the wall, eyes evil, mouth a straight line, and the blackness of hate discoloring his face. it was as so much wine to fairchild; he felt himself really young for the first time in his life. and as the music started again, he once more turned to his companion. only, however, to halt and whirl and stare in surprise. there had come a shout from the doorway, booming, commanding: "'ands up, everybody! and quick about it!" some one laughed and jabbed his hands into the air. another, quickly sensing a staged surprise, followed the example. it was just the finishing touch necessary,--the old-time hold-up of the old-time dance. the "bandit" strode forward. "out from be'ind that bar! drop that gun!" he commanded of the white-aproned attendant. "out from that roulette wheel. everybody line up! quick--and there ain't no time for foolin'." chattering and laughing, they obeyed, the sheriff, his star gleaming, standing out in front of them all, shivering in mock fright, his hands higher than any one's. the bandit, both revolvers leveled, stepped forward a foot or so, and again ordered speed. fairchild, standing with his hands in the air, looked down toward anita, standing beside him. "is n't it exciting," she exclaimed. "just like a regular hold-up! i wonder who the bandit is. he certainly looks the part, does n't he?" and fairchild agreed that he did. a bandanna handkerchief was wrapped about his head, concealing his hair and ears. a mask was over his eyes, supplemented by another bandanna, which, beginning at the bridge of his nose, flowed over his chin, cutting off all possible chance of recognition. only a second more he waited, then with a wave of the guns, shouted his command: "all right, everybody! i'm a decent fellow. don't want much, but i want it quick! this 'ere 's for the relief of widders and orphans. make it sudden. each one of you gents step out to the center of the room and leave five dollars. and step back when you 've put it there. ladies stay where you 're at!" again a laugh. fairchild turned to his companion, as she nudged him. "there, it's your turn." out to the center of the floor went fairchild, the rest of the victims laughing and chiding him. back he came in mock fear, his hands in the air. on down the line went the contributing men. then the bandit rushed forward, gathered up the bills and gold pieces, shoved them in his pockets, and whirled toward the door. "the purpose of this 'ere will be in the paper to-morrow," he announced. "and don't you follow me to find out! back there!" two or three laughing men had started forward, among them a fiddler, who had joined the line, and who now rushed out in flaunting bravery, brandishing his violin as though to brain the intruder. again the command: "back there--get back!" then the crowd recoiled. flashes had come from the masked man's guns, the popping of electric light globes above and the showering of glass testifying to the fact that they had contained something more than mere wadding. somewhat dazed, the fiddler continued his rush, suddenly to crumple and fall, while men milled and women screamed. a door slammed, the lock clicked, and the crowd rushed for the windows. the hold-up had been real after all,--instead of a planned, joking affair. on the floor the fiddler lay gasping--and bleeding. and the bandit was gone. all in a moment the dance hall seemed to have gone mad. men were rushing about and shouting; panic-stricken women clawed at one another and fought their way toward a freedom they could not gain. windows crashed as forms hurtled against them; screams sounded. hurriedly, as the crowd massed thicker, fairchild raised the small form of anita in his arms and carried her to a chair, far at one side. "it's all right now," he said, calming her. "everything 's over--look, they 're helping the fiddler to his feet. maybe he 's not badly hurt. everything 's all right--" and then he straightened. a man had unlocked the door from the outside and had rushed into the dance hall, excited, shouting. it was maurice rodaine. "i know who it was," he almost screamed. "i got a good look at him--jumped out of the window and almost headed him off. he took off his mask outside--and i saw him." "you saw him--?" a hundred voices shouted the question at once. "yes." then maurice rodaine nodded straight toward robert fairchild. "the light was good, and i got a straight look at him. he was that fellow's partner--a cornishman they call harry!" chapter x "i don't believe it!" anita richmond exclaimed with conviction and clutched at fairchild's arm. "i don't believe it!" "i can't!" robert answered. then he turned to the accuser. "how could it be possible for harry to be down here robbing a dance hall when he 's out working the mine?" "working the mine?" this time it was the sheriff. "what's the necessity for a day and night shift?" the question was pertinent--and fairchild knew it. but he did not hesitate. "i know it sounds peculiar--but it's the truth. we agreed upon it yesterday afternoon." "at whose suggestion?" "i 'm not sure--but i think it was mine." "young fellow," the sheriff had approached him now, "you 'd better be certain about that. it looks to me like that might be a pretty good excuse to give when a man can't produce an alibi. anyway, the identification seems pretty complete. everybody in this room heard that man talk with a cousin jack accent. and mr. rodaine says that he saw his face. that seems conclusive." "if mr. rodaine's word counts for anything." the sheriff looked at him sharply. "evidently you have n't been around here long." then he turned to the crowd. "i want a couple of good men to go along with me as deputies." "i have a right to go." fairchild had stepped forward. "certainly. but not as a deputy. who wants to volunteer?" half a dozen men came forward, and from them the sheriff chose two. fairchild turned to say good-by to anita. in vain. already maurice rodaine had escorted her, apparently against her will, to a far end of the dance hall, and there was quarreling with her. fairchild hurried to join the sheriff and his two deputies, just starting out of the dance hall. five minutes later they were in a motor car, chugging up kentucky gulch. the trip was made silently. there was nothing for fairchild to say; he had told all he knew. slowly, the motor car fighting against the grade, the trip was accomplished. then the four men leaped from the machine at the last rise before the tunnel was reached and three of them went forward afoot toward where a slight gleam of light came from the mouth of the blue poppy. a consultation and then the creeping forms made the last fifty feet. the sheriff took the lead, at last to stop behind a boulder and to shout a command: "hey you, in there." "'ey yourself!" it was harry's voice. "come out--and be quick about it. hold your light in front of your face with both hands." "the 'ell i will! and 'oo 's talking?" "sheriff adams of clear creek county. you 've got one minute to come out--or i 'll shoot." "i 'm coming on the run!" and almost instantly the form of harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up his bulbous, surprised countenance with its spraylike mustache, appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. "what the bloody 'ell?" he gasped, as he looked into the muzzle of the revolver. from down the mountain side came the shout of one of the deputies: "sheriff! looks like it's him, all right. i 've found a horse down here--all sweated up from running." "that's about the answer." sheriff adams went forward and with a motion of his revolver sent harry's hands into the air. "let's see what you 've got on you." a light gleamed below as an electric flash in the hands of one of the deputies began an investigation of the surroundings. the sheriff, finishing his search of 'arry's pockets, stepped back. "well," he demanded, "what did you do with the proceeds?" "the proceeds?" harry stared blankly. "of what?" "quit your kidding now. they 've found your horse down there." "would n't it be a good idea--" fairchild had cut in acridly--"to save your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it? harry has n't any horse. if he 's rented one, you ought to be able to find that out pretty shortly." as if in answer, the sheriff turned and shouted a question down the mountain side. and back came the answer: "it's doc mason's. must have been stolen. doc was at the dance." "i guess that settles it." the officer reached for his hip pocket. "stick out your hands, harry, while i put the cuffs on them." "but 'ow in bloody 'ell 'ave i been doing anything when i 've been up 'ere working on this chiv wheel? 'ow--?" "they say you held up the dance to-night and robbed us," fairchild cut in. harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of keen questioning. "and do you say it?" "i most certainly do not. the identification was given by that honorable person known as mr. maurice rodaine." "oh! one thief identifying another--" "just cut your remarks along those lines." "sheriff!" again the voice from below. "yeh!" "we 've found a cache down here. must have been made in a hurry--two new revolvers, bullets, a mask, a couple of new handkerchiefs and the money." harry's eyes grew wide. then he stuck out his hands. "the evidence certainly is piling up!" he grunted. "i might as well save my talking for later." "that's a good idea." the sheriff snapped the handcuffs into place. then fairchild shut off the pumps and they started toward the machine. back in ohadi more news awaited them. harry, if harry had been the highwayman, had gone to no expense for his outfit. the combined general store and hardware emporium of gregg brothers had been robbed of the articles necessary for a disguise,--also the revolvers and their bullets. robert fairchild watched harry placed in the solitary cell of the county jail with a spirit that could not respond to the cornishman's grin and his assurances that morning would bring a righting of affairs. four charges hung heavy above him: that of horse-stealing, of burglary, of highway robbery, and worse, the final one of assault with attempt to kill. fairchild turned wearily away; he could not find the optimism to join harry's cheerful announcement that it would be "all right." the appearances were otherwise. besides, up in the little hospital on the hill, fairchild had seen lights gleaming as he entered the jail, and he knew that doctors were working there over the wounded body of the fiddler. tired, heavy at heart, his earlier conquest of the night sodden and overshadowed now, he turned away from the cell and its optimistic occupant,--out into the night. it was only a short walk to the hospital and fairchild went there, to leave with at least a ray of hope. the probing operation had been completed; the fiddler would live, and at least the charge against harry would not be one of murder. that was a thing for which to be thankful; but there was plenty to cause consternation, as fairchild walked slowly down the dark, winding street toward the main thoroughfare. without harry, fairchild now felt himself lost. before the big, genial, eccentric cornishman had come into his life, he had believed, with some sort of divine ignorance, that he could carry out his ambitions by himself, with no knowledge of the technical details necessary to mining, with no previous history of the blue poppy to guide him, and with no help against the enemies who seemed everywhere. now he saw that it was impossible. more, the incidents of the night showed how swiftly those enemies were working, how sharp and stiletto-like their weapons. that harry was innocent was certain,--to robert fairchild. there was quite a difference between a joke which a whole town recognized as such and a deliberate robbery which threatened the life of at least one man. fairchild knew in his heart that harry was not built along those lines. looking back over it now, fairchild could see how easily fate had played into the hands of the rodaines, if the rodaines had not possessed a deeper concern than merely to seize upon a happening and turn it to their own account. the highwayman was big. the highwayman talked with a "cousin-jack" accent,--for all cornishmen are "cousin jacks" in the mining country. those two features in themselves, fairchild thought, as he stumbled along in the darkness, were sufficient to start the scheming plot in the brain of maurice rodaine, already ugly and evil through the trick played by harry on his father and the rebuke that had come from anita richmond. it was an easy matter for him to get the inspiration, leap out of the window, and then wait until the robber had gone, that he might flare forth with his accusation. and after that--. either chance, or something stronger, had done the rest. the finding of the stolen horse and the carelessly made cache near the mouth of the blue poppy mine would be sufficient in the eyes of any jury. the evidence was both direct and circumstantial. to fairchild's mind, there was small chance for escape by harry, once his case went to trial. nor did the pounding insistence of intuitive knowledge that the whole thing had been a deliberately staged plot on the part of the rodaines, father and son, make the slightest difference in fairchild's estimation. how could he prove it? by personal animosity? there was the whole town of ohadi to testify that the highwayman was a big man, of the build of harry, and that he spoke with a cornish accent. there were the sworn members of the posse to show that they, without guidance, had discovered the horse and the cache,--and the rodaines were nowhere about to help them. and experience already had told fairchild that the rodaines, by a deliberately constructed system, held a ruling power; that against their word, his would be as nothing. besides, where would be harry's alibi? he had none; he had been at the mine, alone. there was no one to testify for him, not even fairchild. the world was far from bright. down the dark street the man wandered, his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his head low between his shoulders,--only to suddenly galvanize into intensity, and to stop short that he might hear again the voice which had come to him. at one side was a big house,--a house whose occupants he knew instinctively, for he had seen the shadow of a woman, hands outstretched, as she passed the light-strewn shade of a window on the second floor. more, he had heard her voice, supplemented by gruffer tones. and then it came again. it was pleading, and at the same time angered with the passion of a person approaching hysteria. a barking sentence answered her, something that fairchild could not understand. he left the old board sidewalk and crept to the porch that he might hear the better. then every nerve within him jangled, and the black of the darkness changed to red. the rodaines were within; he had heard first the cold voice of the father, then the rasping tones of the son, in upbraiding. more, there had come the sobbing of a woman; instinctively fairchild knew that it was anita richmond. and then: it was her voice, high, screaming. hysteria had come,--the wild, racking hysteria of a person driven to the breaking point: "leave this house--hear me! leave this house! can't you see that you're killing him? don't you dare touch me--leave this house! no--i won't be quiet--i won't--you 're killing him, i tell you--!" and fairchild waited for nothing more. a lunge, and he was on the veranda. one more spring and he had reached the door, to find it unlocked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. great steps, and he had cleared the stairs to the second floor. a scream came from a doorway before him; dimly, as through a red screen, fairchild saw the frightened face of anita richmond, and on the landing, fronting him angrily, stood the two rodaines. for a moment, fairchild disregarded them and turned to the sobbing, disheveled little being in the doorway. "what's happened?" "they were threatening me--and father!" she moaned. "but you shouldn't have come in--you should n't have--" "i heard you scream. i could n't help it. i heard you say they were killing your father--" the girl looked anxiously toward an inner room, where fairchild could see faintly the still figure of a man outlined under the covers of an old-fashioned four-poster. "they--they--got him excited. he had another stroke. i--i could n't stand it any longer." "you 'd better get out," said fairchild curtly to the rodaines, with a suggestive motion toward the stairs. they hesitated a moment and maurice seemed about to launch himself at robert, but his father laid a restraining hand on his arm. a step and the elder rodaine hesitated. "i 'm only going because of your father," he said gruffly, with a glance toward anita. fairchild knew differently, but he said nothing. the gray of rodaine's countenance told where his courage lay; it was yellow gray, the dirty gray of a man who fights from cover, and from cover only. "oh, i know," anita said. "it's--it's all right. i--i 'm sorry. i--did n't realize that i was screaming--please forgive me--and go, won't you? it means my father's life now." "that's the only reason i am going; i 'm not going because--" "oh, i know. mr. fairchild should n't have come in here. he should n't have done it. i 'm sorry--please go." down the steps they went, the older man with his hand still on his son's arm; while, white-faced, fairchild awaited anita, who had suddenly sped past him into the sick room, then was wearily returning. "can i help you?" he asked at last. "yes," came her rather cold answer, only to be followed by a quickly whispered "forgive me." and then the tones became louder--so that they could be heard at the bottom of the stairs: "you can help me greatly--simply by going and not creating any more of a disturbance." "but--" "please go," came the direct answer. "and please do not vent your spite on mr. rodaine and his son. i 'm sure that they will act like gentlemen if you will. you should n't have rushed in here." "i heard you screaming, miss richmond." "i know," came her answer, as icily as ever. then the door downstairs closed and the sound of steps came on the veranda. she leaned close to him. "i had to say that," came her whispered words. "please don't try to understand anything i do in the future. just go--please!" and fairchild obeyed. chapter xi the rodaines were on the sidewalk when fairchild came forth from the richmond home, and true to his instructions from the frightened girl, he brushed past them swiftly and went on down the street, not turning at the muttered invectives which came from the crooked lips of the older man, not seeming even to notice their presence as he hurried on toward mother howard's boarding house. whether fate had played with him or against him, he did not know,--nor could he summon the brain power to think. happenings had come too thickly in the last few hours for him to differentiate calmly; everything depended upon what course the rodaines might care to pursue. if theirs was to be a campaign of destruction, without a care whom it might involve, fairchild could see easily that he too might soon be juggled into occupying the cell with harry in the county jail. wearily he turned the corner to the main street and made his plodding way, along it, his shoulders drooping, his brain fagged from the flaring heat of anger and the strain that the events of the night had put upon it. in his creaky bed in the old boarding house, he again sought to think, but in vain. he could only lie awake and stare into the darkness about him, while through his mind ran a muddled conglomeration of foreboding, waking dreams, revamps of the happenings of the last three weeks, memories which brought him nothing save sleeplessness and the knowledge that, so far, he fought a losing fight. after hours, daylight began to streak the sky. fairchild, dull, worn by excitement and fatigue, strove to rise, then laid his head on the pillow for just a moment of rest. and with that perversity which extreme weariness so often exerts, his eyes closed, and he slept,--to wake at last with the realization that it was late morning, and that some one was pounding on the door. fairchild raised his head. "is that you, mother howard? i'm getting up, right away." a slight chuckle answered him. "but this is n't mother howard. may i see you a moment?" "who is it?" "no one you know--yet. i 've come to talk to you about your partner. may i come in?" "yes." fairchild was fully alive now to the activities that the day held before him. the door opened, and a young man, alert, almost cocky in manner, with black, snappy eyes showing behind horn-rimmed glasses, entered and reached for the sole chair that the room contained. "my name 's farrell," he announced. "randolph p. farrell. and to make a long story short, i 'm your lawyer." "my lawyer?" fairchild stared. "i haven't any lawyer in ohadi. the only--" "that does n't alter the fact. i 'm your lawyer, and i 'm at your service. and i don't mind telling you that it's just about my first case. otherwise, i don't guess i 'd have gotten it." "why not?" the frankness had driven other queries from fairchild's mind. farrell, the attorney, grinned cheerily. "because i understand it concerns the rodaines. nobody but a fool out of college cares to buck up against them. besides, nearly everybody has a little money stuck into their enterprises. and seeing i have no money at all, i 'm not financially interested. and not being interested, i 'm wholly just, fair and willing to fight 'em to a standstill. now what's the trouble? your partner 's in jail, as i understand it. guilty or not guilty?" "wa--wait a minute!" the breeziness of the man had brought fairchild to more wakefulness and to a certain amount of cheer. "who hired you?" then with a sudden inspiration: "mother howard did n't go and do this?" "mother howard? you mean the woman who runs the boarding house? not at all." "but--" "i 'm not exactly at liberty to state." suspicion began to assert itself. the smile of comradeship that the other man's manner instilled faded suddenly. "under those conditions, i don't believe--" "don't say it! don't get started along those lines. i know what you 're thinking. knew that was what would happen from the start. and against the wishes of the person who hired me for this work, i--well, i brought the evidence. i might as well show it now as try to put over this secret stuff and lose a lot of time doing it. here, take a glimpse and then throw it away, tear it up, swallow it, or do anything you want to with it, just so nobody else sees it. ready? look." he drew forth a small visiting card. fairchild glanced. then he looked--and then he sat up straight in bed. for before him were the engraved words: miss anita natalie richmond. while across the card was hastily written, in a hand distinctively feminine: mr. fairchild: this is my good friend. he will help you. there is no fee attached. please destroy. anita richmond. "bu--but i don't understand." "you know miss--er--the writer of this card, don't you?" "but why should she--?" mr. farrell, barrister-at-law, grinned broadly. "i see you don't know miss--the writer of this card at all. that's her nature. besides--well, i have a habit of making long stories short. all she 's got to do with me is crook her finger and i 'll jump through. i 'm--none of your business. but, anyway, here i am--" fairchild could not restrain a laugh. there was something about the man, about his nervous, yet boyish way of speaking, about his enthusiasm, that wiped out suspicion and invited confidence. the owner of the blue poppy mine leaned forward. "but you did n't finish your sentence about--the writer of that card." "you mean--oh--well, there 's nothing to that. i 'm in love with her. been in love with her since i 've been knee-high to a duck. so 're you. so 's every other human being that thinks he's a regular man. so's maurice rodaine. don't know about the rest of you--but i have n't got a chance. don't even think of it any more--look on it as a necessary affliction, like wearing winter woolens and that sort of thing. don't let it bother you. the problem right now is to get your partner out of jail. how much money have you got?" "only a little more than two thousand." "not enough. there 'll be bonds on four charges. at the least, they 'll be around a thousand dollars apiece. probabilities are that they 'll run around ten thousand for the bunch. how about the blue poppy?" fairchild shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know what it's worth." "neither do i. neither does the judge. neither does any one else. therefore, it's worth at least ten thousand dollars. that 'll do the trick. get out your deeds and that sort of thing--we 'll have to file them with the bond as security." "but that will ruin us!" "how so? a bond 's nothing more than a mortgage. it doesn't stop you from working on the mine. all it does is give evidence that your friend and partner will be on the job when the bailiff yells oyez, oyez, oyez. otherwise, they 'll take the mine away from you and sell it at public sale for the price of the bond. but that's a happen-so of the future. and there 's no danger if our client--you will notice that i call him our client--is clothed with the dignity and the protecting mantle of innocence and stays here to see his trial out." "he 'll do that, all right." "then we 're merely using the large and ample safe of the court of this judicial district as a deposit vault for some very valuable papers. i 'd suggest now that you get up, seize your deeds and accompany me to the palace of justice. otherwise, that partner of yours will have to eat dinner in a place called in undignified language the hoosegow!" it was like warm sunshine on a cold day, the chatter of this young man in horn-rimmed glasses. soon fairchild was dressed and walking hurriedly up the street with the voluble attorney. a half-hour more and they were before the court. fairchild, the lawyer and the jail-worn harry, his mustache fluttering in more directions than ever. "not guilty, your honor," said randolph p. farrell. "may i ask the extent of the bond?" the judge adjusted his glasses and studied the information which the district attorney had laid before him. "in view of the number of charges and the seriousness of each, i must fix an aggregate bond of five thousand dollars, or twelve hundred fifty dollars for each case." "thank you; we had come prepared for more. mr. fairchild, who is mr. harkins' partner, is here to appear as bondsman. the deeds are in his name alone, the partnership existing, as i understand it, upon their word of honor between them. i refer, your honor, to the deeds of the blue poppy mine. would your honor care to examine them?" his honor would. his honor did. for a long moment he studied them, and fairchild, in looking about the courtroom, saw the bailiff in conversation with a tall, thin man, with squint eyes and a scar-marked forehead. a moment later, the judge looked over his glasses. "bailiff!" "yes, your honor." "have you any information regarding the value of the blue poppy mining claims?" "sir, i have just been talking to mr. rodaine. he says they 're well worth the value of the bond." "how about that, rodaine?" the judge peered down the court room. squint rodaine scratched his hawklike nose with his thumb and nodded. "they 'll do," was his answer, and the judge passed the papers to the clerk of the court. "bond accepted. i 'll set this trial for--" "if your honor please, i should like it at the very, very earliest possible moment," randolph p. farrell had cut in. "this is working a very great hardship upon an innocent man and--" "can't be done." the judge was scrawling on his docket. "everything 's too crowded. can't be reached before the november term. set it for november th." "very well, your honor." then he turned with a wide grin to his clients. "that's all until november." out they filed through the narrow aisle of the court room, fairchild's knee brushing the trouser leg of squint rodaine as they passed. at the door, the attorney turned toward them, then put forth a hand. "drop in any day this week and we 'll go over things," he announced cheerfully. "we put one over on his royal joblots that time, anyway. hates me from the ground up. worst we can hope for is a conviction and then a supreme court reversal. i 'll get him so mad he 'll fill the case with errors. he used to be an instructor down at boulder, and i stuck the pages of a lecture together on him one day. that's why i asked for an early trial. knew he 'd give me a late one. that 'll let us have time to stir up a little favorable evidence, which right now we don't possess. understand--all money that comes from the mine is held in escrow until this case is decided. but i 'll explain that. going to stick around here and bask in the effulgence of really possessing a case. s'long!" and he turned back into the court room, while fairchild, the dazed harry stalking beside him, started down the street. "'ow do you figure it?" asked the cornishman at last. "what?" "rodaine. 'e 'elped us out!" fairchild stopped. it had not occurred to him before. but now he saw it: that if rodaine, as an expert on mining, had condemned the blue poppy, it could have meant only one thing, the denial of bond by the judge and the lack of freedom for harry. fairchild rubbed a hand across his brow. "i can't figure it," came at last. "and especially since his son is the accuser and since i got the best of them both last night!" "got the best of 'em? you?" the story was brief in its telling. and it brought no explanation of the sudden amiability displayed by the crooked-faced rodaine. they went on, striving vainly for a reason, at last to stop in front of the post-office, as the postmaster leaned out of the door. "your name's fairchild, isn't it?" asked the person of letters, as he fastened a pair of gimlet eyes on the owner of the blue poppy. "yes." "thought so. some of the fellows said you was. better drop in here for your mail once in a while. there 's been a letter for you here for two days!" "for me?" vaguely fairchild went within and received the missive, a plain, bond envelope without a return address. he turned it over and over in his hand before he opened it--then looked at the postmark,--denver. at last: "open it, why don't you?" harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his shoulder. fairchild obeyed. they gasped together. before them were figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve into: mr. robert fairchild, ohadi, colorado. dear sir; i am empowered by a client whose name i am not at liberty to state, to make you an offer of $ , . for your property in clear creek county, known as the blue poppy mine. in replying, kindly address your letter to box , denver, colo. harry whistled long and thoughtfully. "that's a 'ole lot of money!" "an awful lot, harry. but why was the offer made? there 's nothing to base it on. there 's--" then for a moment, as they stepped out of the post-office, he gave up the thought, even of comparative riches. twenty feet away, a man and a girl were approaching, talking as though there never had been the slightest trouble between them. they crossed the slight alleyway, and she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, fairchild thought, and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. but it was certain. it was maurice rodaine and anita richmond; they came closer, her eyes turned toward fairchild, and then-- she went on, without speaking, without taking the trouble to notice, apparently, that he had been standing there. chapter xii after this, there was little conversation until harry and fairchild had reached the boarding house. then, with mother howard for an adviser, the three gathered in the old parlor, and fairchild related the events of the night before, adding what had happened at the post-office, when anita had passed him without speaking. mother howard, her arms folded as usual, bobbed her gray head. "it's like her, son," she announced at last. "she 's a good girl. i 've known her ever since she was a little tad not big enough to walk. and she loves her father." "but--" "she loves her father. is n't that enough? the rodaines have the money--and they have almost everything that judge richmond owns. it's easy enough to guess what they 've done with it--tied it up so that he can't touch it until they 're ready for him to do it. and they 're not going to do that until they 've gotten what they want." "which is--?" "anita! any fool ought to be able to know that. of course," she added with an acrid smile, "persons that are so head over heels in love themselves that they can't see ten feet in front of them would n't be able to understand it--but other people can. the rodaines know they can't do anything directly with anita. she would n't stand for it. she 's not that kind of a girl. they know that money does n't mean anything to her--and what's more, they 've been forced to see that anita ain't going to turn handsprings just for the back-action honor of marrying a rodaine. anita could marry a lot richer fellows than maurice rodaine ever dreamed of being, if she wanted to--and there wouldn't be any scoundrel of a father, or any graveyard wandering, crazy mother to go into the bargain. and they realize it. but they realize too, that there ain't a chance of them losing out as long as her father's happiness depends on doing what they want her to do. so, after all, ain't it easy to see the whole thing?" "to you, possibly. but not to me." mother howard pressed her lips in exasperation. "just go back over it," she recapitulated. "she got mad at him at the dance last night, did n't she? he 'd done something rude--from the way you tell it. then you sashayed up and asked her to dance every dance with you. you don't suppose that was because you were so tall and handsome, do you?" "well--" fairchild smiled ruefully--"i was hoping that it was because she rather liked me." "suppose it was? but she rather likes a lot of people. you understand women just like a pig understands sunday--you don't know anything about 'em. she was mad at maurice rodaine and she wanted to give him a lesson. she never thought about the consequences. after the dance was over, just like the sniveling little coward he is, he got his father and went to the richmond house. there they began laying out the old man because he had permitted his daughter to do such a disgraceful thing as to dance with a man she wanted to dance with instead of kowtowing and butting her head against the floor every time maurice rodaine crooked his finger. and they were n't gentle about it. what was the result? poor old judge richmond got excited and had another stroke. and what did anita do naturally--just like a woman? she got the high-strikes and then you came rushing in. after that, she calmed down and had a minute to think of what might be before her. that stroke last night was the second one for the judge. there usually ain't any more after the third one. now, can't you see why anita is willing to do anything on earth just to keep peace and just to give her father a little rest and comfort and happiness in the last days of his life? you 've got to remember that he ain't like an ordinary father that you can go to and tell all your troubles. he 's laying next door to death, and anita, just like any woman that's got a great, big, good heart in her, is willing to face worse than death to help him. it's as plain to me as the nose on harry's face." "which is quite plain," agreed fairchild ruefully. harry rubbed the libeled proboscis, pawed at his mustache and fidgeted in his chair. "i understand that, all right," he announced at last. "but why should anybody want to buy the mine?" it brought fairchild to the realization of a new development, and he brought forth the letter, once more to stare at it. "fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money," came at last. "it would pretty near pay us for coming out here, harry." "that it would." "and what then?" mother howard, still looking through uncolored glasses, took the letter and scanned it. "you two ain't quitters, are you?" "'oo, us?" harry bristled. "yes, you. if you are, get yourselves a piece of paper and write to denver and take the offer. if you ain't--keep on fighting." "i believe you 're right, mother howard." fairchild had reached for the letter again and was staring at it as though for inspiration. "that amount of money seems to be a great deal. still, if a person will offer that much for a mine when there 's nothing in sight to show its value, it ought to mean that there's something dark in the woodpile and that the thing 's worth fighting out. and personally speaking, i 'm willing to fight!" "i never quit in my life!" harry straightened in his chair and his mustache stuck forth pugnaciously. mother howard looked down at him, pressed her lips, then smiled. "no," she announced, "except to run away like a whipped pup after you 'd gotten a poor lonely boarding-house keeper in love with you!" "mother 'oward, i 'll--" but the laughing, gray-haired woman had scrambled through the doorway and slammed the door behind her, only to open it a second later and poke her head within. "need n't think because you can hold up a dance hall and get away with it, you can use cave-man stuff on me!" she admonished. and in that one sentence was all the conversation necessary regarding the charges against harry, as far as mother howard was concerned. she did n't believe them, and harry's face showed that the world had become bright and serene again. he swung his great arms as though to loosen the big muscles of his shoulders. he pecked at his mustache. then he turned to fairchild. "well," he asked, "what do we do? go up to the mine--just like nothing 'ad ever 'appened?" "exactly. wait until i change my clothes. then we 'll be ready to start. i 'm not even going to dignify this letter by replying to it. and for one principal reason--" he added--"that i think the rodaines have something to do with it." '"ow so?" "i don't know. it's only a conjecture; i guess the connection comes from the fact that squint put a good valuation on the mine this morning in court. and if it is any of his doings--then the best thing in the world is to forget it. i 'll be ready in a moment." an hour later they entered the mouth of the blue poppy tunnel, once more to start the engines and to resume the pumping, meanwhile struggling back and forth with timbers from the mountain side, as they began the task of rehabilitating the tunnel where it had caved in just beyond the shaft. it was the beginning of a long task; well enough they knew that far below there would be much more of this to do, many days of back-breaking labor in which they must be the main participants, before they ever could hope to begin their real efforts in search of ore. and so, while the iron-colored water gushed from the pump tubes. harry and fairchild made their trips, scrambling ones as they went outward, struggling ones as they came back, dragging the "stulls" or heavy timbers which would form the main supports, the mill-stakes, or lighter props, the laggs and spreaders, all found in the broken, well-seasoned timber of the mountain side, all necessary for the work which was before them. the timbering of a mine is not an easy task. one by one the heavy props must be put into place, each to its station, every one in a position which will furnish the greatest resistance against the tremendous weight from above, the constant inclination of the earth to sink and fill the man-made excavations. for the earth is a jealous thing; its own caverns it makes and preserves judiciously. those made by the hand of humanity call forth the resistance of gravity and of disintegration, and it takes measures of strength and power to combat them. that day, harry and fairchild worked with all their strength at the beginning of a stint that would last--they did not, could not know how long. and they worked together. their plan of a day and night shift had been abandoned; the trouble engendered by their first attempt had been enough to shelve that sort of program. hour after hour they toiled, until the gray mists hung low over the mountain tops, until the shadows lengthened and twilight fell. the engines ceased their chugging, the coughing swirl of the dirty water as it came from the drift, far below, stopped. slowly two weary men jogged down the rutty road to the narrow, winding highway which led through kentucky gulch and into town. but they were happy with a new realization: that they were actively at work, that something had been accomplished by their labors, and progress made in spite of the machinations of malignant men, in spite of the malicious influences of the past and of the present, and in spite of the powers of nature. it was a new, a grateful life to fairchild. it gave him something else to think about than the ponderings upon the mysterious events which seemed to whirl, like a maelstrom, about him. and more, it gave him little time to think at all, for that night he did not lie awake to stare about him in the darkness. muscles were aching in spite of their inherent strength. his head pounded from the pressure of intensified heart action. his eyes closed wearily, yet with a wholesome fatigue. nor did he wake until harry was pounding on the door in the dawn of the morning. their meal came before the dining room was regularly open. mother howard herself flipping the flapjacks and frying the eggs which formed their breakfast, meanwhile finding the time to pack their lunch buckets. then out into the crisp air of morning they went, and back to their labors. once more the pumps; once more the struggle against the heavy timbers; once more the "clunk" of the axe as it bit deep into wood, or the pounding of hammers as great spikes were driven into place. late that afternoon they turned to a new duty,--that of mucking away the dirt and rotted logs from a place that once had been impassable. the timbering of the broken-down portion of the tunnel just behind the shaft had been repaired, and harry flipped the sweat away from his broad forehead with an action of relief. "not that it does us any particular good," he announced. "there ain't nothing back there that we can get at. but it's room we 'll need when we start working down below, and we might as well 'ave it fixed up--" he ceased suddenly and ran to the pumps. a peculiar gurgling sound had come from the ends of the hose, and the flow depreciated greatly; instead of the steady gush of water, a slimy silt was coming out now, spraying and splattering about on the sides of the drainage ditch. wildly harry waved a monstrous paw. "shut 'em off!" he yelled to fairchild in the dimness of the tunnel. "it's sucking the muck out of the sump!" "out of the what?" fairchild had killed the engines and run forward to where harry, one big hand behind the carbide flare, was peering down the shaft. "the sump--it's a little 'ole at the bottom of the shaft to 'old any water that 'appens to seep in. that means the 'ole drift is unwatered." "then the pumping job 's over?" "yeh." harry rose. "you stay 'ere and dismantle the pumps, so we can send 'em back. i 'll go to town. we 've got to buy some stuff." then he started off down the trail, while fairchild went to his work. and he sang as he dragged at the heavy hose, pulling it out of the shaft and coiling it at the entrance to the tunnel, as he put skids under the engines, and moved them, inch by inch, to the outer air. work was before him, work which was progressing toward a goal that he had determined to seek, in spite of all obstacles. the mysterious offer which he had received gave evidence that something awaited him, that some one knew the real value of the blue poppy mine, and that if he could simply stick to his task, if he could hold to the unwavering purpose to win in spite of all the blocking pitfalls that were put in his path, some day, some time, the reward would be worth its price. more, the conversation with mother howard on the previous morning had been comforting; it had given a woman's viewpoint upon another woman's actions. and fairchild intuitively believed she was correct. true, she had talked of others who might have hopes in regard to anita richmond; in fact, fairchild had met one of those persons in the lawyer, randolph farrell. but just the same it all was cheering. it is man's supreme privilege to hope. and so fairchild was happy and somewhat at ease for the first time in weeks. out at the edge of the mine, as he made his trips, he stopped now and then to look at something he had disregarded previously,--the valley stretching out beneath him, the three hummocks of the far-away range, named father, mother and child by some romantic mountaineer; the blue-gray of the hills as they stretched on, farther and farther into the distance, gradually whitening until they resolved themselves into the snowy range, with the gaunt, high-peaked summit of mount evans scratching the sky in the distance. there was a shimmer in the air, through which the trees were turned into a bluer green, and the crags of the mountains made softer, the gaping scars of prospect holes less lonely and less mournful with their ever-present story of lost hopes. on a great boulder far at one side a chipmunk chattered. far down the road an ore train clattered along on the way to the sampler,--that great middleman institution which is a part of every mining camp, and which, like the creamery station at the cross roads, receives the products of the mines, assays them by its technically correct system of four samples and four assayers to every shipment, and buys them, with its allowances for freight, smelting charges and the innumerable expenditures which must be made before money can become money in reality. fairchild sang louder than ever, a wordless tune, an old tune, engendered in his brain upon a paradoxically happy and unhappy night,--that of the dance when he had held anita richmond in his arms, and she had laughed up at him as, by her companionship, she had paid the debt of the denver road. fairchild had almost forgotten that. now, with memory, his brow puckered, and his song died slowly away. "what the dickens was she doing?" he asked himself at last. "and why should she have wanted so terribly to get away from that sheriff?" there was no answer. besides, he had promised to ask for none. and further, a shout from the road, accompanied by the roaring of a motor truck, announced the fact that harry was making his return. five men were with him, to help him carry in ropes, heavy pulleys, weights and a large metal shaft bucket, then to move out the smaller of the pumps and trundle away with them, leaving the larger one and the larger engine for a single load. at last harry turned to his paraphernalia and rolled up his sleeves. "'ere 's where we work!" he announced. "it's us for a pulley and bucket arrangement until we can get the 'oist to working and the skip to running. 'elp me 'eave a few timbers." it was the beginning of a three-days' job, the building of a heavy staging over the top of the shaft, the affixing of the great pulley and then the attachment of the bucket at one end, and the skip, loaded with pig iron, on the other. altogether, it formed a sort of crude, counterbalanced elevator, by which they might lower themselves into the shaft, with various bumpings and delays,--but which worked successfully, nevertheless. together they piled into the big, iron bucket. harry lugging along spikes and timbers and sledges and ropes. then, pulling away at the cable which held the weights, they furnished the necessary gravity to travel downward. an eerie journey, faced on one side by the crawling rope of the skip as it traveled along the rusty old track on its watersoaked ties, on the others by the still dripping timbers of the aged shaft and its broken, rotting ladder, while the carbide lanterns cast shadows about, while the pulley above creaked and the eroded wheels of the skip squeaked and protested! downward--a hundred feet--and they collided with the upward-bound skip, to fend off from it and start on again. the air grew colder, more moist. the carbides spluttered and flared. then a slight bump, and they were at the bottom. fairchild started to crawl out from the bucket, only to resume his old position as harry yelled with fright. "don't do it!" gulped the cornishman. "do you want me to go up like a skyrocket? them weights is all at the top. we 've got to fix a plug down 'ere to 'old this blooming bucket or it 'll go up and we 'll stay down!" working from the side of the bucket, still held down by the weight of the two men, they fashioned a catch, or lock, out of a loop of rope attached to heavy spikes, and fastened it taut. "that 'll 'old," announced the big cornishman. "out we go!" fairchild obeyed with alacrity. he felt now that he was really coming to something, that he was at the true beginning of his labors. before him the drift tunnel, damp and dripping and dark, awaited, seeming to throw back the flare of the carbides as though to shield the treasures which might lie beyond. harry started forward a step, then pausing, shifted his carbide and laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. "boy," he said slowly, "we 're starting at something now--and i don't know where it's going to lead us. there's a cave-in up 'ere, and if we 're ever going to get anywhere in this mine, we 'll 'ave to go past it. and i 'm afraid of what we 're going to find when we cut our wye through!" clouds of the past seemed to rise and float past fairchild. clouds which carried visions of a white, broken old man sitting by a window, waiting for death, visions of an old safe and a letter it contained. for a long, long moment, there was silence. then came harry's voice again. "i 'm afraid it ain't going to be good news, boy. but there ain't no wye to get around it. it's got to come out sometime--things like that won't stay 'idden forever. and your father 's gone now--gone where it can't 'urt 'im." "i know," answered fairchild in a queer, husky voice. "he must have known, harry--he must have been willing that it come, now that he is gone. he wrote me as much." "it's that or nothing. if we sell the mine, some one else will find it. and we can't 'it the vein without following the drift to the stope. but you're the one to make the decision." again, a long moment; again, in memory, fairchild was standing in a gloomy, old-fashioned room, reading a letter he had taken from a dusty safe. finally his answer came: "he told me to go ahead, if necessary. and we 'll go, harry." chapter xiii they started forward then, making their way through the slime and silt of the drift flooring, slippery and wet from years of flooding. from above them the water dripped from the seep-soaked hanging-wall, which showed rough and splotchy in the gleam of the carbides and seemed to absorb the light until they could see only a few feet before them as they clambered over water-soaked timbers, disjointed rails of the little tram track which once had existed there, and floundered in and out of the greasy pockets of mud which the floating ties of the track had left behind. on--on--they stopped. progress had become impossible. before them, twisted and torn and piled about in muddy confusion, the timbers of the mine suddenly showed in a perfect barricade, supplanted from behind by piles of muck and rocky refuse which left no opening to the chamber of the stope beyond. harry's carbide went high in the air, and he slid forward, to stand a moment in thought before the obstacle. at place after place he surveyed it, finally to turn with a shrug of his shoulders. "it's going to mean more 'n a month of the 'ardest kind of work, boy," came his final announcement. "'ow it could 'ave caved in like that is more than i know. i 'm sure we timbered it good." "and look--" fairchild was beside him now, with his carbide--"how everything's torn, as though from an explosion." "it seems that wye. but you can't tell. rock 'as an awful way of churning up things when it decides to turn loose. all i know is we 've got a job cut out for us." there was only one thing to do,--turn back. fifteen minutes more and they were on the surface, making their plans; projects which entailed work from morning until night for many a day to come. there was a track to lay, an extra skip to be lowered, that they might haul the muck and broken timbers from the cave-in to the shaft and on out to the dump. there were stulls and mill-stakes and laggs to cut and to be taken into the shaft. and there was good, hard work of muscle and brawn and pick and shovel, that muck might be torn away from the cave-in, and good timbers put in place, to hold the hanging wall from repeating its escapade of eighteen years before. harry reached for a new axe and indicated another. "we 'll cut ties first," he announced. and thus began the weeks of effort, weeks in which they worked with crude appliances; weeks in which they dragged the heavy stulls and other timbers into the tunnel and then lowered them down the shaft to the drift, two hundred feet below, only to follow them in their counter-balanced bucket and laboriously pile them along the sides of the drift, there to await use later on. weeks in which they worked in mud and slime, as they shoveled out the muck and with their gad hooks tore down loose portions of the hanging wall to form a roadbed for their new tram. weeks in which they cut ties, in which they crawled from their beds even before dawn, nor returned to mother howard's boarding house until long after dark; weeks in which they seemed to lose all touch with the outside world. their whole universe had turned into a tunnel far beneath the surface of the earth, a drift leading to a cave-in, which they had not yet begun to even indent with excavations. it was a slow, galling progress, but they kept at it. gradually the tram line began to take shape, pieced together from old portions of the track which still lay in the drift and supplemented by others bought cheaply at that graveyard of miner's hopes,--the junk yard in ohadi. at last it was finished; the work of moving the heavy timbers became easier now as they were shunted on to the small tram truck from which the body had been dismantled and trundled along the rails to the cave-in, there to be piled in readiness for their use. and finally-- a pick swung in the air, to give forth a chunky, smacking sound, as it struck water-softened, spongy wood. the attack against the cave-in had begun, to progress with seeming rapidity for a few hours, then to cease, until the two men could remove the debris which they had dug out and haul it by slow, laborious effort to the surface. but it was a beginning, and they kept at it. a foot at a time they tore away the old, broken, splintered timbers and the rocky refuse which lay piled behind each shivered beam; only to stop, carry away the muck, and then rebuild. and it was effort,--effort which strained every muscle of two strong men, as with pulleys and handmade, crude cranes, they raised the big logs and propped them in place against further encroachment of the hanging wall. cold and damp, in the moist air of the tunnel they labored, but there was a joy in it all. down here they could forget squint rodaine and his chalky-faced son; down here they could feel that they were working toward a goal and lay aside the handicap which humans might put in their path. day after day of labor and the indentation upon the cave-in grew from a matter of feet to one of yards. a week. two. then, as harry swung his pick, he lurched forward and went to his knees. "i 've gone through!" he announced in happy surprise. "i 've gone through. we 're at the end of it!" up went fairchild's carbide. where the pick still hung in the rocky mass, a tiny hole showed, darker than the surrounding refuse. he put forth a hand and clawed at the earth about the tool; it gave way beneath his touch, and there was only vacancy beyond. again harry raised his pick and swung it with force. fairchild joined him. a moment more and they were staring at a hole which led to darkness, and there was joy in harry's voice as he made a momentary survey. "it's fairly dry be'ind there," he announced. "otherwise we 'd have been scrambling around in water up to our necks. we 're lucky there, any'ow." again the attack and again the hole widened. at last harry straightened. "we can go in now," came finally. "are you willing to go with me?" "of course. why not?" the cornishman's hand went to his mustache. "i ain't tickled about what we 're liable to find." "you mean--?" but harry stopped him. "let's don't talk about it till we 'ave to. come on." silently they crawled through the opening, the silt and fine rock rattling about them as they did so, to come upon fairly dry earth on the other side, and to start forward. under the rays of the carbides, they could see that the track here was in fairly good condition; the only moisture being that of a natural seepage which counted for little. the timbers still stood dry and firm, except where dripping water in a few cases had caused the blocks to become spongy and great holes to be pressed in them by the larger timbers which held back the tremendous weight from above. suddenly, as they walked along. harry took the lead, holding his lantern far ahead of him, with one big hand behind it, as though for a reflector. then, just as suddenly, he turned. "let's go out," came shortly. "why?" "it's there!" in the light of the lantern, harry's face was white, his big lips livid. "let's go--" but fairchild stopped him. "harry," he said, and there was determination in his voice, "if it's there--we 've got to face it. i 'll be the one who will suffer. my father is gone. there are no accusations where he rests now; i 'm sure of that. if--if he ever did anything in his life that wasn't right, he paid for it. we don't know what happened, harry--all we are sure of is that if it's what we 're--we 're afraid of, we 've gone too far now to turn back. don't you think that certain people would make an investigation if we should happen to quit the mine now?" "the rodaines!" "exactly. they would scent something, and within an hour they 'd be down in here, snooping around. and how much worse would it be for them to tell the news--than for us!" "nobody 'as to tell it--" harry was staring at his carbide flare--"there 's a wye." "but we can't take it, harry. in my father's letter was the statement that he made only one mistake--that of fear. i 'm going to believe him--and in spite of what i find here, i 'm going to hold him innocent, and i 'm going to be fair and square and aboveboard about it all. the world can think what it pleases--about him and about me. there 's nothing on my conscience--and i know that if my father had not made the mistake of running away when he did, there would have been nothing on his." harry shook his head. "'e could n't do much else, boy. rodaine was stronger in some ways then than he is now. that was in different days. that was in times when squint rodaine could 'ave gotten a 'undred men together quicker 'n a cat's wink and lynched a man without 'im 'aving a trial or anything. and if i 'd been your father, i 'd 'ave done the same as 'e did. i 'd 'ave run too--'e 'd 'ave paid for it with 'is life if 'e didn't, guilty or not guilty. and--" he looked sharply toward the younger man--"you say to go on?" "go on," said fairchild, and he spoke the words between tightly clenched teeth. harry turned his light before him, and once more shielded it with his big hand. a step--two, then: "look--there--over by the footwall!" fairchild forced his eyes in the direction designated and stared intently. at first it appeared only like a succession of disjointed, broken stones, lying in straggly fashion along the footwall of the drift where it widened into the stope, or upward slant on the vein. then, it came forth clearer, the thin outlines of something which clutched at the heart of robert fairchild, which sickened him, which caused him to fight down a sudden, panicky desire to shield his eyes and to run,--a heap of age-denuded bones, the scraps of a miner's costume still clinging to them, the heavy shoes protruding in comically tragic fashion over bony feet; a huddled, cramped skeleton of a human being! they could only stand and stare at it,--this reminder of a tragedy of a quarter of a century agone. their lips refused to utter the words that strove to travel past them; they were two men dumb, dumb through a discovery which they had forced themselves to face, through a fact which they had hoped against, each more or less silently, yet felt sure must, sooner or later, come before them. and now it was here. and this was the reason that twenty years before thornton fairchild, white, grim, had sought the aid of harry and of mother howard. this was the reason that a woman had played the part of a man, singing in maudlin fashion as they traveled down the center of the street at night, to all appearances only three disappointed miners seeking a new field. and yet-- "i know what you 're thinking." it was harry's voice, strangely hoarse and weak. "i 'm thinking the same thing. but it must n't be. dead men don't alwyes mean they 've died--in a wye to cast reflections on the man that was with 'em. do you get what i mean? you've said--" and he looked hard into the cramped, suffering face of robert fairchild--"that you were going to 'old your father innocent. so 'm i. we don't know, boy, what went on 'ere. and we 've got to 'ope for the best." then, while fairchild stood motionless and silent, the big cornishman forced himself forward, to stoop by the side of the heap of bones which once had represented a man, to touch gingerly the clothing, and then to bend nearer and hold his carbide close to some object which fairchild could not see. at last he rose and with old, white features, approached his partner. "the appearances are against us," came quietly. "there 's a 'ole in 'is skull that a jury 'll say was made by a single jack. it 'll seem like some one 'ad killed 'im, and then caved in the mine with a box of powder. but 'e 's gone, boy--your father--i mean. 'e can't defend 'imself. we 've got to take 'is part." "maybe--" fairchild was grasping at the final straw--"maybe it's not the person we believe it to be at all. it might be somebody else--who had come in here and set off a charge of powder by accident and--" but the shaking of harry's head stifled the momentary ray of hope. "no. i looked. there was a watch--all covered with mold and mildewed. i pried it open. it's got larsen's name inside!" chapter xiv again there was a long moment of silence, while harry stood pawing at his mustache and while robert fairchild sought to summon the strength to do the thing which was before him. it had been comparatively easy to make resolutions while there still was hope. it was a far different matter now. all the soddenness of the old days had come back to him, ghosts which would not be driven away; memories of a time when he was the grubbing, though willing slave of a victim of fear,--of a man whose life had been wrecked through terror of the day when intruders would break their way through the debris, and when the discovery would be made. and it had remained for robert fairchild, the son, to find the hidden secret, for him to come upon the thing which had caused the agony of nearly thirty years of suffering, for him to face the alternative of again placing that gruesome find into hiding, or to square his shoulders before the world and take the consequences. murder is not an easy word to hear, whether it rests upon one's own shoulders, or upon the memory of a person beloved. and right now robert fairchild felt himself sagging beneath the weight of the accusation. but there was no time to lose in making his decision. beside him stood harry, silent, morose. before him,--fairchild closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the sight of it. but still it was there, the crumpled heap of tattered clothing and human remains, the awry, heavy shoes still shielding the fleshless bones of the feet. he turned blindly, his hands groping before him. "harry," he called, "harry! get me out of here--i--can't stand it!" wordlessly the big man came to his side. wordlessly they made the trip back to the hole in the cave-in and then followed the trail of new-laid track to the shaft. up--up--the trip seemed endless as they jerked and pulled on the weighted rope, that their shaft bucket might travel to the surface. then, at the mouth of the tunnel, robert fairchild stood for a long time staring out over the soft hills and the radiance of the snowy range, far away. it gave him a new strength, a new determination. the light, the sunshine, the soft outlines of the scrub pines in the distance, the freedom and openness of the mountains seemed to instill into him a courage he could not feel down there in the dampness and darkness of the tunnel. his shoulders surged, as though to shake off a great weight. his eyes brightened with resolution. then he turned to the faithful harry, waiting in the background. "there's no use trying to evade anything, harry. we 've got to face the music. will you go with me to notify the coroner--or would you rather stay here?" "i 'll go." silently they trudged into town and to the little undertaking shop which also served as the office of the coroner. they made their report, then accompanied the officer, together with the sheriff, back to the mine and into the drift. there once more they clambered through the hole in the cave-in and on toward the beginning of the stope. and there they pointed out their discovery. a wait for the remainder of that day,--a day that seemed ages long, a day in which robert fairchild found himself facing the editor of the _bugle_, and telling his story, harry beside him. but he told only what he had found, nothing of the past, nothing of the white-haired man who had waited by the window, cringing at the slightest sound on the old, vine-clad veranda, nothing of the letter which he had found in the dusty safe. nothing was asked regarding that; nothing could be gained by telling it. in the heart of robert fairchild was the conviction that somehow, some way, his father was innocent, and in his brain was a determination to fight for that innocence as long as it was humanly possible. but gossip told what he did not. there were those who remembered the departure of thornton fairchild from ohadi. there were others who recollected perfectly that in the center of the rig was a singing, maudlin man, apparently "sissie" larsen. and they asked questions. they cornered harry, they shot their queries at him one after another. but harry was adamant. "i ain't got anything to sye! and there's an end to it!" then, forcing his way past them, he crossed the street and went up the worn steps to the little office of randolph p. farrell, with his grinning smile and his horn-rimmed glasses, there to tell what he knew,--and to ask advice. and with the information the happy-go-lucky look faded, while fairchild, entering behind harry, heard a verdict which momentarily seemed to stop his heart. "it means, harry, that you were accessory to a crime--if this was a murder. you knew that something had happened. you helped without asking questions. and if it can be proved a murder--well," and he drummed on his desk with the end of his pencil--"there 's no statute of limitations when the end of a human life is concerned!" only a moment harry hesitated. then: "i 'll tell the truth--if they ask me." "when?" the lawyer was bending forward. "at the inquest. ain't that what you call it?" "you'll tell nothing. understand? you'll tell nothing, other than that you, with robert fairchild, found that skeleton. an inquest is n't a trial. and that can't come without knowledge and evidence that this man was murdered. so, remember--you tell the coroner's jury that you found this body and nothing more!" "but--" "it's a case for the grand jury after that, to study the findings of the coroner's jury and to sift out what evidence comes to it." "you mean--" this time it was fairchild cutting in--"that if the coroner's jury cannot find evidence that this man was murdered, or something more than mere supposition to base a charge on--there 'll be no trouble for harry?" "it's very improbable. so tell what happened on this day of this year of our lord and nothing more! you people almost had me scared myself for a minute. now, get out of here and let a legal light shine without any more clouds for a few minutes." they departed then and traveled down the stairs with far more spring in their step than when they had entered. late that night, as they were engaged at their usual occupation of relating the varied happenings of the day to mother howard, there came a knock at the door. instinctively, fairchild bent toward her: "your name 's out of this--as long as possible." she smiled in her mothering, knowing way. then she opened the door, there to find a deputy from the sheriff's office. "they 've impaneled a jury up at the courthouse," he announced. "the coroner wants mr. fairchild and mr. harkins to come up there and tell what they know about this here skeleton they found." it was the expected. the two men went forth, to find the street about the courthouse thronged, for already the news of the finding of the skeleton had traveled far, even into the little mining camps which skirted the town. it was a mystery of years long agone, and as such it fascinated and lured, in far greater measure perhaps, than some murder of a present day. everywhere were black crowds under the faint street lamps. the basement of the courthouse was illuminated; and there were clusters of curious persons about the stairways. through the throngs started harry and fairchild, only to be drawn aside by farrell, the attorney. "i 'm not going to take a part in this unless i have to," he told them. "it will look better for you if it is n't necessary for me to make an appearance. whatever you do," and he addressed harry, "say nothing about what you were telling me this afternoon. in the first place, you yourself have no actual knowledge of what happened. how do you know but what thornton fairchild was attacked by this man and forced to kill in self-defense? it's a penitentiary offense for a man to strike another, without sufficient justification, beneath ground. and had sissie larsen even so much as slapped thornton fairchild, that man would have been perfectly justified in killing him to protect himself. i 'm simply telling you that so that you will have no qualms in keeping concealed facts which, at this time, have no bearing. guide yourselves accordingly--and as i say, i will be there only as a spectator, unless events should necessitate something else." they promised and went on, somewhat calmer in mind, to edge their way to the steps and to enter the basement of the courthouse. the coroner and his jury, composed of six miners picked up haphazard along the street--according to the custom of coroners in general--were already present. so was every person who possibly could cram through the doors of the big room. to them all fairchild paid little attention,--all but three. they were on a back seat in the long courtroom,--squint rodaine and his son, chalkier, yet blacker than ever, while between them sat an old woman with white hair which straggled about her cheeks, a woman with deep-set eyes, whose hands wandered now and then vaguely before her; a wrinkled woman, fidgeting about on her seat, watching with craned neck those who stuffed their way within the already crammed room, her eyes never still, her lips moving constantly, as though mumbling some never-ending rote. fairchild stared at her, then turned to harry. "who 's that with the rodaines?" harry looked furtively. "crazy laura--his wife." "but--" "and she ain't 'ere for anything good!" harry's voice bore a tone of nervousness. "squint rodaine don't even recognize 'er on the street--much less appear in company with 'er. something's 'appening!" "but what could she testify to?" "'ow should i know?" harry said it almost petulantly. "i did n't even know she--" "oyez, oyez, oyez!" it was the bailiff, using a regular district-court introduction of the fact that an inquest was about to be held. the crowded room sighed and settled. the windows became frames for human faces, staring from without. the coroner stepped forward. "we are gathered here to-night to inquire into the death of a man supposed to be l. a. larsen, commonly called 'sissie', whose skeleton was found to-day in the blue poppy mine. what this inquest will bring forth, i do not know, but as sworn and true members of the coroner's jury, i charge and command you in the great name of the sovereign state of colorado, to do your full duty in arriving at your verdict." the jury, half risen from its chair, some with their left hands held high above them, some with their right, swore in mumbling tones to do their duty, whatever that might be. the coroner surveyed the assemblage. "first witness," he called out; "harry harkins!" harry went forward, clumsily seeking the witness chair. a moment later he had been sworn, and in five minutes more, he was back beside fairchild, staring in a relieved manner about him. he had been questioned regarding nothing more than the mere finding of the body, the identification by means of the watch, and the notification of the coroner. fairchild was called, to suffer no more from the queries of the investigator than harry. there was a pause. it seemed that the inquest was over. a few people began to move toward the door--only to halt. the coroner's voice had sounded again: "mrs. laura rodaine!" prodded to her feet by the squint-eyed man beside her, she rose, and laughing in silly fashion, stumbled to the aisle, her straying hair, her ragged clothing, her big shoes and shuffling gait all blending with the wild, eerie look of her eyes, the constant munching of the almost toothless mouth. again she laughed, in a vacant, embarrassed manner, as she reached the stand and held up her hand for the administration of the oath. fairchild leaned close to his partner. "at least she knows enough for that." harry nodded. "she knows a lot, that ole girl. they say she writes down in a book everything she does every day. but what can she be 'ere to testify to?" the answer seemed to come in the questioning voice of the coroner. "your name, please?" "laura rodaine. least, that's the name i go by. my real maiden name is laura masterson, and--" "rodaine will be sufficient. your age?" "i think it's sixty-four. if i had my book i could tell. i--" "your book?" "yes, i keep everything in a book. but it is n't here. i could n't bring it." "the guess will be sufficient in this case. you 've lived here a good many years, mrs. rodaine?" "yes. around thirty-five. let's see--yes, i 'm sure it's thirty-five. my boy was born here--he 's about thirty and we came here five years before that." "i believe you told me to-night that you have a habit of wandering around the hills?" "yes, i 've done that--i do it right along--i 've done it ever since my husband and i split up--that was just a little while after the boy was born--" "sufficient. i merely wanted to establish that fact. in wandering about, did you ever see anything, twenty-three or four years ago or so, that would lead you to believe you know something about the death of this man whose demise we are inquiring?" the big hand of harry caught at fairchild's arm. the old woman had raised her head, craning her neck and allowing her mouth to fall open, as she strove for words. at last: "i know something. i know a lot. but i 've never figured it was anybody's business but my own. so i have n't told it. but i remember--" "what, mrs. rodaine?" "the day sissie larsen was supposed to leave town--that was the day he got killed." "do you remember the date?" "no--i don't remember that." "would it be in your book?" she seemed to become suddenly excited. she half rose in her chair and looked down the line of benches to where her husband sat, the scar showing plainly in the rather brilliant light, his eyes narrowed until they were nearly closed. again the question, and again a moment of nervousness before she answered: "no--no--it would n't be in my book. i looked." "but you remember?" "just like as if it was yesterday." "and what you saw--did it give you any idea--" "i know what i saw." "and did it lead to any conclusion?" "yes." "what, may i ask?" "that somebody had been murdered!" "who--and by whom?" crazy laura munched at her toothless gums for a moment and looked again toward her husband. then, her watery, almost colorless eyes searching, she began a survey of the big room, looking intently from one figure to another. on and on--finally to reach the spot where stood robert fairchild and harry, and there they stopped. a lean finger, knotted by rheumatism, darkened by sun and wind, stretched out. "yes, i know who did it, and i know who got killed. it was 'sissie' larsen--he was murdered. the man who did it was a fellow named thornton fairchild who owned the mine--if i ain't mistaken, he was the father of this young man--" "i object!" farrell, the attorney, was on his feet and struggling forward, jamming his horn-rimmed glasses into a pocket as he did so. "this has ceased to be an inquest; it has resolved itself into some sort of an inquisition!" "i fail to see why." the coroner had stepped down and was facing him. "why? why--you 're inquiring into a death that happened more than twenty years ago--and you 're basing that inquiry upon the word of a woman who is not legally able to give testimony in any kind of a court or on any kind of a case! it's not judicial, it's not within the confines of a legitimate, honorable practice, and it certainly is not just to stain the name of any man with the crime of murder upon the word of an insane person, especially when that man is dead and unable to defend himself!" "are n't you presuming?" "i certainly am not. have you any further evidence upon the lines that she is going to give?" "not directly." "then i demand that all the testimony which this woman has given be stricken out and the jury instructed to disregard it." the official smiled. "i think otherwise. besides, this is merely a coroner's inquest and not a court action. the jury is entitled to all the evidence that has any bearing on the case." "but this woman is crazy!" "has she ever been adjudged so, or committed to any asylum for the insane?" "no--but nevertheless, there are a hundred persons in this court room who will testify to the fact that she is mentally unbalanced and not a fit person to fasten a crime upon any man's head by her testimony. and referring even to yourself, coroner, have you within the last twenty-five years, in fact, since a short time after the birth of her son, called her anything else but crazy laura? has any one else in this town called her any other name? man, i appeal to your--" "what you say may be true. it may not. i don't know. i only am sure of one thing--that a person is sane in the eyes of the law until adjudged otherwise. therefore, her evidence at this time is perfectly legal and proper." "it won't be as soon as i can bring an action before a lunacy court and cause her examination by a board of alienists." "that's something for the future. in that case, things might be different. but i can only follow the law, with the members of the jury instructed, of course, to accept the evidence for what they deem it is worth. you will proceed, mrs. rodaine. what did you see that caused you to come to this conclusion?" "can't you even stick to the rules and ethics of testimony?" it was the final plea of the defeated farrell. the coroner eyed him slowly. "mr. farrell," came his answer, "i must confess to a deviation from regular court procedure in this inquiry. it is customary in an inquest of this character; certain departures from the usual rules must be made that the truth and the whole truth be learned. proceed, mrs. rodaine, what was it you saw?" transfixed, horrified, fairchild watched the mumbling, munching mouth, the staring eyes and straying white hair, the bony, crooked hands as they weaved before her. from those toothless jaws a story was about to come, true or untrue, a story that would stain the name of his father with murder! and that story now was at its beginning. "i saw them together that afternoon early," the old woman was saying. "i came up the road just behind them, and they were fussing. both of 'em acted like they were mad at each other, but fairchild seemed to be the maddest. "i did n't pay much attention to them because i just thought they were fighting about some little thing and that it wouldn't amount to much. i went on up the gulch--i was gathering flowers. after awhile, the earth shook and i heard a big explosion, from way down underneath me--like thunder when it's far away. then, pretty soon, i saw fairchild come rushing out of the mine, and his hands were all bloody. he ran to the creek and washed them, looking around to see if anybody was watching him--but he did n't notice me. then when he 'd washed the blood from his hands, he got up on the road and went down into town. later on, i thought i saw all three of 'em leave town, fairchild, sissie and a fellow named harkins. so i never paid any more attention to it until to-day. that's all i know." she stepped down then and went back to her seat with squint rodaine and the son, fidgeting there again, craning her neck as before, while fairchild, son of a man just accused of murder, watched her with eyes fascinated from horror. the coroner looked at a slip of paper in his hand. "william barton," he called. a miner came forward, to go through the usual formalities, and then to be asked the question: "did you see thornton fairchild on the night he left ohadi?" "yes, a lot of us saw him. he drove out of town with harry harkins, and a fellow who we all thought was sissie larsen. the person we believed to be sissie was singing like the swede did when he was drunk." "that's all. mr. harkins, will you please take the stand again?" "i object!" again it was farrell. "in the first place, if this crazy woman's story is the result of a distorted imagination, then mr. harkins can add nothing to it. if it is not, mr. harkins is cloaked by the protection of the law which fully applies to such cases and which, mr. coroner, you cannot deny." the coroner nodded. "i agree with you this time, mr. farrell. i wish to work no hardship on any one. if mrs. rodaine's story is true, this is a matter for a special session of the grand jury. if it is not true--well, then there has been a miscarriage of justice and it is a matter to be rectified in the future. but at the present, there is no way of determining that matter. gentlemen of the jury," he turned his back on the crowded room and faced the small, worried appearing group on the row of kitchen chairs, "you have heard the evidence. you will find a room at the right in which to conduct your deliberations. your first official act will be to select a foreman and then to attempt to determine from the evidence as submitted the cause of death of the corpse over whom this inquest has been held. you will now retire." shuffling forms faded through the door at the right. then followed long moments of waiting, in which robert fairchild's eyes went to the floor, in which he strove to avoid the gaze of every one in the crowded court room. he knew what they were thinking, that his father had been a murderer, and that he--well, that he was blood of his father's blood. he could hear the buzzing of tongues, the shifting of the court room on the unstable chairs, and he knew fingers were pointing at him. for once in his life he had not the strength to face his fellow men. a quarter of an hour--a knock on the door--then the six men clattered forth again, to hand a piece of paper to the coroner. and he, adjusting his glasses, turned to the court room and read: "we, the jury, find that the deceased came to his death from injuries sustained at the hands of thornton fairchild, in or about the month of june, ." that was all, but it was enough. the stain had been placed; the thing which the white-haired man who had sat by a window back in indianapolis had feared all his life had come after death. and it was as though he were living again in the body of his son, his son who now stood beside the big form of harry, striving to force his eyes upward and finally succeeding,--standing there facing the morbid, staring crowd as they turned and jostled that they might look at him, the son of a murderer! how long it lasted he did not, could not know. the moments were dazed, bleared things which consisted to him only of a succession of eyes, of persons who pointed him out, who seemed to edge away from him as they passed him. it seemed hours before the court room cleared. then, the attorney at one side, harry at the other, he started out of the court room. the crowd still was on the street, milling, circling, dividing into little groups to discuss the verdict. through them shot scrambling forms of newsboys, seeking, in imitation of metropolitan methods, to enhance the circulation of the _bugle_ with an edition of a paper already hours old. dazedly, simply for the sake of something to take his mind from the throngs and the gossip about him, fairchild bought a paper and stepped to the light to glance over the first page. there, emblazoned under the "extra" heading, was the story of the finding of the skeleton in the blue poppy mine, while beside it was something which caused robert fairchild to almost forget, for the moment, the horrors of the ordeal which he was undergoing. it was a paragraph leading the "personal" column of the small, amateurish sheet, announcing the engagement of miss anita natalie richmond to mr. maurice rodaine, the wedding to come "probably in the late fall!" chapter xv fairchild did not show the item to harry. there was little that it could accomplish, and besides, he felt that his comrade had enough to think about. the unexpected turn of the coroner's inquest had added to the heavy weight of harry's troubles; it meant the probability in the future of a grand jury investigation and the possible indictment as accessory after the fact in the murder of "sissie" larsen. not that fairchild had been influenced in the slightest by the testimony of crazy laura; the presence of squint rodaine and his son had shown too plainly that they were connected in some way with it, that, in fact, they were responsible. an opportunity had arisen for them, and they had seized upon it. more, there came the shrewd opinion of old mother howard, once fairchild and harry had reached the boarding house and gathered in the parlor for their consultation: "ain't it what i said right in the beginning?" the gray-haired woman asked. "she 'll kill for that man, if necessary. it was n't as hard as you think--all squint rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she went on the stand and lied her head off." "but for a crazy woman--" "laura's crazy--and she ain't crazy. i 've seen that woman as sensible and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath. then again, i 've seen her when i would n't get within fifty miles of her. sometimes she 's pitiful to me; and then again i 've got to remember the fact that she 's a dangerous woman. goodness only knows what would happen to a person who fell into her clutches when she 's got one of those immortality streaks on." "one of those what?" harry looked up in surprise. "immortality. that's why you 'll find her sneaking around graveyards at night, gathering herbs and taking them to that old house on the georgeville road, where she lives, and brewing them into some sort of concoction that she sprinkles on the graves. she believes that it's a sure system of bringing immortality to a person. poison--that's about what it is." harry shrugged his shoulders. "poison 's what she is!" he exclaimed. "ain't it enough that i 'm accused of every crime in the calendar without 'er getting me mixed up in a murder? and--" this time he looked at fairchild with dolorous eyes--"'ow 're we going to furnish bond this time, if the grand jury indicts me?" "i 'm afraid there won't be any." mother howard set her lips for a minute, then straightened proudly. "well, i guess there will! they can't charge you a million dollars on a thing like that. it's bondable--and i guess i 've got a few things that are worth something--and a few friends that i can go to. i don't see why i should be left out of everything, just because i 'm a woman!" "lor' love you!" harry grinned, his eyes showing plainly that the world was again good for him and that his troubles, as far as a few slight charges of penitentiary offenses were concerned, amounted to very little in his estimation. harry had a habit of living just for the day. and the support of mother howard had wiped out all future difficulties for him. the fact that convictions might await him and that the heavy doors at cañon city might yawn for him made little difference right now. behind the great bulwark of his mustache, his big lips spread in a happy announcement of joy, and the world was good. silently, robert fairchild rose and left the parlor for his own room. some way he could not force himself to shed his difficulties in the same light, airy way as harry. he wanted to be alone, alone where he could take stock of the obstacles which had arisen in his path, of the unexplainable difficulties and tribulations which had come upon him, one trailing the other, ever since he had read the letter left for him by his father. and it was a stock-taking of disappointing proportions. looking back, fairchild could see now that his dreams had led only to catastrophes. the bright vista which had been his that day he sat swinging his legs over the tailboard of the truck as it ground up mount lookout had changed to a thing of gloomy clouds and of ominous futures. nothing had gone right. from the very beginning, there had been only trouble, only fighting, fighting, fighting against insurmountable odds, which seemed to throw him ever deeper into the mire of defeat, with every onslaught. he had met a girl whom he had instinctively liked, only to find a mystery about her which could not be fathomed. he had furthered his acquaintance with her, only to bring about a condition where now she passed him on the street without speaking and which, he felt, had instigated that tiny notice in the _bugle_, telling of her probable marriage in the late autumn to a man he detested as a cad and as an enemy. he had tried his best to follow the lure of silver; if silver existed in the blue poppy mine, he had labored against the powers of nature, only to be the unwilling cause of a charge of murder against his father. and more, it was clear, cruelly clear, that if it had not been for his own efforts and those of a man who had come to help him, the skeleton of sissie larsen never would have been discovered, and the name of thornton fairchild might have gone on in the peace which the white-haired, frightened man had sought. but now there was no choosing. robert was the son of a murderer. six men had stamped that upon him in the basement of the courthouse that night. his funds were low, growing lower every day, and there was little possibility of rehabilitating them until the trial of harry should come, and fate should be kind enough to order an acquittal, releasing the products from escrow. in case of a conviction, fairchild could see only disaster. true, the optimistic farrell had spoken of a supreme court reversal of any verdict against his partner, but that would avail little as far as the mine was concerned. it must still remain in escrow as the bond of harry until the case was decided, and that might mean years. and one cannot borrow money upon a thing that is mortgaged in its entirety to a commonwealth. in the aggregate, the outlook was far from pleasant. the rodaines had played with stacked cards, and so far every hand had been theirs. fairchild's credit, and his standing, was ruined. he had been stamped by the coroner's jury as the son of a murderer, and that mark must remain upon him until it could be cleared by forces now imperceptible to fairchild. his partner was under bond, accused of four crimes. the rodaines had won a victory, perhaps greater than they knew. they had succeeded in soiling the reputations of the two men they called enemies, damaging them to such an extent that they must henceforth fight at a disadvantage, without the benefit of a solid ground of character upon which to stand. fairchild suddenly realized that he was all but whipped, that the psychological advantage was all on the side of squint rodaine, his son, and the crazy woman who did their bidding. more, another hope had gone glimmering; even had the announcement not come forth that anita richmond had given her promise to marry maurice rodaine, the action of a coroner's jury that night had removed her from hope forever. a son of a man who has been called a slayer has little right to love a woman, even if that woman has a bit of mystery about her. all things can be explained--but murder! it was growing late, but fairchild did not seek bed. instead he sat by the window, staring out at the shadows of the mountains, out at the free, pure night, and yet at nothing. after a long time, the door opened, and a big form entered--harry--to stand silent a moment, then to come forward and lay a hand on the other man's shoulder. "don't let it get you, boy," he said softly--for him. "it's going to come out all right. everything comes out all right--if you ain't wrong yourself." "i know, harry. but it's an awful tangle right now." "sure it is. but it ain't as if a sane person 'ad said it against you. there 'll never be anything more to that; farrell 'll 'ave 'er adjudged insane if it ever comes to anything like that. she 'll never give no more testimony. i 've been talking with 'im--'e stopped in just after you came upstairs. it's only a crazy woman." "but they took her word for it, harry. they believed her. and they gave the verdict--against my father!" "i know. i was there, right beside you. i 'eard it. but it 'll come out right, some way." there was a moment of silence, then a gripping fear at the heart of fairchild. "just how crazy is she, harry?" "'er? plumb daft! of course, as mother 'oward says, there 's times when she 's straight--but they don't last long. and, if she 'd given 'er testimony in writing, mother 'oward says it all might 'ave been different, and we 'd not 'ave 'ad anything to worry about." "in writing?" "yes, she 's 'arfway sane then. it seems 'er mind 's disconnected, some wye. i don't know 'ow--mother 'oward 's got the 'ole lingo, and everybody in town knows about it. whenever anybody wants to get anything real straight from crazy laura, they make 'er write it. that part of 'er brain seems all right. she remembers everything she does then and 'ow crazy it is, and tells you all about it." "but why did n't farrell insist upon that tonight?" "'e could n't have gotten 'er to do it. and nobody can get 'er to do it as long has squint's around--so mother 'oward says. 'e 's got a influence about 'im. and she does exactly what 'e 'll sye--all 'e 's got to do is to look at 'er. notice 'ow flustered up she got when the coroner asked 'er about that book?" "i wonder what it would really tell?" harry chuckled. "nobody knows. nobody 's ever seen it. not even squint rodaine. that's the one thing she 's got the strength to keep from 'im--i guess it's a part of 'er right brain that tells 'er to keep it a secret! i 'm going to bed now. so 're you. and you 're going to sleep. good night." he went out of the room then, and fairchild, obedient to the big cornishman's command, sought rest. but it was a hard struggle. morning came, and he joined harry at breakfast, facing the curious glances of the other boarders, staving off their inquiries and their illy couched consolations. for, in spite of the fact that it was not voiced in so many words, the conviction was present that crazy laura had told at least a semblance of the truth, and that the dovetailing incidents of the past fitted into a well-connected story for which there must be some foundation. moreover, in the corner were blindeye bozeman and taylor bill, hurrying through their breakfast that they might go to their work in the silver queen, squint rodaine's mine, less than a furlong from the ill-boding blue poppy. fairchild could see that they were talking about him, their eyes turned often in his direction; once taylor bill nodded and sneered as he answered some remark of his companion. the blood went hot in fairchild's brain. he rose from the table, hands clenched, muscles tensed, only to find himself drawn back by the strong grasp of harry. the big cornishman whispered to him as he took his seat again: "it 'll only make more trouble. i know 'ow you feel--but 'old in. 'old in!" it was an admonition which fairchild was forced to repeat to himself more than once that morning as he walked uptown with harry, to face the gaze of the street loafers, to be plied with questions, and to strive his best to fence away from them. there were those who were plainly curious; there were others who professed not to believe the testimony and who talked loudly of action against the coroner for having introduced the evidence of a woman known by every one to be lacking in balanced mentality. there were others who, by their remarks, showed that they were concealing the real truth of their thoughts and only using a cloak of interest to guide them to other food for the carrion proclivities of their minds. to all of them fairchild and harry made the same reply: that they had nothing to say, that they had given all the information possible on the witness stand during the inquest, and that there was nothing further forthcoming. and it was while he made this statement for the hundredth time that fairchild saw anita richmond going to the post-office with the rest of the usual crowd, following the arrival of the morning train. again she passed him without speaking, but her glance did not seem so cold as it had been on the morning that he had seen her with rodaine, nor did the lack of recognition appear as easily simulated. that she knew what had happened and the charge that had been made against his father, fairchild did not doubt. that she knew he had read the "personal" in the _bugle_ was as easily determined. between them was a gulf--caused by what fairchild could only guess--a gulf which he could not essay to cross, and which she, for some reason, would not. but there was nothing that could stop him from watching her, with hungry eyes which followed her until she had disappeared in the doorway of the post-office, eyes which believed they detected a listlessness in her walk and a slight droop to the usually erect little shoulders, eyes which were sure of one thing: that the smile was gone from the lips, that upon her features were the lines and hollows of sleeplessness, and the unmistakable lack of luster and color which told him that she was not happy. even the masculine mentality of fairchild could discern that. but it could not answer the question which the decision brought. she had become engaged to a man whom she had given evidence of hating. she had refused to recognize fairchild, whom she had appeared to like. she had cast her lot with the rodaines--and she was unhappy. beyond that, everything was blank to fairchild. an hour later harry, wandering by the younger man's side, strove for words and at last uttered them. "i know it's disagreeable," came finally. "but it's necessary. you 'ave n't quit?" "quit what?" "the mine. you 're going to keep on, ain't you?" fairchild gritted his teeth and was silent. the answer needed strength. finally it came. "harry, are you with me?" "i ain't stopped yet!" "then that's the answer. as long as there 's a bit of fight left in us, we 'll keep at that mine. i don't know where it's going to lead us--but from appearances as they stand now, the only outlook seems to be ruin. but if you 're willing, i 'm willing, and we 'll make the scrap together." harry hitched at his trousers. "they 've got that blooming skeleton out by this time. i 'm willing to start--any time you say." the breath went over fairchild's teeth in a long, slow intake. he clenched his hands and held them trembling before him for a lengthy moment. then he turned to his partner. "give me an hour," he begged. "i 'll go then--but it takes a little grit to--" "who's fairchild here?" a messenger boy was making his way along the curb with a telegram. robert stretched forth a hand in surprise. "i am. why?" the answer came as the boy shoved forth the yellow envelope and the delivery sheet. fairchild signed, then somewhat dazedly ran a finger under the slit of the envelope. then, wondering, he read: please come to denver at once. have most important information for you. r. v. barnham, h & r building. a moment of staring, then fairchild passed the telegram over to harry for his opinion. there was none. together they went across the street and to the office of farrell, their attorney. he studied the telegram long. then: "i can't see what on earth it means, unless there is some information about this skeleton or the inquest. if i were you, i 'd go." "but supposing it's some sort of a trap?" "no matter what it is, go and let the other fellow do all the talking. listen to what he has to say and tell him nothing. that's the only safe system. i 'd go down on the noon train--that 'll get you there about two. you can be back by : to-morrow." "no 'e can't," it was harry's interruption as he grasped a pencil and paper. "i 've got a list of things a mile long for 'im to get. we're going after this mine 'ammer and tongs now!" when noon came, robert fairchild, with his mysterious telegram, boarded the train for denver, while in his pocket was a list demanding the outlay of nearly a thousand dollars: supplies of fuses, of dynamite, of drills, of a forge, of single and double jack sledges, of fulminate caps,--a little of everything that would be needed in the months to come, if he and 'arry were to work the mine. it was only a beginning, a small quantity of each article needed, part of which could be picked up in the junk yards at a reasonable figure, other things that would eat quickly into the estimate placed upon the total. and with a capital already dwindling, it meant an expenditure which hurt, but which was necessary, nevertheless. slow, puffing and wheezing, the train made its way along clear creek cañon, crawled across the newly built trestle which had been erected to take the place of that which had gone out with the spring flood of the milky creek, then jangled into denver. fairchild hurried uptown, found the old building to which he had been directed by the telegram, and made the upward trip in the ancient elevator, at last to knock upon a door. a half-whining voice answered him, and he went within. a greasy man was there, greasy in his fat, uninviting features, in his seemingly well-oiled hands as they circled in constant kneading, in his long, straggling hair, in his old, spotted prince albert--and in his manners. fairchild turned to peer at the glass panel of the door. it bore the name he sought. then he looked again at the oily being who awaited him. "mr. barnham?" "that's what i 'm called." he wheezed with the self-implied humor of his remark and motioned toward a chair. "may i ask what you 've come to see me about?" "i have n't the slightest idea. you sent for me." fairchild produced the telegram, and the greasy person who had taken a position on the other side of a worn, walnut table became immediately obsequious. "of course! of course! mr. fairchild! why did n't you say so when you came in? of course--i 've been looking for you all day. may i offer you a cigar?" he dragged a box of domestic perfectos from a drawer of the table and struck a match to light one for fairchild. he hastily summoned an ash tray from the little room which adjoined the main, more barren office. then with a bustling air of urgent business he hurried to both doors and locked them. "so that we may not be disturbed," he confided in that high, whining voice. "i am hoping that this is very important." "i also." fairchild puffed dubiously upon the more dubious cigar. the greasy individual returned to his table, dragged the chair nearer it, then, seating himself, leaned toward fairchild. "if i 'm not mistaken, you 're the owner of the blue poppy mine." "i 'm supposed to be." "of course--of course. one never knows in these days what he owns or when he owns it. very good, i 'd say, mr. fairchild, very good. could you possibly do me the favor of telling me how you 're getting along?" fairchild's eyes narrowed. "i thought you had information--for me!" "very good again." mr. barnham raised a fat hand and wheezed in an effort at intense enjoyment of the reply. "so i have--so i have. i merely asked that to be asking. now, to be serious, have n't you some enemies, mr. fairchild?" "have i?" "i was merely asking." "and i judged from your question that you seemed to know." "so i do. and one friend." barnham pursed his heavy lips and nodded in an authoritative manner. "one, very, very good friend." "i was hoping that i had more than that." "ah, perhaps so. but i speak only from what i know. there is one person who is very anxious about your welfare." "so?" mr. barnham leaned forward in an exceedingly friendly manner. "well, is n't there?" fairchild squared away from the table. "mr. barnham," came coldly; the inherent distrust for the greasy, uninviting individual having swerved to the surface. "you wired me that you had some very important news for me. i came down here expressly because of that wire. now that i 'm here, your mission seems to be wholly taken up in drawing from me any information that i happen to possess about myself. plainly and frankly, i don't like it, and i don't like you--and unless you can produce a great deal more than you have already, i 'll have to chalk up the expense to a piece of bad judgment and go on about my business." he started to rise, and barnham scrambled to his feet. "please don't," he begged, thrusting forth a fat hand, "please, please don't. this is a very important matter. one--one has to be careful in going about a thing as important as this is. the person is in a very peculiar position." "but i 'm tired of the way you beat around the bush. you tell me some meager scrap of filmy news and then ask me a dozen questions. as i told you before, i don't like it--and i 'm just about at the point where i don't care what information you have!" "but just be patient a moment--i 'm coming to it. suppose--" then he cupped his hands and stared hard at the ceiling, "suppose that i told you that there was some one who was willing to see you through all your troubles, who had arranged everything for you, and all you had to do would be to say the word to find yourself in the midst of comfort and riches?" chapter xvi fairchild blinked in surprise at this and sank back into his chair. finally he laughed uneasily and puffed again on the dubious cigar. "i 'd say," came finally, "that there is n't any such animal." "but there is. she has--" then he stopped, as though to cover the slip. fairchild leaned forward. "she?" mr. barnham gave the appearance of a very flustered man. "my tongue got away from me; i should n't have said it. i really should n't have said it. if she ever finds it out, it will mean trouble for me. but truly," and he beamed, "you are such a tough customer to deal with and so suspicious--no offense meant, of course--that i really was forced to it. i--feel sure she will forgive me." "whom do you mean by 'she'?" mr. barnham smiled in a knowing manner. "you and i both know," came his cryptic answer. "she is your one great, good friend. she thinks a great deal of you, and you have done several things to cause that admiration. now, mr. fairchild, coming to the point, suppose she should point a way out of your troubles?" "how?" "in the first place, you and your partner are in very great difficulties." "are we?" fairchild said it sarcastically. "indeed you are, and there is no need of attempting to conceal the fact. your friend, whose name must remain a secret, does not love you--don't ever think that--but--" then he hesitated as though to watch the effect on fairchild's face. there was none; robert had masked it. in time the words went on: "but she does think enough of you to want to make you happy. she has recently done a thing which gives her a great deal of power in one direction. in another, she has connections who possess vast money powers and who are looking for an opening here in the west. now,--" he made a church steeple out of his fingers and leaned back in his chair, staring vacuously at the ceiling, "if you will say the word and do a thing which will relieve her of a great deal of embarrassment, i am sure that she can so arrange things that life will be very easy for you henceforth." "i 'm becoming interested." "in the first place, she is engaged to be married to a very fine young man. you, of course, may say differently, and i do not know--i am only taking her word for it. but--if i understand it, your presence in ohadi has caused a few disagreements between them and--well, you know how willful and headstrong girls will be. i believe she has committed a few--er--indiscretions with you." "that's a lie!" fairchild's temper got away from him and his fist banged on the table. "that's a lie and you know it!" "pardon me--er--pardon me! i made use of a word that can have many meanings, and i am sure that in using it, i did n't place the same construction that you did in hearing it. but let that pass. i apologize. what i should have said was that, if you will pardon me, she used you, as young women will do, as a foil against her fiancé in a time of petty quarreling between them. is that plainer?" it was too plain to fairchild. it hurt. but he nodded his head and the other man went on. "now the thing has progressed to a place where you may be--well--what one might call the thorn in the side of their happiness. you are the 'other man', as it were, to cause quarrels and that sort of thing. and she feels that she has not done rightly by you, and, through her friendship and a desire to see peace all around, believes she can arrange matters to suit all concerned. to be plain and blunt, mr. fairchild, you are not in an enviable position. i said that i had information for you, and i 'm going to give it. you are trying to work a mine. that demands capital. you have n't got it and there is no way for you to procure it. to get capital, one must have standing--and you must admit that you are lacking to a great extent in that very necessary ingredient. in the first place, your mine is in escrow, being held in court in lieu of five thousand dollars bond on--" "you seem to have been making a few inquiries?" "not at all. i never heard of the proposition before she brought it to me. as i say, the deeds to your mine are held in escrow. your partner now is accused of four crimes and will go to trial on them in the fall. it is almost certain that he will be convicted on at least one of the charges. that would mean that the deeds to the mine must remain in jurisdiction of the court in lieu of a cash bond while the case goes to the supreme court. otherwise, you must yield over your partner to go to jail. in either event, the result would not be satisfactory. for yourself, i dare say that a person whose father is supposed to have committed a murder--not that i say he did it, understand--hardly could establish sufficient standing to borrow the money to proceed on an undertaking which requires capital. therefore, i should say that you were in somewhat of a predicament. now--" a long wait and then, "please take this as only coming from a spokesman: my client is in a position to use her good offices to change the viewpoint of the man who is the chief witness against your partner. she also is in a position to use those same good offices in another direction, so that there might never be a grand jury investigation of the finding of a certain body or skeleton, or something of the kind, in your mine--which, if you will remember, brought about a very disagreeable situation. and through her very good connections in another way, she is able to relieve you of all your financial embarrassment and procure for you from a certain eastern syndicate, the members of which i am not at liberty to name, an offer of $ , for your mine. all that is necessary for you to do is to say the word." fairchild leaned forward. "and of course," he said caustically, "the name of this mysterious feminine friend must be a secret?" "certainly. no mention of this transaction must be made to her directly, or indirectly. those are my specific instructions. now, mr. fairchild, that seems to me to be a wonderful offer. and it--" "do you want my answer now?" "at any time when you have given the matter sufficient thought." "that's been accomplished already. and there 's no need of waiting. i want to thank you exceedingly for your offer, and to tell you--that you can go straight to hell!" and without looking back to see the result of his ultimatum, fairchild rose, strode to the door, unlocked it, and stamped down the hall. he had taken snap judgment, but in his heart, he felt that he was right. what was more, he was as sure as he was sure of life itself that anita richmond had not arranged the interview and did not even know of it. one streaking name was flitting through fairchild's brain and causing it to seethe with anger. cleverly concealed though the plan might have been, nicely arranged and carefully planted, to robert fairchild it all stood out plainly and clearly--the rodaines! and yet why? that one little word halted fairchild as he left the elevator. why should the rodaines be willing to free him from all the troubles into which his mining ventures had taken him, start him out into the world and give him a fortune with which to make his way forward? why? what did they know about the blue poppy mine, when neither he nor harry had any idea of what the future might hold for them there? certainly they could not have investigated in the years that were gone; the cave-in precluded that. there was no other tunnel, no other means of determining the riches which might be hidden within the confines of the blue poppy claims, yet it was evident. that day in court rodaine had said that the blue poppy was a good property and that it was worth every cent of the value which had been placed on it. how did he know? and why--? at least one answer to rodaine's action came to him. it was simple now to see why the scar-faced man had put a good valuation on the mine during the court procedure and apparently helped fairchild out in a difficulty. in fact, there were several reasons for it. in the first place, the tying up of the mine by placing it in the care of a court would mean just that many more difficulties for fairchild, and it would mean that the mine would be placed in a position where work could be hampered for years if a first conviction could be obtained. further, rodaine could see that if by any chance the bond should be forfeited, it would be an easy matter for the claims to be purchased cheap at a public sale by any one who desired them and who had the inside information of what they were worth. and evidently rodaine and rodaine alone possessed that knowledge. it was late now. fairchild went to a junk yard or two, searching for the materials which harry had ordered, and failed to find them. then he sought a hotel, once more to struggle with the problems which the interview with barnham had created and to cringe at a thought which arose like a ghost before him: suppose that it had been anita richmond after all who had arranged this? it was logical in a way. maurice rodaine was the one man who could give direct evidence against harry as the man who had held up the old times dance, and anita now was engaged to marry him. judge richmond had been a friend of thornton fairchild; could it have been possible that this friendship might have entailed the telling of secrets which had not been related to any one else? the matter of the finding of the skeleton could be handled easily, fairchild saw, through maurice rodaine. one word from him to his father could change the story of crazy laura and make it, on the second telling, only the maundering tale of an insane, herb-gathering woman. anita could have arranged it, and anita might have arranged it. fairchild wished now that he could recall his words, that he could have held his temper and by some sort of strategy arranged matters so that the offer might have come more directly--from anita herself. yet, why should she have gone through this procedure to reach him? why had she not gone to farrell with the proposition--to a man whom she knew fairchild trusted, instead of to a greasy, hand rubbing shyster? and besides-- but the question was past answering now. fairchild had made his decision, and he had told the lawyer where to go. if, at the same time, he had relegated the woman who had awakened affection in his heart, only to have circumstances do their best to stamp it out again, to the same place,--well, that had been done, too, and there was no recalling of it now. but one thing was certain: the blue poppy mine was worth money. somewhere in that beetling hill awaited wealth, and if determination counted for anything, if force of will and force of muscle were worth only a part of their accepted value, fairchild meant to find it. once before an offer had come, and now that he thought of it, fairchild felt almost certain that it had been from the same source. that was for fifty thousand dollars. why should the value have now jumped to four times its original figures? it was more than the adventurer could encompass; he sought to dismiss it all, went to a picture show, then trudged back to his hotel and to sleep. the next day found him still striving to put the problem away from him as he went about the various errands outlined by harry. a day after that, then the puffing, snorting, narrow-gauged train took him again through clear creek cañon and back to ohadi. the station was strangely deserted. none of the usual loungers were there. none of the loiterers who, watch in hand, awaited the arrival and departure of the puffing train as though it were a matter of personal concern. only the bawling 'bus man for the hotel, the station agent wrestling with a trunk or two,--that was all. fairchild looked about him in surprise, then approached the agent. "what's happened? where 's everybody?" "up on the hill." "something happened?" "a lot. from what i hear it's a strike that's going to put ohadi on the map again." "who made it?" "don't know. some fellow came running down here an hour or so ago and said there 'd been a tremendous strike made on the hill, and everybody beat it up there." fairchild went on, to turn into a deserted street,--a street where the doors of the stores had been left open and the owners gone. everywhere it was the same; it was as if ohadi suddenly had been struck by some catastrophe which had wiped out the whole population. only now and then a human being appeared, a few persons left behind at the banks, but that was about all. then from far away, up the street leading from kentucky gulch, came the sound of cheering and shouting. soon a crowd appeared, led by gesticulating, vociferous men, who veered suddenly into the ohadi bank at the corner, leaving the multitude without for a moment, only to return, their hands full of gold certificates, which they stuck into their hats, punched through their buttonholes, stuffed into their pockets, allowing them to hang half out, and even jammed down the collars of their rough shirts, making outstanding decorations of currency about their necks. on they came, closer--closer, and then fairchild gritted his teeth. there were four of them leading the parade, displaying the wealth that stood for the bonanza of the silver strike they had just made, four men whose names were gall and wormwood to robert fairchild. blindeye bozeman and taylor bill were two of them. the others were squint and maurice rodaine! chapter xvii had it been any one else, fairchild would have shouted for happiness and joined the parade. as it was, he stood far at one side, a silent, grim figure, watching the miners and townspeople passing before him, leaping about in their happiness, calling to him the news that he did not want to hear: the silver queen had "hit." the faith of squint rodaine, maintained through the years, had shown his perspicacity. it was there; he always had said it was there, and now the strike had been made at last, lead-silver ore, running as high as two hundred dollars a ton. and just like squint--so some one informed fairchild--he had kept it a secret until the assays all had been made and the first shipments started to denver. it meant everything for ohadi; it meant that mining would boom now, that soon the hills would be clustered with prospectors, and that the little town would blossom as a result of possessing one of the rich silver mines of the state. some one tossed to fairchild a small piece of ore which had been taken from a car at the mouth of the mine; and even to his uninitiated eyes it was apparent,--the heavy lead, bearing in spots the thin filagree of white metal--and silver ore must be more than rich to make a showing in any kind of sample. he felt cheap. he felt defeated. he felt small and mean not to be able to join the celebration. squint and maurice rodaine possessed the silver queen; that they, of all persons, should be the fortunate ones was bitter and hard to accept. why should they, of every one in ohadi, be the lucky men to find a silver bonanza, that they might flaunt it before him, that they might increase their standing in the community, that they might raise themselves to a pedestal in the eyes of every one and thereby rally about them the whole town in any difficulty which might arise in the future? it hurt fairchild, it sickened him. he saw now that his enemies were more powerful than ever. and for a moment he almost wished that he had yielded down there in denver, that he had not given the ultimatum to the greasy barnham, that he had accepted the offer made him,--and gone on, out of the fight forever. anita! what would it mean to her? already engaged, already having given her answer to maurice rodaine, this now would be an added incentive for her to follow her promise. it would mean a possibility of further argument with her father, already too weak from illness to find the means of evading the insidious pleas of the two men who had taken his money and made him virtually their slave. could they not demonstrate to him now that they always had worked for his best interests? and could not that plea go even farther--to anita herself--to persuade her that they were always laboring for her, that they had striven for this thing that it might mean happiness for her and for her father? and then, could they not content themselves with promises, holding before her a rainbow of the far-away, to lead her into their power, just as they had led the stricken, bedridden man she called "father"? the future looked black for robert fairchild. slowly he walked past the happy, shouting crowd and turned up kentucky gulch toward the ill-fated blue poppy. the tunnel opening looked more forlorn than ever when he sighted it, a bleak, staring, single eye which seemed to brood over its own misfortunes, a dead, hopeless thing which never had brought anything but disappointment. a choking came into fairchild's throat. he entered the tunnel slowly, ploddingly; with lagging muscles he hauled up the bucket which told of harry's presence below, then slowly lowered himself into the recesses of the shaft and to the drift leading to the stope, where only a few days before they had found that gaunt, whitened, haunting thing which had brought with it a new misfortune. a light gleamed ahead, and the sound of a single jack hammering on the end of a drill could be heard. fairchild called and went forward, to find harry, grimy and sweating, pounding away at a narrow streak of black formation which centered in the top of the stope. "it's the vein," he announced, after he had greeted fairchild, "and it don't look like it's going to amount to much!" "no?" harry withdrew the drill from the hole he was making and mopped his forehead. "it ain't a world-beater," came disconsolately. "i doubt whether it 'll run more 'n twenty dollars to the ton, the wye smelting prices 'ave gone up! and there ain't much money in that. what 'appened in denver?" "another frame-up by the rodaines to get the mine away from us. it was a lawyer. he stalled that the offer had been made to us by miss richmond." "how much?" "two hundred thousand dollars and us to get out of all the troubles we are in." "and you took it, of course?" "i did not!" "no?" harry mopped his forehead again. "well, maybe you 're right. maybe you 're wrong. but whatever you did--well, that's just the thing i would 'ave done." "thanks, harry." "only--" and harry was staring lugubriously at the vein above him, "it's going to take us a long time to get two hundred thousand dollars out of things the wye they stand now." "but--" "i know what you're thinking--that there's silver 'ere and that we 're going to find it. maybe so. i know your father wrote some pretty glowing accounts back to beamish in st. louis. it looked awful good then. then it started to pinch out, and now--well, it don't look so good." "but this is the same vein, is n't it?" "i don't know. i guess it is. but it's pinching fast. it was about this wye when we first started on it. it was n't worth much and it was n't very wide. then, all of a sudden, it broadened out, and there was a lot more silver in it. we thought we 'd found a bonanza. but it narrowed down again, and the old standard came back. i don't know what it's going to do now--it may quit altogether." "but we 're going to keep at it, harry, sink or swim." "you know it!" "the rodaines have hit--maybe we can have some good luck too." "the rodaines?" harry stared. "'it what?" "two hundred dollar a ton ore!" a long whistle. then harry, who had been balancing a single jack, preparatory to going back to his work, threw it aside and began to roll down his sleeves. "we 're going to 'ave a look at it." "a look? what good would it--?" "a cat can look at a king," said harry. "they can't arrest us for going up there like everybody else." "but to go there and ask them to look at their riches--" "there ain't no law against it!" he reached for his carbide lamp, hooked to a small chink of the hanging wall, and then pulled his hat over his bulging forehead. carefully he attempted to smooth his straying mustache, and failing, as always, gave up the job. "i 'd be 'appy, just to look at it," he announced. "come on. let's forget 'oo they are and just be lookers-on." fairchild agreed against his will. out of the shaft they went and on up the hill to where the townspeople again were gathering about the opening of the silver queen. a few were going in. fairchild and 'arry joined them. a long walk, stooping most of the way, as the progress was made through the narrow, low-roofed tunnel; then a slight raise which traveled for a fair distance at an easy grade--at last to stop; and there before them, jammed between the rock, was the strike, a great, heavy streaking vein, nearly six feet wide, in which the ore stuck forth in tremendous chunks, embedded in a black background. harry eyed it studiously. "you can see the silver sticking out!" he announced at last. "it's wonderful--even if the rodaines did do it." a form brushed past them, blindeye bozeman, returning from the celebration. picking up a drill, he studied it with care, finally to lay it aside and reach for a gad, a sort of sharp, pointed prod, with which to tear away the loose matter that he might prepare the way for the biting drive of the drill beneath the five-pound hammer, or single jack. his weak, watery eyes centered on harry, and he grinned. "didn't believe it, huh?" came his query. harry pawed his mustache. "i believed it, all right, but anybody likes to look at the united states mint!" "you 've said it. she 's going to be more than that when we get a few portable air compressors in here and start at this thing in earnest with pneumatic drills. what's more, the old man has declared taylor bill and me in on it--for a ten per cent. bonus. how's that sound to you?" "like 'eaven," answered harry truthfully. "come on, boy, let's us get out of 'ere. i 'll be getting the blind staggers if i stay much longer." fairchild accompanied him wordlessly. it was as though fate had played a deliberate trick, that it might laugh at him. and as he walked along, he wondered more than ever about the mysterious telegram and the mysterious conversation of the greasy barnham in denver. that--as he saw it now--had been only an attempt at another trick. suppose that he had accepted; suppose that he had signified his willingness to sell his mine and accept the good offices of the "secret friend" to end his difficulties. what would have been the result? for once a ray of cheer came to him. the rodaines had known of this strike long before he ever went to that office in denver. they had waited long enough to have their assays made and had completed their first shipment to the smelter. there was no necessity that they buy the blue poppy mine. therefore, was it simply another trick to break him, to lead him up to a point of high expectations, then, with a laugh at his disappointment, throw him down again? his shoulders straightened as they reached the outside air, and he moved close to harry as he told him his conjectures. the cornishman bobbed his head. "i never thought of it that way!" he agreed. "but it could explain a lot of things. they 're working on our--what-you-call-it?" "psychological resistance." "that's it. psych--that's it. they want to beat us and they don't care 'ow. it 'urts a person to be disappointed. that's it. i alwyes said you 'ad a good 'ead on you! that's it. let's go back to the blue poppy." back they went, once more to descend the shaft, once more to follow the trail along the drift toward the opening of the stope. and there, where loose earth covered the place where a skeleton once had rested, fairchild took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. "harry," he said, with a new determination, "this vein does n't look like much, and the mine looks worse. from the viewpoint we 've got now of the rodaine plans, there may not be a cent in it. but if you're game, i'm game, and we'll work the thing until it breaks us." "you 've said it. if we 'it anything, fine and well--if we can turn out five thousand dollars' worth of stuff before the trial comes up, then we can sell hit under the direction of the court, turn over that money for a cash bond, and get the deeds back. if we can't, and if the mine peters out, then we ain't lost anything but a lot of 'opes and time. but 'ere goes. we 'll double-jack. i 've got a big 'ammer 'ere. you 'old the drill for awhile and turn it, while i sling th' sledge. then you take th' 'ammer and lor' 'ave mercy on my 'ands if you miss." fairchild obeyed. they began the drilling of the first indentation into the six-inch vein which lay before them. hour after hour they worked, changing positions, sending hole after hole into the narrow discoloration which showed their only prospect of returns for the investments which they had put into the mine. then, as the afternoon grew late, harry disappeared far down the drift to return with a handful of greasy, candle-like things, wrapped in waxed paper. "i knew that dynamite of yours could n't be shipped in time, so i bought a little up 'ere," he explained, as he cut one of the sticks in two with a pocketknife and laid the pieces to one side. then out came a coil of fuse, to be cut to its regular lengths and inserted in the copper-covered caps of fulminate of mercury, harry showing his contempt for the dangerous things by crimping them about the fuse with his teeth, while fairchild, sitting on a small pile of muck near by, begged for caution. but harry only grinned behind his big mustache and went on. out came his pocketknife again as he slit the waxed paper of the gelatinous sticks, then inserted the cap in the dynamite. one after another the charges were shoved into the holes, harry tamping them into place with a steel rod, instead of with the usual wooden affair, his mustache brushing his shoulder as he turned to explain the virtues of dynamite when handled by an expert. "it's all in the wye you do it," he announced. "if you don't strike fire with a steel rod, it's fine." "but if you do?" "oh, then!" harry laughed. "then it's flowers and a funeral--after they 've finished picking you up." one after another he pressed the dynamite charges tight into the drill holes and tamped them with muck wrapped in a newspaper that he dragged from his hip pocket. then he lit the fuses from his lamp and stood a second in assurance that they all were spluttering. "now we run!" he announced, and they hurried, side by side, down the drift tunnel until they reached the shaft. "far enough," said harry. a long moment of waiting. then the earth quivered and a muffled, booming roar came from the distance. harry stared at his carbide lamp. "one," he announced. then, "two." three, four and five followed, all counted seriously, carefully by harry. finally they turned back along the drift toward the stope, the acrid odor of dynamite smoke-cutting at their nostrils as they approached the spot where the explosions had occurred. there harry stood in silent contemplation for a long time, holding his carbide over the pile of ore that had been torn from the vein above. "it ain't much," came at last. "not more 'n 'arf a ton. we won't get rich at that rate. and besides--" he looked upward--"we ain't even going to be getting that pretty soon. it's pinching out." fairchild followed his gaze, to see in the torn rock above him only a narrow streak now, fully an inch and a half narrower than the vein had been before the powder holes had been drilled. it could mean only one thing: that the bet had been played and lost, that the vein had been one of those freak affairs that start out with much promise, seem to give hope of eternal riches, and then gradually dwindle to nothing. harry shook his head. "it won't last." "not more than two or three more shots," fairchild agreed. "you can't tell about that. it may run that way all through the mountain--but what's a four-inch vein? you can go up 'ere in the argonaut tunnel and find 'arf a dozen of them things that they don't even take the trouble to mine. that is, unless they run 'igh in silver--" he picked up a chunk of the ore from the muck pile where it had been deposited and studied it intently--"but i don't see any pure silver sticking out in this stuff." "but it must be here somewhere. i don't know anything about mining--but don't veins sometimes pinch off and then show up later on?" "sure they do--sometimes. but it's a gamble." "that's all we 've had from the beginning, harry." "and it's about all we 're going to 'ave any time unless something bobs up sudden like." then, by common consent, they laid away their working clothes and left the mine, to wander dejectedly down the gulch and to the boarding house. after dinner they chatted a moment with mother howard, neglecting to tell her, however, of the downfall of their hopes, then went upstairs, each to his room. an hour later harry knocked at fairchild's door, and entered, the evening paper in his hand. "'ere 's something more that's nice," he announced, pointing to an item on the front page. it was the announcement that a general grand jury was to be convened late in the summer and that one of its tasks probably would be to seek to unravel the mystery of the murder of sissie larsen! fairchild read it with morbidity. trouble seemed to have become more than occasional, and further than that, it appeared to descend upon him at just the times when he could least resist it. he made no comment; there was little that he could say. again he read the item and again, finally to turn the page and breathe sharply. before him was a six-column advertisement, announcing the strike in the silver queen mine and also spreading the word that a two-million-dollar company would be formed, one million in stock to represent the mine itself, the other to be subscribed to exploit this new find as it should be exploited. glowing words told of the possibilities of the silver queen, the assayer's report was reproduced on a special cut which evidently had been made in denver and sent to ohadi by rush delivery. offices had been opened; everything had been planned in advance and the advertisement written before the town was aware of the big discovery up kentucky gulch. all of it fairchild read with a feeling he could not down,--a feeling that fate, somehow, was dealing the cards from the bottom, and that trickery and treachery and a venomous nature were the necessary ingredients, after all, to success. the advertisement seemed to sneer at him, to jibe at him, calling as it did for every upstanding citizen of ohadi to join in on the stock-buying bonanza that would make the silver queen one of the biggest mines in the district and ohadi the big silver center of colorado. the words appeared to be just so many daggers thrust into his very vitals. but fairchild read them all, in spite of the pain they caused. he finished the last line, looked at the list of officers, and gasped. for there, following one another, were three names, two of which fairchild had expected. but the other-- they were, president and general manager, r. b. (squint) rodaine; secretary-treasurer, maurice rodaine; and first vice-president--miss anita natalie richmond! chapter xviii after that, fairchild heard little that harry said as he rambled on about the plans for the future. he answered the big cornishman's questions with monosyllables, volunteering no information. he did not even show him the advertisement--he knew that it would be as galling to harry as it was to him. and so he sat and stared, until finally his partner said good night and left the room. that name could mean only one thing: that she had consented to become a partner with them, that they had won her over, after all. now, even a different light came upon the meeting with barnham in denver and a different view to fairchild. what if she had been playing their game all along? what if she had been merely a tool for them; what if she had sent farrell at their direction, to learn everything he and harry knew? what--? fairchild sought to put the thought from him and failed. now that he looked at it in retrospect, everything seemed to have a sinister meaning. he had met the girl under circumstances which never had been explained. the first time she ever had seen him after that she pretended not to recognize him. yet, following a conversation with maurice rodaine, she took advantage of an opportunity to talk to him and freely admitted to him that she had been the person he believed her to be. true, fairchild was looking now at his idol through blue glasses, and they gave to her a dark, mysterious tone that he could not fathom. there were too many things to explain; too many things which seemed to connect her directly with the rodaines; too many things which appeared to show that her sympathies were there and that she might only be a trickster in their hands, a trickster to trap him! even the episode of the lawyer could be turned to this account. had not another lawyer played the friendship racket, in an effort to buy the blue poppy mine? and here fairchild smiled grimly. from the present prospects, it would seem that the gain would have been all on his side, for certainly there was little to show now toward a possibility of the blue poppy ever being worth anything near the figure which he had been offered for it. and yet, if that offer had not been made as some sort of stiletto jest, why had it been made at all? was it because rodaine knew that wealth did lie concealed there? was it because squint rodaine had better information even than the faithful, hard-working, unfortunate harry? fairchild suddenly took hope. he clenched his hands and he spoke, to himself, to the darkness and to the spirits of discouragement that were all about him: "if it's there, we 'll find it--if we have to work our fingers to the bone, if we have to starve and die there--we'll find it!" with that determination, he went to bed, to awake in the morning filled with a desire to reach the mine, to claw at its vitals with the sharp-edged drills, to swing the heavy sledge until his shoulders and back ached, to send the roaring charges of dynamite digging deeper and deeper into that thinning vein. and harry was beside him every step of the way. a day's work, the booming charges, and they returned to the stope to find that the vein had neither lessened nor grown greater. another day--and one after that. the vein remained the same, and the two men turned to mucking that they might fill their ore car with the proceeds of the various blasts, haul it to the surface by the laborious, slow process of the man-power elevator, then return once more to their drilling, begrudging every minute that they were forced to give to the other work of tearing away the muck and refuse that they might gain the necessary room to follow the vein. the days grew to a week, and a week to a fortnight. once a truck made its slow way up the tortuous road, chortled away with a load of ore, returned again and took the remainder from the old, half-rotted ore bins, to the sampler, there to be laid aside while more valuable ore was crushed and sifted for its assays, and readier money taken in. the blue poppy had nothing in its favor. ten or twenty dollar ore looked small beside the occasional shipments from the silver queen, where blindeye bozeman and taylor bill formed the entire working staff until the much-sought million dollars should flow in and a shaft-house, portable air pumps, machine drills and all the other attributes of modern mining methods should be put into operation. and it appeared that the million dollars would not be slow in coming. squint rodaine had established his office in a small, vacant store building on the main street, and fairchild could see, as he went to and from his work, a constant stream of townspeople as they made that their goal--there to give their money into the keeping of the be-scarred man and to trust to the future for wealth. it galled fairchild, it made his hate stronger than ever; yet within him there could not live the hope that the silver queen might share the fate of the blue poppy. other persons besides the rodaines were interested now, persons who were putting their entire savings into the investment; and fairchild could only grit his teeth and hope--for them--that it would be an everlasting bonanza. as for the girl who was named as vice-president-- he saw her, day after day, riding through town in the same automobile that he had helped re-tire on the denver road. but now she did not look at him; now she pretended that she did not see him. before,--well, before, her eyes had at least met his, and there had been some light of recognition, even though her carefully masked face had belied it. now it was different. she had gone over to the rodaines, she was engaged to marry the chalky-faced, hook-nosed son and she was vice-president of their two-million-dollar mining corporation. fairchild did not even strive to find a meaning for it all; women are women, and men do well sometimes if they diagnose themselves. the summer began to grow old, and fairchild felt that he was aging with it. the long days beneath the ground had taught him many things about mining now, all to no advantage. soon they would be worth nothing, save as five-dollar-a-day single-jackers, working for some one else. the bank deposits were thinning, and the vein was thinning with it. slowly but surely, as they fought, the strip of pay ore in the rocks was pinching out. soon would come the time when they could work it no longer. and then,--but fairchild did not like to think about that. september came, and with it the grand jury. but here for once was a slight ray of hope. the inquisitorial body dragged through its various functionings, while farrell stood ready with his appeal to the court for a lunacy board at the first hint of an investigation into crazy laura's story. three weeks of prying into "vice conditions", gambling, profiteering and the usual petty nonsense with which so many grand juries have managed to fritter away time under the misapprehension of applying some weighty sort of superhuman reasoning to ordinary things, and then good news. the body of twelve good men and true had worn themselves out with other matters and adjourned without even taking up the mystery of the blue poppy mine. but the joy of fairchild and harry was short-lived. in the long, legal phraseology of the jury's report was the recommendation that this important subject be the first for inquiry by the next grand inquisitorial body to be convened,--and the threat still remained. but before the two men were now realities which were worse even than threats, and harry turned from his staging late one afternoon to voice the most important. "we 'll start single-jacking to-morrow," he announced with a little sigh. "in the 'anging wall." "you mean--?" "we can't do much more up 'ere. it ain't worth it. the vein 's pinched down until we ain't even getting day laborer's wages out of it--and it's october now." october! october--and winter on the way. october--and only a month until the time when harry must face a jury on four separate charges, any one of which might send him to cañon city for the rest of his days; harry was young no longer. october--and in the dreamy days of summer, fairchild had believed that october would see him rich. but now the hills were brown with the killing touch of frost; the white of the snowy range was creeping farther and farther over the mountains; the air was crisp with the hint of zero soon to come; the summer was dead, and fairchild's hopes lay inert beside it. he was only working now because he had determined to work. he was only laboring because a great, strong, big-shouldered man had come from cornwall to help him and was willing to fight it out to the end. october--and the announcement had said that a certain girl would be married in the late fall, a girl who never looked in his direction any more, who had allowed her name to become affiliated with that of the rodaines, now nearing the task of completing their two million. october--month of falling leaves and dying dreams, month of fragrant beauties gone to dust, the month of the last, failing fight against the clutch of grim, all-destroying winter. and fairchild was sagging in defeat just as the leaves were falling from the shaking aspens, as the moss tendrils were curling into brittle, brown things of death. october! for a long moment, fairchild said nothing, then as harry came from the staging, he moved to the older man's side. "i--i did n't quite catch the idea," came at last. harry pointed with his sledge. "i 've been noticing the vein. it keeps turning to the left. it struck me that it might 'ave branched off from the main body and that there 's a bigger vein over there some'eres. we 'll just 'ave to make a try for it. it's our only chance." "and if we fail to find it there?" "we 'll put a couple of 'oles in the foot wall and see what we strike. and then--" "yes--?" "if it ain't there--we 're whipped!" it was the first time that harry had said the word seriously. fairchild pretended not to hear. instead, he picked up a drill, looked at its point, then started toward the small forge which they had erected just at the foot of the little raise leading to the stope. there harry joined him; together they heated the long pieces of steel and pounded their biting faces to the sharpness necessary to drilling in the hard rock of the hanging wall, tempering them in the bucket of water near by, working silently, slowly,--hampered by the weight of defeat. they were being whipped; they felt it in every atom of their beings. but they had not given up their fight. two blows were left in the struggle, and two blows they meant to strike before the end came. the next morning they started at their new task, each drilling holes at points five feet apart in the hanging wall, to send them in as far as possible, then at the end of the day to blast them out, tearing away the rock and stopping their work at drilling that they might muck away the refuse. the stope began to take on the appearance of a vast chamber, as day after day, banging away at their drill holes, stopping only to sharpen the bits or to rest their aching muscles, they pursued into the entrails of the hills the vagrant vein which had escaped them. and day after day, each, without mentioning it to the other, was tortured by the thought of that offer of riches, that mysterious proffer of wealth for the blue poppy mine,--tortured like men who are chained in the sight of gold and cannot reach it. for the offer carried always the hint that wealth was there, somewhere, that squint rodaine knew it, but that they could not find it. either that--or flat failure. either wealth that would yield squint a hundredfold for his purchase, or a sneer that would answer their offer to sell. and each man gritted his teeth and said nothing. but they worked on. october gave up its fight. the first day of november came, to find the chamber a wide, vacuous thing now, sheltering stone and refuse and two struggling men,--nothing more. fairchild ceased his labors and mopped his forehead, dripping from the heat engendered by frenzied labor; without the tunnel opening, the snow lay deep upon the mountain sides, for it had been more than a week since the first of the white blasts had scurried over the hills to begin the placid, cold enwrapment of the winter. a long moment, then: "harry." "aye." "i 'm going after the other side. we 've been playing a half-horsed game here." "i 've been thinking that, boy." "then i 'm going to tackle the foot wall. you stay where you are, for a few more shots; it can't do much good, the way things are going, and it can't do much harm. i was at the bank to-day." "yeh." "my balance is just two hundred." "counting what we borrowed from mother 'oward?" "yes." harry clawed at his mustache. his nose, already red from the pressure of blood, turned purplish. "we 're nearing the end, boy. tackle the foot wall." they said no more. fairchild withdrew his drill from the "swimmer" or straightforward powder hole and turned far to the other side of the chamber, where the sloping foot wall showed for a few feet before it dived under the muck and refuse. there, gad in hand, he pecked about the surface, seeking a spot where the rock had splintered, thereby affording a softer entrance for the biting surface of the drill. spot after spot he prospected, suddenly to stop and bend forward. at last came an exclamation, surprised, wondering: "harry!" "yeh." "come here." the cornishman left his work and walked to fairchild's side. the younger man pointed. "do you ever fill up drill holes with cement?" he asked. "not as i know of. why?" "there 's one." fairchild raised his gad and chipped away the softer surface of the rock, leaving a tubular protuberance of cement extending. harry stared. "what the bloody 'ell?" he conjectured. "d' you suppose--" then, with a sudden resolution: "drill there! gad a 'ole off to one side a bit and drill there. it seems to me sissie larsen put a 'ole there or something--i can't remember. but drill. it can't do any 'arm." the gad chipped away the rock. soon the drill was biting into the surface of the foot wall. quitting time came; the drill was in two feet, and in the morning, fairchild went at his task again. harry watched him over a shoulder. "if it don't bring out anything in six feet--it ain't there," he announced. fairchild found the humor to smile. "you 're almost as cheerful as i am." noon came and they stopped for lunch. fairchild finished the remark begun hours before. "i 'm in four feet now--and all i get is rock." "sure now?" "look." they went to the foot wall and with a scraper brought out some of the muggy mass caused by the pouring of water into the "down-hole" to make the sittings capable of removal. harry rubbed it with a thumb and forefinger. "that's all," he announced, as he went back to his dinner pail. together, silently, they finished their luncheon. once more fairchild took up his work, dully, almost lackadaisically, pounding away at the long, six-foot drill with strokes that had behind them only muscles, not the intense driving power of hope. a foot he progressed into the foot wall and changed drills. three inches more. then-- "harry!" "what's 'appened?" the tone of fairchild's voice had caused the cornishman to lean from his staging and run to fairchild's side. that person had cupped his hand and was holding it beneath the drill hole, while into it he was pulling the muck with the scraper and staring at it. "this stuff's changed color!" he exclaimed. "it looks like--" "let me see!" the older man took a portion of the blackish, gritty mass and held it close to his carbide. "it looks like something--it looks like something!" his voice was high, excited. "i 'll finish the 'ole and jam enough dynamite in there to tear the insides out of it. i 'll give 'er 'ell. but in the meantime, you take that down to the assayer!" chapter xix fairchild did not hesitate. scraping the watery conglomeration into a tobacco can, he threw on his coat and ran for the shaft. then he pulled himself up, singing, and dived into the fresh-made drifts of a new storm as he started toward town; nor did he stop to investigate the fast fading footprints of some one who evidently had passed the mine a short time before. fairchild was too happy to notice such things just now; in a tin can in his side pocket was a blackish, muggy mixture which might mean worlds to him; he was hurrying to receive the verdict, which could come only from the retorts and tests of one man, the assayer. into town and through it to the scrambling buildings of the sampler, where the main products of the mines of ohadi found their way before going to the smelter. there he swung wide the door and turned to the little room on the left, the sanctum of a white-haired, almost tottering old man who wandered about among his test tubes and "buttons" as he figured out the various weights and values of the ores as the samples were brought to him from the dirty, dusty, bin-filled rooms of the sampler proper. a queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as he looked into those of robert fairchild. "don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. fairchild stared. "what?" "hopes. i 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. i 've been here thirty year. they call me old undertaker chastine!" fairchild laughed. "but i'm hoping--" "yep, son." undertaker chastine looked over his glasses. "you 're just like all the rest. you 're hoping. that's what they all do; they come in here with their eyes blazing like a grate fire and their faces all lighted up as bright as an italian cathedral. and they tell me they 've got the world by the tail. then i take their specimens and i put 'em over the hurdles,--and half the time they go out wishing there was n't any such person in the world as an assayer. boy," and he pursed his lips, "i 've buried more fortunes than you could shake a stick at. i 've seen men come in here millionaires and go out paupers--just because i 've had to tell 'em the truth. and i 'm soft-hearted. i would n't kill a flea--not even if it was eatin' up the best bird dog that ever set a pa'tridge. and just because o' that, i 've adopted the system of taking all hope out of a fellow right in the beginning. then if you 've really got something, it's a joyful surprise. if you ain't, the disappointment don't hurt so much. so trot 'er out and let the old undertaker have a look at 'er. but i 'm telling you right at the start that it won't amount to much." sobered now, fairchild reached for his tobacco can, which had been stuffed full of every scrap of slime that he and 'arry had been able to drag from the powder hole. evidently, his drill had been in the ore, whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at least. but undertaker chastine shook his head. "can't tell," he announced. "feels heavy, looks black and all that. but it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of silver. i 've seen stuff that looked a lot better than this not run more 'n fifteen dollars to the ton. and then again--" he began to tinker about with his pottery. he dragged out a scoop from somewhere and prepared various white powders. then he turned to the furnace, with its high-chimneyed draft, and filled a container with the contents of the tobacco can. "let 'er roast, son," he announced. "that's the only way. let 'er roast--and while it's getting hot, well, you just cool your heels." long waiting--while the eccentric old assayer told doleful tales of other days, tales of other men who had rushed in, just like fairchild, with their sample of ore, only to depart with the knowledge that they were no richer than before, days when the news of the demonetization of silver swooped down upon the little town like some black tornado, closing down the mines, shutting up the gambling halls and great saloons, nailing up the doors, even of the sampler, for years to come. "them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here besides me," chastine went on. "everybody was an undertaker then. lor', boy, how that thing hit. we 'd been getting along pretty well at ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em. and then, all of a sudden, it hit! we used to get in all our quotations in those days over the telephone, and every morning i 'd phone down to old man saxby that owned the sampler then to find out how the new york market stood. the treasury, you know, had been buying up three or four million ounces of silver a month for minting. then some high-falutin' congressman got the idea they didn't want to do that any more, and he began to talk. well, one morning, i telephoned down, and silver 'd dropped to eighty-five. the next morning it went to seventy. the house or the senate, i 've forgotten which, had passed the demonetization bill. after that, things dragged along and then--i telephoned down again. "'what's the quotation on silver?' i asked him." "'hell,' says old man saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! close 'er up--close up everything. they 've passed the demonetization bill, the president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.' "and young feller--" old undertaker chastine looked over his glasses again, "that was some real disappointment. and it's a lot worse than you 're liable to get in a minute." he turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the sample had been smelting, white-hot now. he cooled it and tinkered with his chemicals. he fussed with his scales, he adjusted his glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to turn to fairchild. "young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you get this ore?" "out of my mine, the blue poppy!" "sure you ain't been visiting?" "what do you mean?" fairchild was staring at him in wonderment. old undertaker chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued to look over his glasses. "what 'll you take for the blue poppy mine, son?" "why--it's not for sale." "sure it ain't going to be--soon?" "absolutely not." then fairchild caught the queer look in the man's eyes. "what do you mean by all these questions? is that good ore--or is n't it?" "son, just one more question--and i hope you won't get mad at me. i 'm a funny old fellow, and i do a lot of things that don't seem right at the beginning. but i 've saved a few young bloods like you from trouble more than once. you ain't been high-grading?" "you mean--" "just exactly what i said--wandering around somebody else's property and picking up a few samples, as it were, to mix in with your own product? or planting them where they can be found easily by a prospective buyer?" fairchild's chin set, and his arms moved slowly. then he laughed--laughed at the small, white-haired, eccentric old man who through his very weakness had the strength to ask insulting questions. "no--i 'll give you my word i have n't been high-grading," he said at last. "my partner and i drilled a hole in the foot wall of the stope where we were working, hoping to find the rest of a vein that was pinching out on us. and we got this stuff. is it any good?" "is it good?" again old undertaker chastine looked over his glasses. "that's just the trouble. it's too good--it's so good that it seems there's something funny about it. son, that stuff assays within a gram, almost, of the ore they 're taking out of the silver queen!" "what's that?" fairchild had leaped forward and grasped the other man by the shoulders, his eyes agleam, his whole being trembling with excitement. "you're not kidding me about it? you're sure--you 're sure?" "absolutely! that's why i was so careful for a minute. i thought maybe you had been doing a little high-grading or had been up there and sneaked away some of the ore for a salting proposition. boy, you 've got a bonanza, if this holds out." "and it really--" "it's almost identical. i never saw two samples of ore that were more alike. let's see, the blue poppy's right up kentucky gulch, not so very far away from the silver queen, is n't it? then there must be a tremendous big vein concealed around there somewhere that splits, one half of it running through the mountain in one direction and the other cutting through on the opposite side. it looks like peaches and cream for you, son. how thick is it?" "i don't know. we just happened to put a drill in there and this is some of the scrapings." "you have n't cut into it at all, then?" "not unless harry, my partner, has put in a shot since i 've been gone. as soon as we saw that we were into ore, i hurried away to come down here to get an assay." "well, son, now you can hurry back and begin cutting into a fortune. if that vein's only four inches wide, you 've got plenty to keep you for the rest of your life." "it must be more than that--the drill must have been into it several inches before i ever noticed it. i 'd been scraping the muck out of there without paying much attention. it looked so hopeless." undertaker chastine turned to his work. "then hurry along, son. i suppose," he asked, as he looked over his glasses for the last time, "that you don't want me to say anything about it?" "not until--" "you 're sure. i know. well, good news is awful hard to keep--but i 'll do my best. run along." and fairchild "ran." whistling and happy, he turned out of the office of the sampler and into the street, his coat open, his big cap high on his head, regardless of the sweep of the cold wind and the fine snow that it carried on its icy breath. through town he went, bumping into pedestrians now and then, and apologizing in a vacant, absent manner. the waiting of months was over, and fairchild at last was beginning to see his dreams come true. like a boy, he turned up kentucky gulch, bucking the big drifts and kicking the snow before him in flying, splattering spray, stopping his whistling now and then to sing,--foolish songs without words or rhyme or rhythm, the songs of a heart too much engrossed with the joy of living to take cognizance of mere rules of melody! so this was the reason that rodaine had acknowledged the value of the mine that day in court! this was the reason for the mysterious offer of fifty thousand dollars and for the later one of nearly a quarter of a million! rodaine had known; rodaine had information, and rodaine had been willing to pay to gain possession of what now appeared to be a bonanza. but rodaine had failed. and fairchild had won! won! but suddenly he realized that there was a blankness about it all. he had won money, it is true. but all the money in the world could not free him from the taint that had been left upon him by a coroner's investigation, from the hint that still remained in the recommendation of the grand jury that the murder of sissie larsen be looked into further. nor could it remove the stigma of the four charges against harry, which soon were to come to trial, and without a bit of evidence to combat them. riches could do much--but they could not aid in that particular, and somewhat sobered by the knowledge, fairchild turned from the main road and on up through the high-piled snow to the mouth of the blue poppy mine. a faint acrid odor struck his nostrils as he started to descend the shaft, the "perfume" of exploded dynamite, and it sent anew into fairchild's heart the excitement and intensity of the strike. evidently harry had shot the deep hole, and now, there in the chamber, was examining the result, which must, by this time, give some idea of the extent of the ore and the width of the vein. fairchild pulled on the rope with enthusiastic strength, while the bucket bumped and swirled about the shaft in descent. a moment more and he had reached the bottom, to leap from the carrier, light his carbide lamp which hung where he had left it on the timbers, and start forward. the odor grew heavier. fairchild held his light before him and looked far ahead, wondering why he could not see the gleam from harry's lamp. he shouted. there was no answer, and he went on. fifty feet! seventy-five! then he stopped short with a gasp. twisted and torn before him were the timbers of the tunnel, while muck and refuse lay everywhere. a cave-in--another cave-in--at almost the exact spot where the one had occurred years before, shutting off the chamber from communication with the shaft, tearing and rending the new timbers which had been placed there and imprisoning harry behind them! fairchild shouted again and again, only gaining for his answer the ghostlike echoes of his own voice as they traveled to the shaft and were thrown back again. he tore off his coat and cap, and attacked the timbers like the fear-maddened man he was, dragging them by superhuman force out of the way and clearing a path to the refuse. then, running along the little track, he searched first on one side, then the other, until, nearly at the shaft, he came upon a miner's pick and a shovel. with these, he returned to the task before him. hours passed, while the sweat poured from his forehead and while his muscles seemed to tear themselves loose from their fastenings with the exertion that was placed upon them. foot after foot, the muck was torn away, as fairchild, with pick and shovel, forced a tunnel through the great mass of rocky debris which choked the drift. onward--onward--at last to make a small opening in the barricade, and to lean close to it that he might shout again. but still there was no answer. feverish now, fairchild worked with all the reserve strength that was in him. he seized great chunks of rock that he could not even have budged at an ordinary time and threw them far behind him. his pick struck again and again with a vicious, clanging reverberation; the hole widened. once more fairchild leaned toward it. "harry!" he called. "harry!" but there was no answer. again he shouted, then he returned to his work, his heart aching in unison with his muscles. behind that broken mass, fairchild felt sure, was his partner, torn, bleeding through the effects of some accident, he did not know what, past answering his calls, perhaps dead. greater became the hole in the cave-in; soon it was large enough to admit his body. seizing his carbide lamp, fairchild made for the opening and crawled through, hurrying onward toward the chamber where the stope began, calling harry's name at every step, in vain. the shadows before him lengthened, as the chamber gave greater play to the range of light. fairchild rushed within, held high his carbide and looked about him. but no crumpled form of a man lay there, no bruised, torn human being. the place was empty, except for the pile of stone and refuse which had been torn away by dynamite explosions in the hanging wall, where harry evidently had shot away the remaining refuse in a last effort to see what lay in that direction,--stones and muck which told nothing. on the other side-- fairchild stared blankly. the hole that he had made into the foot wall had been filled with dynamite and tamped, as though ready for shooting. but the charge had not been exploded. instead--on the ground lay the remainder of the tamping paper and a short foot and a half of fuse, with its fulminate of mercury cap attached, where it had been pulled from its berth by some great force and hastily stamped out. and harry-- harry was gone! chapter xx it was as though the shades of the past had come to life again, to repeat in the twentieth century a happening of the nineteenth. there was only one difference--no form of a dead man now lay against the foot wall, to rest there more than a score of years until it should come to light, a pile of bones in time-shredded clothing. and as he thought of it, fairchild remembered that the earthly remains of "sissie" larsen had lain within almost a few feet of the spot where he had drilled the prospect hole into the foot wall, there to discover the ore that promised bonanza. but this time there was nothing and no clue to the mystery of harry's disappearance. fairchild suddenly strengthened with an idea. perhaps, after all, he had been on the other side of the cave-in and had hurried on out of the mine. but in that event, would he not have waited for his return, to tell him of the accident? or would he not have proceeded down to the sampler to bring the news if he had not cared to remain at the tunnel opening? however, it was a chance, and fairchild took it. once more he crawled through the hole that he had made in the cave-in and sought the outward world. then he hurried down kentucky gulch and to the sampler. but harry had not been there. he went through town, asking questions, striving his best to shield his anxiety, cloaking his queries under the cover of cursory remarks. harry had not been seen. at last, with the coming of night, he turned toward the boarding house, and on his arrival. mother howard, sighting his white face, hurried to him. "have you seen harry?" he asked. "no--he has n't been here." it was the last chance. clutching fear at his heart, he told mother howard of the happenings at the mine, quickly, as plainly as possible. then once more he went forth, to retrace his steps to the blue poppy, to buck the wind and the fine snow and the high, piled drifts, and to go below. but the surroundings were the same: still the cave-in, with its small hole where he had torn through it, still the ragged hanging wall where harry had fired the last shots of dynamite in his investigations, still the trampled bit of fuse with its cap attached. nothing more. gingerly fairchild picked up the cap and placed it where a chance kick could not explode it. then he returned to the shaft. back into the black night, with the winds whistling through the pines. back to wandering about through the hills, hurrying forward at the sight of every faint, dark object against the snow, in the hope that harry, crippled by the cave-in, might have some way gotten out of the shaft. but they were only boulders or logs or stumps of trees. at midnight, fairchild turned once more toward town and to the boarding house. but harry had not appeared. there was only one thing left to do. this time, when fairchild left mother howard's, his steps did not lead him toward kentucky gulch. instead he kept straight on up the street, past the little line of store buildings and to the courthouse, where he sought out the sole remaining light in the bleak, black building,--sheriff bardwell's office. that personage was nodding in his chair, but removed his feet from the desk and turned drowsily as fairchild entered. "well?" he questioned, "what's up?" "my partner has disappeared. i want to report to you--and see if i can get some help." "disappeared? who?" "harry harkins. he 's a big cornishman, with a large mustache, very red face, about sixty years old, i should judge--" "wait a minute," bardwell's eyes narrowed. "ain't he the fellow i arrested in the blue poppy mine the night of the old times dance?" "yes." "and you say he 's disappeared?" "i think you heard me!" fairchild spoke with some asperity. "i said that he had disappeared, and i want some help in hunting for him. he may be injured, for all i know, and if he 's out here in the mountains anywhere, it's almost sure death for him unless he can get some aid soon. i--" but the sheriff's eyes still remained suspiciously narrow. "when does his trial come up?" "a week from to-morrow." "and he 's disappeared." a slow smile came over the other man's lips. "i don't think it will help much to start any relief expedition for him. the thing to do is to get a picture and a general description and send it around to the police in the various parts of the country! that 'll be the best way to find him!" fairchild's teeth gritted, but he could not escape the force of the argument, from the sheriff's standpoint. for a moment there was silence, then the miner came closer to the desk. "sheriff," he said as calmly as possible, "you have a perfect right to give that sort of view. that's your business--to suspect people. however, i happen to feel sure that my partner would stand trial, no matter what the charge, and that he would not seek to evade it in any way. some sort of an accident happened at the mine this afternoon--a cave-in or an explosion that tore out the roof of the tunnel--and i am sure that my partner is injured, has made his way out of the mine, and is wandering among the hills. will you help me to find him?" the sheriff wheeled about in his chair and studied a moment. then he rose. "guess i will," he announced. "it can't do any harm to look for him, anyway." half an hour later, aided by two deputies who had been summoned from their homes, fairchild and the sheriff left for the hills to begin the search for the missing harry. late the next afternoon, they returned to town, tired, their horses almost crawling in their dragging pace after sixteen hours of travel through the drifts of the hills and gullies. harry had not been found, and so fairchild reported when, with drooping shoulders, he returned to the boarding house and to the waiting mother howard. and both knew that this time harry's disappearance was no joke, as it had been before. they realized that back of it all was some sinister reason, some mystery which they could not solve,--for the present at least. that night, fairchild faced the future and made his resolve. there was only a week now until harry's case should come to trial. only a week until the failure of the defendant to appear should throw the deeds of the blue poppy mine into the hands of the court, to be sold for the amount of the bail. and in spite of the fact that fairchild now felt his mine to be a bonanza, unless some sort of a miracle could happen before that time, the mine was the same as lost. true, it would go to the highest bidder at a public sale and any money brought in above the amount of bail would be returned to him. but who would be that bidder? who would get the mine--perhaps for twenty or twenty-five thousand dollars, when it now was worth millions? certainly not he. already he and harry had borrowed from mother howard all that she could lend them. true she had friends; but none could produce from twenty to two hundred thousand dollars for a mine, simply on his word. and unless something should happen to intervene, unless harry should return, or in some way fairchild could raise the necessary five thousand dollars to furnish a cash bond and again recover the deeds of the blue poppy, he was no better off than before the strike was made. long he thought, finally to come to his conclusion, and then, with the air of a gambler who has placed his last bet to win or lose, he went to bed. but morning found him awake long before the rest of the house was stirring. downtown he hurried, to eat a hasty breakfast in the all-night restaurant, then to start on a search for men. the first workers on the street that morning found fairchild offering them six dollars a day. and by eight o'clock, ten of them were at work in the drift of the blue poppy mine, working against time that they might repair the damage which had been caused by the cave-in. it was not an easy task. that day and the next and the next after that, they labored. then fairchild glanced at the progress that was being made and sought out the pseudo-foreman. "will it be finished by night?" he asked. "easily." "very well. i may need these men to work on a day and night shift, i 'm not sure. i 'll be back in an hour." away he went and up the shaft, to travel as swiftly as possible through the drift-piled road down kentucky gulch and to the sampler. there he sought out old undertaker chastine, and with him went to the proprietor. "my name is fairchild, and i 'm in trouble," he said candidly. "i 've brought mr. chastine in with me because he assayed some of my ore a few days ago and believes he knows what it's worth. i 'm working against time to get five thousand dollars. if i can produce ore that runs two hundred dollars to the ton, and if i 'll sell it to you for one hundred seventy-five dollars a ton until i can get the money i need, provided i can get the permission of the court,--will you put it through for me?" the sampler owner smiled. "if you 'll let me see where you 're getting the ore." then he figured a moment. "that 'd be thirty or forty ton," came at last. "we could handle that as fast as you could bring it in here." but a new thought had struck fairchild,--a new necessity for money. "i 'll give it to you for one hundred fifty dollars a ton, providing you do the hauling and lend me enough after the first day or so to pay my men." "but why all the excitement--and the rush?" "my partner 's harry harkins. he 's due for trial friday, and he 's disappeared. the mine is up as security. you can see what will happen unless i can substitute a cash bond for the amount due before that time. is n't that sufficient?" "it ought to be. but as i said, i want to see where the ore comes from." "you 'll see in the morning--if i 've got it," answered fairchild with a new hope thrilling in his voice. "all that i have so far is an assay of some drill scrapings. i don't know how thick the vein is or whether it's going to pinch out in ten minutes after we strike it. but i 'll know mighty soon." every cent that robert fairchild possessed in the world was in his pockets,--two hundred dollars. after he had paid his men for their three days of labor, there would be exactly twenty dollars left. but fairchild did not hesitate. to farrell's office he went and with him to an interview, in chambers, with the judge. then, the necessary permission having been granted, he hurried back to the mine and into the drift, there to find the last of the muck being scraped away from beneath the site of the cave-in. fairchild paid off. then he turned to the foreman. "how many of these men are game to take a chance?" "pretty near all of 'em--if there 's any kind of a gamble to it." "there 's a lot of gamble. i 've got just twenty dollars in my pocket--enough to pay each man one dollar apiece for a night's work if my hunch doesn't pan out. if it does pan, the wages are twenty dollars a day for three days, with everybody, including myself, working like hell! who's game?" the answer came in unison. fairchild led the way to the chamber, seized a hammer and took his place. "there 's two-hundred-dollar ore back of this foot wall if we can break in and start a new stope," he announced. "it takes a six-foot hole to reach it, and we can have the whole story by morning. let's go!" along the great length of the foot wall, extending all the distance of the big chamber, the men began their work, five men to the drills and as many to the sledges, as they started their double-jacking. hour after hour the clanging of steel against steel sounded in the big underground room, as the drills bit deeper and deeper into the hard formation of the foot wall, driving steadily forward until their contact should have a different sound, and the muggy scrapings bear a darker hue than that of mere wall-rock. hour after hour passed, while the drill-turners took their places with the sledges, and the sledgers went to the drills--the turnabout system of "double-jacking"--with fairchild, the eleventh man, filling in along the line as an extra sledger, that the miners might be the more relieved in their strenuous, frenzied work. midnight came. the first of the six-foot drills sank to its ultimate depth. then the second and third and fourth: finally the fifth. they moved on. hours more of work, and the operation had been repeated. the workmen hurried for the powder house, far down the drift, by the shaft, lugging back in their pockets the yellow, candle-like sticks of dynamite, with their waxy wrappers and their gelatinous contents together with fuses and caps. crimping nippers--the inevitable accompaniment of a miner--came forth from the pockets of the men. careful tamping, then the men took their places at the fuses. "give the word!" one of them announced crisply as he turned to fairchild. "each of us 'll light one of these things, and then i say we 'll run! because this is going to be some explosion!" fairchild smiled the smile of a man whose heart is thumping at its maximum speed. before him in the long line of the foot wall were ten holes, "up-holes", "downs" and "swimmers", attacking the hidden ore in every direction. ten holes drilled six feet into the rock and tamped with double charges of dynamite. he straightened. "all right, men! ready?" "ready!" "touch 'em off!" the carbide lamps were held close to the fuses for a second. soon they were all going, spitting like so many venomous, angry serpents--but neither fairchild nor the miners had stopped to watch. they were running as hard as possible for the shaft and for the protection that distance might give. a wait that seemed ages. then: "one!" "and two--and three!" "there goes four and five--they went together!" "six--seven--eight--nine--" again a wait, while they looked at one another with vacuous eyes. a long interval until the tenth. "two went together then! i thought we 'd counted nine?" the foreman stared, and fairchild studied. then his face lighted. "eleven 's right. one of them must have set off the charge that harry left in there. all the better--it gives us just that much more of a chance." back they went along the drift tunnel now, coughing slightly as the sharp smoke of the dynamite cut their lungs. a long journey that seemed as many miles instead of feet. then with a shout, fairchild sprang forward, and went to his hands and knees. it was there before him--all about him--the black, heavy masses of lead-silver ore, a great, heaping, five-ton pile of it where it had been thrown out by the tremendous force of the explosion. it seemed that the whole great floor of the cavern was covered with it, and the workmen shouted with fairchild as they seized bits of the precious black stuff and held it to the light for closer examination. "look!" the voice of one of them was high and excited. "you can see the fine streaks of silver sticking out! it's high-grade and plenty of it!" but fairchild paid little attention. he was playing in the stuff, throwing it in the air and letting it fall to the floor of the cavern again, like a boy with a new sack of marbles, or a child with its building blocks. five tons and the night was not yet over! five tons, and the vein had not yet shown its other side! back to work they went now, six of the men drilling, fairchild and the other four mucking out the refuse, hauling it up the shaft, and then turning to the ore that they might get it to the old, rotting bins and into position for loading as soon as the owner of the sampler could be notified in the morning and the trucks could fight their way through the snowdrifts of kentucky gulch to the mine for loading. again through the hours the drills bit into the rock walls, while the ore car clattered along the tram line and while the creaking of the block and tackle at the shaft seemed endless. in three days, approximately forty tons of ore must come out of that mine,--and work must not cease. morning, and in spite of the sleep-laden eyes, the heavy aching in his head, the tired drooping of the shoulders, fairchild tramped to the boarding house to notify mother howard and ask for news of harry. there had been none. then he went on, to wait by the door of the sampler until bittson, the owner, should appear, and drag him away up the hill, even before he could open up for the morning. "there it is!" he exclaimed, as he led him to the entrance of the chamber. "there it is; take all you want of it and assay it!" bittson went forward into the cross-cut, where the men were drilling even at new holes, and examined the vein. already it was three feet thick, and there was still ore ahead. one of the miners looked up. "just finishing up on the cross-cut," he announced, as he nodded toward his drill. "i 've just bitten into the foot wall on the other side. looks to me like the vein 's about five feet thick--as near as i can measure it." "and--" bittson picked up a few samples, examined them by the light of the carbides and tossed them away--"you can see the silver sticking out. i caught sight of a couple of pencil threads of it in one or two of those samples. all right, boy!" he turned to fairchild. "what was that bargain we made?" "it was based on two hundred dollars a ton ore. this may run above--or below. but whatever it is, i 'll sell you all you can handle for the next three days at fifty dollars a ton under the assay price." "you 've said the word. the trucks will be here in an hour if we have to shovel a path all the way up kentucky gulch." he hurried away then, while fairchild and the men followed him into town and to their breakfast. then, recruiting a new gang on the promise of payment at the end of their three-day shift, fairchild went back to the mine. but the word had spread, and others were there before him. already a wide path showed up kentucky gulch. already fifteen or twenty miners were assembled about the opening of the blue poppy tunnel, awaiting permission to enter, the usual rush upon a lucky mine to view its riches. behind him, fairchild could see others coming from ohadi to take a look at the new strike, and his heart bounded with happiness tinged with sorrow. harry was not there to enjoy it all; harry was gone, and in spite of his every effort, fairchild had failed to find him. all that morning they thronged down the shaft of the blue poppy. the old method of locomotion grew too slow; willing hands repaired the hoist and sent volunteers for a gasoline engine to run it, while in the meantime officials of curiosity labored on the broken old ladder that once had encompassed the distance from the bottom of the shaft to the top, rehabilitating it to such an extent that it might be used again. the drift was crowded with persons bearing candles and carbides. the big chamber was filled, leaving barely room for the men to work with their drills at the final holes that would be needed to clear the vein to the foot wall on the other side and enable the miners to start upward on their new stope. fairchild looked about him proudly, happily; it was his, his and harry's--if harry ever should come back again--the thing he had worked for, the thing he had dreamed of, planned for. some one brushed against him, and there came a slight tug at his coat. fairchild looked downward to see passing the form of anita richmond. a moment later she looked toward him, but in her eyes there was no light of recognition, nothing to indicate that she had just given him a signal of greeting and congratulation. and yet fairchild felt that she had. uneasily he walked away, following her with his eyes as she made her way into the blackness of the tunnel and toward the shaft. then, absently, he put his hand into his pocket. something there caused his heart to halt momentarily,--a piece of paper. he crumpled it in his hand, he rubbed his fingers over it wonderingly; it had not been in his pocket before she had passed him. hurriedly he walked to the far side of the chamber and there, pretending to examine a bit of ore, brought the missive from its place of secretion, to unfold it with trembling fingers, then to stare at the words which showed before him: "squint rodaine is terribly worried about something. has been on an awful rampage all morning. something critical is brewing, but i don't know what. suggest you keep watch on him. please destroy this." that was all. there was no signature. but robert fairchild had seen the writing of anita richmond once before! chapter xxi so she was his friend! so all these days of waiting had not been in vain; all the cutting hopelessness of seeing her, only to have her turn away her head and fail to recognize him, had been for their purpose after all. and yet fairchild remembered that she was engaged to maurice rodaine, and that the time of the wedding must be fast approaching. perhaps there had been a quarrel, perhaps-- then he smiled. there was no perhaps about it! anita richmond was his friend; she had been forced into the promise of marriage to maurice rodaine, but she had not been forced into a relinquishment of her desire to reward him somehow, some way, for the attention that he had shown her and the liking that she knew existed in his heart. hastily fairchild folded the paper and stuffed it into an inside pocket. then, seeking out one of the workmen, he appointed him foreman of the gang, to take charge in his absence. following which, he made his way out of the mine and into town, there to hire men of mother howard's suggestion and send them to the blue poppy, to take their stations every few feet along the tunnel, to appear mere spectators, but in reality to be guards who were constantly on the watch for anything untoward that might occur. fairchild was taking no chances now. an hour more found him at the sampler, watching the ore as it ran through the great crusher hoppers, to come forth finely crumbled powder and be sampled, ton by ton, for the assays by old undertaker chastine and the three other men of his type, without which no sampler pays for ore. bittson approached, grinning. "you guessed just about right," he announced. "that stuff 's running right around two hundred dollars a ton. need any money now?" "all you can let me have!" "four or five hundred? we 've gotten in eight tons of that stuff already; don't guess i 'd be taking any risk on that!" he chuckled. fairchild reached for the currency eagerly. all but a hundred dollars of it would go to mother howard,--for that debt must be paid off first. and, that accomplished, denying himself the invitation of rest that his bed held forth for him, he started out into town, apparently to loiter about the streets and receive the congratulations of the towns-people, but in reality to watch for one person and one alone,--squint rodaine! he saw him late in the afternoon, shambling along, his eyes glaring, his lips moving wordlessly, and he took up the trail. but it led only to the office of the silver queen development company, where the scar-faced man doubled at his desk, and, stuffing a cigar into his mouth, chewed on it angrily. instinctively fairchild knew that the greatest part of his mean temper was due to the strike in the blue poppy; instinctively also he felt that squint rodaine had known of the value all along, that now he was cursing himself for the failure of his schemes to obtain possession of what had appeared until only a day before to be nothing more than a disappointing, unlucky, ill-omened hole in the ground. fairchild resumed his loitering, but evening found him near the silver queen office. squint rodaine did not leave for dinner. the light burned long in the little room, far past the usual closing time and until after the picture-show crowds had come and gone, while the man of the blue-white scar remained at his desk, staring at papers, making row after row of figures, and while outside, facing the chill and the cold of winter, fairchild trod the opposite side of the street, careful that no one caught the import of his steady, sentry-like pace, yet equally careful that he did not get beyond a range of vision where he could watch the gleam of light from the office of the silver queen. anita's note had told him little, yet had implied much. something was fermenting in the seething brain of squint rodaine, and if the past counted for anything, it was something that concerned him. an hour more, then fairchild suddenly slunk into the shadows of a doorway. squint had snapped out the light and was locking the door. a moment later he had passed him, his form bent, his shoulders hunched forward, his lips muttering some unintelligible jargon. fifty feet more, then fairchild stepped from the doorway and took up the trail. it was not a hard one to follow. the night wind had brought more snow with it, to make a silent pad upon the sidewalks and to outline to fairchild more easily the figure which slouched before him. gradually robert dropped farther and farther in the rear; it gave him that much more protection, that much more surety in trailing his quarry to wherever he might be bound. and it was a certainty that the destination was not home. squint rodaine passed the street leading to his house without even looking up. two blocks more, and they reached the city limits. but squint kept on, and far in the rear, watching carefully every move, fairchild followed his quarry's shadow. a mile, and they were in the open country, crossing and recrossing the ice-dotted clear creek. a furlong more, then fairchild went to his knees that he might use the snow for a better background. squint rodaine had turned up the lane which led to a great, shambling, old, white building that, in the rosy days of the mining game, had been a roadhouse with its roulette wheels, its bar, its dining tables and its champagne, but which now, barely furnished in only a few of its rooms, inhabited by mountain rats and fluttering bats and general decay for the most part, formed the uncomfortable abode of crazy laura! and fairchild followed. it could mean only one thing when rodaine sought the white-haired, mumbling old hag whom once he had called his wife. it could mean but one outcome, and that of disaster for some one. mother howard had said that crazy laura would kill for squint. fairchild felt sure that once, at least, she had lied for him, so that the name of thornton fairchild might be branded as that of a murderer and that his son might be set down in the community as a person of ill-intent and one not to be trusted. and now that squint rodaine was seeking her once more, fairchild meant to follow, and to hear--if such a thing were within the range of human possibility--the evil drippings of his crooked lips. he crossed to the side of the road where ran the inevitable gully and taking advantage of the shelter, hurried forward, smiling grimly in the darkness at the memory of the fact that things were now reversed; that he was following squint rodaine as rodaine once had followed him. swiftly he moved, closer--closer; the scar-faced man went through the tumble-down gate and approached the house, not knowing that his pursuer was less than fifty yards away! a moment of cautious waiting then, in which fairchild did not move. finally a light showed in an upstairs room of the house, and fairchild, masking his own footprints in those made by rodaine, crept to the porch. swiftly, silently, protected by the pad of snow on the soles of his shoes, he made the doorway and softly tried the lock. it gave beneath his pressure, and he glided within the dark hallway, musty and dusty in its odor, forbidding, evil and dark. a mountain rat, already disturbed by the entrance of rodaine, scampered across his feet, and fairchild shrunk into a corner, hiding himself as best he could in case the noise should cause an investigation from above. but it did not. now fairchild could hear voices, and in a moment more they became louder, as a door opened. "it don't make any difference! i ain't going to stand for it! i tell you to do something and you go and make a mess of it! why did n't you wait until they were both there?" "i--i thought they were, roady!" the woman's voice was whining, pleading. "ain't you going to kiss me?" "no, i ain't going to kiss you. you went and made a mess of things." "you kissed me the night our boy was born. remember that, roady? don't you remember how you kissed me then?" "that was a long time ago, and you were a different woman then. you 'd do what i 'd tell you." "but i do now, roady. honest, i do. i 'll do anything you tell me to--if you 'll just be good to me. why don't you hold me in your arms any more--?" a scuffling sound came from above. fairchild knew that she had made an effort to clasp him to her, and that he had thrust her away. the voices came closer. "you know what you got us into, don't you? they made a strike there to-day--same value as in the silver queen. if it had n't been for you--" "but they get out someway--they always get out." the voice was high and weird now. "they 're immortal. that's what they are--they 're immortal. they have the gift--they can get out--" "bosh! course they get out when you wait until after they 're gone. why, one of 'em was downtown at the assayer's, so i understand, when you went in there." "but the other--he 's immortal. he got out--" "you're crazy!" "yes, crazy!" she suddenly shrieked at the word. "that's what they all call me--crazy laura. and you call me crazy laura too, when my back 's turned. but i ain't--hear me--i ain't! i know--they're immortal, just like the others were immortal! i can't hold 'em when they 've got the spirit that rises above--i 've tried, ain't i--and i 've only got one!" "one?" squint's voice became suddenly excited. "one--what one?" "i 'm not going to tell. but i know--crazy laura--that's what they call me--and they give me a sulphur pillow to sleep on. but i know--i know!" there was silence then for a moment, and fairchild, huddled in the darkness below, felt the creeping, crawling chill of horror pass over him as he listened. above were a rogue and a lunatic, discussing between them what, at times, seemed to concern him and his partner; more, it seemed to go back to other days, when other men had worked the blue poppy and met misfortunes. a bat fluttered about, just passing his face, its vermin-covered wings sending the musty air close against his cringing flesh. far at the other side of the big hall a mountain rat resumed its gnawing. then it ceased. squint rodaine was talking again. "so you 're not going to tell me about 'the one', eh? what have you got this door shut for?" "no door 's shut." "it is--don't you think i can see? this door leading into the front room." the sound of heavy shoes, followed by a lighter tread. then a scream above which could be heard the jangling of a rusty lock and the bumping of a shoulder against wood. high and strident came crazy laura's voice: "stay out of there--i tell you, roady! stay out of there! it's something that mortals should n't see--it's something--stay out--stay out!" "i won't--unlock this door!" "i can't do it--the time has n't come yet--i must n't--" "you won't--well, there 's another way." a crash, the sudden, stumbling feet of a man, then the scratching of a match and an exclamation: "so this is your immortal, eh?" only a moaning answered, moaning intermingled with some vague form of a weird chant, the words of which fairchild in the musty, dark hall below could not distinguish. at last came squint's voice again, this time in softened tones: "laura--laura, honey." "yes, squint." "why did n't you tell your sweetheart about this?" "i must n't--you 've spoiled it now, roady." "no--honey. i can show you the way. he 's nearly gone. what were you going to do when he went--?" "he 'd have dissolved in air, roady--i know. the spirits have told me." "perhaps so." the voice of the scar-faced, mean-visaged squint rodaine was still honeyed, still cajoling. "perhaps so--but not at once. is n't there a barrel of lime in the basement?" "yes." "come downstairs with me." they started downward then, and fairchild, creeping as swiftly as he could, hurried under the protection of the rotten casing, where the wainscoting had dropped away with the decay of years. there he watched them pass, rodaine in the lead, carrying a smoking lamp with its half-broken chimney careening on the base. crazy laura, mumbling her toothless gums, her hag-like hands extended before her, shuffling along in the rear. he heard them go far to the rear of the house, then descend more stairs. and he went flat to his stomach on the floor, with his ear against a tiny chink that he might hear the better. squint still was talking in his loving tones. "see, honey," he was saying. "i 've--i 've broken the spell by going in upstairs. you should have told me. i did n't know--i just thought--well, i thought there was some one in there you liked, and i got jealous." "did you, roady?" she cackled. "did you?" "yes--i did n't know you had _him_ there. and you were making him immortal?" "i found him, roady. his eyes were shut, and he was bleeding. it was at dusk, and nobody saw him when i carried him in here. then i started giving him the herbs--" "that you 've gathered around at night?" "yes--where the dead sleep. i get the red berries most. that's the blood of the dead, come to life again." the quaking, crazy voice from below caused fairchild to shiver with a sudden cold that no warmth could eradicate. still, however, he lay there listening, fearful that every move from below might bring a cessation of their conversation. but rodaine talked on. "of course, i know. but i 've spoiled that now. there's another way, laura. get that spade. see, the dirt's soft here. dig a hole about four feet deep and six or seven feet long. then put half that lime from the barrel in there. understand?" "what for?" "it's the only way now; we 'll have to do that. it's the other way to immortality. you 've given him the herbs?" "yes." "then this is the end. see? now do that, won't you, honey?" "you'll kiss me, roady?" "there!" the faint sound of a kiss came from below. "and there's another one. and another!" "just like the night our boy was born. don't you remember how you bent over and kissed me then and held me in your arms?" "i 'm holding you that way now, honey--just the same way that i held you the night our boy was born. and i 'll help you with this. you dig the hole and put half the lime in there--don't put it all. we 'll need the rest to put on top of him. you 'll have it done in about two hours. there 's something else needed--some acid that i 've got to get. it 'll make it all the quicker. i 'll be back, honey. kiss me." fairchild, seeking to still the horror-laden quiver of his body, heard the sound of a kiss and then the clatter of a man's heavy shoes on the stairs, accompanied by a slight clink from below. he knew that sound,--the scraping of the steel of a spade against the earth as it was dragged into use. a moment more and rodaine, mumbling to himself, passed out the door. but the woman did not come upstairs. fairchild knew why: her crazed mind was following the instructions of the man who knew how to lead the lunatic intellect into the channels he desired; she was digging, digging a grave for some one, a grave to be lined with quicklime! now she was talking again and chanting, but fairchild did not attempt to determine the meaning of it all. upstairs was some one who had been found by this woman in an unconscious state and evidently kept in that condition through the potations of the ugly poison-laden drugs she brewed,--some one who now was doomed to die and to lie in a quicklime grave! carefully fairchild gained his feet; then, as silently as possible, he made for the rickety stairs, stopping now and again to listen for discovery from below. but it did not come; the insane woman was chanting louder than ever now. fairchild went on. he felt his way up the remaining stairs, a rat scampering before him; he sneaked along the wall, hands extended, groping for that broken door, finally to find it. cautiously he peered within, striving in vain to pierce the darkness. at last, listening intently for the singing from below, he drew a match from his pocket and scratched it noiselessly on his trousers. then, holding it high above his head, he looked toward the bed--and stared in horror! a blood-encrusted face showed on the slipless pillow, while across the forehead was a jagged, red, untended wound. the mouth was open, the breathing was heavy and labored. the form was quite still, the eyes closed. and the face was that of harry! chapter xxii so this explained, after a fashion, harry's disappearance. this revealed why the search through the mountains had failed. this-- but fairchild suddenly realized that now was not a time for conjecturing upon the past. the man on the bed was unconscious, incapable of helping himself. far below, a white-haired woman, her toothless jaws uttering one weird chant after another, was digging for him a quicklime grave, in the insane belief that she was aiding in accomplishing some miracle of immortality. in time--and fairchild did not know how long--an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it. nor could fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would remove all vestige of human identity forever. certainly now was not a time for thought; it was one for action! and for caution. instinct told fairchild that for the present, at least, rodaine must believe that harry had escaped unaided. there were too many other things in which robert felt sure rodaine had played a part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had begun to rise. fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold. steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces together and slung the footgear over a shoulder. then he went to the bed. as carefully as possible, he wrapped harry in the blankets, seeking to protect him in every way against the cold. with a great effort, he lifted him, the sick man's frame huddled in his arms like some gigantic baby, and started out of the eerie, darkened house. the stairs--the landing--the hall! then a query from below: "is that you, roady?" the breath pulled sharp into fairchild's lungs. he answered in the best imitation he could give of the voice of squint rodaine: "yes. go on with your digging, honey. i 'll be there soon." "and you'll kiss me?" "yes. just like i kissed you the night our boy was born." it was sufficient. the chanting began again, accompanied by the swish of the spade as it sank into the earth and the cludding roll of the clods as they were thrown to one side. fairchild gained the door. a moment more and he staggered with his burden into the protecting darkness of the night. the snow crept about his ankles, seeming to freeze them at every touch, but fairchild did not desist. his original purpose must be carried out if rodaine were not to know,--the appearance that harry had aroused himself sufficiently to wrap the blankets about him and wander off by himself. and this could be accomplished only by the pain and cold and torture of a barefoot trip. some way, by shifting the big frame of his unconscious partner now and then, fairchild made the trip to the main road and veered toward the pumphouse of the diamond j. mine, running as it often did without attendance while the engineer made a trip with the electric motor into the hill. cautiously he peered through the windows. no one was there. beyond lay warmth and comfort--and a telephone. fairchild went within and placed harry on the floor. then he reached for the 'phone and called the hospital. "hello!" he announced in a husky, disguised voice. "this is jeb gresham of georgeville. i 've just found a man lying by the side of the diamond j. pumphouse, unconscious, with a big cut in his head. i 've brought him inside. you 'll find him there; i 've got to go on. looks like he 's liable to die unless you can send the ambulance for him." "we 'll make it a rush trip," came the answer, and fairchild hung up the 'phone, to rub his half-frozen, aching feet a moment, then to reclothe them in the socks and shoes, watching the entrance of the diamond j. tunnel as he did so. a long minute--then he left the pumphouse, made a few tracks in the snow around the entrance, and walked swiftly down the road. fifteen minutes later, from a hiding place at the side of the clear creek bridge, he saw the lights of the ambulance as it swerved to the pumphouse. out came the stretcher. the attendants went in search of the injured man. when they came forth again, they bore the form of harry harkins, and the heart of fairchild began to beat once more with something resembling regularity. his partner--at least such was his hope and his prayer--was on the way to aid and to recovery, while squint rodaine would know nothing other than that he had wandered away! grateful, lighter in heart than he had been for days. fairchild plodded along the road in the tracks of the ambulance, as it headed back for town. the news already had spread by the time he reached there; news travels fast in a small mining camp. fairchild went to the hospital, and to the side of the cot where harry had been taken, to find the doctor there before him, already bandaging the wound on harry's head and looking with concern now and then at the pupils of the unconscious man's eyes. "are you going to stay here with him?" the physician asked, after he had finished the dressing of the laceration. "yes," fairchild said, in spite of aching fatigue and heavy eyes. the doctor nodded. "good. i don't know whether he 's going to pull through or not. of course, i can't say--but it looks to me from his breathing and his heart action that he 's not suffering as much from this wound as he is from some sort of poisoning. "we 've given him apomorphine and it should begin to take effect soon. we 're using the batteries too. you say that you 're going to be here? that's a help. they 're shy a nurse on this floor to-night, and i 'm having a pretty busy time of it. i 'm very much afraid that poor old judge richmond 's going to lay down his cross before morning." "he 's dying?" fairchild said it with a clutching sensation at his throat. the physician nodded. "there 's hardly a chance for him." "you 're going there?" "yes." "will you please give--?" the physician waited. finally fairchild shook his head. "never mind," he finished. "i thought i would ask you something--but it would be too much of a favor. thank you just the same. is there anything i can do here?" "nothing except to keep watch on his general condition. if he seems to be getting worse, call the interne. i 've left instructions with him." "very good." the physician went on, and fairchild took his place beside the bed of the unconscious harry, his mind divided between concern for his faithful partner and the girl who, some time in the night, must say good-by forever to the father she loved. it had been on fairchild's tongue to send her some sort of message by the physician, some word that would show her he was thinking of her and hoping for her. but he had reconsidered. among those in the house of death might be maurice rodaine, and fairchild did not care again to be the cause of such a scene as had happened on the night of the old times dance. judge richmond was dying. what would that mean? what effect would it have upon the engagement of anita and the man fairchild hoped that she detested? what--then he turned at the entrance of the interne with the batteries. "if you 're going to be here all night," said the white-coated individual, "it 'll help me out a lot if you 'll use these batteries for me. put them on at their full force and apply them to his cheeks, his hands, his wrists and the soles of his feet alternately. from the way he acts, there 's some sort of morphinic poisoning. we can't tell what it is--except that it acts like a narcotic. and about the only way we can pull him out is with these applications." the interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment in the way of harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of crazy laura and her concoctions, began his task. yet he was relieved by the knowledge that such information could aid but little. nothing but a chemical analysis could show the contents of the strange brews which the insane woman made from her graveyard herbiage, and long before that could come, harry might be dead. and so he pressed the batteries against the unconscious man's cheeks, holding them there tightly, that the full shock of the electricity might permeate the skin and arouse the sluggish blood once more to action. then to the hands, the wrists, the feet and back again; it was the beginning of a routine that was to last for hours. midnight came and early morning. with dawn, the figure on the bed stirred slightly and groaned. fairchild looked up, to see the doctor just entering. "i think he 's regaining consciousness." "good." the physician brought forth his hypodermic. "that means a bit of rest for me. a little shot in the arm, and he ought to be out of danger in a few hours." fairchild watched him as he boiled the needle over the little gas jet at the head of the cot, then dissolved a white pellet preparatory to sending a resuscitory fluid into harry's arm. "you 've been to judge richmond's?" he asked at last. "yes." then the doctor stepped close to the bed. "i 've just closed his eyes--forever." ten minutes later, after another examination of harry's pupils, he was gone, a weary, tired figure, stumbling home to his rest--rest that might be disturbed at any moment--the reward of the physician. as for fairchild, he sat a long time in thought, striving to find some way to send consolation to the girl who was grieving now, struggling to figure a means of telling her that he cared, that he was sorry, and that his heart hurt too. but there was none. again a moan from the man on the bed, and at last a slight resistance to the sting of the batteries. an hour passed, two; gradually harry came to himself, to stare about him in a wondering, vacant manner and then to fasten his eyes upon fairchild. he seemed to be struggling for speech, for coördination of ideas. finally, after many minutes-- "that's you, boy?" "yes, harry." "but where are we?" fairchild laughed softly. "we 're in a hospital, and you 're knocked out. don't you know where you 've been?" "i don't know anything, since i slid down the wall." "since you what?" but harry had lapsed back into semi-consciousness again, to lie for hours a mumbling, dazed thing, incapable of thought or action. and it was not until late in the night after the rescue, following a few hours of rest forced upon him by the interne, that fairchild once more could converse with his stricken partner. "it's something i 'll 'ave to show you to explain," said harry. "i can't tell you about it. you know where that little fissure is in the 'anging wall, away back in the stope?" "yes." "well, that's it. that's where i got out." "but what happened before that?" "what didn't 'appen?" asked harry, with a painful grin. "everything in the world 'appened. i--but what did the assay show?" fairchild reached forth and laid a hand on the brawny one of his partner. "we 're rich, harry," he said, "richer than i ever dreamed we could be. the ore's as good as that of the silver queen!" "the bloody 'ell it is!" then harry dropped back on his pillow for a long time and simply grinned at the ceiling. somewhat anxious. fairchild leaned forward, but his partner's eyes were open and smiling. "i 'm just letting it sink in!" he announced, and fairchild was silent, saving his questions until "it" had sunk. then: "you were saying something about that fissure?" "but there is other things first. after you went to the assayers, i fooled around there in the chamber, and i thought i 'd just take a flyer and blow up them 'oles that i 'd drilled in the 'anging wall at the same time that i shot the other. so i put in the powder and fuses, tamped 'em down and then i thinks thinks i, that there's somebody moving around in the drift. but i did n't pay any attention to it--you know. i was busy and all that, and you often 'ear noises that sound funny. so i set 'em off--that is, i lit the fuses and i started to run. well, i 'ad n't any more 'n started when bloeyy-y-y-y, right in front of me, the whole world turned upside down, and i felt myself knocked back into the chamber. and there was them fuses. all of 'em burning. well, i managed to pull out the one from the foot wall and stamp it out, but i didn't 'ave time to get at the others. and the only place where there was a chance for me was clear at the end of the chamber. already i was bleeding like a stuck hog where a whole 'arf the mountain 'ad 'it me on the 'ead, and i did n't know much what i was doing. i just wanted to get be'ind something--that's all i could think of. so i shied for that fissure in the rocks and crawled back in there, trying to squeeze as far along as i could. and 'ere 's the funny part of it--i kept on going!" "you what?" "kept on going. i 'd always thought it was just a place where the 'anging wall 'ad slipped, and that it stopped a few feet back. but it don't--it goes on. i crawled along it as fast as i could--i was about woozy, anyway--and by and by i 'eard the shots go off be'ind me. but there was n't any use in going back--the tunnel was caved in. so i kept on. "i don't know 'ow long i went or where i went at. it was all dark--and i was about knocked out. after while, i ran into a stream of water that came out of the inside of the 'ill somewhere, and i took a drink. it gave me a bit of strength. and then i kept on some more--until all of a sudden, i slipped and fell, just when i was beginning to see dyelight. and that's all i know. 'ow long 'ave i been gone?" "long enough to make me gray-headed," fairchild answered with a little laugh. then his brow furrowed. "you say you slipped and fell just as you were beginning to see daylight?" "yes. it looked like it was reflected from below, somewyes." fairchild nodded. "is n't there quite a spring right by crazy laura's house?" "yes; it keeps going all year; there 's a current and it don't freeze up. it comes out like it was a waterfall--and there 's a roaring noise be'ind it." "then that's the explanation. you followed the fissure until it joined the natural tunnel that the spring has made through the hills. and when you reached the waterfall--well, you fell with it." "but 'ow did i get 'ere?" briefly fairchild told him, while harry pawed at his still magnificent mustache. robert continued: "but the time 's not ripe yet, harry, to spring it. we 've got to find out more about rodaine first and what other tricks he 's been up to. and we 've got to get other evidence than merely our own word. for instance, in this case, you can't remember anything. all the testimony i could give would be unsupported. they 'd run me out of town if i even tried to start any such accusation. but one thing 's certain: we 're on the open road at last, we know who we 're fighting and the weapons he fights with. and if we 're only given enough time, we 'll whip him. i 'm going home to bed now; i 've got to be up early in the morning and get hold of farrell. your case comes up at court." "and i 'm up in a 'ospital!" which fact the court the next morning recognized, on the testimony of the interne, the physician and the day nurses of the hospital, to the extent of a continuance until the january term in the trial of the case. a thing which the court further recognized was the substitution of five thousand dollars in cash for the deeds of the blue poppy mine as security for the bailee. and with this done, the deeds to his mine safe in his pocket, fairchild went to the bank, placed the papers behind the great steel gates of the safety deposit vault, and then crossed the street to the telegraph office. a long message was the result, and a money order to denver that ran beyond a hundred dollars. the instructions that went with it to the biggest florist in town were for the most elaborate floral design possible to be sent by express for judge richmond's funeral--minus a card denoting the sender. following this, fairchild returned to the hospital, only to find mother howard taking his place beside the bed of harry. one more place called for his attention,--the mine. the feverish work was over now. the day and night shifts no longer were needed until harry and fairchild could actively assume control of operations and themselves dig out the wealth to put in the improvements necessary to procure the compressed air and machine drills, and organize the working of the mine upon the scale which its value demanded. but there was one thing essential, and fairchild procured it,--guards. then he turned his attention to his giant partner. health returned slowly to the big cornishman. the effects of nearly a week of slow poisoning left his system grudgingly; it would be a matter of weeks before he could be the genial, strong giant that he once had represented. and in those weeks fairchild was constantly beside him. not that there were no other things which were represented in robert's desires,--far from it. stronger than ever was anita richmond in fairchild's thoughts now, and it was with avidity that he learned every scrap of news regarding her, as brought to him by mother howard. hungrily he listened for the details of how she had weathered the shock of her father's death; anxiously he inquired for her return in the days following the information--via mother howard--that she had gone on a short trip to denver to look after matters pertaining to her father's estate. dully he heard that she had come back, and that maurice rodaine had told friends that the passing of the judge had caused only a slight postponement in their marital plans. and perhaps it was this which held fairchild in check, which caused him to wonder at the vagaries of the girl--a girl who had thwarted the murderous plans of a future father-in-law--and to cause him to fight down a desire to see her, an attempt to talk to her and to learn directly from her lips her position toward him,--and toward the rodaines. finally, back to his normal strength once more, harry rose from the armchair by the window of the boarding house and turned to fairchild. "we 're going to work to-night," he announced calmly. "when?" fairchild did not believe he understood. harry grinned. "to-night. i 've taken a notion. rodaine 'll expect us to work in the daytime. we 'll fool 'im. we 'll leave the guards on in the daytime and work at night. and what's more, we 'll keep a guard on at the mouth of the shaft while we 're inside, not to let nobody down. see?" fairchild agreed. he knew squint rodaine was not through. and he knew also that the fight against the man with the blue-white scar had only begun. the cross-cut had brought wealth and the promise of riches to fairchild and harry for the rest of their lives. but it had not freed them from the danger of one man,--a man who was willing to kill, willing to maim, willing to do anything in the world, it seemed, to achieve his purpose. harry's suggestion was a good one. together, when night came, they bundled their greatcoats about them and pulled their caps low over their ears. winter had come in earnest, winter with a blizzard raging through the town on the breast of a fifty-mile gale. out into it the two men went, to fight their way though the swirling, frigid fleece to kentucky gulch and upward. at last they passed the guard, huddled just within the tunnel, and clambered down the ladder which had been put in place by the sight-seers on the day of the strike. then-- well, then harry ran, to do much as fairchild had done, to chuckle and laugh and toss the heavy bits of ore about, to stare at them in the light of his carbide torch, and finally to hurry into the new stope which had been fashioned by the hired miners in fairchild's employ and stare upward at the heavy vein of riches above him. "wouldn't it knock your eyes out?" he exclaimed, beaming. "that vein 's certainly five feet wide." "and two hundred dollars to the ton," added fairchild, laughing. "no wonder rodaine wanted it." "i 'll sye so!" exclaimed harry, again to stand and stare, his mouth open, his mustache spraying about on his upper lip in more directions than ever. a long time of congratulatory celebration, then harry led the way to the far end of the great cavern. "'ere it is!" he announced, as he pointed to what had seemed to both of them never to be anything more than a fissure in the rocks. "it's the thing that saved my life." fairchild stared into the darkness of the hole in the earth, a narrow crack in the rocks barely large enough to allow a human form to squeeze within. he laughed. "you must have made yourself pretty small, harry." "what? when i went through there? sye, i could 'ave gone through the eye of a needle. there were six charges of dynamite just about to go off be'ind me!" again the men chuckled as they looked at the fissure, a natural, usual thing in a mine, and often leading, as this one did, by subterranean breaks and slips to the underground bed of some tumbling spring. suddenly, however, fairchild whirled with a thought. "harry! i wonder--couldn't it have been possible for my father to have escaped from this mine in the same way?" "'e must 'ave." "and that there might not have been any killing connected with larsen at all? why couldn't larsen have been knocked out by a flying stone--just like you were? and why--?" "'e might of, boy." but harry's voice was negative. "the only thing about it was the fact that your father 'ad a bullet 'ole in 'is 'ead." harry leaned forward and pointed to his own scar. "it 'it right about 'ere, and glanced. it did n't 'urt 'im much, and i bandaged it and then covered it with 'is 'at, so nobody could see." "but the gun? we did n't find any." "'e 'ad it with 'im. it was sissie larsen's. no, boy, there must 'ave been a fight--but don't think that i mean your father murdered anybody. if sissie larsen attacked 'im with a gun, then 'e 'ad a right to kill. but as i 've told you before--there would n't 'ave been a chance for 'im to prove 'is story with squint working against 'im. and that's one reason why i did n't ask any questions. and neither did mother 'oward. we were willing to take your father's word that 'e 'ad n't done anything wrong--and we were willing to 'elp 'im to the limit." "you did it, harry." "we tried to--" he ceased and perked his head toward the bottom of the shaft, listening intently. "did n't you 'ear something?" "i thought so. like a woman's voice." "listen--there it is again!" they were both silent, waiting for a repetition of the sound. faintly it came, for the third time: "mr. fairchild!" they ran to the foot of the shaft, and fairchild stared upward. but he could see no one. he cupped his hands and called: "who wants me?" "it's me." the voice was plainer now--a voice that fairchild recognized immediately. "i 'm--i 'm under arrest or something up here," was added with a laugh. "the guard won't let me come down." "wait, and i 'll raise the bucket for you. all right, guard!" then, blinking with surprise, he turned to the staring harry. "it's anita richmond," he whispered. harry pawed for his mustache. "on a night like this? and what the bloody 'ell is she doing 'ere, any'ow?" "search me!" the bucket was at the top now. a signal from above, and fairchild lowered it, to extend a hand and to aid the girl to the ground, looking at her with wondering, eager eyes. in the light of the carbide torch, she was the same boyish appearing little person he had met on the denver road, except that snow had taken the place of dust now upon the whipcord riding habit, and the brown hair which caressed the corners of her eyes was moist with the breath of the blizzard. some way fairchild found his voice, lost for a moment. "are--are you in trouble?" "no." she smiled at him. "but out on a night like this--in a blizzard. how did you get up here?" she shrugged her shoulders. "i walked. oh," she added, with a smile, "it did n't hurt me any. the wind was pretty stiff--but then i 'm fairly strong. i rather enjoyed it." "but what's happened--what's gone wrong? can i help you with anything--or--" then it was that harry, with a roll of his blue eyes and a funny waggle of his big shoulders, moved down the drift toward the stope, leaving them alone together. anita richmond watched after him with a smile, waiting until he was out of hearing distance. then she turned seriously. "mother howard told me where you were," came quietly. "it was the only chance i had to see you. i--i--maybe i was a little lonely or--or something. but, anyway, i wanted to see you and thank you and--" "thank me? for what?" "for everything. for that day on the denver road, and for the night after the old times dance when you came to help me. i--i have n't had an easy time. and i 've been in rather an unusual position. most of the people i know are afraid and--some of them are n't to be trusted. i--i could n't go to them and confide in them. and--you--well, i knew the rodaines were your enemies--and i 've rather liked you for it." "thank you. but--" and fairchild's voice became a bit frigid--"i have n't been able to understand everything. you are engaged to maurice rodaine." "i was, you mean." "then--" "my engagement ended with my father's death," came slowly--and there was a catch in her voice. "he wanted it--it was the one thing that held the rodaines off him. and he was dying slowly--it was all i could do to help him, and i promised. but--when he went--i felt that my--my duty was over. i don't consider myself bound to him any longer." "you 've told rodaine so?" "not yet. i--i think that maybe that was one reason i wanted to see some one whom i believed to be a friend. he 's coming after me at midnight. we 're to go away somewhere." "rodaine? impossible!" "they 've made all their plans. i--i wondered if you--if you 'd be somewhere around the house--if you 'd--" "i 'll be there. i understand." fairchild had reached out and touched her arm. "i--want to thank you for the opportunity. i--yes, i 'll be there," came with a short laugh. "and harry too. there'll be no trouble--from the rodaines!" she came a little closer to him then and looked up at him with trustful eyes, all the brighter in the spluttering light of the carbide. "thank you--it seems that i 'm always thanking you. i was afraid--i did n't know where to go--to whom to turn. i thought of you. i knew you 'd help me--women can guess those things." "can they?" fairchild asked it eagerly. "then you 've guessed all along that--" but she smiled and cut in. "i want to thank you for those flowers. they were beautiful." "you knew that too? i didn't send a card." "they told me at the telegraph office that you had wired for them. they--meant a great deal to me." "it meant more to me to be able to send them." then fairchild stared with a sudden idea. "maurice 's coming for you at midnight. why is it necessary that you be there?" "why--" the idea had struck her too--"it is n't. i--i just had n't thought of it. i was too badly scared, i guess. everything 's been happening so swiftly since--since you made the strike up here." "with them?" "yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. you got my note?" "yes." "that was the beginning. the minute squint rodaine heard of the strike, i thought he would go out of his head. i was in the office--i 'm vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic laugh. "they had to do something to make up for the fact that every cent of father's money was in it." "how much?" fairchild asked the question with no thought of being rude--and she answered in the same vein. "a quarter of a million. they 'd been getting their hands on it more and more ever since father became ill. but they could n't entirely get it into their own power until the silver queen strike--and then they persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. that's why i 'm vice-president." "and is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" fairchild knew the answer before it was given. "i? i arrange--i never thought of such a thing." "i felt that from the beginning. an effort was made through a lawyer in denver who hinted you were behind it. some way, i felt differently. i refused. but you said they were going away?" "yes. they 've been holding conferences--father and son--one after another. i 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time in months. they 're both excited about something. last night maurice came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to chicago where the head offices would be established, and that i must go with him. i did n't have the strength to fight him then--there was n't anybody near by who could help me. so i--i told him i 'd go. then i lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan--and i thought of you." "i 'm glad." fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did not draw it away. his fingers moved slowly under hers. there was no resistance. at last his hand closed with a tender pressure,--only to release her again. for there had come a laugh--shy, embarrassed, almost fearful--and the plea: "can we go back where harry is? can i see the strike again?" obediently fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the cross-cut and into the new stope, where harry was picking about with a gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. he looked over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly. "oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!" "i wish i were," she answered. "i wish i could help you." "you 've done that, all right, all right." harry waved his gad. "'e told me--about the note!" "did it do any good?" she asked the question eagerly. harry chuckled. "i 'd 'ave been a dead mackerel if it 'ad n't," came his hearty explanation. "where you going at all dressed up like that?" "i 'm supposed," she answered with a smile toward fairchild, "to go to center city at midnight. squint rodaine 's there and maurice and i are supposed to join him. but--but mr. fairchild 's promised that you and he will arrange it otherwise." "center city? what's squint doing there?" "he does n't want to take the train from ohadi for some reason. we 're all going east and--" but harry had turned and was staring upward, apparently oblivious of their presence. his eyes had become wide, his head had shot forward, his whole being had become one of strained attention. once he cocked his head, then, with a sudden exclamation, he leaped backward. "look out!" he exclaimed. "'urry, look out!" "but what is it?" "it's coming down! i 'eard it!" excitedly he pointed above, toward the black vein of lead and silver. "'urry for that 'ole in the wall--'urry, i tell you!" he ran past them toward the fissure, yelling at fairchild. "pick 'er up and come on! i tell you i 'eard the wall moving--it's coming down, and if it does, it 'll bust in the 'ole tunnel!" chapter xxiii hardly realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, fairchild seized anita in his arms, and raising her to his breast as though she were a child, rushed out through the cross-cut and along the cavern to the fissure, there to find harry awaiting them. "put 'er in first!" said the cornishman anxiously. "the farther the safer. did you 'ear anything more?" fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to harry's question, then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside anita, while harry followed. "what is it?" she asked anxiously. "harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was crumbling. he 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again." "but if it does?" "we can get out this way--somehow. this connects up with a spring-hole; it leads out by crazy laura's house." "ugh!" anita shivered. "she gives me the creeps!" "and every one else; what's doing, harry?" "nothing. that's the funny part of it!" the big cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "if it was coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. i 'm going back. you stay 'ere." "but--" "stay 'ere, i said. and," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im 'old your 'and, miss richmond." "oh, you go on!" but she laughed. and harry laughed with her. "i know 'im. 'e 's got a wye about 'im." "that's what you said about miss richmond once!" "have you two been talking about me?" "often." then there was silence--for harry had left the fissure to go into the stope and make an investigation. a long moment and he was back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the fissure. "come 'ere--both of you! come 'ere!" "what is it?" "sh-h-h-h-h-h. don't talk too loud. we 've been blessed with luck already. come 'ere." he led the way, the man and woman following him. in the stope the cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes, pressed his ear against the vein above him. then he withdrew and nodded sagely. "that's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "you can 'ear it!" "but what?" "get up there and lay your ear against that vein. see if you 'ear anything. and be quiet about it. i 'm scared to make a move, for fear somebody 'll 'ear me." fairchild obeyed. from far away, carried by the telegraphy of the earth--and there are few conductors that are better--was the steady pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the hanging wall. now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock, and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge. fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for anita. "you listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear. "do you get anything?" the girl's eyes shone. "i know what that is," she said quickly. "i 've heard that same sort of thing before--when you 're on another level and somebody 's working above. is n't that it, mr. harkins?" harry nodded. "that's it," came tersely. then bending, he reached for a pick, and muffling the sound as best he could between his knees, knocked the head from the handle. following this, he lifted the piece of hickory thoughtfully and turned to fairchild. "get yourself one," he ordered. "miss richmond, i guess you 'll 'ave to stay 'ere. i don't see 'ow we can do much else with you." "but can't i go along--wherever you 're going?" "there's going to be a fight," said harry quietly. "and i 'm going to knock somebody's block off!" "but--i 'd rather be there than here. i--i don't have to get in it. and--i 'd want to see how it comes out. please--!" she turned to fairchild--"won't you let me go?" "if you 'll stay out of danger." "it's less danger for me there than--than home. and i 'd be scared to death here. i wouldn't if i was along with you two, because i know--" and she said it with almost childish conviction--"that you can whip 'em." harry chuckled. "come along, then. i 've got a 'unch, and i can't sye it now. but it 'll come out in the wash. come along." he led the way out through the shaft and into the blizzard, giving the guard instructions to let no one pass in their absence. then he suddenly kneeled. "up, miss richmond. up on my back. i 'm 'efty--and we 've got snowdrifts to buck." she laughed, looked at fairchild as though for his consent, then crawled to the broad back of harry, sitting on his shoulders like a child "playing horse." they started up the mountain side, skirting the big gullies and edging about the highest drifts, taking advantage of the cover of the pines, and bending against the force of the blizzard, which seemed to threaten to blow them back, step for step. no one spoke; instinctively fairchild and anita had guessed harry's conclusions. the nearest mine to the blue poppy was the silver queen, situated several hundred feet above it in altitude and less than a furlong away. and the metal of the silver queen and the blue poppy, now that the strike had been made, had assayed almost identically the same. it was easy to make conclusions. they reached the mouth of the silver queen. harry relieved anita from her position on his shoulders, and then reconnoitered a moment before he gave the signal to proceed. within the tunnel they went, to follow along its regular, rising course to the stope where, on that garish day when taylor bill and blindeye bozeman had led the enthusiastic parade through the streets, the vein had shown. it was dark there--no one was at work. harry unhooked his carbide from his belt, lit it and looked around. the stope was deeper now than on the first day, but not enough to make up for the vast amount of ore which had been taken out of the mine in the meanwhile. on the floor were tons of the metal, ready for tramming. harry looked at them, then at the stope again. "it ain't coming from 'ere!" he announced. "it's--" then his voice dropped to a whisper--"what's that?" again a rumbling had come from the distance, as of an ore car traveling over the tram tracks. harry extinguished his light, and drawing anita and fairchild far to the end of the stope, flattened them and himself on the ground. a long wait, while the rumbling came closer, still closer; then, in the distance, a light appeared, shining from a side of the tunnel. a clanging noise, followed by clattering sounds, as though of steel rails hitting against each other. finally the tramming once more,--and the light approached. into view came an ore car, and behind it loomed the great form of taylor bill as he pushed it along. straight to the pile of ore he came, unhooked the front of the tram, tripped it and piled the contents of the car on top of the dump which already rested there. with that, carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him. harry crept to his feet. "we 've got to follow!" he whispered. "it's a blind entrance to the tunnel som'eres." they rose and trailed the light along the tracks, flattening themselves against the timbers of the tunnel as the form of taylor bill, faintly outlined in the distance, turned from the regular track, opened a great door in the side of the tunnel, which, to all appearances, was nothing more than the ordinary heavy timbering of a weak spot in the rocks, pulled it far back, then swerved the tram within. then, he stopped and raised a portable switch, throwing it into the opening. a second later the door closed behind him, and the sound of the tram began to fade in the distance. harry went forward, creeping along the side of the tunnel, feeling his way, stopping to listen now and then for the sound of the fading ore car. behind him were fairchild and anita, following the same procedure. and all three stopped at once. the hollow sound was coming directly to them now. harry once more brought out his carbide to light it for a moment and to examine the timbering. "it's a good job!" he commented. "you could n't tell it five feet off!" "they 've made a cross-cut!" this time it was anita's voice, plainly angry in spite of its whispering tones. "no wonder they had such a wonderful strike," came scathingly. "that other stope down there--" "ain't nothing but a salted proposition," said harry. "they 've cemented up the top of it with the real stuff and every once in a while they blow a lot of it out and cement it up again to make it look like that's the real vein." "and they 're working our mine!" red spots of anger were flashing before fairchild's eyes. "you 've said it! that's why they were so anxious to buy us out. and that's why they started this two-million-dollar stock proposition, when they found they could n't do it. they knew if we ever 'it that vein that it would n't be any time until they 'd be caught on the job. that's why they 're ready to pull out--with somebody else 's million. they 're getting at the end of their rope. another thing; that explains them working at night." anita gritted her teeth. "i see it now--i can get the reason. they 've been telephoning denver and holding conferences and all that sort of thing. and they planned to leave these two men behind here to take all the blame." "they'll get enough of it!" added harry grimly. "they 're miners. they could see that they were making a straight cross-cut tunnel on to our vein. they ain't no children, blindeye and taylor bill. and 'ere 's where they start getting their trouble." he pulled at the door and it yielded grudgingly. the three slipped past, following along the line of the tram track in the darkness, harry's pick handle swinging beside him as they sneaked along. rods that seemed miles; at last lights appeared in the distance. harry stopped to peer ahead. then he tossed aside his weapon. "there 's only two of 'em--blindeye and taylor bill. i could whip 'em both myself but i 'll take the big 'un. you--" he turned to fairchild--"you get blindeye." "i 'll get him." anita stopped and groped about for a stone. "i 'll be ready with something in case of accident," came with determination. "i 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!" they went on, fifty yards, a hundred. creeping now, they already were within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. onward--until harry and fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while anita waited, stone in hand, in the background. came a yell, high-pitched, fiendish, racking, as harry leaped forward. and before the two "high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall, and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at once. wildly harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of an ancient enemy. high went fairchild's voice as he knocked blindeye bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to see him rise and to knock him down once more. and from the edge of the zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying: "hit him again! hit him again! hit him again--for me!" and fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. dizzily the sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell, unconscious. fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to the girl: "find me a rope! i 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!" anita leaped into action, to kneel at fairchild's side a moment later with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back. there was no need to worry about harry. the yells which were coming from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that harry was getting along exceedingly well. glancing out of a corner of his eye, fairchild saw now that the big cornishman had taylor bill flat on his back and was putting on the finishing touches. and then suddenly the exultant yells changed to ones of command. "talk english! talk english, you bloody blighter! 'ear me, talk english!" "what's he mean?" anita bent close to fairchild. "i don't know--i don't think taylor bill can talk anything else. put your finger on this knot while i tighten it. thanks." again the command had come from farther on: "talk english! 'ear me--i'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you don't. talk english--like this: 'throw up your 'ands!' 'ear me?" anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. harry looked up at her wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine. "did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "no? sye it again!" "throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground. anita ran forward. "it's a good deal like it," she answered. "but the tone was higher." "raise your tone!" commanded harry, while fairchild, finishing his job of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. then the answer came: "that's it--that's it. it sounded just like it!" and fairchild remembered too,--the english accent of the highwayman on the night of the old times dance. harry seemed to bounce on the prostrate form of his ancient enemy. "bill," he shouted, "i 've got you on your back. and i 've got a right to kill you. 'onest i 'ave. and i 'll do it too--unless you start talking. i might as well kill you as not.--it's a penitentiary offense to 'it a man underground unless there 's a good reason. so i 'm ready to go the 'ole route. so tell it--tell it and be quick about it. tell it--was n't you him?" "him--who?" the voice was weak, frightened. "you know 'oo--the night of the old times dance! didn't you pull that 'old-up?" there was a long silence. finally: "where's rodaine?" "in center city." it was anita who spoke. "he 's getting ready to run away and leave you two to stand the brunt of all this trouble." again a silence. and again harry's voice: "tell it. was n't you the man?" once more a long wait. finally: "what do i get out of it?" fairchild moved to the man's side. "my promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth, we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. and you might as well do it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. as soon as we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have rodaine under arrest, anyway. and i don't think that he 's going to hurt himself to help you. so tell the truth; weren't you the man who held up the old times dance?" taylor bill's breath traveled slowly past his bruised lips. "rodaine gave me a hundred dollars to pull it," came finally. "and you stole the horse and everything--" "and cached the stuff by the blue poppy, so 's i 'd get the blame?" harry wiggled his mustache fiercely. "tell it or i 'll pound your 'ead into a jelly!" "that's about the size of it." but fairchild was fishing in his pockets for pencil and paper, finally to bring them forth. "not that we doubt your sincerity, bill," he said sarcastically, "but i think things would be a bit easier if you'd just write it out. let him up, harry." the big cornishman obeyed grudgingly. but as he did so, he shook a fist at his bruised, battered enemy. "it ain't against the law to 'it a man when 'e 's a criminal," came at last. the thing was weighing on harry's mind. "i don't care anyway if it is--" "oh, there 's nothing to that," anita cut in. "i know all about the law--father has explained it to me lots of times when there 've been cases before him. in a thing of this kind, you 've got a right to take any kind of steps necessary. stop worrying about it." "well," and harry stood watching a moment as taylor bill began the writing of his confession, "it's such a relief to get four charges off my mind, that i did n't want to worry about any more. make hit fulsome, bill--tell just 'ow you did it!" and taylor bill, bloody, eyes black, lips bruised, obeyed. fairchild took the bescrawled paper and wrote his name as a witness, then handed it to harry and anita for their signatures. at last, he placed it in his pocket and faced the dolorous high-jacker. "what else do you know, bill?" "about what? rodaine? nothing---except that we were in cahoots on this cross-cut. there is n't any use denying it"--there had come to the surface the inherent honor that is in every metal miner, a stalwartness that may lie dormant, but that, sooner or later, must rise. there is something about taking wealth from the earth that is clean. there is something about it which seems honest in its very nature, something that builds big men in stature and in ruggedness, and it builds an honor which fights against any attempt to thwart it. taylor bill was finding that honor now. he seemed to straighten. his teeth bit at his swollen, bruised lips. he turned and faced the three persons before him. "take me down to the sheriff's office," he commanded. "i 'll tell everything. i don't know so awful much--because i ain't tried to learn anything more than i could help. but i 'll give up everything i 've got." "and how about him?" fairchild pointed to blindeye, just regaining consciousness. taylor bill nodded. "he 'll tell--he 'll have to." they trussed the big miner then, and dragging bozeman to his feet, started out of the cross-cut with them. harry's carbide pointing the way through the blind door and into the main tunnel. then they halted to bundle themselves tighter against the cold blast that was coming from without. on--to the mouth of the mine. then they stopped--short. a figure showed in the darkness, on horseback. an electric flashlight suddenly flared against the gleam of the carbide. an exclamation, an excited command to the horse, and the rider wheeled, rushing down the mountain side, urging his mount to dangerous leaps, sending him plunging through drifts where a misstep might mean death, fleeing for the main road again. anita richmond screamed: "that's maurice! i got a glimpse of his face! he 's gotten away--go after him somebody--go after him!" but it was useless. the horseman had made the road and was speeding down it. rushing ahead of the others, fairchild gained a point of vantage where he could watch the fading black smudge of the horse and rider as it went on and on along the rocky road, finally to reach the main thoroughfare and turn swiftly. then he went back to join the others. "he 's taken the center city road!" came his announcement. "is there a turn-off on it anywhere?" "no." anita gave the answer. "it goes straight through--but he 'll have a hard time making it there in this blizzard. if we only had horses!" "they would n't do us much good now! climb on my back as you did on harry's. you can handle these two men alone?" this to his partner. the cornishman grunted. "yes. they won't start anything. why?" "i 'm going to take miss richmond and hurry ahead to the sheriff's office. he might not believe me. but he 'll take her word--and that 'll be sufficient until you get there with the prisoners. i 've got to persuade him to telephone to center city and head off the rodaines!" chapter xxiv he stooped and anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back, her arms about his neck, arms which seemed to shut out the biting blast of the blizzard as he staggered through the high-piled snow and downward to the road. there he continued to carry her; fairchild found himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to the sheriff's office were twenty miles away instead of two. but her voice cut in on his wishes. "i can walk now." "but the drifts--" "we can get along so much faster!" came her plea. "i 'll hold on to you--and you can help me along." fairchild released her and she seized his arm. for a quarter of a mile they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. once, as they floundered through a knee-high mass, fairchild's arm went quickly about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried her through. when they reached the other side, the arm still held its place,--and she did not resist. fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing, or shout. but breath was too valuable--and besides, what little remained had momentarily been taken from him. a small hand had found his, where it encircled her. it had rested there, calm and warm and enthralling, and it told fairchild more than all the words in the world could have told just then--that she realized that his arm was about her--and that she wanted it there. some way, after that, the stretch of road faded swiftly. almost before he realized it, they were at the outskirts of the city. grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. there fairchild did not attempt to talk--he left it all to anita, and bardwell, the sheriff, listened. taylor bill had confessed to the robbery at the old times dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame would fall on harry. taylor bill and blindeye bozeman had been caught at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the blue poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole output of the silver queen had come from this thieving encroachment. then anita completed the recital,--of the plans of the rodaines to leave and of their departure for center city. at last, fairchild spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the ramshackle house occupied by crazy laura. it was sufficient. the sheriff reached for the telephone. "no need for hurry," he announced. "young rodaine can't possibly make that trip in less than two hours. how long did it take you to come down here?" "about an hour, i should judge." "then we 've got plenty of time--hello--central? long distance, please. what's that? yeh--long distance. want to put in a call for center city." a long wait, while a metallic voice streamed over the wire into the sheriff's ear. he hung up the receiver. "blocked," he said shortly. "the wire 's down. three or four poles fell from the force of the storm. can't get in there before morning." "but there 's the telegraph!" "it 'd take half an hour to get the operator out of bed--office is closed. nope. we 'll take the short cut. and we 'll beat him there by a half-hour!" anita started. "you mean the argonaut tunnel?" "yes. call up there and tell them to get a motor ready for us to shoot straight through. we can make it at thirty miles an hour, and the skip in the reunion mine will get us to the surface in five minutes. the tunnel ends sixteen hundred feet underground, about a thousand feet from center city," he explained, as he noted fairchild's wondering gaze. "you stay here. we 've got to wait for those prisoners--and lock 'em up. i 'll be getting my car warmed up to take us to the tunnel." anita already was at the 'phone, and fairchild sank into a chair, watching her with luminous eyes. the world was becoming brighter; it might be night, with a blizzard blowing, to every one else,--but to fairchild the sun was shining as it never had shone before. a thumping sound came from without. harry entered with his two charges, followed shortly by bardwell, the sheriff, while just beneath the office window a motor roared in the process of "warming up." the sheriff looked from one to the other of the two men. "these people have made charges against you," he said shortly. "i want to know a little more about them before i go any farther. they say you 've been high-jacking." taylor bill nodded in the affirmative. "and that you robbed the old times dance and framed the evidence against this big cornishman?" taylor bill scraped a foot on the floor. "it's true. squint rodaine wanted me to do it. he 'd been trying for thirty years to get that blue poppy mine. there was some kind of a mix-up away back there that i did n't know much about--fact is, i did n't know anything. the silver queen didn't amount to much and when demonetization set in, i quit--you 'll remember, sheriff--and went away. i 'd worked for squint before, and when i came back a couple of years ago, i naturally went to him for a job again. then he put this proposition up to me at ten dollars a day and ten per cent. it looked too good to be turned down." "how about you?" bardwell faced blindeye. the sandy lashes blinked and the weak eyes turned toward the floor. "i--was in on it." that was enough. the sheriff reached for his keys. a moment more and a steel door clanged upon the two men while the officer led the way to his motor car. there he looked quizzically at anita richmond, piling without hesitation into the front seat. "you going too?" "i certainly am," and she covered her intensity with a laugh, "there are a number of things that i want to say to mr. maurice rodaine--and i have n't the patience to wait!" bardwell chuckled. the doors of the car slammed and the engine roared louder than ever. soon they were churning along through the driving snow toward the great buildings of the argonaut tunnel company, far at the other end of town. there men awaited them, and a tram motor, together with its operator,--happy in the expectation of a departure from the usual routine of hauling out the long strings of ore and refuse cars from the great tunnel which, driving straight through the mountains, had been built in the boom days to cut the workings of mine after mine, relieving the owners of those holdings of the necessity of taking their product by the slow method of burro packs to the railroads, and gaining for the company a freight business as enriching as a bonanza itself. the four pursuers took their places on the benches of the car behind the motor. the trolley was attached. a great door was opened, allowing the cold blast of the blizzard to whine within the tunnel. then, clattering over the frogs, green lights flashing from the trolley wire, the speeding journey was begun. it was all new to fairchild, engrossing, exciting. close above them were the ragged rocks of the tunnel roof, seeming to reach down as if to seize them as they roared and clattered beneath. seepage dripped at intervals, flying into their faces like spray as they dashed through it. side tracks appeared momentarily when they passed the opening of some mine where the ore cars stood in long lines, awaiting their turn to be filled. the air grew warmer. the minutes were passing, and they were nearing the center of the tunnel. great gateways sped past them; the motor smashed over sidetracks and spurs and switches as they clattered by the various mine openings, the operator reaching above him to hold the trolley steady as they went under narrow, low places where the timbers had been placed, thick and heavy, to hold back the sagging earth above. three miles, four, five, while anita richmond held close to fairchild as the speed became greater and the sparks from the wire above threw their green, vicious light over the yawning stretch before them. a last spurt, slightly down-grade, with the motor pushing the wheels at their greatest velocity; then the crackling of electricity suddenly ceased, the motor slowed in its progress, finally to stop. the driver pointed to the right. "over there, sheriff--about fifty feet; that's the reunion opening." "thanks!" they ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a dirty incandescent, gleaming from above. a greasy being faced them and bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission. "got to catch some people that are making a get-away through center city. can you send us up in the skip?" "yes, two at a time." "all right!" the sheriff turned to harry. "you and i 'll go on the first trip and hurry for the ohadi road. fairchild and miss richmond will wait for the second and go to sheriff mason's office and tell him what's up. meet us there," he said to fairchild, as he went forward. already the hoist was working; from far above came the grinding of wheels on rails as the skip was lowered. a wave of the hand, then bardwell and harry entered the big, steel receptacle. at the wall the greasy workman pulled three times on the electric signal; a moment more and the skip with its two occupants had passed out of sight. a long wait followed while fairchild strove to talk of many things,--and failed in all of them. things were happening too swiftly for them to be put into crisp sentences by a man whose thoughts were muddled by the fact that beside him waited a girl in a whipcord riding suit--the same girl who had leaped from an automobile on the denver highway and-- it crystallized things for him momentarily. "i 'm going to ask you something after a while--something that i 've wondered and wondered about. i know it was n't anything--but--" she laughed up at him. "it did look terrible, didn't it?" "well, it would n't have been so mysterious if you had n't hurried away so quick. and then--" "you really did n't think i was the smelter bandit, did you?" the laugh still was on her lips. fairchild scratched his head. "darned if i know what i thought. and i don't know what i think yet." "but you 've managed to live through it." "yes--but--" she touched his arm and put on a scowl. "it's very, very awful!" came in a low, mock-awed voice. "but--" then the laugh came again--"maybe if you 're good and--well, maybe i 'll tell you after a while." "honest?" "of course i 'm honest! is n't that the skip?" fairchild walked to the shaft. but the skip was not in sight. a long ten minutes they waited, while the great steel carrier made the trip to the surface with harry and sheriff bardwell, then came lumbering down again. fairchild stepped in and lifted anita to his side. the journey was made in darkness,--darkness which fairchild longed to turn to his advantage, darkness which seemed to call to him to throw his arms about the girl at his side, to crush her to him, to seek out with an instinct that needed no guiding light the laughing, pretty lips which had caused him many a day of happiness, many a day of worried wonderment. he strove to talk away the desire--but the grinding of the wheels in the narrow shaft denied that. his fingers twitched, his arms trembled as he sought to hold back the muscles, then, yielding to the impulse, he started-- "da-a-a-g-gone it!" "what's the matter?" "nothing." but fairchild was n't telling the truth. they had reached the light just at the wrong, wrong moment. out of the skip he lifted her, then inquired the way to the sheriff's office of this, a new county. the direction was given, and they went there. they told their story. the big-shouldered, heavily mustached man at the desk grinned cheerily. "that there's the best news i 've heard in forty moons," he announced. "i always did hate that fellow. you say bardwell and your partner went out on the ohadi road to head the young 'un off?" "yes. they had about a fifteen-minute start on us. do you think--?" "we 'll wait here. they 're hefty and strong. they can handle him alone." but an hour passed without word from the two searchers. two more went by. the sheriff rose from his chair, stamped about the room, and looked out at the night, a driving, aimless thing in the clutch of a blizzard. "hope they ain't lost," came at last. "had n't we better--?" but a noise from without cut off the conversation. stamping feet sounded on the steps, the knob turned, and sheriff bardwell, snow-white, entered, shaking himself like a great dog, as he sought to rid himself of the effects of the blizzard. "hello, mason," came curtly. "hello, bardwell, what 'd you find?" the sheriff of clear creek county glanced toward anita richmond and was silent. the girl leaped to her feet. "don't be afraid to talk on my account," she begged. "where's harry? is he all right? did he come back with you?" "yes--he's back." "and you found maurice?" bardwell was silent again, biting at the end of his mustache. then he squared himself. "no matter how much a person dislikes another one--it's, it's--always a shock," came at last. anita came closer. "you mean that he 's dead?" the sheriff nodded, and fairchild came suddenly to his feet. anita's face had grown suddenly old,--the oldness that precedes the youth of great relief. "i 'm sorry--for any one who must die," came finally. "but perhaps--perhaps it was better. where was he?" "about a mile out. he must have rushed his horse too hard. the sweat was frozen all over it--nobody can push a beast like that through these drifts and keep it alive." "he did n't know much about riding." "i should say not. did n't know much of anything when we got to him. he was just about gone--tried to stagger to his feet when we came up, but could n't make it. kind of acted like he 'd lost his senses through fear or exposure or something. asked me who i was, and i said bardwell. seemed to be tickled to hear my name--but he called it barnham. then he got up on his hands and knees and clutched at me and asked me if i 'd drawn out all the money and had it safe. just to humor him, i said i had. he tried to say something after that, but it was n't much use. the first thing we knew he 'd passed out. that's where harry is now--took him over to the mortuary. there isn't anybody named barnham, is there?" "barnham?" the name had awakened recollections for fairchild; "why he's the fellow that--" but anita cut in. "he 's a lawyer in denver. they 've been sending all the income from stock sales to him for deposit. if maurice asked if he 'd gotten the money out, it must mean that they meant to run with all the proceeds. we 'll have to telephone denver." "providing the line's working." bardwell stared at the other sheriff. "is it?" "yes--to denver." "then let's get headquarters in a hurry. you know captain lee, don't you? you do the talking. tell him to get hold of this fellow barnham and pinch him, and then send him up to ohadi in care of pete carr or some other good officer. we 've got a lot of things to say to him." the message went through. then the two sheriffs rose and looked at their revolvers. "now for the tough one." bardwell made the remark, and mason smiled grimly. fairchild rose and went to them. "may i go along?" "yes, but not the girl. not this time." anita did not demur. she moved to the big rocker beside the old base burner and curled up in it. fairchild walked to her side. "you won't run away," he begged. "i? why?" "oh--i don't know. it--it just seems too good to be true!" she laughed and pulled her cap from her head, allowing her wavy, brown hair to fall about her shoulders, and over her face. through it she smiled up at him, and there was something in that smile which made fairchild's heart beat faster than ever. "i 'll be right here," she answered, and with that assurance, he followed the other two men out into the night. far down the street, where the rather bleak outlines of the hotel showed bleaker than ever in the frigid night, a light was gleaming in a second-story window. mason turned to his fellow sheriff. "he usually stays there. that must be him--waiting for the kid." "then we 'd better hurry--before somebody springs the news." the three entered, to pass the drowsy night clerk, examine the register and to find that their conjecture had been correct. tiptoeing, they went to the door and knocked. a high-pitched voice came from within. "that you, maurice?" fairchild answered in the best imitation he could give. "yes. i 've got anita with me." steps, then the door opened. for just a second, squint rodaine stared at them in ghastly, sickly fashion. then he moved back into the room, still facing them. "what's the idea of this?" came his forced query. fairchild stepped forward. "simply to tell you that everything 's blown up as far as you 're concerned, mr. rodaine." "you needn't be so dramatic about it. you act like i 'd committed a murder! what 've i done that you should--?" "just a minute. i would n't try to act innocent. for one thing, i happened to be in the same house with you one night when you showed crazy laura, your wife, how to make people immortal. and we 'll probably learn a few more things about your character when we 've gotten back there and interviewed--" he stopped his accusations to leap forward, clutching wildly. but in vain. with a lunge, squint rodaine had turned, then, springing high from the floor, had seemed to double in the air as he crashed through the big pane of the window and out to the twenty-foot plunge which awaited him. blocked by the form of fairchild, the two sheriffs sought in vain to use the guns which they had drawn from their holsters. hurriedly they gained the window, but already the form of rodaine had unrolled itself from the snow bank into which it had fallen, dived beneath the protection of the low coping which ran above the first-floor windows of the hotel, skirted the building in safety and whirled into the alley that lay beyond. squint rodaine was gone. frantically, fairchild turned for the door, but a big hand stopped him. "let him go--let him think he 's gotten away," said grizzled sheriff mason. "he ain't got a chance. there 's snow everywhere--and we can trail him like a hound dawg trailing a rabbit. and i think i know where he 's bound for. whatever that was you said about crazy laura hit awful close to home. it ain't going to be hard to find that rattler!" chapter xxv fairchild felt the logic of the remark and ceased his worriment. quietly, as though nothing had happened, the three men went down the stairs, passed the sleeping night clerk and headed back to the sheriff's office, where waited anita and harry, who had completed his last duties in regard to the chalky-faced maurice rodaine. the telephone jangled. it was denver. mason talked a moment over the wire, then turned to his fellow officer. "they 've got barnham. he was in his office, evidently waiting for a call from here. what's more, he had close to a million dollars in currency strapped around him. pete carr 's bringing him and the boodle up to ohadi on the morning train. guess we 'd better stir up some horses now and chase along, had n't we?" "yes, and get a gentle one for me," cautioned harry. "it's been eight years since i 've sit on the 'urricane deck of a 'orse!" "that goes for me too," laughed fairchild. "and me--i like automobiles better," anita was twisting her long hair into a braid, to be once more shoved under her cap. fairchild looked at her with a new sense of proprietorship. "you 're not going to be warm enough!" "oh, yes, i will." "but--" "i'll end the argument," boomed old sheriff mason, dragging a heavy fur coat from a closet. "if she gets cold in this--i 'm crazy." there was little chance. in fact, the only difficulty was to find the girl herself, once she and the great coat were on the back of a saddle horse. the start was made. slowly the five figures circled the hotel and into the alley, to follow the tracks in the snow to a barn far at the edge of town. they looked within. a horse and saddle were missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone. there was nothing necessary but to follow. a detour, then the tracks led the way to the ohadi road, and behind them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each following one another for the protection it afforded. a long, silent, cold-gripped two hours,--then finally the lights of ohadi. but even then the trail was not difficult. the little town was asleep; hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the georgeville road. onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old roadhouse which formed laura's home, and a light was gleaming within. silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop short. a scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm, the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger. suddenly the light seemed to bob about in the old house; it showed first at one window--then another--as though some one were running from room to room. once two gaunt shadows stood forth--of a crouching man and a woman, one hand extended in the air, as she whirled the lamp before her for an instant and brought herself between its rays and those who watched. again the chase and then the scream, louder than ever, accompanied by streaking red flame which spread across the top floor like wind-blown spray. shadows weaved before the windows, while the flames seemed to reach out and enwrap every portion of the upper floor. the staggering figure of a man with the blaze all about him was visible; then a woman who rushed past him. groping as though blinded, the burning form of the man weaved a moment before a window, clawing in a futile attempt to open it, the flames, which seemed to leap from every portion of his body, enwrapping him. slowly, a torch-like, stricken thing, he sank out of sight, and as the pursuers outside rushed forward, the figure of a woman appeared on the old veranda, half naked, shrieking, carrying something tightly locked in her arms, and plunged down the steps into the snow. fairchild, circling far to one side, caught her, and with all his strength resisted her squirming efforts until harry and bardwell had come to his assistance. it was crazy laura, the contents of her arms now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of the upper portion of the house,--five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even harry could loosen. "don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "he tried it, didn't he? and where 's he now--up there burning! he hit me--and i threw the lamp at him! he wanted my books--he wanted to take them away from me--but i would n't let him. and you can't have them--hear me--let go of my arm--let go!" she bit at them. she twisted and butted them with her gray head. she screamed and squirmed,--at last to weaken. slowly harry forced her arms aside and took from them the precious contents,--whatever they might be. grimly old sheriff mason wrapped her in his coat and led her to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town. the house--with squint rodaine--was gone. already the flame was breaking through the roof in a dozen places. it would be ashes before the antiquated fire department of the little town of ohadi could reach there. back in the office of sheriff bardwell the books--were opened, and fairchild uttered an exclamation. "harry! did n't she talk about her books at the coroner's inquest?" "yeh. that's them. them 's her dairy." "diary," anita corrected. "everybody knows about that--she writes everything down in there. and the funny part about it, they say, is that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's done and tells about it. they 've tried her out." fairchild was leaning forward. "see if there 's any entry along early in july--about the time of the inquest." bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events tabulated above. at last he stopped. "testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "i lied. roady made me do it. i never saw anybody quarreling. besides, i did it myself." "what's she mean--did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "guess we 'll have to go 'way back for that." "first let's see how accurate the thing is," fairchild interrupted. "see if there 's an item under november of this year." the sheriff searched, then read: "i dug a grave to-night. it was not filled. the immortal thing left me. i knew it would. roady had come and told me to dig a grave and put it in there. i did. we filled it with quicklime. then we went upstairs and it was gone. i do not understand it. if roady wanted me to kill him, why did n't he say so. i will kill if roady will be good to me. i 've killed before for him." "still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in anita. "i wonder if it could be possible--" "i 've just thought of the date!" harry broke in excitedly. "it was along about june , . i 'm sure it was around there." the old books were mulled over, one after the other. at last bardwell leaned forward and pointed to a certain page. "here's an item under may . it says: 'roady has been at me again! he wants me to fix things so that the three men in the blue poppy mine will get caught in there by a cave-in.'" the sheriff looked up. "this seems to read a little better than the other stuff. it's not so jagged. don't guess she was as much off her nut then as she is now. let's see. where 's the place? oh, yes: 'if i 'll help him, i can have half, and we 'll live together again, and he 'll be good to me and i can have the boy. i know what it's all about. he wants to get the mine without sissie larsen having anything to do with it. sissie has cemented up the hole he drilled into the pay ore and has n't told fairchild about it, because he thinks roady will go partnerships with him and help him buy in. but roady won't do it. he wants that extra money for me. he told me so. roady is good to me sometimes. he kisses me and makes over me just like he did the night our boy was born. but that's when he wants me to do something. if he 'll keep his promise i 'll fix the mine so they won't get out. then we can buy it at public sale or from the heirs; and roady and i will live together again.'" "the poor old soul," there was aching sympathy in anita richmond's voice. "i--i can't help it if she was willing to kill people. the poor old thing was crazy." "yes, and she 's 'ad us bloody near crazy too. maybe there 's another entry." "i 'm coming to it. it's along in june. the date 's blurred. listen: 'i did what roady wanted me to. i sneaked into the mine and planted dynamite in the timbers. i wanted to wait until the third man was there, but i could n't. fairchild and larsen were fussing. fairchild had learned about the hole and wanted to know what larsen had found. finally larsen pulled a gun and shot fairchild. he fell, and i knew he was dead. then larsen bent over him, and when he did i hit him--on the head with a single-jack hammer. then i set off the charge. nobody ever will know how it happened unless they find the bullet or the gun. i don't care if they do. roady wanted me to do it.'" fairchild started to speak, but the sheriff stopped him. "wait, here 's another item: "'i failed. i did n't kill either of them. they got out someway and drove out of town to-night. roady is mad at me. he won't come near me. and i 'm so lonesome for him!'" "the explanation!" fairchild almost shouted it as he seized the book and read it again. "sheriff, i 've got to make a confession. my father always thought that he had killed a man. not that he told me--but i could guess it easily enough, from other things that happened. when he came to, he found a single-jack hammer lying beside him, and larsen's body across him. could n't he naturally believe that he had killed him while in a daze? he was afraid of rodaine--that rodaine would get up a lynching party and string him up. harry here and mrs. howard helped him out of town. and this is the explanation!" bardwell smiled quizzically. "it looks like there 's going to be a lot of explanations. what time was it when you were trapped in that mine, harkins?" "along about the first of november." the sheriff turned to the page. it was there,--the story of crazy laura and her descent into the blue poppy mine, and again the charge of dynamite which wrecked the tunnel. with a little sigh, bardwell closed the book and looked out at the dawn, forcing its way through the blinding snow. "yes, i guess we 'll find a lot of things in this old book," came at last. "but i think right now that the best thing any of us can find is a little sleep." rest,--rest for five wearied persons, but the rest of contentment and peace. and late in the afternoon, three of them were gathered in the old-fashioned parlor of mother howard's boarding house, waiting for the return of that dignitary from a sudden mission upon which anita richmond had sent her, involving a trip to the old richmond mansion. harry turned away from his place at the window. "the district attorney 'ad a long talk with barnham," he announced, "and 'e 's figured out a wye for all the stock'olders in the silver queen to get what's coming to them. as it is, they's about a 'unnerd thousand short some'eres." fairchild looked up. "what's the scheme?" "to call a meeting of the stock'olders and transfer all that money over to a special fund to buy blue poppy stock. we 'll 'ave to raise money anyway to work the mine like we ought to. and it 'd cost something. you always 'ave to underwrite that sort of thing. i sort of like it, even if we 'd 'ave to sell stock a little below par. it 'd keep ohadi from getting a bad name and all that." "i think so too." anita richmond laughed, "it suits me fine." fairchild looked down at her and smiled. "i guess that's the answer," he said. "of course that does n't include the rodaine stock. in other words, we give a lot of disappointed stockholders par value for about ninety cents on the dollar. but farrell can look after all that. he 's got to have something to keep him busy as attorney for the company." a step on the veranda, and mother howard entered, a package under her arm, which she placed in anita's lap. the girl looked up at the man who stood beside her. "i promised," she said, "that i 'd tell you about the denver road." he leaned close. "that is n't all you promised--just before i left you this morning," came his whispered voice, and harry, at the window, doubled in laughter. "why did n't you speak it all out?" he gurgled. "i 'eard every word." anita's eyes snapped. "well, i don't guess that's any worse than me standing behind the folding doors listening to you and mother howard gushing like a couple of sick doves!" "that 'olds me," announced harry. "that 'olds me. i ain't got a word to sye!" anita laughed. "persons who live in glass houses, you know. but about this explanation. i 'm going to ask a hypothetical question. suppose you and your family were in the clutches of persons who were always trying to get you into a position where you 'd be more at their mercy. and suppose an old friend of the family wanted to make the family a present and called up from denver for you to come on down and get it--not for yourself, but just to have around in case of need. then suppose you went to denver, got the valuable present and then, just when you were getting up speed to make the first grade on lookout, you heard a shot behind you and looked around to see the sheriff coming. and if he caught you, it 'd mean a lot of worry and the worst kind of gossip, and maybe you 'd have to go to jail for breaking laws and everything like that? in a case of that kind, what'd you do?" "run to beat bloody 'ell!" blurted out harry. "and that's just what she did," added fairchild. "i know because i saw her." anita was unwrapping the package. "and seeing that i did run," she added with a laugh, "and got away with it, who would like to share in what remains of one beautiful bottle of manhattan cocktails?" there was not one dissenting voice! transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories july . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. master of the moondog by stanley mullen _idiotic pets rate idiotic masters. tod denver and charley, the moondog, made ideal companions as they set a zigzag course for the martian diggings--paradise for fools._ * * * * * it was charley's fault, of course; all of it.... temperature outside was a rough degrees f., which is plenty rough and about three degrees cooler than hell. it was somewhere over the lunar appenines and the sun bored down from an airless sky like an unshielded atomic furnace. the thermal adjustors whined and snarled and clogged-up until the inside of the space sled was just bearable. [illustration] tod denver glared at charley, who was a moondog and looked like one, and charley glared back. denver was fond of charley, as one might be of an idiot child. at the moment they found each in the other's doghouse. charley had curled up and attached himself to the instrument panel from which be scowled at denver in malignant fury. [illustration] charley was a full-grown, two yard-long moondog. he looked like an oversized comma of something vague and luminous. at the head end he was a fat yellow balloon, and the rest of him tapered vaguely to a blunt apex of infinity. whatever odd forces composed his weird physiology, he was undoubtedly electronic or magnetic. in the physically magnetic sense, he could cling for hours to any metallic surface, or at will propel himself about or hang suspended between any two or more metallic objects. as to his personality, he was equally magnetic, for wherever denver took him he attracted curious stares and comments. most people have never seen a moondog. such creatures, found only on the moons of saturn, are too rare to be encountered often as household or personal pets. but tod denver had won charley in a crap game at crystal city; and thereafter found him both an inseparable companion and exasperating responsibility. he had tried every available means to get rid of charley, but without success. either direct sale or horse-trade proved useless. charley liked denver too well to put up with less interesting owners so charley always came back, and nearly always accompanied by profanity and threats. charley was spectacular, and a monstrous care but denver ended by becoming fond of the nuisance. he would miss the radiant, stupid and embarrassingly affectionate creature. charley had currently burned out a transformer by some careless and exuberant antic; hence the mutual doghouse. scolding was wasted effort, so denver merely sighed and made a face at charley. "mad dogs and martians go out in the lunar sun," he sang as a punishment. charley recognized only the word "dog" but he considered the song a personal insult; as if denver's singing were not sufficient punishment for a minor offense. charley was irritated. charley's iridescence flickered evilly, which was enough to short-circuit two relays and weld an undetermined number of hot switches. charley's temper was short, and short-circuiting all electrical units within range was mere reflex. tod denver swore nobly and fluently, set the controls on automatic-neutral and tried to localize the damage. but for charley and his overloaded peeve, they would have been in crystal city inside the hour. so it was charley's fault, of course; all of it.... * * * * * it was beyond mere prank. denver calculated grimly that his isolated suit would hold up less than twenty minutes in that noon inferno outside before the stats fused and the suiting melted and ran off him in droplets of metal foil and glass cloth. the thermal adjustors were already working at capacity, transmitting the light and heat that filtered through the mirror-tone hull into stored, useful energy. batteries were already overcharged and the voltage regulators snapped on and off like a crackling barrage of distant heat-guns. below was a high gulch of the lunar appenines, a pattern of dazzling glare and harsh moonshadows. ramshackle mine-buildings of prefabricated plastic straggled out from the shrouding blackness under a pinnacled ridge. denver eyed the forbidding terrain with hair-raising panic. he checked the speed of the racing space sled, circled once, and tried to pick out a soft spot. the ship swooped down like a falling rock, power off. denver awaited the landing shock. it was rough. space was too cramped and he overshot his planned landing. the spacer set down hard beyond the cleared strip, raising spurting clouds of volcanic ash which showered his view-ports in blinding glare. skids shrilled on naked rock, causing painful vibrations in the cabin. denver wrenched at controls, trying to avoid jagged tongues of broken lava protruding above the dust-floor. sun-fire turned the disturbed dust into luminous haze blanketing ship and making vision impossible. the spacer ground to an agonized stop. denver's landing was rough but he still lived. he sat blankly and felt cold in the superheated cabin. it was nice and surprising to be alive. without sustaining air the dust settled almost instantly. haze cleared outside the ports. charley whined eagerly. he detached himself from the tilting control panel and sailed wildly about like a hydrophobic goldfish in a bowl of water. a succession of spitting and crackling sounds poured from him as he batted his lunatic face to the view-ports to peer outside. pseudo-tendrils formed around his travesty of mouth, and he wrinkled his absurd face into yellow typhoons of excitement. this was fun. let's do it again! denver grunted uncomfortably. he studied the staggering scene of lunar landscape without any definite hope. something blazing from the peak of the largest mine-structure caught his eye. with a snort of bitter disgust he identified the dazzle. distress signals in interplanetary code! that should be very helpful under the poisonous circumstances. he swore again, numbly, but with deep sincerity. charley danced and flicked around the cabin like a free electron with a careless disregard for traffic regulations and public safety. it was wordless effort to express his eagerness to go outside and explore with denver. in spite of himself, tod denver grinned at the display. "not this time, charley. you wait in the ship while i take a quick look around. from the appearance of things, i'll run into trouble enough without help from you." the moondog drooped from disappointment. with charley, any emotion always reached the ultimate absurdity. he was a flowing, flexible phantom of translucent color and radiance. but now the colors faded like gaudy rags in caustic solution. charley whined as denver went through the grotesque ritual of donning space helmet and zipping up his glass cloth and metal foil suiting before he dared venture outside. charley even tried to help by pouring himself through the stale air to hold open the locker where the tool-belts and holstered heat guns were kept. space suiting bulged with internal pressure as denver slid through the airlock and left the ship behind. walking carefully against the treachery of moonweak gravity, he made cautious way up the slope toward the clustered buildings. footing was bad, with the feeling of treading upon brittle, glassy surfaces and breaking through to bury his weighted shoes in inches of soft ash. a small detour was necessary to avoid upthrusting pinnacles of lavarock. in the shadow of these outcroppings he paused to let his eyes adjust to the brilliance of sunlight. a thin pencil-beam of light stabbed outward from behind the nearer building. close at hand, one of the lava-needles vanished in soundless display of mushrooming explosion. sharp, acrid heat penetrated even the insulating layers of suit. a pressure-wave of expanding gas staggered him before it dissipated. denver flung himself instinctively behind the sheltering rocks. prone, he inched forward to peer cautiously through a v-cleft between two jagged spires. heat-blaster in hand, he waited events. again the beam licked out. the huddle of lava-pinnacles became a core of flaming destruction. half-molten rock showered denver's precarious refuge. he ducked, unhurt, then thrust head and gun-arm above the barricade. * * * * * two dark figures, running awkwardly, detached themselves from the huddled bulk of buildings. like leaping, fantastic shadows, they scampered toward the mounds of deep shadow beneath the ridge. the route took them away from denver, making aim difficult. he fired twice, hurriedly. missed. but near misses because he had not focused for such range. by the time he could reset the weapon, the scurrying figures had disappeared into the screening puddles of shadow. denver tried to distinguish them against the blackness, but it lay in solid, covering mass at the base of a titanic ridge. faintly he could see a ghostly outline, much too large for men. it might be a ship, but it would have to be large enough for a space-yacht. no stinking two-man sled like his spacer. and he could not be sure in that eerie blankness if it even were a ship. besides, the range was too great. uncertainty vanished as a circle of light showed briefly. an airlock door opened and closed swiftly. denver stood clear of the rocks and wondered if he should risk anything further. pursuit was useless with such arms as he carried. no question of courage was involved. a man is not required to play quixotic fool under such circumstances. and there might not be time to return to his spacer for a long-range heat gun. if he tried to reach the strange ship, its occupants could smoke him down before he covered half the distance. if he continued toward the buildings, they might return and stalk him. they would, he knew, if they guessed he was alone. decision was spared him. rockets thundered. the ridge lighted up as with magnesium flares. a big ship moved out of the banked shadows, accelerating swiftly. it was a space-yacht, black-hulled, and showed no insignia. it was fast, incredibly fast. he wasted one blaster charge after it, but missed focus by yards. he ducked out of sight among the rocks as the ship dipped to skim low overhead. then it was gone, circling in stiff, steep spiral until it lost itself to sight in distant gorges. "close!" denver murmured. "too close. and now what?" he quickly recharged the blaster. a series of sprawling leaps ate up the remaining distance to the mine's living quarters. one whole side, where airlock doors had been, was now a gaping, ragged hole. a haze of nearly invisible frost crystals still descended in slow showers. it was bitterly cold on the sharp, opaque edge of mountain-shadow. thermal adjustors in his suiting stopped their irregular humming. automatic units combined chemicals and began to operate against the biting cold. with a premonition of ugly dread, denver clambered into the ruined building. inside was airless, heatless cell, totally dark. denver's gloved hand sought a radilume-switch. light blinked on as he fumbled the button. death sat at a metal-topped table. death wore the guise of a tall, gaunt, leathery man, no longer young. it was no pretty sight, though not too unfamiliar a sight on luna. the man had been writing. frozen fingers still clutched a cylinder pen, and the nub adhered to the paper as the flow of ink had stiffened. from nose, ears and mouth, streams of blood had congealed into fat, crimson icicles. rimes of ruby crystals ringed pressure-bulged eyes. he was complete, perfect, a tableau of cold, airless death. the paper was a claim record, registered in the name of laird martin, earthman. an attached photograph matched what could be seen of face behind its mask of frozen blood. across the foot of the sheet was a hurried scrawl: _claim jumpers. i know they'll get me. if i can hide this first, they will not get what they want. where mitre peak's apex of shadow points at et is the first of a series of deep-cut arrow markings. follow. they lead to the entrance. old martian workings. maybe something. whoever finds this, see that my kid, soleil, gets a share. she's in school on earth. address is -x south palma--_ the pen had stopped writing half-through the word. death had intervened hideously. imagination could picture the scene as that airlock wall disappeared in blinding, soundless flash. or perhaps there had been sound in the pressured atmosphere. his own arrival may have frightened off the claim jumpers, but too late to help the victim, who sat so straight and hideous in the airless tomb. there was nothing to do. airless cold would embalm the body until some bored official could come out from crystal city to investigate the murder and pick up the hideous pieces. but if the killers returned denver made sure that nothing remained to guide them in their search for the secret mine worked long-ago by forgotten martians. it was laird martin's discovery and his dying legacy to a child on distant earth. denver picked up the document and wadded it clumsily into a fold-pocket of his spacesuit. it might help the police locate the heir. in martin's billfold was the child's picture, no more. denver retraced his steps to the frosty airlock valve of his ship. inside the cabin, charley greeted his master's return with extravagant caperings which wasted millions of electron volts. "nobody home, charley," denver told the purring moondog, "but we've picked up a nasty errand to run." it was a bad habit, he reflected; talking to a moondog like that, but he had picked up the habit from sheer loneliness of his prospecting among the haunted desolations of the moon. even talking to charley was better than going nuts, he thought, and there was not too much danger of smart answers. he worked quickly, repairing the inadvertent damage charley's pique had caused. it took ten full minutes, and the heat-deadline was too close for comfort. he finished and breathed more freely as temperatures began to drop. he peeled off the helmet and unzipped the suit which was reaching the thermal levels of a live-steam bath. he ran tape through the charger to impregnate electronic setting that would guide the ship on its course to crystal city. "we were on our way, there, anyhow," he mused. "i hope they've improved the jail. it could stand air-conditioning." ii crystal city made up in violence what it lacked in size. it was a typical boom town of the lunar mining regions. mining and a thriving spacefreight trade in heavy metals made it a mecca for the toughest space-screws and hardest living prospector-miners to be found in the inhabited worlds. saloons and cheap lodging-houses, gambling dens and neon-washed palaces of expensive sin, the jail and a flourishing assortment of glittery funeral parlors faced each other across two main intersecting streets. x marked the spot and life was the least costly of the many commodities offered for sale to rich-strike suckers who funneled in from all luna. the town occupied the cleared and leveled floor of a small ringwall "crater," and beneath its colorful dome of rainbowy perma-plastic, it sizzled. dealers in mining equipment made overnight fortunes which they lost at the gaming tables just as quickly. in the streets one rubbed elbows with denizens from every part of the solar system; many of them curiously not anthropomorphic. glittering and painted purveyors of more tawdry and shopworn goods than mining equipment also made fortunes overnight, and some of them paid for their greedy snatching at luxury with their empty lives. brawls were sporadic and usually fatal. crystal city sizzled, and the lunar police sat on the lid as uneasily as if the place were a charge of high-explosive. it was, but it made living conditions difficult for a policeman, and made the desk-sergeant's temper extremely short. tod denver's experience with police stations had consisted chiefly of uncomfortable stays as an invited, reluctant guest. to a hard-drinking man, such invitations are both frequent and inescapable. so tod denver was uneasy in the presence of such an obviously ill-tempered desk sergeant. memories are tender documents from past experience, and denver's experiences had induced extreme sensitivity about jails. especially crystal city's jail. briefly, he acquainted irritable officialdom with details of his find in the appenines. the sergeant was fat, belligerent and unphilosophical. "you stink," said the sergeant, twisting his face into more repulsive suggestion of a distorted rubber mask. tod denver tried to continue. the sergeant cut him off with a rude suggestion. "so what?" added the official. "suppose you did run into a murder. do i care? maybe you killed the old guy yourself and are trying to cover up. i don't know." he scowled speculatively at denver who waited and worried. "forget it," went on the sergeant. "we ain't got time to chase down everybody that knocks off a lone prospector. there's a lot of punks like you i'd like to bump myself right here in crystal city. even if you're telling the truth i don't believe you. if you'd thought he had something valuable you'd have swiped it yourself, not come running to us. don't bother me. if you got something, snag it. if not, shove it--" the suggestion was detailed, anatomical. charley giggled amiably. startled, the sergeant looked up and caught sight of the monstrosity. he shrieked. "what's that?" "charley, my moondog," denver explained. "they're quite scarce here." charley made eerie, chittering noises and settled on denver's shoulder, waiting for his master to stroke the filaments of his blunt head. "looks like a cross between a bird and a carrot. try making him scarce from my office." "don't worry, he's housebroke." "don't matter. get him out of here, out of crystal city. we have an ordinance against pets. unhealthy beasts. disease-agents. they foul up the atmosphere." "not charley," denver argued hopelessly. "he's not animal; he's a natural air-purifier. gives off ozone." "two hours you've got to get him out of here. two hours. out of town. i hope you go with him. if he don't stink, you do. if i have any trouble with either of you, you go in the tank." tod denver gulped and held his nose. "not your tank. no thanks. i want a hotel room with a tub and shower, not a night in your glue factory. come on, charley. i guess you sleep in the ship." charley grinned evilly at the sergeant. he gave out chuckling sounds, as if meditating. to escape disaster tod denver snatched him up and fled. * * * * * after depositing charley in the ship, he bought clean clothes and registered for a room at the spaceport hotel. after a bath, a shave and a civilized meal he felt more human than he had for many lonely months. he transferred his belongings to the new clothes, and opened his billfold to audit his dwindling resources. after the hotel and the new clothes and the storage-rent at the spaceport for his ship, there was barely enough for even a bust of limited dimensions. it would have to do. as he replaced the money a battered photograph fell out. it was the picture of laird martin's child. a girl, not over four. she was plump and pretty in the vague way children are plump and pretty. an old picture, of course; faded and worn from frequent handling. dirty and not too clear. how could anyone trace a small orphan girl on earth with the picture and the incomplete address? she would be older, of course; maybe six or seven. schools do keep records and lists of the pupils' names might be available if he had money to investigate. which he hadn't. his ship carried three months of supplies. beside the money in his billfold, he had nothing else. nothing but charley, and the sales of him had always backfired. at best, a moondog was not readily marketable. besides, could he part with charley? maybe if he looked into those old martian workings, the money would be forthcoming. after all, the dying laird martin had only asked that a share be reserved for his daughter. put some aside for the kid. use some to find her. keep careful accounting and give her a fair half. more if she needed it and there wasn't too much. it was a nice thought. denver felt warm and decent inside. for the moment some of his thoughts verged upon indecencies. he lacked the price but it cost nothing to look. he called it widow-shopping, which was not a misnomer in crystal city. there were plenty of widows, some lonely, some lively. some free and uninhibited. and he did have the price of the drinks. the impulse carried him outside to a point near the x-like intersection of streets. here, the possibilities of sin and evil splendor dazzled the eye. pressured atmosphere within the domed city was richer than tod denver was used to. oxygen in pressure tanks costs money; and he had accustomed himself to do with as little as possible. charley helped slightly. now the stuff went tingling through nostrils, lungs and on to his veins. it swept upward to his brain and blood piled up there, feeling as if full of bursting tiny bubbles like champagne. he felt gay and feckless, light-headed and big-headed. ego expanded, and he imagined himself a man of destiny at the turning point of his career. he was not drunk, except on oxygen. not drunk yet. but thirsty. the street was garish with display of drinkeries. in neon lights a tilted glass dripped beads of color. there was a name in luminous pastel-tubing: _pot o' stars._ beneath the showering color stood a girl. tod denver's blood pressure soared nimbly upward and collided painfully with blocked safety valves. the look was worth it. tremendous. hot stuff. wow! when bestially young he had dreamed lecherously of such a glorious creature. older, bitter experience had taught him that they existed outside his price class. his eyes worked her over in frank admiration and his imagination worked overtime. she was martian, obviously, from her facial structure, if one noticed her face. martian, of course. but certainly not one of the red desert folk, nor one of the spindly yellow-brown canal-keepers. white. probably sprang originally from the icy marshes near the pole, where several odd remnants of the old white races still lived, and lingered painfully on the short rations of dying mars. she was pale and perilous and wonderful. hair was shimmering bright cascade of spun platinum that fell in muted waves upon shoulders of naked beauty. her eyes swam liquid silver with purple lights dwelling within, and her sullen red lips formed a heartshaped mouth, as if pouting. heavy lids weighed down the eyes, and heavier barbaric bracelets weighted wrists and ankles. twin breasts were mounds of soft, sun-dappled snow frosted with thin metal plates glowing with gemfire. her simple garment was metalcloth, but so fine-spun and gauzelike that it seemed woven of moonlight. it seemed as un-needed as silver leafing draped upon some exotic flowering, but somehow enhanced the general effect. her effect was overpowering. denver followed her inside and followed her sweet, poisonous witchery as the girl glided gracefully along the aisle between ranked tables. as she entered the glittering room talk died for a moment of sheer admiration, then began in swift whispered accents. men dreamed inaudibly and the women envied and hated her on sight. she seemed well-known to the place. her name, denver learned from the awed whispering, was--darbor.... _the pot o' stars_ combined drinking, dancing and gambling. a few people even ate food. there was muffled gaiety, glitter of glass and chromium, and general bad taste in the decoration. the hostesses were dressed merely to tempt and tease the homesick and lovelorn prospectors and lure the better-paid mine-workers into a deadly proximity to alcohol and gambling devices. * * * * * the girl went ahead, and denver followed, regretting his politeness when she beat him to the only unoccupied table. it had a big sign, _reserved_, but she seemed waiting for no one, since she ordered a drink and merely played with it. she seemed wrapped in speculative contemplation of the other customers, as if estimating the possible profits to the house. on impulse, denver edged to her table and stood looking down at her. cold eyes, like amber ice, looked through him. "i know i look like a spacetramp," he observed. "but i'm not invisible. mind if i pull up a cactus and squat?" her eyes were chill calculation. "suit yourself ... if you like to live dangerously." denver laughed and sat down. "how important are you? or is it something else? you don't look so deadly. i'll buy you a drink if you like. or dance, if you're careless about toes." her cold shrug stopped him. "skip it," she snapped. "buy yourself a drink if you can afford it. then go." "what makes you rate a table to yourself? i could go now but i won't. the liquor here's probably poison but who pays for it makes no difference to me. maybe you'd like to buy me a short snort. or just snort at me again. on you, it looks good." the girl gazed at him languorously, puzzled. then she let go with a laugh which sparkled like audible champagne. "good for you," she said eagerly. "you're just a punk, but you have guts. guts, but what else? got any money?" denver bristled. "pots of it," he lied, as any other man would. then, remembering suddenly, "not with me but i know where to lay hands on plenty of it." her eyes calculated. "you're not the goon who came in from the appenines today? with a wild tale of murder and claim-jumpers and old martian workings?" quick suspicion dulled denver's appreciation of beauty. she laughed sharply. "don't worry about me, stupid. i heard it all over town. policemen talk. for me, they jump through hoops. everybody knows. you'd be smart to lie low before someone jumps out of a sung-bush and says boo! at you. if you expected the cops to do anything, you're naive. or stupid. about those martian workings, is there anything to the yarn?" denver grunted. he knew he was talking too much but the urge to brag is masculine and universal. "maybe, i don't know. martian miners dabbled in heavy metals. maybe they found something there and maybe they left some. if they did, i'm the guy with the treasure map. willing to take a chance on me?" darbor smiled calculatingly. "look me up when you find the treasure. you're full of laughs tonight. trying to pick me up on peanuts. men lie down and beg me to walk on their faces. they lay gold or jewels or pots of uranium at my feet. got any money--now?" "i can pay ... up to a point," denver confessed miserably. "we're not in business, kid. but champagne's on me. don't worry about it. i own the joint up to a point. i don't, actually. big ed caltis owns it. but i'm the dummy. i front for him because of taxes and the cops. we'll drink together tonight, and all for free. i haven't had a good laugh since they kicked me out of venusport. you're it. i hope you aren't afraid of big ed. everybody else is. he bosses the town, the cops and all the stinking politicians. he dabbles in every dirty racket, from girls to the gambling upstairs. he pays my bills, too, but so far he hasn't collected. not that he hasn't tried." denver was impressed. big ed's girl. if she was. and he sat with her, alone, drinking at big ed's expense. that was a laugh. a hot one. rich, even for luna. "big ed?" he said. "the scorpion of mars!" darbor's eyes narrowed. "the same. the name sounds like a gangsters' nickname. it isn't. he was a pro-wrestler. champion of the interplanetary league for three years. but he's a gangster and racketeer at heart. his bully-boys play rough. still want to take a chance, sucker?" a waitress brought drinks and departed. snowgrape champagne from mars cooled in a silver bucket. it was the right temperature, so did not geyser as denver unskilfully wrested out the cork. he filled the glasses, gave one to the girl. raising the other, he smiled into darbor's dangerous eyes. "the first one to us," he offered gallantly. "after that, we'll drink to big ed. i hope he chokes. he was a louse in the ring." darbor's face lighted like a flaming sunset in the cloud-canopy of venus. "here's to us then," she responded. "and to guts. you're dumb and delightful, but you do something to me i'd forgotten could be done. and maybe i'll change my mind even if you don't have the price. i think i'll kiss you. big ed is still a louse, and not only in the ring. he thinks he can out-wrestle me but i know all the nasty holds. i play for keeps or not at all. keep away from me, kid." denver's imagination had caught fire. under the combined stimuli of darbor and snowgrape champagne, he seemed to ascend to some high, rarified, alien dimension where life became serene and uncomplicated. a place where one ate and slept and made fortunes and love, and only the love was vital. he smoldered. "play me for keeps," he urged. "maybe i will," darbor answered clearly. she was feeling the champagne too, but not as exaltedly as denver who was not used to such potent vintages as darbor and sg-mars, . "maybe i will, kid, but ask me after the martian workings work out." "don't think i won't," he promised eagerly. "want to dance?" her face lighted up. she started to her feet, then sank back. "better not," she murmured. "big ed doesn't like other men to come near me. he's big, bad and jealous. he may be here tonight. don't push your luck, kid. i'm trouble, bad trouble." denver snapped his fingers drunkenly. "that for big ed. i eat trouble." her eyes were twin pools of darkness. they widened as ripples of alarm spread through them. "start eating," she said. "here it comes!" big ed caltis stood behind denver's chair. iii tod denver turned. "hello, rubber-face," he said pleasantly. "sit down and have a drink. you're paying for it." big ed caltis turned apoplectic purple but he sat down. a waitress hustled up another glass. silence in the room. every eye focused upon the table where big ed caltis sat and stared blindly at his uninvited guest. skilfully, denver poured sparkling liquid against the inside curve of the third glass. with exaggerated care, he refilled his own and the girl's. he shoved the odd glass toward big ed with a careless gesture that was not defiance but held a hint of something cold and deadly and menacing. "drink hearty, champ," he suggested. "you'll need strength and dutch courage to hear some of the things i've wanted to tell you. i've been holding them for a long time. this is it." big ed nodded slowly, ponderously. "i'm listening." denver began a long bill of particulars against big ed caltis of crystal city. he omitted little, though some of it was mere scandalous gossip with which solo-prospectors who had been the objects of a squeeze-play consoled themselves and took revenge upon their tormentor from safe distance. denver paused once, briefly, to re-assess and recapture the delight he took in gazing at darbor's beauty seated opposite. then he resumed his account of the life and times of big ed, an improvised essay into the folly and stupidity of untamed greed which ended upon a sustained note of vituperation. big ed smiled with sardonic amusement. he was in his late forties, running a bit to blubber, but still looked strong and capable. he waited until tod denver ran down, waited and smiled patiently. "if you've finished," he said. "i should compliment you on the completeness of the picture you paint of me. when i need a biographer, i'll call on you. just now i have another business proposition. i understand you know the location of some ancient martian mine-workings. you need a partner. i'm proposing myself." denver paled. "i have a partner," he said, nodding toward the girl. big ed smiled thinly. "that's settled then. her being your partner makes it easy. what she has is mine. i bought her. she works for me and everything she has is mine." darbor's eyes held curious despair. but hatred boiled up in her. "not altogether," she corrected him evenly. "you never got what you wanted most--me! and you never will. i just resigned. get yourself another dummy." but ed stood up. "very good. maudlin but magnificent. let me offer my congratulations to both of you. but you're mistaken. i'll get everything i want. i always do. i'm not through with either of you." darbor ignored him. "dance?" she asked denver. he rose and gallantly helped her from her chair. big ed caltis, after a black look, vanished toward the offices and gambling rooms upstairs. he paused once and glanced back. denver laughed suddenly. darbor studied him and caught the echo of her own fear in his eyes. he mustered a hard core of courage in himself, but it required distinct effort. "when i was a kid i liked to swing on fence-gates. once, the hinges broke. i skinned my knee." her body was trembling. some of it got into her voice. "it could happen again." he met the challenge of her. she was bright steel, drawn to repel lurking enemies. "i have another knee," he said, grinning. "but yours are too nice to bark up. where's the back door?" the music was venusian, a swaying, sensuous thing of weirdest melodies and off-beat rhythms. plucked and bowed strings blended with wailing flutes and an exotic tympany to produce music formed of passion and movement. tod denver and darbor threaded their way through stiffly-paired swaying couples toward the invisible door at the rear. "i hope you don't mind scar tissue on your toes," he murmured, bending his cheek in impulsive caress. he wished that he were nineteen again and could still dream. twenty-seven seemed so aged and battered and cynical. and dreams can become nightmares. they were near the door. "champagne tastes like vinegar if it's too cold," she replied. "my mouth is puckery and tastes like swill. i hope it's the blank champagne. maybe i'm scared." they dropped pretense and bolted for the door. in the alley, they huddled among rubbish and garbage cans because the shadows lay thicker there. * * * * * the danger was real and ugly and murderous. three thugs came boiling through the alley door almost on their heels. they lay in the stinking refuse, not daring to breathe. brawny, muscular men with faces that shone brutally in the blazing, reflected earthlight scurried back and forth, trying locked doors and making a hurried expedition to scout out the street. passersby were buttonholed and roughly questioned. no one knew anything to tell. one hatchetman came back to report. big ed's voice could be heard in shrill tirade of fury. "you fools. don't let them get away. i'll wring the ears off the lot of you if they get to the spaceport. he was there; he was the one who spotted us. he can identify my ship. now get out and find them. i'll pay a thousand vikdals martian to the man who brings me either one. kill the girl if you have to, but bring him back alive. i want his ears, and he knows where the stuff is. now get out of here!" more dark figures spurted from the dark doorway. darbor gave involuntary shudder as they swept past in a flurry of heavy-beating footsteps. denver held her tightly, hand over her mouth. she bit his hand and he repressed a squeal of pain. she made no outcry and the pounding footsteps faded into distance. big ed caltis went inside, loudly planning to call the watch-detail at the spaceport. his word was law in crystal city. "can we beat them to the ship?" denver asked. "we can try," darbor replied.... the spaceport was a blaze of light. tod denver expertly picked the gatelock. the watchman came out of his shack, picking his teeth. he looked sleepy, but grinned appreciatively at darbor. "hi, tod! you sure get around. man just called about you. sounded mad. what's up?" "plenty. what did you tell him?" the watchman went on picking his teeth. "nothing. he don't pay my wages. want your ship? last one in the line-up. watch yourself. i haven't looked at it, but there've been funny noises tonight. maybe you've got company." "maybe i have. lend me your gun, ike?" "sure, i've eaten. i'm going back to sleep. if you don't need the gun, leave it on the tool-locker. if you do, i want my name in the papers. they'll misspell it, but the old lady will get a kick. so long. good luck. if it's a boy, ike's a good, old-fashioned name." tod denver and darbor ran the length of the illuminated hangar to the take-off pits at the far end. his space sled was the last in line. that would help for a quick blast-off. darbor was panting, ready to drop from exhaustion. but she dragged gamely on. gun ready, he reached up to the airlock flap. inside the ship was sudden commotion. a scream was cut off sharply. scurried movement became bedlam. uproar ceased as if a knife had cut through a ribbon of sound. denver flung open the flap and scrabbled up and through the valve to the interior. two of big ed's trigger men lay on the floor. one had just connected with a high-voltage charge from charley. the other had quietly fainted. denver dumped them outside, helped darbor up and closed the ship for take-off. he switched off cabin lights. he wasted no time in discussion until the ship was airborne and had nosed through the big dome-valves into the airless lunar sky. a fat hunk of earth looked like a blueberry chiffon pie, but was brighter. it cast crazy shadows on the terrain unreeling below. darbor sat beside him. she felt dazed, and wondered briefly what had happened to her. less than an hour before she had entered the _pot o' stars_ with nothing on her mind but assessing the clients and the possible receipts for the day. too much had happened and too rapidly. she could not assimilate details. something launched itself through darkness at her. it snugged tightly to shoulder and neck and made chuckling sounds. stiff fur nuzzled her skin. there was a vague prickling of hot needles, but it was disturbing rather than painful. she screamed. "shut up!" said denver, laughing. "it's just charley. but don't excite him or you'll regret it." from the darkness came a confused burble of sounds as charley explored and bestowed his affections upon a new friend still too startled to appreciate the gesture. darbor tried vainly to fend off the lavish demonstrations. denver gunned the space sled viciously, and felt the push of acceleration against his body. he headed for a distant mountain range. "just charley, my pet moondog," he explained. "what in luna is that?" "you'll find out. he loves everybody. me, i'm more discriminating, but i can be had. my father warned me about women like you." "how would he know?" darbor asked bitterly. "what did he say about women like me?" "it's exciting while it lasts, and it lasts as long as your money holds out. it's wonderful if you can afford it. but charley's harmless. he's like me, he just wants to be loved. go on. pet him." "all males are alike," darbor grumbled. obediently, she ran fingers over the soft, wirelike pseudo-fur. the fingers tingled as if weak charges of electricity surged through them. "does it--er, charley ever blow a fuse?" she asked. "i'd like to have met your father. he sounds like a man who had a lot of experience with women. the wrong women. by the way, where are we going?" * * * * * tod denver had debated the point with himself. "to the scene of the crime," he said. "it's not good, and they may look for us there. but we can hole up for a few days till the hunt dies down. it might be the last place big ed would expect to find us. later, unless we find something in the martian workings, we'll head for the far places. okay?" darbor shrugged. "i suppose. but then what. i don't imagine you'll be a chivalrous jackass and want to marry me?" the space sled drew a thin line of silver fire through darkness as he debated that point. "now that i'm sober, i'll think about it. give me time. they say a man can get used to to anything." a ghostly choking sounded from the seat beside him. he wondered if charley had blown something. "do they say what girls have to get used to?" she asked, her voice oddly tangled. tod denver tempered the wind to the shorn lamb. "we'll see how the workings pan out. i'd want my money to last." what darbor replied should be written on asbestos. * * * * * their idyl at the mines lasted exactly twenty-seven hours. denver showed darbor around, explained some of the technicalities of moon-mining to her. the girl misused some precious water to try washing the alley-filth from her clothes. her experiment was not a success and the diaphanous wisps of moonsilver dissolved. she stood in the wrapped blanket and was too tired and depressed even to cry. "i guess it wasn't practical," she decided ruefully. "it did bunch up in the weirdest places in your spare spacesuit. have you any old rag i could borrow?" denver found cause for unsafe mirth in the spectacle of her blanketed disaster. "i'll see." he rooted about in a locker and found a worn pair of trousers which he threw to the girl. a sweater, too shrunken and misshapen for him to wear again, came next. dismayed, she inspected the battered loot; then was inspired to quick alterations. pant-legs cut off well above the baggy knees made passable shorts; the sweater bulged a trifle at the shoulders, it fit adequately elsewhere--and something more than adequately. charley fled her vicinity in extremes of voluble embarrassment as she changed and zipped up the substitute garments. "nice legs," denver observed, which was an understatement. "watch out you don't skin those precious knees again," she warned darkly. time is completely arbitrary on the moon as far as earth people are concerned. one gets used to prolonged light and dark periods. earth poked above the horizon, bathing the heights of the range with intense silver-blue light. but moonshadows lay heavily in the hollows and the deep gorges were still pools of intense gloom. clocks are set to the meaningless twenty-four hour divisions of day and night on earth, which have nothing to do with two-week days and nights on luna. after sunset, with earthlight still strong and pure and deceptively warm-looking, the landscapes become a barren, haunted wasteland. time itself seems unreal. time passed swiftly. the idyl was brief. for twenty-seven earth-hours after their landing at the mines came company...! an approaching ship painted a quick-dying trail of fire upon the black vault of sky. it swooped suddenly from nowhere, and the trapped fugitives debated flight or useless defense. alone, denver would have stayed and fought, however uneven and hopeless the battle. but he found the girl a mental block to all thoughts of open, pitched battle on the shadowy, moonsilvered slopes. he might surprise the pursuers and flush them by some type of ambush. but they would be too many for him, and his feeble try would end either in death or capture. neither alternative appealed to him. with darbor, he had suddenly found himself possessed of new tenacity toward life, and he had desperate, painful desire to live for her. he chose flight. iv the ship dropped short-lived rocket landing flares, circled and came in for a fast landing on the cleared strip of brittle-crusted ash. some distance from the hastily-patched and now hastily abandoned mine buildings, tod denver and darbor paused and shot hasty, fearful glances toward the landed ship. by earthlight, they could distinguish its lines, though not the color. it was a drab shadow now against the vivid grayness of slopes. figures tiny from distance emerged from it and scattered across the flat and up into the clustered buildings. a few stragglers went over to explore and investigate denver's space sled in the unlikely possibility that he and the girl had trusted to its meager and dubious protection. besides the ship, the hunters would find evidence of recent occupation in the living quarters, from which denver had removed the frozen corpse before permitting darbor to assist with the crude remodeling which he had undertaken. afterward, when the mine buildings and exposed shafts had been turned out on futile quest for the fugitives, the search would spread. tracks should be simple enough to follow, once located. denver had anticipated this potential clue to the pursuit, and had kept their walking to the bare, rocky heights of the spur as long as possible. he hoped to be able to locate the old martian working, but the chance was slim. calculating the shadow-apex of mitre peak at et was complicated by several unknown quantities. which peak was mitre peak? was that shadow-apex earth-shadow or sun-shadow? and had he started out in the correct direction to find the line of deep-cut arrow markings at all? the first intangible resolved itself. one mitre-shaped peak stood out alone and definite above the sharply defined silhouettes of the mountains. it must be mitre peak. it had to be. the next question was the light source casting the shadow-apex. there were two possible answers. it was possible to estimate the approximate location of either sun or earth at a given time, but calculations involved in working out too many possibilities on different earth-days of the lunar-day made the earth's shadow-casting the likeliest prospect. neither location was particularly exact, and probably laird martin had expected his directions to be gone into under less harrowing circumstances than those in which denver now found himself. with time for trial and error one could eventually locate the place. but denver was hurried. he trod upon one of the markings while he still sought the elusive shadow apex. after that, it was a grim race to follow the markings to the old mines, and to get under cover behind defensible barricades in time to repel invasion. they played a nerve-wracking game of hare and hounds in tricky floods of earthlight, upon slopes and spills of broken rock, amid a goblin's garden of towering jagged spires. it was tense work over the bad going, and the light was both distorted and insufficient. in shadow, they groped blindly from arrow to arrow. in the patches of earthglare, they fled at awkward, desperate speed. life and death were the stakes. life, or a fighting chance to defend life, possible wealth from the ancient workings, made a glittering goal ahead. and ever the gray hounds snapped at their heels, with death in some ugly guise the penalty for losing the game. charley was ecstatic. he gamboled and capered, he zoomed and zigzagged, he essayed quick, climbing spirals and almost came to grief among the tangled pinnacles on the ridge of the hogback. he swooped downward again in a series of shallow, easy glides and began the performance all over again. it was a game for him, too. but a game in which he tried only to astound himself, with swift, dizzy miracles of magnetic movement. charley enjoyed himself hugely. he was with the two people he liked most. he was having a spirited game among interlaced shadows and sudden, substantial obstacles of rock. he nuzzled the fleeing pair playfully, and followed them after his own lazy and intricate and incredibly whimsical fashion. his private mode of locomotion was not bounded by the possibilities involved in feet and tiring legs. he scampered and had fun. it was not fun for tod denver and darbor. the girl's strength was failing. she lagged, and denver slowed his pace to support her tottering progress. without warning, the mine entrance loomed before them. it was old and crumbly with a thermal erosion resembling decay. it was high and narrow and forbiddingly dark. tod denver had brought portable radilumes, which were needed at once. inside the portals was no light at all. thick, tangible dark blocked the passage. it swallowed light. just inside, the mine gallery was too wide for easy defense. further back, there was a narrowing. * * * * * denver seized on the possibilities for barricading and set to work, despite numbed and weary muscles. walking on the moon is tiring for muscles acquired on worlds of greater gravity. he was near exhaustion, but the stimulus of fear is strong. he worked like a maniac, hauling materials for blockade, carrying the smaller ingredients and rolling or dragging the heavier. a brief interval of rest brought darbor to his side. she worked with him and helped with the heavier items. fortunately, the faint gravity eased their task, speeded it. for pursuit had not lagged. their trail had been found and followed. from behind his barricade, denver picked off the first two hired thugs of the advance guard as they toiled upward, too eagerly impatient for caution. a network of hastily-aimed beams of heat licked up from several angles of the slope, but none touched the barricade. the slope, which flattened just outside the entrance made exact shooting difficult, made a direct hit on the barricade almost impossible, unless one stood practically inside the carved entrance-way. denver inched to the door and fired. the battle was tedious, involved, but a stalemate. lying on his belly, denver wormed as close as he dared to the break of slope outside the door. there, he fired snap shots at everything that moved on the slopes. everything that moved on the slopes made a point of returning the gesture. some shots came from places he had seen no movement. it went on for a long time. it was pointless, wanton waste of heat-blaster ammunition. but it satisfied some primal urge in the human male without solving anything. until darbor joined him, denver did not waste thought upon the futilities of the situation. her presence terrified him, and he urged her back inside. she was stubborn, but complied when he dragged her back with him. "now stay inside, you fool," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper in his communication amplifier. "you stay inside," he commanded with rough tenderness. they both stayed inside, crouched together behind the barricade. "i think i got three of them," he told her. "there seemed to be eight at first. some went back to the ship. for more men or supplies, i don't know. i don't like this." "relax," she suggested. "you've done all you can." "i guess it's back to your gilded cage for you, baby," he said. "my money didn't last." "sometimes you behave like a mad dog," she observed. "i'm not sure i like you. you enjoyed that butchery out there. you hated to come inside. what did it prove? there are too many of them. they'll kill us, eventually. or starve us out. have you any bright ideas?" denver was silent. none of his ideas were very bright. he was at the end of his rope. he had tied a knot in it and hung on. but the rope seemed very short and very insecure. "hang on, i guess. just hang on and wait. they may try a rush. if they do i'll bathe the entrance in a full load from my blaster. if they don't rush, we sit it out. sit and wait for a miracle. it won't happen but we can hope." darbor tried to hug the darkness around her. she was a martian, tough-minded she hoped. it would be nasty, either way. but death was not pleasant. she must try to be strong and face whatever came. she shrugged and resigned herself. "when the time comes i'll try to think of something touching and significant to say," she promised. "you hold the fort," denver told her. "and don't hesitate to shoot if you have to. there's a chance to wipe them out if they try to force in all at once. they won't, but--" "where are you going? for a walk?" "have to see a man about a dog. there may be a back entrance. i doubt it, since martian workings on the moon were never very deep. but i'd like a look at the jackpot. do you mind?" darbor sighed. "not if you hurry back." deep inside the long gallery was a huge, vaulted chamber. here, denver found what he sought. there was no back entrance. the mine was a trap that had closed on him and darbor. old martian workings, yes. but whatever the martians had sought and delved from the mooncrust was gone. layered veins had petered out, were exhausted, empty. some glittering, crystalline smears remained in the crevices but the crystals were dull and life-less. denver bent close, sensed familiarity. the substance was not unknown. he wetted a finger and probed with it, rubbed again and tested for taste. the taste was sharp and bitter. as bitter as his disappointment. it was all a grim joke. valuable enough once to be used as money in the old days on earth. but hardly valuable enough, then, even in real quantity, to be worth the six lives it had cost up to now--counting his and darbor's as already lost. first, laird martin, with his last tragic thoughts of a tiny girl on earth, now orphaned. then the three men down the slope, hideous in their bulged and congealing death. himself and darbor next on the list, with not much time to go. all for a few crystals of--salt! * * * * * the end was as viciously ironic as the means had been brutal, but greed is an ugly force. it takes no heed of men and their brief, futile dreams. denver shrugged and rejoined his small garrison. the girl, in spite of the comradeship of shared danger, was as greedy as the others outside. instinctively, denver knew that, and he found the understanding in himself to pity her. "are they still out there?" he asked needlessly. darbor nodded. "what did you find?" he debated telling her the truth. but why add the bitterness to the little left of her life? let her dream. she would probably die without ever finding out that she had thrown herself away following a mirage. let her dream and die happy. "enough," he answered roughly. "but does it matter?" her eyes rewarded his deceit, but the light was too poor for him to see them. it was easy enough to imagine stars in them, and even a man without illusions can still dream. "maybe it will matter," she replied. "we can hope for a miracle. it will make all the difference for us if the miracle happens." denver laughed. "then the money will make a difference if we live through this? you mean you'll stay with me?" darbor answered too quickly. "of course." then she hesitated, as if something of his distaste echoed within her. she went on, her voice strange. "sure, i'm mercenary. i've been broke in venusport, and again here on luna. it's no fun. poverty is not all the noble things the copybooks say. it's undignified and degrading. you want to stop washing after a while, because it doesn't seem to matter. yes, i want money. am i different from other people?" denver laughed harshly. "no. i just thought for a few minutes that you were. i hoped i was at the head of your list. but let's not quarrel. we're friends in a jam together. no miracle is going to happen. it's stupid to fight over a salt mine, empty at that, when we're going to die. i'm like you; i wanted a miracle to happen, but mine didn't concern money. we both got what we asked for, that's all. if you bend over far enough somebody will kick you in the pants. i'm going out, darbor. pray for me." the blankness of her face-plate turned toward him. a glitter, dark and opaque, was all he could make out. "i'm sorry," she said. "i know it was the wrong answer. but don't be a fool. he'll kill you, and i'm afraid to be in the dark, alone." "i'll leave charley with you." denver broke the girl's clasp on his arm and edged slow to the doorway. he shouted. "hey, caltis!" there was stunning silence. then a far, muted crackle in his earphones. a voice answered, "yes? i'm here. what's on your mind, funny boy?" "a parley." "nuts, but come on out. i'll talk." "you come up," denver argued. "i don't trust you." big ed caltis considered the proposition. "how do i know you won't try to nail me for hostage?" "you don't. but i'm not a fool. what good would it do even if i killed you. your men are down there. they'd still want the mine. i don't think they care enough about you to deal. they'd kill us anyhow. bring your gun if it makes you feel more like a man." after an interval big ed caltis appeared in the doorway. as he entered denver retreated into the shadow-zone until he stood close beside the rude barricade. "i'll bargain with you, caltis. you can have the workings. let us go free, with an hour's start in my space sled. i'll sign over any share we could claim and agree never to bother you again. it's no use to a corpse. just let us go." caltis gave a short laugh. in the earphones, it sounded nasty. "no deal, denver. i hate your guts. and i want darbor. i've got both of you where i want you, sewed up. we can sit here and wait. we've plenty of air, food and water. you'll run short. i want you to come out, crawling. she can watch you die, slowly, because i'm not giving you any air, water or food. then i want her to squirm a while before i kick her back into the sewers. you can't bargain. i have her, you, the workings. i've got what i want." hate and anger strangled denver's reply. caltis skulked back out of sight. without moving, denver hailed him again. "okay, puttyface!" denver screamed. "you asked for it. i'm coming out. stand clear and order off your thugs or i'll squeeze you till your guts squirt out your nose like toothpaste from a tube. i'll see how much man there is left in you. it'll be all over the slope when i'm through." his taunt drew fire as he had hoped it would. he dodged quickly behind the shelter of the barricade. a beam of dazzling fire penciled the rock wall. it crackled, spread, flaring to incredible heat and light. it exploded, deluging the gallery with glare and spattering rock. after the glare, darkness seemed thick enough to slice. in that second of stunned reaction blindness, denver was leaping the barricade and sprinting toward the entrance. caltis came to meet him. both fired at once. both missed. the random beams flicked at the rough, timbered walls and lashed out with thunderous violence. locked together, the men pitched back and forth. they rocked and swayed, muscles straining. it was deadlock again. denver was youth and fury. caltis had experience and the training of a fighter. it was savage, lawless, the sculptured stance of embattled champions. almost motionless, as forces canceled out. the battle was equal. v while they tangled, both blocked, darbor slipped past them and stood outside the entrance. she was exposed, a clear target. but the men below dared not fire until they knew where caltis was, what had happened to him. she held the enemy at bay. gun ready, darbor faced down the slopes. it was not necessary to pull trigger. not for the moment. she waited and hoped and dared someone to move. neither man gave first. it was the weakened timbering that supported the gallery roof. loose stones rained down. dry, cold and brittle wood sagged under strain. both wild shots had taken shattering effect. timbers yielded, slowly at first, then faster. showering of loose stones became a steady stream. a minor avalanche. darbor heard the sound or caught some vibration through her helmet microphones. the men were too involved to notice. caltis heard her. he got a cruel nosehold, twisted denver's nose like an instrument dial. denver screamed, released his grip. in the scramble, his foot slipped. darbor cried out shrill warning. breaking free, caltis bolted in panic toward the entrance. the fall of rock was soundless. it spilled down in increasing torrents. larger sections of ceiling were giving away. above the prostrate denver hovered a poised phantom of eerie light. charley, bored, had gone to sleep. awakening, he found a game still going on. a fine new game. it was fascinating. he wanted to join the fun. like an angle of reflected light cast by a turning mirror, he darted. the running figure aroused his curiosity. charley streamed through the collapsing gallery. he caught up with caltis just inside the entrance. with a burble of insane, twittering glee, he went into action. it was all in the spirit of things. just another delightful game. like a thunderbolt he hurtled upon caltis, tangled with him. it was absurd, insane. man and moondog went down together in a silly sprawl. sparks flew, became a confused tesseract of luminous motion. radiance blazed up and danced and flickered and no exact definition of the intertwined bodies was possible. glowing lines wove fat webs of living color. it was too swift, too involved for any sane perception. a wild, sprawling of legs, arms and body encircled and became part of the intricacies of speeding, impossible light. it was a mess. some element or combination of forces in charley, inspired by excitement and sheer delight, made unfortunate contact with ground currents of vagrant electricity. electricity ceased to be invisible. it became sizzling, immense flash, in which many complexities made part of a simple whole. it was spectacular but brief. it was a flaming vortex of interlocked spirals of light and color and naked force. it was fireworks. and it was the end of big ed caltis. he fried, and hot grease spattered about him. he sizzled like a bug on a hot stove. when denver reached the entrance, man and moondog lay in a curious huddle of interrupted action. it was over. charley was tired, but he still lived and functioned after his curious fashion. for the moment, he had lost interest in further fun and games. he lay quietly in a corner of rough rock and tried to rebuild his scattered and short-circuited energies. he pulsed and crackled and sound poured in floods of muffled static from the earphones in denver's helmet. but this was no time for social amenities. big ed caltis was dead, very dead. but the others down the slope were still alive. like avenging angels, denver and darbor charged together down the slope. besiegers scattered and fled in panic as twinned beams of dreadful light and heat scourged their hiding places. they fled through the grotesque shadow patterns of lunar night. they fled back, some of them, to the black ship which had brought them. and there, they ran straight into the waiting arms of a detail from space patrol headquarters. * * * * * tod denver's friend, the watchman, had talked. from spaceport he had called the space patrol and talked where it would do some good. a bit late to be of much use, help had arrived. it took the space patrol squads a half hour to round up the scattered survivors. darbor went back to the mine-buildings with the space patrol lieutenant as escort. denver trudged wearily back up the slope to recover charley. the moondog was in a bad way. he bulged badly amidships and seemed greatly disturbed, not to say temperamental. with tenderness and gentle care, denver cradled the damaged charley in his arms and made his way back to the living shack at the mine. space cops were just hustling in the last of the prisoners and making ready to return to civilization. denver thanked them, but with brief curtness, for charley's condition worried him. he went inside and tried to make his pet comfortable, wondering where one would look on the moon for a veterinary competent to treat a moondog. darbor found him crouched over charley's impoverished couch upon the metal table. "i want to say goodbye," she told him. "i'm sorry about charley. the lieutenant says i can go back with them. so it's back to the bright lights for me." "good luck," denver said shortly, tearing his attention from charley's flickering gyrations. "i hope you find a man with a big fat bankbook." "so do i," darbor admitted. "i could use a new wardrobe. i wish it could have been you. if things had worked out--" "forget it," denver snapped. "there'd have been martin's kid. she'd have got half anyhow. you wouldn't have liked that." darbor essayed a grin. "you know, i've been thinking. maybe the old guy was my father. it could be. i never knew who my old man was, and i did go to school on earth. reform school." denver regarded her cynically. "couldn't be. i'm willing to believe you don't know who your father was. some women should keep books. but that kid's not martian." darbor shrugged. "doesn't matter. so long, kid. if you make a big strike, look me up." the space patrol lieutenant was waiting for her. she linked arms with him, and vanished toward the ship. denver went back to charley. intently he studied the weird creature, wondering what to do. a timid knock startled him. for a moment, wild hope dawned. maybe darbor-- but it wasn't darbor. a strange girl stood in the doorway. she pushed open the inner flap of the airlock and stepped from the valve. "i was looking around," she explained. "i bummed my way out with the patrol ship. do you mind?" denver scowled at her. "should i?" the girl tried a smile on him but she looked ill-at-ease. "you look like one of the local boy scouts," she said. "how about helping a lady in distress?" "i make a hobby of it," he snarled. "i don't even care if they're ladies. but i'm fresh out of romance and slightly soured. and i'm worried about the one friend who's dumb enough to stick by me. you picked a bad time to ask. what do you want?" the girl smiled shyly. "all right, so you don't look like a boy scout. but i'm still a girl in a jam. i'm tired and broke and hungry. all i want is a sandwich, and maybe a lift to the next town. i should have gone back with the patrol ship but i guess they forgot me. i thought maybe, if you're going somewhere that's civilized, i could bum a lift. what's wrong with your friend?" denver indicated charley. "frankly, i don't know." he balked at trying to explain again just what a moondog was. "but who are you? what did you want here?" the girl stared at him. "didn't you know? i'm soleil. my father owned this mine. he thought he'd found something, and sent for me to share it. it took the last of our money to get me here, but i wanted to come. we hadn't seen each other for twenty years. now he's dead, and i'm broke, alone and scared. i need to get to some place where i can dream up an eating job." "you're martin's kid?" soleil nodded, absently, looking at charley. the moondog gave a strange, electronic whimper. there was an odd expression on the girl's face. a flash of inspiration seemed to enlighten her. "i'll take care of this," she said softly. "you wait outside." somewhat later, after blinding displays of erratic lightnings had released a splendor of fantastic color through the view-ports to reflect staggeringly from the mountain walls, a tired girl called out to tod denver. she met him inside the airlock. in her arms snuggled a pile of writhing radiance, like glowing worms. moonpups. a whole litter of moonpups. "they're cute," soleil commented, "but i've never seen anything quite like this before." "it must have been a delayed fuse," said denver, wilting. "here we go again." he fainted.... * * * * * awakening was painful to denver. he remembered nightmare, and the latter part of his memory dealt with moonpups. swarms of moonpups. as if charley hadn't been enough. he was not sure that he wanted to open his eyes. he thought he heard the outer flap of the airlock open, then someone pounding on the inner door. habit of curiosity conquered, and his eyelids blinked. he looked up to find a strange man beside his bed. the man was fat, fussy, pompous. but he looked prosperous, and seemed excited. denver glanced warily about the room. after all, he had been strained. perhaps it was all part of delirium. no sign of the girl either. could he have imagined her, too? he sighed and remembered darbor. "tod denver?" asked the fat, prosperous man. "i got your name from a sergeant of security police in crystal city. he says you own a moondog. is that true?" denver nodded painfully. "i'm afraid it is. what's the charge?" the stranger seemed puzzled, amused. "this may seem odd to you, but i'm in the market for moondogs. scientific laboratories all over the system want them, and are paying top prices. the most unusual and interesting life form in existence. but moondogs are scarce. would you consider parting with yours? i can assure you he'll receive kind treatment and good care. they're too valuable for anything else." denver almost blanked out again. it was too much like the more harrowing part of his dreams. he blinked his eyes, but the man was still there. "one of us is crazy," he mused aloud. "maybe both of us. i can't sell charley. i'd miss him too much." suddenly, as it happens in dreams, soleil martin stood beside him. her arms were empty, but she stood there, smiling. "you wouldn't have to sell charley," she said, giving denver a curious, thrusting glance. "had you forgotten that you're now a father, or foster-grandfather, or something. you have moonpups, in quantity. i had to let you lie there while i put the little darlings to bed. and it's not charley any more, please. charlotte. it has to be charlotte." denver paled and groaned. he turned hopefully to the fat stranger. "say, mister, how many moonpups can you use?" "all of them, if you'll sell." the man whipped out a signed, blank check, and quickly filled in astronomical figures. denver looked at it, whistled, then doubted first his sanity, then the check. "take them," denver murmured. "take them, quick, before you change your mind, or all this evaporates in dream." a moondog has no nerves. charley--or charlotte--had none, but the brood of moonpups had already begun to get on whatever passed for nerves in his electronic make-up. he was glad and relieved to be rid of his numerous progeny. he, or she, showed passionate and embarrassing affection for denver, and even generously included soleil martin in the display. denver stared at her suddenly while she helped the commission agent round up his radiant loot and make ready for the return to town. it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. she was pretty. not beautiful, of course. just pretty. and nice. he remembered that he was carrying her picture in his pocket. she was even an earth-girl. they were almost as scarce in the moon colonies as moondogs. "look here," he said. "i have money now. i was going out prospecting but it can wait. i kind of inherited you from your father, you know. do you need dough or something?" soleil laughed. "i need everything. but don't bother. i haven't any claim on you. and i can ride back to the city with mr. potts. he looks like a better bet. he can write such big checks, too." denver made a face of disgust. "all women are alike," he muttered savagely. "go on, then--" soleil frowned. "don't say it. don't even think it. i'm not going anywhere. not till you go. i just wanted you to ask me nice. i'm staying. i'll go prospecting with you. i like that. dad made me study minerals and mining. i can be a real help. with that big check, we can get a real outfit." denver stopped dreaming. "but you don't know what it's like out there. just empty miles of loneliness and heat and desert and mountains of bare rock. not even the minimum comforts. nights last two earth weeks. there'd just be you and me and charlotte." soleil smiled fondly. "it listens good, and might be fun. i like charlotte and you. i'm realistic and strong enough to be a genuine partner." tod denver gasped. "you sure know what you want--partner!" he grinned. "now we'll have a married woman along. i was worried about wandering around, unprotected, with a female moondog--" soleil laughed. "i think charlotte needs a chaperone." * * * * * the blue goose frank lewis nason author of to the end of the trail copyright, , by mcclure, phillips & co. new york published, march, , r second impression * * * * * "_so i prophesied as i was commanded: and as i prophesied, there was a noise and behold a shaking, and the bones came together bone to bone._ "_and, lo, the sinews and the flesh came upon them, but there was no breath in them._ "_son of man, prophesy unto the wind. come from the four winds, o breath, and breathe upon these that they may live._ "_and the breath came into them and they lived._" to my friend of twenty-one years, charles emerson beecher, who, with infinite skill and patience, has breathed the breath of life into the dry bones of earth's untold ages of upward struggle, who has made them speak of the eternity of their past, and has made them prophesy hope for the eternity to come, this book is dedicated by the author. contents i. the blue goose ii. the old man iii. Élise iv. the watched pot begins to boil v. bennie opens the pot and firmstone comes in vi. the family circle vii. mr. morrison tackles a man with a mind of his own and a man without one viii. madame seeks counsel ix. the meeting at the blue goose x. Élise goes forth to conquer xi. the devil's elbow xii. figs and thistles xiii. the stork and the cranes xiv. blinded eyes xv. bending the twig xvi. an insistent question xvii. the bearded lion xviii. winnowed chaff xix. the fly in the ointment xx. the river gives up its prey xxi. the sword that turns xxii. good intentions xxiii. an unexpected recruit xxiv. the gathering to its own xxv. a divided house xxvi. the day of reckoning xxvii. passing clouds the blue goose chapter i _the blue goose_ "_mais oui!_ i tell you one ting. one big ting. ze big man wiz ze glass eyes, he is vat you call one slik stoff. ze big man wiz ze glass eyes." "the old man?" "zat's him! one slik stoff! _Écoutez!_ listen! one day, you mek ze gran' trip. look hout!" pierre made a gesture as of a dog shaking a rat. the utter darkness of the underground laboratory was parted in solid masses, by bars of light that spurted from the cracks of a fiercely glowing furnace. one shaft fell on a row of large, unstoppered bottles. from these bottles fumes arose, mingled, and fell in stifling clouds of fleecy white. from another bottle in pierre's hands a dense red smoke welled from a colourless liquid, crowded through the neck, wriggled through the bar of light, and sank in the darkness beneath. the darkness was uncanny, the fumes suffocating, the low hum of the furnace forcing out the shafts of light from the cracks of the imprisoning walls infernally suggestive. luna shivered. he was ignorant, therefore superstitious, and superstition strongly suggested the unnatural. he knew that furnaces and retorts and acids and alkalies were necessary to the refinement of gold. he feared them, yet he had used them, but he had used them where the full light of day robbed them of half their terrors. in open air acids might smoke, but drifting winds would brush away the fumes. furnaces might glow, but their glow would be as naught in sunlight. there was no darkness in which devils could hide to pounce on him unawares, no walls to imprison him. the gold he retorted on his shovel was his, and he had no fear of the law. in the underground laboratory of pierre the element of fear was ever present. the gold that the furnace retorted was stolen, and luna was the thief. there were other thieves, but that did not matter to him. he stole gold from the mill. others stole gold from the mine. it all came to pierre and to pierre's underground furnace. he stood in terror of the supernatural, of the law, and, most of all, of pierre. in the darkness barred with fierce jets of light, imprisoned by walls that he could not see, cut off from the free air of open day, stifled by pungent gases that stung him, throat and eye, he felt an uncanny oppression, fear of the unknown, fear of the law, most of all fear of pierre. pierre watched him through his mantle of darkness. he thrust forward his head, and a bar of light smote him across his open lips. it showed his gleaming teeth white and shut, his black moustache, his swarthy lips parted in a sardonic smile; that was all. a horrible grin on a background of inky black. luna shrank. "leave off your devil's tricks." "_moi?_" pierre replaced the bottle of acid on the shelf and picked up a pair of tongs. as he raised the cover of the glowing crucible a sudden transformation took place. the upper part of the laboratory blazed out fiercely, and in this light pierre moved with gesticulating arms, the lower part of his body wholly hidden. he lifted the crucible, shook it for a moment with an oscillatory motion, then replaced it on the fire. he turned again to luna. "hall ze time i mek ze explain. hall ze time you mek ze question. _comment?_" luna's courage was returning in the light. "you're damned thick-headed, when it suits you, all right. well, i'll explain. last clean-up i brought you two pounds of amalgam if it was an ounce. all i got out of it was fifty dollars. you said that was my share. hansen brought you a chunk of quartz from the mine. he showed it to me first. if i know gold from sulphur, there was sixty dollars in it. hansen got five out of it." pierre interrupted. "you mek mention ze name." "there's no one to hear in this damned hell of yours." "_non_," pierre answered. "you mek mention in zis hell. bimby you mek mention," pierre gave an expressive upward jerk with his thumb, then shrugged his shoulders. "i'll look out for that," luna answered, impatiently. "i'm after something else now. i'm getting sick of pinching the mill and bringing the stuff here for nothing. so are the rest of the boys. we ain't got no hold on you and you ain't playing fair. you've got to break even or this thing's going to stop." pierre made no reply to luna. he picked up the tongs, lifted the crucible from the fire, and again replaced it. then he brought out an ingot mould and laid it on a ledge of the furnace. the crucible was again lifted from the fire, and its contents were emptied in the mould. pierre and luna both watched the glowing metal. as it slowly cooled, iridescent sheens of light swept over its surface like the changing colours of a dying dolphin. pierre held up the mould to luna. "how much she bin?" luna looked covetously at the softly glowing metal. "two hundred." "_bien._ she's bin ze amalgam, ze quart', ze hozer stoff. da's hall." luna looked sceptical. "that's too thin. how many times have you fired up?" "zis!" pierre held up a single emphasizing finger. "we'll let that go," luna answered; "but you listen now. one of the battery men is off to-night. i'm going to put morrison on substitute. he's going to break a stem or something. the mortar's full to the dies. we're going to clean it out. i know how much it will pan. it's coming to you. you divide fair or it's the last you'll get. i'll hide it out in the usual place." "look hout! da's hall!" the other laughed impatiently. "getting scared, frenchy? where's your nerve?" "nerf! nerf!" pierre danced from foot to foot, waving his arms. "_sacré plastron!_ you mek ze fuse light. you sit on him, heh? bimeby, pretty soon, you got no nerf. you got noddings. you got one big gris-spot on ze rock. da's hall." pierre subsided, with a gesture of intense disgust. luna snapped his watch impatiently. "it's my shift, frenchy. i've got to go in a few minutes." "_bien!_ go!" pierre spoke without spirit. "mek of yourself one gran' _folie_. _mais_, when ze shot go, an' you sail in ze air, don' come down on ze blue goose, on me, pierre. i won't bin here, da's hall." luna turned. "i tell you i've got to go now. i wish you'd tell me what's the matter with the old man." pierre roused himself. "noddings. ze hol' man has noddings ze mattaire. it is you! you! ze hol' man, he go roun' lak he kick by ze dev'. he mek his glass eyes to shine here an' twinkle zere, an' you mek ze gran' chuckle, 'he see noddings.' he see more in one look dan you pack in your tick head! i tol' you look hout; da's hall!" luna jammed his watch into his pocket and rose. "it's all right, frenchy. i'll give you another chance. to-day's thursday. saturday they'll clean up at the mill. it will be a big one. i want my rake-off. the boys want theirs. it all comes to the blue goose, one way or another. you think you're pretty smooth stuff. that's all right; but let me tell you one thing: if there's any procession heading for cañon city, you'll be in it, too." cañon city was the state hostelry. occasionally the law selected unwilling guests. it was not over-large, nor was it overcrowded. had it sheltered all deserving objects, the free population of the state would have been visibly diminished. pierre only shrugged his shoulders. he followed luna up the stairs to the outer door, and watched the big mill foreman as he walked down the trail to the mill. then, as was his custom when perturbed in mind, pierre crossed the dusty waggon trail and seated himself on a boulder, leaning his back against a scrubby spruce. he let his eyes rest contentedly on a big, square-faced building. rough stone steps led up to a broad veranda, from which rose, in barbaric splendour, great sheets of shining plate-glass, that gave an unimpeded view of a long mahogany bar backed by tiers of glasses and bottles, doubled by reflection from polished mirrors that reached to the matched-pine ceiling. across the room from the bar, roulette and faro tables, bright with varnish and gaudy with nickel trimmings, were waiting with invitations to feverish excitement. the room was a modern presentation of scylla and charybdis. scylla, the bar, stimulated to the daring of charybdis across the way, and charybdis, the roulette, sent its winners to celebrate success, or its victims to deaden the pain of loss. at the far end of the room a glass-covered arcade stood in advance of doors to private club-rooms. at the arcade an obliging attendant passed out gold and silver coins, for a consideration, in exchange for crumpled time-checks and greasy drafts. pierre grinned and rubbed his hands. above the plate glass on the outside a gorgeous rainbow arched high on the painted front. inscribed within, in iridescent letters, was: "the blue goose. pierre la martine." beneath the spring of the rainbow, for the benefit of those who could not read, was a huge blue goose floating aimlessly in a sheet of bluer water. this was all of the blue goose that was visible to the eyes of the uninitiated; of the initiated there were not many. beneath the floor was a large cellar, wherein was a fierce-looking furnace, which on occasion grew very red with its labours. there were pungent jars and ghostly vessels and a litter of sacks, and much sparkling dust on the earthen floor. all this pierre knew, and a few others, though even these had not seen it. beneath the shadow of the wings of the blue goose dwelt a very plain woman, who looked chronically frightened, and a very beautiful girl who did not. the scared woman was madame la martine; the unscared girl passed for their daughter, but about the daughter no one asked questions of pierre. about the blue goose, its bar, and its gaming-tables pierre was eloquent, even with strangers. about his daughter and other things his acquaintances had learned to keep silence; as for strangers, they soon learned. obviously the mission of the blue goose was to entertain; with the multitude this mission passed current at its face value, but there were a few who challenged it. now and then a grocer or a butcher made gloomy comments as he watched a growing accumulation of books that would not prove attractive to the most confirmed bibliophile. men went to the blue goose with much money, but came out with none, for the bar and roulette required cash settlements. their wives went in to grocers and butchers with no money but persuasive tongues, and came forth laden with spoils. pandora could raise no taxes for schools, so there were none. preachers came and offered their wares without money and without price, but there were no churches. for the wares of the preachers flushed no faces and burned no throats, nor were there rattles even in contribution boxes, and there was no whirr of painted wheels. even the hundred rumbling stamps of the rainbow mill might as well have pounded empty air or clashed their hard steel shoes on their hard steel dies for all the profit that came to the far-away stockholders of the great rainbow mine and mill. so it came to pass that many apparently unrelated facts were gathered together by the diligent but unprosperous, and, being thus gathered, pointed to a very inevitable conclusion. nothing and no one was prosperous, save pierre and his gorgeous blue goose. for pierre was a power in the land. he feared neither god nor the devil. the devil was the bogie-man of the priest. as for god, who ever saw him? but of some men pierre had much fear, and among the same was "the hol' man" at the mill. chapter ii _the old man_ after leaving the blue goose luna went straight to the superintendent's office. he was nettled rather than worried by pierre's cautions. worry implied doubt of his own wisdom, as well as fear of the old man. superintendents had come to, and departed from, the rainbow. defiant fanfares had heralded their coming, confusion had reigned during their sojourn, their departure had been duly celebrated at the blue goose. this had been the invariable sequence. through all these changes pierre was complacently confident, but he never lost his head. the bottles of the blue goose bar were regularly drained, alike for welcoming and for speeding the departing incumbent at the rainbow. the roulette whirred cheerfully, gold and silver coins clinked merrily, the underground furnace reddened and dulled at regular periods, and much lawful money passed back and forth between the blue goose and its patrons. not that the passing back and forth was equal; pierre attended to that. his even teeth gleamed between smiling lips, his swarthy cheeks glowed, and day by day his black hair seemed to grow more sleek and oily, and his hands smoother with much polishing. pierre read printed words with ease. that which was neither printed nor spoken was spelled out, sometimes with wrinkling of brows and narrowing of eyes, but with unmistakable correctness in the end. from the faces and actions of men he gathered wisdom, and this wisdom was a lamp to his feet, and in dark places gave much light to his eyes. thus it happened that with the coming of richard firmstone came also great caution to pierre. the present superintendent blew no fanfares on his new trumpet, he expressed no opinion of his predecessors, and gave no hint of his future policy. mr. morrison, who oiled his hair and wore large diamonds in a much-starched, collarless shirt while at the bar of the blue goose, donned overalls and jumpers while doing "substitute" at the mill, and between times kept alive the spirit of rebellion in the bosoms of down-trodden, capitalist-ridden labour. morrison freely voiced the opinion that the rainbow crowd had experienced religion, and had sent out a sunday-school superintendent to reform the workmen and to count the dollars that dropped from beneath the stamps of the big mill. in this opinion luna, the mill foreman, concurred. he even raised the ante, solemnly averring that the old man opened the mill with prayer, sang hallelujahs at change of shift, and invoked divine blessing before chewing his grub. whereat the down-trodden serfs of soulless corporations cheered long and loud, and called for fresh oblations at the bar of the blue goose. all these things luna pondered in his mind, and his indignation waxed hot at pierre. "the damned old frog-eater's losing his nerve; that's what! i ain't going to be held up by no frog-spawn." he opened the office door and clumped up to the railing. the superintendent looked up. "what is it, luna?" "long, on number ten battery, is sick and off shift. shall we hang up ten, or put on morrison?" the superintendent smiled. "is it morrison, or hang up?" he asked. the question was disconcerting. the foreman shifted his footing. "morrison is all right," he said, doggedly. "he's a good battery man. things ain't pushing at the blue goose, and he can come as well as not." "what's the matter with morrison?" the superintendent's smile broadened. the foreman looked puzzled. "i've just been telling you--he's all right." "that's so. only, back east, when a horse jockey gets frothy about the good points of his horse, we look sharp." the foreman grew impatient. "you haven't told me whether to hang up ten or not." "i'm not going to. you are foreman of the mill. put on anyone you want; fire anyone you want. it's nothing to me; only," he looked hard, "you know what we're running this outfit for." the foreman appeared defiant. guilty thoughts were spurring him to unwise defence. "if the ore ain't pay i can't get it out." "i'll attend to the ore, that's my business. get out what there is in it, that's yours." he leaned forward to his papers. the foreman shifted uneasily. his defence was not complete. he was not sure that he had been attacked. he knew morrison of the blue goose. he knew the workings of the mill. he had thought he knew the old man. he was not so sure now. he was not even sure how much or how little he had let out. perhaps pierre's words had rattled him. he shifted from foot to foot, twirling his hat on his fingers. he half expected, half hoped, and half waited for another opening. none came. through the muffled roar of the stamps he was conscious of the sharp scratch of the superintendent's pen. then came the boom of the big whistle. it was change of shift. the jar of the office door closing behind him was not heard. at the mill he found morrison. "you go on ten, in long's place," he said, gruffly, as he entered the mill. morrison stared at the retreating foreman. "what in hell," he began; then, putting things together in his mind, he shook his head, and followed the foreman into the mill. the superintendent was again interrupted by the rasping of hobnailed shoes on the office floor and the startled creak of the office railing as a large, loose-jointed man leaned heavily against it. his trousers, tucked into a pair of high-laced, large-eyed shoes, were belted at the waist in a conspicuous roll. a faded gray shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, disclosed a red undershirt and muscular arms. a well-shaped head with grey streaked hair, and a smooth, imperturbable face was shaded by a battered sombrero that was thrust back and turned squarely up in front. the superintendent's smile had nothing puzzling now. "hello, zephyr. got another camp bird?" "flying higher'n a camp bird this time." "how's that?" "right up to the golden gates this time, sure. it's straight goods. st. peter ain't going to take no post-prandial siestas from now on. i'm timbering my shots to keep from breaking the sky. tell you what, i'm jarring them mansions in heaven wuss'n a new york subway contractor them fifth avenue palaces." zephyr paused and glanced languidly at the superintendent. firmstone chuckled. "go on," he said. "i've gone as far as i can without flying. it's a lead from the golden streets of the new jerusalem. followed it up to the foot of bingham pass; caught it above the slide, then it took up the cliff, and disappeared in the cerulean. say, goggles, how are you off for chuck? i've been up against glory, and i'm down hungrier than a she-bear that's skipped summer and hibernated two winters." "good! guess bennie will fix us up something. can you wait a few minutes?" "i think i can. i've been practising on that for years. no telling when such things will come in handy. you don't object to music, goggles?" "not to music, no," firmstone answered, with an amused glance at zephyr. zephyr, unruffled, drew from his shirt a well-worn harmonica. "music hath charms," he remarked, brushing the instrument on the sleeve of his shirt. "referring to my savage breast, not yours." he placed the harmonica to his lips, holding it in hollowed hands. his oscillating breath jarred from the metal reeds the doleful strains of _home, sweet home_, muffled by the hollow of his hands into mournful cadences. at last firmstone closed his desk. "if your breast is sufficiently soothed, let's see what bennie can do for your stomach." as they passed from the office zephyr carefully replaced the harmonica in his shirt. "i'd rather be the author of that touching little song than the owner of the inferno. that's my new claim," he remarked, distantly. firmstone laughed. "i thought your claim was nearer heaven." "the two are not far apart. 'death, like a narrow sea, divides.' but my reminiscences were getting historical, which you failed to remark. i ain't no wolfe and pierre ain't no montcalm, nor the heights of abraham ain't the blue goose. pierre's a hog. at least, he's a close second. a hog eats snakes and likewise frogs. pierre's only got as far as frogs, last i heard. pierre's bad. morrison's bad. luna ain't. he thinks he is; but he ain't. i'm not posting you nor nothing. i'm only meditating out loud. that's all." they entered the mill boarding-house. bennie, the cook, greeted zephyr effusively. "goggles invited me to pay my respects to you," zephyr remarked. "i'm empty, and i'm thinking you can satisfy my longing as nothing else can do." zephyr addressed himself to bennie's viands. at last he rose from the table. "to eat and to sleep are the chief ends of man. i have eaten, and now i see i am tired. with your consent, uttered or unexpressed, i'll wrap the drapery of my bunk around me and take a snooze. and say, goggles," he added, "if, the next time you inventory stock, you are shy a sack of flour and a side of bacon, you can remark to the company that prospectors is thick around here, and that prospectors is prone to evil as the sparks fly upward. that's where the flour and bacon are going. up to where st. peter can smell them cooking; leastways he can if he hangs his nose over the wall and the wind's right." chapter iii _Élise_ bennie was an early riser, as became a faithful cook; but, early as he usually was, this morning he was startled into wakefulness by a jarring chug, as zephyr, with a relieved grunt, dropped a squashy sack on the floor near his bunk. bennie sprang to a sitting posture, rubbing his sleepy eyes to clear his vision; but, before he could open his eyes or his mouth beyond a startled ejaculation, zephyr had departed. he soon reappeared. there was another chug, another grunt, and another departure. four times this was repeated. then zephyr seated himself on the bunk, and, pushing back his sombrero, mopped his perspiring brow. "what the--" bennie started in, but zephyr's uplifted hand restrained him. "the race is not to the swift, julius benjamin. the wise hound holds his yap till he smells a hot foot. them indecisive sacks is hot footses, julius benjamin; but it isn't your yap, not by quite some." "what's up, zephyr?" asked bennie. "i'm not leaky." "them gelatinous sacks," zephyr went on, eyeing them meditatively, "i found hidden in the bushes near the mine, and they contain mighty interesting matter. they're an epitome of life. they started straight, but missed connections. pulled up at the wrong station. i've thrown the switch, and now you and me, julius, will make it personally conducted the rest of the trip." "hm!" mused bennie. "i see. that stuff's been pinched from the mill." "good boy, julius benjamin! you're doing well. you'll go into words of two syllables next." zephyr nodded, with a languid smile. "but, to recapitulate, as my old school-teacher used to say, there's thousands of dollars in them sacks. the rainbow ain't coughing up no such rich stuff as that. that rock is broken; ergo, it's been under the stamps. it's coarse and fine, from which i infer it hasn't been through the screens. and furthermore----" bennie interrupted eagerly. "they've just hung up the stamps and raked out the rich stuff that's settled between the dies!" "naturally, gold being heavier than quartz. julius benjamin, you're fit for the second reader." bennie laughed softly. "it's luna or morrison been robbing the mill. won't frenchy pull the long face when he hears of your find?" zephyr made no farther reply than to blow _there'll be a hot time_ from pursed lips as he rolled a cigarette. "so there will be," bennie answered. "not to-night, bennie." zephyr was puffing meditative whiffs in the air. "great things move slowly. richard firmstone is great, benjamin; leave it to him." bennie was already dressed, and zephyr, throwing the stub of his cigarette through the open window, followed him to the kitchen. he ate his specially prepared breakfast with an excellent appetite. "i think i'll raise my bet. i mentioned a sack of flour and a side of bacon. i'll take a can of coffee and a dab of sugar. st. peter'll appreciate that. 'tis well to keep on the right side of the old man. some of us may have occasion to knock at his gate before the summer is over. you've heard of my new claim, bennie?" bennie made no reply. between packing up zephyr's supplies, attending to breakfast for the men, and thinking of the sacks of stolen ore, he was somewhat preoccupied. zephyr stowed the supplies in his pack and raised it to his shoulder. bennie looked up in surprise. "you're not going now, are you?" zephyr was carefully adjusting the straps of his pack. "it looks pretty much that way, benjamin. when a man's got all he wants, it's time for him to lope. if he stays, he might get more and possibly--less." "what will i do with these sacks?" bennie asked hurriedly, as zephyr passed through the door. zephyr made no reply, further than softly to whistle _break the news to mother_ as he swung into the trail. he clumped sturdily along, apparently unmindful of the rarefied air that would ordinarily make an unburdened man gasp for breath. his lips were still pursed, though they had ceased to give forth sound. he came to the nearly level terrace whereon, among scattered boulders, were clustered the squat shanties of the town of pandora. he merely glanced at the blue goose, whose polished windows were just beginning to glow with the light of the rising sun. he saw a door open at the far end of the house and madame la martine emerge, a broom in her hands and a dust-cloth thrown over one shoulder. pierre's labours ended late. madame's began very early. both had an unvarying procession. pierre had much hilarious company; it was his business to keep it so. he likewise had many comforting thoughts; these cost him no effort. the latter came as a logical sequence to the former. madame had no company, hilarious or otherwise. instead of complacent thoughts, she had anxiety. and so it came to pass that, while pierre grew sleek and smooth with the passing of years, madame developed many wrinkles and grey hairs and a frightened look, from the proffering of wares that were usually thrust aside with threatening snarls and many harsh words. pierre was not alone in the unstinted pouring forth of the wine of pleasure for the good of his companions and in uncorking his vials of wrath for the benefit of his wife. zephyr read the whole dreary life at a glance. a fleeting thought came to zephyr. how would it have been with madame had she years ago chosen him instead of pierre? a smile, half pitying, half contemptuous, was suggested by an undecided quiver of the muscles of his face, more pronounced by the light in his expressive eyes. he left the waggon trail that zig-zagged up the steep grade beyond the outskirts of the town, cutting across their sharp angles in a straight line. near the foot of an almost perpendicular cliff he again picked up the trail. through a notch in the brow of the cliff a solid bar of water shot forth. the solid bar, in its fall broken to a misty spray, fell into a mossy basin at the cliff's foot, regathered, and then, sliding and twisting in its rock-strewn bed, gurgled among nodding flowers and slender, waving willows that were fanned into motion by the breath of the falling spray. where the brook crossed the trail zephyr stood still. not all at once. there was an indescribable suggestion of momentum overcome by the application of perfectly balanced power. zephyr did not whistle, even softly. instead, there was a low hum-- _but the maiden in the garden was the fairest flower of all._ zephyr deliberately swung his pack from his shoulders, deposited it on the ground, and as deliberately seated himself on the pack. there was an unwonted commotion among the cluster of thrifty plants at which zephyr was looking expectantly. a laughing face with large eyes sparkling with mischievous delight looked straight into his own. as the girl rose to her feet she tossed a long, heavy braid of black hair over her shoulder. "you thought you would scare me; now, didn't you?" she came forth from the tangled plants and stood before him. zephyr's eyes were resting on the girl's face with a smile of quiet approbation. tall and slender, she was dressed in a dark gown, whose sailor blouse was knotted at the throat with a red scarf; at her belt a holster showed a silver-mounted revolver. an oval face rested on a shapely neck, as delicately poised as the nodding flowers she held in her hand. a rich glow, born of perfect health and stimulating air, burned beneath the translucent olive skin. zephyr made no direct reply to her challenge. "why aren't you helping madame at the blue goose?" "because i've struck, that's why." there was a defiant toss of the head, a compressed frown on the arching brows. like a cloud wind-driven from across the sun the frown disappeared; a light laugh rippled from between parted lips. "daddy was mad, awfully mad. you ought to have seen him." the flowers fell from her hands as she threw herself into pierre's attitude. "'meenx,'" she mimicked, "'you mek to defy me in my own house? me? do i not have plenty ze troub', but you mus' mek ze more? _hein?_ ansaire!' and so i did. so!" she threw her head forward, puckered her lips, thrusting out the tip of her tongue at the appreciative zephyr. "oh, it's lots of fun to get daddy mad. 'vaire is my whip, my dog whip? i beat you. i chastise you, meenx!'" the girl stooped to pick up her scattered flowers. "only it frightens poor mammy so. mammy never talks back only when daddy goes for me. i'd just like to see him when he comes down this morning and finds me gone. it would be lots of fun. only, if i was there, i couldn't be here, and it's just glorious here, isn't it? what's the trouble, zephyr? you haven't said a word to me all this time." "when your blessed little tongue gets tired perhaps i'll start in. there's no more telling when that will be than what i'll say, supposing i get the chance." "oh, i knew there was something i wanted especially to see you about." the face grew cloudy. "what do you think? you know i was sixteen my last birthday, just a week ago?" she paused and looked at zephyr interrogatively. "i want to know where you are all the time now. it's awfully important. i may want to elope with you at a moment's notice!" she looked impressively at zephyr. zephyr's jaw dropped. "what the mischief----" Élise interrupted: "no, wait; i'm not through. daddy got very playful that day, chucked my chin, and called me _ma chère enfant_. that always means mischief. 'Élise bin seexten to-day, heh? bimeby she tink to liv' her hol' daddy and her hol' mammy and bin gone hoff wiz anodder feller, _hein_?' then he made another dab at my chin. i knew what he meant." she again assumed pierre's position. "'what you say, _ma chérie_? i pick you hout one nice man! one ver' nice man! _hein?_ m'sieu mo-reeson. a ver' nice man. he ben took good care _ma chérie_!'" zephyr was betrayed into a startled motion. Élise was watching him with narrowed eyes. there was a gleam of satisfaction. "that's all right, zephyr. that's just what i did, only i did more. i told daddy i'd just like m'sieu mo-reeson to say marry to me! i told daddy that i'd take the smirk out of m'sieu mo-reeson's face and those pretty curls out of m'sieu mo-reeson's head if he dared look marry at me. only," she went on, "i'm a little girl, after all, and i thought the easiest way would be to elope with you. i would like to see m'sieu mo-reeson try to take me away from a big, strong man like you." there was an expression of intense scorn on her face that bared the even teeth. zephyr was not conscious of Élise. there was a hard, set look on his face. Élise noted it. she tossed her head airily. "oh, you needn't look so terribly distressed. you needn't, if you don't want to. i dare say that the superintendent at the mill would jump at the chance. i think i shall ask him, anyway." her manner changed. "why do they always call him the old man? he is not such a very old man." "they'd call a baby 'the old man' if he was superintendent. do they say much about him?" zephyr asked, meditatively. "oh yes, lots. m'sier mo-reeson"--she made a wry face at the name--"is always talking about that minion of capitalistic oppression that's sucking the life-blood of the serfs of toil. daddy hates the old man. he's afraid of him. daddy always hates anyone he's afraid of, except me." zephyr grunted absently. "that's so." Élise spoke emphatically. "that's why i'm here to-day. i told daddy that if i was old enough to get married i was old enough to do as i liked." in spite of his languid appearance zephyr was very acute. he was getting a great deal that needed careful consideration. he was intensely interested, and he wanted to hear more. he half hesitated, then decided that the end justified the means. "what makes you think that pierre hates the old man?" he ventured, without changing countenance. "oh, lots of things. he tells luna and m'sieu mo-reeson"--another wry face--"to 'look hout.' he talks to the men, tells them that the 'hol' man ees sleek, ver' sleek, look hout, da's hall, an' go slow,' and a lot of things. i'm awfully hungry, zephyr, and i don't want to go down for breakfast. haven't you got something good in your pack? it looks awfully good." she prodded the pack with inquisitive fingers. zephyr rose to his feet. "it will be better when i've cooked it. you'll eat a breakfast after my cooking?" Élise clapped her hands. "that will be fine. i'll just sit here and boss you. if you're good, and you are, you know, i'll tell you some more about m'sieu. suppose we just call him m'sieu, just you and me. that'll be our secret." zephyr gathered dry sticks and started a fire. he opened his pack, cut off some slices of bacon, and, impaling them on green twigs, hung them before the fire. a pinch of salt and baking powder in a handful of flour was mixed into a stiff paste, stirred into the frying-pan, which was propped up in front of the fire. he took some cups from his pack, and, filling them with water, put them on the glowing coals. Élise kept up a rattling chatter through it all. "oh, i almost forgot. daddy says m'sieu is going to be a great man, a great labour leader. that's what m'sieu says himself--that he will lead benighted labour from the galling chains of slavery into the glorious light of freedom's day." Élise waved her arms and rolled her eyes. then she stopped, laughing. "it's awfully funny. i hear it all when i sit at the desk. you know there's only thin boards between my desk and daddy's private room, and i can't help but hear. that coffee and bacon smell good, and what a lovely bannock! aren't you almost ready? it's as nice as when we were on the ranch, and you used to carry me round on your back. that was an awful long time ago, though, wasn't it?" zephyr only grunted in reply. he pursed his lips for a meditative whistle, thought better of it, took the frying-pan from its prop, and sounded the browning bannock with his fingers. _for the babbling streams of youth grow to silent pools of truth when they find a thirsty hollow on their way._ he spoke dreamily. "what are you talking about?" Élise broke in. "oh, nothing in particular. i was just thinking--might have been thinking out loud." "that's you, every time, zephyr. you think without talking, and i talk without thinking. it's lots more fun. do you think i will ever grow into a dear, sober old thing like you? just tell me that." she stooped down, taking zephyr's face in both her hands and turned it up to her own. zephyr looked musingly up into the laughing eyes, and took her hands into his. "not for the same reasons, i guess, not if i can help it," he added, half to himself. "now, if you'll be seated, i'll serve breakfast." he dropped the hands and pointed to a boulder. Élise ate the plain fare with the eager appetite of youth and health. from far down the gulch the muffled roar of the stamps rose and fell on the light airs that drifted up and down. through it all was the soft swish of the falling spray, the sharp _blip! blip!_ as points of light, gathered from dripping boughs, grew to sparkling gems, then, losing their hold, fell into little pools at the foot of the cliff. high above the straggling town the great cables of the tram floated in the air like dusty webs, and up and down these webs, like black spiders, darted the buckets that carried the ore from mine to mill, then disappeared in the roaring mill, and dumping their loads of ore shot up again into sight, and, growing in size, swept on toward the cliff and passed out of sight over the falls above. across the narrow gulch a precipice sheered up eight hundred feet, a hard green crown of stunted spruces on its retreating brow, above the crown a stretch of soft green meadow steeply barred with greener willows, above the meadow jagged spires of blackened lava, thrust up from drifts of shining snow: a triple tiara crowning this silent priest of the mountains. to the east the long brown slide was marked with clifflets mottled as was joseph's coat of many colours, with every shade of red and yellow that rusting flecks of iron minerals could give, brightened here and there with clustered flowers which marked a seeping spring, up and up, broken at last by a jagged line of purple that lay softly against the clear blue of the arching sky. to the west the mountains parted and the vision dropped to miles of browning mesa, flecked with ranchers' squares of irrigated green. still farther a misty haze of distant mountains rose, with the great soft bell of the curving sky hovering over all. zephyr ate in a silence which Élise did not care to break. her restless eyes glanced from zephyr to the mountains, fell with an eager caress on the flowers that almost hid the brook, looked out to the distant mesa, and last of all shot defiance at the blazing windows of the blue goose that were hurtling back the fiery darts of the attacking sun. she sprang to her feet, brushing the crumbs from her clothes. "much obliged, mr. zephyr, for your entertainment." she swept him a low courtesy. "i told you i was out for a lark to-day. now you can wash the dishes." zephyr had also risen. he gave no heed to her playful attitude. "i want you to pay especial attention, Élise." "oh, gracious!" she exclaimed. "now i'm in for it." she straightened her face, but she could not control the mischievous sparkle of her eyes. there was little of meditation but much decision in zephyr's words. "don't let pierre tease you, persuade you, frighten you, or bulldoze you into marrying that morrison. do you hear? get away. run away." "or elope," interrupted Élise. "don't skip that." "go to bennie, the old man, or to anyone, if you can't find me." "what a speech, zephyr! did any of it get away?" zephyr was too much in earnest even to smile. "remember what i say." "you put in an awful lot of hard words. but then, i don't need to remember. i may change my mind. maybe there'd be a whole lot of fun after all in marrying m'sieu. i'd just like to show him that he can't scare me the way daddy does mammy. it would be worth a whole box of chips. on the whole i think i'll take daddy's advice. bye-bye, zephyr." she again picked up her scattered flowers and went dancing and skipping down the trail. at the turn she paused for an instant, blew zephyr a saucy kiss from the tips of her fingers, then passed out of sight. a voice floated back to the quiet figure by the fire. "don't feel too bad, zephyr. i'll probably change my mind again." chapter iv _the watched pot begins to boil_ of all classes of people under the sun, the so-called labouring man has best cause to pray for deliverance from his friends. his friends are, or rather were, of three classes. the first, ardent but wingless angels of mercy, who fail to comprehend the fact that the unlovely lot of their would-be wards is the result of conditions imposed more largely from within than from without; the second, those who care neither for lots nor conditions, regarding the labourer as a senseless tool with which to hew out his own designs; the third, those who adroitly knock together the heads of the labourer and his employer and impartially pick the pockets of each in the general _mêlée_ which is bound to follow. the past _were_ is designedly contrasted with the present _are_, for it is a fact that conditions all around are changing for the better; slowly, perhaps, but nevertheless surely. the philanthropic friend of the labourer is learning to develop balancing tail-feathers of judgment wherewith to direct the flights of wings of mercy. the employer is beginning to realise the beneficial results of mutual understanding and of considerate co-operation, and the industrious fomenter of strife is learning that bones with richer marrow may be more safely cracked by sensible adjustment than with grievous clubs wielded over broken heads. even so, the millennium is yet far away, and now, as in the past, the path that leads to it is uphill and dim, and is beset with many obstacles. there are no short cuts to the summit. in spite of pessimistic clamours that the rich are growing richer and the poor poorer, frothy yowls for free and unlimited coinage at sixteen to one, or for fiat paper at infinity to nothing, the fact remains that, whereas kings formerly used signets for the want of knowledge to write their names, licked their greasy fingers for lack of knives and forks, and starved in ireland with plenty in france, the poorest to-day can, if they will, indite readable words on well-sized paper, do things in higher mathematics, and avoid the thankless task of dividing eight into seven and looking for the remainder. potatoes are worth fifty cents a bushel. any yokel can dig a hole in the ground and plant the seed and in due time gather the ripened tubers. the engineer who drives his engine at sixty miles an hour, flashing by warning semaphores, rolling among coloured lights, clattering over frogs and switches, is no yokel. therefore, because of this fact, with the compensation of one day he can, if he so elects, buy many potatoes, or employ many yokels. had sir isaac newton devoted to the raising of potatoes the energy which he gave to astronomy, he might have raised larger potatoes and more to the hill than his yokel neighbour. but, his conditions having been potatoes, his reward would have been potatoes, instead of the deathless glory of the discovery and enunciation of the law of gravity. the problem is very simple after all. the world has had a useless deal of trouble because no one has ever before taken the trouble to state the problem and to elaborate it. it is just as simple as is the obvious fact that _x_ plus _y_ equals _a_. there is a possibility, however, that we have been going too fast, and have consequently overlooked a few items of importance. we forgot for the moment, as often happens, that the factors in the problem are not homogeneous digits with fixed values, but complex personalities with decided opinions of their own as to their individual and relative importance, as well as pugnacious tendencies for compelling an acceptance of their assumptions by equally pugnacious factors which claim a differential valuation in their own favour. this consideration presents a somewhat different and more difficult phase of the problem. it really compels us to defer attempts at final solution, for the time being, at least; to make the best adjustment possible under present conditions, putting off to the future the final application, much on the same principle that communities bond their present public possessions for their own good and complacently bestow upon posterity the obligation of settling the bills. considered in this light, the end of the struggle between capital and labour is not yet. each is striving for the sole possession and control of things which belong to neither alone. each looks upon the other not as a co-labourer but as a rival, instead of making intelligent and united effort for an object unattainable by either alone. if capital would smoke this in his cigar and labour the same in his pipe, the soothing effects might tend to more amicable and effective use of what is now dissipated energy. however, universal panaceas are not to be hoped for. the mailed fist puts irritating chips upon swaggering shoulders, and the unresentful turning of smitten cheeks is conducive to a thrifty growth of gelatinous nincompoops. the preceding _status quo_ existed in general at the rainbow mines and mill, besides having a few individual characteristics peculiarly their own. miners and millmen, for the most part recent importations from all countries of europe, had come from the realms of oppression to the land of the free with very exaggerated notions of what freedom really was. the dominant expression of this idea was that everyone could do as he pleased, and that if the other fellow didn't like it, he, the other fellow, could get out. the often enunciating of abstract principles led to their liberal application to concrete facts. in this application they had able counsel in the ambitious morrison. "who opened these mountain wilds?" morrison was wont to inquire, not for information, but for emphasis. "who discovered, amidst toils and dangers and deprivations and snowslides, these rich mines of gold and silver? who made them accessible by waggon trail and railroads and burros? who but the honest sons of honest toil? who, when these labours are accomplished, lolls in the luxurious lap of the voluptuous east, reaping the sweat of your brows, gathering in the harvest of hands toiling for three dollars a day or less? who, but the purse-proud plutocrat who sits on his cushioned chair in wall street, sending out his ruthless minions to rob the labourer of his toil and to express his hard-won gold to the stanchless maw of the ghoulish east. rise, noble sons of toil, rise! stretch forth your horny hands and gather in your own! raise high upon these mountain-peaks the banner of freedom's hope before despairing eyes raised from the greed-sodden plains of the effete east!" whereat the sons of toil would cheer and then proceed to stretch forth hands to unripened fruits with such indiscriminating activity that both mine and mill ceased to yield expenses to the eastern plutocrat, and even the revenues of the blue goose were seriously impaired, to the great distress of pierre. these rhodomontades of morrison had grains of plausible truth as nuclei. the workmen never, or rarely, came in personal contact with their real employers. their employers were in their minds men who reaped where others had sown, who gathered where they had not strewn. the labourer gave no heed to costly equipment which made mines possible, or at best weighed them but lightly against the daily toil of monotonous lives. they saw tons of hard-won ore slide down the long cables, crash through the pounding stamps, saw the gold gather on the plates, saw it retorted, and the shining bars shipped east. against this gold of unknown value, and great because unknown, they balanced their daily wage, that looked pitifully small. the yield of their aggregate labour in foul-aired stopes and roaring mill they could see in one massive lump. they could not see the aggregate of little bites that reduced the imposing mass to a tiny dribble which sometimes, but not always, fell into the treasury of the company. they would not believe, even if they saw. for these reasons, great is the glory of the leaders of labour who are rising to-day, holding restraining hands on turbulent ignorance and taking wise counsel with equally glorious leaders who are striving to enforce the truth that all gain over just compensation is but a sacred trust for the benefit of mankind. these things are coming to be so to-day. but so long as sons of wealth are unmindful of their obligations, and so long as ignorance breathes forth noxious vapours to poison its victims, so long will there be battles to be fought and victories to be won. thus was the way made ready for the feet of one of the labourer's mistaken friends. morrison was wily, if not wise. he distinguished between oratory and logic. he kindled the flames of indignation and resentment with the one and fed them with the other. but in the performance of each duty he never lost sight of himself. under the slack management of previous administrations, the conditions of the rainbow mine and mill had rapidly deteriorated. in the mine a hundred sticks of powder were used or wasted where one would have sufficed. hundreds of feet of fuse, hundreds of detonators, and pounds of candles were thrown away. men would climb high in the mine to their work only to return later for some tool needed, or because their supplies had not lasted through their shift. if near the close of hours, they would sit and gossip with their fellow-workmen. drills and hammers would be buried in the stope, or thrown over the dump. rock would be broken down with the ore, and the mixed mass, half ore and half rock, would be divided impartially and sent, one-half to the dump and one-half to the mill. at the mill was the same shiftless state of affairs. tools once used were left to be hunted for the next time they were wanted. on the night shift the men slept at their posts or deserted them for the hilarious attractions of the blue goose. the result was that the stamps, unfed, having no rock to crush, pounded steel on steel, so that stamps were broken, bossheads split, or a clogged screen would burst, leaving the half-broken ore to flow over the plates and into the wash-sluices with none of its value extracted. among the evils that followed in the train of slack and ignorant management not the least was the effect upon the men. if a rich pocket of ore was struck the men stole it all. they argued that it was theirs, because they found it. the company would never miss it; the company was making enough, anyway, and, besides, the superintendent never knew when a pocket was opened, and never told them that it was not theirs. these pilfered pockets were always emptied at the blue goose. on these occasions the underground furnace glowed ruddily, and pierre would stow the pilfered gold among other pilfered ingots, and would in due time emerge from his subterranean retreat in such cheerful temper that he had no heart to browbeat the scared-looking madame. whereupon madame would be divided in her honest soul between horror at pierre's wrong-doing and thankfulness for a temporary reprieve from his biting tongue. the miners stole supplies of all kinds and sold them or gave them to their friends. enterprising prospectors, short of funds, as is usually the case, "got a job at the mine," then, having stocked up, would call for their time and go forth to hunt a mine of their own. the men could hardly be blamed for these pilferings. a slack land-owner who makes no protest against the use of his premises as a public highway, in time not only loses his property but his right to protest as well. so it happened at the rainbow mine and mill that, as no locks were placed on magazines, as the supply-rooms were open to all, and as no protest was made against the men helping themselves, the men came to feel that they were taking only what belonged to them, whatever use was made of the appropriated supplies. these were some of the more obvious evils which firmstone set about remedying. magazines and supply-rooms were locked and supplies were issued on order. workmen ceased wandering aimlessly about while on shift. rock and ore were broken separately, and if an undue proportion of rock was delivered at the mill it was immediately known at the mine and in unmistakable terms. the effect of these changes on the men was various. some took an honest pride in working under a man who knew his business. more chafed and fumed under unwonted restrictions. these were artfully nursed by the wily morrison, with the result that a dangerous friction was developing between the better disposed men and the restless growlers. this feeling was also diligently stimulated by morrison. "go easy," was his caution; "but warm it up for them." "warm it up for them!" indignantly protested one disciple. "them fellers is the old man's pets." morrison snorted. "pets, is it? pets be damned! it's only a matter of time when the old man will be dancing on a hot stove, if you've got any sand in your crops. the foreman's more than half with you now. get the union organised, and we'll run out the pets and the old man too. you'll never get your rights till you're organised." at the mill, firmstone's nocturnal visits at any unexpected hour made napping a precarious business and visits to the blue goose not to be thought of. the results of firmstone's vigilance showed heavily in reduced expenses and in increased efficiency of labour; but these items were only negative. the fact remained that the yield of the mill in bullion was but slightly increased and still subject to extreme variations. the conclusion was inevitable that the mill was being systematically plundered. firmstone knew that there must be collusion, not only among the workmen, but among outsiders as well. this was an obvious fact, but the means to circumvent it were not so obvious. he knew that there were workmen in the mill who would not steal a penny, but he also knew that these same men would preserve a sullen silence with regard to the peculations of their less scrupulous fellows. it was but the grown-up sense of honour, that will cause a manly schoolboy to be larruped to the bone before he will tell about his errant and cowardly fellow. firmstone was well aware of the simmering discontent which his rigid discipline was arousing. he regretted it, but he was hopeful that the better element among the men would yet gain the ascendant. "he's square," remarked one of his defenders. "there was a mistake in my time, last payroll, and he looked over the time himself." "that's so," in answer to one objector. "i was in the office and saw him." "you bet he's square," broke in another. "didn't i get a bad pair of boots out of the commissary, and didn't he give me another pair in their place? that's what." if morrison and pierre had not been in active evidence firmstone would have won the day without a fight. chapter v _bennie opens the pot and firmstone comes in_ firmstone was late to breakfast the day of zephyr's departure, and bennie was doing his best to restrain his impatience. when at last the late breakfaster appeared, bennie's manner was noticeably different from the ordinary. he was a stanch defender of the rights of the american citizen, an uncompromising opponent of companies and trusts, a fearless and aggressive exponent of his own views; but withal a sincere admirer and loyal friend of firmstone. bennie knew that in his hands were very strong cards, and he was casting about in his mind for the most effective mode of playing them. "good morning, bennie," firmstone called out, on entering the dining-room. bennie returned the greeting with a silent nod. firmstone glanced at the clock. "it is pretty late for good morning and breakfast, that's a fact." bennie disappeared in the kitchen. he returned and placed firmstone's breakfast before him. "what's the matter, bennie?" firmstone thought he knew, but events were soon to show him his mistake. "matter enough, mr. firmstone, as you'll soon find." bennie was getting alarming. firmstone ate in silence. bennie watched with impassive dignity. "is your breakfast all right?" he finally asked, unbendingly. "all right, bennie. better than i deserve, pouncing on you at this hour." he again looked up at the clock. "come when you like, late or early, you'll get the best i can give you." bennie was still rigid. firmstone was growing more puzzled. bennie judged it time to support his opening. "i'm an outspoken man, mr. firmstone, as becomes an american citizen. if i take an honest dollar, i'll give an honest return." "no one doubts that, bennie." firmstone leaned back in his chair. he was going to see it out. bennie's support was rapidly advancing. "you know, mr. firmstone, that i have my opinions and speak my mind about the oppression of the poor by the rich. i left my home in the east to come out here where it was less crowded and where there was more freedom. it's only change about, i find. in the east the rich were mostly americans who oppressed the dagoes, being for their own good; but here it's the other way. here's mike the finn, and jansen the swede, and hansen the dane, and giuseppe the dago, and pat the irishman the boss of the whole dirty gang. before god i take shame to myself for being an honest man and american born, and having this thieving gang to tell me how long i can work, and where i can buy, with a swat in the jaw and a knife in my back for daring to say my soul is my own and sticking to it against orders from the union." "thunder and mars, bennie! what's the matter?" bennie's reserves came up with a rush. he thrust open the door of his room and jerked a blanket from the sacks which zephyr had left there. firmstone gave a low whistle of surprise. "there's matter for you, mr. firmstone." "where under the sun did you get these?" firmstone had opened one of the sacks and was looking at the ore. "i didn't get them. zephyr got them and asked me to see that you had them. there's a man for you! 'twas little white paint the lord had when he came west, but he put two good coats of it on zephyr's back." firmstone made no reply to bennie's eulogy of zephyr. he closed and retied the opened sacks. "there's mighty interesting reading in these sacks, bennie." "those were zephyr's words, sir." "that ore was taken from the mill last night. luna was on shift, long was sick, and luna put morrison in his place." firmstone looked at bennie inquisitively. he was trying his facts on the cook. "that's so, sir," remarked bennie. "but you'll never make a hen out of a rooster by pulling out his tail-feathers." firmstone laughed. "well, bennie, that's about the way i sized it up myself. keep quiet about this. i want to get these sacks down to the office some time to-day." he left the room and went to the office. luna reported to the office that night as usual before going on shift. firmstone gave a few directions, and then turned to his work. shortly after twelve luna was surprised at seeing the superintendent enter the mill. "cut off the feed in the batteries." the order was curt, and luna, much bewildered, hastened to obey. firmstone followed him around back of the batteries, where automatic machines dropped the ore under the stamps. firmstone waited until there began to come the sound of dropping stamps pounding on the naked dies, then he gave orders to hang up the stamps and shut down the mill. this was done. the rhythmic cadence of the falling stamps was broken into irregular blows as one by one the stamps were propped up above the revolving cams, till finally only the hum of pulleys and the click of belts were heard. these sounds also ceased as the engine slowed and finally stopped. "shall i lay off the men?" asked the foreman. "no. have them take out the screens." this also was done, and then firmstone, accompanied by luna, went from battery to battery. they first scraped out the loose rock, and afterward, with a long steel spoon, took samples of the crushed ore from between the dies. the operation was a long one; but at length the last battery was sampled. firmstone put the last sample in a sack with the others. "shall i carry the sack for you?" asked luna. "no. start up the mill, and then come to the office." firmstone turned, and, with the heavy sack on his shoulder, left the mill. there were a hundred stamps in the mill. the stamps were divided into batteries of ten each. each battery was driven separately by a belt from the main shaft. there was a man in attendance on every twenty stamps. firmstone had taken samples from each battery, and each sample bore the number of the battery. he had taken especial care to call this to luna's attention. the foreman saw to replacing the screens, and, when the mill was again started, he went to the superintendent's office. he knew very well that an unpleasant time awaited him; but, like the superintendent, he had his course of action mapped out. the foreman was a very wise man within a restricted circle. he knew that the battle was his, if he fought within its circumference. outside of the circle he did not propose to be tempted. firmstone could not force him out. those who could, would not attempt it for very obvious and personal reasons. luna was aware that firmstone knew that there was thieving, and was morally certain as to who were the thieves, but lacked convincing proof. this was his protecting circle. firmstone could not force him out of it. morrison and pierre knew not only of the thieving, but the thieves. they could force him out, but they would not. luna was tranquil. luna saw firmstone in the laboratory as he entered the railed enclosure. he opened the railing gate, passed through the office, and entered the laboratory. firmstone glanced at the foreman, but he met only a stolid face with no sign of confusion. "pan these samples down." without a word luna emptied the sacks into little pans and carefully washed off the crushed rock, leaving the grains of gold in the pans. eight of the pans showed rich in gold, the last two hardly a trace. firmstone placed the pans in order. "what do you make of that?" he asked, sharply. luna shook his head. "that's too much for me." "what batteries did these two come from?" firmstone pointed to the two plates. "nine and ten," the foreman answered, promptly. "who works on nine and ten?" "clancy day and long night," was the ready answer. "did long work last night?" "no. he was sick. i told you that, and i asked you if i should put on morrison. you didn't say nothing against it." "did nine and ten run all night?" "except for an hour or two, maybe. nine worked a shoe loose and ten burst a screen. that's likely to happen any time. we had to hang up for that." "you say you can give no explanation of this?" firmstone pointed to the empty pans. "no, sir." "look this over." firmstone went to his desk in the office and luna followed him. he picked up a paper covered with figures marked "mine assays, may," and handed it to the foreman. luna glanced over the sheet, then looked inquiringly at firmstone. "well?" he finally ventured. "what do you make of it?" firmstone asked. luna turned to the assay sheet. "the average of two hundred assays taken twice a week, twenty-five assays each time, gives twenty-five dollars a ton for the month of may." luna read the summary. firmstone wrote the number on a slip of paper, then took the sheet from the foreman. "you understand, then, that the ore taken from the mine and sent to the mill in may averaged twenty-five dollars a ton?" "yes, that's right." luna was getting puzzled. "very good. you're doing well. now look at this sheet." firmstone handed him another paper. "now read the summary." luna read aloud: "average loss in tailings, daily samples, may, two dollars and seventy-five cents a ton." "you understand from this, do you not, that the gold recovered from the plates should then be twenty-two dollars and twenty-five cents a ton?" "yes, sir." luna's face was reddening; beads of perspiration were oozing from his forehead. "well, then," pursued firmstone, "just look over this statement. read it out loud." luna took the paper offered him, and began to read. "what do you make out of that?" firmstone was looking straight into the foreman's eyes. luna tried his best to return the look, but his eyes dropped. "i don't know," he stammered. "then i'll tell you. not that i need to, but i want you to understand that i know. it means that out of every ton of ore that was delivered to this mill in may thirteen dollars and forty-five cents have been stolen." luna fairly gasped. he was startled by the statement to a cent of the amount stolen. he and his confederates had been compelled to take pierre's unvouched statements. therefore he could not controvert the figures, had he chosen. he did not know the amount. "there must have been a mistake, sir." "mistake!" firmstone blazed out. "what do you say to this?" he pulled a canvas from the sacks of ore that had been brought to the office. he expected to see luna collapse entirely. instead, a look of astonishment spread over the foreman's face. "i'll give up!" he exclaimed. he looked firmstone squarely in the face. he saw his way clearly now. "you're right," he said. "there has been stealing. it's up to me. i'll fire anyone you say, or i'll quit myself, or you can fire me. but, before god, i never stole a dollar from the rainbow mill." he spoke the literal truth. the spirit of it did not trouble him. firmstone was astonished at the man's affirmations, but they did not deceive him, nor divert him from his purpose. "i'm not going to tell you whom to let out or take in," he replied. "i'm holding you responsible. i've told you a good deal, but not all, by a good long measure. this stealing has got to stop, and you can stop it. you would better stop it. now go back to your work." that very night firmstone wrote a full account of the recovery of the stolen ore, the evils which he found on taking charge of the property, the steps which he proposed for their elimination. he closed with these words: "it must be remembered that these conditions have had a long time in which to develop. at the very least, an equal time must be allowed for their elimination; but i believe that i shall be successful." chapter vi _the family circle_ on the morning of Élise's strike for freedom, pierre came to breakfast with his usual atmosphere of compressed wrath. he glanced at his breakfast which madame had placed on the table at the first sound which heralded his approach. there was nothing there to break the tension and to set free the pent-up storm within. much meditation, with fear and trembling, had taught madame the proper amount of butter to apply to the hot toast, the proportion of sugar and cream to add to the coffee, and the exact shade of crisp and brown to put on his fried eggs. but a man bent on trouble can invariably find a cause for turning it loose. "where is Élise?" he demanded. "Élise," madame answered, evasively, "she is around somewhere." "somewhere is nowhere. i demand to know." pierre looked threatening. "shall i call her?" madame vouchsafed. "if you know not where she is, how shall you call her? heh? if you know, mek ansaire!" "i don't know where she is." "_bien!_" pierre reseated himself and began to munch his toast savagely. madame was having a struggle with herself. it showed plainly on the thin, anxious face. the lips compressed with determination, the eyes set, then wavered, and again the indeterminate lines of acquiescent subjection gained their accustomed ascendency. back and forth assertion and complaisance fled and followed; only assertion was holding its own. the eggs had disappeared, also the greater part of the toast. pierre swallowed the last of his coffee, and, without a look at his silent wife, began to push his chair from the table. madame's voice startled him. "Élise is sixteen," she ventured. pierre fell back in his chair, astonished. the words were simple and uncompromising, but the intonation suggested that they were not final. "well?" he asked, explosively. "when are you going to send Élise away to school?" "to school?" pierre was struggling with his astonishment. "yes." madame was holding herself to her determination with an effort. "to school? _baste!_ she read, she write, she mek ze figure, is it not suffice? heh?" "that makes no difference. you promised her father that you would send her away to school." pierre looked around apprehensively. "shut up! kip quiet!" "i won't shut up, and i won't keep quiet." madame's blood was warming. the sensation was as pleasant as it was unusual. "i will keep quiet for myself. i won't for Élise." "Élise! Élise! ain't i do all right by Élise?" pierre asked, aggressively. "she have plenty to eat, plenty to wear, you tek good care of her. don't i tek good care, also? me? pierre? she mek no complain, heh?" "that isn't what her father wanted, and it isn't what you promised him." pierre looked thoughtful; his face softened slightly. "we have no children, you and me. we have honly Élise, one li'l girl, _la bonne_ Élise. you wan' mek me give up _la bonne_ Élise? _p'quoi?_" his face blazed again as he looked up wrathfully. "you wan' mek her go to school! _p'quoi?_ so she learn mek _teedle, teedle_ on ze piano? so she learn speak gran'? so she tink of me, pierre, one li'l frenchmens, not good enough for her, for mek her shame wiz her gran' friends? heh? who mek ze care for ze li'l babby? who mek her grow up strong? heh? you mek her go school. you mek ze gran' dam-zelle. you mek her go back to her pip'l. you mek me, pierre, you, grow hol' wiz noddings? hall ze res' ze time wiz no li'l Élise? how you like li'l Élise go away and mek ze marry, and w'en she have li'l children, she say to her li'l children, '_mes enfants, voila!_ pierre and madame, _très bon_ pierre and madame,' and _les petits enfants_ mek big eyes at pierre and madame and li'l Élise? she say, '_pauvres enfants_, pierre and madame will not hurt you. _bon_ pierre! _bonne_ madame!'" pierre made a gesture of deprecating pity. madame was touched to the quick. starting tears dimmed the heavy eyes. had she not thought of all this a thousand times? if pierre cared so much for li'l Élise how much more reason had she to care? li'l Élise had been the only bright spot in her dreary life, yet she was firm. Élise had been very dear to her in the past, but her duty was plain. her voice was gentler. "Élise is not ours, pierre. it is harder to do now what we ought to have done long ago." pierre rose and walked excitedly back and forth. he was speaking half to himself, half to madame. "sixtin year 'go li'l Élise mammy die. sixtin year! she no say, 'madame marie, tek my li'l babby back eas' to my friend, _hein_? no. she say, 'madame marie, my poor li'l babby ain' got no mammy no mo'. tek good care my poor li'l babby.' then she go die. we mek good care of ze li'l Élise, me and you, heh? we sen' away Élise? _sacré non!_ nevaire!" pierre stopped, and looked fiercely at madame. "yes," answered madame. "her mammy asked me to care for her little baby, but it was for her father. when her father died he made you promise to give her to her friends. don't i know how hard it is?" her tears were flowing freely now. "every year we said, 'she is yet too young to go. next year we will keep our promise,' and next year she was dearer to us. and now she is sixteen. she must go." pierre broke in fiercely: "she shall not! sixtin year? sixtin year she know honly me, pierre, her daddy, and you, her mammy. what you tink, heh? Élise go school in one beeg city, heh? she mek herself choke wiz ze brick house and ze stone street. she get sick and lonesome for ze mountain, for her hol' daddy and her hol' mammy, for ze grass and ze flower." "that is for her to say. send her away as you promised. then"--madame's heavy eyes grew deep, almost beautiful--"then, if she comes back to us!" pierre turned sullenly. "she is mine. mine and yours. she shall stay." madame's tears ceased flowing. "she shall go." her temerity frightened her. "i will tell her all if you don't send her away." pierre did not explode, as she expected. instead, there was the calm of invincible purpose. he held up one finger impressively. "i settle hall zis. _Écoutez!_ she shall marry. right away. queek. da's hall." he left the room before madame had time to reply. madame was too terrified to think. the possibility conveyed in her husband's declaration had never suggested itself to her. Élise was still the little baby nestling in her arms, the little girl prattling and playing indoors and out, on the wide ranch, and later, madame shuddered, when pierre had abandoned the ranch for the blue goose, waiting at the bar, keeping pierre's books, redeeming checks at the desk, moving out and in among the throng of coarse, uncouth men, but through it all the same beautiful, wilful, loving little girl, so dear to madame's heart, so much of her life. what did it matter that profanity died on the lips of the men in her presence, that at her bidding they ceased to drink to intoxication, that hopeless wives came to her for counsel, that their dull faces lighted at her words, that in sickness or death she was to them a comfort and a refuge? what if pierre had fiercely protected her from the knowledge of the more loathsome vices of a mining camp? it was no more than right. pierre loved her. she knew that. pierre was hoarding every shining dollar that came to his hand. was he lavish in his garnishment of the blue goose? it was only for the more effective luring of other gold from the pockets of the careless, unthinking men who worked in mines or mills, or roamed among the mountains or washed the sands of every stream, spending all they found, hoping for and talking of the wealth which, if it came, would only smite them with more rapid destruction. and all these little rivulets, small each one alone, united at the blue goose into a growing stream that went no farther. for what end? madame knew. for pierre, life began and ended in Élise. madame knew, and sympathized with this; but her purpose was not changed. she knew little of life beyond the monotonous desolation of a western ranch, the revolting glamour of a gambling resort, where men revelled in the fierce excitement of shuffling cards and clicking chips, returning to squalid homes and to spiritless women, weighed down and broken with the bearing of many children, and the merciless, unbroken torture of thankless, thoughtless demands upon their lives. madame saw all this. she saw and felt the dreary hopelessness of it all. much as she loved Élise, if it parted her from all that made life endurable she would not shrink from the sacrifice. she knew nothing of life beyond her restricted circle, but anything outside this circle was a change, and any change must be for the better. "she shall marry. right away." pierre's words came to her again with overwhelming terror. overwhelming, because she saw no way of averting the threatened blow. from behind, madame felt two soft hands close on her straining eyes, and a sympathetic voice: "has daddy been scolding you again? what was it about this time? was it because i ran away this morning? i did run away, you know." for reply madame only bowed her head from between the clasping hands that for the first time had distress instead of comfort for her groping soul. she did not pray for guidance. she never thought of praying. why should she? the prisoned seed, buried in the dank and quickening soil, struggles instinctively toward the source of light and strength. but what instinct is there to guide the human soul that, quickened by unselfish love, is yet walled in by the stygian darkness of an ignorant life? madame's hands were clinched. her hot eyes were dry and hard. no light! no help! only a fierce spirit of resistance. at length she was conscious of Élise standing before her, half terrified, but wholly determined. her eyes moistened, then grew soft. her outstretched arms sought the girl and drew her within their convulsive grasp. "my poor Élise! my poor little girl, with no one to help her but me!" "what is it, mammy? what is it?" madame only moaned. "my poor little Élise! my poor little girl!" Élise freed herself from the resisting arms. "tell me at once!" she stamped her foot impatiently. madame sprang to her feet. "you shall not marry that man. you shall not!" her voice rose. "i will tell you all--everything. i will, if he kills me. i will! i will!" the door from the saloon was violently opened, and pierre strode in. he pushed Élise aside, and, with narrowed eyes and uplifted hand, approached his wife. "you will? you will, heh?" the threatening blow fell heavily, but upon Élise. she thrust forth her hands. pierre stumbled backward before the unexpected assault. his eyes, blazing with ungoverned fury, swept around the room. they rested upon a stick. he grasped it, and turned once more toward madame. "you will! you will! i teach you bettaire. i teach you say 'i will' to me! i teach you!" then he stopped. he was looking squarely into the muzzle of a silver-mounted revolver held in a steady hand and levelled by a steady eye. pierre was like a statue. another look came into his eyes. youth toyed with death, and was not afraid. pierre knew that. at threatening weapons in the hands of drink-crazed men pierre smiled with scorn. the bad man stood in terror of the law as well as of pierre. but when determined youth laid hold on death and shook it in his face pierre knew enough to stand aside. Élise broke the tense silence. "don't you ever dare to strike mammy again. don't you dare!" without a word pierre left the room. he had loved Élise before with as unselfish a love as he could know. but hitherto he had not admired her. now he rubbed his hands and chuckled softly, baring his teeth with unsmiling lips. "a-a-ah!" he breathed forth. "_magnifique! superb! la petite diable!_ she mek ze shoot in her eye! in ze fingaire! she bin shoot her hol' man, her hol' daddy, _moi!_ pierre." pierre thoughtfully rubbed his smooth chin. "_la petite diable!_" poor madame! poor pierre! the dog chases his tail with undiminished zest, and is blissfully rewarded if a straggling hair but occasionally brushes his nose. he licks his accessible paws, impelled alone by a sense of duty. chapter vii _mr. morrison tackles a man with a mind of his own and a man without one_ mr. morrison was a slick bird--in fact, a very slick bird. it was his soul's delight to preen his unctuous feathers and to shiver them into the most effective and comfortable position, to settle his head between his shoulders, and, with moistened lips, to view his little world from dreamy, half-closed eyes. this, however, only happened in restful moments of complacent self-contemplation. he never allowed these moods to interfere with business. he had broached the subject of marriage to pierre, and pierre had of course fallen in with his views. the fact that Élise evidently loathed him disturbed no whit his placid mind. he was in no hurry. he assumed Élise as his own whenever he chose to say the word. he regarded her in much the same way as a half-hungered epicure a toothsome dinner, holding himself aloof until his craving stomach should give the utmost zest to his viands without curtailing the pleasure of his palate by ravenous haste. he served pierre with diligence and fidelity. the blue goose would sooner or later come to him with Élise. he had ambitions, political especially, not acquired, but instinctive. not that he felt inspired with a mission to do good unto others, but that others should do good unto him, and also that the particular kind of good should be of his own choosing. he knew very well the temperaments of his chosen constituency, and he adapted himself to their impressionable peculiarities. to this end he dispensed heavily padded gratuities with much ostentation on selected occasions, but gathered his tolls in merciless silence. he did this without fear, for he knew that the blare of the multitude would drown the cries of the stricken few. mr. morrison had long meditated upon the proper course to take in order best to compass his ends. the unrest among the employees of the rainbow company came to him unsought, and he at once grasped the opportunity. the organisation of a miners' and millmen's union would be an obvious benefit to the rank and file; their manifestation of gratitude would naturally take the very form he most desired. to this end before the many he displayed the pyrotechnics of meaningless oratory, in much the same manner as a strutting peacock his brilliant tail; but individuals he hunted with nickel bullets and high-power guns. on various occasions he had displayed the peacock tail; this particular afternoon he took down his flat-trajectoried weapon and went forth to gun for bennie. bennie had washed the dinner dishes, reset his table, prepared for the coming meal, and now, as was his custom, was lying in his bunk, with an open book in his hands, prepared to read or doze, as the spirit moved him. mr. morrison appeared before him. "howdy, bennie! taking a nap?" "i'm taking nothing but what's my own." bennie looked meaningly at morrison. morrison slipped into what he mistook for bennie's mood. "you're wise, if you get it all. many's the ignorant devil that takes only what's given him and asks no questions, worse luck to him!" "you'll do well to go on," remarked bennie, placidly. "there's many that gets more, and then damns the gift and the giver." "and just what might that mean, bennie?" morrison looked a little puzzled. "it means that, if more got what they deserved, 'twould be better for honest men." bennie was very decided. morrison's face cleared. he held out his hand. "shake!" he said. bennie took the proffered hand. "here's hoping you'll come to your own!" he remarked, grimly. the clasped hands each fell to its own. morrison's hands went to his pocket as he stretched out his crossed legs with a thankful look on his face. "i'm not specially troubled about myself. i've had fairly good luck looking out for patrick morrison, esq. it's these poor devils around here that's troubling me. they get nipped and pinched at every turn of the cards." "it's god's truth you're talking. and you want to help them same poor devils?" "that's what." "then listen to me. smash your roulette and faro. burn down the blue goose, first taking out your whisky that'll burn only the throats of the fools who drink it. do that same, and you'll see fat grow on lean bones, and children's pants come out of the shade of the patches." morrison lifted his hat, scratching his head meditatively. "that isn't exactly what i'm at." "eagles to snowbirds 'tis not!" put in bennie, aside. morrison gave no heed to the interruption. "every man has the right to spend his own money in his own way." "the poor devils get the money and the blue goose furnishes the way," bennie again interpolated. morrison was getting uneasy. he was conscious that he was not making headway. "you can't do but one thing at a time in good shape." "you're a damned liar! at the blue goose you're doing everyone all the time." morrison rose impatiently. the nickel bullets were missing their billet. he began tentatively to unfold the peacock's tail. "you see," he said, "it's like this. in union is strength. what makes the rich richer? because they hang together like swarming bees. you pick the honey of one and you get the stings of all. learn from the rich to use the rich man's weapons. let us poor workingmen band together like brothers in a common cause. meet union with union, strength with strength. then, and only then, can we get our own." "it took more than one cat to make strings for that fiddle," bennie remarked, thoughtfully. "just what might that mean?" morrison again looked puzzled. he went back to his bullets. "to be specific," he spoke impressively, "as things stand now, if one workingman thinks he ought to have more pay he goes to the company and asks for it. the company says no. if he gets troublesome, they fire him. if one man works in a close breast with foul air the company tells him to go back to his work or quit. it costs money to timber bad ground. one poor workman's life doesn't count for much. it's cheaper for the company to take chances than to put in timber." he paused, looking sharply at bennie. "you're talking sense now. how do you propose to help it?" morrison felt solid ground beneath his feet. "do as i said. learn from the rich. unite. if the men are not getting fair wages, the union can demand more." bennie lifted an inquiring finger. "one word there. you want to organise a union?" "that's it. that's the stuff." morrison was flatteringly acquiescent. "a company can turn down one man, but the union will shove it up to them hard." "if one man breaks five tons of ore a day, and another man breaks only one, will the union see that both get the same pay?" "a workingman is a workingman." morrison spoke less enthusiastically. "a man that puts in his time earns all that he gets." bennie looked musingly at the toes of his boots. "the union will equalise the pay?" "you bet it will!" "they'll make the company ventilate the mines and keep bad ground timbered?" "they'll look after these things sharp, and anything else that comes up." "the union will run the company, but who'll run the union?" morrison waxed enthusiastic. "we'll take our turn at bossing all right. every man in the union stands on the same floor, and when any of the boys have a grievance the president will see them through. the president and the executive committee can tie up the whole camp if the company bucks." "is the union organised?" asked bennie. "not yet. it's like this." morrison's voice had a tinge of patronage. "you see, i want to get a few of the level-headed men in the camp worked up to the idea; the rest will come in, hands down." "who have you got strung?" "well, there's luna, and----" "luna's a crowd by himself. he's got more faces than a town-clock telling time to ten streets. who else?" "there's thompson, the mine foreman----" "jim thompson? don't i know him now? he'll throw more stunts than a small boy with a bellyful of green apples. who else?" morrison looked a little sulky. "well, how about yourself. that's what i'm here to find out." bennie glared up wrathfully. "you'll take away no doubts about me, if my tongue isn't struck by a palsy till it can't bore the wax of your ears. when it comes to bosses, i'll choose my own. i'm american and american born. i'd rather be bossed by a silk tile and kid gloves than by a tipperary hat and a shillalah, with a damned three-cornered shamrock riding the necks of both. it's a pretty pass we've come to if we've got to go to irish peat-bogs and russian snow-banks to find them as will tell us our rights and how to get them, and then import dagoes with rings in their ears and hungarians with spikes in their shoes to back us up. let me talk a bit! i get my seventy-five dollars a month for knowing my business and attending to it, because my grub goes down the necks of the men instead of out on the dump; because i give more time to a side of bacon than i do to organising unions. and i'll tell you some more facts. the rich are growing richer for using what they have, and the poor are growing poorer because they don't know enough to handle what they've got. organise a union for keeping damned fools out of the blue goose, and from going home and lamming hell out of their wives and children, and i'll talk with you. as it is, the sooner you light out the more respect i'll have for the sense of you that i haven't seen." morrison was blazing with anger. "you'll sing another tune before long. we propose to run every scab out of the country." "run, and be damned to you! i've got a thousand-acre ranch and five hundred head of cattle. i've sucked it from the rainbow at seventy-five a month, and i've given value received, without any union to help me. only take note of this. i've laid my eggs in my own nest, and not at the blue goose." morrison turned and left the room. over his shoulder he flung back: "this isn't the last word, you damned scab! you'll hear from me again." "'tis not the nature of a pig to keep quiet with a dog at his heels." bennie stretched his neck out of the door to fire his parting shot. morrison went forth with a vigorous flea in each ear, which did much to disturb his complacency. bennie had not made him thoughtful, only vengeful. there is nothing quite so discomposing as the scornful rejection of proffers of self-seeking philanthropy. bennie's indignation was instinctive rather than analytical, the inherent instinct that puts up the back and tail of a new-born kitten at its first sight of a benevolent-appearing dog. morrison had not gone far from the boarding-house before he chanced against luna. morrison was the last person luna would have wished to meet. since his interview with firmstone he had scrupulously avoided the blue goose, and he had seen neither morrison nor pierre. his resolution to mend his ways was the result of fear, rather than of change of heart. neither morrison nor pierre had fear. they were playing safe. luna felt their superiority; he was doing his best to keep from their influence. "howdy!" "howdy!" luna answered. "where've you been this long time?" asked morrison, suavely. luna did not look up. "down at the mill, of course." "what's going on?" pursued morrison. "you haven't been up lately." "there's been big things going on. pierre's little game's all off." luna shrank from a direct revelation. "oh, drop this! what's up?" "i'll tell you what's up." luna looked defiant. "you know the last lot of ore you pinched? well, the old man's got it, and, what's more, he's on to your whole business." morrison's face set. "look here now, luna. you just drop that little _your_ business. it looks mighty suspicious, talking like that. i don't know what you mean. if you've been pulling the mill and got caught you'd better pick out another man to unload on besides me." "i never took a dollar from the mill, and i told the old man so. i----" but morrison interrupted: "you've been squealing, have you? well, you just go on, only remember this. if you're going to set in a little game of freeze-out, you play your cards close to your coat." luna saw the drift of morrison's remarks, and hastened to defend himself. "it's gospel truth. i haven't squealed." he gave a detailed account of his midnight interview with firmstone, defining sharply between his facts and his inferences. he finally concluded: "the old man's sharp. there isn't a corner of the mine he doesn't know, and there isn't a chink in the mill, from the feed to the tail-sluice, that he hasn't got his eye on." luna's mood changed from the defensive to the assertive. "i'll tell you one thing more. he's square, square as a die. he had me bunched, but he give me a chance. he told me that i could stop the stealing at the mill, that i had got to, and, by god, i'm going to, in spite of hell!" morrison was relieved, but a sneer buried the manifestation of his relief. "well," he exclaimed, "of all the soft, easy things i ever saw you're the softest and the easiest!" luna only looked dogged. "hard words break no bones," he answered, sullenly. "that may be," answered morrison; "but it doesn't keep soft ones from gumming your wits, that's sure." "what do you mean?" "i mean just this. you say the old man had you bunched. well, he's got you on your back now, and roped, too." luna answered still more sullenly: "there's more'n one will be roped, then. if it comes to a show-down, i'll not be alone." "all right, mr. luna." morrison spoke evenly. "when you feel like calling the game just go right ahead. i'm not going to stop you." luna made no immediate reply. morrison waited, ostentatiously indifferent. luna finally broke the silence. "i don't see how the old man's got me roped." "well, now you're acting as if you had sense. i'll tell you. i'm always ready to talk to a man that's got sense. just answer a few straight questions. in the first place, you've been stealing from the mill." "i tell you i haven't," broke in luna; "but i can tell you who has." he looked sharply at morrison. morrison waved his hand with wearied endurance. "well, you're foreman at the mill. if there's been stealing, and you know your business, you know where it was done and how it was done. if you don't know your business what are you there for, and how long are you going to stay? you say yourself the old man is sharp, and he is. how long is he going to keep either a thief or a fool in your place?" "i'm not a thief," luna answered, hotly. "i'm not a fool, either, and i'm not going to be made one any longer by you, either." "if you're not a fool listen to me, and keep quiet till i'm through." morrison leaned forward, checking his words with his fingers. "the old man's sharp, and he's got you roped, any turn. there's been stealing at the mill. you say this. you're foreman there. it doesn't make any difference whether you stole or someone else. they hold you responsible. the old man's got the cards in his hands. the men saw him come in the mill, shut down, and take samples to back him up." "well, what of it?" "what of it, you fool! this is what of it. he's got you just where he wants you. you'll walk turkey from now on, according to his orders. if there's any dirty work to be done you'll do it. you squeal or you kick, and he'll start the whole slide and bury you." "i'm not obliged to do any dirty work for him or any other man. not even for you. i can quit." "and get another job?" morrison asked, mockingly. "that's what." "let me just point out a few things. you get mad and quit. call for your time. pack your turkey and go to another mill. they will ask your name. then, 'excuse me a minute.' then they'll go to a little book, and they'll find something like this, 'henry luna, mill man, foreman rainbow mill. richard firmstone, superintendent. discharged on account of stealing ore from the mill.' then they'll come back. 'no place for you, mr. luna,' and you'll go on till hell freezes, and that little record of yours will knock you, every clip. when you wear the skin off your feet, and the shirt off your back, you'll come back to the rainbow, and mr. firmstone will politely tell you that, if you've walked the kick out of you, he'll give you another try." luna was open-eyed. he had grasped but one thing. "what little book are you talking about?" he asked. "it's known as the black list, little lambie. you'll know more about it if you keep on. every company in colorado or in the united states has one. you'll run up against it, all right, if you keep on." luna had vague ideas of this powerful weapon; but it had never seemed so real before. he was growing suspicious. he recalled firmstone's words, "i've told you a good deal, but not all by a good long measure." they had seemed simple and straightforward at the time, but morrison's juggling was hazing them. "what's a fellow to do?" he asked, helplessly. "nothing alone, except to take what's given you. you stand alone, and you'll be cut alone, worked overtime alone, kicked alone, and, when it gets unendurable, starve alone. but, if you've got any sense or sand, don't stand alone to get kicked and cuffed and robbed by a company or by a bunch of companies. meet union with union, strength with strength, and, if worst comes to worst, fight with fight. us workingmen have things in our own hands, if we stand together." morrison was watching the foreman narrowly. "and there's another thing. when a long-toothed, sharp-nosed, glass-eyed company bull-dog puts up a padded deck on a workingman, he'll have the backing of the union to put him down." "the union ain't going to take up no private grievance?" luna spoke, half questioningly. "they ain't, heh? what's it for, then? bunching us up so they can pick us off one by one, without hunting us out like a flock of sheep. that ain't the union." morrison paused, looking keenly at luna. "there's no use scattering. there's nothing as skittish as a pocketful of dollars in a dress suit. if there's a grievance, private or common, go to the company in a bunch. remonstrate. if that don't work, strike, fight, boycott! no weapons? the poor man's dollar will buy rifles and cartridges as quick as a rich man's checks. we've got this advantage, too. rich men have to hire men to fight for them; but, by god, we can fight for ourselves!" luna's thick wits were vibrating betwixt fear and vengeance. he had all the ignorant man's fear of superior brains, all the coward's sneaking resentment of a fancied imposition. he could see that fear had blinded his eyes to the real but covert threat of firmstone's words. here was his chance to free himself from firmstone's clutches. here his chance for revenge. morrison was watching him closely. "are you with us, or are you going down alone?" luna held out his hand. "i'm with you, you bet!" "come up to the blue goose some night when you're on day-shift. we'll talk things over with pierre." then they parted. chapter viii _madame seeks counsel_ there are many evil things in the world which are best obviated by being let severely alone. the clumsy-minded hercules had to be taught this fact. tradition relates that at one time he met an insignificant-looking toad in his path which he would have passed by in disdain had it not been for its particularly ugly appearance. thinking to do the world a service by destroying it he thumped the reptile with his club, when, to his surprise, instead of being crushed by the impact, the beast grew to twice its former size. repeated and heavier blows only multiplied its dimensions and ugliness, until at length the thoroughly frightened hero divested himself of his clothing with the intention of putting an end to his antagonist. his formidable club was again raised, but before it could descend, he was counselled to wait. this he did, and to his greater surprise the ugly beast began to shrink, and finally disappeared. pierre had no convenient goddess to instruct him in critical moments, so he depended on his own wit. of this he had inherited a liberal portion, and this by diligent cultivation had been added to manyfold. so it happened that after madame's surprising exhibition of an unsuspected will of her own, and her declaration of her intention to enforce it, pierre had studiously let her alone. this course of action was as surprising to madame as it was disconcerting. the consequences were such as her wily husband had foreseen. encountering no externally resisting medium, its force was wasted by internal attrition, so that madame was being reduced to a nervous wreck, all of which was duly appreciated by pierre. this particular instance, being expanded into a general law, teaches us that oftentimes the nimble wit of an agile villain prevails against the clumsy brains of a lofty-minded hero. madame had had long years of patient endurance to train her in waiting; but the endurance had been passive and purposeless, rather than active, and with a well-defined object. now that an object was to be attained by action the lessons of patient endurance counted for naught. instead of determined action against her open revolt, pierre had been smilingly obsequious and non-resisting. she knew very well that pierre had been neither cowed into submission nor frightened from his purpose; but his policy of non-interference puzzled and terrified her. she knew not at what moment he might confront her with a move that she would have neither time nor power to check. in this state of mind day after day passed by with wearing regularity. she felt the time going, every moment fraught with the necessity of action, but without the slightest suggestion as to what she ought to do. pierre's toast might be burned to a crisp, his eggs scorched, or his coffee muddy, but there was no word of complaint. regular or irregular hours for meals were passed over with the same discomposing smiles. she did not dare unburden her mind to Élise, for fear of letting drop some untimely word which would immediately precipitate the impending crisis. for the first time in her life Élise was subjected to petulant words and irritating repulses by the sorely perplexed woman. one evening, after a particularly trying day during which Élise had been stung into biting retorts, an inspiration came to madame that rolled every threatening cloud from her mind. the next morning, after long waiting, pierre came to the dining-room, but found neither breakfast nor madame, and for the best of reasons. with the first grey light of morning, madame had slipped from the door of the blue goose, and before the sun had gilded the head of ballard mountain she was far up the trail that led to the inferno. zephyr was moving deliberately about a little fire on which his breakfast was cooking, pursing his lips in meditative whistles, or engaged in audible discussion with himself on the various topics which floated through his mind. an unusual clatter of displaced rocks brought his dialogue to a sudden end; a sharp look down the trail shrank his lips to a low whistle; the sight of a hard knob of dingy hair, strained back from a pair of imploring eyes fringed by colourless lashes, swept his hat from his head, and sent him clattering down to madame with outstretched hands. "you're right, madame. you're on the right trail, and it's but little farther. it's rather early for st. peter, it's likely he's taking his beauty sleep yet; but i'll see that it's broken, unless you have a private key to the golden gates, which you deserve, if you haven't got it." his address of welcome had brought him to madame's side. her only reply was a bewildered gaze, as she took his hands. with his help she soon reached the camp, and seated herself in a rude chair which zephyr placed for her. zephyr, having seen to the comfort of his guest, returned to his neglected breakfast. "it takes a pretty cute angel to catch me unawares," he glanced at madame; "but you've got the drop on me this time. come from an unexpected direction, too. i've heard tell of jacob's vision of angels passing up and down, but i mostly allowed it was a pipe dream. i shall have to annotate my ideas again, which is no uncommon experience, statements to the contrary notwithstanding." zephyr paused from his labours and looked inquiringly at madame. madame made no reply. her bewildered calm began to break before the apparent necessity of saying or doing something. not having a clear perception of the fitting thing in either case, she took refuge in a copious flood of tears. zephyr offered no impediment to the flow, either by word or act. he was not especially acquainted with the ways of women, but being a close observer of nature and an adept at reasoning from analogy, he assumed that a sudden storm meant equally sudden clearing, so he held his peace and, for once, his whistle. zephyr's reasoning was correct. madame's tears dried almost as suddenly as they had started. zephyr had filled a cup with coffee, and he tendered it deferentially to madame. "a peaceful stomach favours a placid mind," he remarked, casually; "which is an old observation that doesn't show its age. from which i infer that it has a solid foundation of truth." madame hesitatingly reached for the proffered coffee, then she thought better of it, and, much to zephyr's surprise, again let loose the fountains of her tears. zephyr glanced upward with a cocking eye, then down the steep pass to where the broken line of rock dropped sheer into rainbow gulch where lay pandora and the blue goose. "about this time look for unsettled weather," he whispered to himself. zephyr had dropped analogy and was reasoning from cold facts. he was thinking of Élise. tears often clear the mind, as showers the air, and madame's tears, with zephyr's calm, were rapidly having a salubrious effect. this time she not only reached for the coffee on her own initiative, but, what was more to the purpose, drank it. she even ate some of the food zephyr placed before her. zephyr noted with approval. "rising barometer, with freshening winds, growing brisk, clearing weather." madame looked up at zephyr's almost inaudible words. "how?" she ventured, timidly. "that's a fair question," zephyr remarked, composedly. "the fact is, i get used to talking to myself and answering a fool according to his folly. it's hard sledding to keep up. you see, a fellow that gets into his store clothes only once a year or so don't know where to hang his thumbs." madame looked somewhat puzzled, began a stammering reply, then, dropping her useless efforts, came to her point at once. "it's about Élise." zephyr answered as directly as madame had spoken. "is Élise in trouble?" "yes. i don't know what to do." madame paused and looked expectantly at zephyr. "pierre wants her to marry that morrison?" madame gave a sigh of relief. there was no surprise in her face. "pierre says she shall not go to school and learn to despise him and me. he says she will learn to be ashamed of us before her grand friends. do you think she will ever be ashamed of me?" there was a yearning look in the uncomplaining eyes. zephyr looked meditatively at the fire, pursed his lips, and, deliberately thrusting his hand into the bosom of his shirt, drew forth his harmonica. he softly blew forth a few bars of a plaintive melody, then, taking the instrument from his lips, began to speak, without raising his eyes. "if my memory serves me right, i used to know a little girl on a big ranch who had a large following of beasts and birds that had got into various kinds of trouble, owing to their limitations as such. i also remember that that same little girl on several appropriate occasions banged hell--if you will excuse a bad word for the sake of good emphasis--out of two-legged beasts for abusing their superior kind. who would fly at the devil to protect a broken-winged gosling. who would coax rainbows out of alkali water and sweet-scented flowers out of hot sand. my more recent memory seems to put it up to me that this same little girl, with more years on her head and a growing heart under her ribs, has sat up many nights with sick infants, and fought death from said infants to the great joy of their owners. from which i infer, if by any chance said little girl should be lifted up into heaven and seated at the right hand of god, much trouble would descend upon the holy family if madame should want to be near her little Élise, and any of the said holies should try to stand her off." madame did not fully understand, but what did it matter? zephyr was on her side. of that she was satisfied. she vaguely gleaned from his words that, in his opinion, Élise would always love her and would never desert her. she hugged this comforting thought close to her cramped soul. "but," she began, hesitatingly, "pierre said that she should not go to school, that she should marry right away." "pierre is a very hard shell with a very small kernel," remarked zephyr. "which means that pierre is going to do what he thinks is well for Élise. Élise has got a pretty big hold on pierre." "but he promised her father that he would give back Élise to her friends, and now he says he won't." "have you told Élise that pierre is not her father?" "no; i dare not." "that's all right. let me try to think out loud a little. the father and mother of Élise ran away to marry. that is why her friends know nothing of her. her mother died before Élise was six months old, and her father before she was a yearling. pierre promised to get Élise back to her father's family. it wasn't just easy at that time to break through the mountains and injuns to denver. you and pierre waited for better times. when better times came you both had grown very fond of Élise. a year or so would make no difference to those who did not know. now Élise is sixteen. pierre realizes that he must make a choice between now and never. he's got a very soft spot in his heart for Élise. it's the only one he ever had, or ever will have. Élise isn't his. that doesn't make very much difference. pierre has never had any especial training in giving up things he wants, simply because they don't belong to him. you haven't helped train him otherwise." zephyr glanced at madame. madame's cheeks suddenly glowed, then as suddenly paled. a faint thought of what might have been years ago came and went. zephyr resumed: "as long as Élise is unmarried, there is danger of his being compelled to give her up. well," zephyr's lips grew hard, "you can set your mind at rest. Élise isn't going to marry morrison, and when the proper time comes, which will be soon, pierre is going to give her up." madame had yet one more episode upon which she needed light. she told zephyr of pierre's threatened attack, and of Élise's holding him off at the point of her revolver. she felt, but was not sure, that Élise by her open defiance had only sealed her fate. zephyr smiled appreciatively. "she's got her father's grit and pierre's example. her sense is rattling round in her head, as her nonsense is outside of it. she'll do all right without help, if it comes to that; but it won't." madame rose, as if to depart. zephyr waved her to her seat. "not yet. you rest here for a while. it's a hard climb up here and a hard climb down. i'll shake things up a little on my prospect. i'll be back by dinner-time." he picked up a hammer and drills and went still farther up the mountain. having reached the inferno, he began his work. perhaps he had no thought of jael or sisera; but he smote his drill with a determined emphasis that indicated ill things for pierre. jael pinned the sleeping head of sisera to the earth. sleeping or waking, resisting or acquiescent, pierre's head was in serious danger, if it threatened Élise. zephyr loaded the hole and lighted the fuse, then started for the camp. a loud explosion startled madame from the most peaceful repose she had enjoyed for many a day. after dinner zephyr saw madame safely down the worst of the trail. "pierre is not all bad," he remarked, at parting. "you just _restez tranquille_ and don't worry. it's a pretty thick fog that the sun can't break through, and, furthermore, a fog being only limited, as it were, and the sun tolerably persistent, it's pretty apt to get on top at most unexpected seasons." madame completed the remainder of her journey with very different emotions from those with which she had begun it. she entered the back door of the blue goose. pierre was not in the room, as she had half expected, half feared. she looked around anxiously, then dropped into a chair. the pendulum changed its swing. she was under the old influences again. zephyr and the mountain-top were far away. a thousand questions struggled in her mind. why had she not thought of them before? it was no use. again she was groping for help. she recalled a few of zephyr's words. "Élise isn't going to marry morrison, and pierre's going to give her up." they did not thrill her with hope. she could not make them do so by oft repeating. confused recollections crowded these few words of hope. she could not revivify them. she could only cling to them with blind, uncomprehending trust, as the praying mother clings to the leaden crucifix. chapter ix _the meeting at the blue goose_ an algebraic formula is very fascinating, but at the same time it is very dangerous. the oft-times repeated assumption that _x_ plus _y_ equals _a_ leads ultimately to the fixed belief that a is an attainable result, whatever values may be assigned to the other factors. if we assign concrete dollars to the abstract _x_ and _y_, _a_ theoretically becomes concrete dollars as well. but immediately we do this, another factor known as the personal equation calls for cards, and from then on insists upon sitting in the game. simple algebra no longer suffices; calculus, differential as well as integral, enters into our problem, and if we can succeed in fencing out quaternions, to say nothing of the _nth_ dimension, we may consider ourselves fortunate. pierre was untrained in algebra, to say nothing of higher mathematics; but it is a legal maxim that ignorance of the law excuses no one, and this dictum is equally applicable to natural and to human statutes. pierre assumed very naturally that five dollars plus five dollars equals ten dollars, and dollars were what he was after. he went even further. without stating the fact, he felt instinctively that, if he could tip the one-legged plus to the more stable two-legged sign of multiplication, the result would be twenty-five dollars instead of ten. he knew that dollars added to, or multiplied by, dollars made wealth; but he failed to comprehend that wealth was a variable term with no definite, assignable value. in other words, he never knew, nor ever would know, when he had enough. pierre had started in life with the questionable ambition of becoming rich. as foreman on a ranch at five dollars a day and found, he was reasonably contented with simple addition. on the sudden death of his employer he was left in full charge, with no one to call him to account, and addition became more frequent and with larger sums. his horizon widened, the rainbow mine was opened, and the little town of pandora sprang into existence. three hundred workmen, with unlimited thirst and a passion for gaming, suggested multiplication, and pierre moved from the ranch to the blue goose. had he fixed upon a definition of wealth and adhered to it, a few years at the blue goose would have left him satisfied. as it was, his ideas grew faster than his legitimate opportunities. the miners were no more content with their wages than he with his gains, and so it happened that an underground retort was added to the above-ground bar and roulette. the bar and roulette had the sanction of law; the retort was existing in spite of it. the bar and roulette took care of themselves, and incidentally of pierre; but with the retort, the case was different. pierre had to look out for himself as well as the furnace. as proprietor of a saloon, his garnered dollars brought with them the protection of the nine points of the law--possession; the tenth was never in evidence. as a vender of gold bullion, with its possession, the nine points made against rather than for him. as for the tenth, at its best it only offered an opportunity for explanation which the law affords the most obviously guilty. morrison allowed several days to pass after his interview with luna before acquainting pierre with the failure to land their plunder. the disclosure might have been delayed even longer had not pierre made some indirect inquiries. pierre had taken the disclosure in a very different manner from what morrison had expected. morrison, as has been set forth, was a very slick bird, but he was not remarkable for his sagacity. his cunning had influenced him to repel, with an assumption of ignorance, luna's broad hints of guilty complicity; but his sagacity failed utterly to comprehend pierre's more cunning silence. pierre was actively acquainted with morrison's weak points, and while he ceased not to flatter them he never neglected to gather rewards for his labour. if the fabled crow had had the wit to swallow his cheese before he began to sing he would at least have had a full stomach to console himself for being duped. this is somewhat prognostical; but even so, it is not safe to jump too far. it sometimes happens that the fox and the crow become so mutually engrossed as to forget the possibility of a man and a gun. late this particular evening luna entered the blue goose, and having paid tribute at the bar, was guided by the knowing winks and nods of morrison into pierre's private club-room, where morrison himself soon followed. morrison opened the game at once. "that new supe at the rainbow is getting pretty fly." he apparently addressed pierre. pierre bowed, in smiling acquiescence. "our little game is going to come to an end pretty soon, too." "to what li'l game you refer?" pierre inquired, blandly. pierre did not mind talking frankly with one; with two he weighed his words. morrison made an impatient gesture. "you know. i told you about the old man's getting back that ore." pierre rubbed his hands softly. "meestaire firmstone, he's smooth stuff, ver' smooth stuff." "he's getting too smooth," interrupted luna. "i don't mind a supe's looking out for his company. that's what he's paid for. but when he begins putting up games on the men, that's another matter, and i don't propose to stand it. not for my part." "he's not bin populaire wiz ze boy?" inquired pierre. "no." pierre chuckled softly. "he keeps too much ze glass-eye on ze plate, on ze stamp, heh?" "that's not all." "no," pierre continued; "he mek ze sample; he mek ze assay, hall ze time." "that's not all, either. he----" "a--a--ah! he bin mek ze viseete in ze mill in ze night, all hour, any hour. ze boy can't sleep, bin keep awake, bin keep ze han'--" pierre winked knowingly, making a scoop with his hand, and thrusting it into his pocket. luna grinned. "at ze mine ze boy get two stick powdaire, four candle, all day, eh? no take ten, fifteen stick, ten, fifteen candle, use two, four, sell ze res'?" pierre again winked smilingly. "you're sizing it up all right." "_bien!_ i tol' you. ze hol' man, he's bin hall right. i tol' you look out. bimeby i tol' you again. goslow. da's hall." morrison was getting impatient. "what's the use of barking our shins, climbing for last year's birds' nests? the facts are just as i told you. the old man's getting too fly. the boys are getting tired of it. the question is, how are we going to stop him? if we can't stop him can we get rid of him?" "i can tell you one way to stop him, and get rid of him at the same time," luna broke in. "how is that?" asked morrison. "cut the cable when he goes up on the tram." "will you take the job?" morrison asked, sarcastically. luna's enthusiasm waned under the question. "such things have happened." "some odder tings also happens." pierre slipped an imaginary rope around his neck. morrison passed the remark and started in on a line of his own. "i've been telling luna and some of the other boys what i think. i don't mind their making a little on the side. it's no more than they deserve, and the company can stand it. it doesn't amount to much, anyway. but what i do kick about is this everlasting spying around all the time. it's enough to make a thief out of an honest man. if you put a man on his honour, he isn't going to sleep on shift, even if the supe doesn't come in on him, every hour of the night. anyway, a supe ought to know when a man does a day's work. isn't that so?" he looked at luna. "that's right, every time." "then there's another point. a man has some rights of his own, if he does work for $ a day. the old man is all the time posting notices at the mine and at the mill. he tells men what days they can get their pay, and what days they can't. if a man quits, he's got to take a time-check that isn't worth face, till pay-day. now what i want to know is this: haven't the men just as good a right to post notices as the company has?" morrison was industriously addressing pierre, but talking at luna. pierre made no response, so luna spoke instead. "i've been thinking the same thing." morrison turned to luna. "well, i'll tell you. you fellows don't know your rights. when you work eight hours the company owes you three dollars. you have a right to your full pay any time you want to ask for it. do you get it? not much. the company says pay-day is the th of every month. you have nothing to say about it. you begin to work the first of one month. at the end of the month the company makes up the payroll. on the th you get pay for last month's work. the th, suppose you want to quit. you ask for your time. do you get your pay for the fifteen days? not much. they give you a time-check. if you'll wait thirty days you'll get a bank-check or cash, just as they choose. suppose you want your money right away, do you get it?" morrison looked fixedly at luna. luna shook his head in reply. "of course not. what do you do? why, you go to a bank, and if the company's good the bank will discount your check--one, two, three, or five per cent. your time amounts to $ , less board. the bank gives you, instead of $ , $ , which means that you put in one hard day's work to get what's your due." "the law's done away with time-checks," objected luna. "oh, yes, so it has. says you must be paid in full." morrison called on all his sarcasm to add emphasis to his words. "so the company complies with the law. it writes out a bank-check for $ , but dates it thirty days ahead, so the bank gets in its work, just the same." luna glanced cunningly from morrison to pierre. "it strikes me that the blue goose isn't giving the bank a fair show. i never cashed in at the bank." "what time ze bank open, eh?" pierre asked, languidly. "ten to four." luna looked a trifle puzzled. "_bien!_ sunday an' ze holiday?" pursued pierre. "'tain't open at all." "_très bien!_ ze blue goose, she mek open hall ze time, day, night, sunday, holiday." "well, you get paid for it," answered luna, doggedly. "oh, that isn't all," morrison interrupted, impatiently. "i just give you this as one example. i can bring up a thousand. you know them as well as i do. there's no use going over the whole wash." there was no reply. morrison went on, "there's no use saying anything about short time, either. you keep your own time; but what does that amount to? you take what the company gives you. of course, the law will take your time before the company's; but what does that amount to? just this: you're two or three dollars shy on your time. you go to law about it, and you'll get your two or three dollars; but it will cost you ten times as much; besides, you'll be blacklisted." it may appear that morrison was training an able-bodied gatling on a very small corporal's guard, and so wasting his ammunition. the fact is, morrison was an active dynamo to which luna, as an exhausted battery, was temporarily attached. mr. morrison felt very sure that if luna were properly charged he would increase to a very large extent the radius of dynamic activity. inwardly pierre was growing a little restless over morrison's zeal. it was perfectly true that in the matter of paying the men the company was enforcing an arbitrary rule that practically discounted by a small per cent. the men's wages; but the men had never objected. understanding the reason, they had never even considered it an injustice. there was no bank at pandora, and it was not a very safe proceeding for a company, even, to carry a large amount of cash. besides, the men knew very well that the discount did not benefit the company in the least. an enforcement of the law would interfere with pierre's business. if pierre found no butter on one side of his toast, he was accustomed to turn it over and examine the other side before he made a row. recalling the fact that last impressions are the strongest, he proceeded to take a hand himself. he turned blandly to luna. "how long you bin work in ze mill?" he asked. "about a year." "you get ze check every month?" "why, yes; of course." "how much he bin discount?" "nothing." "_bien!_ you mek ze kick for noddings?" "i don't know about that," remarked luna. "the way i size it up, that's about all that's coming my way. it's kick or nothing." there was a knock at the door. "come in," called morrison. the door swung open, and the mine foreman entered. "why, howdy, jim? you're just the fellow we've been waiting for. how's things at the mine?" "damned if i know!" replied jim, tossing his hat on the floor. "the old man's in the mix-up, so i don't know how much i'm supposed to know." "what are you supposed to know?" morrison was asking leading questions. "well, for one thing, i'm supposed to know when a man's doing a day's work." "well, don't you?" "not according to the old man. he snoops around and tells me that this fellow's shirking, and to push him up; that that fellow's not timbering right, doesn't know his business, that i'd better fire him; that the gang driving on four are soldiering, that i'd better contract it." "contract it, eh?" "yes." "did you?" "i had to!" "how are the contractors making out?" "kicking like steers; say they ain't making wages." "who measures up?" "the old man, of course." "uses his own tape and rod, eh?" "yes. why?" "oh, nothing; only, if i were you, i'd just look over his measures. you never heard of tapes that measured thirteen inches to the foot, did you? nor of rods that made a hole three feet, when it was four?" "what are you feeding us?" the foreman asked, in surprise. "pap. you're an infant. so's the gang of you." "what do you mean?" "just this." morrison looked wearied. "thirteen inches to the foot means eight and one-third feet to the hundred. that is, it's likely the contractors are doing one hundred and eight feet and four inches, and getting pay for a hundred. no wonder they're kicking. that's $ to the good for the company." "i never thought of that," replied the foreman. "i don't know that it's to be wondered at," answered morrison. "after a man's pounded steel all day and got his head full of powder smoke, he's too tired and sick to think of anything. how are you coming on with the organisation?" "oh, all right. most of the boys will come in all right. some are standing off, though. say they'd as soon be pinched by the company as bled by the union." "oh, well, don't trouble them too much. we'll attend to them later on. it's going to be a bad climate for scabs when we get our working clothes on." "it means a strike to get them out." to this sentiment luna acquiesced with an emphatic nod. "strike!" ejaculated morrison. "that's just what we will do, and pretty soon, too!" he was still smarting with the memory of bennie's words. pierre again took a hand. "who mek ze troub', heh? meestaire firmstone. i bin tol' you he's smooth stuff, ver' smooth stuff. you mek ze strike. _p'quoi?_ mek meestaire firmstone quit, eh? _bien!_ you mek ze strike, you mek meestaire firmstone keep his job. _p'quoi?_ ze company say meestaire firmstone one good man; he mek ze boy kick. _bien!_ meester firmstone, he stay." "he'll stay, anyway," growled morrison, "unless we can get him out." pierre shook his head softly. "ze strike mek him to stay." "what do you propose, then?" asked morrison, impatiently. "meestaire jim at ze mine bin foreman. meestaire luna at ze mill bin foreman. slick men! ver' slick men! an' two slick men bin ask hol' pierre, one hol' frenchmans, how mek for meestaire firmstone ze troub'." pierre shook his head deprecatingly. "mek one suppose. mek suppose ze mill all ze time broke down. mek suppose ze mine raise hell. _bien!_ bimeby ze company say, 'meestaire firmstone bin no good.'" "frenchy's hitting pay dirt all right," commented luna. "that's the stuff!" pierre rose to his feet excitedly. "_bien!_ ze mill broke down and ze mine blow hup. bimeby ze company say, 'meestaire firmstone mek _beaucoup_ ze troub' all ze time!' _bien!_ ze steel get hin ze roll, ze stamp break, ze tram break, ze men kick. hall ze time meestaire firmstone mek ze explain. _comment!_ 'meestaire firmstone, you ain't bin fit for no superintend. come hoff; we bin got anodder fel'.'" luna expressed his comprehension of pierre's plan. he was seconded by the mine foreman. morrison was not wholly enthusiastic; but he yielded. "well," he said, "warm it up for him. we'll give it a try, anyway. i'd like to see that smooth-faced, glass-eyed company minion dancing on a hot iron." the assembly broke up. the very next day the warming process began in earnest. chapter x _Élise goes forth to conquer_ Élise had been environed by very plebeian surroundings. being ignorant of her birth-right, her sympathies were wholly with her associates. not that as yet they had had any occasion for active development; only the tendencies were there. in a vague, indefinite way she had heard of kings and queens, of lords and ladies, grand personages, so far above common folk that they needs must have mongrel go-betweens to make known their royal wills. though she knew that kings and queens had no domain beneath the eagle's wings, she had absorbed the idea that in the distant east there was springing up a thrifty crop of nobilities who had very royal wills which only lacked the outward insignia. these, having usurped that part of the eagle's territory known as the east, were now sending into the as yet free west their servile and unscrupulous minions. this was common talk among the imported citizens who flocked nightly to the blue goose, and in this view of the case the home-made article coincided with its imported fellows. there were, however, a few independents like bennie, and these had a hard row of corn. by much adulation the spirit of liberty was developing tyrannical tendencies, and by a kind of cross-fertilization was inspiring her votaries with the idea that freedom meant doing as they pleased, and dissenters be damned! on this evening Élise was in attendance as usual at the little arcade, which was divided from the council-room by a thin partition only. consequently, she had overheard every word that passed between pierre and his visitors. she had given only passive attention to morrison's citation of grievances; but to his proposed plan of action she listened eagerly. her sympathies were thoroughly enlisted over his proposed strike more than over pierre's artful suggestion of covert nagging. not that she considered an ambushed attack, under the circumstances, as reprehensible, but rather because open attack revealed one's personality as much as the other course concealed it. the first year only of humanity is wholly satisfied, barring colic, with the consciousness of existence. the remaining years are principally concerned with impressing it upon others. Élise was very far from possessing what might be termed a retiring disposition. this was in a large measure due to a naturally vivacious temperament; for the rest, it was fostered by peculiarly congenial surroundings. in this environment individuality was free to express itself until it encountered opposition, when it was still more freely stimulated to fight for recognition, and, by sheer brute force, to push itself to the ascendant. this being the case, Élise was sufficiently inspired by the exigencies of the evening to conceive and plan an aggressive campaign on her own account. being only a girl, she could not take part either in morrison's open warfare, or in pierre's more diplomatic intrigues. being a girl, and untrammelled by conventionalities, she determined upon a raid of her own. her objective point was none other than firmstone himself. having come to this laudable conclusion, she waited impatiently an opportunity for its execution. early one morning, a few days later, Élise saw firmstone riding unsuspiciously by, on his way to the mine. previous observations had taught her to expect his return about noon. so without ceremony, so far as pierre and madame were concerned, Élise took another holiday, and followed the trail that led to the mine. at the falls, where she had eaten breakfast with zephyr, she waited for firmstone's return. toward noon she heard the click of iron shoes against the rocks, and, scattering the flowers which she had been arranging, she rose to her feet. firmstone had dismounted and was drinking from the stream. she stood waiting until he should notice her. as he rose to his feet he looked at her in astonished surprise. above the average height, his compact, athletic figure was so perfectly proportioned that his height was not obtrusive. his beardless face showed every line of a determination that was softened by mobile lips which could straighten and set with decision, or droop and waver with appreciative humour. his blue eyes were still more expressive. they could glint with set purpose, or twinkle with quiet humour that seemed to be heightened by their polished glasses. Élise was inwardly abashed, but outwardly she showed no sign. she stood straight as an arrow, her hands clasped behind her back, every line of her graceful figure brought out by her unaffected pose. "so you are the old man, are you?" the curiosity of the child and the dignity of the woman were humorously blended in her voice and manner. "at your service." firmstone raised his hat deliberately. the dignity of the action was compromised by a twinkle of his eyes and a wavering of his lips. Élise looked a little puzzled. "how old are you?" she asked, bluntly. "twenty-eight." "that's awfully old. i'm sixteen," she answered, decisively. "that's good. what next?" "what's a minion?" she asked. she was trying to deploy her forces for her premeditated attack. "a minion?" he repeated, with a shade of surprise. "oh, a minion's a fellow who licks the boots of the one above him and kicks the man below to even up." Élise looked bewildered. "what does that mean?" "oh, i see." firmstone's smile broadened. "you're literal-minded. according to webster, a minion is a man who seeks favours by flattery." "webster!" she exclaimed. "who's webster?" "he's the man who wrote a lexicon." "a lexicon? what's a lexicon?" "it's a book that tells you how to spell words, and tells you what they mean." Élise looked superior. "i know how to spell words, and i know what they mean, too, without looking in a--. what did you call it?" "lexicon. i thought you just said you knew what words meant." "i didn't mean big words, just words that common folks use." "you aren't common folks, are you?" "that's just what i am," Élise answered, aggressively, "and we aren't ashamed of it, either. we're just as good as anybody," she ended, with a toss of her head. "oh, thanks." firmstone laughed. "i'm common folks, too." "no, you aren't. you're a minion. m'sieu mo-reeson says so. you're a capitalistic hireling sent out here to oppress the poor workingman. you use long tape-lines to measure up, and short rods to measure holes, and you sneak in the mill at night, and go prying round the mine, and posting notices, and--er--oh, lots of things. you ought to be ashamed of yourself." she paused in breathless indignation, looking defiantly at firmstone. firmstone chuckled. "looks as if i were a pretty bad lot, doesn't it? how did you find out all that?" "i didn't have to find it out. i hear m'sieu mo-reeson and daddy and luna and lots of others talking about it. daddy says you're 'smooth, ver' smooth stuff,'" she mimicked. Élise disregarded minor contradictions. "'twon't do you any good, though. the day is not far distant when down-trodden labour will rise and smite the oppressor. then----" her lips were still parted, but memory failed and inspiration refused to take its place. "oh, well," she concluded, lamely, "you'll hunt your hole all right." "you're an out-and-out socialist, aren't you?" "a socialist?" Élise looked aghast. "what's a socialist?" "a socialist is one who thinks that everyone else is as unhappy and discontented as he is, and that anything that he can't get is better than what he can. won't you be seated?" firmstone waved her to a boulder. Élise seated herself, but without taking her eyes from firmstone's face. "now you're making fun of me." "no, i'm not." "yes, you are." "what makes you think so?" "because you sit there and grin and grin all the time, and use big words that you know i can't understand. where did you learn them?" "at school." "oh, you've been to school, then, have you?" "yes." "how long did you go to school?" "ten or twelve years, altogether." "ten or twelve years! what an awful stupid you must be!" she looked at him critically; then, with a modifying intonation, "unless you learned a whole lot. i know i wouldn't have to go to school so long." she looked very decided. then, after a pause, "you must have gone clear through your arithmetic. zephyr taught me all about addition and division and fractions, clear to square root. i wanted to go through square root, but he said he didn't know anything about square root, and it wasn't any use, anyway. did you go through square root?" "yes. do you want me to teach you square root?" "oh, perhaps so, some time," Élise answered, indifferently. "what else did you study?" "algebra, trigonometry, latin, greek." firmstone teasingly went through the whole curriculum, ending with botany and zoology. Élise fairly gasped. "i never knew there was so much to learn. what's zoo--what did you call it--about?" "zoology," explained firmstone; "that teaches you about animals, and botany teaches you about plants." "oh, is that all?" Élise looked relieved, and then superior. "why, i know all about animals and plants and birds and things, and i didn't have any books, and i never went to school, either. do all the big folks back east have to have books and go to school to learn such things? they must be awful stupids. girls don't go to school out here, nor boys either. there aren't any schools out here. not that i know of. mammy says i must go to school somewhere. daddy says i sha'n't. they have no end of times over it, and it's lots of fun to see daddy get mad. daddy says i've got to get married right away. but i won't. you didn't tell me if girls went to school with you." "no; they have schools of their own." Élise asked many questions. then, suddenly dropping the subject, she glanced up at the sun. "it's almost noon, and i'm awfully hungry. i think i'll have to go." "i'll walk down with you, if you'll allow me." he slipped his arm through the bridle and started down the trail. Élise walked beside him, plying him with questions about his life in the east, and what people said and did. firmstone dropped his teasing manner and answered her questions as best he could. he spoke easily and simply of books and travel and a thousand and one things that her questions and comments suggested. her manner had changed entirely. her simplicity, born of ignorance of the different stations in life which they occupied, displayed her at her best. her expressive eyes widened and deepened, and the colour of her cheeks paled and glowed under the influence of the new and strange world of which he was giving her her first glimpse. they reached the blue goose. firmstone paused, raising his hat as he turned toward her. but Élise was no longer by his side. she had caught sight of morrison, who was standing on the top step, glowering savagely, first at her, then at firmstone. morrison was habilitated in his usual full dress--that is, in his shirt-sleeves, unbuttoned vest, a collarless shirt flecked with irregular, yellowish dots, and a glowing diamond. just now he stood with his hands in his pockets and his head thrust decidedly forward. his square, massive jaw pressed his protruding lips against his curled moustache. his eyes, narrowed to a slit, shot forth malignant glances, his wavy hair, plastered low upon a low forehead and fluffed out on either side, flattened and broadened his head to the likeness of a venomous serpent preparing to strike. Élise reached the foot of the stone steps, shot a look of fierce defiance at the threatening morrison, then she turned toward firmstone, with her head bent forward till her upturned eyes just reached him from beneath her arching brows. she swept him a low courtesy. "good-bye, mr. minion!" she called. "i've had an awfully nice time." she half turned her head toward morrison, then, as firmstone lifted his hat in acknowledgment, she raised her hand to her laughing lips and flung him a kiss from the tips of her fingers. gathering her skirts in her hand, she darted up the steps and nearly collided with morrison, who had deliberately placed himself in her way. she met morrison's indignant look with the hauteur of an offended goddess. morrison's eyes fell from before her; but he demanded: "where did you pick up that--that scab?" it was the most opprobrious epithet he could think of. Élise's rigid figure stiffened visibly. "it's none of your business." "what have you been talking about?" "it's none of your business. is there any more information you want that you won't get?" "i'll make it my business!" morrison burst out, furiously. "i'll----" "go back to your gambling and leave me alone!" with unflinching eyes, that never left his face, she passed him almost before he was aware of it, and entered the open door. could morrison have seen the change that came over her face, as soon as her back was toward him, he might have gained false courage, through mistaking the cause. loathing and defiance had departed. in their place were bewildering questionings, not definite, but suggested. for the first time in her life her hitherto spontaneous actions waited approbation before the bar of judgment. the coarse, venomous looks of morrison ranged themselves side by side with the polished ease and deference of firmstone. as she passed through the bar-room long accustomed sights were, for the first time, seen, not clearly, but comparatively. in the corridor that led to the dining-room she encountered pierre. she did not speak to him. the quick eyes of the little frenchman noted the unwonted expression, but he did not question her. at the proper time he would know all. meantime his concern was not to forget. Élise opened the door of the dining-room and entered. madame looked up as the door closed. Élise stood with distant eyes fixed upon the pathetically plain little woman. never before had she noticed the lifeless hair strained from the colourless tan of the thin face, the lustreless eyes, the ill-fitting, faded calico wrapper that dropped in meaningless folds from the spare figure. madame waited patiently for Élise to speak, or to keep silence as she chose. for a moment only Élise stood. the next instant madame felt the strong young arms about her, felt hot, decided kisses upon her cheeks. madame was surprised. Élise was fierce with determination. Élise was doing penance. madame did not know it. Élise left madame standing bewildered, and darted upstairs to her little room. she flung herself on her bed and fought--fought with ghostly, flitting shadows that elusively leered from darker shades, grasped at fleeting phantoms that ranged themselves beside the minatory demons, until at last she grew tired and slept. Élise had left the blue goose in the morning, a white-winged, erratic craft, skimming the sparkling, land-locked harbours of girlhood. she returned, and already the first lifting swells beyond the sheltering bar were tossing her in their arms. she had entered the shoreless ocean of womanhood. pierre passed from the corridor to the bar-room. he glanced from the bar to the gaming-tables, where a few listless players were engaged at cards, and finally stepped out upon the broad piazza. he glanced at morrison, who was following firmstone with a look of malignant hatred. "meestaire firmstone, he bin come from ze mine?" "to hell with firmstone!" growled morrison. he turned and entered the saloon. pierre followed him with knowing eyes. "to hell wiz firmstone, heh?" he breathed softly. "_bien!_" pierre stood looking complacently over the broken landscape. much understanding was coming to him. the harmlessness of the dove radiated from his beaming face, but the wisdom of the serpent was shining in his eyes. chapter xi _the devil's elbow_ if firmstone had flattered himself that his firm but just treatment of luna in the case of the stolen ore had cleared his path of difficulties he would have been forced by current events to a rude awakening. he had been neither flattered nor deceived. he knew very well that a prop put under an unstable boulder may obscure the manifestation of gravity; but he never deceived himself with the thought that it had been eliminated. the warming-up process, recommended by pierre, was being actively exploited. scarcely a day passed but some annoying accident at the mine or mill occurred, frequently necessitating prolonged shut-downs. day by day, by ones, by twos, by threes, his best men were leaving the mine. there was no need to ask them why, even if they would have given a truthful answer. he knew very well why. yet he was neither disheartened nor discouraged. he realised the fact clearly, as he had written to his eastern employers that it would take time and much patient endeavour to restore order where chaos had reigned so long undisturbed. there was another element impeding his progress which he by no means ignored--that was the blue goose. he had no tangible evidence against the resort beyond its obvious pretensions. he had no need of the unintentional but direct evidence of Élise's words that the habitués of the blue goose there aired their grievances, real or imagined, and that both pierre and morrison were assiduously cultivating this restlessness by sympathy and counsel. he was morally certain of another fact--that the blue goose was indirectly, at least, at the bottom of the extensive system of thieving, in offering a sure market for the stolen gold. this last fact had not especially troubled him, for he felt sure that the careful system of checks which he had inaugurated at the outset would eventually make the stealing so dangerous that it would be abandoned. so far in the history of the camp, when once the plates were cleaned and gold, as ingots, was in possession of the company, it had been perfectly safe. no attempts at hold-ups had ever been made. yet firmstone had provided, in a measure, safeguards against this possibility. the ingots had been packed in a small steel safe and shipped by stage to the nearest express office, about ten miles distant. shipments had not been made every day, of course. but every day firmstone had sent the safe, loaded with pigs of lead. the next day the safe was returned, and in it was the agent's receipt. whether the safe carried gold or lead, the going and the returning weight was the same. if the safe carried gold enough lead was added by the express agent to make the returning weight the same. this fact was generally known, and even if a stage hold-up should be attempted, the chances were thirty to one that a few pounds of lead would be the only booty of the robbers. this afternoon firmstone was at his office-desk in a meditative and relieved frame of mind. he was meditative over his troubles that, for all his care, seemed to be increasing. relieved in that, but an hour before, $ , in bullion had been loaded into the stage, and was now rolling down the cañon on the way to its legitimate destination. his meditations were abruptly broken, and his sense of relief violently dissipated, when the office-door was thrust open, and hatless, with clothing torn to shreds, the stage-driver stood before him, his beard clotted with blood which flowed from a jagged cut that reached from his forehead across his cheek. firmstone sprang to his feet with a startled exclamation. the driver swept his hand over his blood-clotted lips. "no; 'tain't a hold-up; just a plain, flat wreck. the whole outfit went over the cliff at the devil's elbow. i stayed with my job long's i could, but that wa'n't no decades." firmstone dragged the man into his laboratory, and carefully began to wash the blood from his face. "that's too long a process, gov'ner." the driver soused his head into the bucket of cold water which firmstone had drawn from the faucet. "can you walk now?" firmstone asked. "reckon i'll try it a turn. been flyin', for all i know. must have been, to get up the cliff. i flew down; that much i know. lit on a few places. that's where i got this." he pointed to the cut. firmstone led the man to his own room adjoining the office, and opening a small chest, took out some rolls of plaster and bandages. he began drying the wound. the office-door again opened and the bookkeeper entered. "go tell bennie to come down right away," firmstone ordered, without pausing in his work. satisfied that the man's skull was not fractured, he drew the edges of the wound together and fastened them with strips of plaster. a few minutes later bennie, followed by zephyr, hurriedly entered the office. paying no attention to their startled exclamations, firmstone said: "i wish you would look after jim. he's badly hurt. he'll tell you about it. you said at the devil's elbow?" turning to the driver. zephyr glanced critically at the man; then, making up his mind that he was not needed, he said: "i'll go along with you. are you heeled?" firmstone made no audible reply, but took down his revolver and cartridge-belt, and buckled them on. "'tain't the heels you want; it's wings and fins. they won't be much good, either. the whole outfit's in the san miguel. i followed it that far, and then pulled out." the driver was attempting to hold out gamely, but the excitement and the severe shaking-up were evidently telling on him. firmstone and zephyr left the office and followed the wagon-trail down the cañon. neither spoke a word. they reached the scene of the wreck and, still silent, began to look carefully about. a hundred feet below them the san miguel, swollen by melting snows, foamed and roared over its boulder-strewn bed. near the foot of the cliff one of the horses was impaled on a jagged rock; its head and shoulders in the lapping water. in mid-stream and further down the other was pressed by the current against a huge rock that lifted above the flood. no trace of the stage was to be seen. that, broken into fragments by the fall, had been swept away. the spot where the accident occurred was a dangerous one at best. for some distance after leaving the mill the trail followed a nearly level bench of hard slate rock, then, dipping sharply downward, cut across a long rock-slide that reached to the summit of the mountain a thousand feet above. on the opposite side a square-faced buttress crowded the trail to the very brink of the cañon. the trail followed along the foot of this buttress for a hundred feet or more, and at the edge it again turned from the gorge at an acute angle. at the turning-point a cleft, twenty feet wide, cut the cliff from the river-bed to a point far above the trail. a bridge had spanned the cleft, but it was gone. the accident had been caused by the giving way of the bridge when the stage was on it. "well, what do you make of it?" firmstone turned to zephyr and zephyr shook his head. "that's a superfluous interrogation. your thinks and mine on this subject under consideration are as alike as two chicks hatched from a double-yolked egg." "this is no accident." firmstone spoke decidedly. zephyr nodded deliberately. "that's no iridescent dream, unless you and i have been hitting the same pipe." "the question is," resumed firmstone, "was the safe taken from the stage before the accident?" he looked at zephyr inquiringly. "that depends on jim norwood." zephyr whistled meditatively, then spoke with earnest decision. "that safe's in the river. the blue goose has been setting for some time. this ain't the first gosling that's pipped its shell, and 'tain't going to be the last one, either, unless the nest is broken up." "that's what i think." firmstone spoke slowly. "but this is a dangerous game. i didn't think it would go so far." "it's up to you hard; but that isn't the worst of it. it's going to be up to you harder yet. they never reckoned on jim's getting out of this alive." zephyr seated himself, and his hand wandered unconsciously to his shirt. then, changing his mind, he spoke without looking up. "you don't need this, goggles, but i'm going to give it to you, just the same. you're heavier calibre and longer range than the whole crowd. but i am with you, and there are others. the gang haven't landed their plunder yet, and, what's more, they aren't going to, either. i'll see to that. you just _restez tranquille_, and give your mind to other things. this little job is about my size." firmstone made no reply to zephyr. he knew his man, knew thoroughly the loyal sense of honour that, though sheltered in humourous, apparently indifferent cynicism, was ready to fight to the death in defence of right. "i think we might as well go back to the mill. we've seen all there is to be seen here." they walked back in silence. at the office-door zephyr paused. "won't you come in?" asked firmstone. "i think not, dearly beloved. the spirit moveth me in sundry places. in other words, i've got a hunch. and say, goggles, don't ask any embarrassing questions, if your grub mysteriously disappears. just charge it up to permanent equipment account, and keep quiet, unless you want to inquire darkly whether anyone knows what's become of that fellow zephyr." "don't take any risks, zephyr. a man's a long time dead. you know as well as i the gang you're up against. i think i know what you're up to, and i also think i can help you out." firmstone entered the office with no further words. it was the hardest task of many that he had had, to send a report of the disaster to the company, but he did not shrink from it. he made a plain statement of the facts of the case, including the manner in which the bridge had been weakened to the point of giving way when the weight of the stage had been put upon it. he also added that he was satisfied that the purpose was robbery, and that he knew who was at the bottom of the whole business, that steps were being taken to recover the safe; but that the conviction of the plotters was another and a very doubtful proposition. above all things, he asked to be let alone for a while, at least. the driver, he stated, had no idea that the wrecking of the stage was other than it appeared on the face, an accident pure and simple. the letter was sealed and sent by special messenger to the railroad. one thing troubled firmstone. he was very sure that his request to be let alone would not be heeded. hartwell, the eastern manager of the company, was a shallow, empty-headed man, insufferably conceited. he held the position, partly through a controlling interest in the shares, but more through the nimble use of a glib tongue that so man[oe]uvred his corporal's guard of information that it appeared an able-bodied regiment of knowledge covering the whole field of mining. if firmstone had any weaknesses, one was an open contempt of flatterers and flattery, the other an impolitic, impatient resentment of patronage. there had been no open breaks between the manager and himself; in fact, the manager professed himself an admiring friend of firmstone to his face. at directors' meetings "firmstone was a fairly promising man who only needed careful supervision to make in time a valuable man for the company." firmstone had strongly opposed the shipping of bullion by private conveyance instead of by a responsible express company. in this he was overruled by the manager. being compelled to act against his judgment, he had done his best to minimise the risk by making dummy shipments each day, as has been explained. the loss of the month's clean-up was a very serious one, and he had no doubt but that it would result in a visit from the manager, and that the manager would insist upon taking a prominent part in any attempt to recover the safe, if indeed he did not assume the sole direction. the opportunity to add to his counterfeit laurels was too good to be lost. in the event of failure, firmstone felt that no delicate scruples would prevent the shifting of the whole affair upon his own shoulders. firmstone had not made the mistake of minimising the crafty cunning of pierre, nor of interpreting his troubles at the mine and mill at their obvious values. cunningly devised as was the wreck of the stage, he felt sure that there was another object in view than the very obvious and substantial one of robbery. with the successful wrecking of the stage there were yet large chances against the schemers getting possession of the safe and its contents. still, there was a chance in their favour. if neither pierre nor the company recovered the bullion, pierre's scheme would not have miscarried wholly. the company would still be in ignorance of the possibilities of the mine. firmstone arranged every possible detail clearly in his mind, from pierre's standpoint. his thorough grasp of the entire situation, his unwearying application to the business in hand made further stealing impossible. pierre was bound to get him out of his position. the agitation inaugurated by morrison was only a part of the scheme by means of which this result was to be accomplished. a whole month's clean-up had been made. if this reached the company safely, it would be a revelation to them. firmstone's position would be unassailable, and henceforth pierre would be compelled to content himself with the yield of the gambling and drinking at the blue goose. whether the bullion ever found its way to the blue goose or not, the wrecking of the stage would be in all likelihood the culminating disaster in firmstone's undoing. firmstone's indignation did not burn so fiercely against pierre and morrison--they were but venomous reptiles who threatened every decent man--as at the querulous criticisms of his employers, which were a perpetual drag, clogging his every movement, and threatening to neutralise his every effort in their behalf. he recalled the words of an old and successful mine manager: "you've got a hard row of corn. when you tackle a mine you've got to make up your mind to have everyone against you, from the cook-house flunkey to the president of the company, and the company is the hardest crowd to buck against." firmstone's face grew hard. the fight was on, and he was in it to win. that was what he was going to do. zephyr, meantime, had gone to the cook-house. he found bennie in his room. "how's jim?" he asked. "sleeping. that's good for him. he'll pull out all right. get on to anything at the bridge?" bennie was at sharp attention. "nothing to get on to, julius benjamin. the bridge is gone. so's everything else. it's only a matter of time when goggles will be gone, too. this last will fix him with the company." zephyr glanced slyly at bennie with the last words. "the jig is up. the fiddle's broke its last string, and i'm going, too." bennie's eyes were flaming. "take shame to yourself for those words, you white-livered frog-spawn, with a speck in the middle for the black heart of you! you're going? well, here's the bones of my fist and the toe of my boot, to speed you!" "you'll have to put me up some grub, benjamin." "grub! it's grub, is it? i'll give you none. stay here a bit and i'll grub you to more purpose. i'll put grit in your craw and bones in your back, and a sup of glue, till you can stand straight and stick to your friends. lacking understanding that god never gave you, i'll point them out to you!" zephyr's eyes had a twinkle that bennie's indignation overlooked. "the lord never passed you by on the other side, julius. he put a heavy charge in your bell-muzzle. you're bound to hit something when you go off. if he'd only put a time-fuse on your action, 'twould have only perfect. not just yet, julius benjamin!" zephyr languidly lifted a detaining hand as bennie started to interrupt. "i'm going a long journey for an uncertain time. this is for the public. but, julius, if you'll take a walk in the gloaming each day, and leave an edible bundle in the clump of spruces above the devil's elbow you'll find it mysteriously disappears. from which you may infer that i'm travelling in a circle with a small radius. and say, julius, heave over some of your wind ballast and even up with discretion. you're to take a minor part in a play, with goggles and me as stars." "it's lean ore you're working in your wind-mill. just what does it assay?" bennie was yet a little suspicious. "for a man of abundant figures, julius, you have a surprising appetite for ungarnished speech. but here's to you! the safe's in the river. there's fifty thousand in bullion in the safe that's in the river. the blue goose crowd is after the bullion that's in the safe that's in the river. say, julius benjamin, this is hard sledding. it's the story of the house that jack built, adapted to present circumstances. i'm going to hang out in the cañon till the river goes down, or till i bag some of the goslings from the blue goose. your part is to work whom it may concern into the belief that i've lit out for my health, and meantime to play raven to my elijah. are you on?" "yes, i'm on," growled bennie. "on to more than you'll ever be. you have to empty the gab from your head to leave room for your wits." chapter xii _figs and thistles_ though zephyr had not explained his plan of operations in detail, firmstone found no difficulty in comprehending it. it was of prime importance to have the river watched by an absolutely trustworthy man, and firmstone was in no danger of having an embarrassing number from whom to choose. a day or two of cold, cloudy weather was liable to occur at any time, and this, checking the melting of the snow, would lower the river to a point where it would be possible to search for, and to recover the safe. it was with a feeling of relief that he tacitly confided the guarding of the river to zephyr. while he offered no opposition to zephyr's carrying out his scheme of having his mysterious disappearance reported, he was fully satisfied that it would not deceive pierre for an instant. firmstone, however, was deceived in another way. it was a case of harmless self-deception, the factors of which were wholly beyond his control. his reason assured him unmistakably that hartwell would start at once for colorado on learning of the loss of the bullion, and that the manager would be a hindrance in working out his plans, if indeed he did not upset them entirely. firmstone's confidence in his ability to emerge finally triumphant from his troubles came gradually to strengthen his hope into the belief that he would be let alone. a telegram could have reached him within a week after he had reported the loss, but none came. he was now awaiting a letter. the bridge had been repaired, and travel resumed. a meagre account of the accident had been noted in the denver, as well as in the local papers, but no hint was given that it was considered otherwise than as an event incidental to mountain travel. the miraculous escape of the driver was the sole item of interest. these facts gratified firmstone exceedingly. pierre was evidently satisfied that the cards were in his own hands to play when and as he would. he was apparently well content to sit in the game with firmstone as his sole opponent. firmstone was equally well content, if only---- there came the sharp click of the office gate. inside the railing stood a slender man of medium height, slightly stooped forward. on his left arm hung a light overcoat. from a smooth face, with a mouth whose thin lips oscillated between assumed determination and cynical half-smiles, a pair of grey eyes twinkled with a humorously tolerant endurance of the frailties of his fellow-men. "well, how are you?" the gloved right hand shot out an accompaniment to his words. firmstone took the proffered hand. "nothing to complain of. this is something of a surprise." this was true in regard to one mental attitude, but not of another. firmstone voiced his hopes, not his judgment. "it shouldn't be." the eyes lost their twinkle as the mouth straightened to a line. "i'm afraid you hardly appreciate the gravity of the situation. the loss of $ , is serious, but it's no killing matter to a company with our resources. it's the conditions which make such losses possible." "yes." firmstone spoke slowly. the twinkle was in his eyes now. "as i understand it, this is the first time conditions have made such a loss possible." the significance of the words was lost on hartwell. the possibility of a view-point other than his own never occurred to him. "we will not discuss the matter now. i shall be here until i have straightened things out. i have brought my sister with me. her physician ordered a change of air. beatrice, allow me to introduce my superintendent, mr. firmstone." a pink and white face, with a pair of frank, blue eyes, looked out from above a grey travelling suit, and acknowledged the curt introduction. "i am very happy to meet you." firmstone took the proffered hand in his own. miss hartwell smiled. "don't make any rash assertions. i am going to be here a long time. where are you going, arthur?" she turned to her brother, who, after fidgeting around, walked briskly across the room. "i'll be back directly. i want to look after your room. make yourself comfortable for a few minutes." then addressing firmstone, "i suppose our quarters upstairs are in order?" "i think so. here are the keys. or will you allow me?" "no, thanks. i'll attend to it." hartwell took the keys and left the room. firmstone turned to miss hartwell. "what kind of a trip did you have out?" "delightful! it was hot and dusty across the plains, but then i didn't mind. it was all so new and strange. i really had no conception of the size of our country before." "and here, even, you are only a little more than half way across." "i know, but it doesn't mean much to me." "does the altitude trouble you?" "you mean marshall pass?" "yes. in part, but you know denver is over five thousand feet. some people find it very trying at first." "perhaps i might have found it so if i had stopped to think. but i had something else to think of. you know i had a ridiculous sensation, just as if i were going to fall off the world. now you speak of it, i really think i did gasp occasionally." she looked up smilingly at firmstone. "i suppose you are so accustomed to such sights that my enthusiasm seems a bore." "do you feel like gasping here?" "no; why do you ask?" "because you are a thousand feet higher than at marshall pass, and here we are three thousand feet below the mine. you would not only have the fear of falling off from the world up there, but the danger of it as well." miss hartwell looked from the office window to the great cliff that rose high above its steep, sloped talus. "i told arthur that i was going to see everything and climb everything out here, but i will think about it first." "i would suggest your seeing about it first. perhaps that will be enough." hartwell bustled into the room with a preoccupied air. "sorry to have kept you waiting so long." miss hartwell followed her brother from the room and up the stairs. "make yourself as comfortable as you can, beatrice. i gave you full warning as to what you might expect out here. you will have to look out for yourself now. i shall be very busy; i can see that with half an eye." "i think if mr. firmstone is one half as efficient as he is agreeable you are borrowing trouble on a very small margin." miss hartwell spoke with decided emphasis. "smooth speech and agreeable manners go farther with women than they do in business," hartwell snapped out. "i hope you have a good business equipment to console yourself with." hartwell made no reply to his sister, but busied himself unstrapping her trunk. "dress for supper as soon as you can. you have an hour," he added, looking at his watch. hartwell did not find firmstone on re-entering the office. he seated himself at the desk and began looking over files of reports of mine and mill. their order and completeness should have pleased him, but, from the frown on his face, they evidently did not. firmstone, meanwhile, had gone to the cook-house to warn bennie of his coming guests, and to advise the garnishing of the table with the whitest linen and the choicest viands which his stores could afford. "what sort of a crowd are they?" bennie inquired. "you'll be able to answer your own question in a little while. that will save you the trouble of changing your mind." "'tis no trouble at all, sir! it's a damned poor lobster that doesn't know what to do when his shell pinches!" firmstone, laughing, went to the mill for a tour of inspection before the supper hour. entering the office a little later, he found hartwell at his desk. "well," he asked, "how do you find things?" hartwell's eyes were intrenched in a series of absorbed wrinkles that threw out supporting works across a puckered forehead. "it's too soon to speak in detail. i propose to inform myself generally before doing that." "that's an excellent plan." hartwell looked up sharply. firmstone's eyes seemed to neutralise the emphasis of his words. "supper is ready when you are. will miss hartwell be down soon?" miss hartwell rustled into the room, and her brother led the way to the cook-house. bennie had heeded firmstone's words. perhaps there was a lack of delicate taste in the assortment of colours, but scarlet-pinks, deep red primroses, azure columbines, and bright yellow mountain sunflowers glared at each other, each striving to outreach its fellow above a matted bed of mossy phlox. hartwell prided himself, among other things, on a correct eye. "there's a colour scheme for you, beatrice; you can think of it in your next study." bennie was standing by in much the same attitude as a suspicious bumble-bee. "mention your opinion in your prayers, mr. hartwell, not to me. they're as god grew them. i took them in with one sweep of my fist." miss hartwell's eyes danced from firmstone to bennie. "your cook has got me this time, firmstone." hartwell grinned his appreciation of bennie's retort. they seated themselves, and bennie began serving the soup. hartwell was the last. bennie handed his plate across the table. they were a little cramped for room, and bennie was saving steps. "it's a pity you don't have a little more room here, bennie, so you could shine as a waiter." "good grub takes the shortest cut to a hungry man with no remarks on style. there's only one trail when they meet." hartwell's manner showed a slight resentment that he was trying to conceal. "this soup is excellent. it's rather highly seasoned"--he looked slyly at bennie--"but then there's no rose without its thorns." "true for you. but there's a hell of a lot of thorns with the roses, i take note. beg pardon, miss!" miss hartwell laughed. "you have had excellent success in growing them together, bennie." "thank you, miss!" bennie was flushed with pleasure. "i've heard tell that there were roses without thorns, but you're the first of the kind i've seen." bennie had ideas of duty, even to undeserving objects. consequently, hartwell's needs were as carefully attended to as his sister's or firmstone's, but in spite of all duty there is a graciousness of manner that is only to be had by a payment in kind. bennie paraded his duty as ostentatiously as his pleasure, and with the same lack of words. hartwell noted, and kept silence. hartwell looked across to the table which bennie was preparing for the mill crew. "do you supply the men as liberally as you do your own table, firmstone?" "just the same." "don't think i want to restrict you, firmstone. i want you to have the best you can get, but it strikes me as a little extravagant for the men." bennie considered himself invaded. "the men pay for their extravagance, sir." "a dollar a day only, with no risks," hartwell tendered, rather stiffly. "i'll trade my wages for your profits," retorted bennie, "and give you a commission, and i'll bind myself to feed them no more hash than i do now!" the company rose from the table. for the benefit of miss hartwell and firmstone, bennie moved across the room with the dignity of a drum-major, and, opening the door, bowed his guests from his presence. chapter xiii _the stork and the cranes_ in spite of Élise's declaration that she would see him again, firmstone dropped her from his mind long before he reached his office. she had been an unexpected though not an unpleasant, incident; but he had regarded her as only an incident, after all. her beauty and vivacity created an ephemeral interest; yet there were many reasons why it promised to be only ephemeral. the blue goose was a gambling, drinking resort, a den of iniquity which firmstone loathed, a thing which, in spite of all, thrust itself forward to be taken into account. how much worse than a den of thieves and a centre of insurrection it was he had never stated to himself. he, however, would have had no hesitancy in completing the attributes of the place had he been asked. the fact that the ægis of marriage vows spread its protecting mantle over the proprietor, and its shadow over the permanent residents, would never have caused a wavering doubt, or certified to the moral respectability of the contracting parties. firmstone was not the first to ask if any good thing could come out of nazareth, or if untarnished purity could dwell in the tents of the nazarenes. it occasionally happens that a stork is caught among cranes and, even innocent, is compelled to share the fate of its guilty, though accidental, associates. thus it happened that when Élise, for the second time, met firmstone at the falls he hardly concealed his annoyance. Élise was quick to detect the emotion, though innocence prevented her assigning it its true source. there was a questioning pain in the large, clear eyes lifted to firmstone's. the look of annoyance on firmstone's face melted. he spoke even more pleasantly than he felt. "well, what i can do for you this time?" "you can go away from my place and stay away!" Élise flashed out. firmstone's smile broadened. "i didn't know i was a trespasser." "well, you are! i had this place before you came, and i'm likely to have it after you are gone!" the eyes were snapping. "you play cassandra well." firmstone was purposely tantalising. he was forgetting the cranes, nor was he displeased that the stork had other weapons than innocence. Élise's manner changed. "who is cassandra?" the eager, hungry look of the changing eyes smote firmstone. the bantering smile disappeared. it occurred to him that Élise might be outdoing her prototype. "she was a very beautiful lady who prophesied disagreeable things that no one believed." Élise ignored the emphasis which firmstone unconsciously placed on _beautiful_. she grew thoughtful, endeavouring to grasp his analogy. "i think," she said, slowly, "i'm no cassandra." she looked sharply at firmstone. "daddy says you're going; mo-reeson says you're going, and they put their chips on the right number pretty often." firmstone laughed lightly. "oh, well, it isn't for daddy and morrison to say whether i'm to go or not." "who's this mr. hartwell?" Élise asked, abruptly. "he's the man who can say." "then you are up against it!" Élise spoke with decision. there was a suggestion of regret in her eyes. "these things be with the gods." firmstone was half-conscious of a lack of dignity in seeming to be interested in personal matters, not intended for his immediate knowledge. several times he had decided to end the episode, but the mobile face and speaking eyes, the half-childish innocence and unconscious grace restrained him. "i don't believe it." Élise looked gravely judicial. "why not?" "because god knows what he's about. mr. hartwell doesn't; he is only awfully sure he does." firmstone chuckled softly over the unerring estimate which Élise had made. he began gathering up the reins, preparatory to resuming his way. Élise paid no attention to his motions. "don't you want to see my garden?" she asked. "is that an invitation?" "yes." "you are sure i'll not trespass?" Élise looked up at him. "that's not fair. i was mad when i said that." she turned and hurriedly pushed through the matted bushes that grew beside the stream. there was a kind of nervous restlessness which firmstone did not recall at their former meeting. they emerged from the bushes into a large arena bare of trees. it was completely hidden from the trail by a semicircle of tall spruces which, sweeping from the cliff on either side of the fall, bent in graceful curves to meet at the margin of the dividing brook. moss-grown boulders, marked into miniature islands by cleaving threads of clear, cold water, were half hidden by the deep pink primroses, serried-massed about them. creamy cups of marshmallows, lifted above the succulent green of fringing leaves, hid the threading lines of gliding water. on the outer border clustered tufts of delicate azure floated in the thin, pure air, veiling modest gentians. moss and primrose, leaf and branch held forth jewelled fingers that sparkled in the light, while overhead the slanting sunbeams broke in iridescent bands against the beaten spray of the falling water. the air, surcharged with blending colours, spoke softly sibilant of visions beyond the power of words, of exaltation born not of the flesh, of opening gates with wider vistas into which only the pure in heart can enter. the girl stood with dreamy eyes, half-parted lips, an unconscious pose in perfect harmony with her surroundings. as firmstone stood silently regarding the scene before him he was conscious of a growing regret, almost repentance, for the annoyance that he had felt at this second meeting. yet he was right in harbouring the annoyance. he felt no vulgar pride in that at their first meeting he had unconsciously turned the girl's open hostility to admiration, or at least to tolerance of himself. but she belonged to the blue goose, and between the blue goose and the rainbow company there was open war. suppose that in him Élise did find a pleasure for which she looked in vain among her associates; a stimulant to her better nature that hitherto had been denied her? that was no protection to her. even her unconscious innocence was a weapon of attack rather than a shield of defence. she and she alone would be the one to suffer. for this reason firmstone had put her from his mind after their first meeting, and for this reason he had felt annoyance when she had again placed herself in his path. but this second meeting had shown another stronger side in the girl before him. that deep in her nature was an instinct of right which her surroundings had not dwarfed. that this instinct was not to be daunted by fear of consequences. she had evidently come to warn him of personal danger to himself. this act carried danger--danger to her, and yet she apparently had not hesitated. perhaps she did not realise the danger, but was he to hold it of less value on that account? was he to accept what she gave him, and then through fear of malicious tongues abandon her to her fate without a thought? the idea was revolting, but what could he do? his lips set hard. there must be a way, and he would find it, however difficult. in some way she should have a chance. this chance must take one of two forms: to leave her in her present surroundings, and counteract their tendencies by other influences, or, in some way, to remove her from the blue goose. firmstone was deeply moved. he felt that his course of action must be shaped by the calmest judgment, if Élise were to be rescued from her surroundings. he must act quickly, intelligently. if he had known of her real parentage he would have had no hesitancy. but he did not know. what he saw was Élise, the daughter of pierre and madame. to him they were her parents. whatever opportunities he offered her, however much she might desire to avail herself of them, they could forbid; and he would be helpless. Élise was under age; she was pierre's, to do with as he would. this was statute law. firmstone rebelled against it instinctively; but it was hopeless. he knew pierre, knew his greed for gold, his lack of scruple as to methods of acquiring it. he did not know pierre's love for Élise; it would not have weighed with him had he known. for he was familiar with pierre's class. therefore he knew that pierre would rather see Élise dead than in a station in life superior to his own, where she would either despise him or be ashamed of him. it was useless to appeal to pierre on the ground of benefit to Élise. this demanded unselfish sacrifice, and pierre was selfish. firmstone tried another opening, and was confronted with another danger. if pierre suspected that efforts were being made to weaken his hold on Élise there was one step that he could take which would forever thwart firmstone's purpose. he had threatened to take this step. firmstone's pulses quickened for a moment, then calmed. his course was clear. the law that declared her a minor gave her yet a minor's rights. she could not be compelled to marry against her own wishes. Élise must be saved through herself. at once he would set in motion influences that would make her present associates repugnant to her. the strength of mind, the hunger of soul, these elements that made her worth saving should be the means of her salvation. should pierre attempt to compel her marriage, even firmstone could defeat him. persuasion was all that was left to pierre. against pierre's influence he pitted his own. "where is zephyr?" Élise broke the silence. "why do you ask?" the blue goose was in the ascendant. firmstone was casting about for time. the question had come from an unexpected direction. "because he is in danger, and so are you." "in danger?" firmstone did not try to conceal his surprise. "yes." Élise made a slightly impatient gesture. "it's about the stage. they will kill him. you, too. i don't know why." "they? who are they?" "morrison and daddy." "did they know you would meet me to-day?" "i don't know, and i don't care." "you came to warn me?" "yes." firmstone stretched out his hand and took hers. "i cannot tell you how much i thank you. but don't take this risk again. you must not. i will be on my guard, and i'll look out for zephyr, too." he laid his other hand on hers. at the touch, Élise looked up with hotly flaming cheeks, snatching her hand from his clasp. into his eyes her own darted. then they softened and drooped. her hand reached for his. "i don't care. i can take care of myself. if i can't, it doesn't matter." her voice said more than words. "if you are ever in trouble you will let me know?" firmstone's hand crushed the little fingers in a tightening grasp. "zephyr will help me." firmstone turned to go. "i cannot express my thanks in words. in another way i can, and i will." chapter xiv _blinded eyes_ an old proverb advises us to be sure we are right, then go ahead. to the last part of the proverb hartwell was paying diligent heed; the first, so far as he was concerned, he took for granted. hartwell was carrying out energetically his declared intention of informing himself generally. he was accumulating a vast fund of data on various subjects connected with the affairs of the rainbow company, and he was deriving great satisfaction from the contemplation of the quantity. the idea of a proper valuation of its quality never occurred to him. a caterpillar in action is a very vigorous insect; but by means of two short sticks judiciously shifted by a designing mind he can be made to work himself to a state of physical exhaustion, and yet remain precisely at the same point from whence he started. hartwell's idea was a fairly laudable one, being nothing more nor less than to get at both sides of the question at issue individually from each of the interested parties. early and late he had visited the mine and mill. he had interviewed men and foremen impartially, and the amount of information which these simple sons of toil instilled into his receptive mind would have aroused the suspicions of a less self-centred man. of all the sources of information which hartwell was vigorously exploiting, luna, on the whole, was the most satisfactory. his guileless simplicity carried weight with hartwell, and this weight was added to by a clumsy deference that assumed hartwell's unquestioned superiority. "you see, mr. hartwell, it's like this. there's no need me telling you; you can see it for yourself, better than i can tell it. but it's all right your asking me. you've come out here to size things up generally." luna was not particularly slow in getting on to curves, as he expressed it. "and so you are sizing me up a bit to see do i know my business and have my eyes open." he tipped a knowing wink at hartwell. hartwell nodded, with an appreciative grin, but made no further reply. luna went on: "you see, it's like this, as i was saying. us labouring men are sharp about some things. we have to be, or we would get done up at every turn. we know when a boss knows his business and when he don't. but it don't make no difference whether he does or whether he don't, we have to stand in with him. we'd lose our jobs if we didn't. i'm not above learning from anyone. i ain't one as thinks he knows it all. i'm willing to learn. i'm an old mill man. been twenty years in a mill--all my life, as you might say--and i'm learning all the time. just the other day i got on to a new wrinkle. i was standing watching tommy; he's battery man on five. tommy was hanging up his battery on account of a loose tappet. tommy he just hung up the stamp next the one with the loose tappet, and instead of measuring down, he just drove the tappet on a level with the other, and keyed her up, and had them dropping again inside of three minutes. i watched him, and when he'd started them, i up and says to tommy, 'tommy,' says i, 'i'm an old mill man, but that's a new one on me!' tommy was as pleased as a boy with a pair of red-topped, copper-toed boots. it's too bad they don't make them kind any more; but then, they don't wear out as fast as the new kind. but, as i was saying, some bosses would have dropped on tommy for that, and told him they didn't want no green men trying new capers." luna paused and looked at hartwell. hartwell still beamed approbation, and, after casting about for a moment, luna went on: "you see, a boss don't know everything, even if he has been to college. most eastern companies don't know anything. they send out a boss to superintend their work, and they get just what he tells them, and no more. none of the company men ever come out here to look for themselves. i ain't blaming them in general. they don't know. now it's truth i'm telling you. i'm an old mill man. been in the business twenty years, as i was telling you, and your company's the first i ever knew sending a man out to find what's the matter, who knew his business, and wa'n't too big to speak to a common workman, and listen to his side of the story." it was a strong dose, but hartwell swallowed it without a visible gulp. even more. he was immensely pleased. he was gaining the confidence of the honest toiler, and he would get the unvarnished truth. "this is all interesting, very interesting to me, mr. luna. i'm a very strict man in business, but i try to be just. i'm a very busy man, and my time is so thoroughly taken up that i am often very abrupt. you see, it's always so with a business man. he has to decide at once and with the fewest possible words. but i'm always ready to talk over things with my men. if i haven't got time, i make it." "it's a pity there ain't more like you, mr. hartwell. there wouldn't be so much trouble between capital and labour. but, as i was saying, we labouring men are honest in our way, and we have feelings, too." luna was getting grim. he deemed that the proper time had arrived for putting his personal ax upon the whirling grindstone. he looked fixedly at hartwell. "as i was saying, mr. hartwell, us labouring men is honest. we believe in giving a fair day's work for a fair day's pay, and it grinds us to have the boss come sneaking in on us any time, day or night, just like a china herder. he ain't running the mill all the time, and he don't know about things. machinery won't run itself, and, as i was saying, there ain't no man knows it all. and if the boss happens to catch two or three of us talking over how to fix up a battery, or key up a loose bull-wheel, he ain't no right to say that we're loafing and neglecting our business, and jack us up for it. as i said, mr. hartwell, the labouring man is honest; but if we're sneaked on as if we wasn't, 'tain't going to be very long before they'll put it up that, if they're going to be hung for sheep-stealing, they'll have the sheep first, anyway." luna paused more for emphasis than for approbation. that he could see in every line of hartwell's face. at length he resumed: "as i said, that ain't all by a long shot. there's all sorts of pipe-dreams floating around about men's stealing from the mine and stealing from the mill. but, man to man, mr. hartwell, ain't the superintendent got a thousand chances to steal, and steal big, where a common workman ain't got one?" luna laid vicious emphasis on the last words, and his expression gave added weight to his words. to do hartwell simple justice, dishonesty had never for an instant associated itself in his mind with firmstone. he deemed him inefficient and lacking a grasp of conditions; but, brought face to face with a question of honesty, there was repugnance at the mere suggestion. his face showed it. luna caught the look instantly and began to mend his break. "i'm not questioning any man's honesty. but it's just like this. why is it that a poor labouring man is always suspected and looked out for, and those as has bigger chances goes free? that's all, and, man to man, i'm asking you if that's fair." luna's garrulity was taking a line which hartwell had no desire to investigate, for the present, at least. he answered directly and abruptly: "when a man loses a dollar, he makes a fuss about it. when he loses a thousand, he goes on a still hunt." luna took his cue. he winked knowingly. "that's all right. you know your business. that's plain as a squealing pulley howling for oil. but i wasn't telling you all these things because you needed to be told. anyone can see that you can just help yourself. i just wanted to tell you so that you could see that us labouring men ain't blind, even if everyone don't see with eyes of his own the way you're doing. you are the first gentleman that has ever given me the chance, and i'm obliged to you for it. so's the men, too." hartwell felt that, for the present, he had gained sufficient information, and prepared to go. "i'm greatly obliged to you, mr. luna, for the information you and your men have given me." he held out his hand cordially. "don't hesitate to come to me at any time." hartwell had pursued the same tactics at the mine, and with the same results. he had carefully refrained from mentioning firmstone's name, and the men had followed his lead. hartwell made a very common mistake. he underrated the mental calibre of the men. he assumed that, because they wore overalls and jumpers, their eyes could not follow the pea under the shell which he was nimbly manipulating. in plain english, he was getting points on firmstone by the simple ruse of omitting to mention his name. there was another and far more important point that never occurred to him. by his course of action he was completely undermining firmstone's authority. there is not a single workman who will ever let slip an opportunity to give a speeding kick to a falling boss on general principles, if not from personal motives. hartwell never took this factor into consideration. his vanity was flattered by the deference paid to him, never for a moment dreaming that the bulk of the substance and the whole of the flavour of the incense burned under his nose was made up of resentment against firmstone, nor that the waning stores were nightly replenished at the blue goose. had hartwell remained east, as devoutly hoped by firmstone, it is all but certain that firmstone's methods would have averted the trouble which was daily growing more threatening. hartwell had occasionally dropped in for a social drink at the blue goose, and the deferential welcome accorded to him was very flattering. each occasion was but the prologue to another and more extended visit. the open welcome tendered him by both pierre and morrison had wholly neutralised the warnings embodied in firmstone's reports. he was certain that firmstone had mistaken for deep and unscrupulous villains a pair of good-natured oafs who preferred to make a living by selling whisky and running a gambling outfit, to pounding steel for three dollars a day. in starting out on the conquest of the blue goose, hartwell acted on an erroneous concept of the foibles of humanity. the greatness of others is of small importance in comparison with one's own. the one who ignores this truth is continually pulling a cat by the tail, and this is proverbially a hard task. hartwell's plan was first to create an impression of his own importance in order that it might excite awe, and then, by gracious condescension, to arouse a loyal and respectful devotion. considering the object of this attack, he was making a double error. pierre was not at all given to the splitting of hairs, but in combing them along the line of least resistance he was an adept. hartwell, having pacified the mine and the mill, had moved to the sanctum of the blue goose, with the idea of furthering his benign influence. hartwell, morrison, and pierre were sitting around a table in the private office, hartwell impatient for action, pierre unobtrusively alert, morrison cocksure to the verge of insolence. "meestaire hartwell will do me ze honaire to mek ze drink?" pierre inquired. "thanks." hartwell answered the question addressed to him. "mine is brandy." "a-a-ah! ze good discrimination!" purred pierre. "not ze whisky from ze rotten grain; but ze _eau-de-vie_ wiz ze fire of ze sun and ze sweet of ze vine!" morrison placed glasses before each, a bottle of soda, and pierre's choicest brand of cognac on the table. "help yourself," he remarked, as he sat down. sipping his brandy and soda, hartwell opened the game. "you see," he began, addressing pierre, "things aren't running very smoothly out here, and i have come out to size up the situation. the fact is, i'm the only one of our company who knows a thing about mining. it's only a side issue with me, but i can't well get out of it. my people look to me to help them out, and i've got to do it." "your people have ze great good fortune--ver' great." pierre bowed smilingly. hartwell resumed: "i'm a fair man. i have now what i consider sufficient knowledge to warrant me in making some radical changes out here; but i want to get all the information possible, and from every possible source. then i can act with a perfectly clear conscience." he spoke decidedly, as he refilled his glass. "then fire that glass-eyed supe of yours," morrison burst out. "you never had any trouble till he came." hartwell looked mild reproach. morrison was going too fast. there was a pause. morrison again spoke, this time sullenly and without raising his eyes. "he's queered himself with the men. they'll do him if he stays. they ain't going to stand his sneaking round and treating them like dogs. they----" "mistaire mo-reeson speak bad english, ver' bad." pierre's words cut in like keen-edged steel. "on ze odder side ze door, it not mek so much mattaire." morrison left the room without a word further. there was a look of sullen satisfaction on his face. hartwell smiled approvingly at pierre. "you've got your man cinched all right." "hall but ze tongue." pierre shrugged his shoulders, with a slight wave of his hands. "well," hartwell resumed, "i want to get at the bottom of this stage business. fifty thousand doesn't matter so much to us; it's the thing back of it. what i want to know is whether it was an accident, or whether it was a hold-up." "feefty tousand dollaire!" pierre spoke musingly. "she bin a lot of monnaie. a whole lot." pierre hesitated, then looked up at hartwell. "well?" hartwell asked. "how you know she bin feefty tousand dollaire hin ze safe?" "mr. firmstone advised me of its shipment." "_bien!_ ze safe, where she bin now?" "in the river." "a-a-ah! you bin see her, heh?" "no. the water's too high." "when ze wattaire bin mek ze godown, you bin find her, heh?" "i suppose so." "_bien!_ mek ze suppose. when ze wattaire mek ze godown, you not find ze safe?" to some extent, hartwell had anticipated pierre's drift, but he preferred to let him take his own course. "it would look as if someone had got ahead of us." pierre waved his hand impatiently. "feefty tousand dollaire bin whole lot monnaie. big lot men like feefty tousand dollaire, ver' big lot. bimeby somebody get ze safe. zey find no feefty tousand dollaire--only pig lead, heh?" pierre looked up shrewdly. "ze men no mek ze talk 'bout feefty tousand dollaire, no mek ze talk 'bout honly pig lead, heh?" "you think, then, the bullion was never put into the safe?" hartwell had hardly gone so far as pierre. "in other words, that mr. firmstone kept out the bullion, planned the wreck, caused the report to be spread that there was fifty thousand in the safe, with the idea of either putting it out of the way himself, or that someone else would get it?" pierre looked up with well-feigned surprise. "_moi?_" he asked. "_moi?_" he shrugged his shoulders. "i mek ze fact, ze suppose. you mek ze conclude." hartwell looked puzzled. "but," he said, "if what you say is true, there is no other conclusion." pierre again shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "_bien!_ i mek no conclude. you mek ze conclude. ze suppose mek ze conclude. she's bin no mattaire _á moi_. i mek no conclude." pierre's words and manner both intimated that, so far as he was concerned, the interview was closed. pierre was a merciful man and without malice. when he felt that his dagger had made a mortal thrust he never turned it in the wound. in this interview circumstances had forced him farther than he cared to go. he was taking chances, and he knew it. zephyr was booked to disappear. others than zephyr were watching the river. but zephyr might escape; the company might recover the money. what, then? only his scheme would have miscarried. the recovery of the money would clear firmstone and leave him where he was before. pierre's diagnosis of hartwell was to the effect that, if an idea was once lodged in his mind, an earthquake would not jar it out again. even in this event pierre's object would be accomplished. firmstone would have to go. hartwell made several ineffectual attempts to draw out pierre still farther, but the wily frenchman baffled him at every turn. and there the matter rested. had hartwell taken less of pierre's good brandy, he would hardly have taken so freely of his sinister suggestions. as it was, the mellow liquor began to impart a like virtue to his wits, and led him to clap the little frenchman's back, as he declared his belief that pierre was a slick bird, but that his own plumage was smoothly preened as well. followed by pierre, he rose to leave the room. his eyes fell upon Élise, sitting quietly at her desk, and he halted. his outstretched hand had hardly touched the unsuspecting girl when pierre caught him by the collar, and, with a twist and shove, sent him staggering half-way across the room. little short of murder was blazing from pierre's eyes. "_crapaud!_" he hissed. "you put ze fingaire hon my li'l Élise! _sacré mille tonnerre!_ i kill you!" pierre started as if to carry out his threat, but restraining hands held him back, while other hands and feet buffeted and kicked the dazed hartwell into the street. the safe guarding of Élise was the one bright spot in pierre's very shady career. to the fact that it was bright and strong his turning on hartwell bore testimony. every point in pierre's policy had dictated conciliation and sufferance; but now this was cast aside. pierre rapidly gained control of his temper, but he shifted his animus from the lust of gain to the glutting of revenge. chapter xv _bending the twig_ firmstone had done a very unusual thing for him in working himself up to the point where anything that threatened delay in his proposed rescue of Élise made him impatient. the necessity for immediate action had impressed itself so strongly upon him that he lost sight of the fact that others, even more deeply concerned than himself, might justly claim consideration. he knew that in some way zephyr was more or less in touch with pierre and madame. just how or why, he was in no mood to inquire. only a self-reliant mind is capable of distinguishing between that which is an essential part and that which seems to be. so it happened that firmstone, when for the second time he met zephyr at the devil's elbow, listened impatiently to the latter's comments on the loss of the safe. when at last he abruptly closed that subject and with equal abruptness introduced the one uppermost in his mind the cold reticence of zephyr surprised and shocked him. the two men had met by chance, almost the first day that firmstone had assumed charge of the rainbow properties, and each had impressed the other with a feeling of profound respect. this respect had ripened into a genuine friendship. zephyr saw in firmstone a man who knew his business, a man capable of applying his knowledge, whose duty to his employers never blinded his eyes to the rights of his workmen, a man who saw clearly, acted decisively, and yielded to the humblest the respect which he exacted from the highest. these characteristics grew on zephyr until they filled his entire mental horizon, and he never questioned what might be beyond. yet now he had fear for Élise. firmstone was so far above her. zephyr shook his head. marriage was not to be thought of, only a hopeless love on the part of Élise that would bring misery in the end. this was zephyr's limit, and this made him coldly silent in the presence of firmstone's advances. firmstone was not thus limited. zephyr's silent reticence was quickly fathomed. his liking for the man grew. he spoke calmly and with no trace of resentment. "of course, Élise is nothing to me in a way. but to think of a girl with her possibilities being dwarfed and ruined by her surroundings!" he paused, then added, "i wish my sister had come out with me. she wanted to come." zephyr caught at the last words for an instant, then dropped them. his answer was abrupt and non-committal. "there are some things that are best helped by letting them alone." firmstone rose. "good night," he said, briefly, and started for the mill. firmstone was disappointed at zephyr's reception; but he had reasoned himself out of surprise. he had not given up the idea of freeing Élise from her associates. that was not firmstone. the next morning, as usual, he met miss hartwell at breakfast. "i am going up to the mine, this morning. wouldn't you like to go as far as the falls? it is well worth your effort," he added. "i would like to go very much." she spoke meditatively. "if that means yes, i'll have a pony saddled for you. i'll be ready by nine o'clock." miss hartwell looked undecided. firmstone divined the reason. "the trail is perfectly safe every way, and the pony is sure-footed, so you have nothing to fear." "i believe i will go. my brother will never find time to take me around." "i'll get ready at once." a seeming accident more often accomplishes desirable results than a genuine one. firmstone was fairly well satisfied that one excursion to the falls would incline miss hartwell to others. if she failed to meet Élise on one day she was almost certain to meet her on another. promptly at nine the horses were at the door, and as promptly miss hartwell appeared in her riding habit. in her hand she carried a sketch-book. she held it up, smiling. "this is one weakness that i cannot conceal." "even that needn't trouble you. i'll carry it." "you seem to have a weakness as well." she was looking at a small box which firmstone was fastening to his saddle. "this one is common to us all. we may not be back till late, so benny put up a lunch. the falls are near paradise; but yet far enough this side of the line to make eating a necessity." they mounted and rode away. firmstone did not take the usual trail by the blue goose, though it was the shorter. the trail he chose was longer and easier. at first he was a little anxious about his guest; but miss hartwell's manner plainly showed that his anxiety was groundless. evidently she was accustomed to riding, and the pony was perfectly safe. the trail was narrow and, as he was riding in advance, conversation was difficult, and no attempt was made to carry it on. at the falls firmstone dismounted and took miss hartwell's pony to an open place, where a long tether allowed it to graze in peace. miss hartwell stood with her eyes resting on reach after reach of the changing vista. she turned to firmstone with a subdued smile. "i am afraid that i troubled you with a useless burden," she said. "i do not know to what you refer in particular; but i can truthfully deny trouble on general principles." "really, haven't you been laughing at me, all this time? you must have known how utterly hopeless a sketch-book and water-colours would be in such a place. i think i'll try botany instead. that appeals to me as more attainable." firmstone looked at his watch. "i must go on. you are quite sure you won't get tired waiting? i have put your lunch with your sketch-book. i'll be back by two o'clock, anyway." miss hartwell assured him that she would not mind the waiting, and firmstone went on his way. miss hartwell gathered a few flowers, then opened her botany, and began picking them to pieces that she might attach to each the hard name which others had saddled upon it. at first absorbed and intent upon her work, at length she grew restless and, raising her eyes, she saw Élise. on the girl's face curiosity and disapprobation amounting almost to resentment were strangely blended. curiosity, for the moment, gained the ascendency, as miss hartwell raised her eyes. "what are you doing to those flowers?" Élise pointed to the fragments. "i am trying to analyse them." "what do you mean by that?" "analysis?" miss hartwell looked up inquiringly; but Élise made no reply, so she went on. "that is separating them into their component parts, to learn their structure." "what for?" Élise looked rather puzzled, but yet willing to hear the whole defence for spoliation. "so that i can learn their names." "how do you find their names?" it occurred to miss hartwell to close the circle by simply answering "analysis"; but she forebore. "the flowers are described in this botany and their names are given. by separating the flowers into their parts i can find the names." "where did the book get the names?" if miss hartwell was growing impatient she concealed it admirably. if she was perplexed in mind, and she certainly was, perplexity did not show in the repose of her face. her voice flowed with the modulated rhythm of a college professor reciting an oft-repeated lecture to ever-changing individuals with an unchanging stage of mental development. if her choice of answer was made in desperation nothing showed it. "botanists have studied plants very carefully. they find certain resemblances which are persistent. these persistent resemblances they classify into families. there are other less comprehensive resemblances in the families. these are grouped into genera and the genera are divided into species and these again into varieties, and a name is given to each." Élise in her way was a genius. she recognised the impossible. miss hartwell's answers were impossible to her. "oh, is that all?" she asked, sarcastically. "have you found the names of these?" again she pointed to the torn flowers. miss hartwell divided her prey into groups. "these are the ranunculaceæ family. this is the aquilegia cærulea. this is the delphinium occidentale. this belongs to the polemoniaceæ family, and is the phlox cæspitosa. these are compositæ. they are a difficult group to name." miss hartwell was indulging in mixed emotions. mingled with a satisfaction in reviewing her erudition was a quiet revenge heightened by the unconsciousness of her object. "you don't love flowers." there was no indecision in the statement. "why, yes, i certainly do." "no; you don't, or you wouldn't tear them to pieces." "don't you ever pick flowers?" "yes; but i love them. i take them to my room, and they talk to me. they do, too!" Élise flashed an answer to a questioning look of miss hartwell, and then went on, "i don't tear them to pieces and throw them away. not even to find out those hideous names you called them. they don't belong to them. you don't love them, and you needn't pretend you do." Élise's cheeks were flushed. miss hartwell was bewildered in mind. she acknowledged it to herself. Élise was teaching her a lesson that she had never heard of before, much less learned. then came elusive suggestions, vaguely defined, of the two-fold aspect of nature. she looked regretfully at the evidences of her curiosity. she had not yet gone far enough along the new path to take accurate notes of her emotions; but she had an undefined sense of her inferiority, a sense of wrong-doing. "i am very sorry i hurt you. i did not mean to." Élise gave a quick look of interrogation. the look showed sincerity. her voice softened. "you didn't hurt me; you made me mad. i can help myself. they can't." miss hartwell had left her sketch-book unclosed. an errant breath of wind was fluttering the pages. "what is that?" Élise asked. "another kind of book to make you tear up flowers?" her voice was hard again. miss hartwell took up the open book. "perhaps you would like to see these. they may atone for my other wrong-doing." Élise seated herself and received the sketches one by one as they were handed to her. miss hartwell had intended to make comments as necessity or opportunity seemed to demand; but Élise forestalled her. "this is beautiful; only----" she paused. miss hartwell looked up. "only what?" Élise shook her head impatiently. "you've put those horrid names on each one of them. they make me think of the ones you tore to pieces." miss hartwell stretched out her hand. "let me take them for a moment, please." Élise half drew them away, looking sharply at miss hartwell. then her face softened, and she placed the sketches in her hand. one by one the offending names were removed. "i think that is better." Élise watched curiously, and her expression did not change with the reception of the sketches. "don't you ever get mad?" she asked. "sometimes." "that would have made me awfully mad." "but i think you were quite right. the names are not beautiful. the flowers are." "that wouldn't make any difference with me. i'd get mad before i thought, and then i'd stick to it anyway." "that is not right." Élise looked somewhat rebuked, but more puzzled. "how old are you?" she asked. this was too much. miss hartwell could not conceal her astonishment. she recovered quickly and answered, with a smile: "i was twenty-five, last february." Élise resumed her examination of the water-colours. there was a look of satisfaction on her face. "oh, well, perhaps when i get to be as old as that i won't get mad, either. how did you learn to make flowers?" her attention was fixed all the time on the colours. "i took lessons." "is it very hard to learn?" "not very, for some people. would you like to have me teach you?" Élise's face was flushed and eager. "will you teach me?" she asked. "certainly. it will give me great pleasure." "when can you begin?" "now, if you like." miss hartwell had taste, and she had been under excellent instruction. her efforts had been praised and herself highly commended; but no sweeter incense had ever been burned under her nostrils than the intense absorption of her first pupil. it was not genius; it was love, pure and simple. there was no element of self-consciousness, only a wild love of beauty and a longing to give it expression. nominally, at least, miss hartwell was the instructor and Élise the pupil; but that did not prevent her learning some lessons which her other instructors had failed to suggest. the comments of Élise on the habits and peculiarities of every plant and flower that they attempted demonstrated to miss hartwell that the real science of botany was not wholly dependent upon forceps and scalpel. another demonstration was to the effect that the first and hardest step in drawing, if not in painting, was a clear-cut conception of the object to be delineated. Élise knew her object. from the first downy ball that pushed its way into the opening spring, to the unfolding of the perfect flower, every shade and variety of colour Élise knew to perfection. miss hartwell's lessons had been purely mechanical. she had brought to them determination and faithful application; but unconsciously the object had been herself, not her subject, and her work showed it. Élise was no genius; but she was possessed of some of its most imperative essentials, an utter oblivion of self and an abounding love of her subjects. miss hartwell was astonished at her easy grasp of details which had come to her after much laborious effort. they were aroused by the click of iron shoes on the stony trail as firmstone rode toward them. he was delighted that his first attempt at bringing Élise in contact with miss hartwell had been so successful. there was a flush of pleasure on miss hartwell's face. "i believe you knew i would not be alone. why didn't you tell me about Élise?" "oh, it's better to let each make his own discoveries, especially if they are pleasant." firmstone looked at the paint-smudged fingers of Élise. "you refused my help in square root, and are taking lessons in painting from miss hartwell." "miss who?" firmstone was astonished at the change in the girl's face. "miss hartwell," he answered. Élise rose quickly to her feet. brush and pencil fell unheeded from her lap. "are you related to that hartwell at the mill?" she demanded. "he is my brother." fierce anger burned in the eyes of Élise. without a word, she turned and started down the trail. miss hartwell and firmstone watched the retreating figure for a moment. she was first to recover from her surprise. she began to gather the scattered papers which Élise had dropped. she was utterly unable to suggest an explanation of the sudden change that had come over Élise on hearing her name. firmstone was at first astonished beyond measure. a second thought cleared his mind. he knew that hartwell had been going of late to the blue goose. Élise, no doubt, had good grounds for resentment against him. that it should be abruptly extended to his sister was no matter of surprise to firmstone. of course, to miss hartwell he could not even suggest an explanation. they each were wholly unprepared for the finale which came as an unexpected sequel. a delicate little hand, somewhat smudged with paint, was held out to miss hartwell, who, as she took the hand, looked up into a resolute face, with drooping eyes. "i got mad before i thought, and i've come back to tell you that it wasn't right." miss hartwell drew the girl down beside her. "things always look worse than they really are when one is hungry. won't you share our lunch?" with ready tact she directed her words to firmstone, and she was not disappointed in finding in him an intelligent second. before many minutes, Élise had forgotten disagreeable subjects in things which to her never lacked interest. at parting Élise followed the direct trail to the blue goose. as firmstone had hoped, another series of lessons was arranged for. chapter xvi _an insistent question_ had firmstone been given to the habit of self-congratulation he would have found ample opportunity for approbation in the excellent manner with which his plan for the rescue of Élise was working out. the companionship of Élise and miss hartwell had become almost constant in spite of the unpropitious dénouement of their first meeting. this pleased firmstone greatly. but there was another thing which this companionship thrust upon him with renewed interest. at first it had not been prominent. in fact, it was quite overshadowed while miss hartwell's unconscious part in his plan was in doubt. now that the doubt was removed, his personal feelings toward Élise came to the front. he was neither conceited nor a philanthropist with more enthusiasm than sense. he did not attempt to conceal from himself that philanthropy, incarnated in youth, culture, and a recognised position, directed toward a young and beautiful girl was in danger of forming entangling alliances, and that these alliances could be more easily prevented than obviated when once formed. firmstone was again riding down from the mine. he expected to find Élise and miss hartwell at the falls, as he had many times of late. he placed the facts squarely before himself. he was hearing of no one so much as of Élise. whether this was due to an awakening consciousness on his part or whether his interest in Élise had attracted the attention of others he could not decide. certain it was that miss hartwell was continually singing her praise. jim, who was rapidly recovering from his wounds and from his general shaking up at the wreck of the stage, let pass no opportunity wherein he might express his opinion. "hell!" he remarked. "i couldn't do that girl dirt by up and going dead after all her trouble. ain't she just fed me and flowered me and coddled me general? gawd a'mighty! i feel like a delicatessen shop 'n a flower garden all mixed up with angels." bennie was equally enthusiastic, but his shadowing gourd had a devouring worm. his commendation of Élise only aroused a resentful consciousness of the blue goose. "it's the way of the world," he was wont to remark, "but it's a damned shame to make a good dog and then worry him with fleas." there was also dago joe, who ran the tram at the mill. joe had a goodly flock of graduated dagoes in assorted sizes, but his love embraced them all. that the number was undiminished by disease he credited to Élise, and the company surgeon vouched for the truth of his assertions. only zephyr was persistently silent. this, however, increased firmstone's perplexity, if it did not confirm his suspicions that his interest in Élise had attracted marked attention. there was only one way in which his proposed plan of rescue could be carried out that would not eventually do the girl more harm than good, especially if she was compelled to remain in pandora. here was his problem--one which demanded immediate solution. he was at the falls, unconsciously preparing to dismount, when he saw that neither Élise nor miss hartwell was there. he looked around a moment; then, convinced that they were absent, he rode on down the trail. as he entered the town he noted a group of boys grotesquely attired in miner's clothes. leading the group was joe's oldest son, a boy of about twelve years. a miner's hat, many sizes too large, was on his head, almost hiding his face. a miner's jacket, reaching nearly to his feet, completed his costume. in his hand he was swinging a lighted candle. the other boys were similarly attired, and each had candles as well. firmstone smiled. the boys were playing miner, and were "going on shift." he was startled into more active consciousness by shrill screams of agony. the boys had broken from their ranks and were flying in every direction. young joe, staggering behind them, was almost hidden by a jet of flame that seemed to spring from one of the pockets of his coat. the boy was just opposite the blue goose. before firmstone could spur his horse to the screaming child Élise darted down the steps, seized the boy with one hand, with the other tore the flames from his coat and threw them far out on the trail. firmstone knew what had happened. the miner had left some sticks of powder in his coat and these had caught fire from the lighted candle. the flames from the burning powder had scorched the boy's hand, licked across his face, and the coat itself had begun to burn, when Élise reached him. she was stripping the coat from the screaming boy as firmstone sprang from his horse. he took the boy in his arms and carried him up the steps of the blue goose. Élise, running up the steps before him, reappeared with oil and bandages, as he laid the boy on one of the tables. pierre and morrison came into the bar-room as firmstone and Élise began to dress the burns. morrison laid his hand roughly on firmstone's arm. "you get back to your own. this is our crowd." "git hout! you bin kip-still." pierre in turn thrust morrison aside. "you bin got hall you want, meestaire firmstone?" "take my horse and go for the doctor." pierre hastily left the room. the clatter of hoofs showed that firmstone's order had been obeyed. Élise and firmstone worked busily at the little sufferer. oil and laudanum had deadened the pain, and the boy was now sobbing hysterically; morrison standing by, glaring in helpless rage. another clatter of hoofs outside, and pierre and the company surgeon hurried into the room. the boy's moans were stilled and he lay staring questioningly with large eyes at the surgeon. "you haven't left me anything to do." the surgeon turned approvingly to Élise. "mr. firmstone did that." the surgeon laughed. "that's Élise every time. she's always laying the blame on someone else. never got her to own up to anything of this kind in my life." joe senior and his wife came breathless into the room. mrs. joe threw herself on the boy with all the abandon of the genuine latin. joe looked at Élise, then dragged his wife aside. "the boy's all right now, joe. you can take him home. i'll be in to see him later." the surgeon turned to leave the room. joe never stirred; only looked at Élise. "it's all right, joe." the surgeon shrugged his shoulders in mock despair. "there it is again. i'm getting to be of no account." something in Élise's face caused him to look again. then he was at her side. taking her arm, he glanced at the hand she was trying to hide. "it doesn't amount to anything." Élise was trying to free her arm. from the palm up the hand was red and blistered. "now i'll show my authority. how did it happen?" "the powder was burning. i was afraid it might explode." "what if it had exploded?" firmstone asked the question of Élise. she made no reply. he hardly expected she would. nevertheless he did not dismiss the question from his mind. as he rode away with the company surgeon, he asked it over and over again. then he made answer to himself. chapter xvii _the bearded lion_ zephyr was doing some meditation on his own account after the meeting with firmstone at the devil's elbow. that not only firmstone's reputation, but his life as well, hung in the balance, zephyr had visible proof. this material proof he was absently tipping from hand to hand, during his broken and unsatisfactory interview with firmstone. it was nothing more nor less than a nickel-jacketed bullet which, that very morning, had barely missed his head, only to flatten itself against the rocks behind him. the morning was always a dull time at the blue goose. morrison slept late. Élise was either with madame or rambling among the hills. only pierre, who seemed never to sleep, was to be counted upon with any certainty. by sunrise on the day that firmstone and miss hartwell were riding to the falls zephyr was up and on his way to the blue goose. he found pierre in the bar-room. "_bon jour, m'sieur._" zephyr greeted him affably as he slowly sank into a chair opposite the one in which pierre was seated. pierre, with hardly a movement of his facial muscles, returned zephyr's salutation. from his manner no one would have suspected that, had someone with sufficient reason inquired as to the whereabouts of zephyr, pierre would have replied confidently that the sought-for person was bobbing down the san miguel with a little round hole through his head. zephyr's presence in the flesh simply told him that, for some unknown reason, his plan had miscarried. zephyr lazily rolled a cigarette and placed it between his lips. he raised his eyes languidly to pierre's. "m'sieu pierre mek one slick plan. ze rainbow company work ze mine, ze mill. _moi_, pierre, mek ze gol' in mon cellaire." zephyr blew forth the words in a cloud of smoke. pierre started and looked around. his hand made a motion toward his hip pocket. zephyr dropped his bantering tone. "not yet, frenchy. you'll tip over more soup kettles than you know of." he dropped the flattened bullet on the table and pointed to it. "that was a bad break on your part. it might have been worse for you as well as for me, if your man hadn't been a bad shot." pierre reached for the bullet, but zephyr gathered it in. "not yet, m'sieur. it was intended for me, and i'll keep it, as a token of respect. i know m'sieur pierre. wen m'sieur pierre bin mek up ze min' for shoot, m'sieur pierre bin say,'_comment!_ zat fellaire he bin too damn smart _pour moi_.' thanks! me and firmstone are much obliged." pierre shrugged his shoulders impatiently. zephyr noted the gesture. "don't stop there, m'sieur. get up to your head. you're in a mess, a bad one. shake your wits. get up and walk around. explode some _sacrés_. pull out a few handfuls of hair and scatter around. no good looking daggers. the real thing won't work on me, and you'd only get in a worse mess if it did. that's firmstone, too. we both are more valuable to you alive than dead. of what value is it to a man to do two others, if he gets soaked in the neck himself?" pierre was angered. it was useless to try to conceal it. his swarthy cheeks grew livid. "_sacré!_" he blurted. "what you mean in hell?" "that's better. now you're getting down to business. when i find a man that's up against a thing too hard for him, i don't mind giving him a lift." "you lif' and bedam!" pierre had concluded that pretensions were useless with zephyr, and he gave his passion full play. even if he made breaks with zephyr, he would be no worse off. "i'll' lif'' all right. 'bedam' is as maybe. now, frenchy, if you'll calm yourself a bit, i'll speak my little piece. you've slated firmstone and me for over the divide. _p'quoi, m'sieur?_ for this. firmstone understands his business and tends to it. this interferes with your cellar. so mr. firmstone was to be fired by the company. you steered that safe into the river to help things along. you thought that jim would be killed and firmstone would be chump enough to charge it to a hold-up, and go off on a wrong scent. jim got off, and firmstone was going to get the safe. i know you are kind-hearted and don't like to do folks; but firmstone and me were taking unwarranted liberties with your plans. now put your ear close to the ground, frenchy, and listen hard and you'll hear something drop. if you do firmstone you'll see cross-barred sunlight the rest of your days. i'll see to that. if you do us both it won't make much difference. i've been taking my pen in hand for a few months back, and the result is a bundle of papers in a safe place. it may not be much in a literary way; but it will make mighty interesting reading for such as it may concern, and you are one of them. now let me tell you one thing more. if this little damned thing had gone through my head on the way to something harder, in just four days you'd be taking your exercise in a corked jug. my game is worth two of yours. mine will play itself when i'm dead; yours won't." pierre's lips parted enough to show his set teeth. "_bien!_ you tink you bin damn smart, heh? i show you. you bin catch one rattlesnake by ze tail. _comment?_ i show you." pierre rose. "better wait a bit, frenchy. i've been giving you some information. now i'll give you some instructions. you've been planning to have Élise married. don't do it. you've made up your mind not to keep your promise to her dead father and mother. you just go back to your original intentions. it will be good for your body, and for your soul, too, if you've got any. you're smooth stuff, pierre, too smooth to think that i'm talking four of a kind on a bob-tail flush. comprenny?" pierre's eyes lost their fierceness, but his face none of its determination. "i ain't going to give hup my li'l Élise. _sacré, non!_" "that's for Élise to say. you've got to give her the chance." there was a moment's pause. "how you bin mek me, heh?" pierre turned like a cat. there was a challenge in his words; but there were thoughts he did not voice. zephyr was not to be surprised into saying more than he intended. "that's a slick game, pierre; but it won't work. if you want to draw my fire, you'll have to hang more than an empty hat on a stick. in plain, flat english, i've got you cinched. if you want to feel the straps draw, just start in to buck." pierre rose from the table. his eyes were all but invisible. there was no ursine clumsiness in his movements, as he walked to and fro in the bar-room. as became a feline, he walked in silence and on his toes. he was thinking of many a shady incident in his past career, and he knew that with the greater number of his shaded spots zephyr was more or less familiar. with which of them was zephyr most familiar, and was there any one by means of which zephyr could thwart him by threatening exposure? pierre's tread became yet more silent. he was half crouching, as if ready for a spring. zephyr had referred to the cellar. there was his weakest spot. luna, the mill foreman, dozens of men, he could name them every one--all had brought their plunder to the blue goose. every man who brought him uncoined gold was a thief, and they all felt safe because in the eyes of the law he, pierre, was one of them. he alone was not safe. not one of the thieves was certainly known to the others; he was known to them all. it could not be helped. he had taken big chances; but his reward had been great as well. that would not help him, if--unconsciously he crouched still lower. "if there's any procession heading for cañon city you'll be in it, too." someone had got frightened. luna, probably. firmstone was working him, and zephyr was helping firmstone. pierre knew well the fickle favour of the common man. a word could destroy his loyalty, excite his fears, or arouse him to vengeance. burning, bitter hatred raged in the breast of the little frenchman. exposure, ruin, the penitentiary! his hand rested on the butt of his revolver as he slowly turned. zephyr was leaning on the table. there was a look of languid assurance, of insolent contempt in the eye that was squinting along a polished barrel held easily, but perfectly balanced for instant action. "go it, frenchy." zephyr's voice was patronising. pierre gave way to the passion that raged within him. "_sacré nom du diable! mille tonnerres!_ you bin tink you mek me scare, _moi_, pierre! come on, meestaire zephyr, come on! fourtin more just like it! strew de piece hall roun' ze dooryard!" zephyr's boots thumped applause. "a-a-ah! ze gran' _spectacle_! _magnifique!_ by gar! she bin comedown firsrate. frenchy, you have missed your cue. take the advice of a friend. don't stay here, putting addled eggs under a painted goose. just do that act on the stage, and you'll have to wear seven-league boots to get out of the way of rolling dollars." chapter xviii _winnowed chaff_ hartwell had a rule of conduct. it was a procrustean bed which rarely fitted its subject. unlike the originator of the famous couch, hartwell never troubled himself to stretch the one nor to trim the other. if his subjects did not fit, they were cast aside. this was decision. the greater the number of the too longs or the too shorts the greater his complacence in the contemplation of his labours. there was one other weakness that was strongly rooted within him. if perchance one worthless stick fitted his arbitrary conditions it was from then on advanced to the rank of deity. hartwell was strongly prejudiced against firmstone, but was wholly without malice. he suspected that firmstone was at least self-interested, if not self-seeking; therefore he assumed him to be unscrupulous. firmstone's words and actions were either counted not at all, or balanced against him. in approaching others, if words were spoken in his favour, they were discounted or discarded altogether. only the facts that made against him were treasured, all but enshrined. even in his cynical beliefs hartwell was not consistent. he failed utterly to take into account that it might suit the purpose of his advisers to break down the subject of his inquiry. for these reasons the interview with pierre, even with its mortifying termination, left a firm conviction in his mind that firmstone was dishonest, practically a would-be thief, and this on the sole word of a professional gambler, a rumshop proprietor, a man with no heritage, no traditions, and no associations to hold him from the extremities of crime. not one of the men whom hartwell had interviewed, not even pierre himself, would for an instant have considered as probable what hartwell was holding as an obvious truth. this, however, did not prevent hartwell's actions from hastening to the point of precipitation the very crisis he was blindly trying to avert. he had not discredited firmstone among the men, he had only nullified his power to manage them. hartwell had succeeded in completing the operation of informing himself generally. having reached this point, he felt that the only thing remaining to be done was to align his information, crush firmstone beneath the weight of his accumulated evidence, and from his dismembered fragments build up a superintendent who would henceforth walk and act in the fear of demonstrated omniscient justice. he even grew warmly benevolent in the contemplation of the gratefully reconstructed man who was to be fashioned after his own image. firmstone coincided with one of hartwell's conclusions, but from a wholly different standpoint. affairs had reached a state that no longer was endurable. among the men there was no doubt whatever but that it was a question of time only when firmstone, to put it in the graphic phrase of the mine, "would be shot in the ear with a time check." firmstone had no benevolent designs as to the reconstruction of hartwell, but he had decided ones as to the reconstruction of the company's affairs. the meeting thus mutually decided upon as necessary was soon brought about. firmstone came into the office from a visit to the mine. it had been neither a pleasant nor a profitable one. the contemptuous disregard of his orders, the coarse insolence of the men, and especially of the foremen and shift bosses, organised into the union by morrison, had stung firmstone to the quick. to combat the disorders under present conditions would only expose him to insult, without any compensation whatever. paying no attention to words or actions, he beat a dignified, unprotesting retreat. he would, if possible, bring hartwell to his senses; if not, he would insist upon presenting his case to the company. if they failed to support him he would break his contract. he disliked the latter alternative, for it meant the discrediting of himself or the manager. he felt that it would be a fight to the death. he found hartwell in the office. "well," hartwell looked up abruptly; "how are things going?" "hot foot to the devil." "your recognition of the fact does you credit, even if the perception is a little tardy. i think you will further recognise the fact that i take a hand none too soon." the mask on hartwell's face grew denser. "i recognise the fact very clearly that, until you came, the fork of the trail was before me. now it is behind and--we are on the wrong split." "precisely. i have come to that conclusion myself. in order to act wisely, i assume that it will be best to get a clear idea of conditions, and then we can select a remedy for those that are making against us. do you agree?" "i withhold assent until i know just what i am expected to assent to." hartwell looked annoyed. "shall i go on?" he asked, impatiently. "perhaps your caution will allow that." firmstone nodded. he did not care to trust himself to words. "before we made our contract with you to assume charge of our properties out here i told you very plainly the difficulties under which we had hitherto laboured, and that i trusted that you would find means to remedy them. after six months' trial, in which we have allowed you a perfectly free hand, can you conscientiously say that you have bettered our prospects?" hartwell paused; but firmstone kept silence. "have you nothing to say to this?" hartwell finally burst out. "at present, no." firmstone spoke with decision. "when will you have?" hartwell asked. "when you are through with your side." hartwell felt annoyed at what he considered firmstone's obstinacy. "well," he said; "then i shall have to go my own gait. you can't complain if it doesn't suit you. in your reports to the company you have complained of the complete disorganisation which you found here. that this disorganisation resulted in inefficiency of labour, that the mine was run down, the mill a wreck, and, worst of all, that there was stealing going on which prevented the richest ore reaching the mill, and that even the products of the mill were stolen. you laid the stealing to the door of the blue goose. you stated for fact things which you acknowledged you could not prove. that the proprietor of the blue goose was striving to stir up revolt among the men, to organise them into a union in order that through this organised union the blue goose might practically control the mine and rob the company right and left. you pointed out that in your opinion many of the men, even in the organisation, were honest; that it was only a scheme on the part of morrison and pierre to dupe the men, to blind their eyes so that, believing themselves imposed on and robbed by the company, they would innocently furnish the opportunity for the blue goose to carry on its system of plundering." firmstone's steady gaze never flinched, as hartwell swept on with his arraignment. "in all your reports, you have without exception laid the blame upon your predecessors, upon others outside the company. never in a single instance have you expressed a doubt as to your own conduct of affairs. the assumed robbery of the stage i will pass by. other points i shall dwell upon. you trust no one. you have demonstrated that to the men. you give orders at the mine, and instead of trusting your foremen to see that they are carried out you almost daily insist upon inspecting their work and interfering with it. the same thing i find to be true at the mill. day and night you pounce in upon them. now let me ask you this. if you understand men, if you know your business thoroughly, ought you not to judge whether the men are rendering an equivalent for their pay, without subjecting them to the humiliation of constant espionage?" he looked fixedly at firmstone, as he ended his arraignment. firmstone waited, if perchance hartwell had not finished. "is your case all in?" he finally asked. "for the present, yes." hartwell snapped his jaws together decidedly. "then i'll start." "wait a moment, right there," hartwell interrupted. "no. i will not wait. i am going right on. you've been informing yourself generally. now i'm going to inform you particularly. in the first place, how did you find out that i had been subjecting the men to this humiliating espionage, as you call it?" firmstone waited for a reply. "i don't know that i am under obligations to answer that question," hartwell replied, stiffly. "then i'll answer it for you. you've been to my foremen, my shift bosses, my workmen; you've been, above all other places, to the blue goose. you've been to anyone and everyone whose interest it is to weaken my authority and to render me powerless to combat the very evils of which you complain." hartwell started to interrupt; but firmstone waved him to silence. "this is a vital point. one thing more: instead of acquiring information as to the conditions that confront me and about my method of handling them, you go to my enemies, get their opinions and, what is worse, act upon them as your own." "wait a minute right there." hartwell spoke imperiously. "you speak of 'my foremen' and 'my shift bosses.' they are not your men; they are ours. we pay them, and we are going to see to it that we get an equivalent return, in any way we think advisable." hartwell ignored firmstone's last words. "that may be your position. if it is it is not a wise one, and, what is more, it is not tenable. you put me out here to manage your business, and you hold me responsible for results. i ask from you the same consideration i give to my foremen. i do not hire a single man at the mine or mill; my foremen attend to that. i give my orders direct to my foremen, and hold them strictly responsible. the men are responsible to my foremen, my foremen are responsible to me, and i in turn am wholly responsible to you. if in one single point you interfere with my organisation i not only decline to assume any responsibility whatever, but, farther, i shall tender my resignation at once." hartwell listened impatiently, but nevertheless firmstone's words were not without effect. they appealed to his judgment as being justified; but to accept them and act upon them meant a repudiation of his own course. for this he was not ready. in addition to his vanity, hartwell had an abiding faith in his own shrewdness. he was casting about in his mind for a plausible delay which would afford him time to retreat from his position without a confession of defeat. he could find none. firmstone had presented a clean-cut ultimatum. he was in an unpleasant predicament. some one would have to be sacrificed. he was wholly determined that it should not be himself. perhaps after all it would be better to arrange as best he might with firmstone, rather than have it go farther. "it seems to me, firmstone, as if you were going altogether too fast. there's no use jumping. why not talk this over sensibly?" "there is only one thing to be considered. if you are going to manage this place i am going to put it beyond your power even to make me appear responsible." "you forget your contract with us," hartwell interposed. "i do not forget it. if you discharge me, or force me to resign, i still demand a hearing." hartwell was disturbed, and his manner showed it. firmstone presented two alternatives. forcing a choice of either of them would bring unpleasant consequences upon himself. was it necessary to force the choice? "suppose i do neither?" he asked. "that will not avert the consequences of what you have already done." "are you determined to resign?" hartwell asked, uneasily. "that is not what i meant." "what did you mean, then?" "this. before you came out, i had things well in hand. in another month i would have had control of the men, and the property would have been paying a good dividend. as it is now----" firmstone waved his hand, as if to dismiss a useless subject. "well, what now?" hartwell asked, after a pause. "it has to be done all over again, only under greater difficulties, the outcome of which i cannot foresee." "to what difficulties do you refer?" firmstone's manner disturbed hartwell. "the men were getting settled. now you have played into the hands of two of the most unscrupulous rascals in colorado. between you, you've got the men stirred up to a point where a strike is inevitable." for a time, hartwell was apparently crushed by firmstone's unanswerable logic, as well as by his portentous forecasts. he could not but confess to himself that his course of action looked very different under firmstone's analysis than from his own standpoint alone. he drummed his fingers listlessly on the desk before him. he was all but convinced that he might have been wrong in his judgment of firmstone, after all. then pierre's suggestions came to him like a flash. "you are aware, of course, that i shall have to make a full report of the accident to the stage to our directors?" "i made a report of all the facts in the case, at the time. of course, if you have discovered other facts, they will have to be given in addition." hartwell continued, paying no attention to firmstone. "that in the report which i shall make, i may feel compelled to arrange my data in such a manner that they will point to a conclusion somewhat at variance with yours?" "in which case," interrupted firmstone; "i shall claim the right to another and counter statement." hartwell looked even more intently at firmstone. "in your report you stated positively that there were three thousand, one hundred and twenty-five ounces of bullion in your shipment; that this amount was lost in the wreck of the stage." "exactly." hartwell leaned forward, his eyes still fixed on firmstone's eyes. then, after a moment's pause, he asked, explosively,-- "was there that amount?" firmstone's face had a puzzled look. "there certainly was, unless i made a mistake in weighing up." his brows contracted for a moment, then cleared decisively. "that is not possible. the total checked with my weekly statements." hartwell settled back in his chair. there was a look of satisfied cunning on his face. he had gained his point. he had attacked firmstone in an unexpected quarter, and he had flinched. he had no further doubts. this, however, was not enough. he would press the brimming cup of evidence to his victim's lips and compel him to drink it to the last drop. "who saw you put the bullion in the safe?" "no one." "then, if the safe is never recovered, we have only your word that the bullion was put in there, as you stated?" firmstone was slowly realising hartwell's drift. slowly, because the idea suggested appeared too monstrous to be tenable. the purple veins on his forehead were hard and swollen. "that is all," he said, from between compressed lips. "under the circumstances, don't you think it is of the utmost importance that the safe be recovered?" "under any circumstances. i have already taken all the steps possible in that direction." firmstone breathed easier. he saw, as he thought, the error of his other half-formed suspicion. hartwell was about to suggest that zephyr should not be alone in guarding the river. hartwell again leaned forward. he spoke meditatively, but his eyes were piercing in their intensity. "yes. if in the event of the unexpected," he emphasised the word with a suggestive pause, "recovery of the safe, it should be found not to contain that amount, in fact, nothing at all, what would you have to say?" every fibre of firmstone's body crystallised into hard lines. slowly he rose to his feet. pale to the lips, he towered over the general manager. slowly his words fell from set lips. "what have i to say?" he repeated. "this. that, if i stooped to answer such a question, i should put myself on the level of the brutal idiot who asked it." chapter xix _the fly in the ointment_ at last the union was organised at mill and mine. the men had been duly instructed as to the burden of their wrongs and the measures necessary for redress. they had been taught that all who were not for them were against them, and that scabs were traitors to their fellows, that heaven was not for them, hell too good for them, and that on earth they only crowded the deserving from their own. in warning his fellows against bending the knee to baal, morrison did not feel it incumbent upon him to state that there was a whole sky full of other heathen deities, and that, in turning from one deity to make obeisance to another, they might miss the one true god. he did not even take the trouble to state that there was a chance for wise selection--that it was better to worship osiris than to fall into the hands of moloch. with enthusiasm, distilled as much from pierre's whisky as from morrison's wisdom, the men had elected morrison leader, and now awaited his commands. morrison had decided on a strike. this would demonstrate his power and terrify his opponents. there was enough shrewdness in him to select a plausible excuse. he knew very well that even among his most ardent adherents there was much common sense and an inherent perception of justice; that, while this would not stand in the way of precipitating a strike, it might prevent its perfect fruition. whatever his own convictions, morrison felt intuitively that ideas in the minds of the majority of men were but characters written on sand which the first sweep of washing waves would wipe out and leave motiveless; that others must stand by with ready stylus, to write again and again that which was swept away. in other words, he must have aides; that these aides, if they were to remain steadfast, must be thinking men, impressed with the justice of their position. hartwell had supplied just the motive that was needed. as yet, it was not apparent; but it was on the way. when it arrived there would be no doubt of its identity, or the course of action which must then be pursued. morrison was sure that it would come, was sure of the riot that would follow. his face darkened, flattened to the similitude of a serpent about to strike. there was a flaw in morrison's otherwise perfect fruit. where hitherto had been the calm of undisputed possession was now the rage of baffled desire. aside from momentary resentment at Élise's first interview with firmstone, the fact had made little impression on him. as pierre ruled his household, even so he intended to rule his own, and, according to morrison's idea of the conventional, a temporary trifling with another man was one of the undeniable perquisites of an engaged girl. morrison had been too sure of himself to feel a twinge of jealousy, rather considering such a course of action, when not too frequently indulged, an additional tribute to his own personality. what morrison mistook for love was only passion. it was honourable, insomuch as he intended to make Élise his wife. morrison ascribed only one motive to the subsequent meetings which he knew took place between Élise and firmstone. Élise was drifting farther and farther from him, in spite of all that he could do. "rowing," as he expressed it, had not been of infrequent occurrence between himself and Élise before firmstone had appeared on the scene; but on such occasions Élise had been as ready for a "mix-up" as she was now anxious to avoid one. there was another thing to which he could not close his eyes. there had been defiance, hatred, an eager fierceness, both in attack and defence, which was now wholly lacking. on several recent occasions he had sought a quarrel with Élise; but while she had stood her ground, there was a contempt in her manner, her eyes, her voice, which could not do otherwise than attract his attention. to do morrison the justice which he really deserved, there was in him as much of love for Élise as his nature was capable of harbouring for any one outside himself. he looked upon her as his own, and he was defending this idea of possession with the same pugnacity that he would protect his dollars from a thief. morrison had been forced to the conclusion that Élise was lost to him. hitherto firmstone had been an impersonal obstacle in his path. now--the eyes narrowed to a slit, the venomous lips were compressed. morrison was a beast. only the vengeance of a beast could wipe out the disgrace that had been forced upon him. in reality Élise was only a child. unpropitious and uncongenial as had been her surroundings to her finer nature, these had only retarded development; they had not killed the germ. her untrammelled life had been natural, but hardly neutral. to put conditions in a word, her undirected life had stored up an abundant supply of nourishing food that would thrust into vigorous life the dormant germ of noble womanhood when the proper time should come. there had been no hot-house forcing, but the natural growth of the healthy, hardy plant which would battle successfully the storms that were bound to come. in the cramped and sordid lives which had surrounded her there was much to repel and little to attract. the parental love of pierre was strong and fierce, but it was animal, it was satiating, selfish, and undemonstrative. hence Élise was almost wholly unconscious of its existence. as for madame, hers was a love unselfish; but dominated and overshadowed, in terror of her husband, she stood in but little less awe of Élise. these two, the one selfish, with strength of mind sufficient to bend others to his purposes, the other unselfish, but with every spontaneous emotion repressed by stronger personalities, exerted an unconscious but corresponding influence upon their equally unconscious ward. these manifestations were animal, and in Élise they met with an animal response. she felt the domineering strength of pierre, but without awe she defied it. she felt the unselfish and timorous love of madame. she trampled it beneath her childish feet, or yielded to a storm of repentant emotion that overwhelmed and bewildered its timid recipient. she was surrounded and imbued with emotions, unguided, unanalysed, misunderstood, that rose supreme, or were blotted out as the strength of the individual was equal to or inferior to its opposition. they were animal emotions that one moment would lick and caress and fight to the death, the next in a moment of rage would smite to the earth. as Élise approached womanhood, these emotions were intensified, but were otherwise unmodified. there was another element which came as a natural temporal sequence. she had seen with unseeing eyes young girls given in marriage; she had no question but that a like fate was in store for her. so it happened that when pierre, announcing to her her sixteenth birthday, had likewise broached the subject of marriage she opposed it not on rational grounds but simply on general principles. she was not at first conscious of any objections to morrison. being ignorant of marriage she had no grounds upon which to base a choice. to her morrison was no better and no worse than any other man she had met. morrison was perfectly right in his assumptions. had not circumstances interfered, in the end he would have had his way. morrison was also perfectly wrong. Élise was not madame in any sense of the word. his reign would have been at least troubled, if not in the end usurped. the first circumstance which had already interfered to prevent the realisation of his desire was one which, very naturally, would be the last to appeal to him. this circumstance was zephyr. from the earliest infancy of Élise, zephyr had been, in a way, her constant guardian and companion. with enough strength of character to make him fearless, it was insufficient to arouse the ambition to carve out a distinctive position for himself. he absorbed and mastered whatever came in his way, but there his ambition ceased. he was respected and, to a certain extent, feared, even by those who were naturally possessed of stronger natures. there may be something in the fabled power of the human eye to cow a savage beast, but unfortunately it will probably never be satisfactorily demonstrated. a man confronted with the beast will invariably and instinctively trust to his concrete " " rather than to the abstract force of human magnetism. yet there is a germ of truth in the proverbial statement. brought face to face with his human antagonist, the thinking man always stands in fear of himself, of his sense of justice, while the brute in his opponent has no scruples and no desires save those of personal triumph. these things Élise did not see. the things she saw which appealed to her and influenced her were, first of all, zephyr's fearlessness of others who were feared, his good-natured, philosophical cynicism which ridiculed foibles that he did not feel called upon to combat, his protecting love for her which was always considerate but never obsequious, which was unrestraining yet restrained her in the end. against his cynical stoicism the waves of her childish rage beat themselves to calm, or, hurt and wounded, she wept out her childish sorrows in his comforting arms. the protecting value of it she did not know, but in zephyr, and that was the only name by which she knew him, was the only untrammelled outlet for every passion of her childish as well as for her maturing soul. zephyr alone would have thwarted morrison's designs on Élise. but morrison despised zephyr, even though he feared him. zephyr in a neutral way had preserved Élise from herself and from her surroundings. neutral, because his efforts were conserving, not developmental. neutral, for, while he could keep her feet from straying in paths of destruction, he had through ignorance been unable to guide them in ways that led to a higher life. this mission had been left to firmstone. not that zephyr's work had been less important, for the hand that fallows ground performs as high a mission as the hand that sows the chosen seed. unconsciously at first, firmstone had opened the eyes of Élise to vistas, to possibilities which hitherto had been undreamed of. it mattered little that as yet she saw men as trees, the great and saving fact remained, her eyes were opened and she saw. morrison's eyes were also opened. he saw first the growing influence of firmstone and later the association of Élise with miss hartwell. he could not see that Élise, with the influence of firmstone, was an impossibility to him. like a venomous serpent that strikes blindly at the club and not at the man who wields it, morrison concentrated the full strength of his rage against firmstone. perhaps no characterisation of Élise could be stronger than the bald statement that as yet she was entirely oblivious of self. the opening vistas of a broader, higher life were too absorbing, too intoxicating in themselves, to permit the intrusion of the disturbing element of personality. her eager absorption of the minutest detail, her keen perception of the slightest discordant note, pleased miss hartwell as much as it delighted firmstone. Élise was as spontaneous and unreserved with the latter as with the former. she preferred firmstone's company because with him was an unconscious personality that met her own on even terms. firmstone loved strength and beauty for themselves, miss hartwell for the personal pleasure they gave her. she was flattered by the childish attention which was tendered her and piqued by the obvious fact that her personality had made only a slight impression upon Élise as compared with that of firmstone. this particular afternoon Élise was returning from a few hours spent with miss hartwell at the falls. it had been rather unsatisfactory to both. as the sun began to sink behind the mountain they had started down the trail together, but the walk was a silent one. miss hartwell had a slight flush of annoyance. Élise, sober and puzzled, was absorbed by thoughts that were as yet undifferentiated and unidentified. they parted at the blue goose. Élise turned at the steps and entered by the back door. morrison was watching, unseen by either. he noted Élise's path, and as she entered he confronted her. Élise barely noticed him and was preparing to go upstairs. morrison divined her intention and barred her way. "you're getting too high-toned for common folks, ain't you?" Élise paused perforce. there was a struggling look in her eyes. her thoughts had been too far away from her surroundings to allow of an immediate return. she remained silent. the scowl on morrison's face intensified. "when you're mrs. morrison, you won't go traipsing around with no high-toned bosses and female dudes more than once. i'll learn you." Élise came back with a crash. "mrs. morrison!" she did not speak the words, she shrank from them and left them hanging in their self-polluted atmosphere. "learn me!" the words were vibrant with a low-pitched hum, that smote and bored like the impact of an electric wave. "you--you--snake; you--how dare you!" morrison did not flinch. the blind fury of a dared beast flamed in his eyes. "dare, you vixen! i'll make you, or break you! i've been in too many scraps and smelled too much powder to get scared by a hen that's trying to crow." the animal was dominant in Élise. fury personified flew at morrison. "you'll teach me; will you? i'll teach you the difference between a hen and a wild cat." the door from the kitchen was opened and madame came in. she flung herself between Élise and morrison. the repressed timorous love of years flamed upon the thin cheeks, flashed from the faded eyes. there was no trace of fear. her slight form fairly shook with the intensity of her passion. "go! go! go!" the last was uttered in a voice little less than a shriek. "don't you touch Élise. she is mine. why don't you go?" her trembling hands pushed morrison toward the open door. bewildered, staggered, cowed, he slunk from the room. madame closed the door. she turned toward Élise. the passion had receded, only the patient pleading was in her eyes. the next instant she saw nothing. her head was crushed upon Élise's shoulder, the clasping arms caressed and bound, and hot cheeks were pressed against her own. another instant and she was pushed into a chair. for the first time in her life, madame's hungry heart was fed. Élise loved her. that was enough. the westward sinking sun had drawn the veil of darkness up from the greying east. its cycles of waxing and waning were measured by the click of tensioned springs and beat of swinging pendulums. but in the growing darkness another sun was rising, its cycles measured by beating hearts to an unending day. chapter xx _the river gives up its prey_ because zephyr saw a school of fishes disporting themselves in the water, this never diverted his attention from the landing of the fish he had hooked. this principle of his life he was applying to a particular event. the river had been closely watched; now, at last, his fish was hooked. the landing it was another matter. he needed help. he went for it. zephyr found bennie taking his usual after-dinner nap. "julius benjamin, it's the eleventh hour," he began, indifferently. bennie interrupted: "the eleventh hour! it's two o'clock, and the time you mention was born three hours ago. what new kind of bug is biting you?" zephyr studiously rolled a cigarette. "your education is deficient, julius. you don't know your bible, and you don't know the special force of figurative language. i'm sorry for you, julius, but having begun i'll see it through. having put my hand to the plough, which is also figuratively speaking, it's the eleventh hour, but if you'll get into your working clothes and whirl in, i'll give you full time and better wages." bennie sat upright. "what?" he began. zephyr's cigarette was smoking. "there's no time to waste drilling ideas through a thick head. the wagon is ready and so is the block and ropes. come on, and while we're on the way, i'll tackle your wits where the almighty left off." bennie's wits were not so muddy as zephyr's words indicated. he sprang from his bed and into his shoes, and before the stub of zephyr's cigarette had struck the ground outside the open window bennie was pushing zephyr through the door. "figures be hanged, and you, too. if my wits were as thick as your tongue, they'd be guessing at the clack of it, instead of getting a wiggle on the both of us." the stableman had the wagon hooked up and ready. zephyr and bennie clambered in. bennie caught the lines from the driver and cracking the whip about the ears of the horses, they clattered down the trail to the devil's elbow. zephyr protested mildly at bennie's haste. "hold your hush," growled bennie. "there's a hell of a fight on at the office this day. if you want to see a good man win the sooner we're back with the safe the better." there were no lost motions on their arrival at the devil's elbow. the actual facts that had hastened zephyr's location of the safe were simple. he had studied the position which the stage must have occupied before the bridge fell, its line of probable descent. from these assumed data he inferred the approximate position of the safe in the river and began prodding in the muddy water. at last he was tolerably sure that he had located it. by building a sort of wing dam with loose rock, filling the interstices with fine material, the water of the pool was cut off from the main stream and began to quiet down and grow comparatively clear. then zephyr's heart almost stood still. by careful looking he could distinguish one corner of the safe. without more ado he started for bennie. the tackle was soon rigged. taking a hook and chain, zephyr waded out into the icy water, and after a few minutes he gave the signal to hoist. it was the safe, sure enough. another lift with the tackle in a new position and the safe was in the wagon and headed for its starting-point. bennie was rigid with important dignity on the way to the office and was consequently silent save as to his breath, which whistled through his nostrils. as for zephyr, bennie's silence only allowed him to whistle or go through the noiseless motions as seemed to suit his mood. the driver was alive with curiosity and spoiling to talk, but his voluble efforts at conversation only confirmed his knowledge of what to expect. when later interrogated as to the remarks of zephyr and bennie upon this particular occasion he cut loose the pent-up torrent within him. "you fellows may have heard," he concluded, "that clams is hell on keeping quiet; but they're a flock of blue jays cussin' fer a prize compared with them two fellers." as firmstone turned to leave the office the door was thrust open and the two men entered. bennie led, aggressive defiance radiating from every swing and pose. zephyr, calm, imperturbable, confident, glanced at the red-faced hartwell and at the set face of firmstone. he knew the game, he knew his own hand. he intended to play it for its full value. he had an interested partner. he trusted in his skill, but if he made breaks it was no concern of his. "assuming," he began; "that there's an interesting discussion going on, i beg leave to submit some important data bearing on the same." "trim your switches," burst out bennie. "they'll sting harder." the unruffled zephyr bent a soothing eye on bennie, moved his hat a little farther back from his forehead, placed his arms leisurely akimbo, and eased one foot by gradually resting his weight on the other. it was not affectation. it was the physical expression of a mental habit. "still farther assuming," here his eyes slowly revolved and rested on hartwell, "that truth crushed to earth sometimes welcomes a friendly boost, uninvited, i am here to tender the aforesaid assistance." he turned to bennie. "now, julius, it's up to you. if you'll open the throttle, you can close your blow-off with no danger of bursting your boiler." he nodded his head toward the door. hartwell's manner was that of a baited bull who, in the multiplicity of his assailants, knew not whom to select for first attack. for days and weeks he had been marshalling his forces for an overwhelming assault on firmstone. he had ignored the fact that his adversary might have been preparing an able defence in spite of secrecy on his part. it is a wise man who, when contemplating the spoliation of his neighbour, first takes careful account of defensive as well as of offensive means. his personal assault on firmstone had met with defeat. in the mental rout that followed he was casting about to find means of concealing from others that which he could not hide from himself. the irruption of bennie and zephyr threatened disaster even to this forlorn hope. firmstone knew what was coming. hartwell could not even guess. as he had seen firmstone as his first object, so now he saw zephyr. blindly as he had attacked firmstone, so now he lowered his head for an equally blind charge on the placid zephyr. "who are you, anyway?" he burst out, with indignant rage. "me?" zephyr turned to hartwell, releasing his lips from their habitual pucker, his eyes resting for a moment on hartwell. "oh, i ain't much. i ain't a sack of fertilizer on a thousand-acre ranch." his eyes drooped indifferently. "but at the same time, you ain't no thousand-acre ranch." "that may be," retorted hartwell; "but i'm too large to make it safe for you to prance around on alone." zephyr turned languidly to hartwell. "that's so," he assented. "i discovered a similar truth several decades ago and laid it up for future use. even in my limited experience you ain't the first thorn-apple that i've seen pears grafted on to. in recognition of your friendly warning, allow me to say that i'm only one in a bunch." a further exchange of courtesies was prevented by the entrance of four men, of whom bennie was one. their entrance was heralded by a series of bumps and grunts. there was a final bump, a final grunt, and the four men straightened simultaneously; four bended arms swept the moisture from four perspiring faces. "that's all." bennie dismissed his helpers with a wave of his hand, then stood grimly repressed, waiting for the next move. the scene was mildly theatrical; unintentionally so, so far as zephyr was concerned, designedly so on the part of bennie, who longed to push it to a most thrilling climax. it was not pleasant to firmstone; but the cause was none of his creating, he was of no mind to interfere with the event. he was only human after all, and that it annoyed and irritated hartwell afforded him a modicum of legitimate solace. besides, zephyr and bennie were his stanch friends; the recovery of the safe and the putting it in evidence at the most effective moment was their work. the manner of bringing it into play, though distasteful to him, suited their ideas of propriety, and firmstone felt that they had earned the right to an exhibition of their personalities with no interference on his part. he preserved a passive, dignified silence. as for hartwell, openly attacked from without, within a no less violent conflict of invisible forces was crowding him to self-humiliation. to retreat from the scene meant either an open confession of wrong-doing, or a refusal on his part to do justice to the man whom he had wronged. to remain was to subject himself to the open triumph of zephyr and bennie, and the no less assured though silent triumph of firmstone. hartwell's reflections were interrupted by zephyr's request for the keys to the safe. there was a clatter as firmstone dropped them into his open hand. hartwell straightened up with flushed cheeks. pierre's words again came to him. the whole thing might be a bluff, after all. the safe might be empty. here was a possible avenue of escape. with the same blind energy with which he had entered other paths, he entered this. he leaned back in his chair with tolerant resignation. "if it amuses you people to make a mountain out of a molehill i can afford to stand it." bennie looked pityingly at hartwell. "god almighty must have it in for you bad, or he'd let you open your eyes t'other end to, once in a while." as the safe was finally opened and one by one the dull yellow bars were piled on the scales, there was too much tenseness to allow of even a show of levity. zephyr had no doubts. no one could have got at the safe while in the river; he could swear to that. from its delivery to the driver by firmstone there had been no time nor opportunity to tamper with its contents. as for firmstone, he had too much at stake to be entirely free from anxiety, though neither voice nor manner betrayed it. he had had experience enough to teach him that it was not sufficient to be honest--one must at all times be prepared to prove it. the last ingot was checked off. firmstone silently handed hartwell the copy of his original letter of advice and the totalled figures of the recent weighing. hartwell accepted them with a cynical smile and laid them indifferently aside. "well," he remarked; "all i can say is, the company recovered the safe in the nick of time, from whom i don't pretend to say. we've got it, and that's enough." there was a grin of cunning defiance on his face. he had entered a covert where further pursuit was impossible. for once bennie felt unequal to the emergency. he turned silently, but appealingly, to zephyr. it was a new experience for zephyr as well. for the first time in his life he felt himself jarred to the point of quick retort, wholly unconsonant with his habitual serenity. his face flushed. his hand moved jerkily to the bosom of his shirt, only to be as jerkily removed empty. the harmonica was decidedly unequal to the task. his lips puckered and straightened. his final resort was more satisfying. he deliberately seated himself on the safe and began rolling a cigarette. placing it to his lips, he drew a match along the leg of his trousers. the shielded flame was applied to the cigarette. there came a few deliberate puffs, the cigarette was removed. his crossed leg was thrust through his clasped hands at he leaned backward. through a cloud of soothing smoke his answer was meditatively voiced. "when the almighty made man, he must have had a pot of sense on one hand and foolishness on the other, and he put some of each inside every empty skull. he got mighty interested in his work and so absent-minded he used up the sense first. leastways, some skulls got an unrighteous dose of fool that i can't explain no other way. i ain't blaming the almighty; he'd got the stuff on his hands and he'd got to get rid of it somehow. it's like rat poison--mighty good in its place, but dangerous to have lying around loose. he just forgot to mix it in, that's all, and we've got to do it for him. it's a heap of trouble and it's a nasty job, and i ain't blaming him for jumping it." chapter xxi _the sword that turns_ as zephyr and bennie left the office hartwell turned to firmstone. there was no outward yielding, within only the determination not to recognise defeat. "the cards are yours; but we'll finish the game." the words were not spoken, but they were in evidence. firmstone was silent for a long time. he was thinking neither of hartwell nor of himself. "well," he finally asked; "this little incident is happily closed. what next?" hartwell's manner had not changed. "you are superintendent here. don't ask me. it's up to you." firmstone restrained himself with an effort. "is it?" the question carried its own answer with it. it was plainly negative, only hartwell refused to accept it. "what else are you out here for?" firmstone's face flushed hotly. "why can't you talk sense?" he burst out. "i am not aware that i have talked anything else." hartwell only grew more rigid with firmstone's visible anger. "if that's your opinion the sooner i get out the better." firmstone rose and started to the door. "wait a moment." firmstone's decision was, by hartwell, twisted into weakening. on this narrow pivot he turned his preparation for retreat. "the loss of the gold brought me out here. it has been recovered and no questions asked. that ends my work. now yours begins. when i have your assurance that you will remain with the company in accordance with your contract, i am ready to go. what do you say?" firmstone thought rapidly and to the point. his mind was soon made up. "i decline to commit myself." the door closed behind him, shutting off further discussion. the abrupt termination of the interview was more than disappointing to hartwell. it carried with it an element of fear. he had played his game obstinately, with obvious defiance in the presence of zephyr and bennie; with their departure he had counted on a quiet discussion with firmstone. he had no settled policy further than to draw firmstone out, get him to commit himself definitely while he, with no outward sign of yielding, could retreat with flying colours. he now recognised the fact that the knives with which he had been juggling were sharper and more dangerous than he had thought, but he also felt that, by keeping them in the air as long as possible, when they fell he could at least turn their points from himself. firmstone's departure brought them tumbling about his ears in a very inconsiderate manner. he must make another move, and in a hurry. events were no longer even apparently under his control; they were controlling him and pushing him into a course of action not at all to his liking. the element of fear, before passive, was now quivering with intense activity. he closed his mind to all else and bent it toward the forestalling of an action that he could not but feel was immediate and pressing. partly from firmstone, partly from pierre, he had gathered a clear idea that a union was being organised, and this knowledge had impelled him to a course that he would now have given worlds to recall. this act was none else than the engaging of a hundred or more non-union men. on their arrival, he had intended the immediate discharge of the disaffected and the installing of the new men in their places. he had chuckled to himself over the dismay which the arrival of the men would create, but even more over the thought of the bitter rage of morrison and pierre when they realised the fact that they had been outwitted and forestalled. the idea that he was forcing upon firmstone a set of conditions for which he would refuse to stand sponsor had occurred to him only as a possibility so remote that it was not even considered. he was now taking earnest counsel with himself. if firmstone had contemplated resignation under circumstances of far less moment than the vital one of which he was still ignorant--hartwell drew his hand slowly across his moistening forehead, then sprang to his feet. why had he not thought of it before? he caught up his hat and hurried to the door of the outer office. there was not a moment to lose. before he laid his hand on the door he forced himself to deliberate movement. "tell the stable boss to hitch up the light rig and bring it to the office." as the man left the room, hartwell seated himself and lighted a cigar. in a few moments the rig was at the door and hartwell appeared, leisurely drawing on a pair of driving-gloves. adjusting the dust-robe over his knees, as he took the lines from the man, he said: "if mr. firmstone inquires for me tell him i have gone for a drive." down past the mill, along the trail by the slide, he drove with no appearance of haste. around a bend which hid the mill from sight, the horses had a rude awakening. the cigar was thrown aside, the reins tightened, and the whip was cracked in a manner that left no doubt in the horses' minds as to the desires of their driver. in an hour, foaming and panting, they were pulled up at the station. hitching was really an unnecessary precaution, for a rest was a thing to be desired; but hitched they were, and hartwell hurried into the dingy office. the operator was leaning back in his chair, his feet beside his clicking instrument, a soothing pipe perfuming the atmosphere of placid dreams. "i want to get off a message at once." hartwell was standing before the window. the operator's placid dreams assumed an added charm by comparison with the perturbed hartwell. "you're too late, governor." he slowly raised his eyes, letting them rest on hartwell. "too late!" hartwell repeated, dazedly. "yep. at once ain't scheduled to make no stops." the operator resumed his pipe and his dreams. "i've no time to waste," hartwell snapped, impatiently. "even so," drawled the man; "but you didn't give me no time at all. i don't mind a fair handicap; but i ain't no jay." "will you give me a blank?" "oh, now you're talking u. s. all right. i savvy that." without rising, he pushed a packet of blanks toward the window with his foot. hartwell wrote hurriedly for a moment, and shoved the message toward the operator. taking his feet from the desk, he leaned slowly forward, picked up a pencil and began checking off the words. john haskins, leadville, colorado. do not send the men i asked for. will explain by letter. arthur hartwell. "things quieting down at the mine?" the operator paused, looking up at hartwell. hartwell could not restrain his impatience. "i'm mr. hartwell, general manager of the rainbow company. will you attend to your business and leave my affairs alone?" "pleased to meet you, mr. hartwell. my name is jake studley, agent for r. g. s. i get fifty dollars a month, and don't give a damn for no one." he began clearing the papers from before his instrument and drumming out his call. the call was answered and the message sent. the operator picked up the paper and thrust it on a file. hartwell's face showed conflicting emotions. he wanted to force the exasperating man to action; but his own case was urgent. he drew from his pocket a roll of bills. selecting a ten-dollar note, he pushed it toward the operator, who was refilling his pipe. "i want that message to get to haskins immediately, and i want an answer." the operator shoved the bill into his pocket with one hand, with the other he began another call. there was a pause, then a series of clicks which were cut off and another message sent. the man closed his instrument and winked knowingly at hartwell. "i squirted a little electricity down the line on my own account. told them the g. m. was in and ordered that message humped. 'tain't up to me to explain what g. m. is here." hartwell went out on the platform and paced restlessly up and down. in about an hour he again approached the window. "how long before i can expect an answer?" "i can't tell. it depends on their finding your man. they'll get a wiggle on 'em, all right. i'll stir them up again before long. jehosaphat! there's my call now!" he hurriedly answered, then read, word by word, the message as it was clicked off. arthur hartwell, rainbow, colorado. message received. too late. men left on special last night. john haskins. hartwell caught up another blank. john haskins, leadville, colorado. recall the men without fail. i'll make it worth your while. arthur hartwell. there was another weary wait. finally the operator came from his office. "sorry, mr. hartwell, but leadville says haskins left on train after sending first despatch. says he had a ticket for salt lake." "when will that special be here?" hartwell's voice was husky in spite of himself. "ought to be here about six. it's three now." "is there no way to stop it?" "not now. haskins chartered it. he's the only one that can call it off, and he's gone." hartwell's face was pale and haggard. he again began pacing up and down, trying in vain to find a way of doing the impossible. the fact that he had temporised, resolutely set his face against the manly thing to do, only to find the same alternative facing him at every turn, more ominous and harder than ever, taught him nothing. the operator watched him as he repeatedly passed. his self-asserting independence had gone, in its place was growing a homely sympathy for the troubled man. as hartwell passed him again he called out: "say, governor, i know something about that business at the mine, and 'tain't up to you to worry. your old man up there is a corker. they're on to him all right. he'll just take one fall out of that crowd that'll do them for keeps." hartwell paused, looking distantly at the speaker. he was not actively conscious of him, hardly of his words. the operator, not understanding, went on with more assurance. "i know jack haskins. this ain't the first time he's been called on to help out in this kind of a racket, you bet! he's shipped you a gang that 'ud rather fight than eat. all you've got to do is to say 'sick 'em' and then lay back and see the fur fly." hartwell turned away without a word and went to his rig. he got in and drove straight for the mill. his mind was again made up. this time it was made up aright. only--circumstances did not allow it to avail. as he drove away he did not notice a man in miner's garb who looked at him sharply and resumed his way. the operator was still on the platform as the man came to a halt. he was deriving great satisfaction from the crackling new bill which he was caressing in his pocket. the new bill would soon have had a companion, had he kept quiet, but this he could not know. glancing at the miner, he remarked, benevolently: "smelling trouble, and pulling out, eh?" "what do you mean?" the new-comer looked up stupidly. "just this. i reckon you've run up against jack haskins's gang before, and ain't hankering for a second round." "jack haskins's gang comin'?" there was an eagerness in the man's manner which the operator misunderstood. "that's what, and a hundred strong." the man turned. "thanks, pard. guess i'll go back and tell the boys. perhaps they'd like a chance to git, too; then again they mightn't." tipping a knowing wink at the open-mouthed operator, he turned on his heel and walked briskly away. he too was headed for the mill. the operator's jaw worked spasmodically for a moment. "hen's feathers and skunk oil! if he ain't a spy, i'll eat him. oh, lord! old firmstone and jack haskins's gang lined up against the blue goose crowd! jake, my boy, listen to me. you can get another job if you lose this; but to-morrow you are going to see the sight of your life." chapter xxii _good intentions_ returning from the station, hartwell drove rapidly until he came to the foot of the mountain that rose above the nearly level mesa. even then he tried to urge his jaded team into a pace in some consonance with his anxiety; but the steep grades and the rarefied air appealed more strongly to the exhausted animals than did the stinging lash he wielded. as, utterly blown, they came to a rest at the top of a steep grade, hartwell became aware of the presence of three men who rose leisurely as the team halted. two of them stood close by the horses' heads, the third paused beside the wagon. "howdy!" he saluted, with a grin. "what do you want?" a hold-up was the only thing that occurred to hartwell. "just a little sociable talk. you ain't in no hurry?" the grin broadened. "i am." hartwell reached for his whip. "none of that!" the grin died away. the two men each laid a firm hand on the bridles. "will you tell me what this means?" there was not a quaver in hartwell's voice, no trace of fear in his eyes. "by-and-by. you just wait. you got a gun?" "no; i haven't." "i don't like to dispute a gentleman; but it's better to be safe. just put up your hands." hartwell complied with the request. the man passed his hands rapidly over hartwell's body, then turned away. "all right," he said, then seated himself and began filling his pipe. "how long am i expected to wait?" hartwell's tone was sarcastic. "sorry i can't tell you. it just depends. i'll let you know when." he relapsed into silence that hartwell could not break with all his impatient questions or his open threats. the men left the horses' heads and seated themselves in the road. it occurred to hartwell to make a dash for liberty, but there was a cartridge-belt on each man and holsters with ready guns. in the deep cañon the twilight was giving way to darkness that was only held in check by the strip of open sky above and by a band of yellow light that burned with lambent tongues on the waving foliage which overhung the eastern cliff. chattering squirrels and scolding magpies had long since ceased their bickerings; if there were other sounds that came with the night, they were overcome by the complaining river which ceased not day nor night to fret among the boulders that strewed its bed. like a shaft of light piercing the darkness a whistle sounded, mellowed by distance. the man near the wagon spoke. "that's a special. where in hell's jack?" "on deck." a fourth man came to a halt. he paused, wiping the perspiration from his face. "they're coming, a hundred strong. jakey coughed it up, and it didn't cost a cent." he laughed. "it's jack haskins's crowd, too." the man by the wagon addressed hartwell. "i can tell you now. it's an all-night wait. tumble out lively. better take your blankets, if you've got any. it's liable to be cool before morning right here. it'll be hotter on the mountain, but you'd better stay here." hartwell did not stir. "out with you now, lively. we ain't got no time to waste." hartwell obeyed. the man sprang into the wagon and, pitching out the blankets, gathered up the lines. "come on, boys." turning to his companion, he said, "you stay with him, jack. he ain't heeled; but don't let him off." to hartwell direct, "don't try to get away. we'll deliver your message about the special." his companions were already in the wagon and they started up the trail. jack turned to his charge. "now, if you'll just be a good boy and mind me, to-morrow i'll take you to the circus." chapter xxiii _an unexpected recruit_ like the majority of men in the west, jake studley took the view that all men are equal, and that the interests of one are the concerns of all. a civil answer to what in other climes would be considered impertinent curiosity was the unmistakable shibboleth of the coequal fraternity. hartwell's manner had been interpreted by jakey as a declaration of heresy to his orthodox code and the invitation to mind his own business as a breach of etiquette which the code entailed. jakey thereupon assumed the duties of a defender of the faith, and, being prepared for action, moved immediately upon the enemy. the attack developed the unexpected. hartwell's bill, tendered in desperation, was accepted in error, not as a bribe, but as an apology. jakey sounded "cease firing" to his embattled lines, and called in his attacking forces. he had taken salt, henceforth he was hartwell's friend and the friend of his friends. jakey took neither himself nor his life seriously. he was station agent, freight agent, express agent, and telegraph operator at rainbow station, r. g. s., and he performed his various duties with laudable promptness, when nothing more promising attracted his attention. just now the "more promising" was in sight. the company had no scruples in dismissing employees without warning, and jakey had no quixotic principles which restrained him for a moment from doing to others what they would do to him if occasion arose. jakey did not hold that the world owed him a living, but he considered that it possessed a goodly store of desirable things and that these were held in trust for those who chose to take them. being "broke" did not appal him, nor the loss of a job fill him with quaking. the railroad was not the whole push, and if he could not pump electric juice he could wield a pick or rope a steer with equal zeal. just now the most desirable thing that the world held in trust was the coming fight at the rainbow. accordingly he wired the r. g. s. officials that there was a vacancy at rainbow station. the said officials, being long accustomed to men of jakey's stamp, merely remarked, "damn!" and immediately wired to the nearest junction point to send another man to take the vacant position. jakey admired firmstone, and this admiration prepossessed him in firmstone's favour. the prepossession was by no means fixed and invulnerable, and had not hartwell cleared himself of suspected heresy, he would have lent the same zeal, now kindling within him, to the blue goose rather than the rainbow. in what he recognised as the first round of the opening fight jakey realised that the blue goose had scored. but, before the special pulled in, he was ready, and this time he was sure of his move. "by the great spirit of the noble red man," jakey was apostrophising the distant mountains in ornate language; "what kind of a low-down bird are you, to be gathered in by a goose, and a blue one at that?" jakey paused, gazing earnestly at the retreating figure of the miner. then, shaking his fist at the man's back, "look here, you down-trodden serf of capitalistic oppression, i'll show you! don't you fool yourself! tipped me the grand ha-ha; did you? well, you just listen to me! 'stead of milking the old cow, you've just rubbed off a few drops from her calf's nose. that's what, as i'll proceed to demonstrate." jakey's loyalty had been wavering, passive, and impersonal. now his personal sympathies were enlisted, for the path of self-vindication lay through the triumph of the rainbow. before the special had come to a standstill its animated cargo began to disembark. coatless men with woollen shirts belted to trousers, the belts sagging with their heavy loads of guns and cartridges, every man with a roll of blankets and many with carbines as well, testified to the recognition of the fact that the path of the miner's pick must be cleared by burning powder. jakey, thrusting his way through the boisterous crowd, forced upon the resentful conductor his surrendered insignia of office, then mingled with his future associates. he met a hilarious welcome, as the knowledge spread from man to man that he was with them. its practical expression was accompanied by the thrusting of uncorked bottles at his face and demands that he should "drink hearty" as a pledge of fellowship. jakey waved them aside. "put them up, boys, put them up. them weapons ain't no use, not here. they're too short range, and they shoot the wrong way." the leader pushed his way through the crowd around jakey. "that's right, boys. it's close to tally now. where's the rainbow trail?" with elaborate figures, punctuated by irreverent adjectives, jakey pointed out the trail and his reasons against taking it. "it's good medicine to fight a skunk head on," he concluded; "but when you go up against a skunk, a coyote, and a grizzly wrapped up in one skin, you want to be circumspect. morrison's a skunk, pierre's a coyote, and the rest are grizzlies, and you don't want to fool yourselves just because the skin of the beast grows feathers instead of fur." the leader listened attentively and, from the thick husk of jakey's figures, he stripped the hard grains of well-ripened truth. jakey laid small emphasis on the manner in which the envoy of the blue goose had gained his information. he had personal reasons for that, but the fact that the information was gained sufficed. the men grew silent as they realised that the battle was on and that they were in the enemy's country. under the guidance of jakey they tramped up the track, turned toward what appeared as a vertical cliff, and clambered slowly and painfully over loose rocks, through stunted evergreens, and at last stood upon the rolling surface of the mesa above. from here on, the path was less obstructed. it was near midnight when the dull roar of the mill announced the proximity of their goal. as silently as they had followed the tortuous trail, so silently each wrapped himself in his blankets and lay down to sleep. chapter xxiv _the gathering to its own_ had firmstone known of hartwell's move, which was to bring affairs to an immediate and definite crisis, his actions would have been shaped along different lines. but the only one who could have given this knowledge blindly withheld it until it was beyond his power to give. at the mill firmstone noticed a decided change in luna. the foreman was sullen in look and act. he answered firmstone's questions almost insolently, but not with open defiance. his courage was not equal to giving full voice to his sullen hatred. firmstone paid little heed to the man's behaviour, thinking it only a passing mood. after a thorough inspection of the mill, he returned to the office. "mr. hartwell said, if you inquired for him, that i was to tell you he had gone for a drive." the man anticipated his duty before firmstone inquired. "very well," firmstone replied, as he entered the office. he busied himself at his desk for a long time. toward night he ordered his horse to be saddled. he had determined to go to the mine. he had decided to move with a strong hand, to force his authority on the rebellious, as if it had not been questioned, as if he himself had no question as to whether it would be sustained. hartwell had refused to indicate his position; he would force him to act, if not to speak. his after course events would decide; but half-way measures were no longer to be tolerated. as he rode by the falls, he met zephyr on his way down. zephyr was the first to speak. "a weather-cock," he remarked, "has a reputation for instability of character which it does not deserve. it simply pays impartial attention to a breeze or a hurricane. in fact, it's alive to anything that's going in the wind line. we call a weather-cock fickle and a man wide-awake for doing the same thing." he paused, looking inquiringly at firmstone. firmstone was in anything but an allegorical mood, yet he knew that zephyr had something of interest to communicate, and so restrained any manifestation of impatience which he might have felt. "well?" he answered. "say, goggles"--zephyr continued his allegory--"i've studied weather-cocks. i take note that when one of them so-called fickle-minded inanimates goes jerking around the four cardinal points and feeling of what's between, it's just responding to the fore-running snorts of a pull-up and come-along cyclone. that's why i'm bobbing up and down like an ant looking for its long-lost brother. there's a cyclone on its way, goggles, and it's going to light hereabouts right soon." "i guess you're right, zephyr." firmstone gathered his reins, preparatory to resuming his way, but zephyr laid a detaining hand on the horse's neck. it was not in zephyr to make haste easily. his undulating shoulders indicated a necessity for immediate speech. the words, sizzling from between closed lips, were a compromise. "you have more sense than many weather-cocks, and more sand than a gravel train." zephyr's face began to twitch. "wait!" the word came forth explosively; the detaining hand grasped the bridle firmly. "say, goggles, i was dead wrong. do you hear? about Élise. you remember? at the devil's elbow. she ain't pierre's girl. she's as much of a lady as you are. keep still! listen! a hurricane ain't got sense. it'll pull up a weed as quick as an oak. it's coming. for the love of god and me especially, if i get pulled, look out for her! say yes, and go along. don't fool with me! you'll swallow a barrel of water to get a drink of whisky." firmstone only stretched out his hand. zephyr took it for an instant, then flung it aside. the next moment he was striding down the trail. firmstone heard the strain of the jarring reeds of the harmonica shrill triumphantly, penetrated now and then by louder notes as a plunging step jarred a stronger breath through his lips. at the mine, firmstone found his work cut out for him. on the narrow platform of the mine boarding-house, the foreman was standing with his cap shoved far back on his head, his hands in his pockets. there was an insolent poise to the head that only intensified the sneering smile on the lips. he was surrounded by a dozen or more of the men whom firmstone had marked as makers of trouble. "well, what in hell you up here for? think i can't run a mine?" the foreman called into play every expression of coarse contempt at his command. "not this one for me. go into the office, and i'll make out your time." the foreman did not move. firmstone made no threatening gesture as he advanced. the foreman's eyes wavered, cast behind him at the gaping men, then he turned as firmstone ordered. in the office firmstone wrote out a time check and tendered it to the man. "now pack up and get down the hill." there were discordant cries outside that grew nearer and more distinct. as the foreman opened the door to pass out he flung back a defiant grin, but his words were drowned by a babel of voices that were surging into the ante-room from the platform and dining-room. firmstone closed and locked the office door behind him. in an instant he was surrounded by a crowd of gesticulating, shouting men. there was a spreading pressure on all sides, as men were pushed back from an opening ring in the centre of the room. a man with blood-stained face rose, only to be again hurled to the floor by a stunning blow. firmstone crushed his way into the ring. "no fighting here." the man dropped his eyes. "i ain't going to be called down by no scab." "if you want to fight, get off the company's grounds!" firmstone moved between them. "i want my time." the man's eyes were still downcast. "you'll get it." the ring closed up again. "are we let out?" "the whole push fired?" a burly, red-faced man pushed his way to the front. "say, mr. firmstone! don't make no mistake. this ain't you. you're the whitest boss that ever looked down my shirt collar. that's so. that's what the boys all say. just you pull out from the company and go with us. we'll carry you right up to glory on the back of a fire-snorting alligator." firmstone paid no attention to the man. he went from end to end of the room. the men gave way in front, only closing in behind. there was a hushed silence. "there's no shut-down. any man who wants work can have it and be taken care of. any one who wants to quit, come for your time right now!" as firmstone again turned toward the office he was conscious for the first time of a thick-set man with kindly eyes, now steely-hard, who followed his every motion. it was the night-shift boss. "you're with me?" "you bet, and plenty more." "hold them down. send the men in, one by one, who want to quit. how about the magazine?" "all right. two men and four guns. they're with you till hell freezes, and then they'll skate." it was midnight before the last man called for his time. firmstone laid down his pen. "i'm shy a foreman. will you take the job?" firmstone addressed the shift boss. "yes, till you can do better." "all right. you better move around pretty lively for to-night. i'll stay in the office till morning." the man left the office. he had not been gone long before there was a timid knock at the office door. "come in," firmstone called. the door was opened hesitatingly and two men entered. they stood with lowered eyes, shifting their caps from hand to hand, and awkwardly balancing from foot to foot. "well?" firmstone spoke sharply. "me and my partner want our jobs back." "you'll have to see roner. he's foreman now." "where is he?" "in the mine." "can we take our bunks till morning, sir?" "yes." the men left the office. outside, their manner changed. nudging elbows grated each other's ribs. the darkness hid their winks. firmstone had made a sad mistake. he was not omniscient. the men knew what he did not. they had been down to the blue goose and had returned with a mission. chapter xxv _a divided house_ in her little alcove at the blue goose Élise was gaining information every day of the progress of affairs, but in spite of impatience, in spite of doubt, she had seen nothing, heard nothing that seemed to demand immediate action on her part. she had made up her mind that a crisis was approaching. she had also determined with whom she would cast in her lot. it was late when hartwell's team pulled up at the blue goose. a crowd of excited men surrounded it, but the driver and his companions made no reply to loud questions as they sprang from the wagon and entered the door. morrison was the first to halt them. the driver broke out with a string of oaths. "it's so. jack haskins's gang is coming. hartwell is taken care of all right. if his crowd try to make it through the cañon, there won't a hundred show up, to-morrow." he ended with a coarse laugh. morrison listened till the driver had finished. then he turned toward pierre. pierre was standing just in front of the alcove, hiding Élise from morrison. morrison advanced, shaking his fist. "now you've got it, you trimmer. what are you going to do? i told you they were coming, and i've fixed for it." pierre stood with his hands in his pockets. there was the old oily smile on his face, but his eyes were dangerous. morrison did not observe them. "why don't you speak? you're called." morrison glanced over his shoulder at the silent crowd. "he's got a frog in his throat! the last one he swallowed didn't go down." morrison was very near death. he noticed the crowd part hurriedly and turned in time to look into the muzzle of pierre's revolver. the parting of the crowd was explained. an unlighted cigar was between pierre's teeth. they showed gleaming white under his black moustache. only bright points of light marked his eyes between their narrowed lids. still holding his revolver point-blank, with thumb and finger he raised and lowered the hammer. the sharp, even click pierced morrison's nerves like electric shocks. it was not in man to endure this toying with death. surprise gave place to fear, and this in turn to mortal agony. his face paled. great drops stood out on his forehead, gathered and streamed down his face. he feared to move, yet he trembled. his legs shook under him. there was a final stagger, but his terrified eyes never left pierre's face. with a shuddering groan, he sank helpless to the floor. pierre's smile broadened horribly. he lowered his weapon and, turning aside, thrust it in his pocket. morrison had died a thousand deaths. if he lived he would die a thousand more. this pierre knew. for this reason and others he did not shoot. pierre also knew other things. morrison had refused to take heed to his words. he had gone his own way. he had made light of pierre before the men. last of all, he had gained courage to taunt pierre to his face with weakening, had bitterly accused him of using Élise as a means of ingratiating himself with the rainbow crowd. pierre was not above taking a human life as a last resort; but even then he must see clearly that the gain warranted the risk. morrison had been weighed and passed upon. a dead morrison meant a divided following. a living morrison, cowed and beaten and shamed before them all, was dead to pierre. this was pierre's reasoning, and he was right. the first step had been taken. the next one he was not to take; but this fact did not nullify pierre's logic. given time, pierre knew that morrison would be beaten, discredited, do what he would. luna helped the fallen morrison to his feet. the first thing morrison noticed was pierre walking away toward the private office. luna again approached morrison with a brimming glass of brandy. "take this down. lord! that was a nerve-peeler! i don't blame you for going under." morrison swallowed the liquor at a gulp. the pallor died away and a hot flush mounted his face. "i've got him to settle with, too. i'll make him squeal before i'm done." the crowd had surged to the door to meet a swarm of howling men who had just come down from the mine. three or four remained with luna around morrison. his voice was hoarse and broken. "he's thrown us over. you see that? it's up to us to play it alone. he's put it up to your face that he's with you, but he's playing against you. he can't stop us now. it's gone too far. the first tug is coming, to-morrow. we'll win out, hands down. the rainbow first, then pierre." he ended with a string of profanity. luna took up morrison's broken thread. "there's fifty men with rifles in the cañon. hartwell's gang will never get through. the boys are going to shoot at sight." "where's firmstone?" morrison's face writhed. "up to the mine. he's getting in his work." luna looked over his shoulder at the crowd of miners. "that's so. the foreman's fired. so am i. he is going to die boss." the man grinned, as he held out a time check. "he'll die, anyway." morrison's jaws set. "you're sure he's at the mine?" "dead sure. he's got his work cut out to-night. lots of scabs held out. he's put the night boss in foreman." the man grinned again. morrison laid a hand on his shoulder. "you're game?" "you bet i am!" "go back to the mine to-night----" "and miss all the fun down here?" the man interrupted. morrison's hand rested more heavily on the shoulder. "don't get flip. have some fun of your own up there. the supe will hear the racket down here early. he'll start down with his scabs to help out. two men can start a racket there that will keep him guessing. if he's started it will fetch him back. if he hasn't he won't start at all." "what kind of a racket, for instance?" morrison swung impatiently on his foot. "what's the matter with letting off a box or two of powder under the tram?" "nothing. is that our job?" "yes. and see that it's done." "that's me. come on, joe. let's have a drink first." these two were the penitents whom firmstone had taken back. the greater number of the men were crowded around the gilded bar, drinking boisterously to the success of the union and death to scabs and companies. a few, more sober-minded, but none the less resolute, gathered around morrison. they were the leaders upon whom he depended for the carrying out of his orders, or for acting independently of them on their own initiative, as occasion might demand. with logic fiendish in its cunning, he pointed out to them their right to organise, laid emphasis on their pacific intentions only to defend their rights, and having enlarged upon this, he brought into full play hartwell's fatal error. "you see," he concluded; "right or wrong, the company's gone in to win. they ain't taking no chances, and the law's at their backs. you know haskins's gang. you know what they're here for. they're here to shoot, and they'll shoot to kill. suppose you go out like lambs? that won't make no difference. it'll be too tame for them, unless some one's killed. what if it is murder and one of the gang is pulled? they've got the whole gang at their back and the company's money. suppose we go out one by one and shoot back? self-defence?" morrison snapped his fingers. "that's our chance to get off. we've got to pull together. in a general mix-up, we'll be in it together, and there ain't no law to string up the whole push. stick together. that's our hold. if haskins's gang is wiped out to-morrow, and that glass-eyed supe with them, who'll get jumped? if the mine and mill both get blowed up, who's done it? the fellows who did it ain't going to tell, and it won't be good medicine for any one else to do it, even if he wants to." "who's going to open up?" one of the men asked, soberly. morrison turned carelessly. "that's a fool question. folks that ain't looking for trouble don't put caps and powder in a bag to play foot-ball with. both sides are putting up kicks. who's to blame?" the man looked only half convinced. "well, we ain't, and we don't want to be. if we keep quiet, and they open up on us, we've got a right to defend ourselves. unless," he added, meditatively, "we get out beforehand, then there won't be any questions to ask." morrison turned fiercely. "how much did you get?" "get for what?" "how much did the company put up to stand you off?" "i haven't been bought off by the company," the man answered, fiercely; "and i ain't going to be fooled off by you." morrison lifted his hand, palm outward. "that's all right. go right on, first door right. go right in. don't knock. you'll find pierre. he's scab-herding now." morrison passed among the thronging men, giving suggestions and orders for the morning's struggle. his manner was forced, rather than spontaneous. pierre's leaven was working. to Élise at her desk it seemed as if the revel would never end. she had made up her mind what to do, she was awaiting the time to act. she did not dare to leave her place now; morrison would be certain to notice her absence and would suspect her designs. there was nothing to do but wait. it was after one o'clock when, slipping out from the alcove, she ostentatiously closed the office-door and, locking it, walked through the passage that led to the dining-room. her footsteps sounded loudly as she went upstairs to her room. she intended they should. in her room, she took down a dark, heavy cloak, and, throwing it over her shoulders, drew the hood over her head. a moment she stood, then turned and silently retraced her steps. as the outside door closed noiselessly behind her, there was a momentary tightening around her heart. after all, she was leaving the only friends she had ever known. they were crude, coarse, uncouth, but she knew them. she knew that they would not remain ignorant of her actions this night. it would cut her off from them forever, and what was her gain? only those she had known for a day, those whose very words of kindness had shown her how wide was the gulf that parted her from them. how wide it was she had never realised till now when she was to attempt to cross it, with the return for ever barred. she recalled the easy grace of miss hartwell, considerate with a manner that plainly pointed to their separate walks in life. and firmstone? he had been more than kind, but the friendly light in his eyes, the mobile sympathy of his lips, these did not come to her now. what if the steel should gleam in his eyes, the tense muscles draw the lips in stern rebuke, the look that those eyes and lips could take, when they looked on her, not as Élise of the blue goose, but Élise, a fugitive, a dependant? the colour deepened, the figure grew rigid. she was neither a fugitive nor a dependant. she was doing right; how it would be accepted was no concern of hers. the shadow of the great mountain fell across the gulch and lay sharp and clear on the flank of the slide beyond. overhead, in the deep blue, the stars glinted and shone, steely hard. Élise shivered in a hitherto unknown terror as she crept into the still deeper shadow of the stunted spruces that fringed the talus from the mountain. she did not look behind. had she done so she might have seen another shadow stealing cautiously, but swiftly, after her, only pausing when she passed from sight within the entrance to the office at the mill. zephyr had despoiled the blue goose of its lesser prey. he had no intention of stopping at that. Élise had gained her first objective point. it was long before the light in miss hartwell's room over the office descended the stairs and appeared at the outer door. her face was pale, but yet under control. only, as she clasped the hand that had knocked for admission, she could not control the grasp that would not let go its hold, even when the door was relocked. "it was very good of you to come." chapter xxvi _the day of reckoning_ if miss hartwell was a debtor she was a creditor as well. in spite of a calm exterior, the hand that so tightly clasped Élise's throbbed and pulsed with every tumultuous beat of the heart that was stirred with a strange excitement born of mortal terror. gradually the rapid strokes slowed down till, with the restful calm that comes to strained nerves in the presence of a stronger, unquestioning will, the even ebb and flow of pulsing blood resumed its normal tenor. the bread that Élise had cast upon the waters returned to her in a manifold measure. the vague sense of oppression which she had felt on leaving the doors of the blue goose gave way to an equally vague sense of restful assurance. she could dissect neither emotion, nor could she give either a name. the sense of comfort was vague; other emotions stood out clearly. these demanded immediate attention. she rose gently, but decidedly. the calm beat of the clasping hand again quickened with her motion. "i must leave you now." her voice was even, but full of sympathy. "don't. please don't. i can't bear it." "i must; and you must." she was gently freeing the clasping hand. "where are you going?" "to the mine, to warn mr. firmstone." "don't go! why not telephone?" the last was spoken with eagerness born of the inspiration of despair. "the wires are cut." her hand was free now and miss hartwell was also standing. there was a deathly pallor on the quiet face, only the rapid beat of the veins on her temples showed the violence of the emotion she was mastering so well. "but my brother?" "your brother is perfectly safe." Élise told briefly the circumstances of hartwell's capture and detention. "they have men posted in the cañon; they have men between here and the mine. mr. firmstone does not know it. he will try to come down. they will kill him. he must not try to come down." "how can you get up there?" miss hartwell clutched eagerly at this straw. Élise smiled resolutely. "i am going up on the tram. now you must listen carefully." she unbuckled her belt and placed her revolver in miss hartwell's listless hands. "keep away from the windows. if there is any firing lie down on the floor close to the wall. nothing will get through the logs." she turned toward the door. "you must come and lock up after me." at the door miss hartwell stood for a moment, irresolute. she offered no further objections to Élise's going. that it cost a struggle was plainly shown in the working lines of her face. only for a moment she stood, then, yielding to an overmastering impulse, she laid her hands on the shoulders of Élise. "good-bye," she whispered. "you are a brave girl." Élise bent her lips to those of miss hartwell. "yours is the hardest part. but it isn't good-bye." the door closed behind her, and she heard the click of the bolt shot home. there were a few resolute men in the mill. it was short-handed; but the beating stamps pounded out defiance. in the tram tower Élise spoke to the attendant. "stop the tram." the swarthy italian touched his hat. "yes, miss." the grinding brake was applied and an empty bucket swung gently to and fro. "now, joe, do just as i tell you. i am going up in this bucket." she glanced at the number. "when three-twenty comes in stop. don't start up again for a half hour at least." the man looked at her in dumb surprise. "you go in the tram?" he asked. "what for?" "to warn mr. firmstone." for reply, the man brushed her aside and began clambering into the empty bucket. "me go," he said, grimly. Élise laid a detaining hand upon him. "no. you must run the tram. i can't." "me go," he insisted. "cable jump sheave? what matter? one damn dago gone. plenty more. no more Élise." Élise pulled at him violently. he was ill-balanced. the pull brought him to the floor, but Élise did not loose her hold. her eyes were flashing. "do as i told you." the man brought a ladder and Élise sprang lightly up the rounds. "all right," she said. "go ahead." the man unloosed the brake. there was a tremor along the cable; the next instant the bucket shot from the door of the tower and glided swiftly up the line. "don't forget. three-twenty." already the voice was faint with distance. in spite of injunctions to the contrary, miss hartwell was looking out of the window. she saw, below the shafts of sunlight already streaming over the mountain, the line of buckets stop, swing back and forth, saw the cable tremble, and again the long line of buckets sway gently as the cable grew taut and the buckets again slid up and down. her heart was beating wildly as she lifted her eyes to the dizzy height. she knew well what the stopping and the starting meant. sharp drawn against the lofty sky, the great cable seemed a slender thread to hold a human life in trust. what if the clutch should slip that held the bucket in place? what if other clutches should slip and let the heavy masses of steel slide down the cable to dash into the one that held the girl who had grown so dear to her? in vain she pushed these possibilities aside. they returned with increased momentum and hurled themselves into her shrinking soul. there were these dangers. "all employees of the rainbow company are forbidden to ride on the tram. any employee violating this rule will be instantly discharged." these words burned themselves on her vision in characters of fire. Élise had explained all of these things to her, and now! she buried her face in her trembling hands. not for long. again her face, pale and drawn, was turned upward. she moaned aloud. a black mass clinging to the cable was rising and sinking, swaying from side to side, a slender figure poised in the swinging bucket, steadied by a white hand that grasped the rim of steel. she turned from the window resolved to see no more. her resolution fled. she was again at the window with upturned face and straining eyes, white lips whispering prayers that god might be good to the girl who was risking her life for another. the slender threads even then had vanished. there was only a fleck of black floating high above the rambling town, above the rocks mercilessly waiting below. she did not see all. at the mine two stealthy men were even then stuffing masses of powder under the foundations that held the cables to their work. even as she looked and prayed a flickering candle flame licked into fiery life a hissing, spitting fuse and two men scrambled and clambered to safety from the awful wreck that was to come. a smoking fuse eating its way to death and " " not yet in the mill! she saw another sight. from out the shadow of the eastern mountain, a band of uncouth men emerged, swung into line and bunched on the level terrace beyond the boarding-house. simultaneously every neighbouring boulder blossomed forth in tufts of creamy white that writhed and widened till they melted in thin air like noisome, dark-grown fungi that wilt in the light of day. beyond and at the feet of the clustered men spiteful spurts of dust leaped high in air, then drifted and sank, to be replaced by others. faint, meaningless cries wove through the drifting crash of rifles, blossoming tufts sprang up again and again from boulders near and far. answering cries flew back from the opening cluster of men, other tufts tongued with yellow flame sprang out from their levelled guns. now and then a man spun around and dropped, a huddled grey on the spurting sand. it was not in man long to endure the sheltered fire. dragging their wounded, jack haskins's gang again converged, and headed in wild retreat for the office. the opposing tufts came nearer, and now and then a dark form straightened and advanced to another shelter, or was hidden from sight by a bubble of fleecy white that burst from his shoulder. close at the heels of the fleeing men the spiteful spurts followed fast, till they died out in the thud of smitten logs and the crashing glass of the office. the answering fire of the beleaguered men died to silence. the dark, distant forms grew daring, ran from shelter and clustered at the foot of the slide, across the trail from the blue goose. rambling shots, yells of defiance and triumph, broke from the gathering strikers. the shafts of sunlight had swept down the mountain, smiting hard the polished windows of the blue goose that blazed and flamed in their fierce glory. suddenly the clustered throng of strikers broke and fled. cries of terror pierced the air. "the cables! the cables!" overhead the black webs were sinking and rising with spiteful snaps that whirled the buckets in wild confusion and sent their heavy loads of ore crashing to the earth, five hundred feet below. then, with a rushing, dragging sweep, buckets and cables whirled downward. full on the blue goose the tearing cables fell, dragging it to earth, a crushed and broken mass. morrison's emissaries had done their work well. the tram-house at the mine had been blown up. they had accomplished more than he had hoped for. pierre was in the bar-room when the cables fell. he had no time to escape, even had he seen or known. momentarily forgetful, the strikers swarmed around the fallen building, tearing aside crushed timbers, tugging at the snarled cable, if perchance some of their own were within the ruins. there came the spiteful spat of a solitary bullet, then a volley. with a yell of terror, the strikers broke and fled to the talus behind the saloon. they were now the pursued. they paused to fire no return shots. stumbling, scrambling, dodging, through tangled scrub and sheltering thicket, down by the mill, down through the cañon, spurred by zipping bullets that clipped twigs and spat on stones around them; down by the devil's elbow they fled, till sheltering scrub made pursuit dangerous; then, unmolested, they scattered, one by one, in pairs, in groups, never to return. even yet the startled echoes were repeating to the peaceful mountains the tale of riot and death, but they bent not from their calm to the calm below that was looking up to them with the eyes of death. set in its frame of splintered timbers, the body of pierre rested, a ruined life in a ruined structure, and both still in death. wide-open eyes stared from the swarthy face, the strained lips parted in a sardonic smile, showing for the last time the gleaming teeth. morrison had triumphed, but the wide open eyes saw the triumph that was yet defeat. far up on the mountain-side they looked and saw death pursuing death. they saw morrison climbing higher and higher, saw him strain his eyes ever ahead, never behind, saw them rest on two figures, saw morrison crouch behind a rock and a shimmer of light creep along the barrel of his levelled rifle. the eyes seemed eager as they rested on another figure above him that stretched forth a steady hand; saw jets of flame spring from two guns. then they gleamed with a brighter light as they saw the rifle fall from morrison's hand; saw morrison straighten out, even as he lay, his face upturned and silent. that was all in life that pierre cared to know. perhaps the sun had changed, but the gleam of triumph in the staring eyes faded to the glaze of death. Élise knew well the danger that went with her up the line. it laid strong hold upon her, as the loosened brake shot the bucket up the dizzy cable. as she was swept up higher and higher she could only hope and pray that the catastrophe which she knew was coming might be delayed until the level stretch above the falls was reached, where the cables ran so near the ground she might descend in safety. she had given joe the right number, and she knew that nothing short of death would keep him from heeding her words. she turned her thoughts to other things. cautiously she raised her eyes above the rim of the bucket and scanned the winding trail. she saw men crouching behind boulders, but firmstone was not in sight, and strength and courage returned. her bucket swept up over the crest of the falls, and her heart stood still, as it glided along swiftly, eating up the level distance to another rise. the saddle clipped over the sheave, swung for an instant, then stood still. she clambered out, down the low tower, then sped to the trail and waited. she rose to her feet, as from behind a sheltered cliff firmstone emerged, stern, erect, determined. he caught sight of Élise. "what are you doing here?" he asked, fiercely. "to keep you from going to the mill." there was an answering fierceness in her eyes. "well, you are not going to." he brushed her aside. "i am." she was again in his path. he took hold of her almost harshly. "don't be a fool." "am i? listen." there was the glint of steel on steel in the meeting eyes. echoing shots dulled by distance yet smote plainly on their ears. "morrison's men are guarding the trail. they are in the cañon. you can't get through." firmstone's eyes softened as he looked into hers. the set line broke for an instant, then he looked down the trail. suddenly he spun around on his heel, wavered, then sank to the ground. Élise dropped on her knees beside him, mumbling inaudible words with husky voice. the hands that loosened the reddening collar of his shirt were firm and decided. she did not hear the grate of zephyr's shoes. she was only conscious of other hands putting hers aside. his knife cut the clothes that hid the wound. zephyr took his hat from his head. "water," he said, holding out the hat. Élise returned from the brook with the brimming hat. the closed eyes opened at the cooling drops. "it's not so bad." he tried to rise, but zephyr restrained him. "not yet." Élise was looking anxiously above the trail. zephyr noted the direction. "no danger. 'twas morrison. he's done for." three or four miners were coming down the trail. they paused at the little group. zephyr looked up. "you're wanted. the old man's hit." a litter was improvised and slowly and carefully they bore the wounded man down the trail. zephyr was far in advance. he returned. "it's all right. the gang's on the run." the little procession headed straight for the office, and laid their burden on the floor. the company surgeon looked grave, as he carefully exposed the wound. to Élise it seemed ages. finally he spoke. "it's a nasty wound; but he'll pull through." chapter xxvii _passing clouds_ in spite of the surgeon's hopeful words, the path to recovery lay fearfully near the gate of death. firmstone had been shot from above, and the bullet, entering at the base of the neck just in front of the throat, had torn its way beneath the collar-bone, passing through the left arm below the shoulder. during the period of trying suspense, when firmstone's life wavered in the balance, through the longer period of convalescence, he lacked not devotion, love, nor skill to aid him. zephyr was omnipresent, but never obtrusive. bennie, with voiceless words and aggressive manner, plainly declared that a sizzling cookstove with a hot temper that never cooled was more efficacious than a magazine of bandages and a college of surgeons. Élise cared for firmstone, madame for Élise. zephyr's rod and rifle, with bennie's stove, supplied that without which even the wisest counsel comes to an inglorious end. over all Élise reigned an uncrowned queen, with no constitution, written or unwritten, to hamper her royal will. even the company surgeon had to give a strict accounting. the soft, red lips could not hide the hard, straight lines beneath rounded curves, nor the liquid black of velvet eyes break the insistent glint of an active, decisive mind. miss hartwell was still pretty and willing, but yet helpless and oppressed. it was therefore with a regretted sense of relief that the arrival of miss firmstone removed the last appearance of duty that kept her in useless toleration. hartwell's capacious sleeve held a ready card which awaited but an obvious opportunity for playing. no sooner was firmstone pronounced out of danger than the card, in the form of urgent business, was played, and hartwell and his sister left for the east. like her brother, miss firmstone evidently had a will of her own, and, also like her brother, a well-balanced mind to control its manifestations. there was a short, sharp battle of eyes when first the self-throned queen was brought face to face with her possible rival. the conflict was without serious results, for miss firmstone, in addition to will and judgment, had also tact and years superior to Élise. these were mere fortuitous adjuncts which had been denied Élise. so it happened that, though a rebellious pupil, Élise learned many valuable lessons. she was ready and willing to defy the world individually and collectively; yet she stood in awe of herself. one afternoon firmstone was sitting in his room, looking out of his window, and in spite of the grandeur of the mountain there was little of glory but much of gloom in his thoughts. the mine was in ruins; so, as far as he could see, were his labours, his ambitions, and his prospects. he tried to keep his thoughts on the gloom of the clouds and shut his eyes to their silver lining. the silver lining was in softly glowing evidence, but he could not persuade himself that it was for him. step by step he was going over every incident of his intercourse with Élise. their first meeting, her subsequent warning that his life was in serious danger, her calm, resolute putting aside of all thought of danger to herself, her daring ride up the tram to keep him from sure death when she knew that the tram-house was to be blown up, that the catastrophe might occur at any moment, her unremitting care of him, wounded near to death: all these came to him, filled him with a longing love that left no nerve nor fibre of heart or soul untouched with thrills that, for all their pain, were even yet not to be stilled by his own volition. firmstone grew more thoughtful. he realised that Élise was only a girl in years, yet her natural life, untrammelled by conventional proprieties which distract and dissipate the limited energy in a thousand divergent channels, had forced her whole soul into the maturity of many waxing and waning seasons. every manifestation of her restless, active mind had stood out clear and sharp in the purity of unconscious self. this was the disturbing element in firmstone's anxious mind. responsive to every mood, fiercely unsparing of herself, yet every attempted word of grateful appreciation from him had been anticipated and all but fiercely repelled. with all his acumen, firmstone yet failed to comprehend two very salient features of a woman's heart, that, however free and spontaneous she may be, there is one emotion instinctively and jealously guarded, that she will reject, with indignation, gratitude offered as a substitute for love. firmstone's meditations were interrupted by a knock on the door. zephyr came in, holding out a bulky envelope. it was from the eastern office of the rainbow company. firmstone's face stiffened as he broke the seals. zephyr noted the look and, after an introductory whistle, said: "'tisn't up to you to fret now, goggles. foolishness at two cents an ounce or fraction thereof is more expensive than passenger rates at four dollars a pound." firmstone looked up absently. "what's that you're saying?" zephyr waved his hand languidly. "i was right. have been all along. i knew you had more sense than you could carry in your head. it's all over you, and you got some of it shot away. i'm trying to make it plain to you that foolishness on paper ain't near so fatal as inside a skull. consequently, if them easterners had had any serious designs on you, they'd sent the real stuff back in a pullman instead of the smell of it by mail." firmstone made no reply, but went on with his letter. there was amusement and indignation on his face as, having finished the letter, he handed it to zephyr. the letter was from hartwell and was official. briefly, it expressed regret over firmstone's serious accident, satisfaction at his recovery, and congratulations that a serious complication had been met and obviated with, all things considered, so slight a loss to the company. the letter concluded as follows: we have carefully considered the statement of the difficulties with which you have been confronted, as reported by our manager, and fully comprehend them. we have also given equal consideration to his plans for the rehabilitation of the mine and mill, and heartily assent to them as well as to his request that you be retained as our superintendent and that, in addition to your salary, you be granted a considerable share in the stock of our company. we feel that we are warranted in pursuing this course with you, recognising that it is a rare thing, in one having the ability which you have shown, to take counsel with and even frankly to adopt the suggestions of another. by order of the president and board of directors of the rainbow milling company, by arthur hartwell, gen. man. and acting secretary. zephyr's face worked in undulations that in narrowing concentrics reached the puckered apex of his lips. "bees," he finally remarked, "are ding-twisted, ornery insects. they have, however, one redeeming quality not common to mosquitoes and black flies. if they sting with one end they make honey with the other. they ain't neither to be cussed nor commended. they're just built on them lines." firmstone looked thoughtful. "i'm inclined to think you're right. if you're looking for honey you've got to take chances on being stung." "which i take to mean that you have decided to hive your bees in this particular locality." firmstone nodded. zephyr looked expectantly at firmstone, and then continued: "i also wish to remark that there are certain inconveniences connected with being an uncommonly level-headed man. there's no telling when you've got to whack up with your friends." "all right." firmstone half guessed at what was coming. "madame," zephyr remarked, "having been deprived by the hand of death of her legal protectors, namely, pierre and morrison, wishes to take counsel with you." zephyr, waiting no further exchange of words, left the room and shortly returned with madame. she paused at the door, darted a frightened look at firmstone, then one of pathetic appeal to the imperturbable zephyr. again her eyes timidly sought firmstone, who, rising, advanced with outstretched hand. madame's hands were filled with bundled papers. in nervously trying to move them, in order to accept firmstone's proffered hand, the bundles fell scattered to the floor. with an embarrassed exclamation, she hastily stooped to recover them and in her effort collided with zephyr, who had been actuated by the same motive. zephyr rubbed his head with one hand, gathering up the papers with the other. "if madame wore her heart on her neck instead of under her ribs, i would have had two hands free instead of one. which same being put in literal speech means that there's nothing against nature in having a hard head keeping step with a tender heart." madame was at last seated with her papers in her lap. she was ill at ease in the fierce consciousness of self, but her flushed face and frightened eyes only showed the growing mastery of unselfish love over the threatening lions that waited in her path. one by one, she tendered the papers to firmstone, who read them with absorbed attention. as the last paper was laid with its fellows madame's eyes met fearlessly the calm look of the superintendent. slowly, laboriously at first, but gathering assurance with oblivion of self, she told the story of Élise's birth. with the intuition of an overpowering love, she felt that she was telling the story to one absolutely trustworthy, able and willing to counsel her with powers far beyond her own. firmstone heard far more than the stumbling words recited. his eyes dimmed, but his voice was steady. "i think i understand. you want Élise restored to her friends?" madame's eyes slowly filled with tears that welled over the trembling lids and rolled down her cheeks. she did not try to speak. she only nodded in silent acquiescence. she sat silent for a few moments, then the trembling lips grew firm, but her voice could not be controlled. "we ought to have done it long ago, pierre and i. but i loved her. pierre loved her. she was all we had." it was worse than death. death only removes the presence, it leaves the consoling sense of possession through all eternity. zephyr started to speak, but firmstone, turning to madame, interrupted. "you have no need to fear. where you cannot go Élise will not." madame looked up suddenly. the rainbow of hope glowed softly for an instant in the tear-dimmed eyes. then the light died out. "she will be ashamed of her hol' daddy and her hol' mammy before her gran' friends." pierre's words came to her, laden with her own unworthiness. the door opened and Élise and miss firmstone came in. miss firmstone took in the situation at a glance. "you are reliable people to trust with a convalescent, aren't you? and after the doctor's warning that all excitement was to be avoided!" "doctors don't know everything," zephyr exploded, in violence to his custom. then, more in accord with it, "it does potatoes no end of good to be hilled." Élise looked questioning surprise, as her glance fell on madame, then on zephyr. her eyes rested lightly for a moment on firmstone. there was a fleeting suggestion that quickened his pulses and deepened the flush on his face. again her eyes were on madame. pity, love, glowed softly at sight of the bowed head. she advanced a step, and her hand and arm rested on madame's shoulders. madame shivered slightly, then grew rigid. nothing should interfere with her duty to Élise. Élise straightened, but her arm was not removed. "what is it? what have you been saying?" she was looking fixedly at firmstone. there was no tenderness in her eyes, only a demand that was not to be ignored. firmstone began a brief capitulation of his interview with madame. when he told her that she was not madame's daughter, that she was to be restored to her unknown friends, that madame wished it, the change that came over the girl amazed him. her eyes were flashing. her clinched hands thrust backward, as if to balance the forward, defiant poise of her body. "that is not so! you have frightened her into saying what she does not mean. you don't want me to leave you; do you? tell me you don't!" she turned to madame, fiercely. firmstone gave madame no time to answer. "wait," he commanded. "you don't understand." his words were impetuous with the intensity of his emotion. "i don't want you to leave madame. you are not going to. don't you understand?" he laid his hand on hers, but she shook it off. he withdrew his hand. "very well, but listen." himself he put aside; but he was not to be diverted from his purpose. he felt that in the life of the girl before him a vital crisis was impending, that, unforeseeing of consequences, she, in the sheer delight of overcoming opposing wills, might be impelled to a step that would bring to naught all her glorious possibilities. the thought hardened his every mental fibre. he was looking into eyes that gleamed with open, resolute defiance. "you and madame are not to be separated. you are going east with my sister and madame is going with you: you are going to your father's friends." "is that all?" the voice was mocking. "no. i want your word that you will do as i say." without seeming to turn her defiant eyes, Élise laid her hand firmly on madame. "come." madame rose in response to the impulse of hand and word. she cast a frightened, appealing look at firmstone, then with Élise moved toward the door. on the threshold firmstone barred the way. "i have not had my answer." "no?" "i can wait." Élise and firmstone stood close. there was a measure of will opposed to will in the unflinching eyes. Élise felt a strange thrill, strange to her. with pierre and madame opposition only roused her anger, their commands only gave piquancy to revolt. but now, as she looked at the strong, resolute man before her, there was a new sensation fraught with subtler thrills of delight, the yielding to one who commanded and took from her even the desire to resist. she felt warm waves of blood surging to her face. the defiant poise of her head was unchanged, her eyes softened, but the drooping lids hid them from those that she acknowledged master. "may i go if i give my answer?" "if your answer is right, yes." the eyes were veiled, but the mobile lips were wavering. "madame and i have decided to go east." the look on firmstone's face changed from resolution to pleading. "i have no right to ask more, unless you choose to give it. don't you know what i want to ask? will you give me the right to ask?" the drooping head bent still lower, a softer flush suffused the quiet face. firmstone took the girl's unresisting hands in his own. "can't you give me my answer, dear? you have come to be all the world to me. you are going away for the sake of your friends. will you come back some time for mine?" Élise slowly raised her eyes to his. he read his answer. there was a slight answering pressure, then her hands were gently withdrawn. firmstone stood aside. Élise and madame moved over the threshold, the door swinging to behind them, not quite shut; then it opened, just enough to show a flushed face, with teasing, roguish eyes. "i forgot to ask. is that all, mr. minion?" then the door closed with a decided click. the end other book to read by arthur stanwood pier author of "the pedagogues" the triumph the triumph has fire and pathos and romance and exhilarating humor. it is a capital story that will keep a reader's interest from the first appearance of its hero, the young doctor neal robeson, to his final triumph--his triumph over himself and over the lawless, turbulent oil-drillers, his success in his profession and in his love affair. it displays a delightful appreciation of the essential points of typical american characters, a happy outlook on everyday life, a vigorous story-telling ability working in material that is thrilling in interest, in a setting that is picturesque and unusual. the action takes place in a little western pennsylvania village at the time of the oil fever, and a better situation can scarcely be found. mr. pier's account of the fight between the outraged villagers and the oil-drillers around a roaring, blazing gas well is a masterpiece of story telling. _illustrations by w. d. stevens_ by james weber linn author of "the second generation" the chameleon the author uses as his theme that trait in human nature which leads men and women to seek always the lime light, to endeavor always to be protagonists even at the expense of the truth. his book is a study of that most interesting and pertinent type in modern life, the sentimentalist, the man whose emotions are interesting to him merely as a matter of experience, and shows the development of such a character when he comes into contact with normal people. the action of the novel passes in a college town and the hero comes to his grief through his attempt to increase his appearance of importance by betraying a secret. his love for his wife is, however, his saving sincerity and through it the story is brought to a happy ending. by m. imlay taylor author of "the house of the wizard" the rebellion of the princess a book that is a story, and never loses the quick, on-rushing, inevitable quality of a story from the first page to the last. stirring, exciting, romantic, satisfying all the essential requirements of a novel. the scene is laid in moscow at the time of the election of peter the great, when the intrigues of rival parties overturned the existing government, and the meeting of the national guard made the city the scene of a hideous riot. it resembles in some points miss taylor's successful first story, "on the red staircase," especially in the date, the principal scenes and the fact that the hero is a french nobleman. by edward w. townsend author of "chimmie fadden," "days like these," etc. lees and leaven no novel of new york city has ever portrayed so faithfully or so vividly our new world gotham--the seething, rushing new york of to-day, to which all the world looks with such curious interest. mr. townsend, gives us not a picture, but the bustling, nerve-racking pageant itself. the titan struggles in the world of finance, the huge hoaxes in sensational news-paperdom, the gay life of the theatre, opera, and restaurant, and then the calmer and comforting domestic scenes of wholesome living, pass, as actualities, before our very eyes. in this turbulent maelstrom of ambition, he finds room for love and romance also. there is a bountiful array of characters, admirably drawn, and especially delightful are the two emotional and excitable lovers, young bannister and gertrude carr. the book is unlike mr. townsend's "chimmie fadden" in everything but its intimate knowledge of new york life. by s. r. crockett author of "the banner of blue," "the firebrand" flower o' the corn mr. crockett has made an interesting novel of romance and intrigue. he has chosen a little town in the south of france, high up in the mountains, as the scene for his drama. the plot deals with a group of calvinists who have been driven from belgium into southern france, where they are besieged in their mountain fastness by the french troops. a number of historical characters figure in the book, among them madame de maintenon. "flower o' the corn" is probably one of mr. crockett's most delightful women characters. the book is notable for its fine descriptions. by edith wyatt author of "every one his own way" true love a comedy of the affections here commonplace, everyday, ordinary people tread the boards. the characters whom miss wyatt presents are not geniuses, or heroes, or heroines of romance, but commonplace persons with commonplace tricks and commonplace manners and emotions. they do romantic things without a sense of romance in them, but weave their commonplace doings into a story of great human interest that the reader will find far from commonplace. the vein of humorous satire, keen, subtle and refined, permeating the story and the characterization, sets this work of miss wyatt's in a class by itself. by pauline b. mackie author of "the washingtonians" the voice in the desert this is a story of subtle attractions and repulsions between men and women; of deep temperamental conflicts, accentuated and made dramatic by the tense atmosphere of the arizona desert. the action of the story passes in a little spanish mission town, where the hero, lispenard, is settled as an episcopal clergyman, with his wife adele and their two children. the influence of the spirit of the desert is a leading factor in the story. upon lispenard the desert exerts a strange fascination, while upon his wife it has an opposite effect and antagonizes her. as their natures develop under the spell of their environment, they drift apart and the situation is complicated by the influence upon lispenard of a second woman who seems to typify the spirit of the desert itself. the spiritual situation is delicately suggested and all is done with a rare and true feeling for human nature. by shan f. bullock author of "the barrys," "irish pastorals" the squireen mr. bullock takes us into the north of ireland among north-of-ireland people. his story is dominated by one remarkable character, whose progress towards the subjugation of his own temperament we cannot help but watch with interest. he is swept from one thing to another, first by his dare-devil, roistering spirit, then by his mood of deep repentance, through love and marriage, through quarrels and separation from his wife, to a reconciliation at the point of death, to a return to health, and through the domination of the devil in him, finally to death. it is a strong, convincing novel suggesting, somewhat, "the house with the green shutters." what that book did for the scotland of ian maclaren and barrie, "the squireen" will do for ireland. by seumas mcmanus author of "through the turf smoke" "a lad of the o'friel's" this is a story of donegal ways and customs; full of the spirit of irish life. the main character is a dreaming and poetic boy who takes joy in all the stories and superstitions of his people, and his experience and life are thus made to reflect all the essential qualities of the life of his country. many characters in the book will make warm places for themselves in the heart of the reader. by joel chandler harris gabriel tolliver a story filled with the true flavor of southern life. the first important novel by the creator of "uncle remus." those who have loved mr. harris's children's stories, will find in this story of boy and girl love in georgia during the troublous reconstruction period, the same genial and kindly spirit, the same quaintly humorous outlook on life that characterizes his earlier work. a host of charming people, with whom it is a privilege to become acquainted, crowd the pages, and their characters, thoughts and doings are sketched in a manner quite suggestive of dickens. the fawn-like nan is one of the most winsome of characters in fiction, and the dwarf negress, tasma tid, is a weird sprite that only mr. harris could have created. "a novel which ranks mr. harris as the dickens of the south."--_brooklyn eagle._ "it is a pretty love-story, artistically wrought, a natural, healthy love-story, full of joel chandler harris's inimitable naivete."--_atlanta constitution. the mines and its wonders, by w.h.g. kingston. chapter one. the miner's dangers. a hum of human voices rose from a village in the centre of england, but they were those of women, girls, and children, the latter playing in the street, running, skipping, laughing, singing, and shouting in shrill tones, the former in their yards or in front of their dwellings, following such avocations as could be carried on out of doors on that warm summer evening. not a man or lad, not even a boy above eight years old, was to be seen. on one side of the village far away could be distinguished green fields, picturesque hills, widespreading trees, and a sparkling stream flowing in their midst; on the other, nearer at hand, a dreary black region, the ground covered with calcined heaps, the roads composed of coal dust or ashes, and beyond, tall chimneys sending forth dense volumes of smoke, which, wreathing upwards, formed a dark canopy over the scene. then there were large uncouth buildings, above which huge beams appeared, lifting alternately their ends with ceaseless motion, now up, now down, engaged evidently in some titanic operation, while all the time proceeding from that direction were heard groans, and shrieks, and whistlings, and wailings, and the sound of rushing water, and the rattling and rumbling of tram or railway waggons rushing at rapid speed across the country, some loaded with huge lumps of glittering coal, others returning to be refilled at the pit's mouth. those high buildings contained the steam-engines which worked the machinery employed in the coal mine; the tall chimneys carried up the smoke from the furnaces and produced the current of air which kept them blazing. the deafening noises came from cranks, pulleys, gins, whimsays, and other contrivances for lifting the coal from the bottom of the mine, pumping out the water, loading the waggons, ventilating the shafts and galleries, and for performing duties innumerable of various descriptions. as the evening drew on, the women retired into their cottages to prepare supper for their husbands and sons, whose return home they were now expecting. already the corves which took them down to their work in the early morning must be on their way up to the surface, and it is time to have the savoury messes ready for dishing up. abundance is on the board, for the miner's wages are sufficient to supply him with what would be luxuries to an ordinary labourer above ground; but were they far higher, could they repay him for a life of constant danger, of hard incessant toil, and the deprivation for more than half the year of a sight of the blue sky, the warming rays of the sun, and the pure air of heaven, except on the one blessed day of the week when he enjoys them with the rest of god's creatures? for months together he descends the shaft in the gloom of morning and does not return till darkness has again shrouded the earth. many of the good wives had looked at their clocks to judge when to take off the bubbling saucepans from the blazing fires, when, to their dismay, they felt the earth tremble beneath their feet, while a dull rumbling sound like the discharge of musketry struck their ears, coming from the direction of the works. pale with terror, they rushed out-of-doors to see a vast black mass of dust and smoke rising into the air and forming an inverted cone, beneath which, for an instant, could be distinguished shattered beams and planks, corves and pieces of machinery, which quickly fell again to the earth. the next instant a darkness, like that of early twilight, pervaded the atmosphere, and fine ashes, such as are ejected from a volcano, fell in a thick shower to the ground, which it covered to such a depth that the feet of the terror-stricken women left their imprints on it as they ran towards the scene of the catastrophe--some shrieking and lamenting, but, in most cases, the intensity of their alarm preventing them from giving utterance to their feelings. among them a young woman, superior to the rest in appearance, went hurrying on towards the pit's mouth, her hand held by a little boy, who had evidently grasped it, refusing to be left behind, when startled by the explosion, she had quitted her cottage. her fair hair, escaping from beneath her cap, streamed in the wind; her countenance exhibited the most intense anxiety. her boy, among the oldest of those who had remained that morning in the village, was well able to comprehend what had occurred, yet he did not cry or shriek out, but did his utmost to keep pace with the woman's rapid steps. "perhaps father and mat had come up before the blast happened, mother," said the boy in a hopeful tone. "they would be stopping to see how things are going on, or maybe to help any poor fellows left in the pit." the woman answered only by a gasp. "don't give way, mother dear," continued the boy. "we shall find them both well above ground, depend on't." still the woman made no reply; her heart told her that her worst anticipations would be realised. she and the rest of the women from the village arrived in a short time at the pit's mouth, where, among the ruined buildings, the broken machinery, and the heaps of rubbish, they rushed frantically here and there seeking for the bread-winners of their families, many uttering piteous wails when they sought in vain for their loved ones; while others, when they were discovered, bursting into shrieks of hysterical laughter, as they flung their arms round the men's necks, led them off to their homes. some of the miners had, it appeared, come up just before the explosion; but what was the fate of the rest, far beyond a hundred in number, still below? some, it was surmised, might have escaped death, and many brave volunteers came forward ready to descend to their rescue. all was quiet--the shaft appeared to be free--a fresh corve or teek was procured--a rope attached to the gin, to the shaft of which a party of men putting their shoulders worked it with the strength of horses. the corve descended with its adventurous crew down the shaft. the young woman with the little boy had been among those who had sought in vain for a husband and son. "have any of you seen john gilbart and his boy mat?" she asked of those who had come out of the pit and of others standing by. no one could give her any information about her husband, though one had replied that he had seen young gilbart leaving the trap at which he had been stationed. unlike the other women, on hearing this she uttered no cry, but stood speechless and trembling as near as she could venture to the pit's mouth, where she waited, with intense anxiety, the return of the corve to the surface. "don't take on so, mother dear," said little mark, who felt her hand trembling. "they say some may have escaped, and things may have been worse above than they were down at the bottom. perhaps they threw themselves flat on their faces, and let the blast pass over them. i heard father say, only the other day, that was the best thing to do when fire-damp breaks out. he wouldn't have forgotten that, mother, would he?" "i pray heaven that he did not," she answered in a scarcely audible voice. minute after minute went by, while the brave explorers who had gone below were searching for their comrades. how that poor mother's heart ached as she thought of what had too probably happened to those she loved. night had come on, but torches and lanterns and a blazing fire not far off lighted up the scene, casting a lurid glare on the dark figures of the men, the lighter-coloured dresses and pale faces of the women, and the surrounding ruins. at last the cry arose that the corve was ascending. the eager crowd pressing forward could with difficulty be restrained from impeding the men working at the gin. then came the shout, "they're alive! they're alive!" and six dark figures stepped out on the ground. they were soon recognised by their wives or mothers, and hurriedly dragged off to their homes, while the rest of the women, bitterly disappointed, waited till the basket should again come to the surface. the same scene was again enacted, and the rescued now reported that there were more to follow, though how many they could not tell. little mark and his mother waited with trembling hearts. those they longed to see had not appeared, and to their anxious inquiries no satisfactory reply was given. neither john gilbart nor his son had been seen. at length, another party came up from the depths, but this time there were five boys borne in the arms of stronger men. alas! two were motionless--the arms and heads of the others drooped helplessly down. the poor mothers pressed forward--mark and mrs gilbart among them. "that's mat--that's mat!" cried the child, as one of the first was placed on the ground. the mother, kneeling by the side of the boy, gazed into his face. too truly she recognised her son, but no responsive glance came from his once bright eyes. "oh, speak to me-- speak to me, mat," she exclaimed. there was no reply. she took his hand, it was icy cold. then she knew that her boy was dead. the doctor came. "i grieve for you, my poor woman; he is past recovery," he said, and went on to attend to others. little mark sat by his dead brother's side, gazing at him with awe. no one disturbed him. mrs gilbart waited on, hope not yet abandoned. more men came up, some fearfully injured. they reported that the rest were in the workings far away-- already the mine was on fire, the heat and smoke unbearable--that it was a miracle any had escaped, that all but themselves must have perished. heartrending were the wailings and shrieks and moanings which arose at this announcement, confirmed by the viewer and overmen. still many lingered on in the hopes that the corve might be again sent down, but the viewer forbade any to descend, as it must prove their destruction. at length some men came to carry young gilbart's corpse to his mother's cottage. she and mark followed with tottering steps. the sad truth had forced itself on her that she was a widow--the two bread-winners of her household gone. still it was some poor consolation to have recovered the body of her son. many had not that--they were destined never again to see those they loved. more explosions took place, and the report was spread that the whole mine was destroyed. this was, however, not the case. science enabled the manager to triumph over the fiery element raging below. by completely closing the mouths of the shafts, the atmospheric air was excluded, and the flames extinguished. after nearly three months' labour, the mine was explored, and the bodies of the dead, scorched and dried to mummies, were recovered. none could be recognised, and they were buried in a common grave. mrs gilbart knew that her husband was among them. the pit was again opened. fresh labourers arrived from other parts, and once more those dark galleries became the scene of active industry. the cottages were required by the fresh comers, and mrs gilbart, with her son and her little girl mary, a year younger than mark, would have been compelled to go forth houseless and penniless into the cold world, had not an uncle of her late husband, a hewer at a pit a few miles away, offered to receive her and her children into his house. she thankfully went, hoping to maintain herself and others by her needle. simon hayes had been a miner from his boyhood. though there were some soft places in his heart, he was rough and untutored, and he had many of the faults common among men of his class. he had a wife much like himself in several respects, but he had no children. though receiving good wages, he had saved nothing, having spent them extravagantly in obtaining luxuries for himself and his wife, for which they cared but little. by refraining from these, he was well able to feed these additional mouths, and for some time his wife made no complaint at his doing so. still there was nothing saved up for a rainy day. simon hayes took mightily to little mary. there was nothing he thought too good for her; but he showed no affection for mark. he was a boy doomed to labour as he had been, and the only labour he could think of for him was down in the mine, first as a trapper, then as a putter, and finally as a hewer. mrs gilbart shuddered when he alluded to the subject. she had hoped to bring him up to some trade which he could follow above ground, though it would be several years before he would be old enough to be apprenticed. "but he is not very strong, and he is my only one, uncle, you know," she answered. "let him go to school first. i have taught him what i could, but he will get on with his learning there faster than at home." "what's the use of learning to a miner?" exclaimed simon with a gruff laugh. "however, you must have your way, mary, and i don't mind paying for his schooling, though, look ye, if times get bad, he'll have to earn his bread like the rest of us." mrs gilbart thanked her uncle, hoping that the evil day was put off for a long time. little mark went to school, and being fond of his books, made rapid progress in reading and writing. he thus soon possessed himself of the key of knowledge. little mary was also sent to a girls' school, and being bright and intelligent, soon became a favourite pupil of the mistress. at length mrs hayes fell ill, and her niece's time was so fully occupied in attending on her, that she could gain nothing by her work. then there was the doctor to pay. simon also was laid up for some weeks from a severe bruise by a fall of coal. "i can't stand this no longer, niece," he said one day. "the next time i go down the pit i must take mark with me." mrs gilbart begged hard that her boy might remain above ground. she would take him from school and try to get employment for him on a farm. simon was obdurate; if she would not agree to his wishes she might leave his house. her fears were all nonsense, the boy would do well enough in the pit, he would get tenpence a-day as a trapper--on a farm he couldn't get twopence. without telling her what he was about to do, the first morning he returned to work he took mark by the arm and led him along to the pit's mouth. he had brought a flannel suit. he made the boy put it on. "now, mark, we are going into the pit, and you'll do what i tell you when we get down," he said, as if it was a matter of course. "i've arranged with the manager to take you on from to-day as a trapper. though you may not like it at first, you'll soon get accustomed to the work, and so let's have no nonsense. here's the corve all ready to go down--come along." chapter two. learning to watch. simon, taking mark by the hand, stepped on to an iron frame-work or cage, suspended over the pit's mouth. "take hold of this bar and don't move as you value your life, boy," he said. mark obeyed. several other men and two boys stepped on to the cage, it began to descend. though little mark had been hearing of mines all his life, and felt no especial unwillingness, yet all seemed strange about him. it appeared to him by the dim light of the lamps which his uncle and the other men held in their hands, that the shafts were rushing upwards at a fearful rate, while the light of day, which he could still see above him, grew gradually less and less. a giddiness overtook him. he might have fallen, had not his uncle still held him by the shoulder. how long he had been descending he could not tell, when he found the cage come to a stand-still, and that he was down beneath the surface of the earth, a thousand feet or more. the rumbling of the trains of laden waggons coming to the shafts, the faint voices of the men in the distance, were the only sounds heard, while the lights which flitted here and there only served to make the long vaulted galleries appear more gloomy and dark. "come along, mark!" said his uncle, shouldering his pick and spade, and holding his lantern before him. as they stepped out of the cage, they found themselves in a gloomy vault, on one side of which a huge furnace was unceasingly roaring, while at the other were the stables in which a number of horses, mules, and donkeys were kept. before them was the main gallery, about eight feet high and the same wide, arched over with bricks four thick, and extending three miles away from the mouth of the pit. out of it for its whole length opened shorter galleries or side galleries where the coals were now being won. in all of them rails were laid down for the waggons to run on, and on each side were seams of coal, in some places narrow near the top, in others close to the ground, and in some there was coal from the top to the bottom. at the entrance of these side galleries were doors which had generally to be kept shut, and were only opened when the waggons, loaded with coal or returning empty, had to pass through. after simon and mark had proceeded a couple of miles along the main gallery, they stopped at one of these doors. "this is to be your post, mark," said simon. "when you hear the waggon coming, you are to open the door, and as soon as it is passed to shut it. mind you don't go to sleep. you'll be in the dark, but that won't hurt you, and if you feel anything running by, you'll know it's only a rat. it won't touch you while you are awake. i began my life in this way, so must you. there, go and sit down in that hole cut out for you. when you hear the rolley coming, pull that rope, which will open the door. there, now, you know what to do. take care that you do it," and simon, leaving his nephew, proceeded on to the farther end of the working. he then commenced operations on a new cutting which the under-viewer had marked out for him in the side of the gallery. it was about three yards square, and was to be about four feet six inches back under the bed of coal, he began by hewing away about two feet six inches from the ground and working upwards, cutting out the coal with his pick, shovelling it into a large corve or basket which stood at hand ready for the reception of the lumps. at first the work was tolerably easy, as he could stand upright and swing his pick with all his force. as he got deeper and deeper into the bed, he had to fix a strut or post with a cross beam to support the weight of the roof, and he had to get the coal out by stooping down low or resting on his knees. finally he had to work lying down on one elbow, swinging his pick over his head with the other arm in a way a miner alone could have used it. occasionally the boy called the putter came by, shoving a rolley or little band-waggon before him. on to this the full corve was lifted and the empty one left in its place. sometimes he proceeded by cutting a space on each side of the square bed of coal, from the roof to the floor. he then bored a hole in the middle of the block, into which he rammed a charge of gunpowder, and having lighted it by a slow match, retired to a distance. the powder exploding, shattered the whole mass, and it came tumbling down to the ground in fragments. this could only have been done where no foul air was present, otherwise the moment the lamp was opened there would have been a fearful explosion, and he, with many others, would perhaps have been killed. he laboured on incessantly until dinner time, when he and all the men in the working, including the putters, came out, and taking mark with them, repaired to a central spot where there were casks of water, and seats, the only accommodation required by the rough miners. here their dinners, which had been sent down during the morning, were eaten. "well, how do you get on?" asked his uncle of mark. "i kept awake, opened the door when the rolleys came by, and shut it again after they had passed!" answered mark. "that's what i had to do!" said simon. "i only wish that i had a candle, and had brought a book down to read. i should not have minded it much then, although it was a hard matter to keep awake!" "you were not afraid, then?" asked another man. "what was there to be afraid of?" asked mark. "i heard noises, but i knew what they were, so i did not mind them!" "you'll do!" said his uncle in an approving tone. mark ate his dinner, and then went back to his trap. he there sat all alone in the dark, anxiously waiting for "kenner" time. it came at last, and mark heard the words "kenner, kenner," which had been shouted down the pit's mouth, passed along the galleries. it was the signal for the miners to knock off work, and return to the upper world. mark, however, could not venture to move until his uncle came for him. he was very thankful when he saw the glimmer of a light along the gallery. slowly it approached. it was carried by his uncle, who having closed the door, led him along through the main tunnel towards the shaft. together they ascended, and returned home. mrs gilbart had been dreadfully alarmed at her son's absence, until told by a neighbour that she had seen him going along with his uncle towards the pit's mouth. a mother's eye alone could have recognised him, so greatly changed was he by the coal dust. she soon, however, got that washed off, and dressed him again in his clean clothes. he did not complain or ask his mother to keep him out of the mine, so, although still with an unwilling heart, she allowed his uncle to take him. the next saturday he received five shillings, which was as much as she could make by stitching all day, and sometimes late into the night, by her needle. simon was well pleased with mark, and reported, after he had been some weeks at work, that no fault had ever been found with him. he was always awake, and ready to open and close his trap at the proper time. when a little bigger, he would become a "putter," and have the employment of rolling the waggons along the tramways. coal mines, it should be understood, are worked in various ways, some in squares, or what is called the panel system. the main roads are like the frame of a window, the passages like the wood-work dividing the panes of glass, and the masses of coal which at first remain, may be represented by the panes themselves. after the various passages have been cut out, the masses are again cut into, pillars only remaining, each of which is about twelve feet by twenty-four feet in thickness. at length these pillars are removed, and props of wood placed instead, and thus the whole mine is worked out. there are miles and miles of passages in which tramways are laid down, leading to the shaft, up which the coal is raised. as the air in the mine has a tendency to get foul and close, it is necessary to send currents of wind into the passages to blow it away. the chief object is to make the wind come down one shaft, and then to bring it along through the passages, and so up by another shaft. if the wind which came down were allowed to wander about, it would produce no good effect. the traps or doors, such as the one at which mark was stationed, are used to stop it from going through some passages and make it move along others until the bad air is blown out of them. to create a powerful current, a large furnace is placed at the bottom of one of the shafts, which is called the up-cast shaft, and the foul air is cast up it. often, notwithstanding this, the heat below is very great, and the hewer working away with his heavy pick is bathed in perspiration. where no bad gas is generated, open lights may be used, but this cannot often be done with safety, as fire-damp may at any moment rush out of a hole, and if set alight it would go off like gunpowder or gas from coal, killing everybody within its influence, and bringing down the tops and sides of the passages. in some mines where it is important to have ventilation, there are four shafts, two up and two down-cast. the latter, where the coals are drawn up to the surface, are in the lowest part of the mine, and all the passages are on a gentle ascent towards the furnace, so that the air down the shafts is drawn that way. the furnace consists of a number of iron bars placed horizontally across the end of a large brick arch, and the roof and sides are built of the best fired bricks. on the iron bars nearly a ton of coals is kept constantly burning and throws out a great heat, relays of men being employed in replenishing it. at the back of the furnace is a shaft to carry off the smoke. thus the cool air circulates all over the mine. when a large supply of air is required in any particular part of the mine, the doors are closed at the entrance to the other parts, thus directing the current where it is most wanted. this current is so strong that on opening one of these doors, care is necessary in shutting it, as it would slam with a force sufficient to knock a man down. these and other arrangements, and the vast amount of machinery now employed, had not, however, been introduced when mark gilbart began life as a "trapper." the most dangerous operation is the opening of a new passage, from which foul air may suddenly escape and poison the miners inhaling it, or a stream of water may rush forth, rilling up the gallery, and drowning all within its reach. numberless, indeed, are the dangers to which miners are exposed. their condition is now improved, but they formerly worked eleven or twelve hours a-day, and occasionally even from thirteen to sixteen, far down in the depths of the earth, in a heavy and noxious atmosphere, in a half naked state and in unnatural positions, kneeling, stooping, lying upon their sides and backs, at any moment liable to the loss of life. the miner has not only to undergo bodily labour, but must exercise skill, patience, presence of mind, coolness, and thoughtfulness. countless, also, are the dangers to which they are exposed. to accidents as they come down or go up the shafts by the breaking of ropes, or the giving way of machinery, from the falling in of the roof or walls, as also from accidents in blasting, from spontaneous combustion, from explosion of fire-damp, suffocation from choke-damp, and eruptions of water, and even quicksands. sometimes floods or heavy rains find their way down unknown crevices into the pit, where the miner is working, and forming a rapid torrent, suddenly inundates the mine and sweeps all before it. such was the life young mark gilbart was apparently doomed to lead. chapter three. learning to work. we must proceed more rapidly than heretofore with mark gilbart's history. he did his duty as a trapper, never falling asleep, and always opening and shutting the trap at the proper moment. the rolley boys never complained of him, and as he was invariably in good humour, and stood their chaffing, he became a favourite. often he had to go into the pit before daylight, and remain until ten o'clock at night with one candle to light him on his way to his trap, and another with which to return. as he always told his mother that he was happy, and he appeared to be in tolerable health, she became reconciled to his being thus employed, though she little dreamed of what he had really to go through. when he had shorter hours of work, he employed his time at home in reading and improving himself in writing. he had also a fancy for making models. he began by making one of the parts of the pit in which he worked. then he tried his hand at making some of the simpler machinery of the pit. his uncle acknowledged that the rolleys, corves, picks, and spades were wonderfully exact,--indeed, was so well pleased that he allowed him a lantern and a supply of candles, so that instead of sitting in the dark, he could pass his time in reading and cutting out his models, the materials for which he carried down with him. so perfect were his models that they were readily purchased by visitors to the pit. his mother, on one occasion, taking some of them into a neighbouring town, sold specimens to tradesmen, who offered to buy as many as she could bring them of the same description. at length mark became big enough to be a "putter," or rolley boy. he could no longer read or make models down in the pit, but he got better wages, shorter hours of work, and his health improved with the exercise. being always wide-awake, he escaped the accidents from which so many of his companions suffered, which they called "laming." the injuries they received were from various causes, but generally from falling, when the rolley passed over their arms or legs, and broken limbs were the consequence. some had lost one or more fingers or toes, others had received gashes in their faces, or arms, or legs, but they had seldom long been laid up, and had willingly again returned to their work. the term "putter," it should be understood, includes the specific distinction of the "headsman," "half-marrow," and "foal." the "headsman," taking the part of conductor, pushes behind. the "half-marrows" drag at the sides with ropes; while a "foal" precedes the train, also dragging by a rope. mark, however, was not very long employed in this laborious task, for the overseer, hearing of his talent, appointed him to the duty of "crane-hoister." the term explains itself. he had to hook on the "corves," and keep an account by chalking on a board the number hoisted up. in this occupation he was able to gain a pound a week. some part of this he laid by, and with the other he enabled his little sister to attend a respectable school in the neighbourhood, where she made great progress, and showed a considerable talent for music. mark had by this time gained the esteem not only of his companions but of the under-viewers, and was favourably known to the viewer. on several occasions when his services had been required, he had accompanied one of the under-viewers on his visits through the mines. he thus traversed the main gallery, the side walks, and the old, or abandoned works. in the latter the roof was propped up by perpendicular posts and horizontal beams. in many places the beams were so bent by the weight of the superincumbent earth, that it appeared they must before long give way. in many places they had to creep on hands and knees to pass through the old workings, which opened into others farther on. as they made their way along, the under-viewer showed him a fault in the coal seam, and explained what it was. coal seams generally run in a parallel position with the various other strata for a considerable distance, when, all at once, they abruptly terminate. this is marked as plainly as if a wall had been built up at the end of the seam. thus, while on one side of the wall there is a thick seam of coal, on the other there is a mass of rock. this break or fault was caused at some remote period of the world's history by an internal convulsion. it is known, however, that the seam will again be found, either at a higher or lower level than the one first worked. to reach the seam a tunnel is driven right through the rock, when sooner or later the seam is discovered. in the present fault, a tunnel had been run through the solid rock for fifty feet in length; and they might afterwards have to follow up the seam, extending perhaps half-a-mile, or even a mile, for the whole of which length a gallery would have to be cut, from which, side workings would extend on either side. so accurately did mark note all he saw, that on his return home he was able to draw out a plan of the mine, with which the under-viewer was so pleased, that he took it to the manager. "this boy deserves encouragement. we must see what can be done for him!" was the remark. shortly after this, great improvements were introduced into the mine. fresh shafts were sunk, for affording better ventilation, and for more rapidly getting the coal to the surface. near them, engines of great power were placed to perform the various operations required. an endless wire rope was made to run from the shafts to the extreme end of the gallery, kept revolving by a steam-engine down in the mine. the man walking ahead of the leading waggon, to which is secured a pair of iron tongs, grips hold by them of this endless rope, which thus drags on his waggons without any labour on his part, towards the shaft, up which the coals are to be carried to the surface. the chief gallery was divided by a wall down the centre, with openings at intervals of twenty yards or so, to enable persons to pass through. there were also niches on either side, where he could stand while a train was passing. on one side of the gallery the full trains ran along on rails from the workings to the shaft; on the other side the empty waggons returned to the workings to be filled. for the purpose of better ventilating the mine, an enormous fan, forty feet in diameter, formed like the paddle-wheels of a steam-ship, and kept constantly revolving by steam-power, was placed over a shaft sunk for that sole object. the suction caused by the enormous paddles drew up all the foul air and noxious vapours from the whole of the mine, and at the same time drew in from another shaft, more than a mile distant, a current of fresh air, amounting from , to , feet per minute, thus doing the work of a furnace far more effectually, and at much less cost. instead of the old corve or basket, an iron safety-cage had been introduced, sliding up and down on steel bars, resembling indeed a perpendicular rail-road. wonderfully changed was the appearance of the mine itself. mark, who had been employed above ground for some time, was astonished, on being lowered in the new safety-cage, to find himself on stepping out at the bottom in a spacious brick-arched vault, almost the size of a railway terminus, well lighted by large glass lamps suspended from the roof. the machinery, both steam and hydraulic, looked in the most perfect order; the steel parts of the engine shining like burnished silver. trains of laden waggons were every now and then arriving. first of all was heard a distant rumbling, with the "whirr" of the iron rope far back in the darkness. the rumbling sound grew louder, and at last the train came in sight. a stalwart miner, with his lamp dimly twinkling slung at his waist, striding along holding in his left hand the iron tongs before mentioned, and having behind him a long train of waggons, gradually came into the light. on he went to the foot of the shaft. here a strong iron cage appeared, having three floors, one above the other. in front of this was a stage, on to which the leading waggon was run. it was then lifted by hydraulic power, until a second stage appeared below it. on this another waggon was run, that again rose, until a third stage was level with the tramway--the three stages being now level with the three floors of the cage. at the same time three hydraulic rams or arms ran out from the side of the shaft and pushed the waggons into the cage, which immediately began ascending. it should have been said that three empty waggons had come down in the cage, and had in the first instance been withdrawn and placed on the return tramway. these were at once coupled together by men stationed there for the purpose, who had now to wait for the return of the cage with more empty waggons to be again filled with three others from the full train. the cage on reaching the summit of the shaft was unloaded much in the same fashion by hydraulic power. this operation was carried on with wonderful rapidity, so that the outputs, or amount of coal raised, averaged from to tons per day. more than a mile away from this main shaft was the engine-room which worked the endless rope. on a platform some distance above the ground sat the engineer, surrounded by a multitude of signals. in spite of the tremendous noise which prevented one person hearing what another said, the engineer attended to all his signals with the greatest accuracy, his complicated machinery in beautiful order, and appearing perfectly at his ease. some idea may be formed of the vast amount of labour employed in this mine when it is understood that the working-faces, with gate-roads, main roads, air-ways, returns, engine-plains, self-acting and engine inclines, extended upwards of eleven miles, and with the addition of the old working roads, including those which were bricked up, the whole measured the enormous amount of twenty-two miles. all these passages were kept far better ventilated by the fan than they were by the furnace hitherto in use, while the pure air brought down, greatly contributed to the health of the miners. mark had risen step by step. he was now able to take a house for his mother and mary, although old hayes and his wife were very unwilling to part with them. mary had greatly improved in her music, of which she was passionately fond, but she had no piano on which to play at home. mark, who had a holiday, hearing that an auction was to take place at the neighbouring town, at which a pianoforte was for sale, set off to attend it. there was some competition, but he had pounds in his pocket, saved from his earnings, and it was finally knocked down to him at that price. with proud satisfaction he at once hired a spring cart, and set off with it for his home, where he had it placed while mary was out with their mother. her delight at seeing it equalled the pleasure with which he bestowed his gift. the fact was inserted in one of the local papers by the auctioneer who sold it, that the piano was purchased by the first pounds saved out of the earnings of a collier boy, as a present to his sister. unhappily, such instances are rare, for although many collier boys gained high wages, the money was too generally lavishly spent, without thought for the future. of late years a considerable improvement has taken place among many mining populations, but even in former years it was possible for talent to force its way upwards. who has not heard of george stephenson, who began life trapper in a mine at six years of age, and rose to be a great engineer, father of robert stephenson, m.p., and engineer-in-chief of the north-western railway; of dr hutton, who was originally a hewer of coal in old long benton colliery; of thomas bewick, the celebrated wood-engraver; of professor hann, the mathematician, and of many others whose names are less known to fame, who have obtained respectable positions in society. old hayes had lately moved to another pit some distance from the one in which he had hitherto laboured, being tempted by higher wages, and mark shortly afterwards was offered a situation as under-viewer in the same pit. it was worked on the old plan, but improvements were being carried out. old simon with four other men were coming along the main gallery, being the last of the miners who were leaving the pit for the night. the rest had already gained the foot of the shaft, when a rushing, roaring sound was heard followed by a tremendous blast of wind, which, almost took them off their feet. the cage was at the bottom of the shaft. they sprang into it, more than double the number it usually contained clinging on. before they could give the signal to be drawn up, they saw a torrent of water surging on several feet in depth, rapidly filling the whole lower part of the mine. they were soon out of danger, but what had become of old simon and his companions? mark had come to the pit's mouth intending to descend and make his usual survey of the mine to see that all was right. he soon heard on inquiry of the supposed fate of old simon and the rest. no one doubted that he had been overwhelmed by the raging waters, but that such was the case mark was not thoroughly satisfied. "they may have escaped in one of the side workings, and if so they are still alive, although it may be a difficult matter to get them out," he remarked. he at once ordered the cage to be lowered, and with two men who volunteered to accompany him, descended in it. on getting near the bottom he discovered that although the water had filled the main tunnel to the roof, there was still a passage running away to the left on a higher level which was perfectly dry. they proceeded along it although his companions considered that a search in that direction was useless. "if the poor fellows were last seen in the main gallery, it seems impossible that they should have got up here," they remarked. they, however, went on and on, but no signs of human beings could be discovered. they were returning, and were once more approaching the shaft, when a dull sound was heard, as if some one was striking on a wall in the far distance. mark placed his ear against the side from which the sound seemed to come, and he distinctly heard several blows given. the others did the same. "you are right, gilbart, that comes from the side working nearest to us. the men must be there," exclaimed one of his companions. "we will reply to them," said mark, and taking a pick he struck several heavy blows against the side of the gallery. they were replied to by the same number. "how is it that they can be there and not be drowned?" asked one of the men. "the water is prevented from rushing in by the pent-up air in the working," he answered. "how long it will be kept back i cannot say, but no time must be lost in hewing a way through to them. come, lads, with god's help, we will save them," said mark. "keep picking away until i return," and he hastened to the shaft. having an exact plan of the mine, he was able to determine at once the working in which old simon and his companions were imprisoned. the distance, however, to the spot where he was convinced they must be was fearfully great, between eighty and ninety yards. it would take days to bore through. would those they desired to save be able to exist so long? the attempt must be made. volunteers were quickly obtained, and descending with a dozen skilful hewers, he commenced operations at the very spot where the sound of the blows had reached his ears. in a short time a gang of putters with a supply of rolleys came down to carry away the coal and earth and rock as it was hewn out, but five men could only labour at a time. they worked, therefore, in relays. day and night they laboured on without cessation, except occasionally stopping to ascertain that their friends within were alive, when they were encouraged to proceed by invariably hearing the knocking which had at first attracted mark's attention. he directed the course they were to pursue, never once ascending to the pit's mouth, but taking his food near the working, and sleeping in a blanket on the hard rock. day after day and night after night they worked on. the knocking from within sounded louder. on the seventh day their leader, an old friend of simon's, struck his pick into the rock before him, making a deep hole, through which there suddenly rushed out a stream of noxious gas, and he fell overcome. his comrades, seizing him by the arms, dragged him out, narrowly escaping themselves. reaching the fresher air, he soon recovered, and undaunted exclaimed, "let me go at it again, lads!" and leading the way, once more the bold miners recommenced operations. still another day they worked on, and the partition which divided them from their friends was growing thinner and thinner. a second escape of gas once more compelled them to retreat, but as soon as it had dispersed, with the courage of heroes they again went at it. at length, on the tenth day since the water had rushed into the mine, but a thin wall remained between them and the imprisoned ones. they had now come to the most dangerous part of their undertaking, the moment they had broken away the wall, the compressed air would rush through the aperture, with a force far greater than the fiercest hurricane, and the water surging up might drown those within. still, they knew they must risk it. "now, lads, we'll do it," cried their old leader, and lifting his pick he struck a blow against the rock. as he withdrew it, the air rushing through extinguished the lights, and they were left to work in darkness. notwithstanding this, in spite of the wind in his face, the old man worked on with thundering blows. every moment he brought down masses of rock until he was convinced that he had made a hole large enough to creep through. "where are you, lads?" he shouted. "come on, come on!" some faint voices replied, he and four others, clambering through the aperture, each lifted a man in his arms. they could hear the water rushing in close to them, but they hesitated not. dragging out their friends, they staggered along the gallery they had just formed. they were met by mark and a party of men carrying lanterns, and battling against the fierce blast which rushed through the passage. they were thus soon relieved of their burdens. quickly reaching the main gallery, the doctor took the rescued men in hand, having a plentiful supply of food, medicine, and attendants ready. though weak and almost exhausted, the five men in a few hours were sufficiently recovered to be conveyed up the shaft, where they were received by their relatives and friends, who long before had given up all hopes of ever again seeing them. it may be asked how were these men able to live so long during their imprisonment! fortunately they had with them a small store of provisions, and knowing that it might be many days before they could be rescued, they at once put themselves on the very smallest allowance that would support life, at the same time the air, which as we have seen was so compressed by the force of the water, was capable of sustaining respiration for a much longer period than when of its ordinary density. there is a very great amount of vitality in the human frame, and where the wear and tear of active labour does not exist, man can live for a long period almost without solid food, especially if there be a plentiful supply of fresh water at hand. chapter four. the mines of europe. mark gilbart had never thrown a moment away. by study, perseverance, and strict integrity, and the exercise of the intelligence with which he was endowed, he had risen step by step to a far higher social position than he had before enjoyed. though still young, he had become a mining engineer, and was greatly respected by all who knew him. he had the happiness of placing his mother and sister in a house of their own, without the necessity of labouring for their support. he was one day drawing plans in his study, when he received a note from a mr harvey, a gentleman of property, the owner of several mines, requesting him to call. mr harvey received him cordially. "i am about to ask you, mr gilbart, to accompany my son frank on a tour of considerable extent, to visit some of the more important mines in europe, and, if there is time, in other parts of the world, and he is anxious to have a practical man who will enable him to comprehend the different matters connected with them more clearly than he would be able to do by himself. i need not say that i am fully aware of the value of your time, and i therefore offer you such compensation as i hope you will consider sufficient." mark gladly agreed to the proposal. such a tour was above all things such as he desired, and which, indeed, he had himself contemplated taking at his own cost. frank harvey was an active, intelligent, young man, exactly the sort of companion mark would have chosen. having concluded all their arrangements, they lost no time in setting out. having visited the english, scotch, and welsh coal districts, numbering in all about fifteen, they bent their steps--after seeing the iron and lead mines in the south of scotland, and the north and centre of england--towards cornwall, to explore its tin and copper mines; after which they intended to cross the channel to visit the more remarkable ones of europe. their first halting-place was at redruth, near which is the lofty hill called cairn brea, whence they obtained a view over an extensive mining district. the country around, covered in many places with enormous blocks of granite, looked barren and uninviting in the extreme, and no one would have supposed that any portion of the soil in sight was the richest in the whole of our island. within a few miles of the spot where they stood were, however, numerous copper and tin mines, many of which had yielded a large profit to their owners. among them was dolcoath, one of the oldest copper mines in cornwall, fathoms in depth. another, eastpool, a tin and copper mine, from which ores to the amount of , pounds have been won, after an original outlay of only pounds. from the former mine native silver, cobalt, and bismuth have also been obtained. the mineral deposits of cornwall, it should be known, are found in granite and grey slate. those of derbyshire and the north of england--lead and iron--in the carboniferous system. the travellers visited these and several other mines, among them the consolidated copper mines, situated in the parish of gwennap, about three miles from redruth. they extend along the brow of a range of steep hills, into which numerous shafts are sunk. the length of the whole of these shafts together, it is calculated, is more than twelve miles in perpendicular depth, and if to these are added the horizontal galleries, which perforate the hill in all directions, the extent of subterranean excavation is upwards of sixty miles. eight steam-engines of the largest size, and thirty of smaller dimensions, are employed for drainage and other purposes, their ordinary working power being equal to horses, but when their full power is put on they almost equal that of . to carry off the water from these mines, a tunnel, with numerous ramifications has been formed, measuring nearly thirty miles in length. one branch of this tunnel is upwards of five miles long, carried underground feet beneath the surface, finding its outlet into the sea near falmouth. a few years ago the number of tin mines worked in cornwall amounted to , and to in devonshire; and about , persons were employed in them. although the wages of the miners are much inferior to those of the pitmen in the northern coal-fields, yet they have advantages over their brethren, being exempted from many of the evils to which the northern miners are subjected. they have no fear of the fatal fire-damp or sudden explosions. intellectually they are also superior, as they are mostly engaged in work requiring the exercise of mind. their wages arise from contract, and depend greatly upon their skill and energy. they mostly have gardens, which they cultivate, and when near the coast they engage in the fisheries, thus increasing their incomes and varying their mode of life. after leaving redruth the travellers proceeded over the wildest and most desolate of moorlands, with blocks of stone scattered about, towards the wonderful botallack mine, on the cornish coast. no mine in the world is so singularly placed. descending to the shore below, on looking upwards, the view appeared fearfully grand. in one part was a powerful steam-engine, which had to be lowered almost feet down the cliffs. here tall chimneys, pouring out dense volumes of smoke, were seen perched on the ledges of a tremendous precipice. here and there also were the huts of the miners, disputing the ground with the wild sea-birds, while ladders of great length scaled the rocks in all directions, enabling them to ascend and descend to their work. in some parts were paths up which sure-footed mules, with riders on their backs, were trotting briskly along, where few people unaccustomed to dizzy heights would have wished to venture even on foot. as they had determined to visit the mine, they had to ascend to the top of the cliff and then once more to descend among the rugged rocks to a ledge about midway between the summit and the ocean, where a small building, occupied by the mining agent, marked the entrance. hearing who they were, the agent at once undertook to guide them, and produced a couple of woollen mining dresses and two large felt hats. each person having fastened four or five candles to his button hole, while he carried another in his hand, they began to descend through a trap-like entrance, by a series of ladders, which although strong enough in reality had a very rickety feeling. on reaching the foot of one ladder, they were conducted to the top of another, on to which they had to step, and thus descending ladder after ladder and passing ledge after ledge, they at length reached the bottom of the pit, where the end of a pump was seen drawing up the water from all parts of the mine. they then commenced their progress along one of the numberless galleries, which was so narrow that two persons could scarcely pass each other. now having to step over rough stones and often close to the edges of fearful pits, now to bend low under masses of overhanging rock, and sometimes to find themselves crossing unknown abysses by shaky bridges of planks, while the damp air felt hot and sickly, making the candles burn dimly. here miners were at work with pickaxes getting out the ore. having thus gone over, through, and under all impediments, they were informed that they were feet below the level of the sea vertically, and horizontally feet below low-water mark. boats might even then be passing over their heads. human beings were working still lower down. on the roof, the strips of pure copper could be distinguished among the crevices of the rocks through which the salt water was seen percolating in an unpleasant abundance. in their eagerness to obtain the rich ore, the miners had worked upwards until they had got within five or six feet of the bottom of the ocean. there the metal was still clearly visible, but even the most hardy miners would scarcely have ventured on an attempt to win another grain from the rock overhead, lest the water should rush in and overwhelm them, and inundate the mine. passing into a gallery where no one was at work, the travellers listened in perfect silence, and could hear the low murmur of the ocean rolling above their heads. "oh, that is nothing now," said their guide. "when a storm is raging, i have heard the sound of the pebbles, which some large wave has carried outwards, bounding and rolling over the rocky bottom. on standing beneath the base of the cliff, where not more than nine feet of rock intervened between the sea and my head, the heavy roll of the large boulders, the ceaseless grinding of the pebbles, the fierce thunder of the billows with the crackling and boiling as they rebounded, produced an uproar such as those who heard it can never forget." for many years a blind man worked in the botallack mine, and supported a large family by his labour. so complete was his recollection of every turning and winding, that he became a guide to his fellow-labourers, when by any accident their lights were extinguished. he being afterwards cruelly discharged, engaged himself as an attendant to some bricklayers. while thus employed, with a hod of mortar on his back, he fell from a platform and was killed. there are several other mines similarly situated to that of the botallack on the coast of cornwall, where the works are carried far under the ocean. among them are the wheal edward, the levant, the wheal cock, and the little bounds. in the two latter, the miners have actually followed the ore upwards until the sea itself has been reached, but the openings formed were so small that they were able to exclude the water, by plugging them with wood and cement. on returning from the mine, the travellers, having doffed their miners' dresses, inspected the outward machinery employed in crushing the ore on the landing-place in the side of the cliff, and drawing it up the precipitous tram, which leads to the summit, where it is stamped and prepared for exportation. it is mostly carried to swansea, which, in consequence of the abundance of fuel in the neighbourhood, owing to its nearness to the sea, to its canals and railroads, has, in the course of half-a-century, from a mere fishing village become a town containing fully , inhabitants. the cornish mines are not the only ones which run under the sea. on the irish and some parts of the english coasts there are several coal mines which are worked beneath the ocean bed to a great distance. another remarkable mine, that of huelwherry, existed for many years on the cornish coast. a rocky spot at about fathoms from the beach was left dry at low-water, on which small veins of tin ore were discovered crossing each other in every direction. although the surface was covered for about ten months in the year, and had at spring-tides nineteen feet of water over it, while a heavy surf often broke on the shore, a poor miner, named thomas curtis, about a century ago determined to attempt winning the ore. the work could only be carried on during the short time the rock appeared above water. three summers were spent in sinking the pump-shaft, which had every tide to be emptied of water. a frame of boards, raised to a sufficient height above the spring-tides, and rendered water-tight by pitch and oakum, was placed above the mouth of the shaft. its sides were supported by stout props in an inclined direction. at the top of this wooden construction, which was twenty feet in height, a platform of boards was secured, on which a windlass was placed. the water was now pumped out of the mine and the machinery set to work; but the sea penetrated through the fissures of the rock, and greatly added to the labour of the workmen, while during the winter months, on account of the swell, it was impossible to convey the tin ore to the beach. notwithstanding all these difficulties, the persevering projector was rewarded by obtaining many thousand pounds worth of tin. at length, during a gale, an american vessel broke from her moorings, and demolished the machinery by striking against the stage, when the water rushing in filled the mine. an attempt has been made of late years to again work the mine with improved machinery, but the venture not proving profitable it has been abandoned. the travellers also visited the curious carclaze tin mine near the town of saint austell. it is a prodigious hollow or basin, nearly thirty fathoms in depth and a mile in circumference, and has the appearance of a natural crater rather than a hollow made by human hands. the sides are almost perpendicular, and a few footpaths alone lead down amid the rocks to the bottom. in every direction are seen the hollows made by the miners of ancient days, the white colour of the granite veined with the darker metalliferous streaks, and the curious shape of the rocks formed by the streams flowing down its sides, give it a remarkably picturesque appearance. the machinery used for crushing the rock is set in motion by these streams. on every side the men, women, and children employed on the works are seen moving about in all directions, like a busy colony of ants. the ore is obtained without much difficulty. a tunnel has been formed at the bottom of the mine through which the waters flow after they have performed their task, which also carries away the crushed granite, while the heavier metalliferous substances are precipitated into the troughs. neither engine-house nor chimneys such as are seen in other mines are visible, while every detail of the work is exposed to view--indeed, the huge basin has the appearance of a mine completely turned inside out. there are two methods of smelting tin. by the most common, the ore, mixed with culm, is subjected to heat on the hearth of a reverberating furnace, when ordinary coal is employed. by the other method, the ore is fused in a blast furnace, when wood fuel or charcoal is used. the tin when smelted runs off from the furnace into an open receiver, from which it flows into a large vessel, where it is allowed to settle. after the scoriae have been skimmed off, the upper and purer portion of the mass is refined, and the lower part re-melted. chapter five. the metals found in mines. the chief object of the travellers was to inquire into the mode in which mines in different countries are worked, the causes of accidents, and the best method of preventing them. their knowledge was superior to that which most of our readers are likely to possess, and it will be necessary, in order to understand their proceedings, to glance at the mining districts of the world, and to describe some of the principal mines among them. no country possesses, within the same area, so large an amount of varied mineral wealth as great britain. besides the seventeen coal districts of great britain, we find in scotland numerous lead mines in the clay slate mountains on the borders of lanarkshire and dumfriesshire. in the north of england, with alston moor as the centre, along the borders of northumberland, cumberland, westmoreland, and durham, are extensive veins of lead. cumberland, the north of wales, and the isle of anglesey produce copper ore, as also mines of lead and magnesia, with many other metals,--zinc, arsenic, cobalt, and bismuth. iron in large quantities is found in south wales, south staffordshire, and in the scottish coal-fields, where the ironstone appears in abundance alternating with layers of coal and other strata, and is generally won from the same pit as that from which the coal is extracted. besides coal, ireland contains mines of copper and lead, found in the slate and limestone ranges, contiguous to the sea coast. crossing from thence to spain, we arrive in a country rich in mines, though, owing to its distracted state, for many years greatly neglected. here lead is found in large quantities in the mountain chains. quicksilver is abundant from extensive veins of cinnabar in the province of mancha. in galicia tin has been produced from very early times. iron ore is very abundant, and silver mines, for many centuries abandoned, are now again being reworked. gold was at one period discovered in large quantities, but is supposed to be almost exhausted. the most important coal-field of france is round etienne, near lyons. mining operations are also carried on in brittany and the vosges. although possessing less mineral wealth than england, the french were far in advance of us in regard to the management of their mines. germany possessed the chief school for scientific mining. its principal metalliferous sites are the hartz mountains, on the borders of hanover and prussia, and the erzgebirge or ore mountains, which separate saxony from bohemia. they yield silver, copper, lead, iron, tin, and cobalt. the most prolific sites of the precious metals in europe are possessed by austria. the styrian alps furnish a vast amount of iron. the province of carniola supplies quicksilver. hungary and transylvania, copper, lead, antimony, and iron. the most extensive works are found in the neighbourhood of the town of cremnitz and schemnitz. the veins in this region obtain the enormous dimensions of from to feet in width. the extensive forests of oak, pine, and beech which clothe the hills supply fuel for the numerous smelting works, while water, carefully collected into reservoirs, moves the required machinery. the whole of the drainage of the mines is collected in a receptacle feet below the surface, from whence it is conveyed under a lofty mountain ridge by a magnificent gallery twelve miles in length. norway and sweden possess extensive mines of iron and copper, as also silver. the latter country furnishes the best iron in the world, and it is much used in england for the manufacture of steel. passing eastward to russia, we find the rich mines of the ural mountains, which divide europe from asia, and then on to the altai chain on the southern frontier of siberia, we meet with rich mines of gold and silver, and other valuable metals. on the european side of the ural there is a deposit of copper sand-ore, extending over a district of miles in length, by in breadth. the mineral wealth of asiatic russia is far greater. it consists of copper ores; iron cropping out at the surface, gold and platinum. the altai mountains especially produce silver, and some gold, with lead and copper ores. the silver mines of this region were worked at a very early period, as is proved by the discovery of an excavation a thousand feet in length, from which a stone sphinx was dug up, corroborating a statement of herodotus that the scythians possessed mines of gold and silver, which, according to his account, were guarded by monsters and griffins. baron humboldt supposes that he referred to the bones of elephants, and other gigantic animals, discovered at the present day in the steppes between the ural and altai chains. crossing the atlantic to america, we find vast quantities of the precious metals in the mountains of the brazils and along the whole range of the andes. in the province of minasgeraes, gold is obtained from subterranean excavations, as also by washing the surface soil, when diamonds are also found. auriferous deposits exist in the deep valleys among the mountains of chili, and in peru and bolivia are immense veins of silver ore. high up on the andes are the mines of pasco and potosi; while in the same region, quicksilver, copper, lead, tin, and other metals have been discovered. the copper mines being nearest the sea, are generally worked, the ore being sent to swansea. the lofty plateau of mexico in north america has, from the first, been celebrated for its rich silver mines, of which there have altogether existed no less than three thousand, but the larger number of these have long been unworked. the gold mines of california and of australia are too well known to require mention; but we must not forget the rock oil, concealed for ages in the north american continent. both the united states and canada now yield an abundant supply. the number of metals discovered beneath the surface, including the metallic basis of the earth and alkalies, amounts to forty-two, but metals, commonly so-called, number only twenty-nine. these are platinum, gold, tungsten, mercury, lead, palladium, silver, bismuth, uranium, vanadium, copper, cadmium, cobalt, arsenic, nickel, iron, molybdenum, tin, zinc, antimony, tellurium, manganese, tatiaum, chromium, columbium, rhodium, iridium, osmium, cerium. many of these, however, are so rare, that as yet they are of no practical use. gold has been known from the earliest ages, and is found in scales, threads, grains, and rolled masses, or nuggets, which latter have been discovered in california and australia weighing from twenty to thirty pounds, but the largest of all met with was in asia, on the southern side of the urals. large quantities of gold were discovered on a marshy plain which had been thoroughly turned over, when it was resolved to take down the buildings in which the gold was washed, and under the very corner of one of them a lump was found, weighing no less than ninety-six and a-half pounds troy, and valued at pounds. gold has been found in scotland, and in the county of wicklow, ireland, where about , pounds worth was picked up in the bed of a river by the inhabitants, before the government became aware of its existence. gold is so malleable that a single grain can be beaten out to form a gold leaf covering a surface of fifty-six square inches, and it is so ductile that the same quantity may be drawn into a wire feet in length. silver is found embedded in various rocks, where it occurs in veins, assuming arborescent or thread-like forms, and occasionally appearing in large masses. the largest mass found in europe was brought from kongsberg, in norway, weighing upwards of pounds, but another, won from the mines of peru, was said to weigh pounds. the celebrated mines of potosi, , feet above the sea, were discovered in by an indian who, when chasing a deer, laid hold of a shrub to assist in his ascent; it came up by the roots, to which he found attached a quantity of glittering particles, which he at once knew to be silver. veins of silver have been discovered in england and scotland, but generally mixed with lead. iron, the most useful of all metals, is found in large quantities in england, in many parts of europe, and the united states. at one time sussex was full of iron mines, the furnaces being fed with charcoal, until so extensive was the destruction of the woods and forests that the government interfered, and placed restrictions on the consumption of the timber. on the discovery of the present method of smelting with pit coal, the works, which at one time numbered in sussex alone, were abandoned, and hop-fields now cover the ground where furnaces once blazed. copper ranks next to iron in utility. in cornwall there are upwards of copper mines. it derives its name from the island of cyprus, where it was first obtained by the greeks. it is employed pure for numerous purposes, and is also mixed with other metals to form bell metal, speculum metal, for optical purposes, and german silver. lead occurs in veins most plentifully in mountain limestone districts, and usually contains some portion of silver. there are lead mines in various parts of england, as well as in spain, saxony, and in bohemia, and some very rich lead mines have of late years been worked in the united states. tin is found in cornwall in larger quantities than in any other part of the world. it is generally discovered in the alluvial soil of low grounds, where it is known as stream tin, because it has been washed by the agency of water from the rocks in which it was originally embedded mixed with sand and gravel. tin is also found in the island of banca, in the indian archipelago, in bohemia and saxony, chili and mexico. mercury is a rare metal. the richest mines are at almaden, a small town of la mancha, in spain. it is also found in austria, china, and peru, and a few other places. it is sometimes found in globules, but it is generally procured from one of its ores, cinnabar, a sulphate of the metal, of a red colour, and indeed identical with the richly prepared paint vermilion. a thousand workmen are employed in the spanish mines, above or under ground. it freezes at an exceedingly low temperature, and was found solid during midwinter by the traveller pallas. of the other metals, some used as medicines, or pigments, or to form alloys, we have not time now to speak. chapter six. salt and quicksilver mines. the object of the travellers was not only to inspect coal mines, but to view the wonders of the subterranean world. it is impossible to do more than give a very brief account of the places they visited. they had found their way to the carpathian mountains, in order to visit the salt mines of wieliczka, a small town to the south of cracow. the valley in which the mine is situated is fruitful and picturesque. descending by a staircase of thirty feet or so, through a bed of clay, they arrived at the commencement of the level galleries, which branch off in all directions. overhead was a ceiling of solid salt, under foot a floor of salt, and on either side grey walls of salt, sparkling here and there with minute crystals. the guide led them on through a bewildering maze of galleries. now they entered a grand hall, now descended by staircases to another series of vaulted chambers. on every side was solid salt, except where stout piers of hewn timber had been built up to support the roof, or wooden bridges had been thrown over some vast chasm. as they descended, the air became dry and agreeable, and the saline walls more pure and brilliant. one hall, feet in length, resembled a grecian theatre, the places where the blocks had been taken out in regular layers representing seats for the spectators. here and there were gangs of workmen, some labouring at the solid floor, others trundling wheel-barrows full of cubes of salt. soon after entering, they reached the chapel of saint anthony, excavated in the times of the byzantines, supported by columns, with altar, crucifix, and life-size statues of saints. they appeared, from being coated with smoke, to be of black marble, but mark, putting his tongue to the nose of one of the saints, discovered it to be of salt. many of the saints, however, were disappearing before the damp, which enters in that higher region from the upper world. the heads of some, and the limbs of others had already fallen. the guide had come provided with some bengal lights, one of which he kindled on the altar, bringing into light this strange temple; then, as the flame burnt out, the whole vanished as if by magic. passing across a wooden bridge, resting on piers of salt, they entered a vast irregular vault in which were two obelisks of salt, to commemorate the visit of francis the first and his empress. as they reached the floor, a boy ran along the bridge above with a burning bengal light, which threw flashes of blue lustre on the obelisks, the scarred walls, the vast arches, the entrance to the deeper halls, and the lofty roof, fretted with the picks of the workmen. another hall was entered, with cavernous tunnels at the farther end, passing through one of which, they embarked upon a lake in a heavy, square boat, and entered a gloomy passage, over the entrance to which was inscribed, in salt letters, "good luck to you." midway in the tunnel the halls at either end were suddenly illuminated, and a crash, as of a hundred cannon bellowing through the vaults, shook the air in such a way that the boat had not ceased to tremble when they landed in the farther hall. the noise was produced by a single gun. a tablet, on which was inscribed, "a hearty welcome," greeted them on landing. at a depth of feet their journey ceased, although they were but half-way to the bottom. about men are employed in the mines, who labour only six hours at a time, and live in the upper world. the blocks are first marked out on the surface by a series of grooves. one side is then deepened to the required thickness, and wedges being inserted under the block it is soon split off. this salt bed occupies a space of feet in length and in width, and consists of five successive stages, separated from each other by intervening strata of from to feet in thickness, and reaching to the depth of feet. more than ten years ago a serious accident, which threatened the destruction of the mine, occurred. while boring, to obtain some potash salts, through an aquiferous stratum, a spring was tapped, which poured an immense quantity of water into the lower galleries. the inhabitants feared not only the ruin of the mine, but the falling in of their houses from the melting of the salt pillars; but fortunately the inundation was confined to the lower galleries, and a powerful steam-engine being set to work, the water was again pumped out, and the spring blocked up. however, so vast are the excavations that it would have taken many years to fill them. contrasting with the bright glitter of the salt mines of wieliczka are the gloomy slate quarries of saint peter's mount, near maestricht, in the netherlands, the most extensive in the world. for centuries they have been worked, both for building and manuring, and probably benefiting the agriculturist more than the architect. in spring and summer the labourers occupy themselves in their fields above ground, and not until winter approaches do they begin to burrow in the entrails of the earth. the two travellers followed a trusty guide through those endless passages, which constantly crossed each other, either to the left hand or to the right. darkness to be felt, silence profound, reigned everywhere, even the human voice seemed to die away without awakening an echo--the only sound to be heard being an occasional dropping of water from the roof into a small pool below. suddenly the guide extinguished his torch, when, bold as they were, and well accustomed to subterranean regions, a sensation of awe crept over them. their first impulse was to feel for the wall, for in vain their eyes sought a ray of light, as in vain, also, their ears listened for the slightest sound. neither spoke for some minutes, and they experienced a sensation of relief when the guide relit his torch. numbers of hapless beings have been lost in these trackless galleries, and here and there are inscriptions on the walls, notifying that a corpse was found on the ground below. one poor workman lost his way, and roamed about until his torch died out of his burnt fingers. the lamp of another was overturned, and he in vain endeavoured to find his way out of some remote gallery. a french geologist while exploring the quarry discovered a corpse shrivelled to a mummy, the hat lying close to his head, a rosary in his hand. it was conjectured to be the body of a workman who had died more than half-a-century before, the dry air and the absence of insects explaining the preservation of the corpse. two centuries ago four franciscan monks resolved to construct a chapel in honour of their tutelar saint. in order to be able to retrace their steps, they took with them a large ball of twine, leaving one end secured to a spot where people were constantly passing. their twine unwound, they at length reached a vast hall, probably not visited for many ages. near the entrance one of them drew a sketch of the convent, and wrote beneath it the date of their discovery. when about to return, what was their horror to find that their twine had snapped. they must have searched for it in vain, for never more did they return. at last the prior, alarmed at their absence, sent parties to explore the excavations, but so vast were they even then, that seven days elapsed before the corpses of the hapless friars were found, their faces downwards, and their hands folded as if in prayer. during the siege of maestricht by the french republic, a party of the besiegers occupied the quarries. the austrians who garrisoned fort pierre at the back of the mountain, formed a plan to drive them out, and tunnelling made their way towards their enemies. although they marched silently along, their torches betrayed them, and the besiegers pouring in a volley of musketry killed a large number, made prisoners of some, and drove the rest into the depths of the cavern. on the banks of the nile are several prodigious stone quarries, from which the cities of ancient egypt were built. perhaps the largest is that of haggar silsibis. here passages, broad as streets, with walls fifty or sixty feet high, now stretching straight forward, now curved, extend from the east bank of the river into the heart of the mountain, where halls have been hollowed out large enough to contain the roman colosseum, the rough hewn irregular roof resting upon immense square or many-sided pillars, some of which are eighty to a hundred feet in circumference. here numerous blocks, already completely separated from the rock, appear ready to be transported; the labours of the quarry-men having suddenly been arrested by the invasion of the conqueror, who overthrew the priests of isis. one of the most curious quarries of ancient days is found near syracuse. the greater portion is a hundred feet below the level of the earth, and of vast extent, the whole hewn out of rock as hard as marble, the blocks thus obtained being employed in building syracuse. it is converted by the monks, who have a convent above it, into a garden--a romantic and beautiful spot, as no wind can touch it. it is filled with a variety of vines and shrubs and fruit trees, among which oranges, citrons, pomegranates, and figs grow luxuriantly, and obtain an unusual size. sicily produces sulphur in large quantities--the chief sulphur pits being near girgenti. most of the inhabitants are employed in them, to the neglect of the rich soil of their island; they labour away in the most primitive manner, pickaxe and spade being the only implements employed. when a promising vein is struck, the miners set to work, and filling their baskets with the sulphur, carry it out and throw it into large heaps of a conical shape. these mounds are covered over with moist clay, some openings being left for the escape of smoke; the bottom is then ignited, and the matted sulphur flows out through grooves into pans, where it congeals in solid masses. the passages to the mines are so narrow, that persons can with difficulty pass each other; they then expand into high vaults, the roofs of which are ornamented with beautiful crystals of celestine and gypsum. on account of the excessive heat, the workmen labour in a nearly nude state, their dark brown skins sprinkled with light yellow sulphur dust, making them look savage and strange in the extreme. towards the end of the last century, the sulphur mine of sommatin caught fire, the conflagration causing the complete abandonment of the pit. for two years it raged, until the mountain, suddenly bursting asunder, a stream of molten sulphur gushed forth, and precipitated itself into the neighbouring river. the mass of sulphur, amounting to upwards of , tons, was thus obtained by the owners of the former pit, who had believed themselves ruined. there are sulphur mines in different parts of the world, the largest of which are in japan, but too remote to be worked with advantage. gypsum, or sulphate of lime, better known as plaster of paris, is found in prodigious quantities at montmartre, close to that city; but as it can readily be worked without having recourse to subterranean excavation, it need not be mentioned further. when gypsum assumes an opaque, consistent, and semi-transparent form, it is known as alabaster. the largest quarries are near volterra, in italy. here the whole population have been employed for centuries, either in cutting it out of the mine, or in converting it into elegant forms of great variety, which are sent to all parts of the world. great britain possesses inexhaustible alabaster mines in the neighbourhood of derby. some is worked on the spot, but the finest blocks are sent to the studios of sculptors. quicksilver, or mercury, is among the rarest of metals. the only two important mines in europe are at almaden, in spain, and idria, in carniola. the former, situated on the sierra morena, was for many years farmed off to the fuggers of augsburg, but are now worked either by government or private companies. this was one of the most interesting spots visited by the two travellers. entering a spacious tunnel, completely walled with solid masonry, they advanced into the very bosom of the mountain. here galleries branch out in various directions, hewn in the slate forming the matrix of the vein. one of them leads to a vast circular hall, called the boveda de santa clara. at one time a horse gin was employed in this hall for raising the ore, but at present this work is performed through a shaft descending to the lowest level of the mine. convenient steps lead down from another gallery to the first working level, and thence the descent is by short ladders to deeper storeys. the galleries are of a sufficient height to allow a person to work upright. the upper ones are dry, but the lower are humid and damp, although the water is easily raised by hand-pumps from storey to storey into a large receiver, which is emptied by a steam-engine. so extremely rich are the veins, that although worked for many centuries, the mine has scarcely yet reached a depth of feet. the present quantity raised annually amounts to eighty-thousand hundredweight of pure mercury. the ore known as cinnabar is of a dark-red colour, and gives a beautiful appearance to the galleries. sometimes when a hewer detaches a block of ore with his pick mass of quicksilver, the size of a pigeon's egg, rolls out, and leaping along the floor, divides into thousands of small drops. owing to the imperfect apparatus with which the ore is sublimated, nearly one-half is lost. formerly criminals only were employed in these mines. they were conducted at sunrise from prison by a subterranean passage into the mine, and compelled to toil on until the evening, when they were led back again to their dungeons. in a few years the greater number died, through inhaling the poisonous vapours of the mercury. reduced to despair, a century and a-half ago, they set fire to the galleries, which, being then constructed of wood, were destroyed, and mining operations put a stop to for many years. only free labourers are now employed, who are not allowed to work longer than six hours a-day. most of these, however, die between the ages of thirty and forty, and those who exist longer are affected by palsy. the quicksilver mines of idria were discovered upwards of three centuries ago by a peasant who had placed a tub under a spring issuing from the mountain side. on attempting to move it, he found it excessively heavy, and on examining the bottom he saw that it was partly full of a heavy liquid, shining like silver. ignorant of the value of the substance, he had sense enough to take it to a goldsmith, without mentioning the place where he had found it. in course of time, however, a man named anderlein, having bribed him, became master of the secret, and with several others began to work the mine. in the next century the venetians drove out the germans, but were finally compelled by the emperor maximilian to give it up, and he restored it to its rightful owners. the mine has since been worked by the state. ingress to the mine can be obtained by descending a convenient flight of steps, with galleries running off here and there from landing-places, or by descending in a few minutes through a perpendicular shaft in one of the tubs by which the ore is raised. the galleries lead to the various storeys of the mine, the lowest of which is fathoms beneath the surface. the vein itself descends to an unknown depth, and is horizontal, but its extent has not yet been measured. the ores being embedded in limestone of a loose nature, all the galleries had from the first to be supported by wooden props. the wood has, on several occasions caught fire, with disastrous results. early in this century the labourers observed a thick smoke issuing from the deepest part of the mine. it rose higher and higher, spreading through the upper galleries, yet no fire was to be seen, nor sound of flames heard. some of the workmen attempted to reach the scene of the fire, but were driven back by the dense and suffocating smoke, impregnated with vapours. endeavours were made to smother the fire, but though the mine remained closed for five weeks, no sooner was it re-opened than the fire burst forth more furiously than at first. the howling of the flames ascending from the lowest depths of the pit awed the spectators, and the mercurial and sulphureous fumes arising from it threatened instant destruction to all who might approach. the director of the mine, as a last resource, came to the decision of flooding the works, and a river turned into the shaft ran down it for two days and three nights. at first no perceptible effect was produced, but on the second a terrific explosion shook the mountain as if an earthquake had taken place. the huts near the opening were blown to pieces, and even the stone houses on the slopes of the hill, fell with tremendous crashes. water, however, gained the victory. gradually the vapour dispersed, and after a few weeks the workmen were able to descend into the pit. they found, however, the galleries torn up, the vaulted roofs burst, and the stairs destroyed. it took two years to pump out the water, which, it is said, poisoned all the fish in the idriza. high pay being offered to any who would venture in to collect the quicksilver, which had accumulated in considerable quantities, many, tempted by the bribe, made their way into the workings, but overcome by the mercurial vapours, several perished. the galleries have now been formed of stone, seven feet high and six feet broad, though some are still propped up with wood. they are of immense extent, amounting to no less than fifty miles. as late as another fire occurred in the wooden galleries, which was quenched by putting that part under water. the workmen labour in a tropical heat and an atmosphere full of deadly vapours. it is no wonder that a premature age overtakes many of them, and that young men are seen trembling in every limb, though it is said that those who survive their forty-fifth year may live on until they are sixty or seventy. to transport mercury, the greatest care is required. it is first packed in sacks of sheepskin, tanned with alum. the sack, being pressed and punched to ascertain if it is sound, is enclosed in a second skin. these are then placed in a small cask, and the cask again in a square box. notwithstanding these precautions, as the sacks sometimes burst, the loss of the metal is great, and the mercury is now generally transported in large iron bottles, the stoppers being screwed down by means of a machine; in this condition, it is exported to england. chapter seven. stalactite and ice-caverns. numberless and varied are the cavernous regions below the earth, presenting the strangest and often awe-inspiring sights to the spectator. in some rivers flow hundreds of feet beneath the green fields and widespreading trees. through the caverns of adolsberg, planina, and upper laibach flows a river known as the poik, which then assumes other denominations, according to its locality. in some places it forms cataracts, leaping over the most picturesquely grouped rocks. in others it has forced a passage amid them, and then flows gently on. our travellers resolved to undertake a voyage on the poik, and embarked in a boat, their progress being stream upwards through the celebrated cave of planina. they had to be cautious, for often the current ran with great rapidity, and to keep a watchful eye for rocks which lay hidden beneath the water. rowing on for about feet from the entrance of the cavern, at the end of a magnificent dome, they found that the river occupied the whole space. to this part persons on foot could proceed, as the ground on either side of the river was level. now passing through a portal feet high and about broad, and as well proportioned as if cut out by the hand of man, their ears were saluted by the thundering roar of a distant cataract. as the archway widened, they suddenly emerged on a lake feet in length and broad, beyond which the cave divided into two arms, forming the channels of two streams, whose confluent waters formed the lake. the walls of the cavern on either side rose abruptly out of the water, with the exception of one small landing-place at the foot of a projecting ridge. here and there hung masses of stalactite, resembling a petrified cascade, the rest of the rock being black and naked. so high was the vault that their torches could not pierce the gloom, the impressiveness of which was increased by the roar of a waterfall heard through the channel to the left. hitherto their progress had been easy, but they now resolved to proceed up the left branch. they had frequently to get out of their boat, and wading, drag her over the shallows. the voyage terminated at the end of a small hall with a circular dome, the floor being a lake feet in length, and from to feet in depth. in the roof appeared a chasm, sloping upwards through a small aperture, in which a violent current of air set in, almost extinguishing their torches. beyond the mouth of the chasm another gallery opened out, into which the persevering travellers penetrated. nothing could surpass the beauty of the spar crystals with which its walls were encrusted. at the entrance stood a white figure, which might easily be supposed to be an angel, guarding the entrance with a glittering sword, threatening all who should venture with profane hands into his sanctuary. further on, projected in bold relief, was a colossal statue of a monarch, sceptre in hand. as they proceeded they passed groups of stalagmitic cones of all shapes and sizes. some like the smallest icicles, others rising six feet in height from the ground, as thick as a human figure, the whole shining and glittering as the light of the torches fell upon them, and standing out in bold relief against the dark background formed by the brown wall of the cavern. returning to the central hall, they made their way up the eastern branch, which is much larger than the one they had just visited, the main stream flowing through it. as they pulled up, the increasing roar of waters announced a large waterfall. they found that enormous masses of stone, falling from the roof, had narrowed the bed of the river to about fifteen feet, over which the water shot in a broad sheet, fully ten feet in height. the effect as it rushed over the jet-black rocks, casting up flakes of milky white foam, when illuminated by the torches, was very beautiful. having hauled up the boat over the rugged mound, they again embarked, encountering a couple of reefs. they then proceeded on between steep walls with a free navigation, for upwards of four miles. in many places the roof was adorned with draperies formed of snow-white stalactites, but generally the black walls alone appeared. in some parts the roof descended so low that they were compelled to lie down, and shove the boat along by holding to the roof above their heads, until at length they found that they could proceed no further. of the world beneath the surface some of the most beautiful scenes are presented by the ice-caves of france and switzerland. one of the most curious is the glaciere "grace dieu," near besancon. in the centre of the cave rose three stalagmites of ice. the central mass was . feet in circumference. some distance above the ice-floor on the right was a small fir-tree, which had been fixed in the ground, and had become completely covered so that the tree itself had disappeared, its crystal incrustation showing every elegance of variety in form. from each twig of the different boughs, complicated groups of icicles streamed down. the mass to the left, however, was the grandest and most beautiful. it consisted of two vast heads, with several others of less height resembling a group of lions' heads bending down, richly decked with icy manes, huge masses measuring . feet in circumference. on looking at this column from the side opposite the entrance to the cave, so that it stood in the centre of the light pouring down in a long slope from the outer world, the transparency of the ice made the whole appear as if it were set in a frame of impalpable liquid blue, the effect of the light penetrating through the mass at its extreme edges. the schafloch or trou-aux-moutons, a vast ice-cave on the rothhorn, in the canton of berne, is equally beautiful and curious. it takes its name from the fact that on the approach of a storm, the sheep and goats fly to it for shelter, although never going as far in as the place where the ice commences. the travellers entered the cave amid masses of loose stone, with which in a short time the ice was found to intermingle until it entirely hid the naked rock. they passed between two magnificent columns of ice which formed the portal to the fairy cavern. the floor, composed of ice, rose on either side to meet these columns in a graceful swelling curve, so that it appeared as if their bases expanded and met in the middle of the cave. they had now to make their way amidst stalagmites rising from the floor, met by stalactites descending from the roof. all the time as they twisted in and out among the glittering pillars of ice, endeavouring to do as little harm as possible, they were accompanied by an incessant fall of small portions, shivering and glittering on reaching the ground. passing beyond the two columns, they saw before them a perfect sea of ice, which became broader and broader until they reached the edge of a magnificent ice-fall, smooth and unbroken, beyond which they were unable to penetrate. they afterwards visited another beautiful ice-cavern known as the glacier of saint sivres, into which a stream flows, becoming completely congealed. there are many other ice-caverns in bohemia, hungary, the hartz mountains, and in various parts of north america. one of them, however, surpassing in size the others, is the cave of yermalik, in the province of kondooz, in the centre of asia. when kondooz was invaded by the savage warrior genghis khan, men with their wives and children took refuge in this cavern, and offered so brave a defence, that after attempting in vain to destroy them by fire, the barbarous invader built up the entrance with large blocks of stone, and left them to perish of hunger. nearly forty years ago the cave was visited by two british officers, who had great difficulty in obtaining guides, as the natives believed the cave to be the abode of satan. the entrance is about half-way up a hill, and about fifty feet in height, and about the same in breadth. squeezing their way through a narrow passage between two rocks, probably the remains of genghis khan's fatal wall, they came to a drop of about sixteen feet. down this, by means of ropes, they were lowered by two men, who remained to haul them up again. passing through a narrow tunnel, over a floor of smooth ice, they reached a vast hall, damp and dripping, the light of their torches not enabling them to form any idea of its size. here they discovered hundreds of skeletons, the victims of genghis khan's cruelty. among them was one, evidently the skeleton of a mother, holding in its long arms the skeletons of two infants. the bodies of others had been preserved, and lay as they had fallen, shrivelled into mummies. after leaving this vast sepulchre, they proceeded through several low arches with smaller caverns, until they reached an enormous hall, in the centre of which was a prodigious mass of clear ice, in the form of a bee-hive, its dome-shaped top just touching the long icicles which depended from the jagged roof. a small opening led into the centre of this wonderful ice-heap, which was divided into several compartments, presenting numerous fantastic forms. in some the glittering icicles hung like curtains from the roof, in others the whole compartment was as smooth as glass. the prismatic colours which presented themselves as the torches flashed on the surface of the ice were beautifully brilliant. on every side they were surrounded by solid ice, and, scarcely able to keep their feet, they slid noiselessly over the glittering surface of the mysterious hall. the icicles having reached the floor of one of the largest of the compartments, had the appearance of pillars supporting the roof. in italy and the south of france there are caverns with some distant aperture through which the wind enters, and being cooled in its subterraneous passage, sends forth a cold blast at the other end, such as the aeolian cavern, near terni. it has been utilised by the proprietors of some of the neighbouring villages, who have conducted the cold air to their houses by means of leaden pipes, which on sultry summer days convey a pleasant coolness through plaster-of-paris masks, with wide distended mouths, fixed in the walls of the rooms. chapter eight. copper mines. next to england, sweden is one of the chief copper-producing countries of europe. the mine of fahlun, in dalecarlia, has been worked from times immemorial. in consequence of the careless way in which the excavations were propped up, in the year the surface of the ground fell in, forming a vast pit of above feet in depth, feet long, and feet broad, with precipitous and sometimes overhanging walls, so that the spectator appears to be standing on the brink of an enormous crater. the bottom is filled with masses of rubbish and the remnants of ancient shafts, and thick beams of wood are seen protruding in all directions. a broad and convenient wooden staircase has, however, been formed on the northern side of the pit, by which not only the miners, but even horses can descend to their work. passing through the entrance, the mine gradually widens underground to a depth of feet. the chief mass of ore is feet broad on its upper surface, greatly narrowing as it descends to a depth of feet. round it are other similar deposits. as the copper pyrites are deposited generally on the circumference of the outer shell of these masses, which are of a very irregular outline, the mining operations are carried on in a perfect labyrinth of winding passages and galleries, situated at various depths, and supported either by pillars or walls. it at one time yielded tons of copper annually, but has of late years furnished no more than tons. a romantic incident is connected with this mine. in the year , while some miners were exploring an abandoned passage, they discovered a human body, preserved from corruption by the blue vitriol or sulphate of copper produced in the mine under the influence of the atmosphere and water. it was that of a handsome young man. on being brought to the surface, people from all directions flocked to see it, but nobody could recognise in its features a lost kinsman or friend. at length a woman, with tottering steps, upwards of eighty years of age, approached the corpse, when scarcely had she cast a glance at it than she uttered a piercing shriek, and exclaimed,--"it is he! it is gustavus, for whom i have mourned so long, whom i accused of fickleness in deserting me." she had in truth recognised her affianced lover, who had mysteriously disappeared more than sixty years previously, but whose image she still bore in her memory. as he was not employed in the mines, no one thought of searching for him underground. the surface is traversed by various crevices, some leading to the workings underground; and probably gustavus, prompted by curiosity, had looked down one of them, and had either, losing his balance, fallen in, or been precipitated by some jealous rival in the good graces of the once blooming girl, now a tottering old woman, weighed down with a double burden of infirmity and age. she probably forgot how years had passed away, as she gazed once more on the face of her youthful and handsome lover. besides copper, sweden produces iron of great excellence, won from its celebrated mines of dannemora, and largely imported into england for the manufacture of steel. leaving the university town of upsala, and passing through a natural barrier of forests and lakes, in which lie the iron-works of oesterby, the travellers reached the place in which the pit of dannemora is situated; not a sign announced the vicinity of the mine, until they saw the machines for lifting the ore, and a few huts scattered about, when they found themselves standing on the brink of a vast pit or crater, whose black and precipitous walls fence an abyss of a mile in circumference, and a depth of feet. here and there in that cold region they perceived patches of perennial snow and along the black walls, the dark entrance to labyrinthine caves fringed with long stalactites of ice. in some of these hollows flames were seen creeping along the cliff as they issued from piles of fir wood to soften the hard rock, while on every part of the deep gulf human beings were at work, the clang of their hammers sounding like the clicking of numberless clocks, mingled with the creaking of machinery, which brings to the surface the casks of ore. at length a bell tolled, and men, women, and children were seen ascending in the tubs, some standing on the edges, holding on with perfect confidence to the rope by which they were hoisted up. silence now reigned below, except when the voices of overseers were heard summoning those who had lagged behind, to ascend in haste. scarcely had they reached the upper surface when a loud thundering roar was heard, which echoed through the cavern. the ground trembled as if convulsed by an earthquake, while black masses of smoke with pieces of stone or ore ascended from the gulf, and the crashing sound of falling masses rent from the mother earth was heard. when all the charges had exploded, the miners again descended to their work. although it cannot be classed among the wonders of the subterranean world, the famous erzgebirge or iron mountain in the styrian alps deserves mention. it rises to the height of feet, the whole being coated with a thin mantle of the richest ore. in all directions it is covered with machines of various forms, horizontal and vertical galleries, tunnels and roads, and represents, as it were, a mine turned inside out. the whole of the operations are exposed to view, like those in the carclaze tin mine in cornwall, only in the former the ore is conveyed by tram-roads, galleries, and shafts to the bottom of the mountain, where they all unite in one main shaft, from which a tramway runs to the smelting-ovens of eisenerz and vordernberg. among the beautiful productions of nature, rock-crystal may be classed, known as the false topaz when yellow, the morion when black, and the smoky quartz when brown. the colourless kinds are often called bristol or irish diamonds, and the violet the amethyst. some few years ago, a party of tourists, led by a guide, peter sulzer, set out from guttannew, in switzerland. when descending the mountain they reached a dark cavity, out of which they extracted some pieces of black rock-crystal with the handles of their alpine stocks. the following year, sulzer and his son, with a few companions, made an attempt to force their way into the cave, by widening the entrance with gunpowder. in spite of hail, rain, and bitter cold, they persevered, remaining during the night close to the cavern, in order to renew their labours the next morning. having widened the entrance, they penetrated to a considerable depth into the mountain, through a large cave piled up with debris, in which were embedded large planes of jet-black morions. these beautiful crystals had grown originally from the sides or roof, and had either fallen from their own weight, or been shaken out by some convulsion of nature. their toil was rewarded by upwards of a thousand large crystals, varying from fifty pounds to more than three hundredweight. their expedition and its result becoming known, the whole population of guttannew turned out with hammers, spades, and baskets, to carry off what they had left. as it was reported that the government intended to interfere, they laboured night and day for a week, until, by the time the authorities arrived from ijri, the whole had been removed. some of the finest specimens are still to be seen in the museum at berne. amber, about which all sorts of fabulous stories have passed current, is found more frequently in the depths of the sea than in those of the earth. there can be no doubt that it is the product of several conifers, or cone-bearing trees, overwhelmed by the waves. although the gum which exuded from them has remained concealed for ages, until washed up from the bottom of the ocean, flies and spiders, which must have been caught when it was in a semi-fluid state, have been found embedded in it. the insects now appear as perfect as they were thousands of years ago. the naturalist, dr berndt, has discovered different species of insects in amber. the famed cavern in kentucky is as well worthy of a visit as any subterranean region. of late years an hotel has been built near the entrance, detracting from its once romantic appearance. visitors first descend a well-like pit, into which a stream falls, by a flight of steps, and then passing under a high archway, proceed along a level road, to what are called the vats, where saltpetre was once manufactured. their blazing torches, numerous as they may be, hardly light up the vast subterranean region. from the large hall they make their way through a low narrow passage, known as the "vale of humility," into another hall of enormous extent, the roof so lofty that the torches scarcely illuminate either the walls or roof. at their feet can be seen the glitter of water, extending far away into the interior, a bright stream flowing over a rocky bed into it. moving on, they in a short time reach echo river, on the shore of which a boat is found. when looking upwards, it appears as if a canopy of black clouds hung over their heads. on either side can be seen precipitous cliffs, rising apparently into the sky. silence and darkness reign around, the smooth sluggish water alone reflecting the glare of the torches. the visitors are not disposed to utter a word, until the voice of one of the native guides suddenly bursts forth into a melancholy chant, which seems as if echoed by the spirit of his departed brethren. now the notes rise, now they fall, as he gives them forth with the full force of his lungs, or warbles softly, finishing with a melancholy wail, which produces a most mournful effect. when a pistol is fired off, there comes a succession of crashing thundering sounds, echoed from every angle of this enormous vault; backwards and forwards they rush, roaring and reverberating from wall to wall with terrific crashes. the guides say it is perfectly safe at all times of the year to traverse the cavern, but there have been occasions when the waters, rising suddenly, have prevented the return of explorers. a way, however, was at length discovered through a narrow passage, the course evidently, at one time, of a stream, up which they can climb over the mud, and save themselves from being drowned or starved. this passage has appropriately been called "purgatory." in one part the river expands into a lake, the gloomy effect of whose dark waters, lost in the darkness, is indescribable. leaving echo river, they enter another cavern, known as cleveland cabin--a fairy region. above their heads, and on either side, the roof and walls are adorned with delicate flowers, of snowy whiteness, and domes, turrets, spires, shrubs, and trees, as well as with the forms of birds and beasts of all descriptions; indeed, figures of every shape which imagination, without any great exertion, can picture, appear around. the representations of some are so perfect, that it is difficult to believe that they have not been carved by the hand of man, and yet all of them have been produced by the dripping of water from the gypsum rock. the cavern is not destitute of inhabitants. huge crickets and spiders of an almost white colour crawl along over the ground, and rats as big as leverets run by, exhibiting sharp teeth and long tails. another cavern is called "martha's vineyard." it appears as if a vine had climbed up the sides and spread its branches over the roof, from which hang suspended what look like clusters of grapes, but all of the same stony nature. in another cave it seems to the visitor that he is standing in a wintry scene, ice above and ice on the ground, with here and there patches of snow, the appearance being caused by the excessive whiteness of the gypsum. farther on, there is a beautiful grotto, called "serena's arbour," the walls of which are covered with a drapery resembling yellow satin, falling in graceful folds, while through it murmurs a rivulet, which makes its way to one of the many rivers running through the cavern. in another, on the torches being extinguished it appears as if stars innumerable were glittering in the sky. on a stone being thrown upwards, it quickly strikes the roof, and it is soon seen that these seeming stars are produced by pieces of mica embedded in the roof, on which the light of a lantern being thrown in a peculiar way is brightly reflected. although the caverns seem to be of immense height, the ceiling in most parts is not more than thirty feet from the ground. in the centre of one cavern, a regular hill rises from the ground, with a stream running at its base. several rivers are crossed in this vast cavern, one is called the echo river, another the styx, and a third the lethe. they are inhabited by fish and crawfish, sightless and perfectly white. this vast cavern, the ramifications of which are said to measure nine miles, was not known to white men until . for many years no one advanced beyond three miles from the entrance, further progress being stopped by a deep cavern called the "bottomless pit," feet deep. at length, however, a daring guide threw a ladder over it, and crossing by this means, he was able to explore six more miles of this subterranean region. a bridge has now been constructed by which people can pass over in perfect safety. it is said that no dog will willingly enter the cavern; indeed, few persons can pass along its passages without a sensation of awe, although with a guide it may be traversed without danger. chapter nine. silver mines, etcetera. if a true history of the silver mines of south america were to be written it would reveal the cruel death of thousands and thousands of human beings, sacrificed to the lust of gain. high up among the andes, surrounded by a succession of steep and naked rocks, is the town of pasco, built above the mines, from which the inhabitants obtain their subsistence. the entrances to most of the mines are situated in the midst of the town. the irregular shafts descend directly down into the interior of the mountain, access being by a series of ladders often ill-constructed and rough, ropes and chains being employed to hoist up the ore. frequently, the overseers having neglected to put up the necessary props, portions of the mines have broken in and destroyed many of the hapless workers. in one instance perished at once by this means. in most of the mines the labourers, after getting out the ore, have to bring it to the surface in baskets on their backs, often from immense depths, and were it not for the sustaining coca leaf they would be unable to undergo such excessive toil. when rich veins are struck, the wages of the miners increase, but in most instances they spend them in drinking and debauchery, while the proprietors of the mines are almost equally uncivilised. fourteen miles from the town of caxamarca is an isolated mountain called the cerro de san fernando de gualgayoc, traversed by numberless veins of silver. at its summit rise a number of pyramidal pinnacles. its steep sides are pierced by several hundred galleries formed for the extraction of the ore, as well as by numerous natural openings, while in all directions are seen the huts of the labourers, sticking like the nests of birds, wherever a ledge has enabled them to be constructed. one of the richest silver mines of peru is that of salcedo, but nothing is now known of it except its tragical history. a don jose salcedo, a spaniard, without a maravedi in his pocket, made love to an indian girl, whose mother promised to reveal to him a rich silver lode on condition that he married her daughter. aided by his indian relatives, with whom he lived on the most friendly terms, he obtained vast quantities of silver from the mine, the entrance to which was kept carefully concealed. his wealth excited the rapacity of the viceroy count lemos, who, to obtain possession of it, accused him of exciting the natives to rebellion, and cast him into prison. in vain salcedo entreated that he might appeal to the mercy of the king, and promised to give the viceroy a bar of silver daily, from the time the ship left the port of callao to her return from europe, which would probably be upwards of a year; but the viceroy, instead of listening to the proposal of salcedo, ordered him to be hung. no sooner was this known to the natives than they destroyed the works, and so carefully concealed the entrance, that even to the present day it is unknown. the tribes afterwards dispersed, and even cruel tortures could not induce them to reveal the secret. there can be no doubt that there are many rich lodes in existence worked by indians, who, knowing that they will be compelled to labour for the benefit of their masters, carefully conceal them. in many of the mines of peru, the natives having almost been exterminated, the proprietors endeavoured to kidnap the inhabitants of the pacific to supply their places, but after several hundreds had been nefariously captured, the governments of england and france interfered and put a stop to the practice. in another part of south america, near the town of cumana, is a vast cavern in the valley of caripe, which was many years ago visited by baron humboldt, who found it inhabited by a remarkable species of nocturnal bird, called the guacharo. the mouth of the cavern is pierced in the side of the cliff looking towards the south, in the form of an arch, eighty feet wide and seventy-two in height. the summit of the cliff is covered with trees of gigantic size, and with shrubs and plants growing in all the luxuriance of a tropical vegetation, while a variety of creeping plants hang in elegant festoons before its entrance. visitors can proceed for upwards of feet without being compelled to light their torches. when the light of day begins to fail, the hoarse cries of the nocturnal birds are heard coming out of the dark recesses of the interior. the guacharo is of the size of the common fowl; its hooked bill is white, like that of the goat-sucker, and furnished at the base with stiff hairs, directed forwards. the plumage is of a sombre brownish grey, mixed with black stripes and large white spots. their eyes are incapable of bearing the light of day, and their wings are disproportionately large, measuring no less than four and a-half feet from tip to tip. the birds quit the cavern only at nightfall, to feed on fruits. a most horrible noise is made by them in the dark recesses of the cavern, and the clamour increases as they are disturbed by the visitors advancing deeper into it with torches, and those nestling in the side avenues begin to utter their mournful cries. when the first sink into silence, it seems as if the more remote inhabitants were alternately complaining to each other of the intruders. the nests of these birds are fixed fifty or sixty feet from the ground, in funnel-shaped holes, with which the cavern roof is pierced like a sieve. armed with poles, the natives once a year, about mid-summer, enter the cavern and knock down the young birds, while the old ones, with lamentable cries, hover over the heads of the robbers. the young which are taken are opened on the spot, when the peritonaeum is found loaded with fat, and a layer of substance reaches from the abdomen to the vent, forming a kind of cushion between the bird's legs. at this period, called by the indians the oil harvest, huts are erected by them, with palm leaves, near the entrance. here the fat of the young birds is melted in clay pots, over a brushwood fire; but although thousands are killed, not more than jars of clear oil are obtained. a small river flows through the cavern, and the visitor is compelled, as he proceeds, to wade through water, not, however, more than two feet deep. from the entrance as far as feet the cavern maintains the same direction, width, and height, after which it loses its regularity, and its walls are covered with stalactites. the same bird has been found in the province of bogota, and may probably be discovered in other caverns. animal life exists in considerable quantities in many subterranean regions, such as beetles, eyeless spiders, scorpions, millipedes, and crustaceans. the most curious is the proteus anguinus, which breathes at the same time through lungs and gills. it has a long eel-like body, with an elongated head, and four very short and thin legs. the skin is flesh-coloured, and so translucent that the liver and heart, which beat about fifty times a minute, can be seen distinctly beneath. two little black spots, resembling eyes, lie buried under the skin, and are only partially developed. weak as it appears, it glides rapidly through the water, when its four little legs remain motionless; it uses them, indeed, only for creeping, and then in a very imperfect manner. seven distinct species of proteus have been discovered, six of which were found in the cavern of carniola, besides crickets, spiders, and a few crustaceae. a peculiar blind rat is found in the mammoth cave of kentucky. a blind fish swims in its rivers, and professor agassiz is of opinion that they, like all other blind animals of the cavern world, have at no time been connected with the world of light. vegetable life also exists in caverns, but consists of such mushrooms or fungi which, shunning the light, love darkness and damp. for their existence, however, moisture and warmth of air is necessary, but they are invariably dependent on organic basis, and are commonly found germinating on pieces of wood, particularly in a state of decomposition. more than seventy subterranean fungi have been discovered, some remarkable for their size. a few years ago a fungus was found growing from the wood-work of a tunnel near doncaster, which measured no less than fifteen feet in diameter. in the neighbourhood of paris the cultivation of edible mushrooms is extensively carried on in the catacombs or caverns, seventy or eighty feet below the surface, where the temperature is uniform all the year round. in one of the caves of mount rouge there are no less than six or seven miles of mushroom bedding. among the wonders of the subterranean world must be classed the bone caves of europe and other parts of the world. in some caves in england, the bones of a prodigious bear have been found, and many hundreds of those of a hyena, considerably larger and more formidable than those existing in africa. besides the bear and hyena, upwards of a hundred species of extinct animals have been found in the ossiferous caves of great britain, among them being those of the elephant and a rhinoceros. though in europe bone caves contain the remains of animals very different from those now existing in the same regions, yet in the caves of brazil extinct species of nearly all the territorial quadrupeds now inhabiting this region occur. the australian caverns contain fossil bones of a large extinct kangaroo. in new zealand the wingless apteryx is still found in the wilds, and the caves of that country show us that it was preceded by other wingless birds of gigantic stature; among them the moa, which, when alive, must have stood about thirteen or fourteen feet high. a complete leg of the bird has been discovered six feet in length, and portions of the eggs show that they had been about or inches diameter. chapter ten. arrangements of the mines. in germany mining operations are carried on in the most systematic manner. miners are dressed as their ancestors were hundreds of years ago, and they cling pertinaciously to their ancient usages. in some workings prayers are offered up, led by the engineer, before the miners descend to their work, while they stand grouped round him at the opening of the mine, a custom which might well be adopted in our own country. the german miner retains also the superstitions of his forefathers, and still believes in the genii of the mines, named nickel and kobald, after whom he has called two metals, nickel and cobalt, originally discovered in the mines of saxony. the germans have introduced into their mines a regular military system, and the engineers, who are denominated captains, wear when in full dress a uniform of a very military appearance, set off by epaulets and gold embroidery. not inferior to them, however, are the cornish miners, their captains being those who have risen by their industry and intelligence from the lowest to the highest grades, although men of less education than their german brethren. the spanish miners are a sober and frugal race, enjoying their cigarettes even while at work. on leaving the mine they put on their snuff-coloured cloaks and broad-brimmed sombreros. in the southern part of the peninsula they wear grass sandals, cloaks of bright colours, and handkerchiefs bound round their heads. leading lives of toil and hardship, their huts are wretched abodes built of stones and mud, their beds the ground, an iron or copper kettle hung from the roof above the fire in the centre of the cabin, a few wicker baskets, and a waterbottle of porous clay constitute their furniture. still, the lot of the miner of the sierra morena is far superior to that of the miner of almaden, who, poisoned by the noxious vapours of mercury, quickly succumbs, ere he has gained the prime of manhood. in south america the mining operations of the inhabitants somewhat resemble those of their spanish ancestors, their habits and customs being imitated by the indians, who have, however, to perform the harder part of the work. while mexico and peru were under the mother country, the mita or law of compulsion existed, the indians being forced to toil against their will in the mines, but since the emancipation of the colonies and the abolition of that nefarious law, they have returned to their agricultural pursuits, and are only occasionally found of their own free will labouring in the mines. various modes are adopted for descending the mines. in some merely a single rope or chain with a loop at the end in which the miner places his foot is used, even when the depth is several hundred feet; in other mines baskets or tubs in which three or four men can stand are employed. while one of these is hauled up, another descends, and often fearful accidents have occurred by the tubs striking against each other, when their occupants have been thrown out. occasionally the ropes and chains have given way, and the hapless miners have been dashed to pieces. some few years ago, as the engineer and several men of the mine of meons were descending standing in a tub, each with a lamp in one hand, and holding on to the chain above him with the other, a couple of tubs loaded with coal unhooked theirs, which fell to the bottom. providentially they had not relaxed their grasp of the chain above their heads, and at once letting go their lamps and desperately seizing it with both hands, they continued their descent, though huge lumps of coal were falling out of the tubs above them. wonderful to relate, they reached the bottom in safety. on another occasion, while the same engineer was ascending in a tub, it was upset in consequence of the engineman raising the rope too suddenly. the engineer hanging on by one leg, with his head downwards was hoisted a height of forty yards, before the alarm was given and he was lowered to the bottom. in the same mine, another engineer, while descending in a tub, had his clothes caught by a strut which projected from the side of the pit; he here hung suspended while his companions continued to descend, terrified for his safety and alarmed for their own, as should he fall, they expected to be crushed by his weight. in vain they shouted for assistance, the men at the top of the pit having gone out of hearing. not until they reached the bottom could they send any aid to their companion. he in the meantime had been vainly endeavouring to find some support so as to relieve the strain on his torn garments, which threatened every instant to give way. after hanging thus for twenty minutes, he was at length set free, but no sooner was he received in the tub than he became insensible. a severe illness of long duration followed, but he ultimately recovered, though he ever afterwards preferred going down the ladders to descending in a tub. anecdotes of the same description could be given without end. most accidents of this character have ended fatally. to avoid them various inventions have been devised, one of which is known as the mounting machine, or man-engine. it consists of two parallel rods, furnished at equal distances with steps, while one is raised to a certain height the other is lowered to the same distance. while the movement of the crank is on its turning point, the miner passes from the step on which he is standing to the opposite step of the other. as they are constantly moving up and down, his next step is back again to the rod he had before left, which rising a few feet, he is able to step back to the other, just as it, having gone down, is once more ascending; and thus he reaches the top with little fatigue. far superior to this mode of ascending or descending are the safety-cages introduced of late years, which have guides the whole length of the shaft, and bonnets or roofs to protect the heads of the men within. they are made with several stages, in which either the tubs or waggons can be placed, or where the miners can stand or sit. if a rope breaks, a spring placed above the cage and kept taut by the tension of the rope, is set free, and acts upon a double clutch made of the best tempered steel. this catch or wedge falls between the wooden guide and a part of the cage, and brings the latter immediately to a stand-still. by this means numberless accidents have been prevented. the man-engines which have been described are dangerous for novices, for should a person stop at the wrong time, he may be hurled to the bottom, or crushed at the return stroke. one of the most frequent accidents to which miners are exposed arises from an outbreak of fire-damp. to avoid this, various safety-lamps have been invented. the most celebrated is that known as sir humphrey davy's lamp. the flame is enclosed in a fine wire gauze, through which, under ordinary circumstances, the gas cannot penetrate. there are other lamps in use constructed on the same principle, but superior in some respects. too often, however, the miners open them at some fatal moment, or enter the mine, against orders, with naked candles. still, by means of these lamps, when properly employed, many accidents have been prevented. another invention exists by which a person can enter in the midst of impure air. the apparatus was devised by monsieur kouquayrol, a french engineer. it consists of a reservoir made of sheet iron, into which the air is forced, and, by an ingeniously contrived pump, is secured like a knapsack to a man's back, and the air is conveyed by means of a tube to the mouth of a nose, and thus into the lungs at the ordinary pressure, while a small external valve allows of the escape of the air after it has been respired. a still more simple apparatus has been invented by monsieur galibert. the system for condensing the pure air is more perfect, while the reservoir consists of a well-prepared goat-skin, which, when inflated, a man can with ease carry on his back. it is furnished with a similar contrivance to the former, a tube passing from the reservoir to the mouth, while the nostrils are compressed, the eyes and head are protected, so that provided with it, a person may exist for a quarter of an hour in the foulest atmosphere, or in the midst of dense smoke. although the metal miner is subjected to fewer accidents than are his brethren working in coal mines, the atmosphere in the former is far more destructive to human life. in lead mines, the duration of life averages scarcely more than thirty-two years, and in those containing arsenical pyrites or quicksilver ores, the average is still lower. before the use of gunpowder in underground operations, the rocks containing the ore were attacked with fire, indeed the practice is still retained in some countries. huge wood fires are made up against the face of the rock, which becomes shattered and traversed by cracks, and when cooled, it is easily detached with a pick or fork. of late years, however, machines have been devised for boring or breaking the rock. some form a hole by the continuous motion of a rotating drill, others by means of intermittent blows. one of these rock-boring machines, manufactured by messrs. turner, of ipswich, performs its work by a combination of both these operations. by the employment of these machines, the formation of the tunnel under mount cenis was greatly facilitated. an example has already been given of the way in which people have been saved from the effects of inundations in mines, others have been dug out when buried by the fall of roofs, but almost countless are the numbers who have perished from other causes, for if the first have destroyed their hundreds, the fire-damp in coal mines has proved the destruction of thousands. it was at one time considered right every night to provoke an explosion by lighting the fire-damp in order that the working stalls should be accessible next morning. the man who performed this dangerous operation wore a thick covering of wool or leather, his face was protected, and his head was covered by a hood like a monk's cowl. he crept along the ground, carrying in his hand a long pole with a light at the end of it. he was known in the english mines as the fireman, but in the french he was called either the cannonier, the monk, or the penitent, the latter name being given him from his dress resembling that of certain so-called religious orders in the romish church. too frequently the hapless penitent was destroyed by the explosion he had provoked. our two friends, however, might have written several large volumes had they given accounts of even a portion of the interesting matters concerning mines which they gathered up during their long and varied tour. mark did not fail to benefit largely by the information he obtained, and he ultimately, with the numerous improvements he introduced, became the proprietor of two of the coal mines in which he had worked in his boyhood, while his young sister, on whom he had had the satisfaction of bestowing a high-class education, refined in mind and manners, became the wife of his friend and fellow-traveller. the end. none soldiers of fortune by richard harding davis to irene and dana gibson soldiers of fortune i "it is so good of you to come early," said mrs. porter, as alice langham entered the drawing-room. "i want to ask a favor of you. i'm sure you won't mind. i would ask one of the debutantes, except that they're always so cross if one puts them next to men they don't know and who can't help them, and so i thought i'd just ask you, you're so good-natured. you don't mind, do you?" "i mind being called good-natured," said miss langham, smiling. "mind what, mrs. porter?" she asked. "he is a friend of george's," mrs. porter explained, vaguely. "he's a cowboy. it seems he was very civil to george when he was out there shooting in new mexico, or old mexico, i don't remember which. he took george to his hut and gave him things to shoot, and all that, and now he is in new york with a letter of introduction. it's just like george. he may be a most impossible sort of man, but, as i said to mr. porter, the people i've asked can't complain, because i don't know anything more about him than they do. he called to-day when i was out and left his card and george's letter of introduction, and as a man had failed me for to-night, i just thought i would kill two birds with one stone, and ask him to fill his place, and he's here. and, oh, yes," mrs. porter added, "i'm going to put him next to you, do you mind?" "unless he wears leather leggings and long spurs i shall mind very much," said miss langham. "well, that's very nice of you," purred mrs. porter, as she moved away. "he may not be so bad, after all; and i'll put reginald king on your other side, shall i?" she asked, pausing and glancing back. the look on miss langham's face, which had been one of amusement, changed consciously, and she smiled with polite acquiescence. "as you please, mrs. porter," she answered. she raised her eyebrows slightly. "i am, as the politicians say, 'in the hands of my friends.'" "entirely too much in the hands of my friends," she repeated, as she turned away. this was the twelfth time during that same winter that she and mr. king had been placed next to one another at dinner, and it had passed beyond the point when she could say that it did not matter what people thought as long as she and he understood. it had now reached that stage when she was not quite sure that she understood either him or herself. they had known each other for a very long time; too long, she sometimes thought, for them ever to grow to know each other any better. but there was always the chance that he had another side, one that had not disclosed itself, and which she could not discover in the strict social environment in which they both lived. and she was the surer of this because she had once seen him when he did not know that she was near, and he had been so different that it had puzzled her and made her wonder if she knew the real reggie king at all. it was at a dance at a studio, and some french pantomimists gave a little play. when it was over, king sat in the corner talking to one of the frenchwomen, and while he waited on her he was laughing at her and at her efforts to speak english. he was telling her how to say certain phrases and not telling her correctly, and she suspected this and was accusing him of it, and they were rhapsodizing and exclaiming over certain delightful places and dishes of which they both knew in paris with the enthusiasm of two children. miss langham saw him off his guard for the first time and instead of a somewhat bored and clever man of the world, he appeared as sincere and interested as a boy. when he joined her, later, the same evening, he was as entertaining as usual, and as polite and attentive as he had been to the frenchwoman, but he was not greatly interested, and his laugh was modulated and not spontaneous. she had wondered that night, and frequently since then, if, in the event of his asking her to marry him, which was possible, and of her accepting him, which was also possible, whether she would find him, in the closer knowledge of married life, as keen and lighthearted with her as he had been with the french dancer. if he would but treat her more like a comrade and equal, and less like a prime minister conferring with his queen! she wanted something more intimate than the deference that he showed her, and she did not like his taking it as an accepted fact that she was as worldly-wise as himself, even though it were true. she was a woman and wanted to be loved, in spite of the fact that she had been loved by many men--at least it was so supposed--and had rejected them. each had offered her position, or had wanted her because she was fitted to match his own great state, or because he was ambitious, or because she was rich. the man who could love her as she once believed men could love, and who could give her something else besides approval of her beauty and her mind, had not disclosed himself. she had begun to think that he never would, that he did not exist, that he was an imagination of the playhouse and the novel. the men whom she knew were careful to show her that they appreciated how distinguished was her position, and how inaccessible she was to them. they seemed to think that by so humbling themselves, and by emphasizing her position they pleased her best, when it was what she wanted them to forget. each of them would draw away backward, bowing and protesting that he was unworthy to raise his eyes to such a prize, but that if she would only stoop to him, how happy his life would be. sometimes they meant it sincerely; sometimes they were gentlemanly adventurers of title, from whom it was a business proposition, and in either case she turned restlessly away and asked herself how long it would be before the man would come who would pick her up on his saddle and gallop off with her, with his arm around her waist and his horse's hoofs clattering beneath them, and echoing the tumult in their hearts. she had known too many great people in the world to feel impressed with her own position at home in america; but she sometimes compared herself to the queen in "in a balcony," and repeated to herself, with mock seriousness:-- "and you the marble statue all the time they praise and point at as preferred to life, yet leave for the first breathing woman's cheek, first dancer's, gypsy's or street balladine's!" and if it were true, she asked herself, that the man she had imagined was only an ideal and an illusion, was not king the best of the others, the unideal and ever-present others? every one else seemed to think so. the society they knew put them constantly together and approved. her people approved. her own mind approved, and as her heart was not apparently ever to be considered, who could say that it did not approve as well? he was certainly a very charming fellow, a manly, clever companion, and one who bore about him the evidences of distinction and thorough breeding. as far as family went, the kings were as old as a young country could expect, and reggie king was, moreover, in spite of his wealth, a man of action and ability. his yacht journeyed from continent to continent, and not merely up the sound to newport, and he was as well known and welcome to the consuls along the coasts of africa and south america as he was at cowes or nice. his books of voyages were recognized by geographical societies and other serious bodies, who had given him permission to put long disarrangements of the alphabet after his name. she liked him because she had grown to be at home with him, because it was good to know that there was some one who would not misunderstand her, and who, should she so indulge herself, would not take advantage of any appeal she might make to his sympathy, who would always be sure to do the tactful thing and the courteous thing, and who, while he might never do a great thing, could not do an unkind one. miss langham had entered the porters' drawing-room after the greater number of the guests had arrived, and she turned from her hostess to listen to an old gentleman with a passion for golf, a passion in which he had for a long time been endeavoring to interest her. she answered him and his enthusiasm in kind, and with as much apparent interest as she would have shown in a matter of state. it was her principle to be all things to all men, whether they were great artists, great diplomats, or great bores. if a man had been pleading with her to leave the conservatory and run away with him, and another had come up innocently and announced that it was his dance, she would have said: "oh, is it?" with as much apparent delight as though his coming had been the one bright hope in her life. she was growing enthusiastic over the delights of golf and unconsciously making a very beautiful picture of herself in her interest and forced vivacity, when she became conscious for the first time of a strange young man who was standing alone before the fireplace looking at her, and frankly listening to all the nonsense she was talking. she guessed that he had been listening for some time, and she also saw, before he turned his eyes quickly away, that he was distinctly amused. miss langham stopped gesticulating and lowered her voice, but continued to keep her eyes on the face of the stranger, whose own eyes were wandering around the room, to give her, so she guessed, the idea that he had not been listening, but that she had caught him at it in the moment he had first looked at her. he was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, with a handsome face, tanned and dyed, either by the sun or by exposure to the wind, to a deep ruddy brown, which contrasted strangely with his yellow hair and mustache, and with the pallor of the other faces about him. he was a stranger apparently to every one present, and his bearing suggested, in consequence, that ease of manner which comes to a person who is not only sure of himself, but who has no knowledge of the claims and pretensions to social distinction of those about him. his most attractive feature was his eyes, which seemed to observe all that was going on, not only what was on the surface, but beneath the surface, and that not rudely or covertly but with the frank, quick look of the trained observer. miss langham found it an interesting face to watch, and she did not look away from it. she was acquainted with every one else in the room, and hence she knew this must be the cowboy of whom mrs. porter had spoken, and she wondered how any one who had lived the rough life of the west could still retain the look when in formal clothes of one who was in the habit of doing informal things in them. mrs. porter presented her cowboy simply as "mr. clay, of whom i spoke to you," with a significant raising of the eyebrows, and the cowboy made way for king, who took miss langham in. he looked frankly pleased, however, when he found himself next to her again, but did not take advantage of it throughout the first part of the dinner, during which time he talked to the young married woman on his right, and miss langham and king continued where they had left off at their last meeting. they knew each other well enough to joke of the way in which they were thrown into each other's society, and, as she said, they tried to make the best of it. but while she spoke, miss langham was continually conscious of the presence of her neighbor, who piqued her interest and her curiosity in different ways. he seemed to be at his ease, and yet from the manner in which he glanced up and down the table and listened to snatches of talk on either side of him he had the appearance of one to whom it was all new, and who was seeing it for the first time. there was a jolly group at one end of the long table, and they wished to emphasize the fact by laughing a little more hysterically at their remarks than the humor of those witticisms seemed to justify. a daughter-in-law of mrs. porter was their leader in this, and at one point she stopped in the middle of a story and waving her hand at the double row of faces turned in her direction, which had been attracted by the loudness of her voice, cried, gayly, "don't listen. this is for private circulation. it is not a jeune-fille story." the debutantes at the table continued talking again in steady, even tones, as though they had not heard the remark or the first of the story, and the men next to them appeared equally unconscious. but the cowboy, miss langham noted out of the corner of her eye, after a look of polite surprise, beamed with amusement and continued to stare up and down the table as though he had discovered a new trait in a peculiar and interesting animal. for some reason, she could not tell why, she felt annoyed with herself and with her friends, and resented the attitude which the new-comer assumed toward them. "mrs. porter tells me that you know her son george?" she said. he did not answer her at once, but bowed his head in assent, with a look of interrogation, as though, so it seemed to her, he had expected her, when she did speak, to say something less conventional. "yes," he replied, after a pause, "he joined us at ayutla. it was the terminus of the jalisco and mexican railroad then. he came out over the road and went in from there with an outfit after mountain lions. i believe he had very good sport." "that is a very wonderful road, i am told," said king, bending forward and introducing himself into the conversation with a nod of the head toward clay; "quite a remarkable feat of engineering." "it will open up the country, i believe," assented the other, indifferently. "i know something of it," continued king, "because i met the men who were putting it through at pariqua, when we touched there in the yacht. they shipped most of their plant to that port, and we saw a good deal of them. they were a very jolly lot, and they gave me a most interesting account of their work and its difficulties." clay was looking at the other closely, as though he was trying to find something back of what he was saying, but as his glance seemed only to embarrass king he smiled freely again in assent, and gave him his full attention. "there are no men to-day, miss langham," king exclaimed, suddenly, turning toward her, "to my mind, who lead as picturesque lives as do civil engineers. and there are no men whose work is as little appreciated." "really?" said miss langham, encouragingly. "now those men i met," continued king, settling himself with his side to the table, "were all young fellows of thirty or thereabouts, but they were leading the lives of pioneers and martyrs--at least that's what i'd call it. they were marching through an almost unknown part of mexico, fighting nature at every step and carrying civilization with them. they were doing better work than soldiers, because soldiers destroy things, and these chaps were creating, and making the way straight. they had no banners either, nor brass bands. they fought mountains and rivers, and they were attacked on every side by fever and the lack of food and severe exposure. they had to sit down around a camp-fire at night and calculate whether they were to tunnel a mountain, or turn the bed of a river or bridge it. and they knew all the time that whatever they decided to do out there in the wilderness meant thousands of dollars to the stockholders somewhere up in god's country, who would some day hold them to account for them. they dragged their chains through miles and miles of jungle, and over flat alkali beds and cactus, and they reared bridges across roaring canons. we know nothing about them and we care less. when their work is done we ride over the road in an observation-car and look down thousands and thousands of feet into the depths they have bridged, and we never give them a thought. they are the bravest soldiers of the present day, and they are the least recognized. i have forgotten their names, and you never heard them. but it seems to me the civil engineer, for all that, is the chief civilizer of our century." miss langham was looking ahead of her with her eyes half-closed, as though she were going over in her mind the situation king had described. "i never thought of that," she said. "it sounds very fine. as you say, the reward is so inglorious. but that is what makes it fine." the cowboy was looking down at the table and pulling at a flower in the centre-piece. he had ceased to smile. miss langham turned on him somewhat sharply, resenting his silence, and said, with a slight challenge in her voice:-- "do you agree, mr. clay," she asked, "or do you prefer the chocolate-cream soldiers, in red coats and gold lace?" "oh, i don't know," the young man answered, with some slight hesitation. "it's a trade for each of them. the engineer's work is all the more absorbing, i imagine, when the difficulties are greatest. he has the fun of overcoming them." "you see nothing in it then," she asked, "but a source of amusement?" "oh, yes, a good deal more," he replied. "a livelihood, for one thing. i--i have been an engineer all my life. i built that road mr. king is talking about." an hour later, when mrs. porter made the move to go, miss langham rose with a protesting sigh. "i am so sorry," she said, "it has been most interesting. i never met two men who had visited so many inaccessible places and come out whole. you have quite inspired mr. king, he was never so amusing. but i should like to hear the end of that adventure; won't you tell it to me in the other room?" clay bowed. "if i haven't thought of something more interesting in the meantime," he said. "what i can't understand," said king, as he moved up into miss langham's place, "is how you had time to learn so much of the rest of the world. you don't act like a man who had spent his life in the brush." "how do you mean?" asked clay, smiling--"that i don't use the wrong forks?" "no," laughed king, "but you told us that this was your first visit east, and yet you're talking about england and vienna and voisin's. how is it you've been there, while you have never been in new york?" "well, that's partly due to accident and partly to design," clay answered. "you see i've worked for english and german and french companies, as well as for those in the states, and i go abroad to make reports and to receive instructions. and then i'm what you call a self-made man; that is, i've never been to college. i've always had to educate myself, and whenever i did get a holiday it seemed to me that i ought to put it to the best advantage, and to spend it where civilization was the furthest advanced--advanced, at least, in years. when i settle down and become an expert, and demand large sums for just looking at the work other fellows have done, then i hope to live in new york, but until then i go where the art galleries are biggest and where they have got the science of enjoying themselves down to the very finest point. i have enough rough work eight months of the year to make me appreciate that. so whenever i get a few months to myself i take the royal mail to london, and from there to paris or vienna. i think i like vienna the best. the directors are generally important people in their own cities, and they ask one about, and so, though i hope i am a good american, it happens that i've more friends on the continent than in the united states." "and how does this strike you?" asked king, with a movement of his shoulder toward the men about the dismantled table. "oh, i don't know," laughed clay. "you've lived abroad yourself; how does it strike you?" clay was the first man to enter the drawing-room. he walked directly away from the others and over to miss langham, and, taking her fan out of her hands as though to assure himself of some hold upon her, seated himself with his back to every one else. "you have come to finish that story?" she said, smiling. miss langham was a careful young person, and would not have encouraged a man she knew even as well as she knew king, to talk to her through dinner, and after it as well. she fully recognized that because she was conspicuous certain innocent pleasures were denied her which other girls could enjoy without attracting attention or comment. but clay interested her beyond her usual self, and the look in his eyes was a tribute which she had no wish to put away from her. "i've thought of something more interesting to talk about," said clay. "i'm going to talk about you. you see i've known you a long time." "since eight o'clock?" asked miss langham. "oh, no, since your coming out, four years ago." "it's not polite to remember so far back," she said. "were you one of those who assisted at that important function? there were so many there i don't remember." "no, i only read about it. i remember it very well; i had ridden over twelve miles for the mail that day, and i stopped half-way back to the ranch and camped out in the shade of a rock and read all the papers and magazines through at one sitting, until the sun went down and i couldn't see the print. one of the papers had an account of your coming out in it, and a picture of you, and i wrote east to the photographer for the original. it knocked about the west for three months and then reached me at laredo, on the border between texas and mexico, and i have had it with me ever since." miss langham looked at clay for a moment in silent dismay and with a perplexed smile. "where is it now?" she asked at last. "in my trunk at the hotel." "oh," she said, slowly. she was still in doubt as to how to treat this act of unconventionality. "not in your watch?" she said, to cover up the pause. "that would have been more in keeping with the rest of the story." the young man smiled grimly, and pulling out his watch pried back the lid and turned it to her so that she could see a photograph inside. the face in the watch was that of a young girl in the dress of a fashion of several years ago. it was a lovely, frank face, looking out of the picture into the world kindly and questioningly, and without fear. "was i once like that?" she said, lightly. "well, go on." "well," he said, with a little sigh of relief, "i became greatly interested in miss alice langham, and in her comings out and goings in, and in her gowns. thanks to our having a press in the states that makes a specialty of personalities, i was able to follow you pretty closely, for, wherever i go, i have my papers sent after me. i can get along without a compass or a medicine-chest, but i can't do without the newspapers and the magazines. there was a time when i thought you were going to marry that austrian chap, and i didn't approve of that. i knew things about him in vienna. and then i read of your engagement to others--well--several others; some of them i thought worthy, and others not. once i even thought of writing you about it, and once i saw you in paris. you were passing on a coach. the man with me told me it was you, and i wanted to follow the coach in a fiacre, but he said he knew at what hotel you were stopping, and so i let you go, but you were not at that hotel, or at any other--at least, i couldn't find you." "what would you have done--?" asked miss langham. "never mind," she interrupted, "go on." "well, that's all," said clay, smiling. "that's all, at least, that concerns you. that is the romance of this poor young man." "but not the only one," she said, for the sake of saying something. "perhaps not," answered clay, "but the only one that counts. i always knew i was going to meet you some day. and now i have met you." "well, and now that you have met me," said miss langham, looking at him in some amusement, "are you sorry?" "no--" said clay, but so slowly and with such consideration that miss langham laughed and held her head a little higher. "not sorry to meet you, but to meet you in such surroundings." "what fault do you find with my surroundings?" "well, these people," answered clay, "they are so foolish, so futile. you shouldn't be here. there must be something else better than this. you can't make me believe that you choose it. in europe you could have a salon, or you could influence statesmen. there surely must be something here for you to turn to as well. something better than golf-sticks and salted almonds." "what do you know of me?" said miss langham, steadily. "only what you have read of me in impertinent paragraphs. how do you know i am fitted for anything else but just this? you never spoke with me before to-night." "that has nothing to do with it," said clay, quickly. "time is made for ordinary people. when people who amount to anything meet they don't have to waste months in finding each other out. it is only the doubtful ones who have to be tested again and again. when i was a kid in the diamond mines in kimberley, i have seen the experts pick out a perfect diamond from the heap at the first glance, and without a moment's hesitation. it was the cheap stones they spent most of the afternoon over. suppose i have only seen you to-night for the first time; suppose i shall not see you again, which is quite likely, for i sail tomorrow for south america--what of that? i am just as sure of what you are as though i had known you for years." miss langham looked at him for a moment in silence. her beauty was so great that she could take her time to speak. she was not afraid of losing any one's attention. "and have you come out of the west, knowing me so well, just to tell me that i am wasting myself?" she said. "is that all?" "that is all," answered clay. "you know the things i would like to tell you," he added, looking at her closely. "i think i like to be told the other things best," she said, "they are the easier to believe." "you have to believe whatever i tell you," said clay, smiling. the girl pressed her hands together in her lap, and looked at him curiously. the people about them were moving and making their farewells, and they brought her back to the present with a start. "i'm sorry you're going away," she said. "it has been so odd. you come suddenly up out of the wilderness, and set me to thinking and try to trouble me with questions about myself, and then steal away again without stopping to help me to settle them. is it fair?" she rose and put out her hand, and he took it and held it for a moment, while they stood looking at one another. "i am coming back," he said, "and i will find that you have settled them for yourself." "good-by," she said, in so low a tone that the people standing near them could not hear. "you haven't asked me for it, you know, but--i think i shall let you keep that picture." "thank you," said clay, smiling, "i meant to." "you can keep it," she continued, turning back, "because it is not my picture. it is a picture of a girl who ceased to exist four years ago, and whom you have never met. good-night." mr. langham and hope, his younger daughter, had been to the theatre. the performance had been one which delighted miss hope, and which satisfied her father because he loved to hear her laugh. mr. langham was the slave of his own good fortune. by instinct and education he was a man of leisure and culture, but the wealth he had inherited was like an unruly child that needed his constant watching, and in keeping it well in hand he had become a man of business, with time for nothing else. alice langham, on her return from mrs. porter's dinner, found him in his study engaged with a game of solitaire, while hope was kneeling on a chair beside him with her elbows on the table. mr. langham had been troubled with insomnia of late, and so it often happened that when alice returned from a ball she would find him sitting with a novel, or his game of solitaire, and hope, who had crept downstairs from her bed, dozing in front of the open fire and keeping him silent company. the father and the younger daughter were very close to one another, and had grown especially so since his wife had died and his son and heir had gone to college. this fourth member of the family was a great bond of sympathy and interest between them, and his triumphs and escapades at yale were the chief subjects of their conversation. it was told by the directors of a great western railroad, who had come to new york to discuss an important question with mr. langham, that they had been ushered downstairs one night into his basement, where they had found the president of the board and his daughter hope working out a game of football on the billiard table. they had chalked it off into what corresponded to five-yard lines, and they were hurling twenty-two chess-men across it in "flying wedges" and practising the several tricks which young langham had intrusted to his sister under an oath of secrecy. the sight filled the directors with the horrible fear that business troubles had turned the president's mind, but after they had sat for half an hour perched on the high chairs around the table, while hope excitedly explained the game to them, they decided that he was wiser than they knew, and each left the house regretting he had no son worthy enough to bring "that young girl" into the far west. "you are home early," said mr. langham, as alice stood above him pulling at her gloves. "i thought you said you were going on to some dance." "i was tired," his daughter answered. "well, when i'm out," commented hope, "i won't come home at eleven o'clock. alice always was a quitter." "a what?" asked the older sister. "tell us what you had for dinner," said hope. "i know it isn't nice to ask," she added, hastily, "but i always like to know." "i don't remember," miss langham answered, smiling at her father, "except that he was very much sunburned and had most perplexing eyes." "oh, of course," assented hope, "i suppose you mean by that that you talked with some man all through dinner. well, i think there is a time for everything." "father," interrupted miss langham, "do you know many engineers--i mean do you come in contact with them through the railroads and mines you have an interest in? i am rather curious about them," she said, lightly. "they seem to be a most picturesque lot of young men." "engineers? of course," said mr. langham, vaguely, with the ten of spades held doubtfully in air. "sometimes we have to depend upon them altogether. we decide from what the engineering experts tell us whether we will invest in a thing or not." "i don't think i mean the big men of the profession," said his daughter, doubtfully. "i mean those who do the rough work. the men who dig the mines and lay out the railroads. do you know any of them?" "some of them," said mr. langham, leaning back and shuffling the cards for a new game. "why?" "did you ever hear of a mr. robert clay?" mr. langham smiled as he placed the cards one above the other in even rows. "very often," he said. "he sails to-morrow to open up the largest iron deposits in south america. he goes for the valencia mining company. valencia is the capital of olancho, one of those little republics down there." "do you--are you interested in that company?" asked miss langham, seating herself before the fire and holding out her hands toward it. "does mr. clay know that you are?" "yes--i am interested in it," mr. langham replied, studying the cards before him, "but i don't think clay knows it--nobody knows it yet, except the president and the other officers." he lifted a card and put it down again in some indecision. "it's generally supposed to be operated by a company, but all the stock is owned by one man. as a matter of fact, my dear children," exclaimed mr. langham, as he placed a deuce of clubs upon a deuce of spades with a smile of content, "the valencia mining company is your beloved father." "oh," said miss langham, as she looked steadily into the fire. hope tapped her lips gently with the back of her hand to hide the fact that she was sleepy, and nudged her father's elbow. "you shouldn't have put the deuce there," she said, "you should have used it to build with on the ace." ii a year before mrs. porter's dinner a tramp steamer on her way to the capital of brazil had steered so close to the shores of olancho that her solitary passenger could look into the caverns the waves had tunnelled in the limestone cliffs along the coast. the solitary passenger was robert clay, and he made a guess that the white palisades which fringed the base of the mountains along the shore had been forced up above the level of the sea many years before by some volcanic action. olancho, as many people know, is situated on the northeastern coast of south america, and its shores are washed by the main equatorial current. from the deck of a passing vessel you can obtain but little idea of olancho or of the abundance and tropical beauty which lies hidden away behind the rampart of mountains on her shore. you can see only their desolate dark-green front, and the white caves at their base, into which the waves rush with an echoing roar, and in and out of which fly continually thousands of frightened bats. the mining engineer on the rail of the tramp steamer observed this peculiar formation of the coast with listless interest, until he noted, when the vessel stood some thirty miles north of the harbor of valencia, that the limestone formation had disappeared, and that the waves now beat against the base of the mountains themselves. there were five of these mountains which jutted out into the ocean, and they suggested roughly the five knuckles of a giant hand clenched and lying flat upon the surface of the water. they extended for seven miles, and then the caverns in the palisades began again and continued on down the coast to the great cliffs that guard the harbor of olancho's capital. "the waves tunnelled their way easily enough until they ran up against those five mountains," mused the engineer, "and then they had to fall back." he walked to the captain's cabin and asked to look at a map of the coast line. "i believe i won't go to rio," he said later in the day; "i think i will drop off here at valencia." so he left the tramp steamer at that place and disappeared into the interior with an ox-cart and a couple of pack-mules, and returned to write a lengthy letter from the consul's office to a mr. langham in the united states, knowing he was largely interested in mines and in mining. "there are five mountains filled with ore," clay wrote, "which should be extracted by open-faced workings. i saw great masses of red hematite lying exposed on the side of the mountain, only waiting a pick and shovel, and at one place there were five thousand tons in plain sight. i should call the stuff first-class bessemer ore, running about sixty-three per cent metallic iron. the people know it is there, but have no knowledge of its value, and are too lazy to ever work it themselves. as to transportation, it would only be necessary to run a freight railroad twenty miles along the sea-coast to the harbor of valencia and dump your ore from your own pier into your own vessels. it would not, i think, be possible to ship direct from the mines themselves, even though, as i say, the ore runs right down into the water, because there is no place at which it would be safe for a large vessel to touch. i will look into the political side of it and see what sort of a concession i can get for you. i should think ten per cent of the output would satisfy them, and they would, of course, admit machinery and plant free of duty." six months after this communication had arrived in new york city, the valencia mining company was formally incorporated, and a man named van antwerp, with two hundred workmen and a half-dozen assistants, was sent south to lay out the freight railroad, to erect the dumping-pier, and to strip the five mountains of their forests and underbrush. it was not a task for a holiday, but a stern, difficult, and perplexing problem, and van antwerp was not quite the man to solve it. he was stubborn, self-confident, and indifferent by turns. he did not depend upon his lieutenants, but jealously guarded his own opinions from the least question or discussion, and at every step he antagonized the easy-going people among whom he had come to work. he had no patience with their habits of procrastination, and he was continually offending their lazy good-nature and their pride. he treated the rich planters, who owned the land between the mines and the harbor over which the freight railroad must run, with as little consideration as he showed the regiment of soldiers which the government had farmed out to the company to serve as laborers in the mines. six months after van antwerp had taken charge at valencia, clay, who had finished the railroad in mexico, of which king had spoken, was asked by telegraph to undertake the work of getting the ore out of the mountains he had discovered, and shipping it north. he accepted the offer and was given the title of general manager and resident director, and an enormous salary, and was also given to understand that the rough work of preparation had been accomplished, and that the more important service of picking up the five mountains and putting them in fragments into tramp steamers would continue under his direction. he had a letter of recall for van antwerp, and a letter of introduction to the minister of mines and agriculture. further than that he knew nothing of the work before him, but he concluded, from the fact that he had been paid the almost prohibitive sum he had asked for his services, that it must be important, or that he had reached that place in his career when he could stop actual work and live easily, as an expert, on the work of others. clay rolled along the coast from valencia to the mines in a paddle-wheeled steamer that had served its usefulness on the mississippi, and which had been rotting at the levees in new orleans, when van antwerp had chartered it to carry tools and machinery to the mines and to serve as a private launch for himself. it was a choice either of this steamer and landing in a small boat, or riding along the line of the unfinished railroad on horseback. either route consumed six valuable hours, and clay, who was anxious to see his new field of action, beat impatiently upon the rail of the rolling tub as it wallowed in the sea. he spent the first three days after his arrival at the mines in the mountains, climbing them on foot and skirting their base on horseback, and sleeping where night overtook him. van antwerp did not accompany him on his tour of inspection through the mines, but delegated that duty to an engineer named macwilliams, and to weimer, the united states consul at valencia, who had served the company in many ways and who was in its closest confidence. for three days the men toiled heavily over fallen trunks and trees, slippery with the moss of centuries, or slid backward on the rolling stones in the waterways, or clung to their ponies' backs to dodge the hanging creepers. at times for hours together they walked in single file, bent nearly double, and seeing nothing before them but the shining backs and shoulders of the negroes who hacked out the way for them to go. and again they would come suddenly upon a precipice, and drink in the soft cool breath of the ocean, and look down thousands of feet upon the impenetrable green under which they had been crawling, out to where it met the sparkling surface of the caribbean sea. it was three days of unceasing activity while the sun shone, and of anxious questionings around the camp-fire when the darkness fell, and when there were no sounds on the mountain-side but that of falling water in a distant ravine or the calls of the night-birds. on the morning of the fourth day clay and his attendants returned to camp and rode to where the men had just begun to blast away the sloping surface of the mountain. as clay passed between the zinc sheds and palm huts of the soldier-workmen, they came running out to meet him, and one, who seemed to be a leader, touched his bridle, and with his straw sombrero in his hand begged for a word with el senor the director. the news of clay's return had reached the opening, and the throb of the dummy-engines and the roar of the blasting ceased as the assistant-engineers came down the valley to greet the new manager. they found him seated on his horse gazing ahead of him, and listening to the story of the soldier, whose fingers, as he spoke, trembled in the air, with all the grace and passion of his southern nature, while back of him his companions stood humbly, in a silent chorus, with eager, supplicating eyes. clay answered the man's speech curtly, with a few short words, in the spanish patois in which he had been addressed, and then turned and smiled grimly upon the expectant group of engineers. he kept them waiting for some short space, while he looked them over carefully, as though he had never seen them before. "well, gentlemen," he said, "i'm glad to have you here all together. i am only sorry you didn't come in time to hear what this fellow has had to say. i don't as a rule listen that long to complaints, but he told me what i have seen for myself and what has been told me by others. i have been here three days now, and i assure you, gentlemen, that my easiest course would be to pack up my things and go home on the next steamer. i was sent down here to take charge of a mine in active operation, and i find--what? i find that in six months you have done almost nothing, and that the little you have condescended to do has been done so badly that it will have to be done over again; that you have not only wasted a half year of time--and i can't tell how much money--but that you have succeeded in antagonizing all the people on whose good-will we are absolutely dependent; you have allowed your machinery to rust in the rain, and your workmen to rot with sickness. you have not only done nothing, but you haven't a blue print to show me what you meant to do. i have never in my life come across laziness and mismanagement and incompetency upon such a magnificent and reckless scale. you have not built the pier, you have not opened the freight road, you have not taken out an ounce of ore. you know more of valencia than you know of these mines; you know it from the alameda to the canal. you can tell me what night the band plays in the plaza, but you can't give me the elevation of one of these hills. you have spent your days on the pavements in front of cafés, and your nights in dance-halls, and you have been drawing salaries every month. i've more respect for these half-breeds that you've allowed to starve in this fever-bed than i have for you. you have treated them worse than they'd treat a dog, and if any of them die, it's on your heads. you have put them in a fever-camp which you have not even taken the trouble to drain. your commissariat is rotten, and you have let them drink all the rum they wanted. there is not one of you--" the group of silent men broke, and one of them stepped forward and shook his forefinger at clay. "no man can talk to me like that," he said, warningly, "and think i'll work under him. i resign here and now." "you what--" cried clay, "you resign?" he whirled his horse round with a dig of his spur and faced them. "how dare you talk of resigning? i'll pack the whole lot of you back to new york on the first steamer, if i want to, and i'll give you such characters that you'll be glad to get a job carrying a transit. you're in no position to talk of resigning yet--not one of you. yes," he added, interrupting himself, "one of you is macwilliams, the man who had charge of the railroad. it's no fault of his that the road's not working. i understand that he couldn't get the right of way from the people who owned the land, but i have seen what he has done, and his plans, and i apologize to him--to macwilliams. as for the rest of you, i'll give you a month's trial. it will be a month before the next steamer could get here anyway, and i'll give you that long to redeem yourselves. at the end of that time we will have another talk, but you are here now only on your good behavior and on my sufferance. good-morning." as clay had boasted, he was not the man to throw up his position because he found the part he had to play was not that of leading man, but rather one of general utility, and although it had been several years since it had been part of his duties to oversee the setting up of machinery, and the policing of a mining camp, he threw himself as earnestly into the work before him as though to show his subordinates that it did not matter who did the work, so long as it was done. the men at first were sulky, resentful, and suspicious, but they could not long resist the fact that clay was doing the work of five men and five different kinds of work, not only without grumbling, but apparently with the keenest pleasure. he conciliated the rich coffee planters who owned the land which he wanted for the freight road by calls of the most formal state and dinners of much less formality, for he saw that the iron mine had its social as well as its political side. and with this fact in mind, he opened the railroad with great ceremony, and much music and feasting, and the first piece of ore taken out of the mine was presented to the wife of the minister of the interior in a cluster of diamonds, which made the wives of the other members of the cabinet regret that their husbands had not chosen that portfolio. six months followed of hard, unremitting work, during which time the great pier grew out into the bay from macwilliams' railroad, and the face of the first mountain was scarred and torn of its green, and left in mangled nakedness, while the ringing of hammers and picks, and the racking blasts of dynamite, and the warning whistles of the dummy-engines drove away the accumulated silence of centuries. it had been a long uphill fight, and clay had enjoyed it mightily. two unexpected events had contributed to help it. one was the arrival in valencia of young teddy langham, who came ostensibly to learn the profession of which clay was so conspicuous an example, and in reality to watch over his father's interests. he was put at clay's elbow, and clay made him learn in spite of himself, for he ruled him and macwilliams of both of whom he was very fond, as though, so they complained, they were the laziest and the most rebellious members of his entire staff. the second event of importance was the announcement made one day by young langham that his father's physician had ordered rest in a mild climate, and that he and his daughters were coming in a month to spend the winter in valencia, and to see how the son and heir had developed as a man of business. the idea of mr. langham's coming to visit olancho to inspect his new possessions was not a surprise to clay. it had occurred to him as possible before, especially after the son had come to join them there. the place was interesting and beautiful enough in itself to justify a visit, and it was only a ten days' voyage from new york. but he had never considered the chance of miss langham's coming, and when that was now not only possible but a certainty, he dreamed of little else. he lived as earnestly and toiled as indefatigably as before, but the place was utterly transformed for him. he saw it now as she would see it when she came, even while at the same time his own eyes retained their point of view. it was as though he had lengthened the focus of a glass, and looked beyond at what was beautiful and picturesque, instead of what was near at hand and practicable. he found himself smiling with anticipation of her pleasure in the orchids hanging from the dead trees, high above the opening of the mine, and in the parrots hurling themselves like gayly colored missiles among the vines; and he considered the harbor at night with its colored lamps floating on the black water as a scene set for her eyes. he planned the dinners that he would give in her honor on the balcony of the great restaurant in the plaza on those nights when the band played, and the senoritas circled in long lines between admiring rows of officers and caballeros. and he imagined how, when the ore-boats had been filled and his work had slackened, he would be free to ride with her along the rough mountain roads, between magnificent pillars of royal palms, or to venture forth in excursions down the bay, to explore the caves and to lunch on board the rolling paddle-wheel steamer, which he would have re painted and gilded for her coming. he pictured himself acting as her guide over the great mines, answering her simple questions about the strange machinery, and the crew of workmen, and the local government by which he ruled two thousand men. it was not on account of any personal pride in the mines that he wanted her to see them, it was not because he had discovered and planned and opened them that he wished to show them to her, but as a curious spectacle that he hoped would give her a moment's interest. but his keenest pleasure was when young langham suggested that they should build a house for his people on the edge of the hill that jutted out over the harbor and the great ore pier. if this were done, langham urged, it would be possible for him to see much more of his family than he would be able to do were they installed in the city, five miles away. "we can still live in the office at this end of the railroad," the boy said, "and then we shall have them within call at night when we get back from work; but if they are in valencia, it will take the greater part of the evening going there and all of the night getting back, for i can't pass that club under three hours. it will keep us out of temptation." "yes, exactly," said clay, with a guilty smile, "it will keep us out of temptation." so they cleared away the underbrush, and put a double force of men to work on what was to be the most beautiful and comfortable bungalow on the edge of the harbor. it had blue and green and white tiles on the floors, and walls of bamboo, and a red roof of curved tiles to let in the air, and dragons' heads for water-spouts, and verandas as broad as the house itself. there was an open court in the middle hung with balconies looking down upon a splashing fountain, and to decorate this patio, they levied upon people for miles around for tropical plants and colored mats and awnings. they cut down the trees that hid the view of the long harbor leading from the sea into valencia, and planted a rampart of other trees to hide the iron-ore pier, and they sodded the raw spots where the men had been building, until the place was as completely transformed as though a fairy had waved her wand above it. it was to be a great surprise, and they were all--clay, macwilliams, and langham--as keenly interested in it as though each were preparing it for his honeymoon. they would be walking together in valencia when one would say, "we ought to have that for the house," and without question they would march into the shop together and order whatever they fancied to be sent out to the house of the president of the mines on the hill. they stocked it with wine and linens, and hired a volante and six horses, and fitted out the driver with a new pair of boots that reached above his knees, and a silver jacket and a sombrero that was so heavy with braid that it flashed like a halo about his head in the sunlight, and he was ordered not to wear it until the ladies came, under penalty of arrest. it delighted clay to find that it was only the beautiful things and the fine things of his daily routine that suggested her to him, as though she could not be associated in his mind with anything less worthy, and he kept saying to himself, "she will like this view from the end of the terrace," and "this will be her favorite walk," or "she will swing her hammock here," and "i know she will not fancy the rug that weimer chose." while this fairy palace was growing the three men lived as roughly as before in the wooden hut at the terminus of the freight road, three hundred yards below the house, and hidden from it by an impenetrable rampart of brush and spanish bayonet. there was a rough road leading from it to the city, five miles away, which they had extended still farther up the hill to the palms, which was the name langham had selected for his father's house. and when it was finally finished, they continued to live under the corrugated zinc roof of their office building, and locking up the palms, left it in charge of a gardener and a watchman until the coming of its rightful owners. it had been a viciously hot, close day, and even now the air came in sickening waves, like a blast from the engine-room of a steamer, and the heat lightning played round the mountains over the harbor and showed the empty wharves, and the black outlines of the steamers, and the white front of the custom-house, and the long half-circle of twinkling lamps along the quay. macwilliams and langham sat panting on the lower steps of the office-porch considering whether they were too lazy to clean themselves and be rowed over to the city, where, as it was sunday night, was promised much entertainment. they had been for the last hour trying to make up their minds as to this, and appealing to clay to stop work and decide for them. but he sat inside at a table figuring and writing under the green shade of a student's lamp and made no answer. the walls of clay's office were of unplaned boards, bristling with splinters, and hung with blue prints and outline maps of the mine. a gaudily colored portrait of madame la presidenta, the noble and beautiful woman whom alvarez, the president of olancho, had lately married in spain, was pinned to the wall above the table. this table, with its green oil-cloth top, and the lamp, about which winged insects beat noisily, and an earthen water-jar--from which the water dripped as regularly as the ticking of a clock--were the only articles of furniture in the office. on a shelf at one side of the door lay the men's machetes, a belt of cartridges, and a revolver in a holster. clay rose from the table and stood in the light of the open door, stretching himself gingerly, for his joints were sore and stiff with fording streams and climbing the surfaces of rocks. the red ore and yellow mud of the mines were plastered over his boots and riding-breeches, where he had stood knee-deep in the water, and his shirt stuck to him like a wet bathing-suit, showing his ribs when he breathed and the curves of his broad chest. a ring of burning paper and hot ashes fell from his cigarette to his breast and burnt a hole through the cotton shirt, and he let it lie there and watched it burn with a grim smile. "i wanted to see," he explained, catching the look of listless curiosity in macwilliams's eye, "whether there was anything hotter than my blood. it's racing around like boiling water in a pot." "listen," said langham, holding up his hand. "there goes the call for prayers in the convent, and now it's too late to go to town. i am glad, rather. i'm too tired to keep awake, and besides, they don't know how to amuse themselves in a civilized way--at least not in my way. i wish i could just drop in at home about now; don't you, macwilliams? just about this time up in god's country all the people are at the theatre, or they've just finished dinner and are sitting around sipping cool green mint, trickling through little lumps of ice. what i'd like--" he stopped and shut one eye and gazed, with his head on one side, at the unimaginative macwilliams--"what i'd like to do now," he continued, thoughtfully, "would be to sit in the front row at a comic opera, on the aisle. the prima donna must be very, very beautiful, and sing most of her songs at me, and there must be three comedians, all good, and a chorus entirely composed of girls. i never could see why they have men in the chorus, anyway. no one ever looks at them. now that's where i'd like to be. what would you like, macwilliams?" macwilliams was a type with which clay was intimately familiar, but to the college-bred langham he was a revelation and a joy. he came from some little town in the west, and had learned what he knew of engineering at the transit's mouth, after he had first served his apprenticeship by cutting sage-brush and driving stakes. his life had been spent in mexico and central america, and he spoke of the home he had not seen in ten years with the aggressive loyalty of the confirmed wanderer, and he was known to prefer and to import canned corn and canned tomatoes in preference to eating the wonderful fruits of the country, because the former came from the states and tasted to him of home. he had crowded into his young life experiences that would have shattered the nerves of any other man with a more sensitive conscience and a less happy sense of humor; but these same experiences had only served to make him shrewd and self-confident and at his ease when the occasion or difficulty came. he pulled meditatively on his pipe and considered langham's question deeply, while clay and the younger boy sat with their arms upon their knees and waited for his decision in thoughtful silence. "i'd like to go to the theatre, too," said macwilliams, with an air as though to show that he also was possessed of artistic tastes. "i'd like to see a comical chap i saw once in ' --oh, long ago--before i joined the p. q. & m. he was funny. his name was owens; that was his name, john e. owens--" "oh, for heaven's sake, macwilliams," protested langham, in dismay; "he's been dead for five years." "has he?" said macwilliams, thoughtfully. "well--" he concluded, unabashed, "i can't help that, he's the one i'd like to see best." "you can have another wish, mac, you know," urged langham, "can't he, clay?" clay nodded gravely, and macwilliams frowned again in thought. "no," he said after an effort, "owens, john e. owens; that's the one i want to see." "well, now i want another wish, too," said langham. "i move we can each have two wishes. i wish--" "wait until i've had mine," said clay. "you've had one turn. i want to be in a place i know in vienna. it's not hot like this, but cool and fresh. it's an open, out-of-door concert-garden, with hundreds of colored lights and trees, and there's always a breeze coming through. and eduard strauss, the son, you know, leads the orchestra there, and they play nothing but waltzes, and he stands in front of them, and begins by raising himself on his toes, and then he lifts his shoulders gently--and then sinks back again and raises his baton as though he were drawing the music out after it, and the whole place seems to rock and move. it's like being picked up and carried on the deck of a yacht over great waves; and all around you are the beautiful viennese women and those tall austrian officers in their long, blue coats and flat hats and silver swords. and there are cool drinks--" continued clay, with his eyes fixed on the coming storm--"all sorts of cool drinks--in high, thin glasses, full of ice, all the ice you want--" "oh, drop it, will you?" cried langham, with a shrug of his damp shoulders. "i can't stand it. i'm parching." "wait a minute," interrupted macwilliams, leaning forward and looking into the night. "some one's coming." there was a sound down the road of hoofs and the rattle of the land-crabs as they scrambled off into the bushes, and two men on horseback came suddenly out of the darkness and drew rein in the light from the open door. the first was general mendoza, the leader of the opposition in the senate, and the other, his orderly. the general dropped his panama hat to his knee and bowed in the saddle three times. "good-evening, your excellency," said clay, rising. "tell that peon to get my coat, will you?" he added, turning to langham. langham clapped his hands, and the clanging of a guitar ceased, and their servant and cook came out from the back of the hut and held the general's horse while he dismounted. "wait until i get you a chair," said clay. "you'll find those steps rather bad for white duck." "i am fortunate in finding you at home," said the officer, smiling, and showing his white teeth. "the telephone is not working. i tried at the club, but i could not call you." "it's the storm, i suppose," clay answered, as he struggled into his jacket. "let me offer you something to drink." he entered the house, and returned with several bottles on a tray and a bundle of cigars. the spanish-american poured himself out a glass of water, mixing it with jamaica rum, and said, smiling again, "it is a saying of your countrymen that when a man first comes to olancho he puts a little rum into his water, and that when he is here some time he puts a little water in his rum." "yes," laughed clay. "i'm afraid that's true." there was a pause while the men sipped at their glasses, and looked at the horses and the orderly. the clanging of the guitar began again from the kitchen. "you have a very beautiful view here of the harbor, yes," said mendoza. he seemed to enjoy the pause after his ride, and to be in no haste to begin on the object of his errand. macwilliams and langham eyed each other covertly, and clay examined the end of his cigar, and they all waited. "and how are the mines progressing, eh?" asked the officer, genially. "you find much good iron in them, they tell me." "yes, we are doing very well," clay assented; "it was difficult at first, but now that things are in working order, we are getting out about ten thousand tons a month. we hope to increase that soon to twenty thousand when the new openings are developed and our shipping facilities are in better shape." "so much!" exclaimed the general, pleasantly. "of which the government of my country is to get its share of ten per cent--one thousand tons! it is munificent!" he laughed and shook his head slyly at clay, who smiled in dissent. "but you see, sir," said clay, "you cannot blame us. the mines have always been there, before this government came in, before the spaniards were here, before there was any government at all, but there was not the capital to open them up, i suppose, or--and it needed a certain energy to begin the attack. your people let the chance go, and, as it turned out, i think they were very wise in doing so. they get ten per cent of the output. that's ten per cent on nothing, for the mines really didn't exist, as far as you were concerned, until we came, did they? they were just so much waste land, and they would have remained so. and look at the price we paid down before we cut a tree. three millions of dollars; that's a good deal of money. it will be some time before we realize anything on that investment." mendoza shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "i will be frank with you," he said, with the air of one to whom dissimulation is difficult. "i come here to-night on an unpleasant errand, but it is with me a matter of duty, and i am a soldier, to whom duty is the foremost ever. i have come to tell you, mr. clay, that we, the opposition, are not satisfied with the manner in which the government has disposed of these great iron deposits. when i say not satisfied, my dear friend, i speak most moderately. i should say that we are surprised and indignant, and we are determined the wrong it has done our country shall be righted. i have the honor to have been chosen to speak for our party on this most important question, and on next tuesday, sir," the general stood up and bowed, as though he were before a great assembly, "i will rise in the senate and move a vote of want of confidence in the government for the manner in which it has given away the richest possessions in the storehouse of my country, giving it not only to aliens, but for a pittance, for a share which is not a share, but a bribe, to blind the eyes of the people. it has been a shameful bargain, and i cannot say who is to blame; i accuse no one. but i suspect, and i will demand an investigation; i will demand that the value not of one-tenth, but of one-half of all the iron that your company takes out of olancho shall be paid into the treasury of the state. and i come to you to-night, as the resident director, to inform you beforehand of my intention. i do not wish to take you unprepared. i do not blame your people; they are business men, they know how to make good bargains, they get what they best can. that is the rule of trade, but they have gone too far, and i advise you to communicate with your people in new york and learn what they are prepared to offer now--now that they have to deal with men who do not consider their own interests but the interests of their country." mendoza made a sweeping bow and seated himself, frowning dramatically, with folded arms. his voice still hung in the air, for he had spoken as earnestly as though he imagined himself already standing in the hall of the senate championing the cause of the people. macwilliams looked up at clay from where he sat on the steps below him, but clay did not notice him, and there was no sound, except the quick sputtering of the nicotine in langham's pipe, at which he pulled quickly, and which was the only outward sign the boy gave of his interest. clay shifted one muddy boot over the other and leaned back with his hands stuck in his belt. "why didn't you speak of this sooner?" he asked. "ah, yes, that is fair," said the general, quickly. "i know that it is late, and i regret it, and i see that we cause you inconvenience; but how could i speak sooner when i was ignorant of what was going on? i have been away with my troops. i am a soldier first, a politician after. during the last year i have been engaged in guarding the frontier. no news comes to a general in the field moving from camp to camp and always in the saddle; but i may venture to hope, sir, that news has come to you of me?" clay pressed his lips together and bowed his head. "we have heard of your victories, general, yes," he said; "and on your return you say you found things had not been going to your liking?" "that is it," assented the other, eagerly. "i find that indignation reigns on every side. i find my friends complaining of the railroad which you run across their land. i find that fifteen hundred soldiers are turned into laborers, with picks and spades, working by the side of negroes and your irish; they have not been paid their wages, and they have been fed worse than though they were on the march; sickness and--" clay moved impatiently and dropped his boot heavily on the porch. "that was true at first," he interrupted, "but it is not so now. i should be glad, general, to take you over the men's quarters at any time. as for their not having been paid, they were never paid by their own government before they came to us and for the same reason, because the petty officers kept back the money, just as they have always done. but the men are paid now. however, this is not of the most importance. who is it that complains of the terms of our concession?" "every one!" exclaimed mendoza, throwing out his arms, "and they ask, moreover, this: they ask why, if this mine is so rich, why was not the stock offered here to us in this country? why was it not put on the market, that any one might buy? we have rich men in olancho, why should not they benefit first of all others by the wealth of their own lands? but no! we are not asked to buy. all the stock is taken in new york, no one benefits but the state, and it receives only ten per cent. it is monstrous!" "i see," said clay, gravely. "that had not occurred to me before. they feel they have been slighted. i see." he paused for a moment as if in serious consideration. "well," he added, "that might be arranged." he turned and jerked his head toward the open door. "if you boys mean to go to town to-night, you'd better be moving," he said. the two men rose together and bowed silently to their guest. "i should like if mr. langham would remain a moment with us," said mendoza, politely. "i understand that it is his father who controls the stock of the company. if we discuss any arrangement it might be well if he were here." clay was sitting with his chin on his breast, and he did not look up, nor did the young man turn to him for any prompting. "i'm not down here as my father's son," he said, "i am an employee of mr. clay's. he represents the company. good-night, sir." "you think, then," said clay, "that if your friends were given an opportunity to subscribe to the stock they would feel less resentful toward us? they would think it was fairer to all?" "i know it," said mendoza; "why should the stock go out of the country when those living here are able to buy it?" "exactly," said clay, "of course. can you tell me this, general? are the gentlemen who want to buy stock in the mine the same men who are in the senate? the men who are objecting to the terms of our concession?" "with a few exceptions they are the same men." clay looked out over the harbor at the lights of the town, and the general twirled his hat around his knee and gazed with appreciation at the stars above him. "because if they are," clay continued, "and they succeed in getting our share cut down from ninety per cent to fifty per cent, they must see that the stock would be worth just forty per cent less than it is now." "that is true," assented the other. "i have thought of that, and if the senators in opposition were given a chance to subscribe, i am sure they would see that it is better wisdom to drop their objections to the concession, and as stockholders allow you to keep ninety per cent of the output. and, again," continued mendoza, "it is really better for the country that the money should go to its people than that it should be stored up in the vaults of the treasury, when there is always the danger that the president will seize it; or, if not this one, the next one." "i should think--that is--it seems to me," said clay with careful consideration, "that your excellency might be able to render us great help in this matter yourself. we need a friend among the opposition. in fact--i see where you could assist us in many ways, where your services would be strictly in the line of your public duty and yet benefit us very much. of course i cannot speak authoritatively without first consulting mr. langham; but i should think he would allow you personally to purchase as large a block of the stock as you could wish, either to keep yourself or to resell and distribute among those of your friends in opposition where it would do the most good." clay looked over inquiringly to where mendoza sat in the light of the open door, and the general smiled faintly, and emitted a pleased little sigh of relief. "indeed," continued clay, "i should think mr. langham might even save you the formality of purchasing the stock outright by sending you its money equivalent. i beg your pardon," he asked, interrupting himself, "does your orderly understand english?" "he does not," the general assured him, eagerly, dragging his chair a little closer. "suppose now that mr. langham were to put fifty or let us say sixty thousand dollars to your account in the valencia bank, do you think this vote of want of confidence in the government on the question of our concession would still be moved?" "i am sure it would not," exclaimed the leader of the opposition, nodding his head violently. "sixty thousand dollars," repeated clay, slowly, "for yourself; and do you think, general, that were you paid that sum you would be able to call off your friends, or would they make a demand for stock also?" "have no anxiety at all, they do just what i say," returned mendoza, in an eager whisper. "if i say 'it is all right, i am satisfied with what the government has done in my absence,' it is enough. and i will say it, i give you the word of a soldier, i will say it. i will not move a vote of want of confidence on tuesday. you need go no farther than myself. i am glad that i am powerful enough to serve you, and if you doubt me"--he struck his heart and bowed with a deprecatory smile--"you need not pay in the money in exchange for the stock all at the same time. you can pay ten thousand this year, and next year ten thousand more and so on, and so feel confident that i shall have the interests of the mine always in my heart. who knows what may not happen in a year? i may be able to serve you even more. who knows how long the present government will last? but i give you my word of honor, no matter whether i be in opposition or at the head of the government, if i receive every six months the retaining fee of which you speak, i will be your representative. and my friends can do nothing. i despise them. _i_ am the opposition. you have done well, my dear sir, to consider me alone." clay turned in his chair and looked back of him through the office to the room beyond. "boys," he called, "you can come out now." he rose and pushed his chair away and beckoned to the orderly who sat in the saddle holding the general's horse. langham and macwilliams came out and stood in the open door, and mendoza rose and looked at clay. "you can go now," clay said to him, quietly. "and you can rise in the senate on tuesday and move your vote of want of confidence and object to our concession, and when you have resumed your seat the secretary of mines will rise in his turn and tell the senate how you stole out here in the night and tried to blackmail me, and begged me to bribe you to be silent, and that you offered to throw over your friends and to take all that we would give you and keep it yourself. that will make you popular with your friends, and will show the government just what sort of a leader it has working against it." clay took a step forward and shook his finger in the officer's face. "try to break that concession; try it. it was made by one government to a body of honest, decent business men, with a government of their own back of them, and if you interfere with our conceded rights to work those mines, i'll have a man-of-war down here with white paint on her hull, and she'll blow you and your little republic back up there into the mountains. now you can go." mendoza had straightened with surprise when clay first began to speak, and had then bent forward slightly as though he meant to interrupt him. his eyebrows were lowered in a straight line, and his lips moved quickly. "you poor--" he began, contemptuously. "bah," he exclaimed, "you're a fool; i should have sent a servant to talk with you. you are a child--but you are an insolent child," he cried, suddenly, his anger breaking out, "and i shall punish you. you dare to call me names! you shall fight me, you shall fight me to-morrow. you have insulted an officer, and you shall meet me at once, to-morrow." "if i meet you to-morrow," clay replied, "i will thrash you for your impertinence. the only reason i don't do it now is because you are on my doorstep. you had better not meet me tomorrow, or at any other time. and i have no leisure to fight duels with anybody." "you are a coward," returned the other, quietly, "and i tell you so before my servant." clay gave a short laugh and turned to macwilliams in the doorway. "hand me my gun, macwilliams," he said, "it's on the shelf to the right." macwilliams stood still and shook his head. "oh, let him alone," he said. "you've got him where you want him." "give me the gun, i tell you," repeated clay. "i'm not going to hurt him, i'm only going to show him how i can shoot." macwilliams moved grudgingly across the porch and brought back the revolver and handed it to clay. "look out now," he said, "it's loaded." at clay's words the general had retreated hastily to his horse's head and had begun unbuckling the strap of his holster, and the orderly reached back into the boot for his carbine. clay told him in spanish to throw up his hands, and the man, with a frightened look at his officer, did as the revolver suggested. then clay motioned with his empty hand for the other to desist. "don't do that," he said, "i'm not going to hurt you; i'm only going to frighten you a little." he turned and looked at the student lamp inside, where it stood on the table in full view. then he raised his revolver. he did not apparently hold it away from him by the butt, as other men do, but let it lie in the palm of his hand, into which it seemed to fit like the hand of a friend. his first shot broke the top of the glass chimney, the second shattered the green globe around it, the third put out the light, and the next drove the lamp crashing to the floor. there was a wild yell of terror from the back of the house, and the noise of a guitar falling down a flight of steps. "i have probably killed a very good cook," said clay, "as i should as certainly kill you, if i were to meet you. langham," he continued, "go tell that cook to come back." the general sprang into his saddle, and the altitude it gave him seemed to bring back some of the jauntiness he had lost. "that was very pretty," he said; "you have been a cowboy, so they tell me. it is quite evident by your manners. no matter, if we do not meet to-morrow it will be because i have more serious work to do. two months from to-day there will be a new government in olancho and a new president, and the mines will have a new director. i have tried to be your friend, mr. clay. see how you like me for an enemy. goodnight, gentlemen." "good-night," said macwilliams, unmoved. "please ask your man to close the gate after you." when the sound of the hoofs had died away the men still stood in an uncomfortable silence, with clay twirling the revolver around his middle finger. "i'm sorry i had to make a gallery play of that sort," he said. "but it was the only way to make that sort of man understand." langham sighed and shook his head ruefully. "well," he said, "i thought all the trouble was over, but it looks to me as though it had just begun. so far as i can see they're going to give the governor a run for his money yet." clay turned to macwilliams. "how many of mendoza's soldiers have we in the mines, mac?" he asked. "about fifteen hundred," macwilliams answered. "but you ought to hear the way they talk of him." "they do, eh?" said clay, with a smile of satisfaction. "that's good. 'six hundred slaves who hate their masters.' what do they say about me?" "oh, they think you're all right. they know you got them their pay and all that. they'd do a lot for you." "would they fight for me?" asked clay. macwilliams looked up and laughed uneasily. "i don't know," he said. "why, old man? what do you mean to do?" "oh, i don't know," clay answered. "i was just wondering whether i should like to be president of olancho." iii the langhams were to arrive on friday, and during the week before that day clay went about with a long slip of paper in his pocket which he would consult earnestly in corners, and upon which he would note down the things that they had left undone. at night he would sit staring at it and turning it over in much concern, and would beg langham to tell him what he could have meant when he wrote "see weimer," or "clean brasses," or "s. q. m." "why should i see weimer," he would exclaim, "and which brasses, and what does s. q. m. stand for, for heaven's sake?" they held a full-dress rehearsal in the bungalow to improve its state of preparation, and drilled the servants and talked english to them, so that they would know what was wanted when the young ladies came. it was an interesting exercise, and had the three young men been less serious in their anxiety to welcome the coming guests they would have found themselves very amusing--as when langham would lean over the balcony in the court and shout back into the kitchen, in what was supposed to be an imitation of his sister's manner, "bring my coffee and rolls--and don't take all day about it either," while clay and macwilliams stood anxiously below to head off the servants when they carried in a can of hot water instead of bringing the horses round to the door, as they had been told to do. "of course it's a bit rough and all that," clay would say, "but they have only to tell us what they want changed and we can have it ready for them in an hour." "oh, my sisters are all right," langham would reassure him; "they'll think it's fine. it will be like camping-out to them, or a picnic. they'll understand." but to make sure, and to "test his girders," as clay put it, they gave a dinner, and after that a breakfast. the president came to the first, with his wife, the countess manuelata, madame la presidenta, and captain stuart, late of the gordon highlanders, and now in command of the household troops at the government house and of the body-guard of the president. he was a friend of clay's and popular with every one present, except for the fact that he occupied this position, instead of serving his own government in his own army. some people said he had been crossed in love, others, less sentimental, that he had forged a check, or mixed up the mess accounts of his company. but clay and macwilliams said it concerned no one why he was there, and then emphasized the remark by picking a quarrel with a man who had given an unpleasant reason for it. stuart, so far as they were concerned, could do no wrong. the dinner went off very well, and the president consented to dine with them in a week, on the invitation of young langham to meet his father. "miss langham is very beautiful, they tell me," madame alvarez said to clay. "i heard of her one winter in rome; she was presented there and much admired." "yes, i believe she is considered very beautiful," clay said. "i have only just met her, but she has travelled a great deal and knows every one who is of interest, and i think you will like her very much." "i mean to like her," said the woman. "there are very few of the native ladies who have seen much of the world beyond a trip to paris, where they live in their hotels and at the dressmaker's while their husbands enjoy themselves; and sometimes i am rather heart-sick for my home and my own people. i was overjoyed when i heard miss langham was to be with us this winter. but you must not keep her out here to yourselves. it is too far and too selfish. she must spend some time with me at the government house." "yes," said clay, "i am afraid of that. i am afraid the young ladies will find it rather lonely out here." "ah, no," exclaimed the woman, quickly. "you have made it beautiful, and it is only a half-hour's ride, except when it rains," she added, laughing, "and then it is almost as easy to row as to ride." "i will have the road repaired," interrupted the president. "it is my wish, mr. clay, that you will command me in every way; i am most desirous to make the visit of mr. langham agreeable to him, he is doing so much for us." the breakfast was given later in the week, and only men were present. they were the rich planters and bankers of valencia, generals in the army, and members of the cabinet, and officers from the tiny war-ship in the harbor. the breeze from the bay touched them through the open doors, the food and wine cheered them, and the eager courtesy and hospitality of the three americans pleased and flattered them. they were of a people who better appreciate the amenities of life than its sacrifices. the breakfast lasted far into the afternoon, and, inspired by the success of the banquet, clay quite unexpectedly found himself on his feet with his hand on his heart, thanking the guests for the good-will and assistance which they had given him in his work. "i have tramped down your coffee plants, and cut away your forests, and disturbed your sleep with my engines, and you have not complained," he said, in his best spanish, "and we will show that we are not ungrateful." then weimer, the consul, spoke, and told them that in his annual consular report, which he had just forwarded to the state department, he had related how ready the government of olancho had been to assist the american company. "and i hope," he concluded, "that you will allow me, gentlemen, to propose the health of president alvarez and the members of his cabinet." the men rose to their feet, one by one, filling their glasses and laughing and saying, "viva el gobernador," until they were all standing. then, as they looked at one another and saw only the faces of friends, some one of them cried, suddenly, "to president alvarez, dictator of olancho!" the cry was drowned in a yell of exultation, and men sprang cheering to their chairs waving their napkins above their heads, and those who wore swords drew them and flashed them in the air, and the quiet, lazy good-nature of the breakfast was turned into an uproarious scene of wild excitement. clay pushed back his chair from the head of the table with an anxious look at the servants gathered about the open door, and weimer clutched frantically at langham's elbow and whispered, "what did i say? for heaven's sake, how did it begin?" the outburst ceased as suddenly as it had started, and old general rojas, the vice-president, called out, "what is said is said, but it must not be repeated." stuart waited until after the rest had gone, and clay led him out to the end of the veranda. "now will you kindly tell me what that was?" clay asked. "it didn't sound like champagne." "no," said the other, "i thought you knew. alvarez means to proclaim himself dictator, if he can, before the spring elections." "and are you going to help him?" "of course," said the englishman, simply. "well, that's all right," said clay, "but there's no use shouting the fact all over the shop like that--and they shouldn't drag me into it." stuart laughed easily and shook his head. "it won't be long before you'll be in it yourself," he said. clay awoke early friday morning to hear the shutters beating viciously against the side of the house, and the wind rushing through the palms, and the rain beating in splashes on the zinc roof. it did not come soothingly and in a steady downpour, but brokenly, like the rush of waves sweeping over a rough beach. he turned on the pillow and shut his eyes again with the same impotent and rebellious sense of disappointment that he used to feel when he had wakened as a boy and found it storming on his holiday, and he tried to sleep once more in the hope that when he again awoke the sun would be shining in his eyes; but the storm only slackened and did not cease, and the rain continued to fall with dreary, relentless persistence. the men climbed the muddy road to the palms, and viewed in silence the wreck which the night had brought to their plants and garden paths. rivulets of muddy water had cut gutters over the lawn and poured out from under the veranda, and plants and palms lay bent and broken, with their broad leaves bedraggled and coated with mud. the harbor and the encircling mountains showed dimly through a curtain of warm, sticky rain. to something that langham said of making the best of it, macwilliams replied, gloomily, that he would not be at all surprised if the ladies refused to leave the ship and demanded to be taken home immediately. "i am sorry," clay said, simply; "i wanted them to like it." the men walked back to the office in grim silence, and took turns in watching with a glass the arms of the semaphore, three miles below, at the narrow opening of the bay. clay smiled nervously at himself, with a sudden sinking at the heart, and with a hot blush of pleasure, as he thought of how often he had looked at its great arms out lined like a mast against the sky, and thanked it in advance for telling him that she was near. in the harbor below, the vessels lay with bare yards and empty decks, the wharves were deserted, and only an occasional small boat moved across the beaten surface of the bay. but at twelve o'clock macwilliams lowered the glass quickly, with a little gasp of excitement, rubbed its moist lens on the inside of his coat and turned it again toward a limp strip of bunting that was crawling slowly up the halyards of the semaphore. a second dripping rag answered it from the semaphore in front of the custom-house, and macwilliams laughed nervously and shut the glass. "it's red," he said; "they've come." they had planned to wear white duck suits, and go out in a launch with a flag flying, and they had made macwilliams purchase a red cummerbund and a pith helmet; but they tumbled into the launch now, wet and bedraggled as they were, and raced weimer in his boat, with the american flag clinging to the pole, to the side of the big steamer as she drew slowly into the bay. other row-boats and launches and lighters began to push out from the wharves, men appeared under the sagging awnings of the bare houses along the river-front, and the custom and health officers in shining oil-skins and puffing damp cigars clambered over the side. "i see them," cried langham, jumping up and rocking the boat in his excitement. "there they are in the bow. that's hope waving. hope! hullo, hope!" he shouted, "hullo!" clay recognized her standing between the younger sister and her father, with the rain beating on all of them, and waving her hand to langham. the men took off their hats, and as they pulled up alongside she bowed to clay and nodded brightly. they sent langham up the gangway first, and waited until he had made his greetings to his family alone. "we have had a terrible trip, mr. clay," miss langham said to him, beginning, as people will, with the last few days, as though they were of the greatest importance; "and we could see nothing of you at the mines at all as we passed--only a wet flag, and a lot of very friendly workmen, who cheered and fired off pans of dynamite." "they did, did they?" said clay, with a satisfied nod. "that's all right, then. that was a royal salute in your honor. kirkland had that to do. he's the foreman of a opening. i am awfully sorry about this rain--it spoils everything." "i hope it hasn't spoiled our breakfast," said mr. langham. "we haven't eaten anything this morning, because we wanted a change of diet, and the captain told us we should be on shore before now." "we have some carriages for you at the wharf, and we will drive you right out to the palms," said young langham. "it's shorter by water, but there's a hill that the girls couldn't climb today. that's the house we built for you, governor, with the flag-pole, up there on the hill; and there's your ugly old pier; and that's where we live, in the little shack above it, with the tin roof; and that opening to the right is the terminus of the railroad macwilliams built. where's macwilliams? here, mac, i want you to know my father. this is macwilliams, sir, of whom i wrote you." there was some delay about the baggage, and in getting the party together in the boats that langham and the consul had brought; and after they had stood for some time on the wet dock, hungry and damp, it was rather aggravating to find that the carriages which langham had ordered to be at one pier had gone to another. so the new arrivals sat rather silently under the shed of the levee on a row of cotton-bales, while clay and macwilliams raced off after the carriages. "i wish we didn't have to keep the hood down," young langham said, anxiously, as they at last proceeded heavily up the muddy streets; "it makes it so hot, and you can't see anything. not that it's worth seeing in all this mud and muck, but it's great when the sun shines. we had planned it all so differently." he was alone with his family now in one carriage, and the other men and the servants were before them in two others. it seemed an interminable ride to them all--to the strangers, and to the men who were anxious that they should be pleased. they left the city at last, and toiled along the limestone road to the palms, rocking from side to side and sinking in ruts filled with rushing water. when they opened the flap of the hood the rain beat in on them, and when they closed it they stewed in a damp, warm atmosphere of wet leather and horse-hair. "this is worse than a turkish bath," said hope, faintly. "don't you live anywhere, ted?" "oh, it's not far now," said the younger brother, dismally; but even as he spoke the carriage lurched forward and plunged to one side and came to a halt, and they could hear the streams rushing past the wheels like the water at the bow of a boat. a wet, black face appeared at the opening of the hood, and a man spoke despondently in spanish. "he says we're stuck in the mud," explained langham. he looked at them so beseechingly and so pitifully, with the perspiration streaming down his face, and his clothes damp and bedraggled, that hope leaned back and laughed, and his father patted him on the knee. "it can't be any worse," he said, cheerfully; "it must mend now. it is not your fault, ted, that we're starving and lost in the mud." langham looked out to find clay and macwilliams knee-deep in the running water, with their shoulders against the muddy wheels, and the driver lashing at the horses and dragging at their bridles. he sprang out to their assistance, and hope, shaking off her sister's detaining hands, jumped out after him, laughing. she splashed up the hill to the horses' heads, motioning to the driver to release his hold on their bridles. "that is not the way to treat a horse," she said. "let me have them. are you men all ready down there?" she called. each of the three men glued a shoulder to a wheel, and clenched his teeth and nodded. "all right, then," hope called back. she took hold of the huge mexican bits close to the mouth, where the pressure was not so cruel, and then coaxing and tugging by turns, and slipping as often as the horses themselves, she drew them out of the mud, and with the help of the men back of the carriage pulled it clear until it stood free again at the top of the hill. then she released her hold on the bridles and looked down, in dismay, at her frock and hands, and then up at the three men. they appeared so utterly miserable and forlorn in their muddy garments, and with their faces washed with the rain and perspiration, that the girl gave way suddenly to an uncontrollable shriek of delight. the men stared blankly at her for a moment, and then inquiringly at one another, and as the humor of the situation struck them they burst into an echoing shout of laughter, which rose above the noise of the wind and rain, and before which the disappointments and trials of the morning were swept away. before they reached the palms the sun was out and shining with fierce brilliancy, reflecting its rays on every damp leaf, and drinking up each glistening pool of water. macwilliams and clay left the langhams alone together, and returned to the office, where they assured each other again and again that there was no doubt, from what each had heard different members of the family say, that they were greatly pleased with all that had been prepared for them. "they think it's fine!" said young langham, who had run down the hill to tell them about it. "i tell you, they are pleased. i took them all over the house, and they just exclaimed every minute. of course," he said, dispassionately, "i thought they'd like it, but i had no idea it would please them as much as it has. my governor is so delighted with the place that he's sitting out there on the veranda now, rocking himself up and down and taking long breaths of sea-air, just as though he owned the whole coast-line." langham dined with his people that night, clay and macwilliams having promised to follow him up the hill later. it was a night of much moment to them all, and the two men ate their dinner in silence, each considering what the coming of the strangers might mean to him. as he was leaving the room macwilliams stopped and hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "are you going to get yourself into a dress-suit to-night?" he asked. clay said that he thought he would; he wanted to feel quite clean once more. "well, all right, then," the other returned, reluctantly. "i'll do it for this once, if you mean to, but you needn't think i'm going to make a practice of it, for i'm not. i haven't worn a dress-suit," he continued, as though explaining his principles in the matter, "since your spread when we opened the railroad--that's six months ago; and the time before that i wore one at macgolderick's funeral. macgolderick blew himself up at puerto truxillo, shooting rocks for the breakwater. we never found all of him, but we gave what we could get together as fine a funeral as those natives ever saw. the boys, they wanted to make him look respectable, so they asked me to lend them my dress-suit, but i told them i meant to wear it myself. that's how i came to wear a dress-suit at a funeral. it was either me or macgolderick." "macwilliams," said clay, as he stuck the toe of one boot into the heel of the other, "if i had your imagination i'd give up railroading and take to writing war clouds for the newspapers." "do you mean you don't believe that story?" macwilliams demanded, sternly. "i do," said clay, "i mean i don't." "well, let it go," returned macwilliams, gloomily; "but there's been funerals for less than that, let me tell you." a half-hour later macwilliams appeared in the door and stood gazing attentively at clay arranging his tie before a hand-glass, and then at himself in his unusual apparel. "no wonder you voted to dress up," he exclaimed finally, in a tone of personal injury. "that's not a dress-suit you've got on anyway. it hasn't any tails. and i hope for your sake, mr. clay," he continued, his voice rising in plaintive indignation, "that you are not going to play that scarf on us for a vest. and you haven't got a high collar on, either. that's only a rough blue print of a dress-suit. why, you look just as comfortable as though you were going to enjoy yourself--and you look cool, too." "well, why not?" laughed clay. "well, but look at me," cried the other. "do i look cool? do i look happy or comfortable? no, i don't. i look just about the way i feel, like a fool undertaker. i'm going to take this thing right off. you and ted langham can wear your silk scarfs and bobtail coats, if you like, but if they don't want me in white duck they don't get me." when they reached the palms, clay asked miss langham if she did not want to see his view. "and perhaps, if you appreciate it properly, i will make you a present of it," he said, as he walked before her down the length of the veranda. "it would be very selfish to keep it all to my self," she said. "couldn't we share it?" they had left the others seated facing the bay, with macwilliams and young langham on the broad steps of the veranda, and the younger sister and her father sitting in long bamboo steamer-chairs above them. clay and miss langham were quite alone. from the high cliff on which the palms stood they could look down the narrow inlet that joined the ocean and see the moonlight turning the water into a rippling ladder of light and gilding the dark green leaves of the palms near them with a border of silver. directly below them lay the waters of the bay, reflecting the red and green lights of the ships at anchor, and beyond them again were the yellow lights of the town, rising one above the other as the city crept up the hill. and back of all were the mountains, grim and mysterious, with white clouds sleeping in their huge valleys, like masses of fog. except for the ceaseless murmur of the insect life about them the night was absolutely still--so still that the striking of the ships' bells in the harbor came to them sharply across the surface of the water, and they could hear from time to time the splash of some great fish and the steady creaking of an oar in a rowlock that grew fainter and fainter as it grew further away, until it was drowned in the distance. miss langham was for a long time silent. she stood with her hands clasped behind her, gazing from side to side into the moonlight, and had apparently forgotten that clay was present. "well," he said at last, "i think you appreciate it properly. i was afraid you would exclaim about it, and say it was fine, or charming, or something." miss langham turned to him and smiled slightly. "and you told me once that you knew me so very well," she said. clay chose to forget much that he had said on that night when he had first met her. he knew that he had been bold then, and had dared to be so because he did not think he would see her again; but, now that he was to meet her every day through several months, it seemed better to him that they should grow to know each other as they really were, simply and sincerely, and without forcing the situation in any way. so he replied, "i don't know you so well now. you must remember i haven't seen you for a year." "yes, but you hadn't seen me for twenty-two years then," she answered. "i don't think you have changed much," she went on. "i expected to find you gray with cares. ted wrote us about the way you work all day at the mines and sit up all night over calculations and plans and reports. but you don't show it. when are you going to take us over the mines? to-morrow? i am very anxious to see them, but i suppose father will want to inspect them first. hope knows all about them, i believe; she knows their names, and how much you have taken out, and how much you have put in, too, and what macwilliams's railroad cost, and who got the contract for the ore pier. ted told us in his letters, and she used to work it out on the map in father's study. she is a most energetic child; i think sometimes she should have been a boy. i wish i could be the help to any one that she is to my father and to me. whenever i am blue or down she makes fun of me, and--" "why should you ever be blue?" asked clay, abruptly. "there is no real reason, i suppose," the girl answered, smiling, "except that life is so very easy for me that i have to invent some woes. i should be better for a few reverses." and then she went on in a lower voice, and turning her head away, "in our family there is no woman older than i am to whom i can go with questions that trouble me. hope is like a boy, as i said, and plays with ted, and my father is very busy with his affairs, and since my mother died i have been very much alone. a man cannot understand. and i cannot understand why i should be speaking to you about myself and my troubles, except--" she added, a little wistfully, "that you once said you were interested in me, even if it was as long as a year ago. and because i want you to be very kind to me, as you have been to ted, and i hope that we are going to be very good friends." she was so beautiful, standing in the shadow with the moonlight about her and with her hand held out to him, that clay felt as though the scene were hardly real. he took her hand in his and held it for a moment. his pleasure in the sweet friendliness of her manner and in her beauty was so great that it kept him silent. "friends!" he laughed under his breath. "i don't think there is much danger of our not being friends. the danger lies," he went on, smiling, "in my not being able to stop there." miss langham made no sign that she had heard him, but turned and walked out into the moonlight and down the porch to where the others were sitting. young langham had ordered a native orchestra of guitars and reed instruments from the town to serenade his people, and they were standing in front of the house in the moonlight as miss langham and clay came forward. they played the shrill, eerie music of their country with a passion and feeling that filled out the strange tropical scene around them; but clay heard them only as an accompaniment to his own thoughts, and as a part of the beautiful night and the tall, beautiful girl who had dominated it. he watched her from the shadow as she sat leaning easily forward and looking into the night. the moonlight fell full upon her, and though she did not once look at him or turn her head in his direction, he felt as though she must be conscious of his presence, as though there were already an understanding between them which she herself had established. she had asked him to be her friend. that was only a pretty speech, perhaps; but she had spoken of herself, and had hinted at her perplexities and her loneliness, and he argued that while it was no compliment to be asked to share another's pleasure, it must mean something when one was allowed to learn a little of another's troubles. and while his mind was flattered and aroused by this promise of confidence between them, he was rejoicing in the rare quality of her beauty, and in the thought that she was to be near him, and near him here, of all places. it seemed a very wonderful thing to clay--something that could only have happened in a novel or a play. for while the man and the hour frequently appeared together, he had found that the one woman in the world and the place and the man was a much more difficult combination to bring into effect. no one, he assured himself thankfully, could have designed a more lovely setting for his love-story, if it was to be a love-story, and he hoped it was, than this into which she had come of her own free will. it was a land of romance and adventure, of guitars and latticed windows, of warm brilliant days and gorgeous silent nights, under purple heavens and white stars. and he was to have her all to himself, with no one near to interrupt, no other friends, even, and no possible rival. she was not guarded now by a complex social system, with its responsibilities. he was the most lucky of men. others had only seen her in her drawing-room or in an opera-box, but he was free to ford mountain-streams at her side, or ride with her under arches of the great palms, or to play a guitar boldly beneath her window. he was free to come and go at any hour; not only free to do so, but the very nature of his duties made it necessary that they should be thrown constantly together. the music of the violins moved him and touched him deeply, and stirred depths at which he had not guessed. it made him humble and deeply grateful, and he felt how mean and unworthy he was of such great happiness. he had never loved any woman as he felt that he could love this woman, as he hoped that he was to love her. for he was not so far blinded by her beauty and by what he guessed her character to be, as to imagine that he really knew her. he only knew what he hoped she was, what he believed the soul must be that looked out of those kind, beautiful eyes, and that found utterance in that wonderful voice which could control him and move him by a word. he felt, as he looked at the group before him, how lonely his own life had been, how hard he had worked for so little--for what other men found ready at hand when they were born into the world. he felt almost a touch of self-pity at his own imperfectness; and the power of his will and his confidence in himself, of which he was so proud, seemed misplaced and little. and then he wondered if he had not neglected chances; but in answer to this his injured self-love rose to rebut the idea that he had wasted any portion of his time, and he assured himself that he had done the work that he had cut out for himself to do as best he could; no one but himself knew with what courage and spirit. and so he sat combating with himself, hoping one moment that she would prove what he believed her to be, and the next, scandalized at his temerity in daring to think of her at all. the spell lifted as the music ceased, and clay brought himself back to the moment and looked about him as though he were waking from a dream and had expected to see the scene disappear and the figures near him fade into the moonlight. young langham had taken a guitar from one of the musicians and pressed it upon macwilliams, with imperative directions to sing such and such songs, of which, in their isolation, they had grown to think most highly, and macwilliams was protesting in much embarrassment. macwilliams had a tenor voice which he maltreated in the most villanous manner by singing directly through his nose. he had a taste for sentimental songs, in which "kiss" rhymed with "bliss," and in which "the people cry" was always sure to be followed with "as she goes by, that's pretty katie moody," or "rosie mcintyre." he had gathered his songs at the side of camp-fires, and in canteens at the first section-house of a new railroad, and his original collection of ballads had had but few additions in several years. macwilliams at first was shy, which was quite a new development, until he made them promise to laugh if they wanted to laugh, explaining that he would not mind that so much as he would the idea that he thought he was serious. the song of which he was especially fond was one called "he never cares to wander from his own fireside," which was especially appropriate in coming from a man who had visited almost every spot in the three americas, except his home, in ten years. macwilliams always ended the evening's entertainment with this chorus, no matter how many times it had been sung previously, and seemed to regard it with much the same veneration that the true briton feels for his national anthem. the words of the chorus were: "he never cares to wander from his own fireside, he never cares to wander or to roam. with his babies on his knee, he's as happy as can be, for there's no place like home, sweet home." macwilliams loved accidentals, and what he called "barber-shop chords." he used a beautiful accidental at the word "be," of which he was very fond, and he used to hang on that note for a long time, so that those in the extreme rear of the hall, as he was wont to explain, should get the full benefit of it. and it was his custom to emphasize "for" in the last line by speaking instead of singing it, and then coming to a full stop before dashing on again with the excellent truth that "there is no place like home, sweet home." the men at the mines used to laugh at him and his song at first, but they saw that it was not to be so laughed away, and that he regarded it with some peculiar sentiment. so they suffered him to sing it in peace. macwilliams went through his repertoire to the unconcealed amusement of young langham and hope. when he had finished he asked hope if she knew a comic song of which he had only heard by reputation. one of the men at the mines had gained a certain celebrity by claiming to have heard it in the states, but as he gave a completely new set of words to the tune of the "wearing of the green" as the true version, his veracity was doubted. hope said she knew it, of course, and they all went into the drawing-room, where the men grouped themselves about the piano. it was a night they remembered long afterward. hope sat at the piano protesting and laughing, but singing the songs of which the new-comers had become so weary, but which the three men heard open-eyed, and hailed with shouts of pleasure. the others enjoyed them and their delight, as though they were people in a play expressing themselves in this extravagant manner for their entertainment, until they understood how poverty-stricken their lives had been and that they were not only enjoying the music for itself, but because it was characteristic of all that they had left behind them. it was pathetic to hear them boast of having read of a certain song in such a paper, and of the fact that they knew the plot of a late comic opera and the names of those who had played in it, and that it had or had not been acceptable to the new york public. "dear me," hope would cry, looking over her shoulder with a despairing glance at her sister and father, "they don't even know 'tommy atkins'!" it was a very happy evening for them all, foreshadowing, as it did, a continuation of just such evenings. young langham was radiant with pleasure at the good account which clay had given of him to his father, and mr. langham was gratified, and proud of the manner in which his son and heir had conducted himself; and macwilliams, who had never before been taken so simply and sincerely by people of a class that he had always held in humorous awe, felt a sudden accession of dignity, and an unhappy fear that when they laughed at what he said, it was because its sense was so utterly different from their point of view, and not because they saw the humor of it. he did not know what the word "snob" signified, and in his roughened, easy-going nature there was no touch of false pride; but he could not help thinking how surprised his people would be if they could see him, whom they regarded as a wanderer and renegade on the face of the earth and the prodigal of the family, and for that reason the best loved, leaning over a grand piano, while one daughter of his much-revered president played comic songs for his delectation, and the other, who according to the newspapers refused princes daily, and who was the most wonderful creature he had ever seen, poured out his coffee and brought it to him with her own hands. the evening came to an end at last, and the new arrivals accompanied their visitors to the veranda as they started to their cabin for the night. clay was asking mr. langham when he wished to visit the mines, and the others were laughing over farewell speeches, when young langham startled them all by hurrying down the length of the veranda and calling on them to follow. "look!" he cried, pointing down the inlet. "here comes a man-of-war, or a yacht. isn't she smart-looking? what can she want here at this hour of the night? they won't let them land. can you make her out, macwilliams?" a long, white ship was steaming slowly up the inlet, and passed within a few hundred feet of the cliff on which they were standing. "why, it's the 'vesta'!" exclaimed hope, wonderingly. "i thought she wasn't coming for a week?" "it can't be the 'vesta'!" said the elder sister; "she was not to have sailed from havana until to-day." "what do you mean?" asked langham. "is it king's boat? do you expect him here? oh, what fun! i say, clay, here's the 'vesta,' reggie king's yacht, and he's no end of a sport. we can go all over the place now, and he can land us right at the door of the mines if we want to." "is it the king i met at dinner that night?" asked clay, turning to miss langham. "yes," she said. "he wanted us to come down on the yacht, but we thought the steamer would be faster; so he sailed without us and was to have touched at havana, but he has apparently changed his course. doesn't she look like a phantom ship in the moonlight?" young langham thought he could distinguish king among the white figures on the bridge, and tossed his hat and shouted, and a man in the stern of the yacht replied with a wave of his hand. "that must be mr. king," said hope. "he didn't bring any one with him, and he seems to be the only man aft." they stood watching the yacht as she stopped with a rattle of anchor-chains and a confusion of orders that came sharply across the water, and then the party separated and the three men walked down the hill, langham eagerly assuring the other two that king was a very good sort, and telling them what a treasure-house his yacht was, and how he would have probably brought the latest papers, and that he would certainly give a dance on board in their honor. the men stood for some short time together, after they had reached the office, discussing the great events of the day, and then with cheerful good-nights disappeared into their separate rooms. an hour later clay stood without his coat, and with a pen in his hand, at macwilliams's bedside and shook him by the shoulder. "i'm not asleep," said macwilliams, sitting up; "what is it? what have you been doing?" he demanded. "not working?" "there were some reports came in after we left," said clay, "and i find i will have to see kirkland to-morrow morning. send them word to run me down on an engine at five-thirty, will you? i am sorry to have to wake you, but i couldn't remember in which shack that engineer lives." macwilliams jumped from his bed and began kicking about the floor for his boots. "oh, that's all right," he said. "i wasn't asleep, i was just--" he lowered his voice that langham might not hear him through the canvas partitions--"i was just lying awake playing duets with the president, and racing for the international cup in my new centre-board yacht, that's all!" macwilliams buttoned a waterproof coat over his pajamas and stamped his bare feet into his boots. "oh, i tell you, clay," he said with a grim chuckle, "we're mixing right in with the four hundred, we are! i'm substitute and understudy when anybody gets ill. we're right in our own class at last! pure amateurs with no professional record against us. me and president langham, i guess!" he struck a match and lit the smoky wick in a tin lantern. "but now," he said, cheerfully, "my time being too valuable for me to sleep, i will go wake up that nigger engine-driver and set his alarm clock at five-thirty. five-thirty, i believe you said. all right; good-night." and whistling cheerfully to himself macwilliams disappeared up the hill, his body hidden in the darkness and his legs showing fantastically in the light of the swinging lantern. clay walked out upon the veranda and stood with his back to one of the pillars. macwilliams and his pleasantries disturbed and troubled him. perhaps, after all, the boy was right. it seemed absurd, but it was true. they were only employees of langham--two of the thousands of young men who were working all over the united states to please him, to make him richer, to whom he was only a name and a power, which meant an increase of salary or the loss of place. clay laughed and shrugged his shoulders. he knew that he was not in that class; if he did good work it was because his self-respect demanded it of him; he did not work for langham or the olancho mining company (limited). and yet he turned with almost a feeling of resentment toward the white yacht lying calmly in magnificent repose a hundred yards from his porch. he could see her as clearly in her circle of electric lights as though she were a picture and held in the light of a stereopticon on a screen. he could see her white decks, and the rails of polished brass, and the comfortable wicker chairs and gay cushions and flat coils of rope, and the tapering masts and intricate rigging. how easy it was made for some men! this one had come like the prince in the fairy tale on his magic carpet. if alice langham were to leave valencia that next day, clay could not follow her. he had his duties and responsibilities; he was at another man's bidding. but this prince fortunatus had but to raise anchor and start in pursuit, knowing that he would be welcome wherever he found her. that was the worst of it to clay, for he knew that men did not follow women from continent to continent without some assurance of a friendly greeting. clay's mind went back to the days when he was a boy, when his father was absent fighting for a lost cause; when his mother taught in a little schoolhouse under the shadow of pike's peak, and when kit carson was his hero. he thought of the poverty of those days poverty so mean and hopeless that it was almost something to feel shame for; of the days that followed when, an orphan and without a home, he had sailed away from new orleans to the cape. how the mind of the mathematician, which he had inherited from the boston schoolmistress, had been swayed by the spirit of the soldier, which he had inherited from his father, and which led him from the mines of south africa to little wars in madagascar, egypt, and algiers. it had been a life as restless as the seaweed on a rock. but as he looked back to its poor beginnings and admitted to himself its later successes, he gave a sigh of content, and shaking off the mood stood up and paced the length of the veranda. he looked up the hill to the low-roofed bungalow with the palm-leaves about it, outlined against the sky, and as motionless as patterns cut in tin. he had built that house. he had built it for her. that was her room where the light was shining out from the black bulk of the house about it like a star. and beyond the house he saw his five great mountains, the knuckles of the giant hand, with its gauntlet of iron that lay shut and clenched in the face of the sea that swept up whimpering before it. clay felt a boyish, foolish pride rise in his breast as he looked toward the great mines he had discovered and opened, at the iron mountains that were crumbling away before his touch. he turned his eyes again to the blazing yacht, and this time there was no trace of envy in them. he laughed instead, partly with pleasure at the thought of the struggle he scented in the air, and partly at his own braggadocio. "i'm not afraid," he said, smiling, and shaking his head at the white ship that loomed up like a man-of-war in the black waters. "i'm not afraid to fight you for anything worth fighting for." he bowed his bared head in good-night toward the light on the hill, as he turned and walked back into his bedroom. "and i think," he murmured grimly, as he put out the light, "that she is worth fighting for." iv the work which had called clay to the mines kept him there for some time, and it was not until the third day after the arrival of the langhams that he returned again to the palms. on the afternoon when he climbed the hill to the bungalow he found the langhams as he had left them, with the difference that king now occupied a place in the family circle. clay was made so welcome, and especially so by king, that he felt rather ashamed of his sentiments toward him, and considered his three days of absence to be well repaid by the heartiness of their greeting. "for myself," said mr. langham, "i don't believe you had anything to do at the mines at all. i think you went away just to show us how necessary you are. but if you want me to make a good report of our resident director on my return, you had better devote yourself less to the mines while you are here and more to us." clay said he was glad to find that his duties were to be of so pleasant a nature, and asked them what they had seen and what they had done. they told him they had been nowhere, but had waited for his return in order that he might act as their guide. "then you should see the city at once," said clay, "and i will have the volante brought to the door, and we can all go in this afternoon. there is room for the four of you inside, and i can sit on the box-seat with the driver." "no," said king, "let hope or me sit on the box-seat. then we can practise our spanish on the driver." "not very well," clay replied, "for the driver sits on the first horse, like a postilion. it's a sort of tandem without reins. haven't you seen it yet? we consider the volante our proudest exhibit." so clay ordered the volante to be brought out, and placed them facing each other in the open carriage, while he climbed to the box-seat, from which position of vantage he pointed out and explained the objects of interest they passed, after the manner of a professional guide. it was a warm, beautiful afternoon, and the clear mists of the atmosphere intensified the rich blue of the sky, and the brilliant colors of the houses, and the different shades of green of the trees and bushes that lined the highroad to the capital. "to the right, as we descend," said clay, speaking over his shoulder, "you see a tin house. it is the home of the resident director of the olancho mining company (limited), and of his able lieutenants, mr. theodore langham and mr. macwilliams. the building on the extreme left is the round-house, in which mr. macwilliams stores his three locomotive engines, and in the far middle-distance is mr. macwilliams himself in the act of repairing a water-tank. he is the one in a suit of blue overalls, and as his language at such times is free, we will drive rapidly on and not embarrass him. besides," added the engineer, with the happy laugh of a boy who had been treated to a holiday, "i am sure that i am not setting him the example of fixity to duty which he should expect from his chief." they passed between high hedges of spanish bayonet, and came to mud cabins thatched with palm-leaves, and alive with naked, little brown-bodied children, who laughed and cheered to them as they passed. "it's a very beautiful country for the pueblo," was clay's comment. "different parts of the same tree furnish them with food, shelter, and clothing, and the sun gives them fuel, and the government changes so often that they can always dodge the tax-collector." from the mud cabins they came to more substantial one-story houses of adobe, with the walls painted in two distinct colors, blue, pink, or yellow, with red-tiled roofs, and the names with which they had been christened in bold black letters above the entrances. then the carriage rattled over paved streets, and they drove between houses of two stories painted more decorously in pink and light blue, with wide-open windows, guarded by heavy bars of finely wrought iron and ornamented with scrollwork in stucco. the principal streets were given up to stores and cafés, all wide open to the pavement and protected from the sun by brilliantly striped awnings, and gay with the national colors of olancho in flags and streamers. in front of them sat officers in uniform, and the dark-skinned dandies of valencia, in white duck suits and panama hats, toying with tortoise shell canes, which could be converted, if the occasion demanded, into blades of toledo steel. in the streets were priests and bare-legged mule drivers, and ragged ranchmen with red-caped cloaks hanging to their sandals, and negro women, with bare shoulders and long trains, vending lottery tickets and rolling huge cigars between their lips. it was an old story to clay and king, but none of the others had seen a spanish-american city before; they were familiar with the far east and the mediterranean, but not with the fierce, hot tropics of their sister continent, and so their eyes were wide open, and they kept calling continually to one another to notice some new place or figure. they in their turn did not escape from notice or comment. the two sisters would have been conspicuous anywhere--in a queen's drawing-room or on an indian reservation. theirs was a type that the caballeros and senoritas did not know. with them dark hair was always associated with dark complexions, the rich duskiness of which was always vulgarized by a coat of powder, and this fair blending of pink and white skin under masses of black hair was strangely new, so that each of the few women who were to be met on the street turned to look after the carriage, while the american women admired their mantillas, and felt that the straw sailor-hats they wore had become heavy and unfeminine. clay was very happy in picking out what was most characteristic and picturesque, and every street into which he directed the driver to take them seemed to possess some building or monument that was of peculiar interest. they did not know that he had mapped out this ride many times before, and was taking them over a route which he had already travelled with them in imagination. king knew what the capital would be like before he entered it, from his experience of other south american cities, but he acted as though it were all new to him, and allowed clay to explain, and to give the reason for those features of the place that were unusual and characteristic. clay noticed this and appealed to him from time to time, when he was in doubt; but the other only smiled back and shook his head, as much as to say, "this is your city; they would rather hear about it from you." clay took them to the principal shops, where the two girls held whispered consultations over lace mantillas, which they had at once determined to adopt, and bought the gorgeous paper fans, covered with brilliant pictures of bull-fighters in suits of silver tinsel; and from these open stores he led them to a dingy little shop, where there was old silver and precious hand-painted fans of mother-of-pearl that had been pawned by families who had risked and lost all in some revolution; and then to another shop, where two old maiden ladies made a particularly good guava; and to tobacconists, where the men bought a few of the native cigars, which, as they were a monopoly of the government, were as bad as government monopolies always are. clay felt a sudden fondness for the city, so grateful was he to it for entertaining her as it did, and for putting its best front forward for her delectation. he wanted to thank some one for building the quaint old convent, with its yellow walls washed to an orange tint, and black in spots with dampness; and for the fountain covered with green moss that stood before its gate, and around which were gathered the girls and women of the neighborhood with red water-jars on their shoulders, and little donkeys buried under stacks of yellow sugar-cane, and the negro drivers of the city's green water-carts, and the blue wagons that carried the manufactured ice. toward five o'clock they decided to spend the rest of the day in the city, and to telephone for the two boys to join them at la venus, the great restaurant on the plaza, where clay had invited them to dine. he suggested that they should fill out the time meanwhile by a call on the president, and after a search for cards in various pocketbooks, they drove to the government palace, which stood in an open square in the heart of the city. as they arrived the president and his wife were leaving for their afternoon drive on the alameda, the fashionable parade-ground of the city, and the state carriage and a squad of cavalry appeared from the side of the palace as the visitors drove up to the entrance. but at the sight of clay, general alvarez and his wife retreated to the house again and made them welcome. the president led the men into his reception-room and entertained them with champagne and cigarettes, not manufactured by his government; and his wife, after first conducting the girls through the state drawing-room, where the late sunlight shone gloomily on strange old portraits of assassinated presidents and victorious generals, and garish yellow silk furniture, brought them to her own apartments, and gave them tea after a civilized fashion, and showed them how glad she was to see some one of her own world again. during their short visit madame alvarez talked a greater part of the time herself, addressing what she said to miss langham, but looking at hope. it was unusual for hope to be singled out in this way when her sister was present, and both the sisters noticed it and spoke of it afterwards. they thought madame alvarez very beautiful and distinguished-looking, and she impressed them, even after that short knowledge of her, as a woman of great force of character. "she was very well dressed for a spanish woman," was miss langham's comment, later in the afternoon. "but everything she had on was just a year behind the fashions, or twelve steamer days behind, as mr. macwilliams puts it." "she reminded me," said hope, "of a black panther i saw once in a circus." "dear me!" exclaimed the sister, "i don't see that at all. why?" hope said she did not know why; she was not given to analyzing her impressions or offering reasons for them. "because the panther looked so unhappy," she explained, doubtfully, "and restless; and he kept pacing up and down all the time, and hitting his head against the bars as he walked as though he liked the pain. madame alvarez seemed to me to be just like that--as though she were shut up somewhere and wanted to be free." when madame alvarez and the two sisters had joined the men, they all walked together to the terrace, and the visitors waited until the president and his wife should take their departure. hope noticed, in advance of the escort of native cavalry, an auburn-haired, fair-skinned young man who was sitting an english saddle. the officer's eyes were blue and frank and attractive-looking, even as they then were fixed ahead of him with a military lack of expression; but he came to life very suddenly when the president called to him, and prodded his horse up to the steps and dismounted. he was introduced by alvarez as "captain stuart of my household troops, late of the gordon highlanders. captain stuart," said the president, laying his hand affectionately on the younger man's epaulette, "takes care of my life and the safety of my home and family. he could have the command of the army if he wished; but no, he is fond of us, and he tells me we are in more need of protection from our friends at home than from our enemies on the frontier. perhaps he knows best. i trust him, mr. langham," added the president, solemnly, "as i trust no other man in all this country." "i am very glad to meet captain stuart, i am sure," said mr. langham, smiling, and appreciating how the shyness of the englishman must be suffering under the praises of the spaniard. and stuart was indeed so embarrassed that he flushed under his tan, and assured clay, while shaking hands with them all, that he was delighted to make his acquaintance; at which the others laughed, and stuart came to himself sufficiently to laugh with them, and to accept clay's invitation to dine with them later. they found the two boys waiting in the café of the restaurant where they had arranged to meet, and they ascended the steps together to the table on the balcony that clay had reserved for them. the young engineer appeared at his best as host. the responsibility of seeing that a half-dozen others were amused and content sat well upon him; and as course followed course, and the wines changed, and the candles left the rest of the room in darkness and showed only the table and the faces around it, they all became rapidly more merry and the conversation intimately familiar. clay knew the kind of table-talk to which the langhams were accustomed, and used the material around his table in such a way that the talk there was vastly different. from king he drew forth tales of the buried cities he had first explored, and then robbed of their ugliest idols. he urged macwilliams to tell carefully edited stories of life along the chagres before the scandal came, and of the fastnesses of the andes; and even stuart grew braver and remembered "something of the same sort" he had seen at fort nilt, in upper burma. "of course," was clay's comment at the conclusion of one of these narratives, "being an englishman, stuart left out the point of the story, which was that he blew in the gates of the fort with a charge of dynamite. he got a d. s. o. for doing it." "being an englishman," said hope, smiling encouragingly on the conscious stuart, "he naturally would leave that out." mr. langham and his daughters formed an eager audience. they had never before met at one table three men who had known such experiences, and who spoke of them as though they must be as familiar in the lives of the others as in their own--men who spoiled in the telling stories that would have furnished incidents for melodramas, and who impressed their hearers more with what they left unsaid, and what was only suggested, than what in their view was the most important point. the dinner came to an end at last, and mr. langham proposed that they should go down and walk with the people in the plaza; but his two daughters preferred to remain as spectators on the balcony, and clay and stuart stayed with them. "at last!" sighed clay, under his breath, seating himself at miss langham's side as she sat leaning forward with her arms upon the railing and looking down into the plaza below. she made no sign at first that she had heard him, but as the voices of stuart and hope rose from the other end of the balcony she turned her head and asked, "why at last?" "oh, you couldn't understand," laughed clay. "you have not been looking forward to just one thing and then had it come true. it is the only thing that ever did come true to me, and i thought it never would." "you don't try to make me understand," said the girl, smiling, but without turning her eyes from the moving spectacle below her. clay considered her challenge silently. he did not know just how much it might mean from her, and the smile robbed it of all serious intent; so he, too, turned and looked down into the great square below them, content, now that she was alone with him, to take his time. at one end of the plaza the president's band was playing native waltzes that came throbbing through the trees and beating softly above the rustling skirts and clinking spurs of the senoritas and officers, sweeping by in two opposite circles around the edges of the tessellated pavements. above the palms around the square arose the dim, white facade of the cathedral, with the bronze statue of anduella, the liberator of olancho, who answered with his upraised arm and cocked hat the cheers of an imaginary populace. clay's had been an unobtrusive part in the evening's entertainment, but he saw that the others had been pleased, and felt a certain satisfaction in thinking that king himself could not have planned and carried out a dinner more admirable in every way. he was gratified that they should know him to be not altogether a barbarian. but what he best liked to remember was that whenever he had spoken she had listened, even when her eyes were turned away and she was pretending to listen to some one else. he tormented himself by wondering whether this was because he interested her only as a new and strange character, or whether she felt in some way how eagerly he was seeking her approbation. for the first time in his life he found himself considering what he was about to say, and he suited it for her possible liking. it was at least some satisfaction that she had, if only for the time being, singled him out as of especial interest, and he assured himself that the fault would be his if her interest failed. he no longer looked on himself as an outsider. stuart's voice arose from the farther end of the balcony, where the white figure of hope showed dimly in the darkness. "they are talking about you over there," said miss langham, turning toward him. "well, i don't mind," answered clay, "as long as they talk about me--over there." miss langham shook her head. "you are very frank and audacious," she replied, doubtfully, "but it is rather pleasant as a change." "i don't call that audacious, to say i don't want to be interrupted when i am talking to you. aren't the men you meet generally audacious?" he asked. "i can see why not--though," he continued, "you awe them." "i can't think that's a nice way to affect people," protested miss langham, after a pause. "i don't awe you, do i?" "oh, you affect me in many different ways," returned clay, cheerfully. "sometimes i am very much afraid of you, and then again my feelings are only those of unlimited admiration." "there, again, what did i tell you?" said miss langham. "well, i can't help doing that," said clay. "that is one of the few privileges that is left to a man in my position--it doesn't matter what i say. that is the advantage of being of no account and hopelessly detrimental. the eligible men of the world, you see, have to be so very careful. a prime minister, for instance, can't talk as he wishes, and call names if he wants to, or write letters, even. whatever he says is so important, because he says it, that he must be very discreet. i am so unimportant that no one minds what i say, and so i say it. it's the only comfort i have." "are you in the habit of going around the world saying whatever you choose to every woman you happen to--to--" miss langham hesitated. "to admire very much," suggested clay. "to meet," corrected miss langham. "because, if you are, it is a very dangerous and selfish practice, and i think your theory of non-responsibility is a very wicked one." "well, i wouldn't say it to a child," mused clay, "but to one who must have heard it before--" "and who, you think, would like to hear it again, perhaps," interrupted miss langham. "no, not at all," said clay. "i don't say it to give her pleasure, but because it gives me pleasure to say what i think." "if we are to continue good friends, mr. clay," said miss langham, in decisive tones, "we must keep our relationship on more of a social and less of a personal basis. it was all very well that first night i met you," she went on, in a kindly tone. "you rushed in then and by a sort of tour de force made me think a great deal about myself and also about you. your stories of cherished photographs and distant devotion and all that were very interesting; but now we are to be together a great deal, and if we are to talk about ourselves all the time, i for one shall grow very tired of it. as a matter of fact you don't know what your feelings are concerning me, and until you do we will talk less about them and more about the things you are certain of. when are you going to take us to the mines, for instance, and who was anduella, the liberator of olancho, on that pedestal over there? now, isn't that much more instructive?" clay smiled grimly and made no answer, but sat with knitted brows looking out across the trees of the plaza. his face was so serious and he was apparently giving such earnest consideration to what she had said that miss langham felt an uneasy sense of remorse. and, moreover, the young man's profile, as he sat looking away from her, was very fine, and the head on his broad shoulders was as well-modelled as the head of an athenian statue. miss langham was not insensible to beauty of any sort, and she regarded the profile with perplexity and with a softening spirit. "you understand," she said, gently, being quite certain that she did not understand this new order of young man herself. "you are not offended with me?" she asked. clay turned and frowned, and then smiled in a puzzled way and stretched out his hand toward the equestrian statue in the plaza. "andulla or anduella, the treaty-maker, as they call him, was born in ," he said; "he was a most picturesque sort of a chap, and freed this country from the yoke of spain. one of the stories they tell of him gives you a good idea of his character." and so, without any change of expression or reference to what had just passed between them, clay continued through the remainder of their stay on the balcony to discourse in humorous, graphic phrases on the history of olancho, its heroes, and its revolutions, the buccaneers and pirates of the old days, and the concession-hunters and filibusters of the present. it was some time before miss langham was able to give him her full attention, for she was considering whether he could be so foolish as to have taken offence at what she said, and whether he would speak of it again, and in wondering whether a personal basis for conversation was not, after all, more entertaining than anecdotes of the victories and heroism of dead and buried spaniards. "that captain stuart," said hope to her sister, as they drove home together through the moonlight, "i like him very much. he seems to have such a simple idea of what is right and good. it is like a child talking. why, i am really much older than he is in everything but years--why is that?" "i suppose it's because we always talk before you as though you were a grown-up person," said her sister. "but i agree with you about captain stuart; only, why is he down here? if he is a gentleman, why is he not in his own army? was he forced to leave it?" "oh, he seems to have a very good position here," said mr. langham. "in england, at his age, he would be only a second-lieutenant. don't you remember what the president said, that he would trust him with the command of his army? that's certainly a responsible position, and it shows great confidence in him." "not so great, it seems to me," said king, carelessly, "as he is showing him in making him the guardian of his hearth and home. did you hear what he said to-day? 'he guards my home and my family.' i don't think a man's home and family are among the things he can afford to leave to the protection of stray english subalterns. from all i hear, it would be better if president alvarez did less plotting and protected his own house himself." "the young man did not strike me as the sort of person," said mr. langham, warmly, "who would be likely to break his word to the man who is feeding him and sheltering him, and whose uniform he wears. i don't think the president's home is in any danger from within. madame alvarez--" clay turned suddenly in his place on the box-seat of the carriage, where he had been sitting, a silent, misty statue in the moonlight, and peered down on those in the carriage below him. "madame alvarez needs no protection, as you were about to say, mr. langham," he interrupted, quickly. "those who know her could say nothing against her, and those who do not know her would not so far forget themselves as to dare to do it. have you noticed the effect of the moonlight on the walls of the convent?" he continued, gently. "it makes them quite white." "no," exclaimed mr. langham and king, hurriedly, as they both turned and gazed with absorbing interest at the convent on the hills above them. before the sisters went to sleep that night hope came to the door of her sister's room and watched alice admiringly as she sat before the mirror brushing out her hair. "i think it's going to be fine down here; don't you, alice?" she asked. "everything is so different from what it is at home, and so beautiful, and i like the men we've met. isn't that mr. macwilliams funny--and he is so tough. and captain stuart--it is a pity he's shy. the only thing he seems to be able to talk about is mr. clay. he worships mr. clay!" "yes," assented her sister, "i noticed on the balcony that you seemed to have found some way to make him speak." "well, that was it. he likes to talk about mr. clay, and i wanted to listen. oh! he is a fine man. he has done more exciting things--" "who? captain stuart?" "no--mr. clay. he's been in three real wars and about a dozen little ones, and he's built thousands of miles of railroads, i don't know how many thousands, but captain stuart knows; and he built the highest bridge in peru. it swings in the air across a chasm, and it rocks when the wind blows. and the german emperor made him a baron." "why?" "i don't know. i couldn't understand. it was something about plans for fortifications. he, mr. clay, put up a fort in the harbor of rio janeiro during a revolution, and the officers on a german man-of-war saw it and copied the plans, and the germans built one just like it, only larger, on the baltic, and when the emperor found out whose design it was, he sent mr. clay the order of something-or-other, and made him a baron." "really," exclaimed the elder sister, "isn't he afraid that some one will marry him for his title?" "oh, well, you can laugh, but i think it's pretty fine, and so does ted," added hope, with the air of one who propounds a final argument. "oh, i beg your pardon," laughed alice. "if ted approves we must all go down and worship." "and father, too," continued hope. "he said he thought mr. clay was one of the most remarkable men for his years that he had ever met." miss langham's eyes were hidden by the masses of her black hair that she had shaken over her face, and she said nothing. "and i liked the way he shut reggie king up too," continued hope, stoutly, "when he and father were talking that way about madame alvarez." "yes, upon my word," exclaimed her sister, impatiently tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "i really cannot see that madame alvarez is in need of any champion. i thought mr. clay made it very much worse by rushing in the way he did. why should he take it upon himself to correct a man as old as my father?" "i suppose because madame alvarez is a friend of his," hope answered. "my dear child, a beautiful woman can always find some man to take her part," said miss langham. "but i've no doubt," she added, rising and kissing her sister good-night, "that he is all that your captain stuart thinks him; but he is not going to keep us awake any longer, is he, even if he does show such gallant interest in old ladies?" "old ladies!" exclaimed hope in amazement. "why, alice!" but her sister only laughed and waved her out of the room, and hope walked away frowning in much perplexity. v the visit to the city was imitated on the three succeeding evenings by similar excursions. on one night they returned to the plaza, and the other two were spent in drifting down the harbor and along the coast on king's yacht. the president and madame alvarez were king's guests on one of these moonlight excursions, and were saluted by the proper number of guns, and their native band played on the forward deck. clay felt that king held the centre of the stage for the time being, and obliterated himself completely. he thought of his own paddle-wheel tug-boat that he had had painted and gilded in her honor, and smiled grimly. macwilliams approached him as he sat leaning back on the rail and looking up, with the eye of a man who had served before the mast, at the lacework of spars and rigging above him. macwilliams came toward him on tiptoe and dropped carefully into a wicker chair. "there don't seem to be any door-mats on this boat," he said. "in every other respect she seems fitted out quite complete; all the latest magazines and enamelled bathtubs, and chinese waiter-boys with cock-tails up their sleeves. but there ought to be a mat at the top of each of those stairways that hang over the side, otherwise some one is sure to soil the deck. have you been down in the engine-room yet?" he asked. "well, don't go, then," he advised, solemnly. "it will only make you feel badly. i have asked the admiral if i can send those half-breed engine drivers over to-morrow to show them what a clean engine-room looks like. i've just been talking to the chief. his name's mackenzie, and i told him i was scotch myself, and he said it 'was a greet pleesure' to find a gentleman so well acquainted with the movements of machinery. he thought i was one of king's friends, i guess, so i didn't tell him i pulled a lever for a living myself. i gave him a cigar though, and he said, 'thankee, sir,' and touched his cap to me." macwilliams chuckled at the recollection, and crossed his legs comfortably. "one of king's cigars, too," he said. "real havana; he leaves them lying around loose in the cabin. have you had one? ted langham and i took about a box between us." clay made no answer, and macwilliams settled himself contentedly in the great wicker chair and puffed grandly on a huge cigar. "it's demoralizing, isn't it?" he said at last. "what?" asked clay, absently. "oh, this associating with white people again, as we're doing now. it spoils you for tortillas and rice, doesn't it? it's going to be great fun while it lasts, but when they've all gone, and ted's gone, too, and the yacht's vanished, and we fall back to tramping around the plaza twice a week, it won't be gay, will it? no; it won't be gay. we're having the spree of our lives now, i guess, but there's going to be a difference in the morning." "oh, it's worth a headache, i think," said clay, as he shrugged his shoulders and walked away to find miss langham. the day set for the visit to the mines rose bright and clear. macwilliams had rigged out his single passenger-car with rugs and cushions, and flags flew from its canvas top that flapped and billowed in the wind of the slow-moving train. their observation-car, as macwilliams termed it, was placed in front of the locomotive, and they were pushed gently along the narrow rails between forests of manaca palms, and through swamps and jungles, and at times over the limestone formation along the coast, where the waves dashed as high as the smokestack of the locomotive, covering the excursionists with a sprinkling of white spray. thousands of land-crabs, painted red and black and yellow, scrambled with a rattle like dead men's bones across the rails to be crushed by the hundreds under the wheels of the juggernaut; great lizards ran from sunny rocks at the sound of their approach, and a deer bounded across the tracks fifty feet in front of the cow-catcher. macwilliams escorted hope out into the cab of the locomotive, and taught her how to increase and slacken the speed of the engine, until she showed an unruly desire to throw the lever open altogether and shoot them off the rails into the ocean beyond. clay sat at the back of the car with miss langham, and told her and her father of the difficulties with which young macwilliams had had to contend. miss langham found her chief pleasure in noting the attention which her father gave to all that clay had to tell him. knowing her father as she did, and being familiar with his manner toward other men, she knew that he was treating clay with unusual consideration. and this pleased her greatly, for it justified her own interest in him. she regarded clay as a discovery of her own, but she was glad to have her opinion of him shared by others. their coming was a great event in the history of the mines. kirkland, the foreman, and chapman, who handled the dynamite, weimer, the consul, and the native doctor, who cared for the fever-stricken and the casualties, were all at the station to meet them in the whitest of white duck and with a bunch of ponies to carry them on their tour of inspection, and the village of mud-cabins and zinc-huts that stood clear of the bare sunbaked earth on whitewashed wooden piles was as clean as clay's hundred policemen could sweep it. mr. langham rode in advance of the cavalcade, and the head of each of the different departments took his turn in riding at his side, and explained what had been done, and showed him the proud result. the village was empty, except for the families of the native workmen and the ownerless dogs, the scavengers of the colony, that snarled and barked and ran leaping in front of the ponies' heads. rising abruptly above the zinc village, lay the first of the five great hills, with its open front cut into great terraces, on which the men clung like flies on the side of a wall, some of them in groups around an opening, or in couples pounding a steel bar that a fellow-workman turned in his bare hands, while others gathered about the panting steam-drills that shook the solid rock with fierce, short blows, and hid the men about them in a throbbing curtain of steam. self-important little dummy-engines, dragging long trains of ore-cars, rolled and rocked on the uneven surface of the ground, and swung around corners with warning screeches of their whistles. they could see, on peaks outlined against the sky, the signal-men waving their red flags, and then plunging down the mountain-side out of danger, as the earth rumbled and shook and vomited out a shower of stones and rubbish into the calm hot air. it was a spectacle of desperate activity and puzzling to the uninitiated, for it seemed to be scattered over an unlimited extent, with no head nor direction, and with each man, or each group of men, working alone, like rag-pickers on a heap of ashes. after the first half-hour of curious interest miss langham admitted to herself that she was disappointed. she confessed she had hoped that clay would explain the meaning of the mines to her, and act as her escort over the mountains which he was blowing into pieces. but it was king, somewhat bored by the ceaseless noise and heat, and her brother, incoherently enthusiastic, who rode at her side, while clay moved on in advance and seemed to have forgotten her existence. she watched him pointing up at the openings in the mountains and down at the ore-road, or stooping to pick up a piece of ore from the ground in cowboy fashion, without leaving his saddle, and pounding it on the pommel before he passed it to the others. and, again, he would stand for minutes at a time up to his boot-tops in the sliding waste, with his bridle rein over his arm and his thumbs in his belt, listening to what his lieutenants were saying, and glancing quickly from them to mr. langham to see if he were following the technicalities of their speech. all of the men who had welcomed the appearance of the women on their arrival with such obvious delight and with so much embarrassment seemed now as oblivious of their presence as clay himself. miss langham pushed her horse up into the group beside hope, who had kept her pony close at clay's side from the beginning; but she could not make out what it was they were saying, and no one seemed to think it necessary to explain. she caught clay's eye at last and smiled brightly at him; but, after staring at her for fully a minute, until kirkland had finished speaking, she heard him say, "yes, that's it exactly; in open-face workings there is no other way," and so showed her that he had not been even conscious of her presence. but a few minutes later she saw him look up at hope, folding his arms across his chest tightly and shaking his head. "you see it was the only thing to do," she heard him say, as though he were defending some course of action, and as though hope were one of those who must be convinced. "if we had cut the opening on the first level, there was the danger of the whole thing sinking in, so we had to begin to clear away at the top and work down. that's why i ordered the bucket-trolley. as it turned out, we saved money by it." hope nodded her head slightly. "that's what i told father when ted wrote us about it," she said; "but you haven't done it at mount washington." "oh, but it's like this, miss--" kirkland replied, eagerly. "it's because washington is a solider foundation. we can cut openings all over it and they won't cave, but this hill is most all rubbish; it's the poorest stuff in the mines." hope nodded her head again and crowded her pony on after the moving group, but her sister and king did not follow. king looked at her and smiled. "hope is very enthusiastic," he said. "where did she pick it up?" "oh, she and father used to go over it in his study last winter after ted came down here," miss langham answered, with a touch of impatience in her tone. "isn't there some place where we can go to get out of this heat?" weimer, the consul, heard her and led her back to kirkland's bungalow, that hung like an eagle's nest from a projecting cliff. from its porch they could look down the valley over the greater part of the mines, and beyond to where the caribbean sea lay flashing in the heat. "i saw very few americans down there, weimer," said king. "i thought clay had imported a lot of them." "about three hundred altogether, wild irishmen and negroes," said the consul; "but we use the native soldiers chiefly. they can stand the climate better, and, besides," he added, "they act as a reserve in case of trouble. they are mendoza's men, and clay is trying to win them away from him." "i don't understand," said king. weimer looked around him and waited until kirkland's servant had deposited a tray full of bottles and glasses on a table near them, and had departed. "the talk is," he said, "that alvarez means to proclaim a dictatorship in his own favor before the spring elections. you've heard of that, haven't you?" king shook his head. "oh, tell us about it," said miss langham; "i should so like to be in plots and conspiracies." "well, they're rather common down here," continued the consul, "but this one ought to interest you especially, miss langham, because it is a woman who is at the head of it. madame alvarez, you know, was the countess manueleta hernandez before her marriage. she belongs to one of the oldest families in spain. alvarez married her in madrid, when he was minister there, and when he returned to run for president, she came with him. she's a tremendously ambitious woman, and they do say she wants to convert the republic into a monarchy, and make her husband king, or, more properly speaking, make herself queen. of course that's absurd, but she is supposed to be plotting to turn olancho into a sort of dependency of spain, as it was long ago, and that's why she is so unpopular." "indeed?" interrupted miss langham, "i did not know that she was unpopular." "oh, rather. why, her party is called the royalist party already, and only a week before you came the liberals plastered the city with denunciatory placards against her, calling on the people to drive her out of the country." "what cowards--to fight a woman!" exclaimed miss langham. "well, she began it first, you see," said the consul. "who is the leader of the fight against her?" asked king. "general mendoza; he is commander-in-chief and has the greater part of the army with him, but the other candidate, old general rojas, is the popular choice and the best of the three. he is vice-president now, and if the people were ever given a fair chance to vote for the man they want, he would unquestionably be the next president. the mass of the people are sick of revolutions. they've had enough of them, but they will have to go through another before long, and if it turns against dr. alvarez, i'm afraid mr. langham will have hard work to hold these mines. you see, mendoza has already threatened to seize the whole plant and turn it into a government monopoly." "and if the other one, general rojas, gets into power, will he seize the mines, too?" "no, he is honest, strange to relate," laughed weimer, "but he won't get in. alvarez will make himself dictator, or mendoza will make himself president. that's why clay treats the soldiers here so well. he thinks he may need them against mendoza. you may be turning your saluting-gun on the city yet, commodore," he added, smiling, "or, what is more likely, you'll need the yacht to take miss langham and the rest of the family out of the country." king smiled and miss langham regarded weimer with flattering interest. "i've got a quick firing gun below decks," said king, "that i used in the malaysian peninsula on a junkful of black flags, and i think i'll have it brought up. and there are about thirty of my men on the yacht who wouldn't ask for their wages in a year if i'd let them go on shore and mix up in a fight. when do you suppose this--" a heavy step and the jingle of spurs on the bare floor of the bungalow startled the conspirators, and they turned and gazed guiltily out at the mountain-tops above them as clay came hurrying out upon the porch. "they told me you were here," he said, speaking to miss langham. "i'm so sorry it tired you. i should have remembered--it is a rough trip when you're not used to it," he added, remorsefully. "but i'm glad weimer was here to take care of you." "it was just a trifle hot and noisy," said miss langham, smiling sweetly. she put her hand to her forehead with an expression of patient suffering. "it made my head ache a little, but it was most interesting." she added, "you are certainly to be congratulated on your work." clay glanced at her doubtfully with a troubled look, and turned away his eyes to the busy scene below him. he was greatly hurt that she should have cared so little, and indignant at himself for being so unjust. why should he expect a woman to find interest in that hive of noise and sweating energy? but even as he stood arguing with himself his eyes fell on a slight figure sitting erect and graceful on her pony's back, her white habit soiled and stained red with the ore of the mines, and green where it had crushed against the leaves. she was coming slowly up the trail with a body-guard of half a dozen men crowding closely around her, telling her the difficulties of the work, and explaining their successes, and eager for a share of her quick sympathy. clay's eyes fixed themselves on the picture, and he smiled at its significance. miss langham noticed the look, and glanced below to see what it was that had so interested him, and then back at him again. he was still watching the approaching cavalcade intently, and smiling to himself. miss langham drew in her breath and raised her head and shoulders quickly, like a deer that hears a footstep in the forest, and when hope presently stepped out upon the porch, she turned quickly toward her, and regarded her steadily, as though she were a stranger to her, and as though she were trying to see her with the eyes of one who looked at her for the first time. "hope!" she said, "do look at your dress!" hope's face was glowing with the unusual exercise, and her eyes were brilliant. her hair had slipped down beneath the visor of her helmet. "i am so tired--and so hungry." she was laughing and looking directly at clay. "it has been a wonderful thing to have seen," she said, tugging at her heavy gauntlet, "and to have done," she added. she pulled off her glove and held out her hand to clay, moist and scarred with the pressure of the reins. "thank you," she said, simply. the master of the mines took it with a quick rush of gratitude, and looking into the girl's eyes, saw something there that startled him, so that he glanced quickly past her at the circle of booted men grouped in the door behind her. they were each smiling in appreciation of the tableau; her father and ted, macwilliams and kirkland, and all the others who had helped him. they seemed to envy, but not to grudge, the whole credit which the girl had given to him. clay thought, "why could it not have been the other?" but he said aloud, "thank you. you have given me my reward." miss langham looked down impatiently into the valley below, and found that it seemed more hot and noisy, and more grimy than before. vi clay believed that alice langham's visit to the mines had opened his eyes fully to vast differences between them. he laughed and railed at himself for having dared to imagine that he was in a position to care for her. confident as he was at times, and sure as he was of his ability in certain directions, he was uneasy and fearful when he matched himself against a man of gentle birth and gentle breeding, and one who, like king, was part of a world of which he knew little, and to which, in his ignorance concerning it, he attributed many advantages that it did not possess. he believed that he would always lack the mysterious something which these others held by right of inheritance. he was still young and full of the illusions of youth, and so gave false values to his own qualities, and values equally false to the qualities he lacked. for the next week he avoided miss langham, unless there were other people present, and whenever she showed him special favor, he hastily recalled to his mind her failure to sympathize in his work, and assured himself that if she could not interest herself in the engineer, he did not care to have her interested in the man. other women had found him attractive in himself; they had cared for his strength of will and mind, and because he was good to look at. but he determined that this one must sympathize with his work in the world, no matter how unpicturesque it might seem to her. his work was the best of him, he assured himself, and he would stand or fall with it. it was a week after the visit to the mines that president alvarez gave a great ball in honor of the langhams, to which all of the important people of olancho, and the foreign ministers were invited. miss langham met clay on the afternoon of the day set for the ball, as she was going down the hill to join hope and her father at dinner on the yacht. "are you not coming, too?" she asked. "i wish i could," clay answered. "king asked me, but a steamer-load of new machinery arrived to-day, and i have to see it through the custom-house." miss langham gave an impatient little laugh, and shook her head. "you might wait until we were gone before you bother with your machinery," she said. "when you are gone i won't be in a state of mind to attend to machinery or anything else," clay answered. miss langham seemed so far encouraged by this speech that she seated herself in the boathouse at the end of the wharf. she pushed her mantilla back from her face and looked up at him, smiling brightly. "'the time has come, the walrus said,'" she quoted, "'to talk of many things.'" clay laughed and dropped down beside her. "well?" he said. "you have been rather unkind to me this last week," the girl began, with her eyes fixed steadily on his. "and that day at the mines when i counted on you so, you acted abominably." clay's face showed so plainly his surprise at this charge, which he thought he only had the right to make, that miss langham stopped. "i don't understand," said clay, quietly. "how did i treat you abominably?" he had taken her so seriously that miss langham dropped her lighter tone and spoke in one more kindly: "i went out there to see your work at its best. i was only interested in going because it was your work, and because it was you who had done it all, and i expected that you would try to explain it to me and help me to understand, but you didn't. you treated me as though i had no interest in the matter at all, as though i was not capable of understanding it. you did not seem to care whether i was interested or not. in fact, you forgot me altogether." clay exhibited no evidence of a reproving conscience. "i am sorry you had a stupid time," he said, gravely. "i did not mean that, and you know i didn't mean that," the girl answered. "i wanted to hear about it from you, because you did it. i wasn't interested so much in what had been done, as i was in the man who had accomplished it." clay shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and looked across at miss langham with a troubled smile. "but that's just what i don't want," he said. "can't you see? these mines and other mines like them are all i have in the world. they are my only excuse for having lived in it so long. i want to feel that i've done something outside of myself, and when you say that you like me personally, it's as little satisfaction to me as it must be to a woman to be congratulated on her beauty, or on her fine voice. that is nothing she has done herself. i should like you to value what i have done, not what i happen to be." miss langham turned her eyes to the harbor, and it was some short time before she answered. "you are a very difficult person to please," she said, "and most exacting. as a rule men are satisfied to be liked for any reason. i confess frankly, since you insist upon it, that i do not rise to the point of appreciating your work as the others do. i suppose it is a fault," she continued, with an air that plainly said that she considered it, on the contrary, something of a virtue. "and if i knew more about it technically, i might see more in it to admire. but i am looking farther on for better things from you. the friends who help us the most are not always those who consider us perfect, are they?" she asked, with a kindly smile. she raised her eyes to the great ore-pier that stretched out across the water, the one ugly blot in the scene of natural beauty about them. "i think that is all very well," she said; "but i certainly expect you to do more than that. i have met many remarkable men in all parts of the world, and i know what a strong man is, and you have one of the strongest personalities i have known. but you can't mean that you are content to stop with this. you should be something bigger and more wide-reaching and more lasting. indeed, it hurts me to see you wasting your time here over my father's interests. you should exert that same energy on a broader map. you could make yourself anything you chose. at home you would be your party's leader in politics, or you could be a great general, or a great financier. i say this because i know there are better things in you, and because i want you to make the most of your talents. i am anxious to see you put your powers to something worth while." miss langham's voice carried with it such a tone of sincerity that she almost succeeded in deceiving herself. and yet she would have hardly cared to explain just why she had reproached the man before her after this fashion. for she knew that when she spoke as she had done, she was beating about to find some reason that would justify her in not caring for him, as she knew she could care--as she would not allow herself to care. the man at her side had won her interest from the first, and later had occupied her thoughts so entirely, that it troubled her peace of mind. yet she would not let her feeling for him wax and grow stronger, but kept it down. and she was trying now to persuade herself that she did this because there was something lacking in him and not in her. she was almost angry with him for being so much to her and for not being more acceptable in little things, like the other men she knew. so she found this fault with him in order that she might justify her own lack of feeling. but clay, who only heard the words and could not go back of them to find the motive, could not know this. he sat perfectly still when she had finished and looked steadily out across the harbor. his eyes fell on the ugly ore-pier, and he winced and uttered a short grim laugh. "that's true, what you say," he began, "i haven't done much. you are quite right. only--" he looked up at her curiously and smiled--"only you should not have been the one to tell me of it." miss langham had been so far carried away by her own point of view that she had not considered clay, and now that she saw what mischief she had done, she gave a quick gasp of regret, and leaned forward as though to add some explanation to what she had said. but clay stopped her. "i mean by that," he said, "that the great part of the inspiration i have had to do what little i have done came from you. you were a sort of promise of something better to me. you were more of a type than an individual woman, but your picture, the one i carry in my watch, meant all that part of life that i have never known, the sweetness and the nobleness and grace of civilization,--something i hoped i would some day have time to enjoy. so you see," he added, with an uncertain laugh, "it's less pleasant to hear that i have failed to make the most of myself from you than from almost any one else." "but, mr. clay," protested the girl, anxiously, "i think you have done wonderfully well. i only said that i wanted you to do more. you are so young and you have--" clay did not hear her. he was leaning forward looking moodily out across the water, with his folded arms clasped across his knees. "i have not made the most of myself," he repeated; "that is what you said." he spoke the words as though she had delivered a sentence. "you don't think well of what i have done, of what i am." he drew in his breath and shook his head with a hopeless laugh, and leaned back against the railing of the boat-house with the weariness in his attitude of a man who has given up after a long struggle. "no," he said with a bitter flippancy in his voice, "i don't amount to much. but, my god!" he laughed, and turning his head away, "when you think what i was! this doesn't seem much to you, and it doesn't seem much to me now that i have your point of view on it, but when i remember!" clay stopped again and pressed his lips together and shook his head. his half-closed eyes, that seemed to be looking back into his past, lighted as they fell on king's white yacht, and he raised his arm and pointed to it with a wave of the hand. "when i was sixteen i was a sailor before the mast," he said, "the sort of sailor that king's crew out there wouldn't recognize in the same profession. i was of so little account that i've been knocked the length of the main deck at the end of the mate's fist, and left to lie bleeding in the scuppers for dead. i hadn't a thing to my name then but the clothes i wore, and i've had to go aloft in a hurricane and cling to a swinging rope with my bare toes and pull at a wet sheet until my finger-nails broke and started in their sockets; and i've been a cowboy, with no companions for six months of the year but eight thousand head of cattle and men as dumb and untamed as the steers themselves. i've sat in my saddle night after night, with nothing overhead but the stars, and no sound but the noise of the steers breathing in their sleep. the women i knew were indian squaws, and the girls of the sailors' dance-houses and the gambling-hells of sioux city and abilene, and callao and port said. that was what i was and those were my companions. why!" he laughed, rising and striding across the boat-house with his hands locked behind him, "i've fought on the mud floor of a mexican shack, with a naked knife in my hand, for my last dollar. i was as low and as desperate as that. and now--" clay lifted his head and smiled. "now," he said, in a lower voice and addressing miss langham with a return of his usual grave politeness, "i am able to sit beside you and talk to you. i have risen to that. i am quite content." he paused and looked at miss langham uncertainly for a few moments as though in doubt as to whether she would understand him if he continued. "and though it means nothing to you," he said, "and though as you say i am here as your father's employee, there are other places, perhaps, where i am better known. in edinburgh or berlin or paris, if you were to ask the people of my own profession, they could tell you something of me. if i wished it, i could drop this active work tomorrow and continue as an adviser, as an expert, but i like the active part better. i like doing things myself. i don't say, 'i am a salaried servant of mr. langham's;' i put it differently. i say, 'there are five mountains of iron. you are to take them up and transport them from south america to north america, where they will be turned into railroads and ironclads.' that's my way of looking at it. it's better to bind a laurel to the plough than to call yourself hard names. it makes your work easier--almost noble. cannot you see it that way, too?" before miss langham could answer, a deprecatory cough from one side of the open boat-house startled them, and turning they saw macwilliams coming toward them. they had been so intent upon what clay was saying that he had approached them over the soft sand of the beach without their knowing it. miss langham welcomed his arrival with evident pleasure. "the launch is waiting for you at the end of the pier," macwilliams said. miss langham rose and the three walked together down the length of the wharf, macwilliams moving briskly in advance in order to enable them to continue the conversation he had interrupted, but they followed close behind him, as though neither of them were desirous of such an opportunity. hope and king had both come for miss langham, and while the latter was helping her to a place on the cushions, and repeating his regrets that the men were not coming also, hope started the launch, with a brisk ringing of bells and a whirl of the wheel and a smile over her shoulder at the figures on the wharf. "why didn't you go?" said clay; "you have no business at the custom-house." "neither have you," said macwilliams. "but i guess we both understand. there's no good pushing your luck too far." "what do you mean by that--this time?" "why, what have we to do with all of this?" cried macwilliams. "it's what i keep telling you every day. we're not in that class, and you're only making it harder for yourself when they've gone. i call it cruelty to animals myself, having women like that around. up north, where everybody's white, you don't notice it so much, but down here--lord!" "that's absurd," clay answered. "why should you turn your back on civilization when it comes to you, just because you're not going back to civilization by the next steamer? every person you meet either helps you or hurts you. those girls help us, even if they do make the life here seem bare and mean." "bare and mean!" repeated macwilliams incredulously. "i think that's just what they don't do. i like it all the better because they're mixed up in it. i never took so much interest in your mines until she took to riding over them, and i didn't think great shakes of my old ore-road, either, but now that she's got to acting as engineer, it's sort of nickel-plated the whole outfit. i'm going to name the new engine after her--when it gets here--if her old man will let me." "what do you mean? miss langham hasn't been to the mines but once, has she?" "miss langham!" exclaimed macwilliams. "no, i mean the other, miss hope. she comes out with ted nearly every day now, and she's learning how to run a locomotive. just for fun, you know," he added, reassuringly. "i didn't suppose she had any intention of joining the brotherhood," said clay. "so she's been out every day, has she? i like that," he commented, enthusiastically. "she's a fine, sweet girl." "fine, sweet girl!" growled macwilliams. "i should hope so. she's the best. they don't make them any better than that, and just think, if she's like that now, what will she be when she's grown up, when she's learned a few things? now her sister. you can see just what her sister will be at thirty, and at fifty, and at eighty. she's thoroughbred and she's the most beautiful woman to look at i ever saw--but, my son--she is too careful. she hasn't any illusions, and no sense of humor. and a woman with no illusions and no sense of humor is going to be monotonous. you can't teach her anything. you can't imagine yourself telling her anything she doesn't know. the things we think important don't reach her at all. they're not in her line, and in everything else she knows more than we could ever guess at. but that miss hope! it's a privilege to show her about. she wants to see everything, and learn everything, and she goes poking her head into openings and down shafts like a little fox terrier. and she'll sit still and listen with her eyes wide open and tears in them, too, and she doesn't know it--until you can't talk yourself for just looking at her." clay rose and moved on to the house in silence. he was glad that macwilliams had interrupted him when he did. he wondered whether he understood alice langham after all. he had seen many fine ladies before during his brief visits to london, and berlin, and vienna, and they had shown him favor. he had known other women not so fine. spanish-american senoritas through central and south america, the wives and daughters of english merchants exiled along the pacific coast, whose fair skin and yellow hair whitened and bleached under the hot tropical suns. he had known many women, and he could have quoted "trials and troubles amany, have proved me; one or two women, god bless them! have loved me." but the woman he was to marry must have all the things he lacked. she must fill out and complete him where he was wanting. this woman possessed all of these things. she appealed to every ambition and to every taste he cherished, and yet he knew that he had hesitated and mistrusted her, when he should have declared himself eagerly and vehemently, and forced her to listen with all the strength of his will. miss langham dropped among the soft cushions of the launch with a sense of having been rescued from herself and of delight in finding refuge again in her own environment. the sight of king standing in the bow beside hope with his cigarette hanging from his lips, and peering with half-closed eyes into the fading light, gave her a sense of restfulness and content. she did not know what she wished from that other strange young man. he was so bold, so handsome, and he looked at life and spoke of it in such a fresh, unhackneyed spirit. he might make himself anything he pleased. but here was a man who already had everything, or who could get it as easily as he could increase the speed of the launch, by pulling some wire with his finger. she recalled one day when they were all on board of this same launch, and the machinery had broken down, and macwilliams had gone forward to look at it. he had called clay to help him, and she remembered how they had both gone down on their knees and asked the engineer and fireman to pass them wrenches and oil-cans, while king protested mildly, and the rest sat helplessly in the hot glare of the sea, as the boat rose and fell on the waves. she resented clay's interest in the accident, and his pleasure when he had made the machinery right once more, and his appearance as he came back to them with oily hands and with his face glowing from the heat of the furnace, wiping his grimy fingers on a piece of packing. she had resented the equality with which he treated the engineer in asking his advice, and it rather surprised her that the crew saluted him when he stepped into the launch again that night as though he were the owner. she had expected that they would patronize him, and she imagined after this incident that she detected a shade of difference in the manner of the sailors toward clay, as though he had cheapened himself to them--as he had to her. vii at ten o'clock that same evening clay began to prepare himself for the ball at the government palace, and macwilliams, who was not invited, watched him dress with critical approval that showed no sign of envy. the better to do honor to the president, clay had brought out several foreign orders, and macwilliams helped him to tie around his neck the collar of the red eagle which the german emperor had given him, and to fasten the ribbon and cross of the star of olancho across his breast, and a spanish order and the legion of honor to the lapel of his coat. macwilliams surveyed the effect of the tiny enamelled crosses with his head on one side, and with the same air of affectionate pride and concern that a mother shows over her daughter's first ball-dress. "got any more?" he asked, anxiously. "i have some war medals," clay answered, smiling doubtfully. "but i'm not in uniform." "oh, that's all right," declared macwilliams. "put 'em on, put 'em all on. give the girls a treat. everybody will think they were given for feats of swimming, anyway; but they will show up well from the front. now, then, you look like a drum-major or a conjuring chap." "i do not," said clay. "i look like a french ambassador, and i hardly understand how you find courage to speak to me at all." he went up the hill in high spirits, and found the carriage at the door and king, mr. langham, and miss langham sitting waiting for him. they were ready to depart, and miss langham had but just seated herself in the carriage when they heard hurrying across the tiled floor a quick, light step and the rustle of silk, and turning they saw hope standing in the doorway, radiant and smiling. she wore a white frock that reached to the ground, and that left her arms and shoulders bare. her hair was dressed high upon her head, and she was pulling vigorously at a pair of long, tan-colored gloves. the transformation was so complete, and the girl looked so much older and so stately and beautiful, that the two young men stared at her in silent admiration and astonishment. "why, hope!" exclaimed her sister. "what does this mean?" hope stopped in some alarm, and clasped her hair with both hands. "what is it?" she asked; "is anything wrong?" "why, my dear child," said her sister, "you're not thinking of going with us, are you?" "not going?" echoed the younger sister, in dismay. "why, alice, why not? i was asked." "but, hope-- father," said the elder sister, stepping out of the carriage and turning to mr. langham, "you didn't intend that hope should go, did you? she's not out yet." "oh, nonsense," said hope, defiantly. but she drew in her breath quickly and blushed, as she saw the two young men moving away out of hearing of this family crisis. she felt that she was being made to look like a spoiled child. "it doesn't count down here," she said, "and i want to go. i thought you knew i was going all the time. marie made this frock for me on purpose." "i don't think hope is old enough," the elder sister said, addressing her father, "and if she goes to dances here, there's no reason why she should not go to those at home." "but i don't want to go to dances at home," interrupted hope. mr. langham looked exceedingly uncomfortable, and turned appealingly to his elder daughter. "what do you think, alice?" he said, doubtfully. "i'm sorry," miss langham replied, "but i know it would not be at all proper. i hate to seem horrid about it, hope, but indeed you are too young, and the men here are not the men a young girl ought to meet." "you meet them, alice," said hope, but pulling off her gloves in token of defeat. "but, my dear child, i'm fifty years older than you are." "perhaps alice knows best, hope," mr. langham said. "i'm sorry if you are disappointed." hope held her head a little higher, and turned toward the door. "i don't mind if you don't wish it, father," she said. "good-night." she moved away, but apparently thought better of it, and came back and stood smiling and nodding to them as they seated themselves in the carriage. mr. langham leaned forward and said, in a troubled voice, "we will tell you all about it in the morning. i'm very sorry. you won't be lonely, will you? i'll stay with you if you wish." "nonsense!" laughed hope. "why, it's given to you, father; don't bother about me. i'll read something or other and go to bed." "good-night, cinderella," king called out to her. "good-night, prince charming," hope answered. both clay and king felt that the girl would not mind missing the ball so much as she would the fact of having been treated like a child in their presence, so they refrained from any expression of sympathy or regret, but raised their hats and bowed a little more impressively than usual as the carriage drove away. the picture hope made, as she stood deserted and forlorn on the steps of the empty house in her new finery, struck clay as unnecessarily pathetic. he felt a strong sense of resentment against her sister and her father, and thanked heaven devoutly that he was out of their class, and when miss langham continued to express her sorrow that she had been forced to act as she had done, he remained silent. it seemed to clay such a simple thing to give children pleasure, and to remember that their woes were always out of all proportion to the cause. children, dumb animals, and blind people were always grouped together in his mind as objects demanding the most tender and constant consideration. so the pleasure of the evening was spoiled for him while he remembered the hurt and disappointed look in hope's face, and when miss langham asked him why he was so preoccupied, he told her bluntly that he thought she had been very unkind to hope, and that her objections were absurd. miss langham held herself a little more stiffly. "perhaps you do not quite understand, mr. clay," she said. "some of us have to conform to certain rules that the people with whom we best like to associate have laid down for themselves. if we choose to be conventional, it is probably because we find it makes life easier for the greater number. you cannot think it was a pleasant task for me. but i have given up things of much more importance than a dance for the sake of appearances, and hope herself will see to-morrow that i acted for the best." clay said he trusted so, but doubted it, and by way of re-establishing himself in miss langham's good favor, asked her if she could give him the next dance. but miss langham was not to be propitiated. "i'm sorry," she said, "but i believe i am engaged until supper-time. come and ask me then, and i'll have one saved for you. but there is something you can do," she added. "i left my fan in the carriage--do you think you could manage to get it for me without much trouble?" "the carriage did not wait. i believe it was sent back," said clay, "but i can borrow a horse from one of stuart's men, and ride back and get it for you, if you like." "how absurd!" laughed miss langham, but she looked pleased, notwithstanding. "oh, not at all," clay answered. he was smiling down at her in some amusement, and was apparently much entertained at his idea. "will you consider it an act of devotion?" he asked. there was so little of devotion, and so much more of mischief in his eyes, that miss langham guessed he was only laughing at her, and shook her head. "you won't go," she said, turning away. she followed him with her eyes, however, as he crossed the room, his head and shoulders towering above the native men and women. she had never seen him so resplendent, and she noted, with an eye that considered trifles, the orders, and his well-fitting white gloves, and his manner of bowing in the continental fashion, holding his opera-hat on his thigh, as though his hand rested on a sword. she noticed that the little olanchoans stopped and looked after him, as he pushed his way among them, and she could see that the men were telling the women who he was. sir julian pindar, the old british minister, stopped him, and she watched them as they laughed together over the english war medals on the american's breast, which sir julian touched with his finger. he called the french minister and his pretty wife to look, too, and they all laughed and talked together in great spirits, and miss langham wondered if clay was speaking in french to them. miss langham did not enjoy the ball; she felt injured and aggrieved, and she assured herself that she had been hardly used. she had only done her duty, and yet all the sympathy had gone to her sister, who had placed her in a trying position. she thought it was most inconsiderate. hope walked slowly across the veranda when the others had gone, and watched the carriage as long as it remained in sight. then she threw herself into a big arm-chair, and looked down upon her pretty frock and her new dancing-slippers. she, too, felt badly used. the moonlight fell all about her, as it had on the first night of their arrival, a month before, but now it seemed cold and cheerless, and gave an added sense of loneliness to the silent house. she did not go inside to read, as she had promised to do, but sat for the next hour looking out across the harbor. she could not blame alice. she considered that alice always moved by rules and precedents, like a queen in a game of chess, and she wondered why. it made life so tame and uninteresting, and yet people invariably admired alice, and some one had spoken of her as the noblest example of the modern gentlewoman. she was sure she could not grow up to be any thing like that. she was quite confident that she was going to disappoint her family. she wondered if people would like her better if she were discreet like alice, and less like her brother ted. if mr. clay, for instance, would like her better? she wondered if he disapproved of her riding on the engine with macwilliams, and of her tearing through the mines on her pony, and spearing with a lance of sugar-cane at the mongrel curs that ran to snap at his flanks. she remembered his look of astonished amusement the day he had caught her in this impromptu pig-sticking, and she felt herself growing red at the recollection. she was sure he thought her a tomboy. probably he never thought of her at all. hope leaned back in the chair and looked up at the stars above the mountains and tried to think of any of her heroes and princes in fiction who had gone through such interesting experiences as had mr. clay. some of them had done so, but they were creatures in a book and this hero was alive, and she knew him, and had probably made him despise her as a silly little girl who was scolded and sent off to bed like a disobedient child. hope felt a choking in her throat and something like a tear creep to her eyes: but she was surprised to find that the fact did not make her ashamed of herself. she owned that she was wounded and disappointed, and to make it harder she could not help picturing alice and clay laughing and talking together in some corner away from the ball-room, while she, who understood him so well, and who could not find the words to tell him how much she valued what he was and what he had done, was forgotten and sitting here alone, like cinderella, by the empty fireplace. the picture was so pathetic as hope drew it, that for a moment she felt almost a touch of self-pity, but the next she laughed scornfully at her own foolishness, and rising with an impatient shrug, walked away in the direction of her room. but before she had crossed the veranda she was stopped by the sound of a horse's hoofs galloping over the hard sun-baked road that led from the city, and before she had stepped forward out of the shadow in which she stood the horse had reached the steps and his rider had pulled him back on his haunches and swung himself off before the forefeet had touched the ground. hope had guessed that it was clay by his riding, and she feared from his haste that some one of her people were ill. so she ran anxiously forward and asked if anything were wrong. clay started at her sudden appearance, and gave a short boyish laugh of pleasure. "i'm so glad you're still up," he said. "no, nothing is wrong." he stopped in some embarrassment. he had been moved to return by the fact that the little girl he knew was in trouble, and now that he was suddenly confronted by this older and statelier young person, his action seemed particularly silly, and he was at a loss to explain it in any way that would not give offence. "no, nothing is wrong," he repeated. "i came after something." clay had borrowed one of the cloaks the troopers wore at night from the same man who had lent him the horse, and as he stood bareheaded before her, with the cloak hanging from his shoulders to the floor and the star and ribbon across his breast, hope felt very grateful to him for being able to look like a prince or a hero in a book, and to yet remain her mr. clay at the same time. "i came to get your sister's fan," clay explained. "she forgot it." the young girl looked at him for a moment in surprise and then straightened herself slightly. she did not know whether she was the more indignant with alice for sending such a man on so foolish an errand, or with clay for submitting to such a service. "oh, is that it?" she said at last. "i will go and find you one." she gave him a dignified little bow and moved away toward the door, with every appearance of disapproval. "oh, i don't know," she heard clay say, doubtfully; "i don't have to go just yet, do i? may i not stay here a little while?" hope stood and looked at him in some perplexity. "why, yes," she answered, wonderingly. "but don't you want to go back? you came in a great hurry. and won't alice want her fan?" "oh, she has it by this time. i told stuart to find it. she left it in the carriage, and the carriage is waiting at the end of the plaza." "then why did you come?" asked hope, with rising suspicion. "oh, i don't know," said clay, helplessly. "i thought i'd just like a ride in the moonlight. i hate balls and dances anyway, don't you? i think you were very wise not to go." hope placed her hands on the back of the big arm-chair and looked steadily at him as he stood where she could see his face in the moonlight. "you came back," she said, "because they thought i was crying, and they sent you to see. is that it? did alice send you?" she demanded. clay gave a gasp of consternation. "you know that no one sent me," he said. "i thought they treated you abominably, and i wanted to come and say so. that's all. and i wanted to tell you that i missed you very much, and that your not coming had spoiled the evening for me, and i came also because i preferred to talk to you than to stay where i was. no one knows that i came to see you. i said i was going to get the fan, and i told stuart to find it after i'd left. i just wanted to see you, that's all. but i will go back again at once." while he had been speaking hope had lowered her eyes from his face and had turned and looked out across the harbor. there was a strange, happy tumult in her breast, and she was breathing so rapidly that she was afraid he would notice it. she also felt an absurd inclination to cry, and that frightened her. so she laughed and turned and looked up into his face again. clay saw the same look in her eyes that he had seen there the day when she had congratulated him on his work at the mines. he had seen it before in the eyes of other women and it troubled him. hope seated herself in the big chair, and clay tossed his cloak on the floor at her feet and sat down with his shoulders against one of the pillars. he glanced up at her and found that the look that had troubled him was gone, and that her eyes were now smiling with excitement and pleasure. "and did you bring me something from the ball in your pocket to comfort me," she asked, mockingly. "yes, i did," clay answered, unabashed. "i brought you some bonbons." "you didn't, really!" hope cried, with a shriek of delight. "how absurd of you! the sort you pull?" "the sort you pull," clay repeated, gravely. "and also a dance-card, which is a relic of barbarism still existing in this southern capital. it has the arms of olancho on it in gold, and i thought you might like to keep it as a souvenir." he pulled the card from his coat-pocket and said, "may i have this dance?" "you may," hope answered. "but you wouldn't mind if we sat it out, would you?" "i should prefer it," clay said, as he scrawled his name across the card. "it is so crowded inside, and the company is rather mixed." they both laughed lightly at their own foolishness, and hope smiled down upon him affectionately and proudly. "you may smoke, if you choose; and would you like something cool to drink?" she asked, anxiously. "after your ride, you know," she suggested, with hospitable intent. clay said that he was very comfortable without a drink, but lighted a cigar and watched her covertly through the smoke, as she sat smiling happily and quite unconsciously upon the moonlit world around them. she caught clay's eye fixed on her, and laughed lightly. "what is it?" he said. "oh, i was just thinking," hope replied, "that it was much better to have a dance come to you, than to go to the dance." "does one man and a dance-card and three bonbons constitute your idea of a ball?" "doesn't it? you see, i am not out yet, i don't know." "i should think it might depend a good deal upon the man," clay suggested. "that sounds as though you were hinting," said hope, doubtfully. "now what would i say to that if i were out?" "i don't know, but don't say it," clay answered. "it would probably be something very unflattering or very forward, and in either case i should take you back to your chaperon and leave you there." hope had not been listening. her eyes were fixed on a level with his tie, and clay raised his hand to it in some trepidation. "mr. clay," she began abruptly and leaning eagerly forward, "would you think me very rude if i asked you what you did to get all those crosses? i know they mean something, and i do so want to know what. please tell me." "oh, those!" said clay. "the reason i put them on to-night is because wearing them is supposed to be a sort of compliment to your host. i got in the habit abroad--" "i didn't ask you that," said hope, severely. "i asked you what you did to get them. now begin with the legion of honor on the left, and go right on until you come to the end, and please don't skip anything. leave in all the bloodthirsty parts, and please don't be modest." "like othello," suggested clay. "yes," said hope; "i will be desdemona." "well, desdemona, it was like this," said clay, laughing. "i got that medal and that star for serving in the nile campaign, under wolseley. after i left egypt, i went up the coast to algiers, where i took service under the french in a most disreputable organization known as the foreign legion--" "don't tell me," exclaimed hope, in delight, "that you have been a chasseur d'afrique! not like the man in 'under two flags'?" "no, not at all like that man," said clay, emphatically. "i was just a plain, common, or garden, sappeur, and i showed the other good-for-nothings how to dig trenches. well, i contaminated the foreign legion for eight months, and then i went to peru, where i--" "you're skipping," said hope. "how did you get the legion of honor?" "oh, that?" said clay. "that was a gallery play i made once when we were chasing some arabs. they took the french flag away from our color-bearer, and i got it back again and waved it frantically around my head until i was quite certain the colonel had seen me doing it, and then i stopped as soon as i knew that i was sure of promotion." "oh, how can you?" cried hope. "you didn't do anything of the sort. you probably saved the entire regiment." "well, perhaps i did," clay returned. "though i don't remember it, and nobody mentioned it at the time." "go on about the others," said hope. "and do try to be truthful." "well, i got this one from spain, because i was president of an international congress of engineers at madrid. that was the ostensible reason, but the real reason was because i taught the spanish commissioners to play poker instead of baccarat. the german emperor gave me this for designing a fort, and the sultan of zanzibar gave me this, and no one but the sultan knows why, and he won't tell. i suppose he's ashamed. he gives them away instead of cigars. he was out of cigars the day i called." "what a lot of places you have seen," sighed hope. "i have been in cairo and algiers, too, but i always had to walk about with a governess, and she wouldn't go to the mosques because she said they were full of fleas. we always go to homburg and paris in the summer, and to big hotels in london. i love to travel, but i don't love to travel that way, would you?" "i travel because i have no home," said clay. "i'm different from the chap that came home because all the other places were shut. i go to other places because there is no home open." "what do you mean?" said hope, shaking her head. "why have you no home?" "there was a ranch in colorado that i used to call home," said clay, "but they've cut it up into town lots. i own a plot in the cemetery outside of the town, where my mother is buried, and i visit that whenever i am in the states, and that is the only piece of earth anywhere in the world that i have to go back to." hope leaned forward with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes wide open. "and your father?" she said, softly; "is he--is he there, too--" clay looked at the lighted end of his cigar as he turned it between his fingers. "my father, miss hope," he said, "was a filibuster, and went out on the 'virginius' to help free cuba, and was shot, against a stone wall. we never knew where he was buried." "oh, forgive me; i beg your pardon," said hope. there was such distress in her voice that clay looked at her quickly and saw the tears in her eyes. she reached out her hand timidly, and touched for an instant his own rough, sunburned fist, as it lay clenched on his knee. "i am so sorry," she said, "so sorry." for the first time in many years the tears came to clay's eyes and blurred the moonlight and the scene before him, and he sat unmanned and silent before the simple touch of a young girl's sympathy. an hour later, when his pony struck the gravel from beneath his hoofs on the race back to the city, and clay turned to wave his hand to hope in the doorway, she seemed, as she stood with the moonlight falling about her white figure, like a spirit beckoning the way to a new paradise. viii clay reached the president's palace during the supper-hour, and found mr. langham and his daughter at the president's table. madame alvarez pointed to a place for him beside alice langham, who held up her hand in welcome. "you were very foolish to rush off like that," she said. "it wasn't there," said clay, crowding into the place beside her. "no, it was here in the carriage all the time. captain stuart found it for me." "oh, he did, did he?" said clay; "that's why i couldn't find it. i am hungry," he laughed, "my ride gave me an appetite." he looked over and grinned at stuart, but that gentleman was staring fixedly at the candles on the table before him, his eyes filled with concern. clay observed that madame alvarez was covertly watching the young officer, and frowning her disapproval at his preoccupation. so he stretched his leg under the table and kicked viciously at stuart's boots. old general rojas, the vice-president, who sat next to stuart, moved suddenly and then blinked violently at the ceiling with an expression of patient suffering, but the exclamation which had escaped him brought stuart back to the present, and he talked with the woman next him in a perfunctory manner. miss langham and her father were waiting for their carriage in the great hall of the palace as stuart came up to clay, and putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, began pointing to something farther back in the hall. to the night-birds of the streets and the noisy fiacre drivers outside, and to the crowd of guests who stood on the high marble steps waiting for their turn to depart, he might have been relating an amusing anecdote of the ball just over. "i'm in great trouble, old man," was what he said. "i must see you alone to-night. i'd ask you to my rooms, but they watch me all the time, and i don't want them to suspect you are in this until they must. go on in the carriage, but get out as you pass the plaza bolivar and wait for me by the statue there." clay smiled, apparently in great amusement. "that's very good," he said. he crossed over to where king stood surveying the powdered beauties of olancho and their gowns of a past fashion, with an intensity of admiration which would have been suspicious to those who knew his tastes. "when we get into the carriage," said clay, in a low voice, "we will both call to stuart that we will see him to-morrow morning at breakfast." "all right," assented king. "what's up?" stuart helped miss langham into her carriage, and as it moved away king shouted to him in english to remember that he was breakfasting with him on the morrow, and clay called out in spanish, "until to-morrow at breakfast, don't forget." and stuart answered, steadily, "good night until to-morrow at one." as their carriage jolted through the dark and narrow street, empty now of all noise or movement, one of stuart's troopers dashed by it at a gallop, with a lighted lantern swinging at his side. he raised it as he passed each street crossing, and held it high above his head so that its light fell upon the walls of the houses at the four corners. the clatter of his horse's hoofs had not ceased before another trooper galloped toward them riding more slowly, and throwing the light of his lantern over the trunks of the trees that lined the pavements. as the carriage passed him, he brought his horse to its side with a jerk of the bridle, and swung his lantern in the faces of its occupants. "who lives?" he challenged. "olancho," clay replied. "who answers?" "free men," clay answered again, and pointed at the star on his coat. the soldier muttered an apology, and striking his heels into his horse's side, dashed noisily away, his lantern tossing from side to side, high in the air, as he drew rein to scan each tree and passed from one lamp-post to the next. "what does that mean?" said mr. langham; "did he take us for highwaymen?" "it is the custom," said clay. "we are out rather late, you see." "if i remember rightly, clay," said king, "they gave a ball at brussels on the eve of waterloo." "i believe they did," said clay, smiling. he spoke to the driver to stop the carriage, and stepped down into the street. "i have to leave you here," he said; "drive on quickly, please; i can explain better in the morning." the plaza bolivar stood in what had once been the centre of the fashionable life of olancho, but the town had moved farther up the hill, and it was now far in the suburbs, its walks neglected and its turf overrun with weeds. the houses about it had fallen into disuse, and the few that were still occupied at the time clay entered it showed no sign of life. clay picked his way over the grass-grown paths to the statue of bolivar, the hero of the sister republic of venezuela, which still stood on its pedestal in a tangle of underbrush and hanging vines. the iron railing that had once surrounded it was broken down, and the branches of the trees near were black with sleeping buzzards. two great palms reared themselves in the moonlight at either side, and beat their leaves together in the night wind, whispering and murmuring together like two living conspirators. "this ought to be safe enough," clay murmured to himself. "it's just the place for plotting. i hope there are no snakes." he seated himself on the steps of the pedestal, and lighting a cigar, remained smoking and peering into the shadows about him, until a shadow blacker than the darkness rose at his feet, and a voice said, sternly, "put out that light. i saw it half a mile away." clay rose and crushed his cigar under his foot. "now then, old man," he demanded briskly, "what's up? it's nearly daylight and we must hurry." stuart seated himself heavily on the stone steps, like a man tired in mind and body, and unfolded a printed piece of paper. its blank side was damp and sticky with paste. "it is too dark for you to see this," he began, in a strained voice, "so i will translate it to you. it is an attack on madame alvarez and myself. they put them up during the ball, when they knew my men would be at the palace. i have had them scouring the streets for the last two hours tearing them down, but they are all over the place, in the cafés and clubs. they have done what they were meant to do." clay took another cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his lips. "what does it say?" he asked. "it goes over the old ground first. it says alvarez has given the richest birthright of his country to aliens--that means the mines and langham--and has put an alien in command of the army--that is meant for me. i've no more to do with the army than you have--i only wish i had! and then it says that the boundary aggressions of ecuador and venezuela have not been resented in consequence. it asks what can be expected of a president who is as blind to the dishonor of his country as he is to the dishonor of his own home?" clay muttered under his breath, "well, go on. is it explicit? more explicit than that?" "yes," said stuart, grimly. "i can't repeat it. it is quite clear what they mean." "have you got any of them?" clay asked. "can you fix it on some one that you can fight?" "mendoza did it, of course," stuart answered, "but we cannot prove it. and if we could, we are not strong enough to take him. he has the city full of his men now, and the troops are pouring in every hour." "well, alvarez can stop that, can't he?" "they are coming in for the annual review. he can't show the people that he is afraid of his own army." "what are you going to do?" "what am i going to do?" stuart repeated, dully. "that is what i want you to tell me. there is nothing i can do now. i've brought trouble and insult on people who have been kinder to me than my own blood have been. who took me in when i was naked and clothed me, when i hadn't a friend or a sixpence to my name. you remember--i came here from that row in colombia with my wound, and i was down with the fever when they found me, and alvarez gave me the appointment. and this is how i reward them. if i stay i do more harm. if i go away i leave them surrounded by enemies, and not enemies who fight fair, but damned thieves and scoundrels, who stab at women and who fight in the dark. i wouldn't have had it happen, old man, for my right arm! they--they have been so kind to me, and i have been so happy here--and now!" the boy bowed his face in his hands and sat breathing brokenly while clay turned his unlit cigar between his teeth and peered at him curiously through the darkness. "now i have made them both unhappy, and they hate me, and i hate myself, and i have brought nothing but trouble to every one. first i made my own people miserable, and now i make my best friends miserable, and i had better be dead. i wish i were dead. i wish i had never been born." clay laid his hand on the other's bowed shoulder and shook him gently. "don't talk like that," he said; "it does no good. why do you hate yourself?" "what?" asked stuart, wearily, without looking up. "what did you say?" "you said you had made them hate you, and you added that you hated yourself. well, i can see why they naturally would be angry for the time, at least. but why do you hate yourself? have you reason to?" "i don't understand," said stuart. "well, i can't make it any plainer," clay replied. "it isn't a question i will ask. but you say you want my advice. well, my advice to my friend and to a man who is not my friend, differ. and in this case it depends on whether what that thing--" clay kicked the paper which had fallen on the ground--"what that thing says is true." the younger man looked at the paper below him and then back at clay, and sprang to his feet. "why, damn you," he cried, "what do you mean?" he stood above clay with both arms rigid at his side and his head bent forward. the dawn had just broken, and the two men saw each other in the ghastly gray light of the morning. "if any man," cried stuart thickly, "dares to say that that blackguardly lie is true i'll kill him. you or any one else. is that what you mean, damn you? if it is, say so, and i'll break every bone of your body." "well, that's much better," growled clay, sullenly. "the way you went on wishing you were dead and hating yourself made me almost lose faith in mankind. now you go make that speech to the president, and then find the man who put up those placards, and if you can't find the right man, take any man you meet and make him eat it, paste and all, and beat him to death if he doesn't. why, this is no time to whimper--because the world is full of liars. go out and fight them and show them you are not afraid. confound you, you had me so scared there that i almost thrashed you myself. forgive me, won't you?" he begged earnestly. he rose and held out his hand and the other took it, doubtfully. "it was your own fault, you young idiot," protested clay. "you told your story the wrong way. now go home and get some sleep and i'll be back in a few hours to help you. look!" he said. he pointed through the trees to the sun that shot up like a red hot disk of heat above the cool green of the mountains. "see," said clay, "god has given us another day. seven battles were fought in seven days once in my country. let's be thankful, old man, that we're not dead, but alive to fight our own and other people's battles." the younger man sighed and pressed clay's hand again before he dropped it. "you are very good to me," he said. "i'm not just quite myself this morning. i'm a bit nervous, i think. you'll surely come, won't you?" "by noon," clay promised. "and if it does come," he added, "don't forget my fifteen hundred men at the mines." "good! i won't," stuart replied. "i'll call on you if i need them." he raised his fingers mechanically to his helmet in salute, and catching up his sword turned and strode away erect and soldierly through the debris and weeds of the deserted plaza. clay remained motionless on the steps of the pedestal and followed the younger man with his eyes. he drew a long breath and began a leisurely search through his pockets for his match-box, gazing about him as he did so, as though looking for some one to whom he could speak his feelings. he lifted his eyes to the stern, smooth-shaven face of the bronze statue above him that seemed to be watching stuart's departing figure. "general bolivar," clay said, as he lit his cigar, "observe that young man. he is a soldier and a gallant gentleman. you, sir, were a great soldier--the greatest this god-forsaken country will ever know--and you were, sir, an ardent lover. i ask you to salute that young man as i do, and to wish him well." clay lifted his high hat to the back of the young officer as it was hidden in the hanging vines, and once again, with grave respect to the grim features of the great general above him, and then smiling at his own conceit, he ran lightly down the steps and disappeared among the trees of the plaza. ix clay slept for three hours. he had left a note on the floor instructing macwilliams and young langham not to go to the mines, but to waken him at ten o'clock, and by eleven the three men were galloping off to the city. as they left the palms they met hope returning from a morning ride on the alameda, and clay begged her, with much concern, not to ride abroad again. there was a difference in his tone toward her. there was more anxiety in it than the occasion seemed to justify, and he put his request in the form of a favor to himself, while the day previous he would simply have told her that she must not go riding alone. "why?" asked hope, eagerly. "is there going to be trouble?" "i hope not," clay said, "but the soldiers are coming in from the provinces for the review, and the roads are not safe." "i'd be safe with you, though," said hope, smiling persuasively upon the three men. "won't you take me with you, please?" "hope," said young langham in the tone of the elder brother's brief authority, "you must go home at once." hope smiled wickedly. "i don't want to," she said. "i'll bet you a box of cigars i can beat you to the veranda by fifty yards," said macwilliams, turning his horse's head. hope clasped her sailor hat in one hand and swung her whip with the other. "i think not," she cried, and disappeared with a flutter of skirts and a scurry of flying pebbles. "at times," said clay, "macwilliams shows an unexpected knowledge of human nature." "yes, he did quite right," assented langham, nodding his head mysteriously. "we've no time for girls at present, have we?" "no, indeed," said clay, hiding any sign of a smile. langham breathed deeply at the thought of the part he was to play in this coming struggle, and remained respectfully silent as they trotted toward the city. he did not wish to disturb the plots and counterplots that he was confident were forming in clay's brain, and his devotion would have been severely tried had he known that his hero's mind was filled with a picture of a young girl in a blue shirt-waist and a whipcord riding-skirt. clay sent for stuart to join them at the restaurant, and macwilliams arriving at the same time, the four men seated themselves conspicuously in the centre of the café and sipped their chocolate as though unconscious of any imminent danger, and in apparent freedom from all responsibilities and care. while macwilliams and langham laughed and disputed over a game of dominoes, the older men exchanged, under cover of their chatter, the few words which they had met to speak. the manifestoes, stuart said, had failed of their purpose. he had already called upon the president, and had offered to resign his position and leave the country, or to stay and fight his maligners, and take up arms at once against mendoza's party. alvarez had treated him like a son, and bade him be patient. he held that caesar's wife was above suspicion because she was caesar's wife, and that no canards posted at midnight could affect his faith in his wife or in his friend. he refused to believe that any coup d'etat was imminent, save the one which he himself meditated when he was ready to proclaim the country in a state of revolution, and to assume a military dictatorship. "what nonsense!" exclaimed clay. "what is a military dictatorship without soldiers? can't he see that the army is with mendoza?" "no," stuart replied. "rojas and i were with him all the morning. rojas is an old trump, clay. he's not bright and he's old-fashioned; but he is honest. and the people know it. if i had rojas for a chief instead of alvarez, i'd arrest mendoza with my own hand, and i wouldn't be afraid to take him to the carcel through the streets. the people wouldn't help him. but the president doesn't dare. not that he hasn't pluck," added the young lieutenant, loyally, "for he takes his life in his hands when he goes to the review tomorrow, and he knows it. think of it, will you, out there alone with a field of five thousand men around him! rojas thinks he can hold half of them, as many as mendoza can, and i have my fifty. but you can't tell what any one of them will do for a drink or a dollar. they're no more soldiers than these waiters. they're bandits in uniform, and they'll kill for the man that pays best." "then why doesn't alvarez pay them?" clay growled. stuart looked away and lowered his eyes to the table. "he hasn't the money, i suppose," he said, evasively. "he--he has transferred every cent of it into drafts on rothschild. they are at the house now, representing five millions of dollars in gold--and her jewels, too--packed ready for flight." "then he does expect trouble?" said clay. "you told me--" "they're all alike; you know them," said stuart. "they won't believe they're in danger until the explosion comes, but they always have a special train ready, and they keep the funds of the government under their pillows. he engaged apartments on the avenue kleber six months ago." "bah!" said clay. "it's the old story. why don't you quit him?" stuart raised his eyes and dropped them again, and clay sighed. "i'm sorry," he said. macwilliams interrupted them in an indignant stage-whisper. "say, how long have we got to keep up this fake game?" he asked. "i don't know anything about dominoes, and neither does ted. tell us what you've been saying. is there going to be trouble? if there is, ted and i want to be in it. we are looking for trouble." clay had tipped back his chair, and was surveying the restaurant and the blazing plaza beyond its open front with an expression of cheerful unconcern. two men were reading the morning papers near the door, and two others were dragging through a game of dominoes in a far corner. the heat of midday had settled on the place, and the waiters dozed, with their chairs tipped back against the walls. outside, the awning of the restaurant threw a broad shadow across the marble-topped tables on the sidewalk, and half a dozen fiacre drivers slept peacefully in their carriages before the door. the town was taking its siesta, and the brisk step of a stranger who crossed the tessellated floor and rapped with his knuckles on the top of the cigar-case was the only sign of life. the newcomer turned with one hand on the glass case and swept the room carelessly with his eyes. they were hard blue eyes under straight eyebrows. their owner was dressed unobtrusively in a suit of rough tweed, and this and his black hat, and the fact that he was smooth-shaven, distinguished him as a foreigner. as he faced them the forelegs of clay's chair descended slowly to the floor, and he began to smile comprehendingly and to nod his head as though the coming of the stranger had explained something of which he had been in doubt. his companions turned and followed the direction of his eyes, but saw nothing of interest in the newcomer. he looked as though he might be a concession hunter from the states, or a manchester drummer, prepared to offer six months' credit on blankets and hardware. clay rose and strode across the room, circling the tables in such a way that he could keep himself between the stranger and the door. at his approach the new-comer turned his back and fumbled with his change on the counter. "captain burke, i believe?" said clay. the stranger bit the cigar he had just purchased, and shook his head. "i am very glad to see you," clay continued. "sit down, won't you? i want to talk with you." "i think you've made a mistake," the stranger answered, quietly. "my name is--" "colonel, perhaps, then," said clay. "i might have known it. i congratulate you, colonel." the man looked at clay for an instant, with the cigar clenched between his teeth and his blue eyes fixed steadily on the other's face. clay waved his hand again invitingly toward a table, and the man shrugged his shoulders and laughed, and, pulling a chair toward him, sat down. "come over here, boys," clay called. "i want you to meet an old friend of mine, captain burke." the man called burke stared at the three men as they crossed the room and seated themselves at the table, and nodded to them in silence. "we have here," said clay, gayly, but in a low voice, "the key to the situation. this is the gentleman who supplies mendoza with the sinews of war. captain burke is a brave soldier and a citizen of my own or of any country, indeed, which happens to have the most sympathetic consul-general." burke smiled grimly, with a condescending nod, and putting away the cigar, took out a brier pipe and began to fill it from his tobacco-pouch. "the captain is a man of few words and extremely modest about himself," clay continued, lightly; "so i must tell you who he is myself. he is a promoter of revolutions. that is his business,--a professional promoter of revolutions, and that is what makes me so glad to see him again. he knows all about the present crisis here, and he is going to tell us all he knows as soon as he fills his pipe. i ought to warn you, burke," he added, "that this is captain stuart, in charge of the police and the president's cavalry troop. so, you see, whatever you say, you will have one man who will listen to you." burke crossed one short fat leg over the other, and crowded the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe with his thumb. "i thought you were in chili, clay," he said. "no, you didn't think i was in chili," clay replied, kindly. "i left chili two years ago. the captain and i met there," he explained to the others, "when balmaceda was trying to make himself dictator. the captain was on the side of the congressionalists, and was furnishing arms and dynamite. the captain is always on the winning side, at least he always has been--up to the present. he is not a creature of sentiment; are you, burke? the captain believes with napoleon that god is on the side that has the heaviest artillery." burke lighted his pipe and drummed absentmindedly on the table with his match-box. "i can't afford to be sentimental," he said. "not in my business." "of course not," clay assented, cheerfully. he looked at burke and laughed, as though the sight of him recalled pleasant memories. "i wish i could give these boys an idea of how clever you are, captain," he said. "the captain was the first man, for instance, to think of packing cartridges in tubs of lard, and of sending rifles in piano-cases. he represents the welby revolver people in england, and half a dozen firms in the states, and he has his little stores in tampa and mobile and jamaica, ready to ship off at a moment's notice to any revolution in central america. when i first met the captain," clay continued, gleefully, and quite unmindful of the other's continued silence, "he was starting off to rescue arabi pasha from the island of ceylon. you may remember, boys, that when dufferin saved arabi from hanging, the british shipped him to ceylon as a political prisoner. well, the captain was sent by arabi's followers in egypt to bring him back to lead a second rebellion. burke had everybody bribed at ceylon, and a fine schooner fitted out and a lot of ruffians to do the fighting, and then the good, kind british government pardoned arabi the day before burke arrived in port. and you never got a cent for it; did you, burke?" burke shook his head and frowned. "six thousand pounds sterling i was to have got for that," he said, with a touch of pardonable pride in his voice, "and they set him free the day before i got there, just as mr. clay tells you." "and then you headed granville prior's expedition for buried treasure off the island of cocos, didn't you?" said clay. "go on, tell them about it. be sociable. you ought to write a book about your different business ventures, burke, indeed you ought; but then," clay added, smiling, "nobody would believe you." burke rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, with his fingers, and looked modestly at the ceiling, and the two younger boys gazed at him with open-mouthed interest. "there ain't anything in buried treasure," he said, after a pause, "except the money that's sunk in the fitting out. it sounds good, but it's all foolishness." "all foolishness, eh?" said clay, encouragingly. "and what did you do after balmaceda was beaten?--after i last saw you?" "crespo," burke replied, after a pause, during which he pulled gently on his pipe. "'caroline brewer'--cleared from key west for curacao, with cargo of sewing-machines and ploughs--beached below maracaibo--thirty-five thousand rounds and two thousand rifles--at twenty bolivars apiece." "of course," said clay, in a tone of genuine appreciation. "i might have known you'd be in that. he says," he explained, "that he assisted general crespo in venezuela during his revolution against guzman blanco's party, and loaded a tramp steamer called the 'caroline brewer' at key west with arms, which he landed safely at a place for which he had no clearance papers, and he received forty thousand dollars in our money for the job--and very good pay, too, i should think," commented clay. "well, i don't know," burke demurred. "you take in the cost of leasing the boat and provisioning her, and the crew's wages, and the cost of the cargo; that cuts into profits. then i had to stand off shore between trinidad and curacao for over three weeks before i got the signal to run in, and after that i was chased by a gun-boat for three days, and the crazy fool put a shot clean through my engine-room. cost me about twelve hundred dollars in repairs." there was a pause, and clay turned his eyes to the street, and then asked, abruptly, "what are you doing now?" "trying to get orders for smokeless powder," burke answered, promptly. he met clay's look with eyes as undisturbed as his own. "but they won't touch it down here," he went on. "it doesn't appeal to 'em. it's too expensive, and they'd rather see the smoke. it makes them think--" "how long did you expect to stay here?" clay interrupted. "how long?" repeated burke, like a man in a witness-box who is trying to gain time. "well, i was thinking of leaving by friday, and taking a mule-train over to bogota instead of waiting for the steamer to colon." he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air and watched it drifting toward the door with apparent interest. "the 'santiago' leaves here saturday for new york. i guess you had better wait over for her," clay said. "i'll engage your passage, and, in the meantime, captain stuart here will see that they treat you well in the cuartel." the men around the table started, and sat motionless looking at clay, but burke only took his pipe from his mouth and knocked the ashes out on the heel of his boot. "what am i going to the cuartel for?" he asked. "well, the public good, i suppose," laughed clay. "i'm sorry, but it's your own fault. you shouldn't have shown yourself here at all." "what have you got to do with it?" asked burke, calmly, as he began to refill his pipe. he had the air of a man who saw nothing before him but an afternoon of pleasant discourse and leisurely inactivity. "you know what i've got to do with it," clay replied. "i've got our concession to look after." "well, you're not running the town, too, are you?" asked burke. "no, but i'm going to run you out of it," clay answered. "now, what are you going to do,--make it unpleasant for us and force our hand, or drive down quietly with our friend macwilliams here? he is the best one to take you, because he's not so well known." burke turned his head and looked over his shoulder at stuart. "you taking orders from mr. clay, to-day, captain stuart?" he asked. "yes," stuart answered, smiling. "i agree with mr. clay in whatever he thinks right." "oh, well, in that case," said burke, rising reluctantly, with a protesting sigh, "i guess i'd better call on the american minister." "you can't. he's in ecuador on his annual visit," said clay. "indeed! that's bad for me," muttered burke, as though in much concern. "well, then, i'll ask you to let me see our consul here." "certainly," clay assented, with alacrity. "mr. langham, this young gentleman's father, got him his appointment, so i've no doubt he'll be only too glad to do anything for a friend of ours." burke raised his eyes and looked inquiringly at clay, as though to assure himself that this was true, and clay smiled back at him. "oh, very well," burke said. "then, as i happen to be an irishman by the name of burke, and a british subject, i'll try her majesty's representative, and we'll see if he will allow me to be locked up without a reason or a warrant." "that's no good, either," said clay, shaking his head. "you fixed your nationality, as far as this continent is concerned, in rio harbor, when peixoto handed you over to the british admiral, and you claimed to be an american citizen, and were sent on board the 'detroit.' if there's any doubt about that we've only got to cable to rio janeiro--to either legation. but what's the use? they know me here, and they don't know you, and i do. you'll have to go to jail and stay there." "oh, well, if you put it that way, i'll go," said burke. "but," he added, in a lower voice, "it's too late, clay." the expression of amusement on clay's face, and his ease of manner, fell from him at the words, and he pulled burke back into the chair again. "what do you mean?" he asked, anxiously. "i mean just that, it's too late," burke answered. "i don't mind going to jail. i won't be there long. my work's all done and paid for. i was only staying on to see the fun at the finish, to see you fellows made fools of." "oh, you're sure of that, are you?" asked clay. "my dear boy!" exclaimed the american, with a suggestion in his speech of his irish origin, as his interest rose. "did you ever know me to go into anything of this sort for the sentiment of it? did you ever know me to back the losing side? no. well, i tell you that you fellows have no more show in this than a parcel of sunday-school children. of course i can't say when they mean to strike. i don't know, and i wouldn't tell you if i did. but when they do strike there'll be no striking back. it'll be all over but the cheering." burke's tone was calm and positive. he held the centre of the stage now, and he looked from one to the other of the serious faces around him with an expression of pitying amusement. "alvarez may get off, and so may madame alvarez," he added, lowering his voice and turning his face away from stuart. "but not if she shows herself in the streets, and not if she tries to take those drafts and jewels with her." "oh, you know that, do you?" interrupted clay. "i know nothing," burke replied. "at least, nothing to what the rest of them know. that's only the gossip i pick up at headquarters. it doesn't concern me. i've delivered my goods and given my receipt for the money, and that's all i care about. but if it will make an old friend feel any more comfortable to have me in jail, why, i'll go, that's all." clay sat with pursed lips looking at stuart. the two boys leaned with their elbows on the tables and stared at burke, who was searching leisurely through his pockets for his match-box. from outside came the lazy cry of a vendor of lottery tickets, and the swift, uneven patter of bare feet, as company after company of dust-covered soldiers passed on their way from the provinces, with their shoes swinging from their bayonets. clay slapped the table with an exclamation of impatience. "after all, this is only a matter of business," he said, "with all of us. what do you say, burke, to taking a ride with me to stuart's rooms, and having a talk there with the president and mr. langham? langham has three millions sunk in these mines, and alvarez has even better reasons than that for wanting to hold his job. what do you say? that's better than going to jail. tell us what they mean to do, and who is to do it, and i'll let you name your own figure, and i'll guarantee you that they'll meet it. as long as you've no sentiment, you might as well fight on the side that will pay best." burke opened his lips as though to speak, and then shut them again, closely. if the others thought that he was giving clay's proposition a second and more serious thought, he was quick to undeceive them. "there are men in the business who do that sort of thing," he said. "they sell arms to one man, and sell the fact that he's got them to the deputy-marshals, and sell the story of how smart they've been to the newspapers. and they never make any more sales after that. i'd look pretty, wouldn't i, bringing stuff into this country, and getting paid for it, and then telling you where it was hid, and everything else i knew? i've no sentiment, as you say, but i've got business instinct, and that's not business. no, i've told you enough, and if you think i'm not safe at large, why i'm quite ready to take a ride with your young friend here." macwilliams rose with alacrity, and beaming with pleasure at the importance of the duty thrust upon him. burke smiled. "the young 'un seems to like the job," he said. "it's an honor to be associated with captain burke in any way," said macwilliams, as he followed him into a cab, while stuart galloped off before them in the direction of the cuartel. "you wouldn't think so if you knew better," said burke. "my friends have been watching us while we have been talking in there for the last hour. they're watching us now, and if i were to nod my head during this ride, they'd throw you out into the street and set me free, if they had to break the cab into kindling-wood while they were doing it." macwilliams changed his seat to the one opposite his prisoner, and peered up and down the street in some anxiety. "i suppose you know there's an answer to that, don't you?" he asked. "well, the answer is, that if you nod your head once, you lose the top of it." burke gave an exclamation of disgust, and gazed at his zealous guardian with an expression of trepidation and unconcealed disapproval. "you're not armed, are you?" he asked. macwilliams nodded. "why not?" he said; "these are rather heavy weather times, just at present, thanks to you and your friends. why, you seem rather afraid of fire-arms," he added, with the intolerance of youth. the irish-american touched the young man on the knee, and lifted his hat. "my son," he said, "when your hair is as gray as that, and you have been through six campaigns, you'll be brave enough to own that you're afraid of fire-arms, too." x clay and langham left macwilliams and stuart to look after their prisoner, and returned to the palms, where they dined in state, and made no reference, while the women were present, to the events of the day. the moon rose late that night, and as hope watched it, from where she sat at the dinner-table facing the open windows, she saw the figure of a man standing outlined in silhouette upon the edge of the cliff. he was dressed in the uniform of a sailor, and the moonlight played along the barrel of a rifle upon which he leaned, motionless and menacing, like a sentry on a rampart. hope opened her lips to speak, and then closed them again, and smiled with pleasurable excitement. a moment later king, who sat on her right, called one of the servants to his side and whispered some instructions, pointing meanwhile at the wine upon the table. and a minute after, hope saw the white figure of the servant cross the garden and approach the sentinel. she saw the sentry fling his gun sharply to his hip, and then, after a moment's parley, toss it up to his shoulder and disappear from sight among the plants of the garden. the men did not leave the table with the ladies, as was their custom, but remained in the dining-room, and drew their chairs closer together. mr. langham would not believe that the downfall of the government was as imminent as the others believed it to be. it was only after much argument, and with great reluctance, that he had even allowed king to arm half of his crew, and to place them on guard around the palms. clay warned him that in the disorder that followed every successful revolution, the homes of unpopular members of the cabinet were often burned, and that he feared, should mendoza succeed, and alvarez fall, that the mob might possibly vent its victorious wrath on the palms because it was the home of the alien, who had, as they thought, robbed the country of the iron mines. mr. langham said he did not think the people would tramp five miles into the country seeking vengeance. there was an american man-of-war lying in the harbor of truxillo, a seaport of the republic that bounded olancho on the south, and clay was in favor of sending to her captain by weimer, the consul, and asking him to anchor off valencia, to protect american interests. the run would take but a few hours, and the sight of the vessel's white hull in the harbor would, he thought, have a salutary effect upon the revolutionists. but mr. langham said, firmly, that he would not ask for help until he needed it. "well, i'm sorry," said clay. "i should very much like to have that man-of-war here. however, if you say no, we will try to get along without her. but, for the present, i think you had better imagine yourself back in new york, and let us have an entirely free hand. we've gone too far to drop out," he went on, laughing at the sight of mr. langham's gloomy countenance. "we've got to fight them now. it's against human nature not to do it." mr. langham looked appealingly at his son and at king. they both smiled back at him in unanimous disapproval of his policy of non-interference. "oh, very well," he said, at last. "you gentlemen can go ahead, kill, burn, and destroy if you wish. but, considering the fact that it is my property you are all fighting about, i really think i might have something to say in the matter." mr. langham gazed about him helplessly, and shook his head. "my doctor sends me down here from a quiet, happy home," he protested, with humorous pathos, "that i may rest and get away from excitement, and here i am with armed men patrolling my garden-paths, with a lot of filibusters plotting at my own dinner-table, and a civil war likely to break out, entirely on my account. and dr. winter told me this was the only place that would cure my nervous prostration!" hope joined clay as soon as the men left the dining-room, and beckoned him to the farther end of the veranda. "well, what is it?" she said. "what is what?" laughed clay. he seated himself on the rail of the veranda, with his face to the avenue and the driveway leading to the house. they could hear the others from the back of the house, and the voice of young langham, who was giving an imitation of macwilliams, and singing with peculiar emphasis, "there is no place like home, sweet home." "why are the men guarding the palms, and why did you go to the plaza bolivar this morning at daybreak? alice says you left them there. i want to know what it means. i am nearly as old as ted, and he knows. the men wouldn't tell me." "what men?" "king's men from the 'vesta'. i saw some of them dodging around in the bushes, and i went to find out what they were doing, and i walked into fifteen of them at your office. they have hammocks swung all over the veranda, and a quick-firing gun made fast to the steps, and muskets stacked all about, just like real soldiers, but they wouldn't tell me why." "we'll put you in the carcel," said clay, "if you go spying on our forces. your father doesn't wish you to know anything about it, but, since you have found it out for yourself, you might as well know what little there is to know. it's the same story. mendoza is getting ready to start his revolution, or, rather, he has started it." "why don't you stop him?" asked hope. "you are very flattering," said clay. "even if i could stop him, it's not my business to do it as yet. i have to wait until he interferes with me, or my mines, or my workmen. alvarez is the man who should stop him, but he is afraid. we cannot do anything until he makes the first move. if i were the president, i'd have mendoza shot to-morrow morning and declare martial law. then i'd arrest everybody i didn't like, and levy forced loans on all the merchants, and sail away to paris and live happy ever after. that's what mendoza would do if he caught any one plotting against him. and that's what alvarez should do, too, according to his lights, if he had the courage of his convictions, and of his education. i like to see a man play his part properly, don't you? if you are an emperor, you ought to conduct yourself like one, as our german friend does. or if you are a prize-fighter, you ought to be a human bulldog. there's no such thing as a gentlemanly pugilist, any more than there can be a virtuous burglar. and if you're a south american dictator, you can't afford to be squeamish about throwing your enemies into jail or shooting them for treason. the way to dictate is to dictate,--not to hide indoors all day while your wife plots for you." "does she do that?" asked hope. "and do you think she will be in danger--any personal danger, if the revolution comes?" "well, she is very unpopular," clay answered, "and unjustly so, i think. but it would be better, perhaps, for her if she went as quietly as possible, when she does go." "is our captain stuart in danger, too?" the girl continued, anxiously. "alice says they put up placards about him all over the city last night. she saw his men tearing them down as she was coming home. what has he done?" "nothing," clay answered, shortly. "he happens to be in a false position, that's all. they think he is here because he is not wanted in his own country; that is not so. that is not the reason he remains here. when he was even younger than he is now, he was wild and foolish, and spent more money than he could afford, and lent more money to his brother-officers, i have no doubt, than they ever paid back. he had to leave the regiment because his father wouldn't pay his debts, and he has been selling his sword for the last three years to one or another king or sultan or party all over the world, in china and madagascar, and later in siam. i hope you will be very kind to stuart and believe well of him, and that you will listen to no evil against him. somewhere in england stuart has a sister like you--about your age, i mean, that loves him very dearly, and a father whose heart aches for him, and there is a certain royal regiment that still drinks his health with pride. he is a lonely little chap, and he has no sense of humor to help him out of his difficulties, but he is a very brave gentleman. and he is here fighting for men who are not worthy to hold his horse's bridle, because of a woman. and i tell you this because you will hear many lies about him--and about her. he serves her with the same sort of chivalric devotion that his ancestors felt for the woman whose ribbons they tied to their lances, and for whom they fought in the lists." "i understand," hope said, softly. "i am glad you told me. i shall not forget." she sighed and shook her head. "i wish they'd let you manage it for them," she said. clay laughed. "i fear my executive ability is not of so high an order; besides, as i haven't been born to it, my conscience might trouble me if i had to shoot my enemies and rob the worthy merchants. i had better stick to digging holes in the ground. that is all i seem to be good for." hope looked up at him, quickly, in surprise. "what do you mean by that?" she demanded. there was a tone of such sharp reproach in her voice that clay felt himself put on the defensive. "i mean nothing by it," he said. "your sister and i had a talk the other day about a man's making the best of himself, and it opened my eyes to--to many things. it was a very healthy lesson." "it could not have been a very healthy lesson," hope replied, severely, "if it makes you speak of your work slightingly, as you did then. that didn't sound at all natural, or like you. it sounded like alice. tell me, did alice say that?" the pleasure of hearing hope take his part against himself was so comforting to clay that he hesitated in answering in order to enjoy it the longer. her enthusiasm touched him deeply, and he wondered if she were enthusiastic because she was young, or because she was sure she was right, and that he was in the wrong. "it started this way," clay began, carefully. he was anxious to be quite fair to miss langham, but he found it difficult to give her point of view correctly, while he was hungering for a word that would re-establish him in his own good opinion. "your sister said she did not think very much of what i had done, but she explained kindly that she hoped for better things from me. but what troubles me is, that i will never do anything much better or very different in kind from the work i have done lately, and so i am a bit discouraged about it in consequence. you see," said clay, "when i come to die, and they ask me what i have done with my ten fingers, i suppose i will have to say, 'well, i built such and such railroads, and i dug up so many tons of ore, and opened new countries, and helped make other men rich.' i can't urge in my behalf that i happen to have been so fortunate as to have gained the good-will of yourself or your sister. that is quite reason enough to me, perhaps, for having lived, but it might not appeal to them. i want to feel that i have accomplished something outside of myself--something that will remain after i go. even if it is only a breakwater or a patent coupling. when i am dead it will not matter to any one what i personally was, whether i was a bore or a most charming companion, or whether i had red hair or blue. it is the work that will tell. and when your sister, whose judgment is the judgment of the outside world, more or less, says that the work is not worth while, i naturally feel a bit discouraged. it meant so much to me, and it hurt me to find it meant so little to others." hope remained silent for some time, but the rigidity of her attitude, and the tightness with which she pressed her lips together, showed that her mind was deeply occupied. they both sat silent for some few moments, looking down toward the distant lights of the city. at the farther end of the double row of bushes that lined the avenue they could see one of king's sentries passing to and fro across the roadway, a long black shadow on the moonlit road. "you are very unfair to yourself," the girl said at last, "and alice does not represent the opinion of the world, only of a very small part of it--her own little world. she does not know how little it is. and you are wrong as to what they will ask you at the end. what will they care whether you built railroads or painted impressionist pictures? they will ask you 'what have you made of yourself? have you been fine, and strong, and sincere?' that is what they will ask. and we like you because you are all of these things, and because you look at life so cheerfully, and are unafraid. we do not like men because they build railroads, or because they are prime ministers. we like them for what they are themselves. and as to your work!" hope added, and then paused in eloquent silence. "i think it is a grand work, and a noble work, full of hardships and self-sacrifices. i do not know of any man who has done more with his life than you have done with yours." she stopped and controlled her voice before she spoke again. "you should be very proud," she said. clay lowered his eyes and sat silent, looking down the roadway. the thought that the girl felt what she said so deeply, and that the fact that she had said it meant more to him than anything else in the world could mean, left him thrilled and trembling. he wanted to reach out his hand and seize both of hers, and tell her how much she was to him, but it seemed like taking advantage of the truths of a confessional, or of a child's innocent confidences. "no, miss hope," he answered, with an effort to speak lightly, "i wish i could believe you, but i know myself better than any one else can, and i know that while my bridges may stand examination--_i_ can't." hope turned and looked at him with eyes full of such sweet meaning that he was forced to turn his own away. "i could trust both, i think," the girl said. clay drew a quick, deep breath, and started to his feet, as though he had thrown off the restraint under which he had held himself. it was not a girl, but a woman who had spoken then, but, though he turned eagerly toward her, he stood with his head bowed, and did not dare to read the verdict in her eyes. the clatter of horses' hoofs coming toward them at a gallop broke in rudely upon the tense stillness of the moment, but neither noticed it. "how far," clay began, in a strained voice, "how far," he asked, more steadily, "could you trust me?" hope's eyes had closed for an instant, and opened again, and she smiled upon him with a look of perfect confidence and content. the beat of the horses' hoofs came now from the end of the driveway, and they could hear the men at the rear of the house pushing back their chairs and hurrying toward them. hope raised her head, and clay moved toward her eagerly. the horses were within a hundred yards. before hope could speak, the sentry's voice rang out in a hoarse, sharp challenge, like an alarm of fire on the silent night. "halt!" they heard him cry. and as the horses tore past him, and their riders did not turn to look, he shouted again, "halt, damn you!" and fired. the flash showed a splash of red and yellow in the moonlight, and the report started into life hundreds of echoes which carried it far out over the waters of the harbor, and tossed it into sharp angles, and distant corners, and in an instant a myriad of sounds answered it; the frightened cry of night-birds, the barking of dogs in the village below, and the footsteps of men running. clay glanced angrily down the avenue, and turned beseechingly to hope. "go," she said. "see what is wrong," and moved away as though she already felt that he could act more freely when she was not near him. the two horses fell back on their haunches before the steps, and macwilliams and stuart tumbled out of their saddles, and started, running back on foot in the direction from which the shot had come, tugging at their revolvers. "come back," clay shouted to them. "that's all right. he was only obeying orders. that's one of king's sentries." "oh, is that it?" said stuart, in matter-of-fact tones, as he turned again to the house. "good idea. tell him to fire lower next time. and, i say," he went on, as he bowed curtly to the assembled company on the veranda, "since you have got a picket out, you had better double it. and, clay, see that no one leaves here without permission--no one. that's more important, even, than keeping them out." "king, will you--" clay began. "all right, general," laughed king, and walked away to meet his sailors, who came running up the hill in great anxiety. macwilliams had not opened his lips, but he was bristling with importance, and his effort to appear calm and soldierly, like stuart, told more plainly than speech that he was the bearer of some invaluable secret. the sight filled young langham with a disquieting fear that he had missed something. stuart looked about him, and pulled briskly at his gauntlets. king and his sailors were grouped together on the grass before the house. mr. langham and his daughters, and clay, were standing on the steps, and the servants were peering around the corners of the house. stuart saluted mr. langham, as though to attract his especial attention, and then addressed himself in a low tone to clay. "it's come," he said. "we've been in it since dinner-time, and we've got a whole night's work cut out for you." he was laughing with excitement, and paused for a moment to gain breath. "i'll tell you the worst of it first. mendoza has sent word to alvarez that he wants the men at the mines to be present at the review to-morrow. he says they must take part. he wrote a most insolent letter. alvarez got out of it by saying that the men were under contract to you, and that you must give your permission first. mendoza sent me word that if you would not let the men come, he would go out and fetch them in him self." "indeed!" growled clay. "kirkland needs those men to-morrow to load ore-cars for thursday's steamer. he can't spare them. that is our answer, and it happens to be a true one, but if it weren't true, if to-morrow was all saints' day, and the men had nothing to do but to lie in the sun and sleep, mendoza couldn't get them. and if he comes to take them to-morrow, he'll have to bring his army with him to do it. and he couldn't do it then, mr. langham," clay cried, turning to that gentleman, "if i had better weapons. the five thousand dollars i wanted you to spend on rifles, sir, two months ago, might have saved you several millions to-morrow." clay's words seemed to bear some special significance to stuart and macwilliams, for they both laughed, and stuart pushed clay up the steps before him. "come inside," he said. "that is why we are here. macwilliams has found out where burke hid his shipment of arms. we are going to try and get them to-night." he hurried into the dining-room, and the others grouped themselves about the table. "tell them about it, macwilliams," stuart commanded. "i will see that no one overhears you." macwilliams was pushed into mr. langham's place at the head of the long table, and the others dragged their chairs up close around him. king put the candles at the opposite end of the table, and set some decanters and glasses in the centre. "to look as though we were just enjoying ourselves," he explained, pleasantly. mr. langham, with his fine, delicate fingers beating nervously on the table, observed the scene as an on-looker, rather than as the person chiefly interested. he smiled as he appreciated the incongruity of the tableau, and the contrast which the actors presented to the situation. he imagined how much it would amuse his contemporaries of the union club, at home, if they could see him then, with the still, tropical night outside, the candles reflected on the polished table and on the angles of the decanters, and showing the intent faces of the young girls and the men leaning eagerly forward around macwilliams, who sat conscious and embarrassed, his hair dishevelled, and his face covered with dust, while stuart paced up and down in the shadow, his sabre clanking as he walked. "well, it happened like this," macwilliams began, nervously, and addressing himself to clay. "stuart and i put burke safely in a cell by himself. it was one of the old ones that face the street. there was a narrow window in it, about eight feet above the floor, and no means of his reaching it, even if he stood on a chair. we stationed two troopers before the door, and sent out to a café across the street for our dinners. i finished mine about nine o'clock, and said 'good night' to stuart, and started to come out here. i went across the street first, however, to give the restaurant man some orders about burke's breakfast. it is a narrow street, you know, with a long garden-wall and a row of little shops on one side, and with the jail-wall taking up all of the other side. the street was empty when i left the jail, except for the sentry on guard in front of it, but just as i was leaving the restaurant i saw one of stuart's police come out and peer up and down the street and over at the shops. he looked frightened and anxious, and as i wasn't taking chances on anything, i stepped back into the restaurant and watched him through the window. he waited until the sentry had turned his back, and started away from him on his post, and then i saw him drop his sabre so that it rang on the sidewalk. he was standing, i noticed then, directly under the third window from the door of the jail. that was the window of burke's cell. when i grasped that fact i got out my gun and walked to the door of the restaurant. just as i reached it a piece of paper shot out through the bars of burke's cell and fell at the policeman's feet, and he stamped his boot down on it and looked all around again to see if any one had noticed him. i thought that was my cue, and i ran across the street with my gun pointed, and shouted to him to give me the paper. he jumped about a foot when he first saw me, but he was game, for he grabbed up the paper and stuck it in his mouth and began to chew on it. i was right up on him then, and i hit him on the chin with my left fist and knocked him down against the wall, and dropped on him with both knees and choked him till i made him spit out the paper--and two teeth," macwilliams added, with a conscientious regard for details. "the sentry turned just then and came at me with his bayonet, but i put my finger to my lips, and that surprised him, so that he didn't know just what to do, and hesitated. you see, i didn't want burke to hear the row outside, so i grabbed my policeman by the collar and pointed to the jail-door, and the sentry ran back and brought out stuart and the guard. stuart was pretty mad when he saw his policeman all bloody. he thought it would prejudice his other men against us, but i explained out loud that the man had been insolent, and i asked stuart to take us both to his private room for a hearing, and, of course, when i told him what had happened, he wanted to punch the chap, too. we put him ourselves into a cell where he could not communicate with any one, and then we read the paper. stuart has it," said macwilliams, pushing back his chair, "and he'll tell you the rest." there was a pause, in which every one seemed to take time to breathe, and then a chorus of questions and explanations. king lifted his glass to macwilliams, and nodded. "'well done, condor,'" he quoted, smiling. "yes," said clay, tapping the younger man on the shoulder as he passed him. "that's good work. now show us the paper, stuart." stuart pulled the candles toward him, and spread a slip of paper on the table. "burke did this up in one of those paper boxes for wax matches," he explained, "and weighted it with a twenty-dollar gold piece. macwilliams kept the gold piece, i believe." "going to use it for a scarf-pin," explained macwilliams, in parenthesis. "sort of war-medal, like the chief's," he added, smiling. "this is in spanish," stuart explained. "i will translate it. it is not addressed to any one, and it is not signed, but it was evidently written to mendoza, and we know it is in burke's handwriting, for we compared it with some notes of his that we took from him before he was locked up. he says, 'i cannot keep the appointment, as i have been arrested.' the line that follows here," stuart explained, raising his head, "has been scratched out, but we spent some time over it, and we made out that it read: 'it was mr. clay who recognized me, and ordered my arrest. he is the best man the others have. watch him.' we think he rubbed that out through good feeling toward clay. there seems to be no other reason. he's a very good sort, this old burke, i think." "well, never mind him; it was very decent of him, anyway," said clay. "go on. get to hecuba." "'i cannot keep the appointment, as i have been arrested,'" repeated stuart. "'i landed the goods last night in safety. i could not come in when first signalled, as the wind and tide were both off shore. but we got all the stuff stored away by morning. your agent paid me in full and got my receipt. please consider this as the same thing--as the equivalent'--it is difficult to translate it exactly," commented stuart--"'as the equivalent of the receipt i was to have given when i made my report to-night. i sent three of your guards away on my own responsibility, for i think more than that number might attract attention to the spot, and they might be seen from the ore-trains.' that is the point of the note for us, of course," stuart interrupted himself to say. "burke adds," he went on, "'that they are to make no effort to rescue him, as he is quite comfortable, and is willing to remain in the carcel until they are established in power.'" "within sight of the ore-trains!" exclaimed clay. "there are no ore-trains but ours. it must be along the line of the road." "macwilliams says he knows every foot of land along the railroad," said stuart, "and he is sure the place burke means is the old fortress on the platta inlet, because--" "it is the only place," interrupted macwilliams, "where there is no surf. they could run small boats up the inlet and unload in smooth water within twenty feet of the ramparts; and another thing, that is the only point on the line with a wagon road running direct from it to the capital. it's an old road, and hasn't been travelled over for years, but it could be used. no," he added, as though answering the doubt in clay's mind, "there is no other place. if i had a map here i could show you in a minute; where the beach is level there is a jungle between it and the road, and wherever there is open country, there is a limestone formation and rocks between it and the sea, where no boat could touch." "but the fortress is so conspicuous," clay demurred; "the nearest rampart is within twenty feet of the road. don't you remember we measured it when we thought of laying the double track?" "that is just what burke says," urged stuart. "that is the reason he gives for leaving only three men on guard--'i think more than that number might attract attention to the spot, as they might be seen from the ore-trains.'" "have you told any one of this?" clay asked. "what have you done so far?" "we've done nothing," said stuart. "we lost our nerve when we found out how much we knew, and we decided we'd better leave it to you." "whatever we do must be done at once," said clay. "they will come for the arms to-night, most likely, and we must be there first. i agree with you entirely about the place. it is only a question now of our being on time. there are two things to do. the first thing is, to keep them from getting the arms, and the second is, if we are lucky, to secure them for ourselves. if we can pull it off properly, we ought to have those rifles in the mines before midnight. if we are hurried or surprised, we must dump them off the fort into the sea." clay laughed and looked about him at the men. "we are only following out general bolivar's saying 'when you want arms take them from the enemy.' now, there are three places we must cover. this house, first of all," he went on, inclining his head quickly toward the two sisters, "then the city, and the mines. stuart's place, of course, is at the palace. king must take care of this house and those in it, and macwilliams and langham and i must look after the arms. we must organize two parties, and they had better approach the fort from here and from the mines at the same time. i will need you to do some telegraphing for me, mac; and, king, i must ask you for some more men from the yacht. how many have you?" king answered that there were fifteen men still on board, ten of whom would be of service. he added that they were all well equipped for fighting. "i believe king's a pirate in business hours," clay said, smiling. "all right, that's good. now go tell ten of them to meet me at the round-house in half an hour. i will get macwilliams to telegraph kirkland to run an engine and flat cars to within a half mile of the fort on the north, and we will come up on it with the sailors and ted, here, from the south. you must run the engine yourself, macwilliams, and perhaps it would be better, king, if your men joined us at the foot of the grounds here and not at the round-house. none of the workmen must see our party start. do you agree with me?" he asked, turning to those in the group about him. "has anybody any criticism to make?" stuart and king looked at one another ruefully and laughed. "i don't see what good i am doing in town," protested stuart. "yes, and i don't see where i come in, either," growled king, in aggrieved tones. "these youngsters can't do it all; besides i ought to have charge of my own men." "mutiny," said clay, in some perplexity, "rank mutiny. why, it's only a picnic. there are but three men there. we don't need sixteen white men to frighten off three olanchoans." "i'll tell you what to do," cried hope, with the air of having discovered a plan which would be acceptable to every one, "let's all go." "well, i certainly mean to go," said mr. langham, decidedly. "so some one else must stay here. ted, you will have to look after your sisters." the son and heir smiled upon his parent with a look of affectionate wonder, and shook his head at him in fond and pitying disapproval. "i'll stay," said king. "i have never seen such ungallant conduct. ladies," he said, "i will protect your lives and property, and we'll invent something exciting to do ourselves, even if we have to bombard the capital." the men bade the women good-night, and left them with king and mr. langham, who had been persuaded to remain overnight, while stuart rode off to acquaint alvarez and general rojas with what was going on. xi there was no chance for clay to speak to hope again, though he felt the cruelty of having to leave her with everything between them in this interrupted state. but their friends stood about her, interested and excited over this expedition of smuggled arms, unconscious of the great miracle that had come into his life and of his need to speak to and to touch the woman who had wrought it. clay felt how much more binding than the laws of life are the little social conventions that must be observed at times, even though the heart is leaping with joy or racked with sorrow. he stood within a few feet of the woman he loved, wanting to cry out at her and to tell her all the wonderful things which he had learned were true for the first time that night, but he was forced instead to keep his eyes away from her face and to laugh and answer questions, and at the last to go away content with having held her hand for an instant, and to have heard her say "good-luck." macwilliams called kirkland to the office at the other end of the company's wire, and explained the situation to him. he was instructed to run an engine and freight-cars to a point a quarter of a mile north of the fort, and to wait there until he heard a locomotive whistle or pistol shots, when he was to run on to the fort as quickly and as noiselessly as possible. he was also directed to bring with him as many of the american workmen as he could trust to keep silent concerning the events of the evening. at ten o'clock macwilliams had the steam up in a locomotive, and with his only passenger-car in the rear, ran it out of the yard and stopped the train at the point nearest the cars where ten of the 'vesta's' crew were waiting. the sailors had no idea as to where they were going, or what they were to do, but the fact that they had all been given arms filled them with satisfaction, and they huddled together at the bottom of the car smoking and whispering, and radiant with excitement and satisfaction. the train progressed cautiously until it was within a half mile below the fort, when clay stopped it, and, leaving two men on guard, stepped off the remaining distance on the ties, his little band following noiselessly behind him like a procession of ghosts in the moonlight. they halted and listened from time to time as they drew near the ruins, but there was no sound except the beating of the waves on the rocks and the rustling of the sea-breeze through the vines and creepers about them. clay motioned to the men to sit down, and, beckoning to macwilliams, directed him to go on ahead and reconnoitre. "if you fire we will come up," he said. "get back here as soon as you can." "aren't you going to make sure first that kirkland is on the other side of the fort?" macwilliams whispered. clay replied that he was certain kirkland had already arrived. "he had a shorter run than ours, and he wired you he was ready to start when we were, didn't he?" macwilliams nodded. "well, then, he is there. i can count on kirk." macwilliams pulled at his heavy boots and hid them in the bushes, with his helmet over them to mark the spot. "i feel as though i was going to rob a bank," he chuckled, as he waved his hand and crept off into the underbrush. for the first few moments the men who were left behind sat silent, but as the minutes wore on, and macwilliams made no sign, they grew restless, and shifted their positions, and began to whisper together, until clay shook his head at them, and there was silence again until one of them, in trying not to cough, almost strangled, and the others tittered and those nearest pummelled him on the back. clay pulled out his revolver, and after spinning the cylinder under his finger-nail, put it back in its holder again, and the men, taking this as an encouraging promise of immediate action, began to examine their weapons again for the twentieth time, and there was a chorus of short, muffled clicks as triggers were drawn back and cautiously lowered and levers shot into place and caught again. one of the men farthest down the track raised his arm, and all turned and half rose as they saw macwilliams coming toward them on a run, leaping noiselessly in his stocking feet from tie to tie. he dropped on his knees between clay and langham. "the guns are there all right," he whispered, panting, "and there are only three men guarding them. they are all sitting on the beach smoking. i hustled around the fort and came across the whole outfit in the second gallery. it looks like a row of coffins, ten coffins and about twenty little boxes and kegs. i'm sure that means they are coming for them to-night. they've not tried to hide them nor to cover them up. all we've got to do is to walk down on the guards and tell them to throw up their hands. it's too easy." clay jumped to his feet. "come on," he said. "wait till i get my boots on first," begged macwilliams. "i wouldn't go over those cinders again in my bare feet for all the buried treasure in the spanish main. you can make all the noise you want; the waves will drown it." with macwilliams to show them the way, the men scrambled up the outer wall of the fort and crossed the moss-covered ramparts at the run. below them, on the sandy beach, were three men sitting around a driftwood fire that had sunk to a few hot ashes. clay nodded to macwilliams. "you and ted can have them," he said. "go with him, langham." the sailors levelled their rifles at the three lonely figures on the beach as the two boys slipped down the wall and fell on their hands and feet in the sand below, and then crawled up to within a few feet of where the men were sitting. as macwilliams raised his revolver one of the three, who was cooking something over the fire, raised his head and with a yell of warning flung himself toward his rifle. "up with your hands!" macwilliams shouted in spanish, and langham, running in, seized the nearest sentry by the neck and shoved his face down between his knees into the sand. there was a great rattle of falling stones and of breaking vines as the sailors tumbled down the side of the fort, and in a half minute's time the three sentries were looking with angry, frightened eyes at the circle of armed men around them. "now gag them," said clay. "does anybody here know how to gag a man?" he asked. "i don't." "better make him tell what he knows first," suggested langham. but the spaniards were too terrified at what they had done, or at what they had failed to do, to further commit themselves. "tie us and gag us," one of them begged. "let them find us so. it is the kindest thing you can do for us." "thank you, sir," said clay. "that is what i wanted to know. they are coming to-night, then. we must hurry." the three sentries were bound and hidden at the base of the wall, with a sailor to watch them. he was a young man with a high sense of the importance of his duties, and he enlivened the prisoners by poking them in the ribs whenever they moved. clay deemed it impossible to signal kirkland as they had arranged to do, as they could not know now how near those who were coming for the arms might be. so macwilliams was sent back for his engine, and a few minutes later they heard it rumble heavily past the fort on its way to bring up kirkland and the flat cars. clay explored the lower chambers of the fort and found the boxes as macwilliams had described them. ten men, with some effort, could lift and carry the larger coffin-shaped boxes, and clay guessed that, granting their contents to be rifles, there must be a hundred pieces in each box, and that there were a thousand rifles in all. they had moved half of the boxes to the side of the track when the train of flat cars and the two engines came crawling and twisting toward them, between the walls of the jungle, like a great serpent, with no light about it but the glow from the hot ashes as they fell between the rails. thirty men, equally divided between irish and negroes, fell off the flat cars before the wheels had ceased to revolve, and, without a word of direction, began loading the heavy boxes on the train and passing the kegs of cartridges from hand to hand and shoulder to shoulder. the sailors spread out up the road that led to the capital to give warning in case the enemy approached, but they were recalled before they had reason to give an alarm, and in a half hour burke's entire shipment of arms was on the ore-cars, the men who were to have guarded them were prisoners in the cab of the engine, and both trains were rushing at full speed toward the mines. on arriving there kirkland's train was switched to the siding that led to the magazine in which was stored the rack-arock and dynamite used in the blasting. by midnight all of the boxes were safely under lock in the zinc building, and the number of the men who always guarded the place for fear of fire or accident was doubled, while a reserve, composed of kirkland's thirty picked men, were hidden in the surrounding houses and engine-sheds. before clay left he had one of the boxes broken open, and found that it held a hundred mannlicher rifles. "good!" he said. "i'd give a thousand dollars in gold if i could bring mendoza out here and show him his own men armed with his own mannlichers and dying for a shot at him. how old burke will enjoy this when he hears of it!" the party from the palms returned to their engine after many promises of reward to the men for their work "over-time," and were soon flying back with their hearts as light as the smoke above them. macwilliams slackened speed as they neared the fort, and moved up cautiously on the scene of their recent victory, but a warning cry from clay made him bring his engine to a sharp stop. many lights were flashing over the ruins and they could see in their reflection the figures of men running over the same walls on which the lizards had basked in undisturbed peace for years. "they look like a swarm of hornets after some one has chucked a stone through their nest," laughed macwilliams. "what shall we do now? go back, or wait here, or run the blockade?" "oh, ride them out," said langham; "the family's anxious, and i want to tell them what's happened. go ahead." clay turned to the sailors in the car behind them. "lie down, men," he said. "and don't any of you fire unless i tell you to. let them do all the shooting. this isn't our fight yet, and, besides, they can't hit a locomotive standing still, certainly not when it's going at full speed." "suppose they've torn the track up?" said macwilliams, grinning. "we'd look sort of silly flying through the air." "oh, they've not sense enough to think of that," said clay. "besides, they don't know it was we who took their arms away, yet." macwilliams opened the throttle gently, and the train moved slowly forward, gaining speed at each revolution of the wheels. as the noise of its approach beat louder and louder on the air, a yell of disappointed rage and execration rose into the night from the fort, and a mass of soldiers swarmed upon the track, leaping up and down and shaking the rifles in their hands. "that sounds a little as though they thought we had something to do with it," said macwilliams, grimly. "if they don't look out some one will get hurt." there was a flash of fire from where the mass of men stood, followed by a dozen more flashes, and the bullets rattled on the smokestack and upon the boiler of the engine. "low bridge," cried macwilliams, with a fierce chuckle. "now, watch her!" he threw open the throttle as far as it would go, and the engine answered to his touch like a race-horse to the whip. it seemed to spring from the track into the air. it quivered and shook like a live thing, and as it shot in between the soldiers they fell back on either side, and macwilliams leaned far out of his cab-window shaking his fist at them. "you got left, didn't you?" he shouted. "thank you for the mannlichers." as the locomotive rushed out of the jungle, and passed the point on the road nearest to the palms, macwilliams loosened three long triumphant shrieks from his whistle and the sailors stood up and cheered. "let them shout," cried clay. "everybody will have to know now. it's begun at last," he said, with a laugh of relief. "and we took the first trick," said macwilliams, as he ran his engine slowly into the railroad yard. the whistles of the engine and the shouts of the sailors had carried far through the silence of the night, and as the men came hurrying across the lawn to the palms, they saw all of those who had been left behind grouped on the veranda awaiting them. "do the conquering heroes come?" shouted king. "they do," young langham cried, joyously. "we've got all their arms, and they shot at us. we've been under fire!" "are any of you hurt?" asked miss langham, anxiously, as she and the others hurried down the steps to welcome them, while those of the 'vesta's' crew who had been left behind looked at their comrades with envy. "we have been so frightened and anxious about you," said miss langham. hope held out her hand to clay and greeted him with a quiet, happy smile, that was in contrast to the excitement and confusion that reigned about them. "i knew you would come back safely," she said. and the pressure of her hand seemed to add "to me." xii the day of the review rose clear and warm, tempered by a light breeze from the sea. as it was a fete day, the harbor wore an air of unwonted inactivity; no lighters passed heavily from the levees to the merchantmen at anchor, and the warehouses along the wharves were closed and deserted. a thin line of smoke from the funnels of the 'vesta' showed that her fires were burning, and the fact that she rode on a single anchor chain seemed to promise that at any moment she might slip away to sea. as clay was finishing his coffee two notes were brought to him from messengers who had ridden out that morning, and who sat in their saddles looking at the armed force around the office with amused intelligence. one note was from mendoza, and said he had decided not to call out the regiment at the mines, as he feared their long absence from drill would make them compare unfavorably with their comrades, and do him more harm than credit. "he is afraid of them since last night," was clay's comment, as he passed the note on to macwilliams. "he's quite right, they might do him harm." the second note was from stuart. he said the city was already wide awake and restless, but whether this was due to the fact that it was a fete day, or to some other cause which would disclose itself later, he could not tell. madame alvarez, the afternoon before, while riding in the alameda, had been insulted by a group of men around a café, who had risen and shouted after her, one of them throwing a wine-glass into her lap as she rode past. his troopers had charged the sidewalk and carried off six of the men to the carcel. he and rojas had urged the president to make every preparation for immediate flight, to have the horses put to his travelling carriage, and had warned him when at the review to take up his position at the point nearest to his own body-guard, and as far as possible from the troops led by mendoza. stuart added that he had absolute confidence in the former. the policeman who had attempted to carry burke's note to mendoza had confessed that he was the only traitor in the camp, and that he had tried to work on his comrades without success. stuart begged clay to join him as quickly as possible. clay went up the hill to the palms, and after consulting with mr. langham, dictated an order to kirkland, instructing him to call the men together and to point out to them how much better their condition had been since they had entered the mines, and to promise them an increase of wages if they remained faithful to mr. langham's interests, and a small pension to any one who might be injured "from any cause whatsoever" while serving him. "tell them, if they are loyal, they can live in their shacks rent free hereafter," wrote clay. "they are always asking for that. it's a cheap generosity," he added aloud to mr. langham, "because we've never been able to collect rent from any of them yet." at noon young langham ordered the best three horses in the stables to be brought to the door of the palms for clay, macwilliams, and himself. clay's last words to king were to have the yacht in readiness to put to sea when he telephoned him to do so, and he advised the women to have their dresses and more valuable possessions packed ready to be taken on board. "don't you think i might see the review if i went on horseback?" hope asked. "i could get away then, if there should be any trouble." clay answered with a look of such alarm and surprise that hope laughed. "see the review! i should say not," he exclaimed. "i don't even want ted to be there." "oh, that's always the way," said hope, "i miss everything. i think i'll come, however, anyhow. the servants are all going, and i'll go with them disguised in a turban." as the men neared valencia, clay turned in his saddle, and asked langham if he thought his sister would really venture into the town. "she'd better not let me catch her, if she does," the fond brother replied. the reviewing party left the government palace for the alameda at three o'clock, president alvarez riding on horseback in advance, and madame alvarez sitting in the state carriage with one of her attendants, and with stuart's troopers gathered so closely about her that the men's boots scraped against the wheels, and their numbers hid her almost entirely from sight. the great square in which the evolutions were to take place was lined on its four sides by the carriages of the wealthy olanchoans, except at the two gates, where there was a wide space left open to admit the soldiers. the branches of the trees on the edges of the bare parade ground were black with men and boys, and the balconies and roofs of the houses that faced it were gay with streamers and flags, and alive with women wrapped for the occasion in their colored shawls. seated on the grass between the carriages, or surging up and down behind them, were thousands of people, each hurrying to gain a better place of vantage, or striving to hold the one he had, and forming a restless, turbulent audience in which all individual cries were lost in a great murmur of laughter, and calls, and cheers. the mass knit together, and pressed forward as the president's band swung jauntily into the square and halted in one corner, and a shout of expectancy went up from the trees and housetops as the president's body-guard entered at the lower gate, and the broken place in its ranks showed that it was escorting the state carriage. the troopers fell back on two sides, and the carriage, with the president riding at its head, passed on, and took up a position in front of the other carriages, and close to one of the sides of the hollow square. at stuart's orders clay, macwilliams, and langham had pushed their horses into the rear rank of cavalry, and remained wedged between the troopers within twenty feet of where madame alvarez was sitting. she was very white, and the powder on her face gave her an added and unnatural pallor. as the people cheered her husband and herself she raised her head slightly and seemed to be trying to catch any sound of dissent in their greeting, or some possible undercurrent of disfavor, but the welcome appeared to be both genuine and hearty, until a second shout smothered it completely as the figure of old general rojas, the vice-president, and the most dearly loved by the common people, came through the gate at the head of his regiment. there was such greeting for him that the welcome to the president seemed mean in comparison, and it was with an embarrassment which both felt that the two men drew near together, and each leaned from his saddle to grasp the other's hand. madame alvarez sank back rigidly on her cushions, and her eyes flashed with anticipation and excitement. she drew her mantilla a little closer about her shoulders, with a nervous shudder as though she were cold. suddenly the look of anxiety in her eyes changed to one of annoyance, and she beckoned clay imperiously to the side of the carriage. "look," she said, pointing across the square. "if i am not mistaken that is miss langham, miss hope. the one on the black horse--it must be she, for none of the native ladies ride. it is not safe for her to be here alone. go," she commanded, "bring her here to me. put her next to the carriage, or perhaps she will be safer with you among the troopers." clay had recognized hope before madame alvarez had finished speaking, and dashed off at a gallop, skirting the line of carriages. hope had stopped her horse beside a victoria, and was talking to the native women who occupied it, and who were scandalized at her appearance in a public place with no one but a groom to attend her. "why, it's the same thing as a polo match," protested hope, as clay pulled up angrily beside the victoria. "i always ride over to polo alone at newport, at least with james," she added, nodding her head toward the servant. the man approached clay and touched his hat apologetically, "miss hope would come, sir," he said, "and i thought i'd better be with her than to go off and tell mr. langham, sir. i knew she wouldn't wait for me." "i asked you not to come," clay said to hope, in a low voice. "i wanted to know the worst at once," she answered. "i was anxious about ted--and you." "well, it can't be helped now," he said. "come, we must hurry, here is our friend, the enemy." he bowed to their acquaintances in the victoria and they trotted briskly off to the side of the president's carriage, just as a yell arose from the crowd that made all the other shouts which had preceded it sound like the cheers of children at recess. "it reminds me of a football match," whispered young langham, excitedly, "when the teams run on the field. look at alvarez and rojas watching mendoza." mendoza advanced at the front of his three troops of cavalry, looking neither to the left nor right, and by no sign acknowledging the fierce uproarious greeting of the people. close behind him came his chosen band of cowboys and ruffians. they were the best equipped and least disciplined soldiers in the army, and were, to the great relief of the people, seldom seen in the city, but were kept moving in the mountain passes and along the coast line, on the lookout for smugglers with whom they were on the most friendly terms. they were a picturesque body of blackguards, in their hightopped boots and silver-tipped sombreros and heavy, gaudy saddles, but the shout that had gone up at their advance was due as much to the fear they inspired as to any great love for them or their chief. "now all the chessmen are on the board, and the game can begin," said clay. "it's like the scene in the play, where each man has his sword at another man's throat and no one dares make the first move." he smiled as he noted, with the eye of one who had seen continental troops in action, the shuffling steps and slovenly carriage of the half-grown soldiers that followed mendoza's cavalry at a quick step. stuart's picked men, over whom he had spent many hot and weary hours, looked like a troop of life guardsmen in comparison. clay noted their superiority, but he also saw that in numbers they were most woefully at a disadvantage. it was a brilliant scene for so modest a capital. the sun flashed on the trappings of the soldiers, on the lacquer and polished metal work of the carriages; and the parisian gowns of their occupants and the fluttering flags and banners filled the air with color and movement, while back of all, framing the parade ground with a band of black, was the restless mob of people applauding the evolutions, and cheering for their favorites, alvarez, mendoza, and rojas, moved by an excitement that was in disturbing contrast to the easy good-nature of their usual manner. the marching and countermarching of the troops had continued with spirit for some time, and there was a halt in the evolutions which left the field vacant, except for the presence of mendoza's cavalrymen, who were moving at a walk along one side of the quadrangle. alvarez and vice-president rojas, with stuart, as an adjutant at their side, were sitting their horses within some fifty yards of the state carriage and the body-guard. alvarez made a conspicuous contrast in his black coat and high hat to the brilliant greens and reds of his generals' uniforms, but he sat his saddle as well as either of the others, and his white hair, white imperial and mustache, and the dignity of his bearing distinguished him above them both. little stuart, sitting at his side, with his blue eyes glaring from under his white helmet and his face burned to almost as red a tint as his curly hair, looked like a fierce little bull-dog in comparison. none of the three men spoke as they sat motionless and quite alone waiting for the next movement of the troops. it proved to be one of moment. even before mendoza had ridden toward them with his sword at salute, clay gave an exclamation of enlightenment and concern. he saw that the men who were believed to be devoted to rojas, had been halted and left standing at the farthest corner of the plaza, nearly two hundred yards from where the president had taken his place, that mendoza's infantry surrounded them on every side, and that mendoza's cowboys, who had been walking their horses, had wheeled and were coming up with an increasing momentum, a flying mass of horses and men directed straight at the president himself. mendoza galloped up to alvarez with his sword still in salute. his eyes were burning with excitement and with the light of success. no one but stuart and rojas heard his words; to the spectators and to the army he appeared as though he was, in his capacity of commander-in-chief, delivering some brief report, or asking for instructions. "dr. alvarez," he said, "as the head of the army i arrest you for high treason; you have plotted to place yourself in office without popular election. you are also accused of large thefts of public funds. i must ask you to ride with me to the military prison. general rojas, i regret that as an accomplice of the president's, you must come with us also. i will explain my action to the people when you are safe in prison, and i will proclaim martial law. if your troops attempt to interfere, my men have orders to fire on them and you." stuart did not wait for his sentence. he had heard the heavy beat of the cavalry coming up on them at a trot. he saw the ranks open and two men catch at each bridle rein of both alvarez and rojas and drag them on with them, buried in the crush of horses about them, and swept forward by the weight and impetus of the moving mass behind. stuart dashed off to the state carriage and seized the nearest of the horses by the bridle. "to the palace!" he shouted to his men. "shoot any one who tries to stop you. forward, at a gallop," he commanded. the populace had not discovered what had occurred until it was finished. the coup d'etat had been long considered and the manner in which it was to be carried out carefully planned. the cavalry had swept across the parade ground and up the street before the people saw that they carried rojas and alvarez with them. the regiment commanded by rojas found itself hemmed in before and behind by mendoza's two regiments. they were greatly outnumbered, but they fired a scattering shot, and following their captured leader, broke through the line around them and pursued the cavalry toward the military prison. it was impossible to tell in the uproar which followed how many or how few had been parties to the plot. the mob, shrieking and shouting and leaping in the air, swarmed across the parade ground, and from a dozen different points men rose above the heads of the people and harangued them in violent speeches. and while some of the soldiers and the citizens gathered anxiously about these orators, others ran through the city calling for the rescue of the president, for an attack on the palace, and shrieking "long live the government!" and "long live the revolution!" the state carriage raced through the narrow streets with its body-guard galloping around it, sweeping down in its rush stray pedestrians, and scattering the chairs and tables in front of the cafés. as it dashed up the long avenue of the palace, stuart called his men back and ordered them to shut and barricade the great iron gates and to guard them against the coming of the mob, while macwilliams and young langham pulled open the carriage door and assisted the president's wife and her terrified companion to alight. madame alvarez was trembling with excitement as she leaned on langham's arm, but she showed no signs of fear in her face or in her manner. "mr. clay has gone to bring your travelling carriage to the rear door," langham said. "stuart tells us it is harnessed and ready. you will hurry, please, and get whatever you need to carry with you. we will see you safely to the coast." as they entered the hall, and were ascending the great marble stairway, hope and her groom, who had followed in the rear of the cavalry, came running to meet them. "i got in by the back way," hope explained. "the streets there are all deserted. how can i help you?" she asked, eagerly. "by leaving me," cried the older woman. "good god, child, have i not enough to answer for without dragging you into this? go home at once through the botanical garden, and then by way of the wharves. that part of the city is still empty." "where are your servants; why are they not here?" hope demanded without heeding her. the palace was strangely empty; no footsteps came running to greet them, no doors opened or shut as they hurried to madame alvarez's apartments. the servants of the household had fled at the first sound of the uproar in the city, and the dresses and ornaments scattered on the floor told that they had not gone empty-handed. the woman who had accompanied madame alvarez to the review sank weeping on the bed, and then, as the shouts grew suddenly louder and more near, ran to hide herself in the upper stories of the house. hope crossed to the window and saw a great mob of soldiers and citizens sweep around the corner and throw themselves against the iron fence of the palace. "you will have to hurry," she said. "remember, you are risking the lives of those boys by your delay." there was a large bed in the room, and madame alvarez had pulled it forward and was bending over a safe that had opened in the wall, and which had been hidden by the head board of the bed. she held up a bundle of papers in her hand, wrapped in a leather portfolio. "do you see these?" she cried, "they are drafts for five millions of dollars." she tossed them back into the safe and swung the door shut. "you are a witness. i do not take them," she said. "i don't understand," hope answered, "but hurry. have you everything you want--have you your jewels?" "yes," the woman answered, as she rose to her feet, "they are mine." a yell more loud and terrible than any that had gone before rose from the garden below, and there was the sound of iron beating against iron, and cries of rage and execration from a great multitude. "i will not go!" the spanish woman cried, suddenly. "i will not leave alvarez to that mob. if they want to kill me, let them kill me." she threw the bag that held her jewels on the bed, and pushing open the window stepped out upon the balcony. she was conspicuous in her black dress against the yellow stucco of the wall, and in an instant the mob saw her and a mad shout of exultation and anger rose from the mass that beat and crushed itself against the high iron railings of the garden. hope caught the woman by the skirt and dragged her back. "you are mad," she said. "what good can you do your husband here? save yourself and he will come to you when he can. there is nothing you can do for him now; you cannot give your life for him. you are wasting it, and you are risking the lives of the men who are waiting for us below. come, i tell you." macwilliams left clay waiting beside the diligence and ran from the stable through the empty house and down the marble stairs to the garden without meeting any one on his way. he saw stuart helping and directing his men to barricade the gates with iron urns and garden benches and sentry-boxes. outside the mob were firing at him with their revolvers, and calling him foul names, but stuart did not seem to hear them. he greeted macwilliams with a cheerful little laugh. "well," he asked, "is she ready?" "no, but we are. clay and i've been waiting there for five minutes. we found miss hope's groom and sent him back to the palms with a message to king. we told him to run the yacht to los bocos and lie off shore until we came. he is to take her on down the coast to truxillo, where our man-of-war is lying, and they will give her shelter as a political refugee." "why don't you drive her to the palms at once?" demanded stuart, anxiously, "and take her on board the yacht there? it is ten miles to bocos and the roads are very bad." "clay says we could never get her through the city," macwilliams answered. "we should have to fight all the way. but the city to the south is deserted, and by going out by the back roads, we can make bocos by ten o'clock to-night. the yacht should reach there by seven." "you are right; go back. i will call off some of my men. the rest must hold this mob back until you start; then i will follow with the others. where is miss hope?" "we don't know. clay is frantic. her groom says she is somewhere in the palace." "hurry," stuart commanded. "if mendoza gets here before madame alvarez leaves, it will be too late." macwilliams sprang up the steps of the palace, and stuart, calling to the men nearest him to follow, started after him on a run. as stuart entered the palace with his men at his heels, clay was hurrying from its rear entrance along the upper hall, and hope and madame alvarez were leaving the apartments of the latter at its front. they met at the top of the main stairway just as stuart put his foot on its lower step. the young englishman heard the clatter of his men following close behind him and leaped eagerly forward. half way to the top the noise behind him ceased, and turning his head quickly he looked back over his shoulder and saw that the men had halted at the foot of the stairs and stood huddled together in disorder looking up at him. stuart glanced over their heads and down the hallway to the garden beyond to see if they were followed, but the mob still fought from the outer side of the barricade. he waved his sword impatiently and started forward again. "come on!" he shouted. but the men below him did not move. stuart halted once more and this time turned about and looked down upon them with surprise and anger. there was not one of them he could not have called by name. he knew all their little troubles, their love-affairs, even. they came to him for comfort and advice, and to beg for money. he had regarded them as his children, and he was proud of them as soldiers because they were the work of his hands. so, instead of a sharp command, he asked, "what is it?" in surprise, and stared at them wondering. he could not or would not comprehend, even though he saw that those in the front rank were pushing back and those behind were urging them forward. the muzzles of their carbines were directed at every point, and on their faces fear and hate and cowardice were written in varying likenesses. "what does this mean?" stuart demanded, sharply. "what are you waiting for?" clay had just reached the top of the stairs. he saw madame alvarez and hope coming toward him, and at the sight of hope he gave an exclamation of relief. then his eyes turned and fell on the tableau below, on stuart's back, as he stood confronting the men, and on their scowling upturned faces and half-lifted carbines. clay had lived for a longer time among spanish-americans than had the english subaltern, or else he was the quicker of the two to believe in evil and ingratitude, for he gave a cry of warning, and motioned the women away. "stuart!" he cried. "come away; for god's sake, what are you doing? come back!" the englishman started at the sound of his friend's voice, but he did not turn his head. he began to descend the stairs slowly, a step at a time, staring at the mob so fiercely that they shrank back before the look of wounded pride and anger in his eyes. those in the rear raised and levelled their rifles. without taking his eyes from theirs, stuart drew his revolver, and with his sword swinging from its wrist-strap, pointed his weapon at the mass below him. "what does this mean?" he demanded. "is this mutiny?" a voice from the rear of the crowd of men shrieked: "death to the spanish woman. death to all traitors. long live mendoza," and the others echoed the cry in chorus. clay sprang down the broad stairs calling, "come to me;" but before he could reach stuart, a woman's voice rang out, in a long terrible cry of terror, a cry that was neither a prayer nor an imprecation, but which held the agony of both. stuart started, and looked up to where madame alvarez had thrown herself toward him across the broad balustrade of the stairway. she was silent with fear, and her hand clutched at the air, as she beckoned wildly to him. stuart stared at her with a troubled smile and waved his empty hand to reassure her. the movement was final, for the men below, freed from the reproach of his eyes, flung up their carbines and fired, some wildly, without placing their guns at rest, and others steadily and aiming straight at his heart. as the volley rang out and the smoke drifted up the great staircase, the subaltern's hands tossed high above his head, his body sank into itself and toppled backward, and, like a tired child falling to sleep, the defeated soldier of fortune dropped back into the outstretched arms of his friend. clay lifted him upon his knee, and crushed him closer against his breast with one arm, while he tore with his free hand at the stock about the throat and pushed his fingers in between the buttons of the tunic. they came forth again wet and colored crimson. "stuart!" clay gasped. "stuart, speak to me, look at me!" he shook the body in his arms with fierce roughness, peering into the face that rested on his shoulder, as though he could command the eyes back again to light and life. "don't leave me!" he said. "for god's sake, old man, don't leave me!" but the head on his shoulder only sank the closer and the body stiffened in his arms. clay raised his eyes and saw the soldiers still standing, irresolute and appalled at what they had done, and awe-struck at the sight of the grief before them. clay gave a cry as terrible as the cry of a woman who has seen her child mangled before her eyes, and lowering the body quickly to the steps, he ran at the scattering mass below him. as he came they fled down the corridor, shrieking and calling to their friends to throw open the gates and begging them to admit the mob. when they reached the outer porch they turned, encouraged by the touch of numbers, and halted to fire at the man who still followed them. clay stopped, with a look in his eyes which no one who knew them had ever seen there, and smiled with pleasure in knowing himself a master in what he had to do. and at each report of his revolver one of stuart's assassins stumbled and pitched heavily forward on his face. then he turned and walked slowly back up the hall to the stairway like a man moving in his sleep. he neither saw nor heard the bullets that bit spitefully at the walls about him and rattled among the glass pendants of the great chandeliers above his head. when he came to the step on which the body lay he stooped and picked it up gently, and holding it across his breast, strode on up the stairs. macwilliams and langham were coming toward him, and saw the helpless figure in his arms. "what is it?" they cried; "is he wounded, is he hurt?" "he is dead," clay answered, passing on with his burden. "get hope away." madame alvarez stood with the girl's arms about her, her eyes closed and her figure trembling. "let me be!" she moaned. "don't touch me; let me die. my god, what have i to live for now?" she shook off hope's supporting arm, and stood before them, all her former courage gone, trembling and shivering in agony. "i do not care what they do to me!" she cried. she tore her lace mantilla from her shoulders and threw it on the floor. "i shall not leave this place. he is dead. why should i go? he is dead. they have murdered him; he is dead." "she is fainting," said hope. her voice was strained and hard. to her brother she seemed to have grown suddenly much older, and he looked to her to tell him what to do. "take hold of her," she said. "she will fall." the woman sank back into the arms of the men, trembling and moaning feebly. "now carry her to the carriage," said hope. "she has fainted; it is better; she does not know what has happened." clay, still bearing the body in his arms, pushed open the first door that stood ajar before him with his foot. it opened into the great banqueting hall of the palace, but he could not choose. he had to consider now the safety of the living, whose lives were still in jeopardy. the long table in the centre of the hall was laid with places for many people, for it had been prepared for the president and the president's guests, who were to have joined with him in celebrating the successful conclusion of the review. from outside the light of the sun, which was just sinking behind the mountains, shone dimly upon the silver on the board, on the glass and napery, and the massive gilt centre-pieces filled with great clusters of fresh flowers. it looked as though the servants had but just left the room. even the candles had been lit in readiness, and as their flames wavered and smoked in the evening breeze they cast uncertain shadows on the walls and showed the stern faces of the soldier presidents frowning down on the crowded table from their gilded frames. there was a great leather lounge stretching along one side of the hall, and clay moved toward this quickly and laid his burden down. he was conscious that hope was still following him. he straightened the limbs of the body and folded the arms across the breast and pressed his hand for an instant on the cold hands of his friend, and then whispering something between his lips, turned and walked hurriedly away. hope confronted him in the doorway. she was sobbing silently. "must we leave him," she pleaded, "must we leave him--like this?" from the garden there came the sound of hammers ringing on the iron hinges, and a great crash of noises as the gate fell back from its fastenings, and the mob rushed over the obstacles upon which it had fallen. it seemed as if their yells of exultation and anger must reach even the ears of the dead man. "they are calling mendoza," clay whispered, "he must be with them. come, we will have to run for our lives now." but before he could guess what hope was about to do, or could prevent her, she had slipped past him and picked up stuart's sword that had fallen from his wrist to the floor, and laid it on the soldier's body, and closed his hands upon its hilt. she glanced quickly about her as though looking for something, and then with a sob of relief ran to the table, and sweeping it of an armful of its flowers, stepped swiftly back again to the lounge and heaped them upon it. "come, for god's sake, come!" clay called to her in a whisper from the door. hope stood for an instant staring at the young englishman as the candle-light flickered over his white face, and then, dropping on her knees, she pushed back the curly hair from about the boy's forehead and kissed him. then, without turning to look again, she placed her hand in clay's and he ran with her, dragging her behind him down the length of the hall, just as the mob entered it on the floor below them and filled the palace with their shouts of triumph. as the sun sank lower its light fell more dimly on the lonely figure in the vast dining-hall, and as the gloom deepened there, the candles burned with greater brilliancy, and the faces of the portraits shone more clearly. they seemed to be staring down less sternly now upon the white mortal face of the brother-in-arms who had just joined them. one who had known him among his own people would have seen in the attitude and in the profile of the english soldier a likeness to his ancestors of the crusades who lay carved in stone in the village church, with their faces turned to the sky, their faithful hounds waiting at their feet, and their hands pressed upward in prayer. and when, a moment later, the half-crazed mob of men and boys swept into the great room, with mendoza at their head, something of the pathos of the young englishman's death in his foreign place of exile must have touched them, for they stopped appalled and startled, and pressed back upon their fellows, with eager whispers. the spanish-american general strode boldly forward, but his eyes lowered before the calm, white face, and either because the lighted candles and the flowers awoke in him some memory of the great church that had nursed him, or because the jagged holes in the soldier's tunic appealed to what was bravest in him, he crossed himself quickly, and then raising his hands slowly to his visor, lifted his hat and pointed with it to the door. and the mob, without once looking back at the rich treasure of silver on the table, pushed out before him, stepping softly, as though they had intruded on a shrine. xiii the president's travelling carriage was a double-seated diligence covered with heavy hoods and with places on the box for two men. only one of the coachmen, the same man who had driven the state carriage from the review, had remained at the stables. as he knew the roads to los bocos, clay ordered him up to the driver's seat, and macwilliams climbed into the place beside him after first storing three rifles under the lap-robe. hope pulled open the leather curtains of the carriage and found madame alvarez where the men had laid her upon the cushions, weak and hysterical. the girl crept in beside her, and lifting her in her arms, rested the older woman's head against her shoulder, and soothed and comforted her with tenderness and sympathy. clay stopped with his foot in the stirrup and looked up anxiously at langham who was already in the saddle. "is there no possible way of getting hope out of this and back to the palms?" he asked. "no, it's too late. this is the only way now." hope opened the leather curtains and looking out shook her head impatiently at clay. "i wouldn't go now if there were another way," she said. "i couldn't leave her like this." "you're delaying the game, clay," cried langham, warningly, as he stuck his spurs into his pony's side. the people in the diligence lurched forward as the horses felt the lash of the whip and strained against the harness, and then plunged ahead at a gallop on their long race to the sea. as they sped through the gardens, the stables and the trees hid them from the sight of those in the palace, and the turf, upon which the driver had turned the horses for greater safety, deadened the sound of their flight. they found the gates of the botanical gardens already opened, and clay, in the street outside, beckoning them on. without waiting for the others the two outriders galloped ahead to the first cross street, looked up and down its length, and then, in evident concern at what they saw in the distance, motioned the driver to greater speed, and crossing the street signalled him to follow them. at the next corner clay flung himself off his pony, and throwing the bridle to langham, ran ahead into the cross street on foot, and after a quick glance pointed down its length away from the heart of the city to the mountains. the driver turned as clay directed him, and when the man found that his face was fairly set toward the goal he lashed his horses recklessly through the narrow street, so that the murmur of the mob behind them grew perceptibly fainter at each leap forward. the noise of the galloping hoofs brought women and children to the barred windows of the houses, but no men stepped into the road to stop their progress, and those few they met running in the direction of the palace hastened to get out of their way, and stood with their backs pressed against the walls of the narrow thoroughfare looking after them with wonder. even those who suspected their errand were helpless to detain them, for sooner than they could raise the hue and cry or formulate a plan of action, the carriage had passed and was disappearing in the distance, rocking from wheel to wheel like a ship in a gale. two men who were so bold as to start to follow, stopped abruptly when they saw the outriders draw rein and turn in their saddles as though to await their coming. clay's mind was torn with doubts, and his nerves were drawn taut like the strings of a violin. personal danger exhilarated him, but this chance of harm to others who were helpless, except for him, depressed his spirit with anxiety. he experienced in his own mind all the nervous fears of a thief who sees an officer in every passing citizen, and at one moment he warned the driver to move more circumspectly, and so avert suspicion, and the next urged him into more desperate bursts of speed. in his fancy every cross street threatened an ambush, and as he cantered now before and now behind the carriage, he wished that he was a multitude of men who could encompass it entirely and hide it. but the solid streets soon gave way to open places, and low mud cabins, where the horses' hoofs beat on a sun-baked road, and where the inhabitants sat lazily before the door in the fading light, with no knowledge of the changes that the day had wrought in the city, and with only a moment's curious interest in the hooded carriage, and the grim, white-faced foreigners who guarded it. clay turned his pony into a trot at langham's side. his face was pale and drawn. as the danger of immediate pursuit and capture grew less, the carriage had slackened its pace, and for some minutes the outriders galloped on together side by side in silence. but the same thought was in the mind of each, and when langham spoke it was as though he were continuing where he had but just been interrupted. he laid his hand gently on clay's arm. he did not turn his face toward him, and his eyes were still peering into the shadows before them. "tell me?" he asked. "he was coming up the stairs," clay answered. he spoke in so low a voice that langham had to lean from his saddle to hear him. "they were close behind; but when they saw her they stopped and refused to go farther. i called to him to come away, but he would not understand. they killed him before he really understood what they meant to do. he was dead almost before i reached him. he died in my arms." there was a long pause. "i wonder if he knows that?" clay said. langham sat erect in the saddle again and drew a short breath. "i wish he could have known how he helped me," he whispered, "how much just knowing him helped me." clay bowed his head to the boy as though he were thanking him. "his was the gentlest soul i ever knew," he said. "that's what i wanted to say," langham answered. "we will let that be his epitaph," and touching his spur to his horse he galloped on ahead and left clay riding alone. langham had proceeded for nearly a mile when he saw the forest opening before them, and at the sight he gave a shout of relief, but almost at the same instant he pulled his pony back on his haunches and whirling him about, sprang back to the carriage with a cry of warning. "there are soldiers ahead of us," he cried. "did you know it?" he demanded of the driver. "did you lie to me? turn back." "he can't turn back," macwilliams answered. "they have seen us. they are only the custom officers at the city limits. they know nothing. go on." he reached forward and catching the reins dragged the horses down into a walk. then he handed the reins back to the driver with a shake of the head. "if you know these roads as well as you say you do, you want to keep us out of the way of soldiers," he said. "if we fall into a trap you'll be the first man shot on either side." a sentry strolled lazily out into the road dragging his gun after him by the bayonet, and raised his hand for them to halt. his captain followed him from the post-house throwing away a cigarette as he came, and saluted macwilliams on the box and bowed to the two riders in the background. in his right hand he held one of the long iron rods with which the collectors of the city's taxes were wont to pierce the bundles and packs, and even the carriage cushions of those who entered the city limits from the coast, and who might be suspected of smuggling. "whose carriage is this, and where is it going?" he asked. as the speed of the diligence slackened, hope put her head out of the curtains, and as she surveyed the soldier with apparent surprise, she turned to her brother. "what does this mean?" she asked. "what are we waiting for?" "we are going to the hacienda of senor palacio," macwilliams said, in answer to the officer. "the driver thinks that this is the road, but i say we should have taken the one to the right." "no, this is the road to senor palacio's plantation," the officer answered, "but you cannot leave the city without a pass signed by general mendoza. that is the order we received this morning. have you such a pass?" "certainly not," clay answered, warmly. "this is the carriage of an american, the president of the mines. his daughters are inside and on their way to visit the residence of senor palacio. they are foreigners--americans. we are all foreigners, and we have a perfect right to leave the city when we choose. you can only stop us when we enter it." the officer looked uncertainly from clay to hope and up at the driver on the box. his eyes fell upon the heavy brass mountings of the harness. they bore the arms of olancho. he wheeled sharply and called to his men inside the post-house, and they stepped out from the veranda and spread themselves leisurely across the road. "ride him down, clay," langham muttered, in a whisper. the officer did not understand the words, but he saw clay gather the reins tighter in his hands and he stepped back quickly to the safety of the porch, and from that ground of vantage smiled pleasantly. "pardon," he said, "there is no need for blows when one is rich enough to pay. a little something for myself and a drink for my brave fellows, and you can go where you please." "damned brigands," growled langham, savagely. "not at all," clay answered. "he is an officer and a gentleman. i have no money with me," he said, in spanish, addressing the officer, "but between caballeros a word of honor is sufficient. i shall be returning this way to-morrow morning, and i will bring a few hundred sols from senor palacio for you and your men; but if we are followed you will get nothing, and you must have forgotten in the mean time that you have seen us pass." there was a murmur inside the carriage, and hope's face disappeared from between the curtains to reappear again almost immediately. she beckoned to the officer with her hand, and the men saw that she held between her thumb and little finger a diamond ring of size and brilliancy. she moved it so that it flashed in the light of the guard lantern above the post-house. "my sister tells me you shall be given this tomorrow morning," hope said, "if we are not followed." the man's eyes laughed with pleasure. he swept his sombrero to the ground. "i am your servant, senorita," he said. "gentlemen," he cried, gayly, turning to clay, "if you wish it, i will accompany you with my men. yes, i will leave word that i have gone in the sudden pursuit of smugglers; or i will remain here as you wish, and send those who may follow back again." "you are most gracious, sir," said clay. "it is always a pleasure to meet with a gentleman and a philosopher. we prefer to travel without an escort, and remember, you have seen nothing and heard nothing." he leaned from the saddle, and touched the officer on the breast. "that ring is worth a king's ransom." "or a president's," muttered the man, smiling. "let the american ladies pass," he commanded. the soldiers scattered as the whip fell, and the horses once more leaped forward, and as the carriage entered the forest, clay looked back and saw the officer exhaling the smoke of a fresh cigarette, with the satisfaction of one who enjoys a clean conscience and a sense of duty well performed. the road through the forest was narrow and uneven, and as the horses fell into a trot the men on horseback closed up together behind the carriage. "do you think that road-agent will keep his word?" langham asked. "yes; he has nothing to win by telling the truth," clay answered. "he can say he saw a party of foreigners, americans, driving in the direction of palacio's coffee plantation. that lets him out, and in the morning he knows he can levy on us for the gate money. i am not so much afraid of being overtaken as i am that king may make a mistake and not get to bocos on time. we ought to reach there, if the carriage holds together, by eleven. king should be there by eight o'clock, and the yacht ought to make the run to truxillo in three hours. but we shall not be able to get back to the city before five to-morrow morning. i suppose your family will be wild about hope. we didn't know where she was when we sent the groom back to king." "do you think that driver is taking us the right way?" langham asked, after a pause. "he'd better. he knows it well enough. he was through the last revolution, and carried messages from los bocos to the city on foot for two months. he has covered every trail on the way, and if he goes wrong he knows what will happen to him." "and los bocos--it is a village, isn't it, and the landing must be in sight of the custom-house?" "the village lies some distance back from the shore, and the only house on the beach is the custom-house itself; but every one will be asleep by the time we get there, and it will take us only a minute to hand her into the launch. if there should be a guard there, king will have fixed them one way or another by the time we arrive. anyhow, there is no need of looking for trouble that far ahead. there is enough to worry about in between. we haven't got there yet." the moon rose grandly a few minutes later, and flooded the forest with light so that the open places were as clear as day. it threw strange shadows across the trail, and turned the rocks and fallen trees into figures of men crouching or standing upright with uplifted arms. they were so like to them that clay and langham flung their carbines to their shoulders again and again, and pointed them at some black object that turned as they advanced into wood or stone. from the forest they came to little streams and broad shallow rivers where the rocks in the fording places churned the water into white masses of foam, and the horses kicked up showers of spray as they made their way, slipping and stumbling, against the current. it was a silent pilgrimage, and never for a moment did the strain slacken or the men draw rein. sometimes, as they hurried across a broad tableland, or skirted the edge of a precipice and looked down hundreds of feet below at the shining waters they had just forded, or up at the rocky points of the mountains before them, the beauty of the night overcame them and made them forget the significance of their journey. they were not always alone, for they passed at intervals through sleeping villages of mud huts with thatched roofs, where the dogs ran yelping out to bark at them, and where the pine-knots, blazing on the clay ovens, burned cheerily in the moonlight. in the low lands where the fever lay, the mist rose above the level of their heads and enshrouded them in a curtain of fog, and the dew fell heavily, penetrating their clothing and chilling their heated bodies so that the sweating horses moved in a lather of steam. they had settled down into a steady gallop now, and ten or fifteen miles had been left behind them. "we are making excellent time," said clay. "the village of san lorenzo should lie beyond that ridge." he drove up beside the driver and pointed with his whip. "is not that san lorenzo?" he asked. "yes, senor," the man answered, "but i mean to drive around it by the old wagon trail. it is a large town, and people may be awake. you will be able to see it from the top of the next hill." the cavalcade stopped at the summit of the ridge and the men looked down into the silent village. it was like the others they had passed, with a few houses built round a square of grass that could hardly be recognized as a plaza, except for the church on its one side, and the huge wooden cross planted in its centre. from the top of the hill they could see that the greater number of the houses were in darkness, but in a large building of two stories lights were shining from every window. "that is the comandancia," said the driver, shaking his head. "they are still awake. it is a telegraph station." "great scott!" exclaimed macwilliams. "we forgot the telegraph. they may have sent word to head us off already." "nine o'clock is not so very late," said clay. "it may mean nothing." "we had better make sure, though," macwilliams answered, jumping to the ground. "lend me your pony, ted, and take my place. i'll run in there and dust around and see what's up. i'll join you on the other side of the town after you get back to the main road." "wait a minute," said clay. "what do you mean to do?" "i can't tell till i get there, but i'll try to find out how much they know. don't you be afraid. i'll run fast enough if there's any sign of trouble. and if you come across a telegraph wire, cut it. the message may not have gone over yet." the two women in the carriage had parted the flaps of the hoods and were trying to hear what was being said, but could not understand, and langham explained to them that they were about to make a slight detour to avoid san lorenzo while macwilliams was going into it to reconnoitre. he asked if they were comfortable, and assured them that the greater part of the ride was over, and that there was a good road from san lorenzo to the sea. macwilliams rode down into the village along the main trail, and threw his reins over a post in front of the comandancia. he mounted boldly to the second floor of the building and stopped at the head of the stairs, in front of an open door. there were three men in the room before him, one an elderly man, whom he rightly guessed was the comandante, and two younger men who were standing behind a railing and bending over a telegraph instrument on a table. as he stamped into the room, they looked up and stared at him in surprise; their faces showed that he had interrupted them at a moment of unusual interest. macwilliams saluted the three men civilly, and, according to the native custom, apologized for appearing before them in his spurs. he had been riding from los bocos to the capital, he said, and his horse had gone lame. could they tell him if there was any one in the village from whom he could hire a mule, as he must push on to the capital that night? the comandante surveyed him for a moment, as though still disturbed by the interruption, and then shook his head impatiently. "you can hire a mule from one pulido paul, at the corner of the plaza," he said. and as macwilliams still stood uncertainly, he added, "you say you have come from los bocos. did you meet any one on your way?" the two younger men looked up at him anxiously, but before he could answer, the instrument began to tick out the signal, and they turned their eyes to it again, and one of them began to take its message down on paper. the instrument spoke to macwilliams also, for he was used to sending telegrams daily from the office to the mines, and could make it talk for him in either english or spanish. so, in his effort to hear what it might say, he stammered and glanced at it involuntarily, and the comandante, without suspecting his reason for doing so, turned also and peered over the shoulder of the man who was receiving the message. except for the clicking of the instrument, the room was absolutely still; the three men bent silently over the table, while macwilliams stood gazing at the ceiling and turning his hat in his hands. the message macwilliams read from the instrument was this: "they are reported to have left the city by the south, so they are going to para, or san pedro, or to los bocos. she must be stopped--take an armed force and guard the roads. if necessary, kill her. she has in the carriage or hidden on her person, drafts for five million sols. you will be held responsible for every one of them. repeat this message to show you understand, and relay it to los bocos. if you fail--" macwilliams could not wait to hear more; he gave a curt nod to the men and started toward the stairs. "wait," the comandante called after him. macwilliams paused with one hand on top of the banisters balancing himself in readiness for instant flight. "you have not answered me. did you meet with any one on your ride here from los bocos?" "i met several men on foot, and the mail carrier passed me a league out from the coast, and oh, yes, i met a carriage at the cross roads, and the driver asked me the way of san pedro sula." "a carriage?--yes--and what did you tell him?" "i told him he was on the road to los bocos, and he turned back and--" "you are sure he turned back?" "certainly, sir. i rode behind him for some distance. he turned finally to the right into the trail to san pedro sula." the man flung himself across the railing. "quick," he commanded, "telegraph to morales, comandante san pedro sula--" he had turned his back on macwilliams, and as the younger man bent over the instrument, macwilliams stepped softly down the stairs, and mounting his pony rode slowly off in the direction of the capital. as soon as he had reached the outskirts of the town, he turned and galloped round it and then rode fast with his head in air, glancing up at the telegraph wire that sagged from tree-trunk to tree-trunk along the trail. at a point where he thought he could dismount in safety and tear down the wire, he came across it dangling from the branches and he gave a shout of relief. he caught the loose end and dragged it free from its support, and then laying it across a rock pounded the blade of his knife upon it with a stone, until he had hacked off a piece some fifty feet in length. taking this in his hand he mounted again and rode off with it, dragging the wire in the road behind him. he held it up as he rejoined clay, and laughed triumphantly. "they'll have some trouble splicing that circuit," he said, "you only half did the work. what wouldn't we give to know all this little piece of copper knows, eh?" "do you mean you think they have telegraphed to los bocos already?" "i know that they were telegraphing to san pedro sula as i left and to all the coast towns. but whether you cut this down before or after is what i should like to know." "we shall probably learn that later," said clay, grimly. the last three miles of the journey lay over a hard, smooth road, wide enough to allow the carriage and its escort to ride abreast. it was in such contrast to the tortuous paths they had just followed, that the horses gained a fresh impetus and galloped forward as freely as though the race had but just begun. madame alvarez stopped the carriage at one place and asked the men to lower the hood at the back that she might feel the fresh air and see about her, and when this had been done, the women seated themselves with their backs to the horses where they could look out at the moonlit road as it unrolled behind them. hope felt selfishly and wickedly happy. the excitement had kept her spirits at the highest point, and the knowledge that clay was guarding and protecting her was in itself a pleasure. she leaned back on the cushions and put her arm around the older woman's waist, and listened to the light beat of his pony's hoofs outside, now running ahead, now scrambling and slipping up some steep place, and again coming to a halt as langham or macwilliams called, "look to the right, behind those trees," or "ahead there! don't you see what i mean, something crouching?" she did not know when the false alarms would turn into a genuine attack, but she was confident that when the time came he would take care of her, and she welcomed the danger because it brought that solace with it. madame alvarez sat at her side, rigid, silent, and beyond the help of comfort. she tortured herself with thoughts of the ambitions she had held, and which had been so cruelly mocked that very morning; of the chivalric love that had been hers, of the life even that had been hers, and which had been given up for her so tragically. when she spoke at all, it was to murmur her sorrow that hope had exposed herself to danger on her poor account, and that her life, as far as she loved it, was at an end. only once after the men had parted the curtains and asked concerning her comfort with grave solicitude did she give way to tears. "why are they so good to me?" she moaned. "why are you so good to me? i am a wicked, vain woman, i have brought a nation to war and i have killed the only man i ever trusted." hope touched her gently with her hand and felt guiltily how selfish she herself must be not to feel the woman's grief, but she could not. she only saw in it a contrast to her own happiness, a black background before which the figure of clay and his solicitude for her shone out, the only fact in the world that was of value. her thoughts were interrupted by the carriage coming to a halt, and a significant movement upon the part of the men. macwilliams had descended from the box-seat and stepping into the carriage took the place the women had just left. he had a carbine in his hand, and after he was seated langham handed him another which he laid across his knees. "they thought i was too conspicuous on the box to do any good there," he explained in a confidential whisper. "in case there is any firing now, you ladies want to get down on your knees here at my feet, and hide your heads in the cushions. we are entering los bocos." langham and clay were riding far in advance, scouting to the right and left, and the carriage moved noiselessly behind them through the empty streets. there was no light in any of the windows, and not even a dog barked, or a cock crowed. the women sat erect, listening for the first signal of an attack, each holding the other's hand and looking at macwilliams, who sat with his thumb on the trigger of his carbine, glancing to the right and left and breathing quickly. his eyes twinkled, like those of a little fox terrier. the men dropped back, and drew up on a level with the carriage. "we are all right, so far," clay whispered. "the beach slopes down from the other side of that line of trees. what is the matter with you?" he demanded, suddenly, looking up at the driver, "are you afraid?" "no," the man answered, hurriedly, his voice shaking; "it's the cold." langham had galloped on ahead and as he passed through the trees and came out upon the beach, he saw a broad stretch of moonlit water and the lights from the yacht shining from a point a quarter of a mile off shore. among the rocks on the edge of the beach was the "vesta's" longboat and her crew seated in it or standing about on the beach. the carriage had stopped under the protecting shadow of the trees, and he raced back toward it. "the yacht is here," he cried. "the long-boat is waiting and there is not a sign of light about the custom-house. come on," he cried. "we have beaten them after all." a sailor, who had been acting as lookout on the rocks, sprang to his full height, and shouted to the group around the long-boat, and king came up the beach toward them running heavily through the deep sand. madame alvarez stepped down from the carriage, and as hope handed her her jewel case in silence, the men draped her cloak about her shoulders. she put out her hand to them, and as clay took it in his, she bent her head quickly and kissed his hand. "you were his friend," she murmured. she held hope in her arms for an instant, and kissed her, and then gave her hand in turn to langham and to macwilliams. "i do not know whether i shall ever see you again," she said, looking slowly from one to the other, "but i will pray for you every day, and god will reward you for saving a worthless life." as she finished speaking king came up to the group, followed by three of his men. "is hope with you, is she safe?" he asked. "yes, she is with me," madame alvarez answered. "thank god," king exclaimed, breathlessly. "then we will start at once, madame. where is she? she must come with us!" "of course," clay-assented, eagerly, "she will be much safer on the yacht." but hope protested. "i must get back to father," she said. "the yacht will not arrive until late to-morrow, and the carriage can take me to him five hours earlier. the family have worried too long about me as it is, and, besides, i will not leave ted. i am going back as i came." "it is most unsafe," king urged. "on the contrary, it is perfectly safe now," hope answered. "it was not one of us they wanted." "you may be right," king said. "they don't know what has happened to you, and perhaps after all it would be better if you went back the quicker way." he gave his arm to madame alvarez and walked with her toward the shore. as the men surrounded her on every side and moved away, clay glanced back at hope and saw her standing upright in the carriage looking after them. "we will be with you in a minute," he called, as though in apology for leaving her for even that brief space. and then the shadow of the trees shut her and the carriage from his sight. his footsteps made no sound in the soft sand, and except for the whispering of the palms and the sleepy wash of the waves as they ran up the pebbly beach and sank again, the place was as peaceful and silent as a deserted island, though the moon made it as light as day. the long-boat had been drawn up with her stern to the shore, and the men were already in their places, some standing waiting for the order to shove off, and others seated balancing their oars. king had arranged to fire a rocket when the launch left the shore, in order that the captain of the yacht might run in closer to pick them up. as he hurried down the beach, he called to his boatswain to give the signal, and the man answered that he understood and stooped to light a match. king had jumped into the stern and lifted madame alvarez after him, leaving her late escort standing with uncovered heads on the beach behind her, when the rocket shot up into the calm white air, with a roar and a rush and a sudden flash of color. at the same instant, as though in answer to its challenge, the woods back of them burst into an irregular line of flame, a volley of rifle shots shattered the silence, and a score of bullets splashed in the water and on the rocks about them. the boatswain in the bow of the long-boat tossed up his arms and pitched forward between the thwarts. "give way," he shouted as he fell. "pull," clay yelled, "pull, all of you." he threw himself against the stern of the boat, and langham and macwilliams clutched its sides, and with their shoulders against it and their bodies half sunk in the water, shoved it off, free of the shore. the shots continued fiercely, and two of the crew cried out and fell back upon the oars of the men behind them. madame alvarez sprang to her feet and stood swaying unsteadily as the boat leaped forward. "take me back. stop, i command you," she cried, "i will not leave those men. do you hear?" king caught her by the waist and dragged her down, but she struggled to free herself. "i will not leave them to be murdered," she cried. "you cowards, put me back." "hold her, king," clay shouted. "we're all right. they're not firing at us." his voice was drowned in the noise of the oars beating in the rowlocks, and the reports of the rifles. the boat disappeared in a mist of spray and moonlight, and clay turned and faced about him. langham and macwilliams were crouching behind a rock and firing at the flashes in the woods. "you can't stay there," clay cried. "we must get back to hope." he ran forward, dodging from side to side and firing as he ran. he heard shots from the water, and looking back saw that the men in the longboat had ceased rowing, and were returning the fire from the shore. "come back, hope is all right," her brother called to him. "i haven't seen a shot within a hundred yards of her yet, they're firing from the custom-house and below. i think mac's hit." "i'm not," macwilliams's voice answered from behind a rock, "but i'd like to see something to shoot at." a hot tremor of rage swept over clay at the thought of a possibly fatal termination to the night's adventure. he groaned at the mockery of having found his life only to lose it now, when it was more precious to him than it had ever been, and to lose it in a silly brawl with semi-savages. he cursed himself impotently and rebelliously for a senseless fool. "keep back, can't you?" he heard langham calling to him from the shore. "you're only drawing the fire toward hope. she's got away by now. she had both the horses." langham and macwilliams started forward to clay's side, but the instant they left the shadow of the rock, the bullets threw up the sand at their feet and they stopped irresolutely. the moon showed the three men outlined against the white sand of the beach as clearly as though a searchlight had been turned upon them, even while its shadows sheltered and protected their assailants. at their backs the open sea cut off retreat, and the line of fire in front held them in check. they were as helpless as chessmen upon a board. "i'm not going to stand still to be shot at," cried macwilliams. "let's hide or let's run. this isn't doing anybody any good." but no one moved. they could hear the singing of the bullets as they passed them whining in the air like a banjo-string that is being tightened, and they knew they were in equal danger from those who were firing from the boat. "they're shooting better," said macwilliams. "they'll reach us in a minute." "they've reached me already, i think," langham answered, with suppressed satisfaction, "in the shoulder. it's nothing." his unconcern was quite sincere; to a young man who had galloped through two long halves of a football match on a strained tendon, a scratched shoulder was not important, except as an unsought honor. but it was of the most importance to macwilliams. he raised his voice against the men in the woods in impotent fury. "come out, you cowards, where we can see you," he cried. "come out where i can shoot your black heads off." clay had fired the last cartridge in his rifle, and throwing it away drew his revolver. "we must either swim or hide," he said. "put your heads down and run." but as he spoke, they saw the carriage plunging out of the shadow of the woods and the horses galloping toward them down the beach. macwilliams gave a cheer of welcome. "hurrah!" he shouted, "it's jose' coming for us. he's a good man. well done, jose'!" he called. "that's not jose'," langham cried, doubtfully, peering through the moonlight. "good god! it's hope," he exclaimed. he waved his hands frantically above his head. "go back, hope," he cried, "go back!" but the carriage did not swerve on its way toward them. they all saw her now distinctly. she was on the driver's box and alone, leaning forward and lashing the horses' backs with the whip and reins, and bending over to avoid the bullets that passed above her head. as she came down upon them, she stood up, her woman's figure outlined clearly in the riding habit she still wore. "jump in when i turn," she cried. "i'm going to turn slowly, run and jump in." she bent forward again and pulled the horses to the right, and as they obeyed her, plunging and tugging at their bits, as though they knew the danger they were in, the men threw themselves at the carriage. clay caught the hood at the back, swung himself up, and scrambled over the cushions and up to the box seat. he dropped down behind hope, and reaching his arms around her took the reins in one hand, and with the other forced her down to her knees upon the footboard, so that, as she knelt, his arms and body protected her from the bullets sent after them. langham followed clay, and tumbled into the carriage over the hood at the back, but macwilliams endeavored to vault in from the step, and missing his footing fell under the hind wheel, so that the weight of the carriage passed over him, and his head was buried for an instant in the sand. but he was on his feet again before they had noticed that he was down, and as he jumped for the hood, langham caught him by the collar of his coat and dragged him into the seat, panting and gasping, and rubbing the sand from his mouth and nostrils. clay turned the carriage at a right angle through the heavy sand, and still standing with hope crouched at his knees, he raced back to the woods into the face of the firing, with the boys behind him answering it from each side of the carriage, so that the horses leaped forward in a frenzy of terror, and dashing through the woods, passed into the first road that opened before them. the road into which they had turned was narrow, but level, and ran through a forest of banana palms that bent and swayed above them. langham and macwilliams still knelt in the rear seat of the carriage, watching the road on the chance of possible pursuit. "give me some cartridges," said langham. "my belt is empty. what road is this?" "it is a private road, i should say, through somebody's banana plantation. but it must cross the main road somewhere. it doesn't matter, we're all right now. i mean to take it easy." macwilliams turned on his back and stretched out his legs on the seat opposite. "where do you suppose those men sprang from? were they following us all the time?" "perhaps, or else that message got over the wire before we cut it, and they've been lying in wait for us. they were probably watching king and his sailors for the last hour or so, but they didn't want him. they wanted her and the money. it was pretty exciting, wasn't it? how's your shoulder?" "it's a little stiff, thank you," said langham. he stood up and by peering over the hood could just see the top of clay's sombrero rising above it where he sat on the back seat. "you and hope all right up there, clay?" he asked. the top of the sombrero moved slightly, and langham took it as a sign that all was well. he dropped back into his seat beside macwilliams, and they both breathed a long sigh of relief and content. langham's wounded arm was the one nearest macwilliams, and the latter parted the torn sleeve and examined the furrow across the shoulder with unconcealed envy. "i am afraid it won't leave a scar," he said, sympathetically. "won't it?" asked langham, in some concern. the horses had dropped into a walk, and the beauty of the moonlit night put its spell upon the two boys, and the rustling of the great leaves above their heads stilled and quieted them so that they unconsciously spoke in whispers. clay had not moved since the horses turned of their own accord into the valley of the palms. he no longer feared pursuit nor any interruption to their further progress. his only sensation was one of utter thankfulness that they were all well out of it, and that hope had been the one who had helped them in their trouble, and his dearest thought was that, whether she wished or not, he owed his safety, and possibly his life, to her. she still crouched between his knees upon the broad footboard, with her hands clasped in front of her, and looking ahead into the vista of soft mysterious lights and dark shadows that the moon cast upon the road. neither of them spoke, and as the silence continued unbroken, it took a weightier significance, and at each added second of time became more full of meaning. the horses had dropped into a tired walk, and drew them smoothly over the white road; from behind the hood came broken snatches of the boys' talk, and above their heads the heavy leaves of the palms bent and bowed as though in benediction. a warm breeze from the land filled the air with the odor of ripening fruit and pungent smells, and the silence seemed to envelop them and mark them as the only living creatures awake in the brilliant tropical night. hope sank slowly back, and as she did so, her shoulder touched for an instant against clay's knee; she straightened herself and made a movement as though to rise. her nearness to him and something in her attitude at his feet held clay in a spell. he bent forward and laid his hand fearfully upon her shoulder, and the touch seemed to stop the blood in his veins and hushed the words upon his lips. hope raised her head slowly as though with a great effort, and looked into his eyes. it seemed to him that he had been looking into those same eyes for centuries, as though he had always known them, and the soul that looked out of them into his. he bent his head lower, and stretching out his arms drew her to him, and the eyes did not waver. he raised her and held her close against his breast. her eyes faltered and closed. "hope," he whispered, "hope." he stooped lower and kissed her, and his lips told her what they could not speak--and they were quite alone. xiv an hour later langham rose with a protesting sigh and shook the hood violently. "i say!" he called. "are you asleep up there. we'll never get home at this rate. doesn't hope want to come back here and go to sleep?" the carriage stopped, and the boys tumbled out and walked around in front of it. hope sat smiling on the box-seat. she was apparently far from sleepy, and she was quite contented where she was, she told him. "do you know we haven't had anything to eat since yesterday at breakfast?" asked langham. "macwilliams and i are fainting. we move that we stop at the next shack we come to, and waken the people up and make them give us some supper." hope looked aside at clay and laughed softly. "supper?" she said. "they want supper!" their suffering did not seem to impress clay deeply. he sat snapping his whip at the palm-trees above him, and smiled happily in an inconsequent and irritating manner at nothing. "see here! do you know that we are lost?" demanded langham, indignantly, "and starving? have you any idea at all where you are?" "i have not," said clay, cheerfully. "all i know is that a long time ago there was a revolution and a woman with jewels, who escaped in an open boat, and i recollect playing that i was a target and standing up to be shot at in a bright light. after that i woke up to the really important things of life--among which supper is not one." langham and macwilliams looked at each other doubtfully, and langham shook his head. "get down off that box," he commanded. "if you and hope think this is merely a pleasant moonlight drive, we don't. you two can sit in the carriage now, and we'll take a turn at driving, and we'll guarantee to get you to some place soon." clay and hope descended meekly and seated themselves under the hood, where they could look out upon the moonlit road as it unrolled behind them. but they were no longer to enjoy their former leisurely progress. the new whip lashed his horses into a gallop, and the trees flew past them on either hand. "do you remember that chap in the 'last ride together'?" said clay. "i and my mistress, side by side, shall be together--forever ride, and so one more day am i deified. who knows--the world may end to-night." hope laughed triumphantly, and threw out her arms as though she would embrace the whole beautiful world that stretched around them. "oh, no," she laughed. "to-night the world has just begun." the carriage stopped, and there was a confusion of voices on the box-seat, and then a great barking of dogs, and they beheld macwilliams beating and kicking at the door of a hut. the door opened for an inch, and there was a long debate in spanish, and finally the door was closed again, and a light appeared through the windows. a few minutes later a man and woman came out of the hut, shivering and yawning, and made a fire in the sun-baked oven at the side of the house. hope and clay remained seated in the carriage, and watched the flames springing up from the oily fagots, and the boys moving about with flaring torches of pine, pulling down bundles of fodder for the horses from the roof of the kitchen, while two sleepy girls disappeared toward a mountain stream, one carrying a jar on her shoulder, and the other lighting the way with a torch. hope sat with her chin on her hand, watching the black figures passing between them and the fire, and standing above it with its light on their faces, shading their eyes from the heat with one hand, and stirring something in a smoking caldron with the other. hope felt an overflowing sense of gratitude to these simple strangers for the trouble they were taking. she felt how good every one was, and how wonderfully kind and generous was the world that she lived in. her brother came over to the carriage and bowed with mock courtesy. "i trust, now that we have done all the work," he said, "that your excellencies will condescend to share our frugal fare, or must we bring it to you here?" the clay oven stood in the middle of a hut of laced twigs, through which the smoke drifted freely. there was a row of wooden benches around it, and they all seated themselves and ate ravenously of rice and fried plantains, while the woman patted and tossed tortillas between her hands, eyeing her guests curiously. her glance fell upon langham's shoulder, and rested there for so long that hope followed the direction of her eyes. she leaped to her feet with a cry of fear and reproach, and ran toward her brother. "ted!" she cried, "you are hurt! you are wounded, and you never told me! what is it? is it very bad?" clay crossed the floor in a stride, his face full of concern. "leave me alone!" cried the stern brother, backing away and warding them off with the coffeepot. "it's only scratched. you'll spill the coffee." but at the sight of the blood hope had turned very white, and throwing her arms around her brother's neck, hid her eyes on his other shoulder and began to cry. "i am so selfish," she sobbed. "i have been so happy and you were suffering all the time." her brother stared at the others in dismay. "what nonsense," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "you're a bit tired, and you need rest. that's what you need. the idea of my sister going off in hysterics after behaving like such a sport--and before these young ladies, too. aren't you ashamed?" "i should think they'd be ashamed," said macwilliams, severely, as he continued placidly with his supper. "they haven't got enough clothes on." langham looked over hope's shoulder at clay and nodded significantly. "she's been on a good deal of a strain," he explained apologetically, "and no wonder; it's been rather an unusual night for her." hope raised her head and smiled at him through her tears. then she turned and moved toward clay. she brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and laughed. "it has been an unusual night," she said. "shall i tell him?" she asked. clay straightened himself unconsciously, and stepped beside her and took her hand; macwilliams quickly lowered to the bench the dish from which he was eating, and stood up, too. the people of the house stared at the group in the firelight with puzzled interest, at the beautiful young girl, and at the tall, sunburned young man at her side. langham looked from his sister to clay and back again, and laughed uneasily. "langham, i have been very bold," said clay. "i have asked your sister to marry me--and she has said that she would." langham flushed as red as his sister. he felt himself at a disadvantage in the presence of a love as great and strong as he knew this must be. it made him seem strangely young and inadequate. he crossed over to his sister awkwardly and kissed her, and then took clay's hand, and the three stood together and looked at one another, and there was no sign of doubt or question in the face of any one of them. they stood so for some little time, smiling and exclaiming together, and utterly unconscious of anything but their own delight and happiness. macwilliams watched them, his face puckered into odd wrinkles and his eyes half-closed. hope suddenly broke away from the others and turned toward him with her hands held out. "have you nothing to say to me, mr. macwilliams?" she asked. macwilliams looked doubtfully at clay, as though from force of habit he must ask advice from his chief first, and then took the hands that she held out to him and shook them up and down. his usual confidence seemed to have forsaken him, and he stood, shifting from one foot to the other, smiling and abashed. "well, i always said they didn't make them any better than you," he gasped at last. "i was always telling him that, wasn't i?" he nodded energetically at clay. "and that's so; they don't make 'em any better than you." he dropped her hands and crossed over to clay, and stood surveying him with a smile of wonder and admiration. "how'd you do it?" he demanded. "how did you do it? i suppose you know," he asked sternly, "that you're not good enough for miss hope? you know that, don't you?" "of course i know that," said clay. macwilliams walked toward the door and stood in it for a second, looking back at them over his shoulder. "they don't make them any better than that," he reiterated gravely, and disappeared in the direction of the horses, shaking his head and muttering his astonishment and delight. "please give me some money," hope said to clay. "all the money you have," she added, smiling at her presumption of authority over him, "and you, too, ted." the men emptied their pockets, and hope poured the mass of silver into the hands of the women, who gazed at it uncomprehendingly. "thank you for your trouble and your good supper," hope said in spanish, "and may no evil come to your house." the woman and her daughters followed her to the carriage, bowing and uttering good wishes in the extravagant metaphor of their country; and as they drove away, hope waved her hand to them as she sank closer against clay's shoulder. "the world is full of such kind and gentle souls," she said. in an hour they had regained the main road, and a little later the stars grew dim and the moonlight faded, and trees and bushes and rocks began to take substance and to grow into form and outline. they saw by the cool, gray light of the morning the familiar hills around the capital, and at a cry from the boys on the box-seat, they looked ahead and beheld the harbor of valencia at their feet, lying as placid and undisturbed as the water in a bath-tub. as they turned up the hill into the road that led to the palms, they saw the sleeping capital like a city of the dead below them, its white buildings reddened with the light of the rising sun. from three places in different parts of the city, thick columns of smoke rose lazily to the sky. "i had forgotten!" said clay; "they have been having a revolution here. it seems so long ago." by five o'clock they had reached the gate of the palms, and their appearance startled the sentry on post into a state of undisciplined joy. a riderless pony, the one upon which jose' had made his escape when the firing began, had crept into the stable an hour previous, stiff and bruised and weary, and had led the people at the palms to fear the worst. mr. langham and his daughter were standing on the veranda as the horses came galloping up the avenue. they had been awake all the night, and the face of each was white and drawn with anxiety and loss of sleep. mr. langham caught hope in his arms and held her face close to his in silence. "where have you been?" he said at last. "why did you treat me like this? you knew how i would suffer." "i could not help it," hope cried. "i had to go with madame alvarez." her sister had suffered as acutely as had mr. langham himself, as long as she was in ignorance of hope's whereabouts. but now that she saw hope in the flesh again, she felt a reaction against her for the anxiety and distress she had caused them. "my dear hope," she said, "is every one to be sacrificed for madame alvarez? what possible use could you be to her at such a time? it was not the time nor the place for a young girl. you were only another responsibility for the men." "clay seemed willing to accept the responsibility," said langham, without a smile. "and, besides," he added, "if hope had not been with us we might never have reached home alive." but it was only after much earnest protest and many explanations that mr. langham was pacified, and felt assured that his son's wound was not dangerous, and that his daughter was quite safe. miss langham and himself, he said, had passed a trying night. there had been much firing in the city, and continual uproar. the houses of several of the friends of alvarez had been burned and sacked. alvarez himself had been shot as soon as he had entered the yard of the military prison. it was then given out that he had committed suicide. mendoza had not dared to kill rojas, because of the feeling of the people toward him, and had even shown him to the mob from behind the bars of one of the windows in order to satisfy them that he was still living. the british minister had sent to the palace for the body of captain stuart, and had had it escorted to the legation, from whence it would be sent to england. this, as far as mr. langham had heard, was the news of the night just over. "two native officers called here for you about midnight, clay," he continued, "and they are still waiting for you below at your office. they came from rojas's troops, who are encamped on the hills at the other side of the city. they wanted you to join them with the men from the mines. i told them i did not know when you would return, and they said they would wait. if you could have been here last night, it is possible that we might have done something, but now that it is all over, i am glad that you saved that woman instead. i should have liked, though, to have struck one blow at them. but we cannot hope to win against assassins. the death of young stuart has hurt me terribly, and the murder of alvarez, coming on top of it, has made me wish i had never heard of nor seen olancho. i have decided to go away at once, on the next steamer, and i will take my daughters with me, and ted, too. the state department at washington can fight with mendoza for the mines. you made a good stand, but they made a better one, and they have beaten us. mendoza's coup d'etat has passed into history, and the revolution is at an end." on his arrival clay had at once asked for a cigar, and while mr. langham was speaking he had been biting it between his teeth, with the serious satisfaction of a man who had been twelve hours without one. he knocked the ashes from it and considered the burning end thoughtfully. then he glanced at hope as she stood among the group on the veranda. she was waiting for his reply and watching him intently. he seemed to be confident that she would approve of the only course he saw open to him. "the revolution is not at an end by any means, mr. langham," he said at last, simply. "it has just begun." he turned abruptly and walked away in the direction of the office, and macwilliams and langham stepped off the veranda and followed him as a matter of course. the soldiers in the army who were known to be faithful to general rojas belonged to the third and fourth regiments, and numbered four thousand on paper, and two thousand by count of heads. when they had seen their leader taken prisoner, and swept off the parade-ground by mendoza's cavalry, they had first attempted to follow in pursuit and recapture him, but the men on horseback had at once shaken off the men on foot and left them, panting and breathless, in the dust behind them. so they halted uncertainly in the road, and their young officers held counsel together. they first considered the advisability of attacking the military prison, but decided against doing so, as it would lead, they feared, whether it proved successful or not, to the murder of rojas. it was impossible to return to the city where mendoza's first and second regiments greatly outnumbered them. having no leader and no headquarters, the officers marched the men to the hills above the city and went into camp to await further developments. throughout the night they watched the illumination of the city and of the boats in the harbor below them; they saw the flames bursting from the homes of the members of alvarez's cabinet, and when the morning broke they beheld the grounds of the palace swarming with mendoza's troops, and the red and white barred flag of the revolution floating over it. the news of the assassination of alvarez and the fact that rojas had been spared for fear of the people, had been carried to them early in the evening, and with this knowledge of their general's safety hope returned and fresh plans were discussed. by midnight they had definitely decided that should mendoza attempt to dislodge them the next morning, they would make a stand, but that if the fight went against them, they would fall back along the mountain roads to the valencia mines, where they hoped to persuade the fifteen hundred soldiers there installed to join forces with them against the new dictator. in order to assure themselves of this help, a messenger was despatched by a circuitous route to the palms, to ask the aid of the resident director, and another was sent to the mines to work upon the feelings of the soldiers themselves. the officer who had been sent to the palms to petition clay for the loan of his soldier-workmen, had decided to remain until clay returned, and another messenger had been sent after him from the camp on the same errand. these two lieutenants greeted clay with enthusiasm, but he at once interrupted them, and began plying them with questions as to where their camp was situated and what roads led from it to the palms. "bring your men at once to this end of our railroad," he said. "it is still early, and the revolutionists will sleep late. they are drugged with liquor and worn out with excitement, and whatever may have been their intentions toward you last night, they will be late in putting them into practice this morning. i will telegraph kirkland to come up at once with all of his soldiers and with his three hundred irishmen. allowing him a half-hour to collect them and to get his flat cars together, and another half-hour in which to make the run, he should be here by half-past six--and that's quick mobilization. you ride back now and march your men here at a double-quick. with your two thousand we shall have in all three thousand and eight hundred men. i must have absolute control over my own troops. otherwise i shall act independently of you and go into the city alone with my workmen." "that is unnecessary," said one of the lieutenants. "we have no officers. if you do not command us, there is no one else to do it. we promise that our men will follow you and give you every obedience. they have been led by foreigners before, by young captain stuart and major fergurson and colonel shrevington. they know how highly general rojas thinks of you, and they know that you have led continental armies in europe." "well, don't tell them i haven't until this is over," said clay. "now, ride hard, gentlemen, and bring your men here as quickly as possible." the lieutenants thanked him effusively and galloped away, radiant at the success of their mission, and clay entered the office where macwilliams was telegraphing his orders to kirkland. he seated himself beside the instrument, and from time to time answered the questions kirkland sent back to him over the wire, and in the intervals of silence thought of hope. it was the first time he had gone into action feeling the touch of a woman's hand upon his sleeve, and he was fearful lest she might think he had considered her too lightly. he took a piece of paper from the table and wrote a few lines upon it, and then rewrote them several times. the message he finally sent to her was this: "i am sure you understand, and that you would not have me give up beaten now, when what we do to-day may set us right again. i know better than any one else in the world can know, what i run the risk of losing, but you would not have that fear stop me from going on with what we have been struggling for so long. i cannot come back to see you before we start, but i know your heart is with me. with great love, robert clay." he gave the note to his servant, and the answer was brought to him almost immediately. hope had not rewritten her message: "i love you because you are the sort of man you are, and had you given up as father wished you to do, or on my account, you would have been some one else, and i would have had to begin over again to learn to love you for some different reasons. i know that you will come back to me bringing your sheaves with you. nothing can happen to you now. hope." he had never received a line from her before, and he read and reread this with a sense of such pride and happiness in his face that macwilliams smiled covertly and bent his eyes upon his instrument. clay went back into his room and kissed the page of paper gently, flushing like a boy as he did so, and then folding it carefully, he put it away beneath his jacket. he glanced about him guiltily, although he was quite alone, and taking out his watch, pried it open and looked down into the face of the photograph that had smiled up at him from it for so many years. he thought how unlike it was to alice langham as he knew her. he judged that it must have been taken when she was very young, at the age hope was then, before the little world she lived in had crippled and narrowed her and marked her for its own. he remembered what she had said to him the first night he had seen her. "that is the picture of the girl who ceased to exist four years ago, and whom you have never met." he wondered if she had ever existed. "it looks more like hope than her sister," he mused. "it looks very much like hope." he decided that he would let it remain where it was until hope gave him a better one; and smiling slightly he snapped the lid fast, as though he were closing a door on the face of alice langham and locking it forever. kirkland was in the cab of the locomotive that brought the soldiers from the mine. he stopped the first car in front of the freight station until the workmen had filed out and formed into a double line on the platform. then he moved the train forward the length of that car, and those in the one following were mustered out in a similar manner. as the cars continued to come in, the men at the head of the double line passed on through the freight station and on up the road to the city in an unbroken column. there was no confusion, no crowding, and no haste. when the last car had been emptied, clay rode down the line and appointed a foreman to take charge of each company, stationing his engineers and the irish-americans in the van. it looked more like a mob than a regiment. none of the men were in uniform, and the native soldiers were barefoot. but they showed a winning spirit, and stood in as orderly an array as though they were drawn up in line to receive their month's wages. the americans in front of the column were humorously disposed, and inclined to consider the whole affair as a pleasant outing. they had been placed in front, not because they were better shots than the natives, but because every south american thinks that every citizen of the united states is a master either of the rifle or the revolver, and clay was counting on this superstition. his assistant engineers and foremen hailed him as he rode on up and down the line with good-natured cheers, and asked him when they were to get their commissions, and if it were true that they were all captains, or only colonels, as they were at home. they had been waiting for a half-hour, when there was the sound of horses' hoofs on the road, and the even beat of men's feet, and the advance guard of the third and fourth regiments came toward them at a quickstep. the men were still in the full-dress uniforms they had worn at the review the day before, and in comparison with the soldier-workmen and the americans in flannel shirts, they presented so martial a showing that they were welcomed with tumultuous cheers. clay threw them into a double line on one side of the road, down the length of which his own marched until they had reached the end of it nearest to the city, when they took up their position in a close formation, and the native regiments fell in behind them. clay selected twenty of the best shots from among the engineers and sent them on ahead as a skirmish line. they were ordered to fall back at once if they saw any sign of the enemy. in this order the column of four thousand men started for the city. it was a little after seven when they advanced, and the air was mild and peaceful. men and women came crowding to the doors and windows of the huts as they passed, and stood watching them in silence, not knowing to which party the small army might belong. in order to enlighten them, clay shouted, "viva rojas." and his men took it up, and the people answered gladly. they had reached the closely built portion of the city when the skirmish line came running back to say that it had been met by a detachment of mendoza's cavalry, who had galloped away as soon as they saw them. there was then no longer any doubt that the fact of their coming was known at the palace, and clay halted his men in a bare plaza and divided them into three columns. three streets ran parallel with one another from this plaza to the heart of the city, and opened directly upon the garden of the palace where mendoza had fortified himself. clay directed the columns to advance up these streets, keeping the head of each column in touch with the other two. at the word they were to pour down the side streets and rally to each other's assistance. as they stood, drawn up on the three sides of the plaza, he rode out before them and held up his hat for silence. they were there with arms in their hands, he said, for two reasons: the greater one, and the one which he knew actuated the native soldiers, was their desire to preserve the constitution of the republic. according to their own laws, the vice-president must succeed when the president's term of office had expired, or in the event of his death. president alvarez had been assassinated, and the vice-president, general rojas, was, in consequence, his legal successor. it was their duty, as soldiers of the republic, to rescue him from prison, to drive the man who had usurped his place into exile, and by so doing uphold the laws which they had themselves laid down. the second motive, he went on, was a less worthy and more selfish one. the olancho mines, which now gave work to thousands and brought millions of dollars into the country, were coveted by mendoza, who would, if he could, convert them into a monopoly of his government. if he remained in power all foreigners would be driven out of the country, and the soldiers would be forced to work in the mines without payment. their condition would be little better than that of the slaves in the salt mines of siberia. not only would they no longer be paid for their labor, but the people as a whole would cease to receive that share of the earnings of the mines which had hitherto been theirs. "under president rojas you will have liberty, justice, and prosperity," clay cried. "under mendoza you will be ruled by martial law. he will rob and overtax you, and you will live through a reign of terror. between them--which will you choose?" the native soldiers answered by cries of "rojas," and breaking ranks rushed across the plaza toward him, crowding around his horse and shouting, "long live rojas," "long live the constitution," "death to mendoza." the americans stood as they were and gave three cheers for the government. they were still cheering and shouting as they advanced upon the palace, and the noise of their coming drove the people indoors, so that they marched through deserted streets and between closed doors and sightless windows. no one opposed them, and no one encouraged them. but they could now see the facade of the palace and the flag of the revolutionists hanging from the mast in front of it. three blocks distant from the palace they came upon the buildings of the united states and english legations, where the flags of the two countries had been hung out over the narrow thoroughfare. the windows and the roofs of each legation were crowded with women and children who had sought refuge there, and the column halted as weimer, the consul, and sir julian pindar, the english minister, came out, bare-headed, into the street and beckoned to clay to stop. "as our minister was not here," weimer said, "i telegraphed to truxillo for the man-of-war there. she started some time ago, and we have just heard that she is entering the lower harbor. she should have her blue-jackets on shore in twenty minutes. sir julian and i think you ought to wait for them." the english minister put a detaining hand on clay's bridle. "if you attack mendoza at the palace with this mob," he remonstrated, "rioting and lawlessness generally will break out all over the city. i ask you to keep them back until we get your sailors to police the streets and protect property." clay glanced over his shoulder at the engineers and the irish workmen standing in solemn array behind him. "oh, you can hardly call this a mob," he said. "they look a little rough and ready, but i will answer for them. the two other columns that are coming up the streets parallel to this are government troops and properly engaged in driving a usurper out of the government building. the best thing you can do is to get down to the wharf and send the marines and blue-jackets where you think they will do the most good. i can't wait for them. and they can't come too soon." the grounds of the palace occupied two entire blocks; the botanical gardens were in the rear, and in front a series of low terraces ran down from its veranda to the high iron fence which separated the grounds from the chief thoroughfare of the city. clay sent word to the left and right wing of his little army to make a detour one street distant from the palace grounds and form in the street in the rear of the botanical gardens. when they heard the firing of his men from the front they were to force their way through the gates at the back and attack the palace in the rear. "mendoza has the place completely barricaded," weimer warned him, "and he has three field pieces covering each of these streets. you and your men are directly in line of one of them now. he is only waiting for you to get a little nearer before he lets loose." from where he sat clay could count the bars of the iron fence in front of the grounds. but the boards that backed them prevented his forming any idea of the strength or the distribution of mendoza's forces. he drew his staff of amateur officers to one side and explained the situation to them. "the theatre national and the club union," he said, "face the palace from the opposite corners of this street. you must get into them and barricade the windows and throw up some sort of shelter for yourselves along the edge of the roofs and drive the men behind that fence back to the palace. clear them away from the cannon first, and keep them away from it. i will be waiting in the street below. when you have driven them back, we will charge the gates and have it out with them in the gardens. the third and fourth regiments ought to take them in the rear about the same time. you will continue to pick them off from the roof." the two supporting columns had already started on their roundabout way to the rear of the palace. clay gathered up his reins, and telling his men to keep close to the walls, started forward, his soldiers following on the sidewalks and leaving the middle of the street clear. as they reached a point a hundred yards below the palace, a part of the wooden shield behind the fence was thrown down, there was a puff of white smoke and a report, and a cannon-ball struck the roof of a house which they were passing and sent the tiles clattering about their heads. but the men in the lead had already reached the stage-door of the theatre and were opposite one of the doors to the club. they drove these in with the butts of their rifles, and raced up the stairs of each of the deserted buildings until they reached the roof. langham was swept by a weight of men across a stage, and jumped among the music racks in the orchestra. he caught a glimpse of the early morning sun shining on the tawdry hangings of the boxes and the exaggerated perspective of the scenery. he ran through corridors between two great statues of comedy and tragedy, and up a marble stair case to a lobby in which he saw the white faces about him multiplied in long mirrors, and so out to an iron balcony from which he looked down, panting and breathless, upon the palace gardens, swarming with soldiers and white with smoke. men poured through the windows of the club opposite, dragging sofas and chairs out to the balcony and upon the flat roof. the men near him were tearing down the yellow silk curtains in the lobby and draping them along the railing of the balcony to better conceal their movements from the enemy below. bullets spattered the stucco about their heads, and panes of glass broke suddenly and fell in glittering particles upon their shoulders. the firing had already begun from the roofs near them. beyond the club and the theatre and far along the street on each side of the palace the merchants were slamming the iron shutters of their shops, and men and women were running for refuge up the high steps of the church of santa maria. others were gathered in black masses on the balconies and roofs of the more distant houses, where they stood outlined against the soft blue sky in gigantic silhouette. their shouts of encouragement and anger carried clearly in the morning air, and spurred on the gladiators below to greater effort. in the palace gardens a line of mendoza's men fought from behind the first barricade, while others dragged tables and bedding and chairs across the green terraces and tumbled them down to those below, who seized them and formed them into a second line of defence. two of the assistant engineers were kneeling at langham's feet with the barrels of their rifles resting on the railing of the balcony. their eyes had been trained for years to judge distances and to measure space, and they glanced along the sights of their rifles as though they were looking through the lens of a transit, and at each report their faces grew more earnest and their lips pressed tighter together. one of them lowered his gun to light a cigarette, and langham handed him his match-box, with a certain feeling of repugnance. "better get under cover, mr. langham," the man said, kindly. "there's no use our keeping your mines for you if you're not alive to enjoy them. take a shot at that crew around the gun." "i don't like this long range business," langham answered. "i am going down to join clay. i don't like the idea of hitting a man when he isn't looking at you." the engineer gave an incredulous laugh. "if he isn't looking at you, he's aiming at the man next to you. 'live and let live' doesn't apply at present." as langham reached clay's side triumphant shouts arose from the roof-tops, and the men posted there stood up and showed themselves above the barricades and called to clay that the cannon were deserted. kirkland had come prepared for the barricade, and, running across the street, fastened a dynamite cartridge to each gate post and lit the fuses. the soldiers scattered before him as he came leaping back, and in an instant later there was a racking roar, and the gates were pitched out of their sockets and thrown forward, and those in the street swept across them and surrounded the cannon. langham caught it by the throat as though it were human, and did not feel the hot metal burning the palms of his hands as he choked it and pointed its muzzle toward the palace, while the others dragged at the spokes of the wheel. it was fighting at close range now, close enough to suit even langham. he found himself in the front rank of it without knowing exactly how he got there. every man on both sides was playing his own hand, and seemed to know exactly what to do. he felt neglected and very much alone, and was somewhat anxious lest his valor might be wasted through his not knowing how to put it to account. he saw the enemy in changing groups of scowling men, who seemed to eye him for an instant down the length of a gun-barrel and then disappear behind a puff of smoke. he kept thinking that war made men take strange liberties with their fellow-men, and it struck him as being most absurd that strangers should stand up and try to kill one another, men who had so little in common that they did not even know one another's names. the soldiers who were fighting on his own side were equally unknown to him, and he looked in vain for clay. he saw macwilliams for a moment through the smoke, jabbing at a jammed cartridge with his pen-knife, and hacking the lead away to make it slip. he was remonstrating with the gun and swearing at it exactly as though it were human, and as langham ran toward him he threw it away and caught up another from the ground. kneeling beside the wounded man who had dropped it and picking the cartridges from his belt, he assured him cheerfully that he was not so badly hurt as he thought. "you all right?" langham asked. "i'm all right. i'm trying to get a little laddie hiding behind that blue silk sofa over there. he's taken an unnatural dislike to me, and he's nearly got me three times. i'm knocking horse-hair out of his rampart, though." the men of stuart's body-guard were fighting outside of the breastworks and mattresses. they were using their swords as though they were machetes, and the irishmen were swinging their guns around their shoulders like sledge-hammers, and beating their foes over the head and breast. the guns at his own side sounded close at langham's ear, and deafened him, and those of the enemy exploded so near to his face that he was kept continually winking and dodging, as though he were being taken by a flashlight photograph. when he fired he aimed where the mass was thickest, so that he might not see what his bullet did, but he remembered afterward that he always reloaded with the most anxious swiftness in order that he might not be killed before he had had another shot, and that the idea of being killed was of no concern to him except on that account. then the scene before him changed, and apparently hundreds of mendoza's soldiers poured out from the palace and swept down upon him, cheering as they came, and he felt himself falling back naturally and as a matter of course, as he would have stepped out of the way of a locomotive, or a runaway horse, or any other unreasoning thing. his shoulders pushed against a mass of shouting, sweating men, who in turn pressed back upon others, until the mass reached the iron fence and could move no farther. he heard clay's voice shouting to them, and saw him run forward, shooting rapidly as he ran, and he followed him, even though his reason told him it was a useless thing to do, and then there came a great shout from the rear of the palace, and more soldiers, dressed exactly like the others, rushed through the great doors and swarmed around the two wings of the building, and he recognized them as rojas's men and knew that the fight was over. he saw a tall man with a negro's face spring out of the first mass of soldiers and shout to them to follow him. clay gave a yell of welcome and ran at him, calling upon him in spanish to surrender. the negro stopped and stood at bay, glaring at clay and at the circle of soldiers closing in around him. he raised his revolver and pointed it steadily. it was as though the man knew he had only a moment to live, and meant to do that one thing well in the short time left him. clay sprang to one side and ran toward him, dodging to the right and left, but mendoza followed his movements carefully with his revolver. it lasted but an instant. then the spaniard threw his arm suddenly across his face, drove the heel of his boot into the turf, and spinning about on it fell forward. "if he was shot where his sash crosses his heart, i know the man who did it," langham heard a voice say at his elbow, and turning saw macwilliams wetting his fingers at his lips and touching them gingerly to the heated barrel of his winchester. the death of mendoza left his followers without a leader and without a cause. they threw their muskets on the ground and held their hands above their heads, shrieking for mercy. clay and his officers answered them instantly by running from one group to another, knocking up the barrels of the rifles and calling hoarsely to the men on the roofs to cease firing, and as they were obeyed the noise of the last few random shots was drowned in tumultuous cheering and shouts of exultation, that, starting in the gardens, were caught up by those in the streets and passed on quickly as a line of flame along the swaying housetops. the native officers sprang upon clay and embraced him after their fashion, hailing him as the liberator of olancho, as the preserver of the constitution, and their brother patriot. then one of them climbed to the top of a gilt and marble table and proclaimed him military president. "you'll proclaim yourself an idiot, if you don't get down from there," clay said, laughing. "i thank you for permitting me to serve with you, gentlemen. i shall have great pleasure in telling our president how well you acquitted yourself in this row--battle, i mean. and now i would suggest that you store the prisoners' weapons in the palace and put a guard over them, and then conduct the men themselves to the military prison, where you can release general rojas and escort him back to the city in a triumphal procession. you'd like that, wouldn't you?" but the natives protested that that honor was for him alone. clay declined it, pleading that he must look after his wounded. "i can hardly believe there are any dead," he said to kirkland. "for, if it takes two thousand bullets to kill a man in european warfare, it must require about two hundred thousand to kill a man in south america." he told kirkland to march his men back to the mines and to see that there were no stragglers. "if they want to celebrate, let them celebrate when they get to the mines, but not here. they have made a good record to-day and i won't have it spoiled by rioting. they shall have their reward later. between rojas and mr. langham they should all be rich men." the cheering from the housetops since the firing ceased had changed suddenly into hand-clappings, and the cries, though still undistinguishable, were of a different sound. clay saw that the americans on the balconies of the club and of the theatre had thrown themselves far over the railings and were all looking in the same direction and waving their hats and cheering loudly, and he heard above the shouts of the people the regular tramp of men's feet marching in step, and the rattle of a machine gun as it bumped and shook over the rough stones. he gave a shout of pleasure, and kirkland and the two boys ran with him up the slope, crowding each other to get a better view. the mob parted at the palace gates, and they saw two lines of blue-jackets, spread out like the sticks of a fan, dragging the gun between them, the middies in their tight-buttoned tunics and gaiters, and behind them more blue-jackets with bare, bronzed throats, and with the swagger and roll of the sea in their legs and shoulders. an american flag floated above the white helmets of the marines. its presence and the sense of pride which the sight of these men from home awoke in them made the fight just over seem mean and petty, and they took off their hats and cheered with the others. a first lieutenant, who felt his importance and also a sense of disappointment at having arrived too late to see the fighting, left his men at the gate of the palace, and advanced up the terrace, stopping to ask for information as he came. each group to which he addressed himself pointed to clay. the sight of his own flag had reminded clay that the banner of mendoza still hung from the mast beside which he was standing, and as the officer approached he was busily engaged in untwisting its halyards and pulling it down. the lieutenant saluted him doubtfully. "can you tell me who is in command here?" he asked. he spoke somewhat sharply, for clay was not a military looking personage, covered as he was with dust and perspiration, and with his sombrero on the back of his head. "our consul here told us at the landing-place," continued the lieutenant in an aggrieved tone, "that a general mendoza was in power, and that i had better report to him, and then ten minutes later i hear that he is dead and that a general rojas is president, but that a man named clay has made himself dictator. my instructions are to recognize no belligerents, but to report to the government party. now, who is the government party?" clay brought the red-barred flag down with a jerk, and ripped it free from the halyards. kirkland and the two boys were watching him with amused smiles. "i appreciate your difficulty," he said. "president alvarez is dead, and general mendoza, who tried to make himself dictator, is also dead, and the real president, general rojas, is still in jail. so at present i suppose that i represent the government party, at least i am the man named clay. it hadn't occurred to me before, but, until rojas is free, i guess i am the dictator of olancho. is madame alvarez on board your ship?" "yes, she is with us," the officer replied, in some confusion. "excuse me--are you the three gentlemen who took her to the yacht? i am afraid i spoke rather hastily just now, but you are not in uniform, and the government seems to change so quickly down here that a stranger finds it hard to keep up with it." six of the native officers had approached as the lieutenant was speaking and saluted clay gravely. "we have followed your instructions," one of them said, "and the regiments are ready to march with the prisoners. have you any further orders for us--can we deliver any messages to general rojas?" "present my congratulations to general rojas, and best wishes," said clay. "and tell him for me, that it would please me greatly if he would liberate an american citizen named burke, who is at present in the cuartel. and that i wish him to promote all of you gentlemen one grade and give each of you the star of olancho. tell him that in my opinion you have deserved even higher reward and honor at his hands." the boy-lieutenants broke out into a chorus of delighted thanks. they assured clay that he was most gracious; that he overwhelmed them, and that it was honor enough for them that they had served under him. but clay laughed, and drove them off with a paternal wave of the hand. the officer from the man-of-war listened with an uncomfortable sense of having blundered in his manner toward this powder-splashed young man who set american citizens at liberty, and created captains by the half-dozen at a time. "are you from the states?" he asked as they moved toward the man-of-war's men. "i am, thank god. why not?" "i thought you were, but you saluted like an englishman." "i was an officer in the english army once in the soudan, when they were short of officers." clay shook his head and looked wistfully at the ranks of the blue-jackets drawn up on either side of them. the horses had been brought out and langham and macwilliams were waiting for him to mount. "i have worn several uniforms since i was a boy," said clay. "but never that of my own country." the people were cheering him from every part of the square. women waved their hands from balconies and housetops, and men climbed to awnings and lampposts and shouted his name. the officers and men of the landing party took note of him and of this reception out of the corner of their eyes, and wondered. "and what had i better do?" asked the commanding officer. "oh, i would police the palace grounds, if i were you, and picket that street at the right, where there are so many wine shops, and preserve order generally until rojas gets here. he won't be more than an hour, now. we shall be coming over to pay our respects to your captain to-morrow. glad to have met you." "well, i'm glad to have met you," answered the officer, heartily. "hold on a minute. even if you haven't worn our uniform, you're as good, and better, than some i've seen that have, and you're a sort of a commander-in-chief, anyway, and i'm damned if i don't give you a sort of salute." clay laughed like a boy as he swung himself into the saddle. the officer stepped back and gave the command; the middies raised their swords and clay passed between massed rows of his countrymen with their muskets held rigidly toward him. the housetops rocked again at the sight, and as he rode out into the brilliant sunshine, his eyes were wet and winking. the two boys had drawn up at his side, but macwilliams had turned in the saddle and was still looking toward the palace, with his hand resting on the hindquarters of his pony. "look back, clay," he said. "take a last look at it, you'll never see it after to-day. turn again, turn again, dictator of olancho." the men laughed and drew rein as he bade them, and looked back up the narrow street. they saw the green and white flag of olancho creeping to the top of the mast before the palace, the blue-jackets driving back the crowd, the gashes in the walls of the houses, where mendoza's cannonballs had dug their way through the stucco, and the silk curtains, riddled with bullets, flapping from the balconies of the opera-house. "you had it all your own way an hour ago," macwilliams said, mockingly. "you could have sent rojas into exile, and made us all cabinet ministers--and you gave it up for a girl. now, you're dictator of olancho. what will you be to-morrow? to-morrow you will be andrew langham's son-in-law--benedict, the married man. andrew langham's son-in-law cannot ask his wife to live in such a hole as this, so--goodbye, mr. clay. we have been long together." clay and langham looked curiously at the boy to see if he were in earnest, but macwilliams would not meet their eyes. "there were three of us," he said, "and one got shot, and one got married, and the third--? you will grow fat, clay, and live on fifth avenue and wear a high silk hat, and some day when you're sitting in your club you'll read a paragraph in a newspaper with a queer spanish date-line to it, and this will all come back to you,--this heat, and the palms, and the fever, and the days when you lived on plantains and we watched our trestles grow out across the canons, and you'll be willing to give your hand to sleep in a hammock again, and to feel the sweat running down your back, and you'll want to chuck your gun up against your chin and shoot into a line of men, and the policemen won't let you, and your wife won't let you. that's what you're giving up. there it is. take a good look at it. you'll never see it again." xv the steamer "santiago," carrying "passengers, bullion, and coffee," was headed to pass porto rico by midnight, when she would be free of land until she anchored at the quarantine station of the green hills of staten island. she had not yet shaken off the contamination of the earth; a soft inland breeze still tantalized her with odors of tree and soil, the smell of the fresh coat of paint that had followed her coaling rose from her sides, and the odor of spilt coffee-grains that hung around the hatches had yet to be blown away by a jealous ocean breeze, or washed by a welcoming cross sea. the captain stopped at the open entrance of the social hall. "if any of you ladies want to take your last look at olancho you've got to come now," he said. "we'll lose the valencia light in the next quarter hour." miss langham and king looked up from their novels and smiled, and miss langham shook her head. "i've taken three final farewells of olancho already," she said: "before we went down to dinner, and when the sun set, and when the moon rose. i have no more sentiment left to draw on. do you want to go?" she asked. "i'm very comfortable, thank you," king said, and returned to the consideration of his novel. but clay and hope arose at the captain's suggestion with suspicious alacrity, and stepped out upon the empty deck, and into the encompassing darkness, with a little sigh of relief. alice langham looked after them somewhat wistfully and bit the edges of her book. she sat for some time with her brows knitted, glancing occasionally and critically toward king and up with unseeing eyes at the swinging lamps of the saloon. he caught her looking at him once when he raised his eyes as he turned a page, and smiled back at her, and she nodded pleasantly and bent her head over her reading. she assured herself that after all king understood her and she him, and that if they never rose to certain heights, they never sank below a high level of mutual esteem, and that perhaps was the best in the end. king had placed his yacht at the disposal of madame alvarez, and she had sailed to colon, where she could change to the steamers for lisbon, while he accompanied the langhams and the wedding party to new york. clay recognized that the time had now arrived in his life when he could graduate from the position of manager-director and become the engineering expert, and that his services in olancho were no longer needed. with rojas in power mr. langham had nothing further to fear from the government, and with kirkland in charge and young langham returning after a few months' absence to resume his work, he felt himself free to enjoy his holiday. they had taken the first steamer out, and the combined efforts of all had been necessary to prevail upon macwilliams to accompany them; and even now the fact that he was to act as clay's best man and, as langham assured him cheerfully, was to wear a frock coat and see his name in all the papers, brought on such sudden panics of fear that the fast-fading coast line filled his soul with regret, and a wilful desire to jump overboard and swim back. clay and hope stopped at the door of the chief engineer's cabin and said they had come to pay him a visit. the chief had but just come from the depths where the contamination of the earth was most evident in the condition of his stokers; but his chin was now cleanly shaven, and his pipe was drawing as well as his engine fires, and he had wrapped himself in an old p. & o. white duck jacket to show what he had been before he sank to the level of a coasting steamer. they admired the clerk-like neatness of the report he had just finished, and in return he promised them the fastest run on record, and showed them the portrait of his wife, and of their tiny cottage on the isle of wight, and his jade idols from corea, and carved cocoanut gourds from brazil, and a picture from the "graphic" of lord salisbury, tacked to the partition and looking delightedly down between two highly colored lithographs of miss ellen terry and the princess may. then they called upon the captain, and clay asked him why captains always hung so much lace about their beds when they invariably slept on a red velvet sofa with their boots on, and the captain ordered his chinese steward to mix them a queer drink and offered them the choice of a six months' accumulation of paper novels, and free admittance to his bridge at all hours. and then they passed on to the door of the smoking-room and beckoned macwilliams to come out and join them. his manner as he did so bristled with importance, and he drew them eagerly to the rail. "i've just been having a chat with captain burke," he said, in an undertone. "he's been telling langham and me about a new game that's better than running railroads. he says there's a country called macedonia that's got a native prince who wants to be free from turkey, and the turks won't let him, and burke says if we'll each put up a thousand dollars, he'll guarantee to get the prince free in six months. he's made an estimate of the cost and submitted it to the russian embassy at washington, and he says they will help him secretly, and he knows a man who has just patented a new rifle, and who will supply him with a thousand of them for the sake of the advertisement. he says it's a mountainous country, and all you have to do is to stand on the passes and roll rocks down on the turks as they come in. it sounds easy, doesn't it?" "then you're thinking of turning professional filibuster yourself?" said clay. "well, i don't know. it sounds more interesting than engineering. burke says i beat him on his last fight, and he'd like to have me with him in the next one--sort of young-blood-in-the-firm idea--and he calculates that we can go about setting people free and upsetting governments for some time to come. he says there is always something to fight about if you look for it. and i must say the condition of those poor macedonians does appeal to me. think of them all alone down there bullied by that sultan of turkey, and wanting to be free and independent. that's not right. you, as an american citizen, ought to be the last person in the world to throw cold water on an undertaking like that. in the name of liberty now?" "i don't object; set them free, of course," laughed clay. "but how long have you entertained this feeling for the enslaved macedonians, mac?" "well, i never heard of them until a quarter of an hour ago, but they oughtn't to suffer through my ignorance." "certainly not. let me know when you're going to do it, and hope and i will run over and look on. i should like to see you and burke and the prince of macedonia rolling rocks down on the turkish empire." hope and clay passed on up the deck laughing, and macwilliams looked after them with a fond and paternal smile. the lamp in the wheelhouse threw a broad belt of light across the forward deck as they passed through it into the darkness of the bow, where the lonely lookout turned and stared at them suspiciously, and then resumed his stern watch over the great waters. they leaned upon the rail and breathed the soft air which the rush of the steamer threw in their faces, and studied in silence the stars that lay so low upon the horizon line that they looked like the harbor lights of a great city. "do you see that long line of lamps off our port bow?" asked clay. hope nodded. "those are the electric lights along the ocean drive at long branch and up the rumson road, and those two stars a little higher up are fixed to the mast-heads of the scotland lightship. and that mass of light that you think is the milky way, is the glare of the new york street lamps thrown up against the sky." "are we so near as that?" said hope, smiling. "and what lies over there?" she asked, pointing to the east. "over there is the coast of africa. don't you see the lighthouse on cape bon? if it wasn't for gibraltar being in the way, i could show you the harbor lights of bizerta, and the terraces of algiers shining like a café chantant in the night." "algiers," sighed hope, "where you were a soldier of africa, and rode across the deserts. will you take me there?" "there, of course, but to gibraltar first, where we will drive along the alameda by moonlight. i drove there once coming home from a mess dinner with the colonel. the drive lies between broad white balustrades, and the moon shone down on us between the leaves of the spanish bayonet. it was like an italian garden. but he did not see it, and he would talk to me about the watkins range finder on the lower ramparts, and he puffed on a huge cigar. i tried to imagine i was there on my honeymoon, but the end of his cigar would light up and i would see his white mustache and the glow on his red jacket, so i vowed i would go over that drive again with the proper person. and we won't talk of range finders, will we? "there to the north is paris; your paris, and my paris, with london only eight hours away. if you look very closely, you can see the thousands of hansom cab lamps flashing across the asphalt, and the open theatres, and the fairy lamps in the gardens back of the houses in mayfair, where they are giving dances in your honor, in honor of the beautiful american bride, whom every one wants to meet. and you will wear the finest tiara we can get on bond street, but no one will look at it; they will only look at you. and i will feel very miserable and tease you to come home." hope put her hand in his, and he held her finger-tips to his lips for an instant and closed his other hand upon hers. "and after that?" asked hope. "after that we will go to work again, and take long journeys to mexico and peru or wherever they want me, and i will sit in judgment on the work other chaps have done. and when we get back to our car at night, or to the section house, for it will be very rough sometimes,"--hope pressed his hand gently in answer,--"i will tell you privately how very differently your husband would have done it, and you, knowing all about it, will say that had it been left to me, i would certainly have accomplished it in a vastly superior manner." "well, so you would," said hope, calmly. "that's what i said you'd say," laughed clay. "dearest," he begged, "promise me something. promise me that you are going to be very happy." hope raised her eyes and looked up at him in silence, and had the man in the wheelhouse been watching the stars, as he should have been, no one but the two foolish young people on the bow of the boat would have known her answer. the ship's bell sounded eight times, and hope moved slightly. "so late as that," she sighed. "come. we must be going back." a great wave struck the ship's side a friendly slap, and the wind caught up the spray and tossed it in their eyes, and blew a strand of her hair loose so that it fell across clay's face, and they laughed happily together as she drew it back and he took her hand again to steady her progress across the slanting deck. as they passed hand in hand out of the shadow into the light from the wheelhouse, the lookout in the bow counted the strokes of the bell to himself, and then turned and shouted back his measured cry to the bridge above them. his voice seemed to be a part of the murmuring sea and the welcoming winds. "listen," said clay. "eight bells," the voice sang from the darkness. "the for'ard light's shining bright--and all's well." california - or the rambling sketches and experiences of sixty-four years' residence in that state by l. h. woolley member of the society of california pioneers and of the vigilance committee of california - trip across the plains. the year has a peculiarly thrilling sensation to the california pioneer, not realized by those who came at a later date. my purpose in recording some of my recollections of early days is not for publication nor aggrandizement, but that it may be deposited in the archives of my descendants, that i was one of those adventurers who left the green mountains of vermont to cross the plains to california, the el dorado--the land of gold. in starting out i went to boston, new york, philadelphia, cincinnati, st. louis and independence, missouri. here i joined the first mule train of turner, allen & co.'s pioneer line. it consisted of forty wagons, one hundred and fifty mules, and about one hundred and fifty passengers. we left the frontier on the fourteenth of may , and here is where our hardships commenced. many of us had never known what it was to "camp out" and do our own cooking. some of the mules were wild and unbroken, sometimes inside the traces, sometimes outside; sometimes down, sometimes up; sometimes one end forward and sometimes the other; but after a week or two they got sobered down so as to do very well. our first campfire at night was on the little blue river, a few miles from independence; it was after dark when we came to a halt, and it was my friend gross' turn to cook, while the rest brought him wood and water and made a fire for him by the side of a large stump. i knew he was a fractious man, so i climbed into one of the wagons where i could see how he got along. the first thing that attracted my attention was the coffee pot upside down, next away went the bacon out of the pan into the fire. by this time he was getting warm inside as well as outside, and i could hear some small "cuss words"; next he looked into the dutch oven, and saw that his dough had turned to charcoal. i got down into the wagon out of sight, and peeked through a crack; he grew furious, danced around the fire, and the air was full of big words. finally we got a little coffee and some cakes and bacon, then i undertook to do a little sleeping but it was no go. thus ended my first night on the plains. in the morning we started on our journey to travel over a level untimbered, uninhabited country for nearly four hundred miles, without anything of especial interest occurring save cholera, from which there was terrible suffering. we lost about seventy-five of our number before we reached fort laramie, seven hundred miles from missouri. there was a dutchman in my mess by the name of lamalfa, who understood but little of english. we had dubbed him "macaroni" for having brought a lot of the stuff with him and on our second night out it came his turn to stand guard. he was detailed to the inner guard and instructed as to his duties. on the relief of the outer sentinel and his return to camp, lamalfa issued the challenge which was to repeat three times "who comes there?" and in case of no response to fire, and as the outer sentinel came upon him he called out "who comes there three times" and fired; fortunately he was a poor shot and no harm was done. it seems that "macaroni" was not aware of there being an outer guard. when near fort childs, four hundred miles out, all the passengers left the wagons, except the drivers, and walked on in advance, leaving the wagons light (they were canvas covered). there came up one of those terrible hailstorms, common in that country, which pelted the mules with such severity as to cause them to take fright and run away, breaking loose from the wagons which were taken by the storm in another direction, first wheels up, then top, until the latter was all in rags; then they stopped. when we came into camp at night they looked sorry enough and you would have thought they had just come out of a fierce fight. we pursued our journey along the south bank of the platte until we reached fort laramie, capturing some antelopes and occasionally a buffalo. up to this time we had had a great deal of sickness in camp. i remember one poor fellow (his name i have forgotten), we called him chihuahua bob; he was a jovial, good natured fellow and drove one of the eight-mule baggage wagons. i enquired about him one morning and was told that he had died during the night of cholera, and had been left in his shallow grave. we met some returning emigrants that morning who had become discouraged and were going back to their old homes this made me think of home and friends, the domestic happy fireside, and all that i had left behind, "but," said i to myself, "this won't do, i am too far out now; pluck is the word and i'm not going back on it." early next morning we were once more upon our long journey, slowly traveling towards the far, far west. the first place of interest that presented itself to our view was a narrow passage for the river between two perpendicular rocky banks, which were about one hundred feet high and looked as though a man could jump from one to the other at the top. this was called the "devil's gate." above and below was the broad prairie. at intervals along the platte were villages of prairie dogs, who were about the size of large grey squirrels, but more chunky' of a brownish hue, with a head somewhat resembling a bulldog. they are sometimes eaten by the indians and mountaineers. their earth houses are all about two feet deep; are made in the form of a cone; are entered by a hole in the top, which descends vertically some two or more feet and then takes an oblique course, and connects with others in every direction. these towns or villages sometimes cover several hundred acres and it is very dangerous riding over them on horseback. we will now pass to another interesting object called "chimney rock" which is not altogether unlike bunker hill monument. it stands by itself on the surrounding level country, with a conical base of about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter and seventy-five feet high where the nearly square part of the column commences, which is about fifty feet on each of the four sides. it is of sandstone and certainly a very singular natural formation. altogether it is about two hundred feet high. i will mention here that the banks of the platte are low, that the bed is of quicksand, that the river is very shallow and that it is never clear. one of our company attempted to ford it on foot. when about two-thirds over, in water up to his waist, he halted, being in doubt as to whether he should proceed or return. while hesitating between two opinions his feet had worked down into the quicksand and became so imbedded that he could not extricate them. realizing his perilous position he at once gave the masonic grand hailing sign of distress and in a moment there were several men in the water on their way to his relief. they reached him in time and brought him safely into camp. about this time there was considerable dissatisfaction manifested in camp on account of the slow progress we were making. some left the train and went on by themselves, others realized the necessity of holding to together to the last in order to protect themselves as well as to care for those among us who were sick. the peculiar characteristics of the party at this time seemed to be recklessness and indifference to the situation, but the better judgment finally prevailed and we went on in harmony. the next three hundred miles were devoid of any especial interest. this brings us to the summit of the rocky mountains (at south pass) which divides the rivers of the atlantic and pacific oceans, and ends their course thousands of miles apart. here are the ever snow-capped peaks of the wind river mountains looming up on the north. they are conical in form and their base is about one thousand feet above the plain that extends south. this brings us to the nineteenth day of july, . on the night of this day water froze to the thickness of one-fourth of an inch in our buckets. the following day we commenced descending the western slope, which was very rapid and rough. the twenty-first brought us to green river which was swollen and appeared to be a great barrier. here, for the first time, we brought our pontoons into use and swam the mules, so that after two days of hard work we were all safely landed on the west bank. we are now at the base of the rocky mountains on the west, passing from one small valley to another, until we reached a bend in the bear river. here let us pause for a moment and study the wonders of nature. first, the ground all around is covered with sulphur; here, a spring of cold soda water; there, a spring of hot soda water; fourth, an oblong hole about four by six inches in the rocky bank, from which spouts hot soda water, like the spouting of a whale. it is called "steamboat spring." it recedes and spouts about once in two minutes. all of these are within a hundred steps of each other. now, our canteens, and every available vessel is to be filled with water, for use in crossing forty-five miles of lava bed, where there is neither water nor grass to be found and must be accomplished by traveling day and night. this was called "subletts' cutoff," leaving salt lake to the south of us, and brings us to the base of the mountains at the source of the humboldt river. on the west side, in crossing over, we encountered a place in a gorge of the mountain called "slippery ford," now called the "devil's half-acre." it was a smooth inclined surface of the rock and it was impossible for the mules to keep their footing. we had great difficulty in getting over it. now we are at the headwaters of the humboldt river, along which we traveled for three hundred miles, over an alkali and sandy soil until we came to a place where it disappeared. this was called the "sink of the humboldt." this valley is twenty miles wide by about three hundred long. during this part of our journey there was nothing of interest to note. the water of this river is strongly impregnated with alkali. about forty miles in a southerly direction from the sink of the humboldt (now called the lake) is old "ragtown" on the banks of the carson river, not far from fort churchill. in traveling from one river to the other there was no water for man or beast. when we were about half way we found a well that was as salt as the ocean. we reached this well sometime in the night of the first day and our mules were completely fagged out, so we left the wagons, turned the mules loose, and drove them through to the carson, arriving there on the night of the second day. here was good grass and fine water, and bathing was appreciated to its fullest extent. we remained for several days to let our animals recruit, as well as ourselves, then we went back and got the wagons. we traveled westward through carson valley until we entered the six mile canon, the roughest piece of road that we found between missouri and california. there were great boulders from the size of a barrel to that of a stage coach, promiscuously piled in the bed of this tributary to the carson, and over which we were obliged to haul our wagons. it took us two days to make the six miles. arrival in california. now we see silver lake, at the base of the sierra nevadas on the east side; our advance to the summit was not as difficult as we anticipated. having arrived at this point we are at the source of the south fork of the american river and at the summit of the sierra nevadas. we now commenced the descent on a tributary of this river. after a day or two of travel we arrived at a place called weaverville, on the tenth day of september, . this place consisted of one log cabin with numerous tents on either side. here was my first mining, but being weary and worn out, i was unable to wield the pick and shovel, and so i left in a few days for sacramento where i undertook to make a little money by painting, but it was a failure, both as to workmanship and as to financial gain. however, by this time i had gained some strength and left for beal's bar at the junction of the north and south forks of the american river. here i mined through the winter with some success. in the spring of thirty of us formed a company for the purpose of turning the south fork through a canal into the north fork, thereby draining about a thousand yards of the river bed. just as we had completed the dam and turned the water into the canal, the river rose and away went our dam and our summer's work with it. winter coming on now nothing could be done until spring, so i left for san francisco where i had heard of the death of a friend at burns' old diggings on the merced river, about seventy-five miles from stockton, and knowing that his life was insured in favor of his wife i went there and secured the necessary proof of his death so that his widow got the insurance. there was considerable hardship in this little trip of about one week. on my return, and when within about thirty miles of stockton, i camped for the night at knight's ferry, picketed my pony out, obtained the privilege of spreading my blankets on the ground in a tent and was soon in a sound sleep, out of which i was awakened at about two o'clock in the morning by feeling things considerably damp around me (for it had been raining). i put out my hand and found i was lying in about three inches of water. i was not long getting out of it, rolled up my blankets, saddled my pony and left for stockton. here i arrived at about nine o'clock, sold the pony, and was ready to leave at four o'clock for san francisco. while waiting here (stockton) i became acquainted with a kentucky hunter who told me the story of his experiences of the day previous. he said: "i came to the place where you stayed last night, yesterday morning, and was told that there were a number of bears in the neighborhood, and that no one dared to hunt them. i remarked that that was my business, and i would take a hand at it; i strapped on my revolvers and knife, shouldered my kentucky rifle and started out. i had not gone more than half a mile, when i discovered one of the animals i was in search of, and away my bullet sped striking him in the hip. i made for a tree and he made for me! i won the race by stopping on the topmost branch, while he howled at the base; while reloading my rifle i heard an answer to his wailing for me or for his companion--it didn't matter which. very soon a second cry came from another direction, and still one more from the third point of the compass. by this time one had reached the tree and i fired killing him. hastily reloading, i was just in time to fire as the second one responded to the first one's howl; he fell dead; then the third arrived and shared the same fate. having allowed the first one to live as a decoy, his turn came last; then i descended and looked over my work--four full-grown bears lay dead at my feet." to corroborate this statement i will say that i saw one of them on the hooks in front of a butcher shop in stockton, and the other three went to san francisco on the same boat that i did. i met the hunter on the street about a week later and he told me that he realized seven hundred dollars for his bears. i do not make the statement as a bear story, but as a bare fact. life in the mines. the preceding pages were written about twenty years ago, and only covered about one and one-half years after leaving the green mountains of old vermont. since which time, i have experienced nearly all of the vicissitudes of the state to the present time ( ). i will now attempt to give an account of my stewardship from that time on. i date my arrival in the state, weaverville, about three miles below hangtown (now placerville), september th, . this was where i did my first mining, which was not, much of a success, on account of my weak condition caused by my having the so-called "land scurvy," brought on from a want of vegetable food, and i left for sacramento city where i remained for a week or two and then left and went to grass valley. there i made a little money, and went to sacramento city and bought two wagon loads of goods, went back to grass valley and started a hotel, ran it a few weeks, and the first thing i knew i was "busted." it is now in the winter of ' and ' and i went to sacramento again, and from sacramento to beal's bar on the north fork of the american river at the junction of the north and south forks. by this time i had gained my strength so that i was more like myself, and i bought a rocker, pick, shovel and pan and went into the gulches for gold. i had fairly good luck until spring. by this time i had laid by a few hundred dollars, and i joined a company of thirty to turn the south fork of the american river into the north fork, by so doing we expected to drain about one-fourth of a mile of the bed of the south fork. the banks of the river were rich and everything went to show that the bed of the river was very rich, and we went to work with great hopes of a big harvest of gold. the first thing we did was to build a dam, and dig a canal, which we accomplished in about four months. about this time snow and rain came on in the mountains, raised the water in the river and washed away part of our dam. it was now too late to build again that season. now you see the hopes and disappointments of the miner. while we were at work on the canal we had occasion to blast some boulders that were in our way. we had a blacksmith to sharpen the picks and drills who had a portable forge on the point of land between the two rivers. when we were ready to blast the rock we gave him timely warning, he paid no heed, the blast went off, and a portion of a boulder weighing about pounds went directly for his forge and within about six inches of his legs and went on over into the north fork. the man turned about and hollered to the boys in the canal "i surrender." about this time the river had risen to such an extent that it was thought advisable to suspend operations until the next spring. this was a dividing of the roads, and each member had to look out for himself. i went to mokelumne hill, staked out some claims and went to work to sink a shaft through the lava to bedrock. the lava on the surface is very hard, but grows softer as you go down. while i was thus banging away with my pick and not making much headway, there came along a mr. ferguson from san francisco, on a mule. he stopped and looked at me a minute and then said, "young man, how deep do you expect to go before you reach bedrock?" i said, "about or feet." "well," said he, "by ---- you have got more pluck than any man i ever saw." he went on and so did i, and i have not seen him since. it took me about two weeks to get so that i could not throw the dirt to the surface, then i had to make a windlass, get a tub and rope, and hire a man to help me at eight dollars a day, and cents a point for sharpening picks. these things completed and in operation, i was able to make two or three feet per day, and we finally reached the bedrock at a depth of feet. the last two feet in the bottom of the shaft i saved for washing, and had to haul it about one mile to water. i washed it out and realized / ounces of very coarse gold. now we were on the bedrock and the next thing to do was to start three drifts in as many directions. this called for two more men to work the drifts, and a man with his team to haul the dirt to the water, while i stood at the windless and watched both ends. this went on for one week. when i washed out my dirt, paid off my help and other expenses, i had two dollars and a half for myself. about this time i was feeling a little blue and i gave directions for each man in the drifts to start drifts to the left at the end of each drift. this was done, and we went on for another week as before, and this time i came out about one hundred dollars ahead. about this time a couple of miners came along and offered me thirteen hundred dollars for my claim, and i sold it, took the dust and went to sacramento and sent it to my father in vermont. that paid up for all the money that i had borrowed, and made things quite easy at home. now, i am mining again with cradle, pick, shovel and pan in gulches, on the flats, in the river and on the banks, with miner's luck, up and down, most of the time down. however, "pluck" was always the watchword with me. i floated some of the time in water, some of the time in the air, some of the time on dry land, it did not make much difference with me at that time where i was. i was at home wherever night overtook me. but finally i got tired of that and began to look about and think of home and "the girl i left behind me." home again. married. return to california. in the spring of ' i left san francisco on the steamer "independence" via the "nicaragua route" for new york, arrived there in course of a month, and took train for boston, where i found my father from vermont with a carload of horses. this was clover for me. we remained there a week or ten days, then left for home. the "girl i left behind" was a vermont lady but was visiting a sister in cincinnati, ohio. in the spring of i went on to ohio to see the "girl i left behind me," and married the "girl i had left behind me." we then went to vermont, where we remained until the year of . in the summer of this year i had the second attack of the "california fever." i called in dr. hichman and he diagnosed my case, and pronounced it fatal, and said there was no medicine known to science that would help me, that i must go, so i took the "girl i left behind me" and started for san francisco. vigilance committee of . on my return to san francisco it did not take me long to discover that the city was wide open to all sorts of crime from murder, to petty theft. in a very short time i became interested in the pacific iron works, and paid very little attention to what else was going on around me until the spring of ' . here was a poise of the scales, corruption and murder on one side, with honesty and good government on the other. which shall be the balance of power, the first or the last? on may th, , james king, editor of the "evening bulletin," was shot by jas. p. casey on the corner of washington and montgomery streets. he lingered along for a few days and died. this was too much for the people and proved the entering wedge for a second vigilance committee. during the first hours after the shooting there were , names enrolled on the committee's books. of that number, i am proud to say, i was the th member, and the membership increased until it amounted to over , . shooting of gen. richardson. i will first relate a crime that had happened the november previous (november , ), in which charles cora had shot and killed general william h. richardson, united states marshal for the northern district of california. these men had a quarrel on the evening of november th, , between and o'clock, which resulted in the death of general richardson by being shot dead on the spot in front of fox & o'connor's store on clay street, between montgomery and leidesdorff streets, by cora. shortly after this cora was arrested and placed in custody of the city marshal. there was talk of lynching, but no resort was had to violence. mr. samuel brannan delivered an exciting speech, and resolutions were declared to have the law enforced in this trial. general richardson was a brave and honorable man, and beloved by all. he was about years of age, a native of washington, d. c., and married. cora was confined in the county jail. we will now leave this case in the mind of the reader and take it up later on. shooting of james king, of william. on may th, , the city was thrown into a great excitement by an attempt to assassinate james king, of william, editor of the "evening bulletin," by james p. casey, editor of the "sunday times." both casey and king indulged in editorials of a nature that caused much personal enmity, and in one of the issues of the "bulletin" king reproduced articles from the new york papers showing casey up as having once been sentenced to sing sing. casey took offense at the articles, and about o'clock in the afternoon, at the corner of montgomery and washington streets, intercepted king who was on his way home, drew a revolver, saying, "draw and defend yourself," and shot him through the left breast near the armpit. mr. king exclaimed, "i am shot," and reeling, was caught up and carried to the pacific express office on the corner casey was quickly locked up in the station house[ ]. immediately following the shooting large crowds filled the streets in the neighborhood anxious to hang to the nearest lamp post the perpetrator of the crime. casey was immediately removed to the county jail for safer keeping. here crowds again congregated, demanding the turning over to them of casey and threatening violence if denied. mayor van ness and others addressed them in efforts to let the law take its course but the crowd which had been swelled into a seething mass, remonstrated, citing the shooting of marshal richardson, and demanding cora, his assassin, that he, too, might be hanged. military aid was called to the defense of the jail and its prisoners and after a while the multitude dispersed, leaving all quiet. casey and cora turned over to vigilance committee. sunday, may th, a deputation of the committee was delegated to call at the door of the jail and request the sheriff to deliver up the prisoner, casey. upon arriving at the door three raps were made. sheriff scannell appeared. the delegation desired him to handcuff the prisoner and deliver him at the door. without hesitation, the sheriff repaired to the cell of casey and informed him of the request of the vigilantes. the sheriff, after going through some preliminaries, brought the prisoner to the front door of the jail and delivered him into the hands of the committee. my company was stationed directly across the street lined up on the sidewalk. immediately in front of us was a small brass cannon, which a detachment had shortly before secured from the store of macondray & co. it was the field piece of the first california guard. it was loaded, and alongside was the lighted match, and all was in readiness should any resistance be offered. other companies were stationed so as to command the entire surroundings. we marched from the general headquarters of the committee at sacramento street (fort gunnybags), one block from the water front, up that street to montgomery, thence to pacific and along kearny to the jail, which was situated on the north side of broadway, between kearny and dupont streets. other companies came via stockton and dupont streets[ ]. casey was then ironed and escorted to a coach in waiting and, at his request, mr. north took a seat beside him; wm. t. coleman and miers f. truett also riding in the same conveyance. another conference was held with the sheriff, requesting the prisoner, charles cora, who had murdered general richardson, to be turned over to the committee. scannell declined and asked time to consider. the committee gave the sheriff one hour in which to decide. in less than half that time the sheriff appeared at the door of the jail and turned cora over to the committee. the committee reached the rooms on sacramento street about o'clock. casey was placed under guard in a room above headquarters. cora was also removed to the committee's rooms in the same manner as casey, the committee having to go back to the jail for the second time. about three hundred men remained on guard at the committee rooms after their removal there. fort gunnybags. our headquarters and committee rooms were at the wholesale liquor house of truett & jones, no. sacramento street, about a block from the water front, and embraced the block bounded by sacramento, california, front and davis streets, and covered by brick buildings two stories high. the name "fort gunnybags" was ascribed to it on account of the gunnybags filled with sand which we piled up in a wall some six feet through and about ten feet high. this barricade was about twenty feet from the building. guards were stationed at the passageways through it as well as at the stairs and committee by the members of the monumental fire engine company no. , stationed on the west side of brenham place, opposite the "plaza." our small field pieces and arms were kept on the ground floor, and the cells, executive chamber and other departments were on the second floor. may th found mr. king still suffering from his wound, but no great alarm was felt as to his condition. death of james king, of william. may th mr. king's condition took a turn for the worse, and at o'clock he was sinking rapidly, being weakened from the probing and dressing of the wound. he passed away. sorrow and grief were shown by all. he left a widow and six children. he was born in georgetown, d. c., and was only years old. trial of casey and cora. casey and cora were held for trial may th, having been supplied with attorneys and given every opportunity to plead their cases. the committee sat all night and took no recess until the next morning when the trials were ended. the verdict of "guilty of murder" was found in each case and they were ordered to be executed friday, may rd, at o'clock noon. while the trial was going on mr. king passed away[ ]. hanging of casey and cora. the committee, for fear that an attempt might be made to rescue casey and cora, arranged their companies, which numbered three thousand men and two field pieces, cleared the streets in the immediate vicinity and had had constructed a platform from out of the two front windows. these platforms were hinged, the outer ends being held up by cords which were fastened to a projecting beam of the roof, to which a rope had been adjusted for the purpose of hanging. arabella ryan or belle cora was united in marriage to charles cora just before the execution. about one o'clock both casey and cora, who had their arms tied behind them, were brought to the platform and with firm steps stepped out upon them. casey addressed a few remarks, declaring that he was no murderer, and weakened at the thought of his dear old mother. he almost fainted as the noose was placed around his neck. cora, to the contrary, said nothing, and stood unmoved while casey was talking, and apparently unconcerned. the signal was given at twenty minutes past one o'clock and the cord cut, letting the bodies drop six feet. they hung for fifty-five minutes and were cut down and turned over to the coroner. we, the rank and file of the vigilance committee, were immediately afterwards drawn up in a line on sacramento street, reviewed and dismissed after stacking our arms in the committee room, taking up our pursuits again as private citizens[ ]. yankee sullivan. james (or yankee) sullivan, whose real name was francis murray, had been taken by the vigilance committee and was then (may th, ), in confinement in the rooms of the committee. he was very pugilistic and had taken an active part in ballot-box frauds in the several elections just previous. he had been promised leniency by the committee and assured a safe exit from the country, but he was fearful of being murdered by the others to be exiled at the same time. he experienced a horrible dream, going through the formality and execution of hanging. he called for a glass of water, which was given him by the guard, who at the same time endeavored to cheer him up, and when breakfast was taken him at o'clock that morning he was found dead in his bed, he having made an incision with a common table knife in his left arm near the elbow, cutting to the bone and severing two large arteries[ ]. "law and order" party. on the nd of june, , governor j. neely johnson having declared the city of san francisco to be in a state of insurrection, issued orders to wm. t. sherman to enroll as militia, companies of men of the highest standard and to have them report to him, sherman, for duty. the response was light and the order looked upon as a joke and little or no stock taken in it. so on the th sherman tendered his resignation as major general, claiming that no plan of action could be determined upon between himself and the governor. the action taken by the governor in this move was by virtue of the constitution of the state, his duty to enforce the execution of the laws, he claiming that the vigilance committee had no right to arm and act without respect to the state laws. terry and hopkins affair. on the nd of june, , the city was in great excitement at an attempt by david s. terry to stab sterling a. hopkins, a member of the committee. terry was one of the judges of the supreme court. hopkins and a posse were arresting one rube maloney when set upon by terry. hopkins was taken to engine house no. where dr. r. beverley cole examined and cared for his wound which was four inches deep and caused considerable hemorrhage. the blade struck hopkins near the collar bone and severed parts of the left carotid artery and penetrated the gullet. terry and maloney at once fled to the armory of the "law and order party" on the corner of jackson and dupont streets. the alarm was at once sounded on the bell at fort gunnybags and in less than fifteen minutes armed details were dispatched to and surrounded the headquarters of the "law and order party" where terry had taken refuge, and in less than half an hour had complete control of the situation, and by : o'clock in the afternoon terry and maloney and the others found there had been taken to the committee rooms as well as the arms (a stand of , muskets) and ammunition. about "law and order" men together with about muskets were also taken from the california exchange. several other places were raided and stripped of their stands of arms. terry was held by the vigilance committee until august th and charged with attempt to murder. mr. hopkins recovered and terry, after a fair and impartial trial, was discharged from custody, though many were dissatisfied at his dismissal and claimed that he should have been held. terry was requested to resign and resigned his position as judge of the supreme court. duel between terry and broderick. in judge terry had an altercation with united states senator daniel c. broderick which caused the former to challenge the latter to a duel. this duel which was with pistols was fought september , , near lake merced, near the present site of the ocean house. it resulted in broderick's death, whose last words were, "they killed me because i was opposed to a corrupt administration, and the extension of slavery." terry was indicted for his duel with broderick, as it came in conflict with the state laws. the case was transferred to another county, marin, and there dismissed. during the civil war terry joined the confederate forces, attained the rank of brigadier-general, and was wounded at the battle of chickamauga. at the close of the conflict he repaired to california and in located at stockton and resumed the practice of the legal profession. some years later he became advocate for a lady who was one of the principals in a noted divorce suit. subsequently she became his wife. legal contention arising from the first marriage caused her to appear before the circuit court held in oakland, over which stephen j. field, associate justice of the united states supreme court, presided. terry and field, shooting of terry. in open court the justice proceeded to read the decision. as he continued, the tenor was manifestly unfavorable to mrs. terry. she suddenly arose and interrupted the reading by violently upbraiding field. he ordered her removal from the judicial chamber. she resisted, and terry coming to his wife's assistance, drew a knife and assaulted the bailiffs. he was disarmed, and together with his wife, overpowered and secured. the court of three judges sentenced mrs. terry to one month, and her husband to six months imprisonment, which they served in full. justice field returned to washington, and the next year in fulfillment of his official requirements came again to california. he had been informed that terry uttered threats of violence against his person, and therefore he was accompanied by a man employed by the government to act in the capacity of body-guard. on the journey from los angeles to san francisco, field and his companion, with other passengers, left the train to lunch at lathrop. terry and his wife, who had boarded the cars en route, also left the cars and shortly afterwards entered the same restaurant. a few minutes later terry arose from his seat, walked directly back of field and slapped or struck the venerable justice on the face, while he was seated. nagle, the guard who attended field, leaped to his feet and shot terry twice. terry fell and died instantly. this event occurred on the th day of august, , not quite thirty years from the time he shot broderick. hetherington and randall. on the evening of july , , the vigilance committee had another case on their hands which called for immediate action. joseph hetherington, a well-known desperate character with a previous record, picked a quarrel with dr. randal in the lobby of the nicholas hotel. they both drew their revolvers and shot: after the second report the doctor dropped and hetherington, stooping, shot again, striking the prostrate form in the head, rendering the victim almost unconscious. he died the next morning. the shooting was brought about through randal's inability to repay money borrowed from hetherington on a mortgage on real estate. hetherington, who was captured by the police, had been turned over to the committee by whom he was tried, the committee going into session immediately after the shooting, found him guilty of murder and sentenced him to be hanged. we were again called out on the th and were stationed so as to command the situation. this time a gallows was erected on davis street, between sacramento and commercial. another man, philander brace by name, was also to be hanged at the same time, and at about : in the afternoon of july th they were both conveyed in carriages, strongly guarded, to the execution grounds. hetherington had previously proclaimed his innocence, claiming that the doctor had shot first and he had simply shot in self-defense, but his previous record was bad, he having killed a doctor baldwin in and had run a gambling joint on long wharf, and eye witnesses claimed that he not only provoked but shot first. brace was of a different nature, he was a hardened criminal of a low type. the charge against him being the killing of captain j. b. west about a year previous, out in the mission, and of murdering his accomplice. he had also confessed to numerous other crimes. hanging of hetherington and brace. thousands of people were on the house-tops and in windows and on every available spot from which a view of the gallows was to be had. the prisoners mounted the scaffold, being accompanied by three vigilance committee officers who acted as executioners and a rev. mr. thomas. after the noose had been adjusted, hetherington addressed the crowd, claiming to be innocent, and ready to meet his maker. brace, every once in a while, interrupted him, using terrible and vulgar language. the caps were adjusted, the ropes cut and the two dropped into eternity. they were left hanging minutes, after which the bodies were removed by the committee to their rooms and afterwards turned over to the coroner. they were both young men--hetherington , a native of england, had been in california since , while brace was but , a native of onandaigua county, n. y. ballot box stuffing. the ballot boxes that had been used by casey and his ilk were of a peculiar construction, having false slides on the sides and bottoms that could be slipped out and thereby letting enough spurious votes drop into the box to insure the election of their man or men. it was claimed that nearly the entire set of municipal officers then holding office had secured their election through this man. they were afterwards requested by the vigilance committee to resign their offices, but at the first election that was held on november th, they were all displaced by men selected by a new party (the people's party) that was the outcome of the efforts of the vigilance committee. billy mulligan. william mulligan was shipped out of the state on the steamer "golden age" on june th, , with instructions never to return under penalty of death. however, after three or four years of absence he returned to san francisco. he was often seen on the street, but was not molested until sometime in the summer of when he got a crowd of boys around him on the crossing of prospect place and clay street, between powell and mason streets. it was not long before he had trouble with them and shot into the crowd, injuring a boy, however, not seriously. the police were soon on the ground, but mulligan had made his way into the old st. francis hotel on the corner of clay and dupont streets which was vacant at that time. the police came and they were directed to the building where billy could be found. when the police entered they found they were half a story below the floor of a very large room in the second story. billy was called upon to surrender. he told them that the first one that put his head above the floor would be a dead man, and knowing the desperate character they were dealing with, they thought best to retire and get instruction from the city attorney, who told them they had a right to take him dead or alive, whereupon they proceeded to arm themselves with rifles and stationed themselves on the second floor of a building on the opposite side of the street from the st. francis on dupont street, and when mulligan was passing one of the windows the police fired. mulligan dropped to the floor, dead as a door nail. he was turned over to the coroner and has not been seen on the streets since. charles p. duane is another one of twenty-seven men who were shipped out of the state and returned. he shot a man named ross on merchant street, near kearny. i do not remember whether the man lived or died, or what became of duane. black list. from the book entitled "san francisco vigilance committee of ' ," by f. w. smith, i quote the following, with some corrections and alterations: "i am informed by an ex-vigilante that the committee roll call of ' , just before its disbandment, numbered between eight and nine thousand. in concluding our history of this society, we will give the names and penalties inflicted on those who came under its eye during the latter year; whose conduct was so irreparably bad that it could not be excused. those who suffered the death penalty did so in expiation for lives they had taken. the names of these culprits are familiar to the reader. we also give the names of those who were required to leave the state; all of whom, in the archives of the vigilantes, fall under the head of the black list:" james p. casey, executed may nd, . charles cora, executed may nd, . joseph hetherington, executed july th, . philander brace, executed july th, . yankee sullivan (francis murray), suicided may st, . chas. p. duane, shipped on "golden age," june th, . william mulligan, shipped on "golden age," june th, . woolley kearney, shipped on "golden age," june th, . bill carr, sent to sandwich islands, june th, , bark "yankee." martin gallagher, sent to sandwich island, june th, , bark "yankee." edward bulger, sent to sandwich islands, june th, , bark "yankee." peter wightman, ran away about june st, . ned mcgowan, ran away about june st, . john crow, left on "sonora," june th, . bill lewis, shipped on "sierra nevada,"--june th, . terrence kelley, shipped on "sierra nevada," june , . john lowler, shipped on "sierra nevada," june th, . william hamilton, shipped on "sierra nevada," june th, . james cusick, ordered to leave but refused to go, and fled into the interior. james hennessey, ordered to leave, but fled to the interior. t. b. cunningham, shipped july th, , on "john l. stephens." alex. h. purple, shipped july th, , on "john l. stephens." torn mulloy, shipped july th, , , on "john l. stephens." lewis mahoney, shipped july , , on "john l. stephen,." j. r. maloney, shipped july th, , on "john l. stephens." dan'l aldrich, shipped july th, , on "john l. stephens." james white, shipped july st, , on "golden age." james burke, alias "activity," shipped july st, , on "golden age." wm. f. mclean, shipped july st, , on "golden age." abraham kraft, shipped july st, , on "golden age." john stephens, shipped september , , on "golden age." james thompson, alias "liverpool jack," shipped september , , on "golden age." many others either left of their own volition or under orders to leave the state. bulger and gallagher who had been shipped out of the country on june th returned to san francisco. in their haste the committee had failed to read their sentences to them and they were not aware of the penalty of returning. they were again shipped out of the country and ordered not to return under penalty of death. there were persons killed during the first months of . six of these were hanged by the sheriff, and forty-six by the mobs, and the balance were killed by various means by the lawless element. "fort gunnybags" . on march , , the california historic landmarks league placed a bronze tablet on the face of the building at sacramento street that had formerly been the headquarters of the vigilance committee of , inscribed as follows: "fort gunnybags was situated on this spot, headquarters of the vigilance committee in the year ." many of the old committee and pioneers participated in the ceremonies. the old monumental bell which had been used those stirring days was also in evidence and pealed out its last "call to arms." closing chapter of vigilance committee. as a closing chapter to the history of the vigilance committee of , or at least the immediate cause of its coming into existence, there was sold at public auction in san francisco on the evening of january th, , the very papers that james king, of william, had had transcribed from the records in new york and published in his paper the "evening bulletin" showing the record of casey's indictment, imprisonment and pardon, the publication of which he, casey, resented by shooting king. in addition to these documents were sold many of the books, papers, etc., of as well as other books and papers relating to the vigilance committee that had been collected together by mr. c. j. king, a son of james king of william. vigilance committee work in , ' and ' . while there has been a great deal said about the vigilance committee in california in , there has not been much said about it in ' , ' and ' . that the reader may know what was going on up to that time, i must now draw largely from previously published accounts for my information, for a condensed statement. on the th day of january, , mr. washington a. bartlet became the first alcalde of san francisco, under the american flag. at this time the population numbered , including indians. during ' and ' it increased to two thousand, and by the last of july, , it was over five thousand. the condition of the town at this time was terribly demoralized, gambling, drunkenness and fights on every corner. about this this came a class of offscourings of other countries and the curses to california. it was during this dreadful state of uncertainty that the famous vigilance committee of was organized, and it now became known that there was an organized committee for the purpose of dealing with criminals. it was about this time the case of john jenkins came up and he was arrested and tried by the committee, and condemned to be hanged. he was then hanged until he was dead. the tragic fate of jenkins, and the determination manifested to deal severely with the villains had the effect of frightening many away. the steamers to stockton and sacramento were crowded with the flying rascals. the sydney coves and the more desperate characters remained. at this, time the city served notices on all persons known to be vicious characters to leave the city at once, on fear of being forcibly expelled to the places whence they had come. this was rigidly enforced and had a very wholesome effect. the next one to come before the committee was james stuart, who was transported from england to australia for forgery. it is not worth while to go into details on account of this man, for he confessed to crimes enough to hang him a dozen times. on the morning of july th, , the taps on the bell of the monumental engine house summoned the entire vigilance committee. the prisoner was then allowed two hours grace, during which time the rev. dr. mills was closeted with him in communion. after the expiration of the two hours, the condemned was led forth under a strong guard. he was taken down battery street to the end of the market street wharf, where everything had been previously arranged for the execution. very soon after the procession reached the spot the fatal rope was adjusted and the condemned hoisted up by a derrick. the hanging of stuart seems to have been a very bungling piece of work, but this man's life was given to evil doing, and the great number of crimes confessed and committed by him would seem to say that he was not deserving of any more sympathy than which he got. this was a sorry spectacle, a human being dying like a dog, but necessity, which dared not trust itself to feelings of compassion, commanded the deed, and unprofitable sentiment sunk abashed. two more criminals and i am done with rough characters--samuel whittaker and robert mckenzie, who had been arrested and duly and fairly tried by the committee. they confessed their guilt and were condemned to be hanged. their names being familiar and repulsive to all decent citizens. they were hanged side by side in public view on august th, . the sight striking terror to the hearts of other evildoers, who were impressed by these examples that they could no longer be safe in san francisco, such as had been suspected and notified by the committee, quickly left the city; they, however, found no shelter in the interior. this brings me to where i took up the vigilance committee of . san francisco in . in view of the great and growing importance of the town of san francisco (yerba buena), situated on the great bay of the same name, we will give our readers a few pertinent and fully reliable statements. "the townsite, as recently surveyed, embraces an extent of one and one-half square miles. it is regularly laid out, being intersected by streets from to feet in width. the squares are divided into lots of from / varas (the spanish yard of / inches) front and deep, to varas square. the smaller and more valuable of these lots are those situated between high and low water mark. part of these lots were sold in january last at auction, and brought from $ to $ . the established prices of and vara lots are $ and $ . san francisco, last august, contained souls, of whom were whites, four-fifths of these being under years of age. some idea of the composition of the white population may be gathered from the following statement as to the nationality of the larger portion: english, ; german, ; irish, ; scotch, : born in the united states, ; californians, . previously to the first of april, , there had been erected in the town buildings, nearly all of which had been erected within the two years preceding, whereas in the next four months more had been constructed. there can be no better evidence of the advantages and capabilities for improvement of the place than this single fact."--st. louis "reville," february , . john a. sutter. i remember standing on the bank of the sacramento river, talking with captain sutter, in the fall of ' ; he remarked, "i have moored my boats in the tops of those cottonwood trees, where the driftwood showed not less than feet from the ground." "the plaza." portsmouth square or the "plaza," as we then called it, was located in the hub of the old settlement on the cove, and occupied half a block to the west of kearny street, between clay and washington. it was the scene of all public meetings and demonstrations. it was named after the old sloop-of-war "portsmouth," whose commanding officer, captain montgomery, landed with a command of sailors and marines on july , , raised the american flag here and proclaimed the occupancy of northern california by the united states. a salute of twenty-one guns was fired from the "portsmouth" simultaneously. on the east side of kearny street, opposite the plaza, was the "el dorado," a famous gambling saloon, adjoining which was the parker house, afterwards the jenny lind theatre, while on the north side of washington street stood the bella union theatre, and on the west on brenham place was the old monumental fire engine house whose fire bell played so prominent a part in the days of the vigilantes. in the spring of the writer was in san francisco, and made the acquaintance of captains egery and hinkley, who were the owners of the pacific foundry. they being in need of some molding sand for small work, i consented to go to san jose and get some for them. i engaged mr. watts, who had a little schooner that would carry about six tons. he was captain and i was super-cargo, and we made the trip down in about one day. i found what i wanted on the banks of a slough, loaded the schooner and returned to san francisco. while in san jose i came across two young ladies. i had a very pleasant chat with them. i learned later on that they were the daughters of mr. burnett, who became the first governor of california. i heard no more of them until , when i was on my way to monterey to attend the unveiling of the sloat monument. i enquired for them of a man in the depot, and he told me that one of them was lying over there, dead (pointing in the direction), i could not help expressing my sorrow. the captain landed me and my cargo in san francisco in good shape, without any mishap on the voyage. i delivered the cargo in good order and was well paid. early realty values. in i was in san francisco and by chance was on clay street where the city was selling -vara water lots in the neighborhood of sansome, battery and front streets, at auction, $ for inside lot, and $ for corner lots. i stood there with my hands in my pockets, and gold dust and gold coin on my person that was a burden to me and bought not a single lot. there were many others who were in the same fix that i was. you may say, "what a lot of fools," and i would say, "yes." here is another little joke: sometime before this i made a deposit of a sack of gold dust with adams & co.'s express in san francisco. when the time came for me to leave the city, i went into the office to draw my sack of dust. the clerk brought it forward at once and i said, "how much for the deposit?" he said, "five dollars." then i said, "you will have to take it out of the sack as i have no coin." he said, "are you going to sell it?" "yes," i said. "well," said he, "you can sell it at the counter on the other side, and pay that clerk." "all right," said i, and sold my dust. it amounted to $ . he counted out the $ in small change, and slipped it out onto the counter. i let it lay there until he had counted out the rest. a deal in "slugs." at this time the $ slugs were in circulation. he counted out the $ in a pile and took hold of the bottom one and set the pile over to my side of the counter, as much as to say, "there is your money." i said to him "there is five dollars coming to you for the deposit of the dust." he picked the five dollars out of the change on the counter. i picked up the balance of the change and put it into my pocket. i also picked up the pile of slugs by the bottom one in the same way that he handed them to me and dropped them into an outside pocket of my coat without counting them, and started for the four o'clock boat for stockton. on my way to the wharf i thought that pile of slugs looked large and i took them out and counted them. i found that i had twelve instead of eight. i turned around and went back to the office, to the same counter and clerk, and said to him, "do you rectify mistakes here?" he said, "not after a man leaves the office." i said, "all right," and left the office and made the stockton boat all right. but there were no insane asylums there at that time. harry meiggs. in the early fifties honest harry meiggs (as he was called) was one of our most enterprising, generous and far-seeing citizens. his first venture was in the banking business. it was while engaged in this pursuit that he gained the name "honest harry meiggs." his banking business was good for a year or so and then he conceived the idea of building a wharf at north beach. it commenced at francisco street between powell and mason streets. it extended north several hundred feet and was used for a landing place for lumber in the rough, to be conveyed to his mill on the south side of francisco street near powell. in order to accommodate the demands of trade an "l" was extended eastward from the end of his wharf. about this time he got into financial troubles. in october, , he departed with his family for chili between two days and passed out through the golden gate, and no more was heard of him for a long time. it finally became known that he was in peru, engaged in building bridges for that government. he took contracts and was very successful and became well off in a few years. he sent an agent to san francisco to hunt up all his creditors and pay them, dollar for dollar with interest. i knew a widow in san francisco in the late ' s by the name of rogers who was a creditor, who married a man by the name of allen; i think that was in . they went to peru and saw mr. meiggs. he paid all she demanded, about $ . allen returned and reported to the children that their mother died while in peru of fever, but they never got a cent of the money. mr. meiggs was born in new york in and died in peru in . san francisco's first town clock. the first public clock ever erected in san francisco was placed on the frontage of the upper story of a four-story building at nos. - montgomery street, that was being built by alexander austin. this was in . the clock was ordered by him and brought via the "panama route" from new york, arriving in san francisco on the steamer panama. mr. austin occupied the ground floor as a retail dry goods establishment and it was one of the first, if not the first, of any prominence in the city. he afterwards moved to the southeast corner of sutter and montgomery streets and continued there until when he was elected city and county tax collector. the clock remained on the building until january th, , when the then owner of the building, mr. d. f. walker, had it removed so as to arrange for the remodeling of the interior. mr. w. h. wharff, the architect in charge of the remodeling, purchased the clock and retained it in his possession until november , , when he presented it to the memorial museum of the golden gate park, where the curator, mr. g. h. barron, placed it in the "pioneer room." it is to be seen there now. admission day flag. here is an interesting fact that has never been given publicity before, and i simply relate it as told me by sarah connell, the daughter of the man that carried it. "mr. d. s. haskell, manager of the express and banking business of adams & co., conceiving the patriotic idea of having an american flag carried in the division of which his firm was to be a part, endeavored to procure an american flag, but found that nothing but flags of the size for ships or poles were to be had. he then started to find material from which to have one made, but in this he was unsuccessful also. so, undaunted, he at last found a dressmaker who lived somewhere in the neighborhood of washington and dupont streets, who found in her 'piece-bag' that she had brought from new york, enough pieces of silk and satin (they were not all alike) to make a flag three feet by two feet. he was so delighted with her handiwork that he gave her a $ slug for her work[ ]. "thus it was that adams & co. were able to parade under the stars and stripes in that memorable parade of october , , in celebration of the admission of california as a state into the union. after the parade mr. haskell presented the flag to their chief messenger, my father, mr. thomas connell, and it has been in our possession since." mr. thomas connell. mr. connell was one of the few of the early comers who never went to the mines, though of course, that was his intention. he started, but somewhere on the contra costa side--it was all contra costa then--he fell ill of malaria fever. there was no one with time to bother with a sick man and he was unable to proceed or return so he expected to end his life there. when the disease abated he concluded that he had no desire to penetrate further into the wilderness, so he turned his face towards san francisco again. he was a shipwright by trade and though there was nothing doing in his line, he saw the possibilities of a boating business when there were no wharves, piers or other accommodations for freight or passengers. one of the curious uses to which his boats were put was the carrying of a water supply. they were chartered by a company and fitted with copper tanks which were filled from springs near sausalito. on this side of the bay the water was transferred to wagons like those now used for street sprinkling and the precious fluid was supplied to householders at a remunerative rate of twenty-five cents a pail, every family having one or two hogsheads fitted with a spigot to hold the supply. mr. connell also carried the first presidential message received in the state, rowing up the sacramento river day and night in his own boat to deliver the document at the capitol, and for sake of the sentiment he also carried the last one received by steamer as far as oakland, whence the delivery was completed by train. uncle phil roach, happy valley. uncle phil roach, editor and founder of the "san francisco examiner," lived on clementina street near first. he was one of those good natured, genial old men that everybody liked, was at one time president of the society of california pioneers ( - ), and later elected to the state legislature. he afterwards acted as administrator of the blythe estate, but died before its final settlement. the place where he lived was called happy valley and the only entrance to it was at the intersection of market, bush and first streets, this crossing being at the east end of a sand dune about feet high, extending westerly about half a mile. at this time the waters of the bay came up to the corner of market and first streets, but it was not long before this, and many other sand dunes, disappeared, being scraped and carted off to fill the nearby mud flats. there was at this time a little wharf feet wide extending out into the cove from the foot of clay street at davis feet to a depth of feet. it was called "long wharf." to the north of this wharf the water lapped what is now sansome street for a block (to washington street) and followed the shore line to the corner of jackson and montgomery streets. early water supply. my mind drifts back to the days when our water system was dependent in part upon a well near the corner of market and first streets. this was in when the population of san francisco was between , and , . i was then living on third street near mission and got my supply of water from a man named somers who conveyed water about the city to his various customers in a cart. i took water from him for about three years at the rate of $ . per week. many's the time i have gone out to the mission hunting rabbits. all that part of the city was as wild as it ever was, sand dunes and low grounds. about three years later a company built a plank toll road on mission street from some point near the water front to the mission, a distance of about three miles. this made an opening through the sand dunes and that section filled up rapidly. postoffice. the postoffice was situated on the lot at the northwest corner of washington and battery streets. it was built in . previous to the erection of this building the pioneers obtained their mail from the postoffice on clay street and waverly place, and on clay street near kearny opposite the plaza (portsmouth square), and afterwards on clay and kearny streets. the great fire of destroyed these places. to avoid confusion and facilitate the delivery of the mail on the day the steamer arrived, long lines were formed of people who expected letters from home. it was a frequent occurrence to see the same people standing in place all day waiting their turn, the delivery windows being arranged alphabetically. oft-times persons would sell their places for as much as ten and even twenty dollars. john parrott. john parrott, the banker, was a good natured man and could take a joke with much grace. here is one: "a broker came to him one day and said: 'mr. parrott, i want to borrow one thousand dollars on a lot of hams in the warehouse.' 'all right,' said mr. parrott. it went on for some time and mr. parrott looked around for his ham man, but could not find him, but he found the hams and the greater part of the weight of them was maggots. mr. parrot was very much disgusted. time went on for a number of years and another man came to him to borrow money on hams in the warehouse. mr. parrott said to him, shaking his finger before the man's face, 'no more hams, no more hams,' and walked off." it was a standing joke on the street for a long time. this was late in the ' 's. in - i built two very good houses on the south side of howard street near fourth. i lived in one of them about two years and then bought on the north side of taylor street between clay and washington streets and resided there years. pony express. i was present when the first messenger mounted his pony to start on the first trip across the continent. he started from kearny street between clay and washington, opposite the "plaza"--this was on the rd of april, . it was a semi-weekly service, each rider to carry pounds of letters--rate $ per half ounce. stations were erected about miles apart and each rider was expected to span three stations, going at the rate of eight miles per hour. the first messenger to reach san francisco from the east arrived april , , and was enthusiastically received. time for letters from new york was reduced to days, the actual time taking from / to days. the best horses and the bravest of men were necessary to make these relays, over the mountains, through the snow and across the plains through the indian-infested country. the distance from san francisco to st. joseph, mo., was miles and the service was established by majors, russell & co., of leavenworth, kansas. now i will go back a few years and pick up a little experience that was scattered along the road. in i took my family around the bay for an outing in a private carriage. we went through san mateo, redwood city, santa clara, san jose, hot springs, hayward, san leandro, oakland and back to san francisco by boat. we enjoyed the trip very much without any mishap to mar its pleasure. a venture in flour. about this time i bought out loring & mason who were in the retail grocery business on the corner of taylor and clay streets. this was another venture in which i had never had any experience, "but," said i, "here goes for what there's in it." a few days later there came a man in his buggy from over the hill with whom i was very little acquainted. he had charge of the empire warehouse in the lower part of the city. his name was mr. garthwait. he called at my store and said, "woolley, i have a lot of oregon standard flour in the warehouse. the storage is paid for one month, and i will sell you what you want for $ and three bits a barrel, and you can take it out from time to time as you like." after looking the situation over for a few minutes i came to the conclusion that i could not buy any lower. i said, "well, i will take one hundred barrels." "all right," said he, and drove off. in a few days i went down and paid for it. about the middle of december it commenced to rain in the valleys and a few days later it rained in the mountains throughout the state, and the snow commenced to melt and that, together with the rain in the valleys, started the rivers to rising, and as the rivers went up so did the flour. the water gauge at sacramento indicated feet and inches in going up while flour indicated dollars and cents in going up. on the first of january, , it was still raining and the water coming down in a greater volume. communication was cut off from all parts of the country except by water. the legislature was in session that winter and was obliged to adjourn and go to san francisco to finish its labors. in order that my readers may adequately realize the greatness of this flood it is no more than fair to say that the river boats from san francisco went up j and k streets in sacramento city and took people out of the second-story windows. now, then we will call this high-water mark and flour $ a barrel and going up. during this time i was letting my customers have what they wanted at the quotation price. it continued to advance about one dollar per day until it reached sixteen dollars per barrel. at this time i had very little left and it all went at that price. very soon after this flour came in from oregon and the price went down, as well as the water, and the market assumed a lower level and business went on as usual. it must be remembered that all transportation at this time was either by water or highway. a venture in oil. in this year was the beginning of the civil war and for the benefit of those who came into active life later on i will give them a little of my experience in a small way. at the time i purchased the store of which i have spoken i took over a standing contract they had with a firm in boston to send them a specified amount of coal oil around cape horn, as near six weeks as any vessel would be leaving for san francisco. i took what was on the way at that time and the shipments were continued to me. at this time it took from sixty to seventy days to get answers to letters from the east. time and business go on. we had on an average of about two steamers a month from new york with the mails. in the war tax and stamp act came in force. it was high and quite a hardship for some but everybody paid it cheerfully and with a good grace, and felt that they were getting off easy. about this time greenbacks came into circulation as money. it was legal tender and you could not refuse it. it made a great deal of hard feeling on many occasions but after a long time it set settled down to a premium on gold, which fluctuated from day to day. finally the premium on gold was so high that currency was only fifty cents on a dollar, that is, one dollar in gold would buy two dollars in currency. on account of this many debtors would buy currency and pay their creditors with it. this was considered very crooked on the part of the debtor. i myself was a victim to some extent. the "evening bulletin" exposed a great many men by publishing their names but by so doing it made enemies and it did not last long. all bills rendered from this time on were made payable in united states gold coin. my coal oil cost me fifty cents per gallon in boston, payable in currency. the freight was also payable in currency. now my readers will readily see that my coal oil cost me a little over twenty-five cents per gallon laid down in san francisco. about there was an unusual demand for coal oil and it was scarce and there was very little on the way around cape horn, consequently the market price went up very rapidly until it reached $ . and $ . per gallon. the result was that i sold all i had in the warehouse and on the way around the horn. i kept what i had in the store for my retail trade. i do not look upon these speculations as any foresight of mine, but the change of circumstances and conditions of the market. flood of ' and ' . the great flood of ' and ' was an occasion seldom known in the state. early in december ' it commenced to rain in the valleys and snow in the mountains. in about two weeks it turned to rain in the mountains and valleys. the melting of the snow caused the rivers to rise very rapidly, the levees gave way and the waters flooded the city. the merchants commenced to put their goods on benches and counters, anywhere to keep them above water. families who had an upper story to their house moved into it. the water continued to rise until it reached a point so that the boats running between sacramento and san francisco went up j and k streets and took people out of the second story of their houses. the islands were all flooded and there was great suffering along the river besides the great loss of property. this flood did more damage than any high water since ' , but it was as an ill wind as far as it concerned my business, as i related previously. civil war times in s. f. in dr. wm. a. scott, pastor of the calvary presbyterian church, on the north side of bush street between montgomery and sansome streets, closed his services praying for the presidents of the union and of the confederate states. as soon as the benediction was pronounced mrs. thomas h. selby smuggled him out of the side door into her carriage and off to her home, fearing the congregation, which had became a seething mob, might capture and do him bodily harm. there was no demonstration at this time but the next morning there was to be seen in effigy dr. scott's form hanging from the top of the second story of a building in course of construction on the same block. it created some excitement for the time being, but it soon simmered out. lloyd tevis was getting badly frightened about this time for fear his home on the corner of taylor and jackson streets would be destroyed and appealed to the police for protection. he was told to go home and drape his home in black. this he did most effectually, the occasion being the assassination of president abraham lincoln. one of the exciting times in san francisco in was when a mob went to the office of "the examiner" on washington street near sansome and carried everything that was movable into the street and piled it up with the intention of burning. it seems that this paper was so pronounced in its sympathy with the cause of the confederacy that it aroused such a feeling as to cause drastic measures. the police authorities were informed of what was going on and colonel wood, captain of police, got a squad of policemen together and proceeded to the scene, but their movements were so slow that it was hard to tell whether they were moving or not and by the time they had reached the place the boys had carried off nearly everything that had been thrown out. i have two pieces of type now that i picked up in the street about that time. uncle phil roach, the editor, was in later years a member of the state legislature and tried to get an appropriation to cover his loss but his efforts were of no avail. president lincoln and gen. vallejo. president lincoln in the early part of the civil war called general vallejo to washington on business. while there general vallejo suggested to mr. lincoln that the united states build a railroad into mexico, believing as he said, it would be a benefit to both nations. mr. lincoln smilingly asked, "what good would it do for our people to go down to mexico even if the railroads were built? they would all die of fever and according to your belief go down yonder," with a motion of his hand towards the supposed location of the infernal regions. "i wouldn't be very sorry about that," remarked general vallejo coolly. "how so?" said mr. lincoln. "i thought you liked the yankees." "so i do," was the answer. "the yankees are a wonderful people, wonderful. wherever they go they make improvements. if they were to emigrate in large numbers to hell itself, they would somehow manage to change the climate." off to the nevada mines. uncle billy rodgers, from peoria, ill., was a fellow passenger of mine when crossing the plains in in the first division of the "turner, allen & co. pioneer mule train," consisting of wagons, mules and passengers. he was a gambler before he left home and he gambled all the way across the plains. many people think that a gambler has no heart but this man was all heart. i knew him on one occasion, after visiting a sick man in camp, to take off his shirt and give it to the sick man and go about camp for an hour to find one for himself. we arrived in california on september , . we parted about that time and i saw no more of him until the winter of ' and ' when i was on my way to white pine in nevada. we had to lay over a few days at elko, nevada, in order to get passage in the stage. as we had saddles and bridles we made an effort to get some horses and furnish our own transportation, and we had partly made arrangements with a man by the name of murphy. the day previous to this i overheard a conversation between two gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of a red hot stove. after they parted i approached the one left and said, "is this uncle billy?" he said, "yes, everybody calls me 'uncle billy' but i do not know you." i gave him my name and he was as glad to see me as i was to see him. we had a long and very pleasant chat. now to take up the line of march where i left off, i said, "hold on boys a little while i go and see a friend of mine." "all right," said they. i called on uncle billy and told him what we were doing and asked him what kind of a man murphy was, and his answer was, "he's a very good blacksmith," and repeated it two or three times, then said, "i am in a wild country and never say anything against anybody." i said, "that's enough uncle billy, i understand you thoroughly." i parted with him and we took the stage for hamilton and treasure hill. the last i heard of uncle billy was that he went north as an escort to some party and died there. uncle billy was a gambler all his life but not a drinker. his heart, his hand and his pocket were ever open and ready to respond to the relief of the distress of others. the writing of the above calls to mind another meeting with uncle billy of which i had lost sight, the date of which i cannot fix. i think it was in the first half of ' i met him on the street in san francisco and our meeting was most cordial. we had a very pleasant street visit and he said to me, "woolley, i am going home, i shall take the next steamer for new york." i said to him, "how are you fixed, uncle billy?" he said, "i have eleven thousand dollars and i am going home." i congratulated him for his courage and good luck and wished him a pleasant voyage and a happy reunion with his old friends. about a week later i met uncle billy on the street again and said to him, "how is this uncle billy, i thought you were going home on the last steamer?" "yes," said he, "i thought so too; at the same time, i thought i would just step into a faro bank and win just enough to pay my passage home so that i would have even money when i got home. but instead of that i lost every dollar i had and i am going back into the mountains again. my readers know the rest." my friends this is only one of thousands who had the same experience. in "the girl i left behind me" went east on a visit of six months, taking with her our two children. in the fall of that year ( ) i went to white pine in nevada. it was a very cold trip for me and i came home in june "thawed out," sold out my grocery business and went into the produce commission business and followed it for ten years. martin j. burke. chief of police martin j. burke i knew very well in the early sixties. he was a genial and good natured man, well liked by everybody who knew him. i went to him one time with a curb bit for a bridle which would bring the curb rein into action with only one pair of reins. he was much pleased with it and used one for a long while. george c. shreve, the jeweler, had one also, as did charles kohler, of the firm of kohler & frohling, wine men of san francisco. he offered me $ for my right but i refused it. i applied for a patent only to find that another was about twenty years ahead of me. the donahue brothers. james, peter and michael donahue, the founders of the union iron works on first and mission streets, were three honorable, upright and just men. their works have since been removed to the potrero south of the third and townsend streets depot of the southern pacific co., and have of late passed into the hands of the united steel corporation. they are the largest of their kind on the pacific coast and stand a monument to their founders. james dunahue built and owned the occidental hotel on montgomery street between sutter and bush streets. peter donahue had the foundry and machine shop. at one time there was a little misunderstanding understanding between the two and they did not speak to each other for quite a while. during this time peter started to build an addition of brick on the north side of the foundry, got up one story and stopped. the two brothers met one day opposite the unfinished building and james said, "peter why don't you go on and finish your building?" peter replied, "i have not got money enough." "oh!" said james, "go ahead and finish it up and i will let you have all the money you want." 'from that time on they resumed their brotherly relations. peter went on in his business. his last venture was to build the petaluma railroad. both are now dead. michael went east early in the ' s and i knew very little of him. the take of a young bull. in i was in the produce commission business in san francisco and had a consignor in vacaville by the name of g. n. platt who had been presented with a fine young bull by frank m. pixley, who lived in sausalito, in the hills about two miles from town. mr. platt requested me to go and get the bull and ship him to vacaville, so i left next morning for sausalito. here i sought a man who could throw the lasso. after two hours i found the man i wanted. he had the mustangs and all the necessary equipment. we mounted and left for mr. pixley's residence where we were informed that the animal we wanted was somewhere in the hills with the other cattle. this was rather indefinite information, but we had to make the best of it and started out. our mustangs were well calculated for the occasion and we went over the hills like kites. finally we saw some cattle about a mile away and we made for them, found what we were in search of and made for him. he had horns about two inches long and was as light on his feet as a deer, and gave us a lively chase for about one hour. when we had him at the end of a rope he was determined to go just the opposite way than we wanted him to, but the man and the mustang at the other end of the rope had their way part of the time, so after about two hours hard fighting we succeeded in getting the little fellow down to the wharf where i found that there would not be another boat until after dark, so i concluded to wait and come over in the morning and ship him. the next thing was to dispose of the bull for the night. i said, "here is a coal bunker, we will put him in here." so after getting permission we started for it with the bull at one end of the rope and the vaquero at the other. the bull got a little the better of the man and went up the wharf full tilt with the vaquero in tow. the vaquero said, "there is a post on the wharf, the bull will go one side and i will go the other and round him up." but he got rounded up himself and left sprawled out on the wharf. this let the curtain down for the night and the bull went back to the hills with the rope. i returned to san francisco, went back in the morning, hunted up my man and mustangs, mounted and went into the hills again for my bull. this was a bully ride, i enjoyed it hugely, found our game about noon, picked up the rope with the bull on the end of it. he was still wild and full of resistance. he was the hardest fellow of his size that i ever attempted to handle. we made our way back to the landing, found the boat waiting. i called the boat hands to help put him on board. they came. i put one at his head, one on each side and one behind, and they all had as much as they wanted to keep control of him. finally he was made fast on the boat. while on our way to san francisco a lady from the upper deck called down to me, saying, "i will give you one hundred dollars for that bull." i said, "no, madam, you cannot have him, he is going into the country for business." after landing in san francisco i had to take him from one wharf to another so as to take the vacaville boat. i got a job wagon and the boat hands to take him out and tie the fellow to the hind axle of the wagon and then go by his side to the other boat. we fastened him securely to a stanchion and tagged to his destination. this relieved me of any further responsibility. i saw him about three years later in vacaville. he was a fine large fellow with all the fire in his eye that he had in his younger days. he had a large ring in his nose with a chain running from it to the end of each horn. now as my readers have had the bear story, and now the bull story, they will excuse me on those two subjects. admission day . another event that might be of interest and worthy of reciting here on account of the many noted personages that partook in the celebration was the ceremonies connected with the th anniversary of the admission of california as a state into the union, september , . the principal places of business, banks and offices were all closed and the buildings and streets were gaily bedecked with flags and bunting. the "bear flag" being in evidence everywhere. the shipping presented a pretty sight, the vessels seeming to outvie each other in their efforts to display the greatest amount of bunting and flags. one of the features of the day was the parade. the procession started from in front of the hall of the pioneers on montgomery street north of jackson, marched along montgomery to market, to eleventh, to mission and thence to woodward's gardens, where the exercises were held. when opposite the lick house, james lick, the honored president of the society, who reviewed the passing pioneers from his rooms, was given a rousing salute by each of the delegations as they passed. in this parade were members of the pioneer organizations from sacramento, stockton, marysville, vallejo, sonoma, marin, napa, mendocino, lake and placerville, as well as the parent organization of san francisco. the escort consisted of the st, nd and rd regiments, nd brigade, n. g. c., col. w. h. l. barnes, col. john mccomb and col. archie wason, respectively. brig. gen. john hewston, jr., commanding. marshal huefner and his aide followed. next came the several visiting pioneer organizations, then the carriages of invited guests, orator, reader and others. then the home society, turning out strong. among the persons of note to have been seen and who wore the golden badge indicating that they had come here prior to , were carlos f. glein, a. a. green, a. g. abel, george graft, w. p. toler, thos. edgar, g. w. ross, p. kadel, f. ballhaus, w. c. hinckley, h. b. russ, a. g. russ, owen murry, b. p. kooser, j. e. winson, arthur cornwall, e. a. engleberg, wm. jeffry, capt. hinckley, wm. huefner, thos. roche, f. g. blume, john c. ball and thomas eagar. among the others present were ex-gox. low, mayor otis, ex-sen. cole, chas. clayton, paul k. hubbs of vallejo, eleazer frisbie, l. b. mizner, niles searles, f. w. mckinstry and dr. o. m. wozencraft, a member of the first constitutional convention of california. in the sonoma delegation were nicholas carriger, ex-president and director; wm. hargrave, a member of the original bear flag party of , mrs. w. m. boggs and mrs. a. j. grayson, who came here in in advance of the donner party. in the vallejo delegation were john paul jones donaldson, then years old, who was on this coast as early as and who came back to reside here in . wm. boggs and his delegation from sonoma were mostly all arrivals. james w. marshall, the man who discovered gold at coloma, about miles northeast from sacramento, on january th, , was with the sacramento delegation. he was then years old, hale and hearty. mr. murphy, a survivor of the donner party, was with the marysville delegation. in addition to these were many others who have since become well known through their doings in the political arena and business world, and have made names for themselves that are honored and respected to this day and will ever find a place in this state's history. at the pavilion in woodward's gardens the literary services were held. d. j. staples, acting-president, delivered a stirring address, rehearsing the events of the past years. dr. j. b. stillman then followed with an oration in which he spoke of the gold discovery in california, the effect upon the east of col. mason's report, the sudden influx of seekers of the "golden fleece" by sea and overland, of their hardships and endurance, and their experiences at the mines, etc., etc. mr. j. b. benton read a poem by mrs. james neall. the literary exercises were followed by a lunch and that by an entertainment of mixed character. billy emerson, ben cotton, billy rice, ernest linden, f. oberist, w. f. baker, j. g. russell and billy arlington of maguire's minstrel troupe, and w. s. lawton, capt. martin and l. p. ward, and the buisley family being among the entertainers. a balloon ascension followed the entertainment and during the day the "great republic" made an excursion around the bay. on an s. p. pay-car. in the summer of the paymaster of the southern pacific railroad company, major j. m. hanford, sent me an invitation to accompany him on the pay car through the san joaquin valley, to pay off the employees of the company. i was delighted to have an opportunity of going through the valley. at the appointed time i was on hand with two boxes of cigars, for i knew the major was likely to have some lively, good natured fellows with him, and i wanted to have something with me to help me along. now i must say something about this pay car, for it was a wonderful thing for me. it had the appearance on the inside of a hotel on wheels. at the rear end was a window through which the employees were paid; the depth of the room in which were the pay master and his two check clerks, was about the same as the width of the car. in it were the safe, rifles, shotguns, pistols, ammunition galore, with an opening into what was used as the dining room and berths, which would accommodate about people. then came the cook's room on one side, with a narrow passageway on the other, into a small room in the front end of the car. this car was sixty feet in length and would make you think you were in a palace hotel on wheels. hank small, who had hands as big as a garden spade, was the engineer, with engine no. , which was always expected to pull the pay car. then there was a man by the name of olmsby who was one of the check clerks, young and very fine looking. then there was another man in the employ of the company by the name of gerald who was auditor for the company and had feet twice as large as any other man. now i want my readers to hold these three men in mind and their peculiarities for i shall refer to them later on. we are all now seated at the supper table, ten in all, and all railroad men except myself, with the dignified paymaster at the head of the table and his check clerk, olmsby, at the foot, who assumed the duty of saying grace by making motions around his chest and head, accompanied with these words, "bucksaws filed and set." this created some amusement and was the only time it occurred. the supper went on and the tables were cleared away, and then there was chatting and story telling. finally i started to tell a story and had gotten fairly into it when i suddenly discovered that every man in the room was sound asleep. it did not take me long to wake them up and have every man on his feet or on the floor. this did not last long, for i brought out one of my boxes of cigars and that settled the question right there. the next day we were in the san joaquin valley and continued the trip, paying the men as we went along, until we reached bakersfield. this was the end of the road at that time. then we returned to stockton, to sacramento, to red bluff, which was the end of the road in that direction at that time. from there we returned to san francisco, having had a very fine and agreeable trip, and each one returned to his former allotted position. i at this time was in the produce commission business on washington street near front street. inside of a year mr. olmsby left the railroad company, married and went to chico, in the sacramento valley, to run a stationery store. in , the year that president hayes was elected, his wife gave birth to a child and olmsby sent a telegram to mr. hanford reading like this: "boy, born last night, has gerald's feet, hank small's hands, my good looks, and hollered for hayes all night." employ of the southern pacific. in i went into the employ of the southern pacific co. where i remained for twenty years. in on account of a rule of the company pertaining to long service and age, i was retired on a pension. i protested, they insisted, i accepted (because i could not help myself). the company was right and i appreciated the pension as they appreciated my services. in all those years i had no reason to complain of the company. shortly after my retirement from the employ of the southern pacific company i had sickness in my family and lost "the girl i left behind me," after fifty-three years of happy married life. this was in , it is now , and i am still behind, but i shall get there bye-and-bye and we will go on together side by side. sloat monument. on june , , i went to monterey, calif., to attend the ceremonies of the unveiling and dedication of the sloat monument at the presidio of monterey. the idea, conception and putting through to a successful termination of the erection of this monument, was the work of, we might say, one man, major edwin a. sherman, v. m. w. it has taken the greater part of his time for twenty-four years. a large proportion of the money necessary was raised by subscription, but things lagged for a while, when the major applied to the u. s. congress for an appropriation of $ , to complete the work and got it. the monument was then finished under the supervision of lieutenant-colonel john biddle. at the dedication which was held under the auspices of the grand lodge of masons, col. c. w. mason, u. s. a., delivered the address of welcome, major sherman gave a brief sketch of the work and lt.-col. biddle made a few remarks. m. w. w. frank pierce, rd degree mason, officiated. the monument was erected to commemorate the raising of the american flag at monterey, the capital of california, july , , by the forces under command of com. jonathan drake sloat, u. s. n. war had been declared between the u. s. and mexico. nob hill. in later days, about , the term nob hill was applied to the crown of california street from powell street westward three blocks to jones street, on account of its having been selected by the railroad magnates of the state upon which to build their new homes, it being their desire to live together in their home life as well as in their business life. on the north side of california street commencing at powell was the residence of mr. david porter. this was torn down to make way for the fairmont hotel, ground for which was broken october , . there were other small homes on other parts of the block but they too were removed and the entire block was used as a site for this famous hostelry. in the early days a long shanty feet by to feet in width stood where the porter residence formerly stood. a man by the name of mcintire owned it. it was literally covered with california honeysuckle, and a view point of the town. this entire block was acquired by the late james g. fair, one of the famous mining men of nevada, and it still remains in the family estate. the hotel was in the course of construction at the time of the great fire of april - , , and the interior had to be rebuilt entirely as well as the stonework about the exterior openings. the next of the large homes was that of james c. flood, a handsome and imposing structure of connecticut brownstone. this building stood upon the eastern half of the block between mason and taylor streets and in order to build, a huge hill of rock as high as the building now is, had to be removed. this was in . after the fire of this building was remodeled and is now occupied by the pacific-union club. mason street had just been cut through this same hill. on the west half of the block stood the home of the late d. d. colton, who made his fortune out of construction contracts on the central pacific railroad. it was afterwards purchased by c. p. huntington, another of the famous railroad magnates. on the next corner stood the large frame mansion of charles crocker, one of the builders of the c. p. r. r., built at an expense of $ , , . his son william h. built himself a home on the far corner of the same block. this takes us to jones street. when the late charles crocker selected this site for his home there was one piece of property facing on sacramento street that he could not buy, so in order to get even with the owner, a mr. young, he had a tall spite fence built around the house. the owner lived there for a while, but being shut off as he was from the sunlight, had his house removed; still he would not sell and the fence stood there for years afterwards. on the south side of the street commencing at powell stood the mansion of ex-governor leland stanford. when stanford purchased the property there stood there a fine house built by the actress julia dean hayne, with an entrance at the corner. this house was removed to the corner of pine and hyde streets. the stone retaining wall on powell and pine streets, owing to a spring on the property, gave way and had to be taken down (at the corner) and rebuilt. at the corner it extends feet below the sidewalk and is feet thick and feet high. the ground was then terraced. the building cost in the neighborhood of $ , , . on the corner above, mark hopkins built his home. at his death it passed into the hands of a mr. searles who had married hopkins' widow and, not caring to live in california, he had it converted into an art gallery, and the beautiful conservatory into art rooms for the art association of the university of california, to whom he bequeathed the property. the building cost in the neighborhood of $ , , . on the next block, between mason and taylor streets, were the hamilton home, the home of ex-mayor e. b. pond and that of the tobins. while on the block from taylor to jones street stood the a. n. towne, h. h. sherwood and george whittell residences. just beyond jones street, on the same side, stood the home of e. j. (lucky) baldwin of race horse fame. in i moved to taylor street, between clay and washington, and resided there continuously until , a period of years. and i knew of stanford, hopkins, crocker and huntington, the quartet of railroad magnates, better than they knew of me. but what shall i say of them? they have all gone beyond the boundaries of human existence and their mansions, together with all the other homes on the hill, were burned in the fire of april - , . they were all men of master minds and are deserving the highest praise for their enterprise, determination and perseverance in the great work they undertook. it was not their money that did it, it was their heads. and there is where the great indebtedness of the state of california comes in to these men. going down the eastern slope on california, just below powell on the south side, at the corner of prospect place, stood a house once occupied by lieut. john charles fremont, while on the corner below stood the home of col. jonathan d. stevenson. this building was built in and had two tiers of verandas that extended entirely around the building. the colonel died at the age of but had not owned or lived there for many years. it had been converted into a hotel and known as the harvey house. across the street on the other corner stood the grace episcopal church. the crocker heirs, not desiring to rebuild on their property on california, between taylor and jones streets, bequeathed it to the episcopal diocese on which to build a new grace church. it is now in course of construction. on pine street, at the southwest corner of stockton, stood the wilson home. on the southeast corner of mason stood the home of j. d. oliver, while on the southwest corner stood the home of mr. fred mccrellish, the owner of the "alta california," while just beyond were the homes of woods, jarboe and harrison and others. on the next block was the old stow residence while across the street isaiah w. lees, chief of police, resided. he was the greatest detective this coast has ever had--his was instinct and intuition, and his records will always remain a lasting monument. on the northwest corner of jones stood the home of the late james g. fair, of mining fame, of nevada. going north on powell street, at no. , mr. chilion beach, the bookseller, lived, while next door, no. , mr. d. d. shattuck resided. this building was erected in --mr. shattuck came to california via the isthmus and resided here years. on the next block (same side) stood a little one-story house with a high basement in which j. d. spencer, a brother of spencer the sociologist, lived for many years. just beyond stood the old high school building. on the next block, at no. , resided for many years another of the old booksellers, mr. george b. hitchcock, proprietor of the "pioneer book store," opposite the "plaza." at the northwest corner of washington stood the first brick building built in san francisco. it was built in by john truebody, the brick being brought from new york. it was originally two stories high but upon the grading of the streets it was built another story downward to the new grade. he later added another story, the fourth, on top. even to the time of the fire ( ) you could see the various stairway landings on the washington street frontage. mr. truebody originally owned this entire block. the first church building in yerba buena (as san francisco was formerly called) was the first presbyterian church on the west side of powell near washington. it was built in of hand-hewn timbers from oregon. upon the erection of the first methodist church it was moved to the rear and used as a sunday school. john truebody constructed it. in this immediate neighborhood were many a frame building that had been brought around the horn "in the knocked down state." powell street, from clay to north beach, was graded in . it and stockton street to the east, from sacramento street north to green street, were lined with neat homes and was then considered the fashionable residence section of the city, while on powell street were three churches. the streets in those days were all planked. beyond mason streets ran the trail westward to the presidio, past scattered cottages, sheds, dairies and vegetable gardens. on the east side of stockton street, between sacramento and clay streets, stood the old pioche residence, wherein were given many lavish entertainments, for its owner was an epicure and hospitable to a degree. he was a heavy speculator and at one time possessed of much property. his death was a mystery and has never been solved. during the ' 's his home was used as the chinese consulate. on the west side of taylor street at the corner of sacramento street stood the home of capt. j. b. thomas, after occupied by addison e. head, while on the corner of clay i had my grocery business, living on the next block, between clay and washington, no. . win. t. coleman, the leader of the vigilance committee, lived on the corner of washington street; this house was built by w. f. walton, and occupied in turn by s. c. hastings, wm. t. coleman and d. m. delmas, all men of prominence, while on the next corner stood the home of my old friend, gross, who came across the plains with me in . in later days, mr. chilion beach resided there. on the east side at the southeast corner of washington, stood the j. b. haggin home, while on the northeast corner stood that of the beavers, and at the corner of jackson, the tevis.' in this neighborhood also lived ina d. coolbrith, whose home was the center of the literary genius of the state, amongst them being bret harte, joaquin miller, and charles warren stoddard. josiah stanford, a brother of leland stanford, lived on the south side of jackson street, just below the tevis home. here is as good a place as any to give my readers a short account of the clay street hill underground cable railroad, which operated on clay street from leavenworth to kearny streets, a distance of seven blocks, and at an elevation of feet above the starting point. the cable car was the invention of mr. a. s. hallidie, who organized the company which built the line. this was the first time that the application of an underground cable was ever used to move street cars, and on august , , the first run up the clay street hill from kearny to leavenworth street, was made, and by september st the road was in operation. it was a wonderful exhibition, and half the town was there to witness it. many were in doubt as to the success of the enterprise. the company required the property holders on the hill to subscribe and donate towards the expense, which they did. the writer owning some property there at that time, gave $ . to further the enterprise. this was in . an interested chinese watched the moving cars and remarked: "no pushee, no pullee, go like hellee." the california street railroad company used the same device. this line was operated along california street from kearny to fillmore and first operated april , . it was afterwards extended eastward to drumm and market streets and westward to central avenue. the sutter street r. r. co. was in operation january , , and the geary street line, february , . cable cars were also operated over sacramento and washington streets as well as over powell at later dates. [ ] a few words might be said concerning the principals of this trouble. king, whose name was james king (before coming to california he had added "of william" so as to distinguish himself from others of that name), came to california november th, , engaged in mining and mercantile pursuits and in december engaged in the banking business in san francisco. in he merged with adams & co. shortly afterwards they failed, and he lost everything he possessed. through the financial backing of his friends, he started the "daily evening bulletin," october th, , a small four-page sheet about x inches in size. he was fearless in his editorials, but always within the bounds of right and justice, and took a strong position against corruption of the city officials and their means of election. his paper grew in circulation and size, and soon outstripped all the other papers combined. november th, , the cora and richardson affair held the attention of the public, and king in his fearlessness inflamed the population into taking matters into their own hands after the courts had failed to convict. and by his so doing had aroused an enmity, and determination from the lawless element to stop his utterances, even at the cost of his life, so when he attacked in his paper, one james p. casey, a lawless character, gambler and ballot box manipulator and supervisor, as having served an eighteen-months sentence in sing sing, n. y., before coming to california, who also published a paper, "the sunday times," it brought matters to a crisis, for casey taking offense at this and other attacks on his ilk, shot king on the evening of may , . the shooting of king was the cause of the formation of the vigilance committee of and the direct means of cleaning the city of the corruptness that had had swing for so many years.--[editor.] [ ] two of the unused cartridges of mr. woolley's, at the end of the troublous time of the vigilance committee, are to be seen in the oakland public museum.--[editor.] [ ] a large number of the citizens of san francisco interested themselves toward caring and providing for the family of the deceased, mr. king, and through the efforts of mr. f. w. macondray and six others, collected nearly $ , . they had erected a monument in lone mountain cemetery, supported the family, and in the money which, had by judicious investment amounted to nearly $ , , about half of this fund, was turned over to the elder children, leaving $ , on deposit, but this, through the bank's failure, netted the family only $ , . [ ] the body of james king, of william, was buried in lone mountain cemetery, that of james p. casey in mission dolores cemetery, by the members of crescent engine company no. , of which he was foreman, while that of charles cora was delivered to belle cora and its final resting place is unknown to this day, though it has been stated that she had it buried in mission dolores cemetery.--[editor.] [ ] his body was interred in mission dolores cemetery.--[editor.] [ ] the name of this "betsy ross" has been lost, though mr. connell probably knew it at the time. the flag, except for the blue field, is badly faded.--[editor.] note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h.zip) a backward glance at eighty recollections & comment by charles a. murdock massachusetts humboldt bay san francisco [illustration: a camera glance at eighty] this book is gratefully dedicated to the friends who inspired it contents chapter i. new england ii. a hidden harbor iii. nine years north iv. the real bret harte v. san francisco--the sixties vi. later san francisco vii. incidents in public service viii. an investment ix. by-product x. concerning persons xi. outings xii. occasional verse epilogue illustrations a camera glance at eighty humboldt bay, winship map francis bret harte (saroney, ) the clay-street office the day after thomas starr king (original given bret harte) horatio stebbins, san francisco, - horace davis, harvard in outings: the sierras, hawaii foreword in the autumn of the board of directors of the pacific coast conference of unitarian churches took note of the approaching eightieth birthday of mr. charles a. murdock, of san francisco. recalling mr. murdock's active service of all good causes, and more particularly his devotion to the cause of liberal religion through a period of more than half a century, the board decided to recognize the anniversary, which fell on january , , by securing the publication of a volume of mr. murdock's essays. a committee was appointed to carry out the project, composed of rev. h.e.b. speight (chairman), rev. c.s.s. dutton, and rev. earl m. wilbur. the committee found a very ready response to its announcement of a subscription edition, and mr. murdock gave much time and thought to the preparation of material for the volume. "a backward glance at eighty" is now issued with the knowledge that its appearance is eagerly awaited by all mr. murdock's friends and by a large number of others who welcome new light upon the life of an earlier generation of pioneers. the publication of the book is an affectionate tribute to a good citizen, a staunch friend, a humble christian gentleman, and a fearless servant of truth--charles a. murdock. memorial committee. genesis in the beginning, the publication of this book is not the deliberate act of the octogenarian. separate causes seem to have co-operated independently to produce the result. several years ago, in a modest literary club, the late henry morse stephens, in his passion for historical material, urged me from time to time to devote my essays to early experiences in the north of the state and in san francisco. these papers were familiar to my friends, and as my eightieth birthday approached they asked that i add to them introductory and connecting chapters and publish a memorial volume. to satisfy me that it would find acceptance they secured advance orders to cover the expense. under these conditions i could not but accede to their request. i would subordinate an unimportant personal life. my purpose is to recall conditions and experiences that may prove of historical interest and to express some of the conclusions and convictions formed in an active and happy life. i wish to express my gratitude to the members of the committee and to my friend, george prescott vance, for suggestions and assistance in preparation and publication. c.a.m. chapter i new england my very early memories alternate between my grandfather's farm in leominster, massachusetts, and the pemberton house in boston. my father and mother, both born in leominster, were schoolmates, and in due time they married. father was at first a clerk in the country store, but at an early age became the tavern-keeper. i was born on january , . soon thereafter father took charge of the pemberton house on howard street, which developed into whig headquarters. being the oldest grandson, i was welcome at the old homestead, and i was so well off under the united care of my aunts that i spent a fair part of my life in the country. my father was a descendant of robert murdock (of roxbury), who left scotland in , and whose descendants settled in newton. my father's branch removed to winchendon, home of tubs and pails. my grandfather (abel) moved to leominster and later settled in worcester, where he died when i was a small boy. my father's mother was a moore, also of scotch ancestry. she died young, and on my father's side there was no family home to visit. my mother's father was deacon charles hills, descended from joseph hills, who came from england in . nearly every new england town was devoted to some special industry, and leominster was given to the manufacture of horn combs. the industry was established by a hills ancestor, and when i was born four hills brothers were co-operative comb-makers, carrying on the business in connection with small farming. the proprietors were the employees. if others were required, they could be readily secured at the going wages of one dollar a day. my grandfather was the oldest of the brothers. when he married betsy buss his father set aside for him twenty acres of the home farm, and here he built the house in which he lived for forty years, raising a family of ten children. i remember quite clearly my great-grandfather silas hills. he was old and querulous, and could certainly scold; but now that i know that he was born in , and had nineteen brothers and sisters, i think of him with compassion and wonder. it connects me with the distant past to think i remember a man who was sixteen years old when the declaration of independence was signed. he died at ninety-five, which induces apprehension. my grandfather's house faced the country road that ran north over the rolling hills among the stone-walled farms, and was about a mile from the common that marked the center of the town. it was white, of course, with green blinds. the garden in front was fragrant from castilian roses, sweet williams, and pinks. there were lilacs and a barberry-bush. a spacious hall bisected the house. the south front room was sacred to funerals and weddings; we seldom entered it. back of that was grandma's room. stairs in the hall led to two sleeping-rooms above. the north front room was "the parlor," but seldom used. there on the center-table reposed baxter's "saints' rest" and young's "night thoughts." the fireplace flue so seldom held a fire that the swallows utilized the chimney for their nests. back of this was the dining-room, in which we lived. it had a large brick oven and a serviceable fireplace. the kitchen was an ell, from which stretched woodshed, carriage-house, pigpen, smoking-house, etc. currant and quince bushes, rhubarb, mulberry, maple, and butternut trees were scattered about. an apple orchard helped to increase the frugal income. we raised corn and pumpkins, and hay for the horse and cows. the corn was gathered into the barn across the road, and a husking-bee gave occasion for mild merrymaking. as necessity arose the dried ears were shelled and the kernels taken to the mill, where an honest portion was taken for grist. the corn-meal bin was the source of supply for all demands for breakfast cereal. hasty-pudding never palled. small incomes sufficed. our own bacon, pork, spare-rib, and souse, our own butter, eggs, and vegetables, with occasional poultry, made us little dependent on others. one of the great-uncles was a sportsman, and snared rabbits and pickerel, thus extending our bill of fare. bread and pies came from the weekly baking, to say nothing of beans and codfish. berries from the pasture and nuts from the woods were plentiful. for lights we were dependent on tallow candles or whale-oil, and soap was mostly home-made. life was simple but happy. the small boy had small duties. he must pick up chips, feed the hens, hunt eggs, sprout potatoes, and weed the garden. but he had fun the year round, varying with the seasons, but culminating with the winter, when severity was unheeded in the joy of coasting, skating, and sleighing in the daytime, and apples, chestnuts, and pop-corn in the long evenings. i never tired of watching my grandfather and his brothers as they worked in their shops. the combs were not the simple instruments we now use to separate and arrange the hair, but ornamental structures that women wore at the back of the head to control their supposedly surplus locks. they were associated with spanish beauties, and at their best estate were made of shell, but our combs were of horn and of great variety. in the better quality, shell was closely imitated, but some were frankly horn and ornamented by the application of aquafortis in patterns artistic or grotesque according to the taste and ability of the operator. the horns were sawed, split, boiled in oil, pressed flat, and then died out ready to be fashioned into the shape required for the special product. this was done in a separate little shop by uncle silas and uncle alvah. uncle emerson then rubbed and polished them in the literally one-horsepower factory, and grandfather bent and packed them for the market. the power was supplied by a patient horse, "log cabin" by name, denoting the date of his acquisition in the harrison campaign. all day the faithful nag trod a horizontal wheel in the cellar, which gave way to his efforts and generated the power that was transmitted by belt to the simple machinery above. uncle emerson generally sung psalm-tunes as he worked. deacon hills, as he was always called, was finisher, packer, and business manager. i was interested to notice that in doing up the dozen combs in a package he always happened to select the best one to tie on the outside as a sample. that was his nearest approach to dishonesty. he was a thoroughly good man, but burdened and grave. i do not know that i ever heard him laugh, and he seldom, if ever, smiled. he worked hard, was faithful to every duty, and no doubt loved his family; but soberness was inbred. he read the _cultivator_, the _christian register_, and the almanac. after the manner of his time, he was kind and helpful; but life was hard and joyless. he was greatly respected and was honored by a period of service as representative in the general court. my grandmother was a gentle, patient soul, living for her family, wholly unselfish and incapable of complaint. she was placid and cheerful, courageous and trusting. i had four fine aunts, two of whom were then unmarried and devoted to the small boy. one was a veritable ray of sunshine; the other, gifted of mind and nearest my age, was most companionable. only one son lived to manhood. he had gone from the home, but faithfully each year returned from the city to observe thanksgiving, the great day of new england. holidays were somewhat infrequent. fourth of july and muster, of course, were not forgotten, and while christmas was almost unnoticed thanksgiving we never failed to mark with all its social and religious significance. almost everybody went to meeting, and the sermon, commonly reviewing the year, was regarded as an event. the home-coming of the absent family members and the reunion at a bountiful dinner became the universal custom. there were no distractions in the way of professional football or other games. the service, the family, and plenty of good things to eat engrossed the day. it was a time of rejoicing--and unlimited pie. sunday was strictly observed. grandfather always blacked his boots before sundown of saturday night, and on sunday anything but going to meeting was regarded with suspicion, especially if it was associated with any form of enjoyment. in summer "log cabin" was hitched into the shafts of the chaise, and with gait slightly accelerated beyond the daily habit jogged to town and was deposited in the church shed during the service. at noon we rejoined him and ate our ginger-bread and cheese while he disposed of his luncheon of oats. then we went back to sunday-school, and he rested or fought flies. in winter he was decked with bells and hitched in the sleigh. plenty of robes and a foot-stove, or at least a slab of heated soap-stone, provided for grandmother's comfort. the church when it was formed was named "the first congregational." when it became unitarian, the word, in parentheses, was added. the second congregational was always called "the orthodox." the church building was a fine example of early architecture. the steeple was high, the walls were white, the pews were square. on a tablet at the right of the pulpit the ten commandments were inscribed, and at the left the beatitudes were found. the first minister i remember was saintly hiram withington, who won my loyalty by his interest manifested by standing me up by the door-jamb and marking my growth from call to call. i remember rufus p. stebbins, the former minister, who married my father and mother and refused a fee because my father had always cut his hair in the barberless days of old. amos a. smith was later in succession. i loved him for his goodness. sunday-school was always a matter of course, and was never dreaded. i early enjoyed the rollo books and later reveled in mayne reid. the haymow in the barn and a blessed knothole are associated with many happy hours. reading has dangers. i think one of the first books i ever read was a bound volume of _merry's museum_. there was a continued story recounting the adventures of one dick boldhero. it was illustrated with horrible woodcuts. one of them showed dick bearing on a spirited charger the clasped form of the heroine, whom he had abducted. it impressed me deeply. i recognized no distinction of sex or attractiveness and lived in terror of suffering abduction. when i saw a stranger coming i would run into the shop and clasp my arms around some post until i felt the danger past. this must have been very early in my career. indeed one of my aunts must have done the reading, leaving me to draw distress from the thrilling illustrations. a very early trial was connected with a visit to a school. i was getting proud of my ability to spell small words. a primer-maker had attempted to help the association of letters with objects by placing them in juxtaposition, but through a mistake he led me to my undoing. i knew my letters and i knew some things. i plainly distinguished the letters p-a-n. against them i was puzzled by a picture of a spoon, and with credulity, perhaps characteristic, i blurted out "p-a-n--spoon," whereat to my great discomfiture everybody laughed. i have never liked being laughed at from that day to this. i am glad that i left new england early, but i am thankful that it was not before i realized the loveliness of the arbutus as it braved the snow and smiled at the returning sun, nor that i made forts or played morris in the snow at school. i have passed on from my first impressions in the country perhaps unwarrantedly. it is hard to differentiate consistently. i may have mixed early memories with more mature realization. i did not live with my grandmother continuously. i went back and forth as convenience and others' desires prompted. i do not know what impressions of life in the pemberton house came first. very early i remember helping my busy little mother, who in the spring of the year uncorded all the bedsteads and made life miserable for the festive bedbugs by an application of whale oil from a capable feather applied to the inside of all holes through which the ropes ran. the re-cording of the beds was a tedious process requiring two persons, and i soon grew big enough to count as one. i remember also the little triangular tin candlesticks that we inserted at the base of each of the very small panes of the window when we illuminated the hotel on special nights. i distinctly recall the quivering of the full glasses of jelly on tapering disks that formed attractive table ornaments. daniel webster was often the central figure at banquets in the pemberton. general sam houston, senator from texas, was also entertained, for i remember that my father told me of an incident that occurred many years after, when he passed through san antonio. as he strolled through the city he saw the senator across the street, but, supposing that he would not be remembered, had no thought of speaking, whereupon houston called out, "young man, are you not going to speak to me!" my father replied that he had not supposed that he would be remembered. "of course i remember meeting you at the pemberton house in boston." i remember some of the boarders, regular and transient, distinguished and otherwise. there was a young grocery clerk who used to hold me in his lap and talk to me. he became one of the best of california's governors, frederick f. low, and was a close friend of thomas starr king. a wit on a san francisco paper once published at thanksgiving time "a thanksgiving proclamation by our stuttering reporter--'praise god from whom all blessings f-f-low.'" in my memory he is associated with haymaker square. i well remember the famous circus clown of the period, joe pentland, very serious and proper when not professionally funny. a minstrel who made a great hit with "jim crow" once gave me a valuable lesson on table manners. one barrett, state treasurer, was a boarder. he had a standing order: "roast beef, rare and fat; gravy from the dish." madame biscaccianti, of the italian opera, graced our table. so did the original drew family. the hotel adjoined the howard athenaeum, and i profited from peeping privileges to the extent of many pins. i recall some wonderful trained animals--van amberg's, i think. a lion descended from back-stage and crawled with stealth upon a sleeping traveler in the foreground. it was thrilling but harmless. there were also some viennese dancers, who introduced, i believe, the cracovienne. i remember a "sissy madigan," who seemed a wonder of beauty and charm. there was great excitement when the athenaeum caught on fire. i can see the trunks being dragged down the stairs to the damage of the banisters, and great confusion and dismay among our boarders. a small boy was hurried in his nightie across the street and kept till all danger had passed. a very early memory is the marching through the streets of soldiers bound for the mexican war. off and on, i lived in boston till , when my father left for california and the family returned to leominster. my first school in boston was in the basement of park street church. hermann clarke, son of our minister, rev. james freeman clarke, was a fellow pupil. afterward i went to the mayhew grammar school, connected in my mind with a mild chastisement for imitating a trombone when a procession passed by. the only other punishment i recall was a spanking by my father for playing "hookey" and roaming in the public garden. i remember sunday-school parades through certain public streets. but the great event was the joining of all the day schools in the great parade when cochituate water was introduced into the city. it was a proud moment when the fountain in the frogpond on the common threw on high the water prodigiously brought from far cochituate. another boston memory is the boston theater, where william warren reigned. cinderella and her pumpkin carriage are fresh in my mind. i also recall a waxwork representation of the birth in the manger. i still can see the heads of the cattle, the spreading horns, and the blessed babe. as i recall my early boyhood, many changes in customs seem suggested. there may be trundle-beds in these days, but i never see them. no fathers wear boots in this era, and bootjacks are as extinct as the dodo. i have kept a few letters written by my mother when i was away from her. they were written on a flat sheet, afterward folded and fastened by a wafer. envelopes had not arrived; neither had postage-stamps. sealing-wax was then in vogue and red tape for important documents. in all well-regulated dwellings there were whatnots in the corner with shells and waxworks and other objects of beauty or mild interest. the pictures did not move--they were fixed in the family album. the musical instruments most in evidence were jew's-harps and harmonicas. the rollo books were well calculated to make a boy sleepy. the franconia books were more attractive, and "the green mountain boy" was thrilling. a small boy's wildest dissipation was rolling a hoop. and now california casts her shadow. my father was an early victim. i remember his parting admonition, as he was a man of few words and seldom offered advice. "be careful," he said, "of wronging others. do not repeat anything you hear that reflects on another. it is a pretty good rule, when you cannot speak well of another, to say nothing at all." he must have said more, but that is all that i recall. father felt that in two years he would return with enough money to provide for our needs. in the meantime we could live at less expense and in greater safety in the country. we returned to the town we all loved, and the two years stretched to six. we three children went to school, my mother keeping house. in my grandfather died, and in my grandmother joined him. during these leominster days we greatly enjoyed a visit from my father's sister, charlotte, with her husband, john downes, an astronomer connected with harvard university. they were charming people, bringing a new atmosphere from their cambridge home. uncle john tried to convince me that by dividing the heavens i might count the visible stars, but he did not succeed. he wrote me a fine, friendly letter on his returning home, in , using a sheet of blue paper giving on the third page a view of the college buildings and a procession of the alumni as they left the church sept. , . in the letter he pronounced it a very good view. it is presented elsewhere, in connection with the picture of a friend who entered the university a few years later. school life was pleasant and i suppose fairly profitable. until i entered high school i attended the ungraded district school. it was on the edge of a wood, and a source of recess pleasure was making umbrageous homes of pine boughs. on the last day of school the school committee, the leading minister, the ablest lawyer, and the best-loved doctor were present to review and address us. we took much pride in the decoration. wreaths of plaited leaves were twisted around the stovepipe; the top of the stove was banked with pond-lilies gathered from a pond in our woods. medals were primitive. for a week i wore a pierced ninepence in evidence of my proficiency in mental arithmetic; then it passed to stronger hands. according to present standards we indulged in precious little amusement. entertainments were few. once in a while a circus came to town, and there were organizations of musical attractions like the hutchinson family and the swiss bell ringers. ossian e. dodge was a name with which to conjure, and a panorama was sometimes unrolled alternating with dissolving views. seen in retrospect, they all seem tame and unalluring. the lyceum was, the feature of strongest interest to the grownups. lectures gave them a chance to see men of note like wendell phillips, emerson, or william lloyd garrison. even boys could enjoy poets of the size of john g. saxe. well do i remember the distrust felt for abolitionists. i had an uncle who entertained fred douglass and was ready at any time to help a fugitive slave to canada. he was considered dangerous. he was a shoemaker, and i remember how he would drop his work when no one was by and get up to pace the floor and rehearse a speech he probably never would make. occasionally our singing-school would give a concert, and once in a farmers' chorus i was costumed in a smock cut down from one of grandfather's. i carried a sickle and joined in "through lanes with hedgerows, pearly." i kept up in the singing but let my attention wander as the farmers made their exit and did not notice that i was left till the other boys were almost off the stage. i then skipped after them, swinging my scythe in chagrin. in the high school we gave an exhibition in which we enacted some scotch scene. i think it had to do with roderick dhu. we were to be costumed, and i was bothered about kilts and things. mr. phillips, the principal, suggested that the stage be set with small evergreen trees. the picture of them in my mind's eye brought relief, and i impulsively exclaimed, "that will be good, because we will not have to wear pants," meaning, of course, the kilts. he had a sense of humor and was a tease. he pretended to take me literally, and raised a laugh as he said, "why, murdock!" one bitterly cold night we went to fitchburg, five miles away, to describe the various pictures given at a magic-lantern exhibition. my share was a few lines on a poor view of scarborough castle. at this distance it seems like a poor investment of energy. i wonder if modern education has not made some progress in a generation. here was a boy of fourteen who had never studied history or physics or physiology and was assigned nothing but latin, algebra and grammar. i left at fourteen and a half to come to california, knowing little but what i had picked up accidentally. a diary of my voyage, dating from june , , vividly illustrates the character of the english inculcated by the school of the period. it refers to the "crowd assembled to witness our departure." it recounts all we saw, beginning with washacum pond, which we passed on our way to worcester: "of considerable magnitude, ... and the small islands which dot its surface render it very beautiful." the buildings of new york impressed the little prig greatly. trinity church he pronounces "one of the most splendid edifices which i ever saw," and he waxes into "opalian" eloquence over barnum's american museum, which was "illuminated from basement to attic." we sailed on the "george law," arriving at aspinwall, the eastern terminal of the panama railroad, in ten days. crossing the isthmus, with its wonders of tropical foliage and varied monkeys, gave a glimpse of a new world. we left panama june th and arrived at san francisco on the morning of the th. let the diary tell the tale of the beginning of life in california: "i arose about - / this morning and went on deck. we were then in the golden gate, which is the entrance into san francisco bay. on each side of us was high land. on the left-hand side was a lighthouse, and the light was still burning. on my right hand was the outer telegraph building. when they see us they telegraph to another place, from which they telegraph all over san francisco. when we were going in there was a strong ebb tide. we arrived at the wharf a little after five o'clock. the first thing which i did was to look for my father. him i did not see." father had been detained in humboldt by the burning of the connecting steamer, so we went to wilson's exchange in sansome near sacramento street, and in the afternoon took the "senator" for sacramento, where my uncle and aunt lived. the part of a day in san francisco was used to the full in prospecting the strange city. we walked its streets and climbed its hills, much interested in all we saw. the line of people waiting for their mail up at portsmouth square was perhaps the most novel sight. a race up the bay, waiting for the tide at benicia, sticking on the "hog's back" in the night, and the surprise of a flat, checkerboard city were the most impressive experiences of the trip to sacramento. a month or so on this compulsory visit passed very pleasantly. we found fresh delight in watching the chinese and their habits. we had never seen a specimen before. a very pleasant picnic and celebration on the fourth of july was another attractive novelty. cheap john auctions and frequent fires afforded amusement and excitement, and we learned to drink muddy water without protest. on the th the diary records: "last night about o'clock i woke, and who should i behold, standing by me, but my father! is it possible that after a separation of nearly six years i have at last met my father? it is even so. this form above me is, indeed, my father's." the day's entry concludes: "i have really enjoyed myself today. i like the idea of a father very well." we were compelled to await an upcoast steamer till august, when that adventurous craft, the steamer "mckim," now newly named the "humboldt," resumed sea-voyages. the pacific does not uniformly justify the name, but this time it completely succeeded. the ocean was as smooth as the deadest mill-pond--not a breath of wind or a ripple of the placid surface. treacherous humboldt bar, sometimes a mountain of danger, did not even disclose its location. the tar from the ancient seams of the humboldt's decks responded to the glowing sun until pacing the deck was impossible, but sea-sickness was no less so. we lazily steamed into the beautiful harbor, up past eureka, her streets still occupied by stumps, and on to the ambitious pier stretching nearly two miles from uniontown to deep water. and now that the surroundings may be better understood, let me digress from the story of my boyhood and touch on the early romance of humboldt bay--its discovery and settlement. chapter ii a hidden harbor the northwesterly corner of california is a region apart. in its physical characteristics and in its history it has little in common with the rest of the state. with no glamour of spanish occupancy, its romance is of quite another type. at the time of the discovery of gold in california the northwestern portion of the state was almost unknown territory. for seven hundred miles, from fort ross to the mouth of the columbia, there stretched a practically uncharted coast. a few headlands were designated on the imperfect map and a few streams were poorly sketched in, but the great domain had simply been approached from the sea and its characteristics were mostly a matter of conjecture. so far as is known, not a white man lived in all california west of the coast range and north of fort ross. here is, generally speaking, a mountainous region heavily timbered along the coast, diversified with river valleys and rolling hills. a marked peculiarity is its sharp slope toward the northwest for its entire length. east of the coast range the sacramento river flows due south, while to the west of the broken mountains all the streams flow northwesterly--more northerly than westerly. eel river flows about miles northerly and, say, forty miles westerly. the same course is taken by the mattole, the mad, and the trinity rivers. the watershed of this corner to the northwest is extensive, including a good part of what are now mendocino, trinity, siskiyou, humboldt, and del norte counties. the drainage of the westerly slope of the mountain ranges north and west of shasta reaches the pacific with difficulty. the klamath river flows southwest for miles until it flanks the siskiyous. it there meets the trinity, which flows northwest. the combined rivers take the direction of the trinity, but the name of the klamath prevails. it enters the ocean about thirty miles south of the oregon line. the whole region is extremely mountainous. the course of the river is tortuous, winding among the mountains. the water-flow shows the general trend of the ranges; but most of the rivers have numerous forks, indicating transverse ridges. from an aeroplane the mountains of northern california would suggest an immense drove of sleeping razor-backed hogs nestling against one another to keep warm, most of their snouts pointed northwest. less than one-fourth of the land is tillable, and not more than a quarter of that is level. yet it is a beautiful, interesting and valuable country, largely diversified, with valuable forests, fine mountain ranges, gently rolling hills, rich river bottoms, and, on the upper trinity, gold-bearing bars. mendocino (in humboldt county) was given its significant name about . when heceta and bodega in were searching the coast for harbors, they anchored under the lee of the next northerly headland. after the pious manner of the time, having left san blas on trinity sunday, they named their haven trinidad. their arrival was six days before the battle of bunker hill. it is about forty-five miles from cape mendocino to trinidad. the bold, mountainous hills, though they often reach the ocean, are somewhat depressed between these points. halfway between them lies humboldt bay, a capacious harbor with a tidal area of twenty-eight miles. it is the best and almost the only harbor from san francisco to puget sound. it is fourteen miles long, in shape like an elongated human ear. it eluded discovery with even greater success than san francisco bay, and the story of its final settlement is striking and romantic. neither cabrillo nor heceta nor drake makes mention of it. in vancouver followed the coast searchingly, but when he anchored in what he called the "nook" of trinidad he was entirely ignorant of a near-by harbor. we must bear in mind that spain had but the slightest acquaintance with the empire she claimed. the occasional visits of navigators did not extend her knowledge of the great domain. it is nevertheless surprising that in the long course of the passage of the galleons to and from the philippines the bays of san francisco and humboldt should not have been found even by accident. the nearest settlement was the russian colony near bodega, one hundred and seventy-five miles to the south. in kuskoff found a river entering the ocean near the point. he called it slavianski, but general vallejo rescued us from that when he referred to it as russian river. the land was bought from the indians for a trifle. madrid was applied to for a title, but the spaniards declined to give it. the russians held possession, however, and proceeded with cultivation. to better protect their claims, nineteen miles up the coast, they erected a stockade mounting twenty guns. they called the fort kosstromitinoff, but the spaniards referred to it as _el fuerte de los rusos_, which was anglicized as fort russ, and, finally, as fort ross. the colony prospered for a while, but sealing "pinched out" and the territory occupied was too small to satisfy agricultural needs. in the russians sold the whole possession to general sutter for thirty thousand dollars and withdrew from california, returning to alaska. in a party of adventurers started north from fort ross for oregon, following the coast. one jedidiah smith, a trapper, was the leader. it is said that smith river, near the oregon line, was named for him. somewhere on the way all but four were reported killed by the indians. they are supposed to have been the first white men to enter the humboldt country. among the very early settlers in california was pearson b. redding, who lived on a ranch near mount shasta. in , on a trapping expedition, he struck west through a divide in the coast range and discovered a good-sized, rapid river flowing to the west. from its direction and the habit of rivers to seek the sea, he concluded that it was likely to reach the pacific at about the latitude of trinidad, named seventy years before. he thereupon gave it the name of trinity, and in due time left it running and returned to his home. three years passed, and gold was discovered by marshall. redding was interested and curious and visited the scene of marshall's find. the american river and its bars reminded him of the trinity, and when he returned to his home he organized a party to prospect it. gold was found in moderate quantities, especially on the upper portions. the trinity mines extended confidence and added to the excitement. camps sprang up on every bar. the town of weaverville took the lead, and still holds it. quite a population followed and the matter of provisioning it became serious. the base of supplies was sacramento, two hundred miles distant and over a range of mountains. to the coast it could not be more than seventy miles. if the trinity entered a bay or was navigable, it would be a great saving and of tremendous advantage. the probability or possibility was alluring and was increasingly discussed. in october, , there were at rich bar forty miners short of provisions and ready for any adventure. the indians reported that eight suns to the west was a large bay with fertile land and tall trees. a vision of a second san francisco, a port for all northern california, urged them to try for it. twenty-four men agreed to join the party, and the fifth of november was set for the start. dr. josiah gregg was chosen leader and two indians were engaged as guides. when the day arrived the rain was pouring and sixteen of the men and the two guides backed out, but the remaining eight were courageous (or foolhardy) and not to be thwarted. with a number of pack animals and eight days' supplies they started up the slippery mountainside. at the summit they encountered a snowstorm and camped for the night. in the morning they faced a western view that would have discouraged most men--a mass of mountains, rough-carved and snow-capped, with main ridges parallel on a northwesterly line. in every direction to the most distant horizon stretched these forbidding mountains. the distance to the ocean was uncertain, and their course to it meant surmounting ridge after ridge of the intervening mountains. they plunged down and on, crossed a swollen stream, and crawled up the eastern side of the next ridge. for six days this performance was repeated. then they reached a large stream with an almost unsurmountable mountain to the west. they followed down the stream until they found it joined another of about equal size. they had discovered the far-flowing south fork of the trinity. they managed to swim the united river and found a large indian village, apparently giving the inhabitants their first view of white men. the natives all fled in fright, leaving their camps to the strange beings. the invaders helped themselves to the smoked salmon that was plentiful, leaving flour in exchange. at dusk about eighty of the fighting sex returned with renewed courage, and threateningly. it took diplomacy to postpone an attack till morning, when powder would be dry. they relied upon a display of magic power from their firearms that would impress superior numbers with the senselessness of hostilities. they did not sleep in great security, and early in the morning proceeded with the demonstration, upon which much depended. when they set up a target and at sixty yards pierced a scrap of paper and the tree to which it was pinned the effect was satisfactory. the indians were astonished at the feat, but equally impressed by the unaccountable noise from the explosion. they became very friendly, warned the wonder-workers of the danger to be encountered if they headed north, where indians were many and fierce, and told them to keep due west. the perilous journey was continued by the ascent of another mountainside. provisions soon became very scarce, nothing but flour remaining, and little of that. on the th they went dinnerless to their cold blankets. their animals had been without food for two days, but the next morning they found grass. a redwood forest was soon encountered, and new difficulties developed. the underbrush was dense and no trails were found. fallen trees made progress very slow. two miles a day was all they could accomplish. they painfully worked through the section of the marvelous redwood belt destined to astonish the world, reaching a small prairie, where they camped. the following day they devoted to hunting, luckily killing a number of deer. here they remained several days, drying the venison in the meantime; but when, their strength recuperated, they resumed their journey, the meat was soon exhausted. three days of fasting for man and beast followed. two of the horses were left to their fate. then another prairie yielded more venison and the meat of three bears. for three weeks they struggled on; life was sustained at times by bitter acorns alone. at length the welcome sound of surf was heard, but three days passed before they reached the ocean. three of the animals had died of starvation in the last stretch of the forest. the men had not eaten for two days, and devoted the first day on the beach to securing food. one shot a bald eagle; another found a raven devouring a cast-up fish, both of which he secured. all were stewed together, and a good night's sleep followed the questionable meal. the party struck the coast near the headland that in had been named trinidad, but not being aware of this fact they named it, for their leader, gregg's point. after two days' feasting on mussels and dried salmon obtained from the indians, they kept on south. soon after crossing a small stream, now named little river, they came to one by no means so little. dr. gregg insisted on getting out his instruments and ascertaining the latitude, but the others had no scientific interest and were in a hurry to go on. they hired indians to row them across in canoes, and all except the doctor bundled in. finding himself about to be left, he grabbed up his instruments and waded out into the stream to reach the canoe, which had no intention of leaving him. he got in, wet and very angry, nursing his wrath till shore was reached; then he treated his companions to some vigorous language. they responded in kind, and the altercation became so violent that the row gave the stream its name, mad river. they continued down the beach, camping when night overtook them. wood, the chronicler of the expedition, [footnote: "the narrative of l.k. wood," published many years after, and largely incorporated in bledsoe's "history of the indian wars of northern california," is the source of most of the incidents relating to gregg's party embraced in this chapter.] and buck went in different directions to find water. wood returned first with a bucketful, brackish and poor. buck soon after arrived with a supply that looked much better, but when gregg sampled it he made a wry face and asked buck where he found it. he replied that he dipped it out of a smooth lake about a half mile distant. it was good plain salt water; they had discovered the mythical bay--or supposed they had. they credulously named it trinity, expecting to come to the river later. the next day they proceeded down the narrow sand strip that now bounds the west side of humboldt bay, but when they reached the harbor entrance from the ocean they were compelled to retrace their steps and try the east shore. the following day they headed the bay, camping at a beautiful plateau on the edge of the redwood belt, giving a fine view of a noble landlocked harbor and a rich stretch of bottom land reaching to mad river. here they found an abundant spring, and narrowly missed a good supper; for they shot a large elk, which, to their great disappointment, took to the brush. it was found dead the next morning, and its head, roasted in ashes, constituted a happy christmas dinner--for december th had arrived, completing an even fifty days since the start from rich bar. they proceeded leisurely down the east side of the bay, stopping the second day nearly opposite the entrance. it seemed a likely place for a townsite, and they honored the water-dipping discoverer by calling it bucksport. then they went on, crossing the little stream now named elk river, and camping near what was subsequently called humboldt point. they were disappointed that no river of importance emptied into so fine a bay, but they realized the importance of such a harbor and the value of the soil and timber. they were, however, in no condition to settle, or even to tarry. their health and strength were impaired, ammunition was practically exhausted, and there were no supplies. they would come back, but now they must reach civilization. it was midwinter and raining almost constantly. they had little idea of distance, but knew there were settlers to the south, and that they must reach them or starve. so they turned from the bay they had found to save their lives. the third day they reached a large river flowing from the south, entering the ocean a few miles south of the bay. as they reached it they met two very old indians loaded down with eels just taken from the river, which the indians freely shared with the travelers. they were so impressed with them and more that followed that they bestowed on the magnificent river which with many branches drains one of the most majestic domains on earth the insignificant, almost sacrilegious name of _eel_! for two days they camped, consuming eels and discussing the future. a most unfortunate difference developed, dividing the little group of men who had suffered together so long. gregg and three others favored following the ocean beach. the other four, headed by wood, were of the opinion that the better course would be to follow up eel river to its head, crossing the probably narrow divide and following down some stream headed either south or east. neither party would yield and they parted company, each almost hopeless. wood and his companions soon found their plan beset with great difficulties. spurs of the mountains came to the river's edge and cut off ascent. after five days they left the river and sought a mountain ridge. a heavy snowfall added to their discomfiture. they killed a small deer, and camped for five days, devouring it thankfully. compelled by the snow, they returned to the river-bed, the skin of the deer their only food. one morning they met and shot at five grizzly bears, but none were killed. the next morning in a mountain gully eight ugly grizzlies faced them. in desperation they determined to attack. wood and wilson were to advance and fire. the others held themselves in reserve--one of them up a tree. at fifty feet each selected a bear and fired. wilson killed his bear; wood thought he had finished his. the beast fell, biting the earth and writhing in agony. wilson sensibly climbed a tree and called upon wood to do likewise. he started to first reload his rifle and the ball stuck. when the two shots were fired five of the bears started up the mountain, but one sat quietly on its haunches watching proceedings. as wood struggled with his refractory bullet it started for him. he gained a small tree and climbed beyond reach. unable to load, he used his rifle to beat back the beast as it tried to claw him. to his horror the bear he thought was killed rose to its feet and furiously charged the tree, breaking it down at once. wood landed on his feet and ran down the mountain to a small buckeye, the bear after him. he managed to hook his arm around the tree, swinging his body clear. the wounded bear was carried by its momentum well down the mountain. wood ran for another tree, the other bear close after him, snapping at his heels. before he could climb out of reach he was grabbed by the ankle and pulled down. the wounded bear came jumping up the mountain and caught him by the shoulder. they pulled against each other as if to dismember him. his hip was dislocated and he suffered some painful flesh wounds. his clothing was stripped from his body and he felt the end had come, but the bears seemed disinclined to seize his flesh. they were evidently suspicious of white meat. finally one disappeared up the ravine, while the other sat down a hundred yards away, and keenly watched him. as long as he kept perfectly still the bear was quiet, but if he moved at all it rushed upon him. wilson came to his aid and both finally managed to climb trees beyond reach. the bear then sat down between the trees, watching both and growling threateningly if either moved. it finally tired of the game and to their great relief disappeared up the mountain. wood, suffering acutely, was carried down to the camp, where they remained twelve days, subsisting on the bear wilson had killed. wood grew worse instead of better, and the situation was grave. little ammunition was left, they were practically without shoes or clothing, and certain death seemed to face them. wood urged them to seek their own safety, saying they could leave him with the indians, or put an end to his sufferings at any time. failing to induce the indians to take him, it was decided to try to bind him on his horse and take him along on the hard journey. he suffered torture, but it was a day at a time and he had great fortitude. after ten days of incredible suffering they reached the ranch of mrs. mark west, thirty miles from sonoma. the date was february th, one hundred and four days from rich bar. the four who started to follow the beach had experiences no less trying. they found it impossible to accomplish their purpose. bold mountains came quite to the shore and blocked the way. they finally struck east for the sacramento valley. they were short of food and suffered unutterably. dr. gregg grew weaker day by day until he fell from his horse and died from starvation, speaking no word. the other three pushed on and managed to reach sacramento a few days after the wood party arrived at sonoma. while these adventurous miners were prosecuting the search for the mythical harbor, enterprising citizens of san francisco renewed efforts to reach it from the ocean. in december, , soon after wood and his companions started from the trinity river, the brig "cameo" was dispatched north to search carefully for a port. she returned without success, but was again dispatched. on this trip she rediscovered trinidad. interest grew, and by march of not less than forty vessels were enlisted in the search. my father, who left boston early in , going by panama and the chagres river, had been through three fires in san francisco and was ready for any change. he joined with a number of acquaintances on one of these ventures, acting as secretary of the company. they purchased the "paragon," a gloucester fishing-boat of tons burden, and early in march, under the command of captain march, with forty-two men in the party, sailed north. they hugged the coast and kept a careful lookout for a harbor, but passed the present humboldt bay in rather calm weather and in the daytime without seeing it. the cause of what was then inexplicable is now quite plain. the entrance has the prevailing northwest slant. the view into the bay from the ocean is cut off by the overlapping south spit. a direct view reveals no entrance; you can not see in by looking back after having passed it. at sea the line of breakers seems continuous, the protruding point from the south connecting in surf line with that from the north. moreover, the bay at the entrance is very narrow. the wooded hills are so near the entrance that there seems no room for a bay. the "paragon" soon found heavy weather and was driven far out to sea. then for three days she was in front of a gale driving her in shore. she reached the coast nearly at the oregon line and dropped anchor in the lee of a small island near point st. george. in the night a gale sprang up, blowing fiercely in shore toward an apparently solid cliff. one after another the cables to her three anchors parted, and my father said it was with a feeling of relief that they heard the last one snap, the suspense giving way to what they believed to be the end of all. but there proved to be an unsuspected sandspit at the base of the cliff, and the "paragon" at high tide plowed her way to a berth she never left. her bones long marked the spot, and for many years the roadstead was known as paragon bay. no lives were lost and no property was saved. about twenty-five of the survivors returned to san francisco on the "cameo," but my father stayed by, and managed to reach humboldt bay soon after its discovery, settling in uniontown in may, . the glory of the ocean discovery remained for the "laura virginia," a baltimore craft, commanded by lieutenant douglass ottinger, a revenue officer on leave of absence. she left soon after the "paragon," and kept close in shore. soon after leaving cape mendocino she reached the mouth of eel river and came to anchor. the next day three other vessels anchored and the "general morgan" sent a boat over the river bar. the "laura virginia" proceeded north and the captain soon saw the waters of a bay, but could see no entrance. he proceeded, anchoring first at trinidad and then at where crescent city was later located. there he found the "cameo" at anchor and the "paragon" on the beach. remaining in the roadstead two days, he started back, and tracing a stream of fresh-looking water discovered the mouth of the klamath. arriving at trinidad, he sent five men down by land to find out if there was an entrance to the bay he had seen. on their favorable report, second officer buhne was instructed to take a ship's boat and sound the entrance before the vessel should attempt it. on april , , he crossed the bar, finding four and a half fathoms. buhne remained in the bay till the ship dropped down. on april th he went out and brought her in. after much discussion the bay and the city they proposed to locate were named humboldt, after the distinguished naturalist and traveler, for whom a member of the company had great admiration. let us now return to l.k. wood, whom we left at the mark west home in the sonoma valley, recovering from the serious injuries incident to the bear encounter on eel river. after about six weeks of recuperation, wood pushed on to san francisco and organized a party of thirty men to return to humboldt and establish a settlement. they were twenty days on the journey, arriving at the shore of the bay on april th, five days after the entrance of the "laura virginia." they were amazed to see the vessel at anchor off humboldt point. they quietly drew back into the woods, and skirting the east side of the bay came out at the bucksport site. four men remained to hold it. the others pushed on to the head of the bay, where they had enjoyed their christmas dinner. this they considered the best place for a town. for three days they were very busily engaged in posting notices, laying foundations for homes, and otherwise fortifying their claims. they named the new settlement uniontown. about six years afterward it was changed to arcata, the original indian name for the spot. the change was made in consideration of the confusion occasioned by there being a uniontown in el dorado county. and so the hidden harbor that had long inspired legend and tradition, and had been the source of great suffering and loss, was revealed. it was _not_ fed by the trinity or any other river. the mouth of the trinity was _not_ navigable; it did not boast a mouth--the klamath just swallowed it. the klamath's far-northern mouth was a poor affair, useless for commercial purposes. but a great empire had been opened and an enormously serviceable harbor had been added to california's assets. it aided mining and created immense lumber interests. strange as it may seem, humboldt bay was not discovered at this time. some years ago a searcher of the archives of far-off st. petersburg found unquestionable proof that the discovery was made in , and not in - . early in the nineteenth century the russian-american company was all-powerful and especially active in the fur trade. it engaged an american captain, jonathan winship, who commanded an american crew on the ship "ocean." the outfit, accompanied by a hundred aleut indians, with fifty-two small boats, was sent from alaska down the california coast in pursuit of seals. they anchored at trinidad and spread out for the capture of sea-otter. eighteen miles south they sighted a bay and finally found the obscure entrance. they entered with a boat and then followed with the ship, which anchored nearly opposite the location of eureka. they found fifteen feet of water on the bar. from the large number of indians living on its shores, they called it the bay of the indians. the entrance they named resanof. winship made a detailed sketch of the bay and its surroundings, locating the indian villages and the small streams that enter the bay. it was sent to st. petersburg and entered on a russian map. the spaniards seem never to have known anything of it, and the americans evidently considered the incident of no importance. humboldt as a community developed slowly. for five years its real resources were neglected. [illustration: humboldt bay--from russian atlas the hidden harbor--thrice discovered winship, . gregg, . ottinger, .] it was merely the shipping point from which the mines of the trinity and klamath rivers were supplied by mule trains. gradually agriculture was developed, and from lumber was king. it is now a great domain. the county is a little less than three times the size of the state of rhode island, and its wealth of resources and its rugged and alluring beauty are still gaining in recognition. its unique glory is the world-famous redwood belt. for its entire length, one hundred and six miles of coast line, and of an average depth of eight miles, extends the marvelous grove. originally it comprised , acres. for more than sixty years it has been mercilessly depleted, yet it is claimed that the supply will not be exhausted for two hundred years. there is nothing on the face of the earth to compare with this stand of superb timber. trees reach two hundred and fifty feet in height, thirty feet in diameter, and a weight of , , pounds. through countless centuries these noble specimens have stood, majestic, serene, reserved for man's use and delight. in these later years fate has numbered their days, but let us firmly withstand their utter demolition. it is beyond conception that all these monuments to nature's power and beauty should be sacrificed. we must preserve accessible groves for the inspiration and joy of those who will take our places. the coast highway following down one of the forks of the eel river passes through the magnificent redwood belt and affords a wonderful view of these superb trees. efforts are now being made to preserve the trees bordering the highway, that one of the most attractive features of california's scenic beauty may be preserved for all time. california has nothing more impressive to offer than these majestic trees, and they are an asset she cannot afford to lose. chapter iii nine years north uniontown (now arcata) had enjoyed the early lead among the humboldt bay towns. the first consideration had been the facility in supplying the mines on the trinity and the klamath. all goods were transported by pack-trains, and the trails over the mountains were nearer the head of the bay. but soon lumber became the leading industry, and the mills were at eureka on deep water at the center of the bay, making that the natural shipping point. it grew rapidly, outstripping its rival, and also capturing the county-seat. arcata struggled valiantly, but it was useless. her geographical position was against her. in an election she shamelessly stuffed the ballot box, but eureka went to the legislature and won her point. arcata had the most beautiful location and its people were very ambitious. in fruitless effort to sustain its lead, the town had built a pier almost two miles in length to a slough navigable to ocean steamers. a single horse drew a flat car carrying passengers and freight. it was the nearest approach to a railroad in the state of california at the time of our arrival on that lovely morning in . we disembarked from the ancient craft and were soon leisurely pursuing our way toward the enterprising town at the other end of the track. it seemed that we were met by the entire population; for the arrival of the steamer with mail and passengers was the exciting event of the month. the station was near the southwest corner of the plaza, which we crossed diagonally to the post-office, housed in the building that had been my father's store until he sold out the year before, when he was elected to the assembly. murdock's hall was in the second story, and a little way north stood a zinc house that was to be our home. it had been shipped first to san francisco and then to humboldt. its plan and architecture were the acme of simplicity. there were three rooms tandem, each with a door in the exact middle, so that if all the doors were open a bullet would be unimpeded in passing through. to add to the social atmosphere, a front porch, open at both ends, extended across the whole front. a horseman could, and in fact often did, ride across it. my brother and i occupied a chamber over the post-office, and he became adept in going to sleep on the parlor sofa every night and later going to bed in the store without waking, dodging all obstructing objects and undressing while sound asleep. we were quite comfortable in this joke of a house. but we had no pump; all the water we used i brought from a spring in the edge of the woods, the one found by the gregg party on the night of christmas, . the first time i visited it and dipped my bucket in the sunken barrel that protected it i had a shock. before leaving san francisco, being a sentimental youth and knowing little of what humboldt offered, i bought two pots of fragrant flowers--heliotrope and a musk-plant--bringing them on the steamer with no little difficulty. as i dipped into the barrel i noticed that it was surrounded by a solid mass of musk-plants growing wild. the misapprehension was at least no greater than that which prompted some full-grown man to ship a zinc house to the one spot in the world where the most readily splitting lumber was plentiful. one of the sights shown to the newcomer was a two-story house built before the era of the sawmill. it was built of split lumber from a single redwood tree--and enough remained to fence the lot! within a stone's throw from the musk-plant spring was a standing redwood, with its heart burned out, in which thirteen men had slept one night, just to boast of it. later, in my time, a shingle-maker had occupied the tree all one winter, both as a residence and as a shop where he made shingles for the trade. we had a very pleasant home and were comfortable and happy. we had a horse, cows, rabbits, and pigeons. our garden furnished berries and vegetables in plenty. the indians sold fish, and i provided at first rabbits and then ducks and geese. one delicious addition to our table was novel to us. as a part of the redwood's undergrowth was a tall bush that in its season yielded a luscious and enormous berry called the salmon-berry. it was much like a raspberry, generally salmon in color, very juicy and delicate, approximating an inch and a half in diameter. armed with a long pole, a short section of a butt limb forming a sort of shepherd's crook, i would pull down the heavily laden branches and after a few moments in the edge of the woods would be provided with a dessert fit for any queen, and so appropriate for my mother. california in those early days seemed wholly dependent on the foreign markets. flour came from chile, "haxall" being the common brand; cheese from holland and switzerland; cordials, sardines, and prunes from france; ale and porter from england; olives from spain; whiskey from scotland. boston supplied us with crackers, philadelphia sent us boots, and new orleans furnished us with sugar and molasses. the stores that supplied the mines carried almost everything--provisions, clothing, dry goods, and certainly wet goods. at every store there was found an open barrel of whiskey, with a convenient glass sampler that would yield through the bunghole a fair-sized drink to test the quality. one day i went into a store where a clever chinaman was employed. he had printed numerous placards announcing the stock. i noticed a fresh one that seemed incongruous. it read, "codfish and cologne water." i said, "what's the idea?" he smilingly replied, "you see its place? i hang it over the whiskey-barrel. some time man come to steal a drink. i no see him; he read sign, he laugh, i hear him, i see him." there was no school in the town when we came. it troubled my mother that my brother and sister must be without lessons. several other small children were deprived of opportunity. in the emergency we cleaned out a room in the store, formerly occupied by a county officer, and i organized a very primary school. i was almost fifteen, but the children were good and manageable. i did not have very many, and fortunately i was not called upon to teach very long. there came to town a clever man, robert desty. he wanted to teach. there was no school building, but he built one all by his own hands. he suggested that i give up my school and become a pupil of his. i was very glad to do it. he was a good and ingenious teacher. i enjoyed his lessons about six months, and then felt i must help my father. my stopping was the only graduation in my experience. my father was an inveterate trader, and the year after our coming he joined with another venturer in buying the standing crop of wheat in hoopa valley, on the trinity river. i went up to help in the harvesting, being charged with the weighing of the sacked grain. it was a fine experience for an innocent yankee boy. we lived out of doors, following the threshers from farm to farm, eating under an oak tree and sleeping on the fragrant straw-piles. i was also the butt of about the wildest lot of jokers ever assembled. they were good-natured, but it was their concerted effort to see how much i could stand in the way of highly flavored stories at mealtime. it was fun for them, besides they felt it would be a service to knock out some of the boston "sissiness." i do not doubt it was. they never quite drove me away from the table. in the meantime i had a great good time. it was a very beautiful spot and all was new and strange. there were many indians, and they were interesting. they lived in rancherias of puncheons along the river. each group of dwellings had a musical name. one village was called matiltin, another savanalta. the children swam like so many ducks, and each village had its sweathouse from which every adult, to keep in health and condition, would plunge into the swiftly flowing river. they lived on salmon, fresh or dried, and on grass-seed cakes cooked on heated stones. they were handsome specimens physically and were good workers. the river was not bridged, but it was not deep and canoes were plenty. if none were seen on the side which you chanced to find yourself, you had only to call, "wanus, matil!" (come, boat!) and one would come. if in a hurry, "holish!" would expedite the service. the indian language was fascinating and musical. "iaquay" was the word of friendly greeting. "aliquor" was indian, "waugee" was white man, "chick" was the general word for money. when "waugee-chick" was mentioned, it meant gold or silver; if "aliquor-chick," reference was made to the spiral quill-like shells which served as their currency, their value increasing rapidly by the length. [footnote: in the hawaiian islands short shells of this variety are strung for beads, but have little value.] there are frequent combined words. "hutla" is night, "wha" is the sun; "hutla-wha" is the moon--the night-sun. if an indian wishes to ask where you are going, he will say, "ta hunt tow ingya?" "teena scoia" is very good. "skeena" is too small. "semastolon" is a young woman; if she is considered beautiful, "clane nuquum" describes her. the indians were very friendly and hospitable. if i wanted an account-book that was on the other side of the river, they would not bother for a canoe, but swim over with it, using-one hand and holding the book high in the air. i found they had settled habits and usages that seemed peculiar to them. if one of their number died, they did not like it referred to; they wished for no condolence. "indian die, indian no talk," was their expression. it was a wonder to me that in a valley connected with civilization by only a trail there should be found mccormick's reapers and pitt's threshers. parts too large for a mule's pack had been cut in two and afterwards reunited. by some dint of ingenuity even a millstone had been hauled over the roadless mountains. the wheat we harvested was ground at the hoopa mill and the flour was shipped to the trinity and klamath mines. all the week we harvested vigorously, and on sunday we devoted most of the day to visiting the watermelon patches and sampling the product. of course, we spent a portion of the day in washing our few clothes, usually swimming and splashing in the river until they were dry. the valley was long and narrow, with mountains on both sides so high that the day was materially shortened in the morning and at night. the tardy sun was ardent when he came, but disturbed us little. the nights were blissful--beds so soft and sweet and a canopy so beautiful! in the morning we awoke to the tender call of cooing doves, and very soon lined up for breakfast in the perfectly ventilated out-of-doors. happy days they were! wise and genial captain snyder, sonnichsen, the patient cook, jim brock, happy tormentor--how clearly they revisit the glimpses of the moon! returning to uniontown, i resumed my placid, busy life, helping in the garden, around the house, and in the post-office. my father was wise in his treatment. boylike i would say, "father, what shall i do?" he would answer, "look around and find out. i'll not always be here to tell you." thrown on my own resources, i had no trouble in finding enough to do, and i was sufficiently normal and indolent to be in no danger of finding too much. the post-office is a harborer of secrets and romance. the postmaster and his assistants alone know "who's who." a character of a packer, tall, straight, and bearded, always called joe the marine, would steal in and call for comely letters addressed to james ashhurst, esq. robert desty was found to be mons. robert d'esti mauville. a blacksmith whose letters were commonly addressed to c.e. bigelow was found entitled to one inscribed c.e.d.l.b. bigelow. asked what his full name was, he replied, "charles edward decatur la fitte butterfield bigelow." and, mind you, he was a _blacksmith_! his christening entitled him to it all, but he felt that all he could afford was what he commonly used. phonetics have a distinct value. uncertain of spelling, one can fall back on remembered sound. i found a letter addressed to "sanerzay." i had no difficulty in determining that san jose was intended. hard labor was suggested when someone wrote "youchiyer." the letter found its resting-place in ukiah. among my miscellaneous occupations was the pasturage of mules about to start on the return trip to the mines. we had a farm and logging-claim on the outskirts of town which afforded a good farewell bite of grass, and at night i would turn loose twenty to forty mules and their beloved bell-mare to feed and fight mosquitoes. early the next morning i would saddle my charger and go and bring them to the packing corral. never shall i forget a surprise given me one morning. i had a tall, awkward mare, and was loping over the field looking for my charges. an innocent little rabbit scuttled across kate's path and she stopped in her tracks as her feet landed. i was gazing for the mule train and i did not stop. i sailed over her head, still grasping the bridle reins, which, attached to the bit, i also had to overleap, so that the next moment i found myself standing erect with the reins between my legs, holding on to a horse behind me still standing in her arrested tracks. remounting, i soon found the frisky mules and started them toward misery. driven into the corral where their freight had been divided into packs of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds, they were one by one saddled, cinched, and packed. a small mule would seem to be unequal to carrying two side-packs, each consisting of three fifty-pound sacks of flour, and perhaps a case of boots for a top-pack. but protests of groans and grunts would be unavailing. two swarthy mexicans, by dint of cleverly thrown ropes and the "diamond hitch," would soon have in place all that the traffic would bear, and the small indian boy on the mother of the train, bearing a tinkling bell, would lead them on their way to salmon river or to orleans bar. another frequent duty was the preparation of the hall for some public function. it might be a dance, a political meeting, or some theatrical performance. different treatment would be required, but all would include cleaning and lighting. at a dance it was floor-scrubbing, filling the camphene lamps, and making up beds for the babies to be later deposited by their dancing mothers. very likely i would tend door and later join in the dance, which commonly continued until morning. politics interested me. in the frémont campaign of my father was one of four republicans in the county, and was by no means popular. he lived to see humboldt county record a six hundred majority for the republican ticket. some of our local legislative candidates surprised and inspired me by their eloquence and unexpected knowledge and ability. it was good to find that men read and thought, even when they lived in the woods and had little encouragement. occasionally we had quite good theatrical performances. very early i recall a thespian named thoman, who was supported by a julia pelby. they vastly pleased an uncritical audience. i was doorkeeper, notwithstanding that thoman doubted if i was "hefty" enough. "little lotta" crabtree was charming. her mother traveled with her. between performances she played with her dolls. she danced gracefully and sang fascinatingly such songs as "i'm the covey what sings." another prime favorite was joe murphy, irish comedian and violinist, pleasing in both roles. i remember a singing comedian who bewailed his sad estate: "for now i have nothing but rags to my back, my boots scarce cover my toes, while my pants are patched with an old flour-sack, to jibe with the rest of my clo'es." the singing-school was pleasure-yielding, its greatest joy being incidental. when i could cut ahead of a chum taking a girl home and shamelessly trip him up with a stretched rope and get back to the drugstore and be curled up in the woodbox when he reached his final destination, i am afraid i took unholy joy. not long after coming we started a public library. mother and i covered all the books, this being considered an economical necessity. somewhat later arcata formed a debating society that was really a helpful influence. it engaged quite a wide range of membership, and we discussed almost everything. some of our members were fluent of speech from long participation in methodist experience meetings. others were self-trained even to pronunciation. one man of good mind, always said "here_dit_ary." he had read french history and often referred to the _gridironists_ of france. i have an idea he was the original of the man whom bret harte made refer to the greek hero as "old ashheels." our meetings were open, and among the visitors i recall a clerk of a commander in the indian war. he afterwards became lieutenant-governor of the state, and later a senator from nevada--john p. jones. an especial pleasure were the thoroughness and zest with which we celebrated the fourth of july. the grown-ups did well in the daylight hours, when the procession, the oration, and the reading of the declaration were in order; but with the shades of night the fireworks would have been inadequate but for the activity of the boys. the town was built around a handsome plaza, probably copied from sonoma as an incident of the wood sojourn. on the highest point in the center a fine flagstaff one hundred and twenty feet high was proudly crowned by a liberty-cap. this elevated plateau was the field of our display. on a spot not too near the flagstaff we planned for a spectacular center of flame. during the day we gathered material for an enormous bonfire. huge casks formed the base and inflammable material of all kinds reached high in the air. at dark we fired the pile. but the chief interest was centered in hundreds of balls of twine, soaked in camphene, which we lighted and threw rapidly from hand to hand all over the plaza. we could not hold on to them long, but we didn't need to. they came flying from every direction and were caught from the ground and sent back before they had a chance to burn. the noise and excitement can be easily imagined. blackened and weary boys kept it up till the bonfire was out and the balls had grown too small to pick up. nothing interfered with our celebrations. when the indians were "bad" we forsook the redwoods and built our speaker's stand and lunch tables and benches out in the open beyond firing distance. our garden was quite creditable. vegetables were plentiful and my flower-beds, though formal, were pleasing. stock-raising was very interesting. one year i had the satisfaction of breaking three heifers and raising their calves. my brother showed more enterprise, for he induced a plump young mother of the herd to allow him to ride her when he drove the rest to pasture. upon our arrival in uniontown we found the only church was the methodist. we at once attended, and i joined the sunday-school. my teacher was a periodically reformed boatman. when he fell from grace he was taken in hand by the sons of temperance, which i had also joined. "morning star division, no. ," was never short of material to work on. my first editorial experience was on its spicy little written journal. i went through the chairs and became "worthy patriarch" while still a boy. the church was mostly served by first-termers, not especially inspiring. i recall one good man who seemed to have no other qualification for the office. he frankly admitted that he had worked in a mill and in a lumber-yard, and said he liked preaching "better than anything he'd ever been at." he was very sincere and honest. he had a uniform lead in prayer: "o lord, we thank thee that it is as well with us as what it is." the sentiment was admirable, but somehow the manner grated. when the presiding elder came around we had a relief. he was wide-awake and witty. one night he read the passage of scripture where they all began with one accord to make excuses. one said: "i have married a wife and cannot come." the elder, looking up, said, "why didn't the pesky fool bring her with him?" in the process of time the presbyterians started a church, and i went there; swept out, trimmed the lamps, and sang in the choir. the preacher was an educated man, and out of the pulpit was kind and reasonable; but he persisted that "good deeds were but as filthy rags." i didn't believe it and i didn't like it. the staid pastor had but little recreation, and i am afraid i was always glad that ulrica schumacher, the frisky sister of the gunsmith, almost always beat him at chess. he was succeeded by a man i loved, and i wonder i did not join his church. we were good friends and used to go out trout-fishing together. he was a delightful man, but when he was in the pulpit he shrank and shriveled. the danger of presbyterianism passed when he expressed his doubt whether it would be best for my mother to partake of communion, as she had all her life in the unitarian church. she was willing, but waited his approval. my mother was the most saintly of women, absolutely unselfish and self-sacrificing, and it shocked me that any belief or lack of belief should exclude her from a christian communion. when my father, in one of his numerous trades, bought out the only tinshop and put me in charge he changed my life and endangered my disposition. the tinsmith left the county and i was left with the tools and the material, the only tinsmith in humboldt county. how i struggled and bungled! i could make stovepipe by the mile, but it was a long time before i could double-seam a copper bottom onto a tin wash-boiler. i lived to construct quite a decent traveling oilcan for a eureka sawmill, but such triumphs come through mental anguish and burned fingers. no doubt the experience extended my desultory education. the taking over of the tinshop was doubly disappointing, since i really wanted to go into the office of the _northern californian_ and become a printer and journalist. that job i turned over to bret harte, who was clever and cultivated, but had not yet "caught on." leon chevret, the french hotelkeeper, said of him to a lawyer of his acquaintance, "bret harte, he have the napoleonic nose, the nose of genius; also, like many of you professional men, his debts trouble him very little." there were many interesting characters among the residents of the town and county. at times there came to play the violin at our dances one seth kinman, a buckskin-clad hunter. he became nationally famous when he fashioned and presented elkhorn chairs to buchanan and several succeeding presidents. they were ingenious and beautiful, and he himself was most picturesque. one of our originals was a shiftless and merry iowan to whose name was added by courtesy the prefix "dr." he had a small farm in the outskirts. gates hung from a single hinge and nothing was kept in repair. he preferred to use his time in persuading nature to joke. a single cucumber grown into a glass bottle till it could not get out was worth more than a salable crop, and a single cock whose comb had grown around an inserted pullet breastbone, until he seemed the precursor of a new breed of horned roosters, was better than much poultry. he reached his highest fame in the cure of his afflicted wife. she languished in bed and he diagnosed her illness as resulting from the fact that she was "hidebound." his house he had never had time to complete. the rafters were unobstructed by ceiling, so she was favorably situated for treatment. he fixed a lasso under her arms, threw the end around a rafter, and proceeded to loosen her refractory hide. one of our leading merchants was a deacon in the methodist church and so enjoyed the patronage of his brother parishioners. one of them came in one day and asked the paying price of eggs. the deacon told him "sixty cents a dozen." "what are sail-needles?" "five cents apiece." the brother produced an egg and proposed a swap. it was smilingly accepted and the egg added to the pile of stock. the brother lingered and finally drawled, "deacon, it's customary, isn't it, to _treat_ a buyer?" "it is; what will you take?" laughingly replied the deacon. "sherry is nice." the deacon poured out the sherry and handed it to his customer, who hesitated and timidly remarked that sherry was improved by a raw egg. the amused deacon turned around and took from the egg-pile the identical one he had received. as the brother broke it into his glass he noticed it had an extra yolk. after enjoying his drink, he handed back the empty glass and said: "deacon, that egg had a double yolk; don't you think you ought to give me another sail-needle?" when thomas starr king was electrifying the state in support of the sanitary commission (the red cross of the civil war), arcata caught the fever and in november, , held a great meeting at the presbyterian church. our leading ministers and lawyers appealed with power and surprising subscriptions followed. mr. coddington, our wealthiest citizen, started the list with three hundred dollars and ten dollars a month during the war. others followed, giving according to their ability. one man gave for himself, as well as for his wife and all his children. on taking his seat and speaking to his wife, he jumped up and added one dollar for the new baby that he had forgotten. when money gave out other belongings were sacrificed. one man gave twenty-five bushels of wheat, another ten cords of wood, another his saddle, another a gun. a notary gave twenty dollars in fees. a cattleman brought down the house when he said, "i have no money, but i will give a cow, and a calf a month as long as the war lasts." the following day it was my joy as secretary to auction off the merchandise. when all was forwarded to san francisco we were told we had won first honors, averaging over twenty-five dollars for each voter in the town. one interesting circumstance was the consignment to me of the first shipments of two novelties that afterward became very common. the discovery of coal-oil and the utilization of kerosene for lighting date back to about . the first coal-oil lamps that came to humboldt were sent to me for display and introduction. likewise, about , a grover & baker sewing-machine was sent up for me to exhibit. by way of showing its capabilities, i sewed the necessary number of yard-widths of the length of murdock's hall to make a new ceiling, of which it chanced to stand in need. humboldt county was an isolated community. sea steamers were both infrequent and uncertain, with ten days or two weeks and more between arrivals. there were no roads to the interior, but there were trails, and they were often threatened by treacherous indians. the indians living near us on mad river were peaceful, but the mountain indians were dangerous, and we never knew when we were really safe. in arcata we had one stone building, a store, and sometimes the frightened would resort to it at night. in times of peace, settlers lived on mad river, on redwood creek, and on the bald hills, where they herded their cattle. one by one they were killed or driven in until there was not a white person living between the bay and trinity river. mail carriers were shot down, and the young men of arcata were often called upon at night to nurse the wounded. we also organized a military company, and a night duty was drilling our men on the plaza or up past the gruesome graveyard. my command was never called out for service, but i had some fortunate escapes from being waylaid. i walked around the bay one morning; a few hours later a man was ambushed on the road. on one occasion i narrowly escaped participation in warfare. in august, , there had been outrages by daring indian bands, killing unprotected men close to town. once a few of us followed the tracks of a party and traced the marauders across mad river and toward a small prairie known to our leader, ousley the saddler. as we passed along a small road he caught the sign. a whiff of a shred of cotton cloth caught on a bush denoted a smoky native. a crushed fern, still moist, told him they had lately passed. at his direction we took to the woods and crawled quietly toward the near-by prairie. our orders were to wait the signal. if the band we expected to find was not too large, we should be given the word to attack. if there were too many for us, we should back out and go to town for help. we soon heard them plainly as they made camp. we found about three times our number, and we retired very quietly and made for the nearest farmhouse that had a team. in town many were anxious to volunteer. my mother did not want me to go, and i must confess i was in full accord with her point of view. i therefore served as commissary, collecting and preparing quantities of bread, bacon, and cheese for a breakfast and distributing a packed bag to each soldier. the attack at daylight resulted in one death to our command and a number to the indians. it was followed up, and a few days later the band was almost annihilated. the plunder recovered proved them guilty of many late attacks. this was toward the end of the indian war that had for so many years been disastrous to the community, and which in many of its aspects was deeply pathetic. originally the indian population was large. the coast indians were spoken of as diggers, and inferior in character. they were generally peaceful and friendly while the mountain dwellers were inclined to hostility. as a whole they did not represent a very high type of humanity, and all seemed to take to the vices rather than to the virtues of the white race, which was by no means represented at its best. a few unprincipled whites were always ready to stir up trouble and the indians were treacherous and when antagonized they killed the innocent rather than the guilty, for they were cowards and took the fewest possible chances. i have known an indian hater who seemed to think the only good indian was a dead one go unmolested through an entire campaign, while a friendly old man was shot from behind while milking his cow. the town was near the edge of the woods and no one was secure. the fine character whom we greatly respected,--the debater of original pronunciation,--who had never wronged a human being of any race, was shot down from the woods quite near the plaza. the regular army was useless in protection or punishment. their regulations and methods did not fit. they made fine plans, but they failed to work. they would locate the enemy and detail detachments to move from various points to surround and capture the foe, but when they got there the bushes were bare. finally battalions of mountaineers were organized among men who knew indian ways and were their equals in cunning. they soon satisfied the hostiles that they would be better off on the reservations that were provided and the war was at an end. it was to the credit of humboldt county that in the final settlement of the contest the rights of the indians were quite fairly considered and the reservations set aside for their residence were of valuable land well situated and fitted for the purpose. hoopa valley, on the trinity, was purchased from its settlers and constituted a reservation protected by fort gaston and a garrison. it was my pleasure to revisit the scene of my boyhood experience and assist in the transfer largely conducted through the leadership of austin wiley, the editor and owner of the _humboldt times_. he was subsequently made superintendent of indian affairs for the state of california, and as his clerk i helped in the administration. when i visited the smith river reservation, to which the bay indians had been sent, i was hailed with joy as "major's pappoose," whom they remembered of old. (my father was always called major.) among the warm friendships formed at this time two stand out. two boys of about my age were to achieve brilliant careers. very early i became intimate with alexander brizard, a clerk in the store of f. roskill, a russian. he was my companion in the adventure of following the indian marauders, and my associate in the church choir and the debating club. in he joined a fellow clerk in establishing a modest business concern, the firm being known as a. brizard & co.; the unnamed partner was james alexander campbell van rossum, a hollander. they prospered amazingly. van rossum died early, brizard became the leading merchant of northern california, and his sons still continue the chain of stores that grew from the small beginning. he was a strong, fine character. the other boy, very near to me, was john j. dehaven, who was first a printer, then a lawyer, then a state senator, then a congressman, and finally a u.s. district judge. he was very able and distinguished himself in every place in life to which he advanced. in , when my father had become superintendent of a nevada county gold mine, he left me to run the post-office, cut the timothy hay, and manage a logging-camp. it was wartime and i had a longing to enlist. one day i received a letter from him, and as i tore it open a startling sentence caught my eye, "your commission will come by the next steamer." i caught my breath and south particulars. it informed me that senator sargent, his close friend, had secured for me the appointment of register of the land office at humboldt. [illustration: presidential commission as registrar of the land office at humboldt, california] there had been a vacancy for some time, resulting from reduction in the pay from $ in gold to $ in greenbacks, together with commissions, which were few. my father thought it would be good experience for me and advised my acceptance. and so at twenty-two i became a federal officeholder. the commission from president lincoln is the most treasured feature of the incident. i learned some valuable lessons. the honor was great and the position was responsible, but i soon felt constrained to resign, to accept a place as quartermaster's clerk, where i had more pay with more work. i was stationed at fort humboldt, where grant spent a few uncomfortable months in . it was an experience very different from any i had ever had. army accounting is wholly unlike civilian, books being dispensed with and accounts of all kinds being made in quadruplicate. i shed quantities of red ink and made my monthly papers appear well. i had no responsibility and obeyed orders, but i could not be wholly comfortable when i covered in all the grain that every mule was entitled to when i had judicial knowledge that he had been turned out to grass. nor could i believe that the full amount of cordwood allowed officers was consumed when fires were infrequent. i was only sure that it was paid for. aside from these ethical informalities the life was socially agreeable, and there is glamour in the military. my period of service was not very long. my father had settled in san francisco and the family had joined him. i was lonely, and when my friend, the new superintendent of indian affairs, offered me employment i forsook fort humboldt and took up my residence in the city by the golden gate. chapter iv the real bret harte before taking up the events related to my residence in san francisco i wish to give my testimony concerning bret harte, perhaps the most interesting character associated with my sojourn in humboldt. it was before he was known to fame that i knew him; but i am able to correct some errors that have been made and i believe can contribute to a more just estimate of him as a literary artist and a man. he has been misjudged as to character. he was a remarkable personality, who interpreted an era of unusual interest, vital and picturesque, with a result unparalleled in literary annals. when he died in england in the english papers paid him very high tribute. the _london spectator_ said of him: "no writer of the present day has struck so powerful and original a note as he has sounded." this is a very unusual acknowledgment from a source not given to the superlative, and fills us with wonder as to what manner of man and what sort of training had led to it. causes are not easily determined, but they exist and function. accidents rarely if ever happen. heredity and experience very largely account for results. what is their testimony in this particular case? francis bret harte was born in albany, new york, february , . his father was a highly educated instructor in greek, of english-jewish descent. his mother was an ostrander, a cultivated and fine character of dutch descent. his grandmother on his father's side was catherine brett. he had an elder brother and two younger sisters. the boys were voracious readers and began shakespeare when six, adding dickens at seven. frank developed an early sense of humor, burlesquing the baldness of his primer and mimicking the recitations of some of his fellow pupils when he entered school. he was studious and very soon began to write. at eleven he sent a poem to a weekly paper and was a little proud when he showed it to the family in print. when they heartlessly pointed out its flaws he was less hilarious. his father died when he was very young and he owed his training to his mother. he left school at thirteen and was first a lawyer's clerk and later found work in a counting-room. he was self-supporting at sixteen. in his mother married colonel andrew williams, an early mayor of oakland, and removed to california. the following year bret and his younger sister, margaret, followed her, arriving in oakland in march, . he found the new home pleasant. the relations with his cultivated stepfather were congenial and cordial, but he suffered the fate of most untrained boys. he was fairly well educated, but he had no trade or profession. he was bright and quick, but remunerative employment was not readily found, and he did not relish a clerkship. for a time he was given a place in a drugstore. some of his early experiences are embalmed in "how reuben allen saw life" and in "bohemian days." in the latter he says: "i had been there a week,--an idle week, spent in listless outlook for employment, a full week, in my eager absorption of the strange life around me and a photographic sensitiveness to certain scenes and incidents of those days, which stand out in my memory today as freshly as on the day they impressed me." it was a satisfaction that he found some congenial work. he wrote for _putnam's_ and the _knickerbocker_. in , when he was twenty, he went to alamo, in the san ramon valley, as tutor in an interesting family. he found the experience agreeable and valuable. a letter to his sister margaret, written soon after his arrival, shows a delightful relation between them and warm affection on his part. it tells in a felicitous manner of the place, the people, and his experiences. he had been to a camp-meeting and was struck with the quaint, old-fashioned garb of the girls, seeming to make the ugly ones uglier and the pretty ones prettier. it was raining when he wrote and he felt depressed, but he sent his love in the form of a charming bit of verse wherein a tear was borne with the flowing water to testify to his tender regard for his "peerless sister." this letter, too personal for publication, his sister lately read to me, and it was a revelation of the matchless style so early acquired. in form it seemed perfect--not a superfluous or an ill-chosen word. every sentence showed rhythm and balance, flowing easily and pleasantly from beginning to end, leaving an impression of beauty and harmony, and testifying to a kindly, gentle nature, with an admiring regard for his seventeen-year-old sister. from alamo he seems to have gone directly to tuolumne county, and it must have been late in . his delightful sketch "how i went to the mines" is surely autobiographical. he says: "i had been two years in california before i ever thought of going to the mines, and my initiation into the vocation of gold-digging was partly compulsory." he refers to "the little pioneer settlement school, of which i was the somewhat youthful, and, i fear, not over-competent master." what he did after the school-teaching episode he does not record. he was a stage messenger at one time. how long he remained in and around the mines is not definitely known, but it seems clear that in less than a year of experience and observation he absorbed the life and local color so thoroughly that he was able to use it with almost undiminished freshness for forty years. it was early in that bret harte came to humboldt county to visit his sister margaret, and for a brief time and to a limited extent our lives touched. he was twenty-one and i was sixteen, so there was little intimacy, but he interested and attracted me as a new type of manhood. he bore the marks of good breeding, education, and refinement. he was quiet of manner, kindly but not demonstrative, with a certain reserve and aloofness. he was of medium height, rather slight of figure, with strongly marked features and an aquiline nose. he seemed clever rather than forcible, and presented a pathetic figure as of one who had gained no foothold on success. he had a very pleasant voice and a modest manner, and never talked of himself. he was always the gentleman, exemplary as to habits, courteous and good-natured, but a trifle aristocratic in bearing. he was dressed in good taste, but was evidently in need of income. he was willing to do anything, but with little ability to help himself. he was simply untrained for doing anything that needed doing in that community. he found occasional work in the drugstore, and for a time he had a small private school. his surviving pupils speak warmly of his sympathy and kindness. he had little mechanical ability. i recall seeing him try to build a fence one morning. he bravely dug postholes, but they were pretty poor, and the completed fence was not so very straight. he was genial and uncomplaining, and he made a few good friends. he was an agreeable guest, and at our house was fond of a game of whist. he was often facetious, with a neatness that was characteristic. one day, on a stroll, we passed a very primitive new house that was wholly destitute of all ornaments or trimming, even without eaves. it seemed modeled after a packing-box. "that," he remarked, "must be of the _iowan_ order of architecture." he was given to teasing, and could be a little malicious. a proud and ambitious schoolteacher had married a well-off but decidedly cockney englishman, whose aspirates could be relied upon to do the expected. soon after the wedding, harte called and cleverly steered the conversation on to music and songs, finally expressing great fondness for "kathleen mavourneen," but professing to have forgotten the words. the bridegroom swallowed the bait with avidity. "why," said he, "they begin with 'the 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill.'" f.b. stroked his dundrearies while his dark eyes twinkled. the bride's eyes flashed ominously, but there seemed to be nothing she felt like saying. in october, , he removed to the liscom ranch in the suburbs at the head of the bay and became the tutor of two boys, fourteen and thirteen years of age. he had a forenoon session of school and in the afternoon enjoyed hunting on the adjacent marshes. for his convenience in keeping run of the lessons given, he kept a brief diary, and it has lately been found. it is of interest both in the little he records and from the significant omissions. it reveals a very simple life of a clever, kindly, clean young man who did his work, enjoyed his outdoor recreation, read a few good books, and generally "retired at / p.m." he records sending letters to various publications. on a certain day he wrote the first lines of "dolores." a few days later he finished it, and mailed it to the _knickerbocker_. he wrote and rewrote a story, "what happened at mendocino." what happened to the story does not appear. he went to church generally, and some of the sermons were good and others "vapid and trite." once in a while he goes to a dance, but not to his great satisfaction. he didn't dance particularly well. he tells of a christmas dinner that he helped his sister to prepare. something made him dissatisfied with himself and he bewails his melancholy and gloomy forebodings that unfit him for rational enjoyment and cause him to be a spectacle for "gods and men." he adds: "thermometer of my spirit on christmas day, , a.m., °; temperature, a.m., °; p.m., °; p.m., ° and falling rapidly; p.m., at zero; a.m., ° below." his entries were brief and practical. he did not write to express his feelings. at the close of he indulged in a brief retrospect, and an emphatic statement of his determination for the future. after referring to the fact that he was a tutor at a salary of twenty-five dollars a month and board, and that a year before he was unemployed, at the close he writes: "in these three hundred and sixty-five days i have again put forth a feeble essay toward fame and perhaps fortune. i have tried literature, albeit in a humble way. i have written some passable prose and it has been successfully published. the conviction is forced on me by observation, and not by vain enthusiasm, that i am fit for nothing else. perhaps i may succeed; if not, i can at least make the trial. therefore i consecrate this year, or as much as god may grant for my services, to honest, heartfelt, sincere labor and devotion to this occupation. god help me! may i succeed!" harte profited by his experience in tutoring my two boy friends, gaining local color quite unlike that of the sierra foothills. humboldt is also on the grand scale and its physical characteristics and its type of manhood were fresh and inspiring. his familiarity with the marsh and the sloughs is shown in "the man on the beach" and the "dedlow marsh stories," and this affords fine opportunity for judging of the part played by knowledge and by imagination in his literary work. his descriptions are photographic in their accuracy. the flight of a flock of sandpipers, the flowing tides, the white line of the bar at the mouth of the bay--all are exact. but the locations and relations irrelevant to the story are wholly ignored. the characters and happenings are purely imaginary. he is the artist using his experiences and his fancy as his colors, and the minimum of experience and small observation suffice. his perception of character is marvelous. he pictures the colonel, his daughters, the spruce lieutenant, and the irish deserter with such familiarity that the reader would think that he had spent most of his life in a garrison, and his ability to portray vividly life in the mines, where his actual experience was so very slight, is far better understood. many of the occurrences of those far-away days have faded from my mind, but one of them, of considerable significance to two lives, is quite clear. uniontown had been the county-seat, and there the _humboldt times_ was published; but eureka, across the bay, had outgrown her older sister and captured both the county-seat and the only paper in the county. in frantic effort to sustain her failing prestige uniontown projected a rival paper and the _northern californian_ was spoken into being. my father was a half owner, and i coveted the humble position of printer's devil. one journeyman could set the type, and on wednesday and saturday, respectively, run off on a hand-press the outside and the inside of the paper, but a boy or a low-priced man was needed to roll the forms and likewise to distribute the type. i looked upon it as the first rung on the ladder of journalism, and i was about to put my foot thereon when the pathetic figure of bret harte presented itself applying for the job, causing me to put my foot on my hopes instead. he seemed to want it and need it so much more than i did that i turned my hand to other pursuits, while he mounted the ladder with cheerful alacrity and skipped up several rungs, very promptly learning to set type and becoming a very acceptable assistant editor. in a community where popular heroes are apt to be loud and aggressive, the quiet man who thinks more than he talks is adjudged effeminate. harte was always modest, and boasting was foreign to his nature; so he was thought devoid of spirit and strength. but occasion brought out the unsuspected. there had been a long and trying indian war in and around humboldt. the feeling against the red men was very bitter. it culminated in a wanton and cowardly attack on a tribe of peaceful indians encamped on an island opposite eureka, and men, women, and children were ruthlessly killed. harte was temporarily in charge of the paper and he denounced the outrage in unmeasured terms. the better part of the community sustained him, but a violent minority resented his strictures and he was seriously threatened and in no little danger. happily he escaped, but the incident resulted in his return to san francisco. the massacre occurred on february , , which fixes the approximate time of harte's becoming identified with san francisco. his experience was of great advantage to him in that he had learned to do something for which there was a demand. he could not earn much as a compositor, but his wants were simple and he could earn something. he soon secured a place on the _golden era_, and it became the doorway to his career. he was soon transferred to the editorial department and contributed freely. for four years he continued on the _golden era_. these were years of growth and increasing accomplishment. he did good work and made good friends. among those whose interest he awakened were mrs. jessie benton frémont and thomas starr king. both befriended and encouraged him. in the critical days when california hung in the balance between the north and the south, and starr king, by his eloquence, fervor, and magnetism, seemed to turn the scale, bret harte did his part in support of the friend he loved. lincoln had called for a hundred thousand volunteers, and at a mass meeting harte contributed a noble poem, "the reveille," which thrillingly read by starr king brought the mighty audience to its feet with cheers for the union. he wrote many virile patriotic poems at this period. in march, , starr king, of the glowing heart and golden tongue, preacher, patriot, and hero, fell at his post, and san francisco mourned him and honored him as seldom falls to the lot of man. at his funeral the federal authorities ordered the firing of a salute from the forts in the harbor, an honor, so far as i know, never before accorded a private citizen. bret harte wrote a poem of rare beauty in expression of his profound grief and his heartfelt appreciation: relieving guard. came the relief. "what, sentry, ho! how passed the night through thy long waking?" "cold, cheerless, dark--as may befit the hour before the dawn is breaking." "no sight? no sound?" "no; nothing save the plover from the marshes calling, and in yon western sky, about an hour ago, a star was falling." "a star? there's nothing strange in that." "no, nothing; but, above the thicket, somehow it seemed to me that god somewhere had just relieved a picket." this is not only good poetry; it reveals deep and fine feeling. [illustration: francis bret harte] through starr king's interest, his parishioner robert b. swain, superintendent of the mint, had early in appointed harte as his private secretary, at a salary of two hundred dollars a month, with duties that allowed considerable leisure. this was especially convenient, as a year or so before he had married, and additional income was indispensable. in may, , harte left the _golden era_, joining charles henry webb and others in a new literary venture, the _californian_. it was a brilliant weekly. among the contributors were mark twain, charles warren stoddard, and prentice mulford. harte continued his delightful "condensed novels" and contributed poems, stories, sketches, and book reviews. "the society on the stanislaus," "john brown of gettysburg," and "the pliocene skull" belong to this period. in the "condensed novels" harte surpassed all parodists. with clever burlesque, there was both appreciation and subtle criticism. as chesterton says, "bret harte's humor was sympathetic and analytical. the wild, sky-breaking humor of america has its fine qualities, but it must in the nature of things be deficient in two qualities--reverence and sympathy--and these two qualities were knit into the closest texture of bret harte's humor." at this time harte lived a quiet domestic life. he wrote steadily. he loved to write, but he was also obliged to. literature is not an overgenerous paymaster, and with a growing family expenses tend to increase in a larger ratio than income. harte's sketches based on early experiences are interesting and amusing. his life in oakland was in many ways pleasant, but he evidently retained some memories that made him enjoy indulging in a sly dig many years after. he gives the pretended result of scientific investigation made in the far-off future as to the great earthquake that totally engulfed san francisco. the escape of oakland seemed inexplicable, but a celebrated german geologist ventured to explain the phenomenon by suggesting that "there are some things that the earth cannot swallow." my last recollection of harte, of a purely personal nature, was of an occurrence in , when he was dramatic critic of the _morning call_ at the time i was doing a little reporting on the same paper. it happened that a benefit was arranged for some charity. "nan, the good-for-nothing," was to be given by a number of amateurs. the _nan_ asked me to play _tom_, and i had insufficient firmness to decline. after the play, when my face was reasonably clean, i dropped into the _call_ office, yearning for a word of commendation from harte. i thought he knew that i had taken the part, but he would not give me the satisfaction of referring to it. finally i mentioned, casually like, that i was _tom_, whereat he feigned surprise, and remarked in his pleasant voice, "was that you? i thought they had sent to some theater and hired a supe." in july, , a. roman & co. launched the _overland monthly_, with harte as editor. he took up the work with eager interest. he named the child, planned its every feature, and chose his contributors. it was a handsome publication, modeled, in a way, on the _atlantic monthly,_ but with a flavor and a character all its own. the first number was attractive and readable, with articles of varied interest by mark twain, noah brooks, charles warren stoddard, william c. bartlett, t.h. rearden, ina coolbrith, and others--a brilliant galaxy for any period. harte contributed "san francisco from the sea." mark twain, long after, alluding to this period in his life, pays this characteristic acknowledgment: "bret harte trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesqueness to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found favor in the eyes of even some of the decentest people in the land." the first issue of the _overland_ was well received, but the second sounded a note heard round the world. the editor contributed a story--"the luck of roaring camp"--that was hailed as a new venture in literature. it was so revolutionary that it shocked an estimable proofreader, and she sounded the alarm. the publishers were timid, but the gentle editor was firm. when it was found that it must go in or he would go out, it went--and he stayed. when the conservative and dignified _atlantic_ wrote to the author soliciting something like it, the publishers were reassured. harte had struck ore. up to this time he had been prospecting. he had early found color and followed promising stringers. he had opened some fair pockets, but with the explosion of this blast he had laid bare the true vein, and the ore assayed well. it was high grade, and the fissure was broad. "the luck of roaring camp" was the first of a series of stories depicting the picturesque life of the early days which made california known the world over and gave it a romantic interest enjoyed by no other community. they were fresh and virile, original in treatment, with real men and women using a new vocabulary, with humor and pathos delightfully blended. they moved on a stage beautifully set, with a background of heroic grandeur. no wonder that california and bret harte became familiar household words. when one reflects on the fact that the exposure to the life depicted had occurred more than ten years before, from very brief experience, the wonder is incomprehensibly great. nothing less than genius can account for such a result. "tennessee's partner," "m'liss," "the outcasts of poker flat," and dozens more of these stories that became classics followed. the supply seemed exhaustless, and fresh welcome awaited every one. it was in september, , that harte in the make-up of the _overland_ found an awkward space too much for an ordinary poem. an associate suggested that he write something to fit the gap; but harte was not given to dashing off to order, nor to writing a given number of inches of poetry. he was not a literary mechanic, nor could he command his moods. however, he handed his friend a bundle of manuscript to see if there was anything that he thought would do, and very soon a neat draft was found bearing the title "on the sinfulness of ah sin as reported by truthful james." it was read with avidity and pronounced "the very thing." harte demurred. he didn't think very well of it. he was generally modest about his work and never quite satisfied. but he finally accepted the judgment of his friend and consented to run it. he changed the title to "later words from truthful james," but when the proof came substituted "plain language from truthful james." he made a number of other changes, as was his wont, for he was always painstaking and given to critical polishing. in some instances he changed an entire line or a phrase of two lines. the copy read: "till at last he led off the right bower, that nye had just hid on his knee." as changed on the proof it read: "till at last he put down a right bower, which the same nye had dealt unto me." it was a happy second thought that suggested the most quoted line in this famous poem. the fifth line of the seventh verse originally read: "or is civilization a failure?" on the margin of the proof-sheet he substituted the ringing line: "we are ruined by chinese cheap labor," --an immense improvement--the verse reading: "then i looked up at nye, and he gazed unto me, and he rose with a sigh, and said, 'can this be? we are ruined by chinese cheap labor!' and he went for that heathen chinee." the corrected proof, one of the treasures of the university of california, with which harte was for a time nominally connected, bears convincing testimony to the painstaking methods by which he sought the highest degree of literary perfection. this poem was not intended as a serious addition to contemporary verse. harte disclaimed any purpose whatever; but there seems just a touch of political satire. "the chinese must go" was becoming the popular political slogan, and he always enjoyed rowing against the tide. the poem greatly extended his name and fame. it was reprinted in _punch_, it was liberally quoted on the floors of congress, and it "caught on" everywhere. perhaps it is today the one thing by which harte is best known. one of the most amusing typographical errors on record occurred in the printing of this poem. in explanation of the manner of the duplicity of _ah sin, truthful james_ was made to say: "in his sleeves, which were long, he had twenty-one packs:" and that was the accepted reading for many years, in spite of the physical impossibility of concealing six hundred and ninety-three cards and one arm in even a chinaman's sleeve. the game they played was euchre, where bowers are supreme, and what harte wrote was "jacks," not "packs." probably the same pious proofreader who was shocked at the "luck" did not know the game, and, as the rhyme was perfect, let it slip. later editions corrected the error, though it is still often seen. harte gave nearly three years to the _overland_. his success had naturally brought him flattering offers, and the temptation to realize on his reputation seems to have been more than he could withstand. the _overland_ had become a valuable property, eventually passing into control of another publisher. the new owners were unable or unwilling to pay what he thought he must earn, and somewhat reluctantly he resigned the editorship and left the state of his adoption. harte, with his family, left san francisco in february, . they went first to chicago, where he confidently expected to be editor of a magazine to be called the _lakeside monthly_. he was invited to a dinner given by the projectors of the enterprise, at which a large-sized check was said to have been concealed beneath his plate; but for some unexplained reason he failed to attend the dinner and the magazine was given up. those who know the facts acquit him of all blame in the matter; but, in any event, his hopes were dashed, and he proceeded to the east disappointed and unsettled. soon after arriving at new york he visited boston, dining with the saturday club and visiting howells, then editor of the _atlantic_, at cambridge. he spent a pleasant week, meeting lowell, longfellow, and emerson. mrs. aldrich, in "crowding memories," gives a vivid picture of his charm and high spirits at this meeting of friends and celebrities. the boston atmosphere as a whole was not altogether delightful. he seemed constrained, but he did a fine stroke of business. james r. osgood & co. offered him ten thousand dollars for whatever he might write in a year, and he accepted the handsome retainer. it did not stimulate him to remarkable output. he wrote four stories, including "how santa claus came to simpson's bar," and five poems, including "concepcion de arguello." the offer was not renewed the following year. for seven years new york city was generally his winter home. some of his summers were spent in newport, and some in new jersey. in the former he wrote "a newport romance" and in the latter "thankful blossom." one summer he spent at cohasset, where he met lawrence barrett and stuart robson, writing "two men of sandy bar," produced in . "sue," his most successful play, was produced in new york and in london in . to earn money sorely needed he took the distasteful lecture field. his two subjects were "the argonauts" and "american humor." his letters to his wife at this time tell the pathetic tale of a sensitive, troubled soul struggling to earn money to pay debts. he writes with brave humor, but the work was uncongenial and the returns disappointing. from ottawa he writes: "do not let this worry you, but kiss the children for me, and hope for the best. i should send you some money, but there _isn't any to send_, and maybe i shall only bring back myself." the next day he added a postscript: "dear nan--i did not send this yesterday, waiting to find the results of last night's lecture. it was a fair house, and this morning--paid me $ , of which i send you the greater part." a few days later he wrote from lawrence, the morning after an unexpectedly good audience: "i made a hundred dollars by the lecture, and it is yours for yourself, nan, to buy minxes with, if you want to." from washington he writes: "thank you, dear nan, for your kind, hopeful letter. i have been very sick, very much disappointed; but i am better now and am only waiting for money to return. can you wonder that i have kept this from you? you have so hard a time of it there, that i cannot bear to have you worried if there is the least hope of a change in my affairs. god bless you and keep you and the children safe, for the sake of frank." no one can read these letters without feeling that they mirror the real man, refined of feeling, kindly and humorous, but not strong of courage, oppressed by obligations, and burdened by doubts of how he was to care for those he loved. with all his talent he could not command independence, and the lot of the man who earns less than it costs to live is hard to bear. harte had the faculty of making friends, even if by neglect he sometimes lost them, and they came to his rescue in this trying time. charles a. dana and others secured for him an appointment by president hayes as commercial agent at crefeld, prussia. in june, , he sailed for england, leaving his family at sea cliff, long island, little supposing that he would never see them or america again. on the day he reached crefeld he wrote his wife in a homesick and almost despondent strain: "i am to all appearance utterly friendless; i have not received the first act of kindness or courtesy from anyone. i think things must be better soon. i shall, please god, make some good friends in good time, and will try and be patient. but i shall not think of sending for you until i see clearly that i can stay myself. if worst comes to worst i shall try to stand it for a year, and save enough to come home and begin anew there. but i could not stand it to see you break your heart here through disappointment as i mayhap may do." here is the artistic, impressionable temperament, easily disheartened, with little self-reliant courage or grit. but he seems to have felt a little ashamed of his plaint, for at midnight of the same day he wrote a second letter, half apologetic and much more hopeful, just because one or two people had been a little kind and he had been taken out to a _fest_. soon after, he wrote a letter to his younger son, then a small boy. it told of a pleasant drive to the rhine, a few miles away. he concludes: "it was all very wonderful, but papa thought after all he was glad his boys live in a country that is as yet _pure_ and _sweet_ and _good_--not in one where every field seems to cry out with the remembrance of bloodshed and wrong, and where so many people have lived and suffered that tonight, under this clear moon, their very ghosts seemed to throng the road and dispute our right of way. be thankful, my dear boy, that you are an american. papa was never so fond of his country before as in this land that has been so great, powerful, and so very hard and wicked." in may, , he was made consul at glasgow, a position that he filled for five years. during this period he spent a considerable part of his time in london and in visiting at country homes. he lectured and wrote and made many friends, among the most valued of whom were william black and walter besant. a new administration came in with and harte was superseded. he went to london and settled down to a simple and regular life. for ten years he lived with the van de veldes, friends of long standing. he wrote with regularity and published several volumes of stories and sketches. in harte visited switzerland. of the alps he wrote: "in spite of their pictorial composition i wouldn't give a mile of the dear old sierras, with their honesty, sincerity, and magnificent uncouthness, for a hundred thousand kilometers of the picturesque vaud." of geneva he wrote: "i thought i should not like it, fancying it a kind of continental boston, and that the shadow of john calvin and the old reformers, or still worse the sentimental idiocy of rousseau and the de staels, still lingered." but he did like it, and wrote brilliantly of lake leman and mont blanc. returning to his home in aldershot he resumed work, giving some time to a libretto for a musical comedy, but his health was failing and he accomplished little. a surgical operation for cancer of the throat in march, , afforded a little relief, but he worked with difficulty. on april th he began a new story, "a friend of colonel starbottle." he wrote one sentence and began another; but the second sentence was his last work, though a few letters to friends bear a later date. on may th, sitting at his desk, there came a hemorrhage of the throat, followed later in the day by a second, which left him unconscious. before the end of the day he peacefully breathed his last. pathetic and inexplicable were the closing days of this gifted man. an exile from his native land, unattended by family or kin, sustaining his lonely life by wringing the dregs of memory, and clasping in farewell the hands of a fancied friend of his dear old reprobate colonel, he, like kentuck, "drifted away into the shadowy river that flows forever to the unknown sea." in his more than forty years of authorship he was both industrious and prolific. in the nineteen volumes of his published work there must be more than two hundred titles of stories and sketches, and many of them are little known. some of them are disappointing in comparison with his earlier and perhaps best work, but many of them are charming and all are in his delightful style, with its undertone of humor that becomes dominant at unexpected intervals. his literary form was distinctive, with a manner not derived from the schools or copied from any of his predecessors, but developed from his own personality. he seems to have founded a modern school, with a lightness of touch and a felicity of expression unparalleled. he was vividly imaginative, and also had the faculty of giving dramatic form and consistency to an incident or story told by another. he was a story-teller, equally dexterous in prose or verse. his taste was unerring and he sought for perfect form. his atmosphere was breezy and healthful--out of doors with the fragrance of the pine-clad sierras. he was never morbid and introspective. his characters are virile and natural men and women who act from simple motives, who live and love, or hate and fight, without regard to problems and with small concern for conventionalities. harte had sentiment, but was realistic and fearless. he felt under no obligation to make all gamblers villains or all preachers heroes. he dealt with human nature in the large and he made it real. his greatest achievement was in faithfully mirroring the life of a new and striking epoch. he seems to have discovered that it was picturesque and to have been almost alone in impressing this fact on the world. he sketched pictures of pioneer life as he saw or imagined it with matchless beauty and compelled the interest and enjoyment of all mankind. his chief medium was the short story, to which he gave a new vogue. translated into many tongues, his tales became the source of knowledge to a large part of the people of europe as to california and the pacific. he associated the far west with romance, and we have never fully outlived it. that he was gifted as a poet no one can deny. perhaps his most striking use of his power as a versifier was in connection with the romantic spanish background of california history. such work as "concepcion de arguello" is well worth while. in his "spanish idylls and legends" he catches the fine spirit of the period and connects california with a past of charm and beauty. his patriotic verse has both strength and loveliness and reflects a depth of feeling that his lighter work does not lead us to expect. in his dialect verse he revels in fun and shows himself a genuine and cleanly humorist. if we search for the source of his great power we may not expect to find it; yet we may decide that among his endowments his extraordinary power of absorption contributes very largely. his early reference to "eager absorption" and "photographic sensitiveness" are singularly significant expressions. experience teaches the plodder, but the man of genius, supremely typified by shakespeare, needs not to acquire knowledge slowly and painfully. sympathy, imagination, and insight reveal truth, and as a plate, sensitized, holds indefinitely the records of the exposure, so harte, forty years after in london, holds in consciousness the impressions of the days he spent in tuolumne county. it is a great gift, a manifestation of genius. he had a fine background of inheritance and a lifetime of good training. bret harte was also gifted with an agreeable personality. he was even-tempered and good-natured. he was an ideal guest and enjoyed his friends. whatever his shortcomings and whatever his personal responsibility for them, he deserves to be treated with the consideration and generosity he extended to others. he was never censorious, and instances of his magnanimity are many. severity of judgment is a custom that few of us can afford, and to be generous is never a mistake. harte was extremely sensitive, and he deplored controversy. he was quite capable of suffering in silence if defense of self might reflect on others. his deficiencies were trivial but damaging, and their heavy retribution he bore with dignity, retaining the respect of those who knew him. as to what he was, as man and author, he is entitled to be judged by a jury of his peers. i could quote at length from a long list of associates of high repute, but they all concur fully with the comprehensive judgment of ina coolbrith, who knew him intimately. she says, "i can only speak of him in terms of unqualified praise as author, friend, and man." in the general introduction that harte wrote for the first volume of his collected stories he refers to the charge that he "confused recognized standards of morality by extenuating lives of recklessness and often criminality with a single solitary virtue" as "the cant of too much mercy." he then adds: "without claiming to be a religious man or a moralist, but simply as an artist, he shall reverently and humbly conform to the rules laid down by a great poet who created the parables of the prodigal son and the good samaritan, whose works have lasted eighteen hundred years, and will remain when the present writer and his generations are forgotten. and he is conscious of uttering no original doctrine in this, but only of voicing the beliefs of a few of his literary brethren happily living, and one gloriously dead, [footnote: evidently dickens.] who never made proclamation of this from the housetops." bret harte had a very unusual combination of sympathetic insight, emotional feeling, and keen sense of the dramatic. in the expression of the result of these powers he commanded a literary style individually developed, expressive of a rare personality. he was vividly imaginative, and he had exacting ideals of precision in expression. his taste was unerring. the depth and power of the great soul were not his. he was the artist, not the prophet. he was a delightful painter of the life he saw, an interpreter of the romance of his day, a keen but merciful satirist, a humorist without reproach, a patriot, a critic, and a kindly, modest gentleman. he was versatile, doing many things exceedingly well, and some things supremely well. he discerned the significance of the remarkable social conditions of early days in california and developed a marvelous power of presenting them in vivid and attractive form. his humor is unsurpassed. it is pervasive, like the perfume of the rose, never offending by violence. his style is a constant surprise and a never-ending delight. his spirit is kindly and generous. he finds good in unsuspected places, and he leaves hope for all mankind. he was sensitive, peace-loving, and indignant at wrong, a scorner of pretense, independent in thought, just in judgment. he surmounted many difficulties, bore suffering without complaint, and left with those who really knew him a pleasant memory. it would seem that he was a greater artist and a better man than is commonly conceded. in failing to honor him california suffers. he should be cherished as her early interpreter, if not as her spirit's discoverer, and ranked high among those who have contributed to her fame. he is the representative literary figure of the state. in her imaginary temple of fame or hall of heroes he deserves a prominent, if not the foremost, niche. as the generations move forward he must not be forgotten. bret harte at our hands needs not to be idealized, but he does deserve to be justly, gratefully, and fittingly realized. chapter v san francisco--the sixties we are familiar with the romantic birth of san francisco and its precocious childhood; we are well acquainted with its picturesque background of spanish history and the glorious days of ' ; but i doubt if we are as well informed as to the significant and perhaps equally important second decade. it was my fortune to catch a hurried glance of san francisco in , when the population was about forty-five thousand. i was then on the way from new england to my father's home in humboldt county. i next saw it in while on my way to and from attendance at the state fair. in i took up my residence in the city and it has since been continuous. that the almost neglected sixties may have some setting, let me briefly trace the beginnings. things moved slowly when america was discovered. columbus found the mainland in . ten years later balboa reached the pacific, and, wading into the ocean, modestly claimed for his sovereign all that bordered its shores. thirty years thereafter the point farthest west was named mendocino, for mendoza, the viceroy ordering the expedition of cabrillo and ferrelos. thirty-seven years later came drake, and almost found san francisco bay. but all these discoveries led to no occupation. it seems incredible that two hundred and twenty-six years elapsed from cabrillo's visit to the day the first settlers landed in san diego, founding the first of the famous missions. historically, is surely marked. in this year napoleon and wellington were born and civilized california was founded. san francisco bay was discovered by a land party. it was august , , seven weeks after the battle of bunker hill, that ayala cautiously found his way into the bay and anchored the "san carlos" off sausalito. five days before the declaration of independence was signed moraga and his men, the first colonists, arrived in san francisco and began getting out the timber to build the fort at the presidio and the church at mission dolores. vancouver, in , poking into an unknown harbor, found a good landing-place at a cove around the first point he rounded at his right. the spaniards called it yerba buena, after the fragrant running vine that abounded in the lee of the sandhills which filled the present site of market street, especially at a point now occupied by the building of the mechanics-mercantile library. there was no human habitation in sight, nor was there to be for forty years, but friendly welcome came on the trails that led to the presidio and the mission. an occasional whaler or a trader in hides and tallow came and went, but foreigners were not encouraged to settle. it was in that the first "gringo" came. in there were thirteen in all california, three of whom were americans. in william a. richardson was the first foreign resident of yerba buena. he was allowed to lay out a street and build a structure of boards and ship's sails in the calle de fundacion, which generally followed the lines of the present grant avenue. the spot approximates number of the avenue today. when dana came in it was the only house visible. the following year jacob p. leese built a complete house, and it was dedicated by a celebration and ball on the fourth of july in which the whole community participated. the settlement grew slowly. in there were sixteen foreigners. in there were a dozen houses and fifty people. in there were but five thousand people in all the state. the missions had been disbanded and the presidio was manned by one gray-haired soldier. the mexican war brought renewed life. on july , , commodore sloat sent captain montgomery with the frigate "portsmouth," and the american flag was raised on the staff in the plaza of , since called portsmouth square. thus began the era of american occupation. lieutenant bartlett was made alcalde, with large powers, in pursuance of which, on february , , he issued a simple order that the town thereafter be known as san francisco,--and its history as such began. the next year gold was discovered. a sleepy, romantic, shiftless but picturesque community became wide-awake, energetic, and aggressive. san francisco leaped into prominence. every nation on earth sent its most ambitious and enterprising as well as its most restless and irresponsible citizens. in the last nine months of , seven hundred shiploads were landed in a houseless town. they largely left for the mines, but more remained than could be housed. they lived on and around hulks run ashore and thousands found shelter in happy valley tents. a population of two thousand at the beginning of the year was twenty thousand at the end. it was a gold-crazed community. everything consumed was imported. gold dust was the only export. from to , gold amounting to over six hundred million dollars was produced. the maximum--eighty-one millions--was reached in . the following year showed a decline of fourteen millions, and saw a further decline of twelve millions. alarm was felt. at the same ratio of decline, in less than four years production would cease. it was plainly evident, if the state were to exist and grow, that other resources must be developed. in the first decade there were periods of great depression. bank and commercial failures were very frequent occurrences in . the state was virtually only six years old--but what wonderful years they had been! in the splendor of achievement and the glamour of the golden fleece we lose sight of the fact that the community was so small. in the whole state there were not more than , people, of whom a seventh lived in san francisco. there were indications that the tide of immigration had reached its height. in arrivals had exceeded departures by twenty-four thousand. in the excess dropped to six thousand. my first view of san francisco left a vivid impression of a city in every way different from any i had ever seen. the streets were planked, the buildings were heterogeneous--some of brick or stone, others little more than shacks. portsmouth square was the general center of interest, facing the city hall and the post office. clay street hill was higher then than now. i know it because i climbed to its top to call on a boy who came on the steamer and lived there. there was but little settlement to the west of the summit. the leading hotel was the international, lately opened, on jackson street below montgomery. it was considered central in location, being convenient to the steamer landings, the custom house, and the wholesale trade. probably but one building of that period has survived. at the corner of montgomery and california streets stood parrott's granite block, the stone for which was cut in china and assembled in by chinese workmen imported for the purpose. it harbored the bank of page, bacon & co., and has been continuously occupied, surviving an explosion of nitroglycerine in (when wells, fargo & co. were its tenants) as well as the fire of . wilson's exchange was in sansome street near sacramento. the american theater was opposite. where the bank of california stands there was a seed store. on the northeast corner of california and sansome streets was bradshaw's zinc grocery store. the growth of the city southward had already begun. the effort to develop north beach commercially had failed. meiggs' wharf was little used; the cobweb saloon, near its shore end, was symbolic. telegraph hill and its semaphore and time-ball were features of business life. it was well worth climbing for the view, which bayard taylor pronounced the finest in the world. at this time san francisco monopolized the commerce of the coast. everything that entered california came through the golden gate, and it nearly all went up the sacramento river. it was distinctly the age of gold. other resources were not considered. this all seemed a very insecure basis for a permanent state. that social and political conditions were threatening may be inferred when we recall that brought the vigilance committee. in came the fraser river stampede. twenty-three thousand people are said to have left the city, and real-estate values suffered severely. in the pony express was established, bringing "the states," as the east was generally designated, considerably nearer. it took but ten and a half days to st. louis, and thirteen to new york, with postage five dollars an ounce. steamers left on the first and fifteenth of the month, and the twenty-eighth and fourteenth were religiously observed as days for collection. no solvent man of honor failed to settle his account on "steamer day." the election of lincoln, followed by the threat of war, was disquieting, and the large southern element was out of sympathy with anything like coercion. but patriotism triumphed. early in a mass meeting was held at the corner of montgomery and market streets, and san francisco pledged her loyalty. in november, , i attended the state fair at sacramento as correspondent for the _humboldt times_. about the only impression of san francisco on my arrival was the disgust i felt for the proprietor of the hotel at which i stopped, when, in reply to my eager inquiry for war news, he was only able to say that he believed there had been some fighting somewhere in virginia. this to one starving for information after a week's abstinence was tantalizing. after a week of absorbing interest, in a fair that seemed enormously important and impressive, i timed my return so as to spend sunday in san francisco, and it was made memorable by attending, morning and evening, the unitarian church, then in stockton near sacramento, and hearing starr king. he had come from boston the year before, proposing to fill the pulpit for a year, and from the first aroused great enthusiasm. i found the church crowded and was naturally consigned to a back seat, which i shared with a sewing-machine, for it was war-time and the women were very active in relief work. the gifted preacher was thirty-seven years old, but seemed younger. he was of medium height, had a kindly face with a generous mouth, a full forehead, and dark, glowing eyes. in june, , i became a resident of san francisco, rejoining the family and becoming a clerk in the office of the superintendent of indian affairs. the city was about one-fifth its present size, claiming a population of , . i want to give an idea of san francisco's character and life at that time, and of general conditions in the second decade. it is not easy to do, and demands the reader's help and sympathy. let him imagine, if he will, that he is visiting san francisco for the first time, and that he is a personal friend of the writer, who takes a day off to show him the city. in one could arrive here only by steamer; there were no railways. i meet my friend at the gangplank of the steamer on the wharf at the foot of broadway. to reach the car on east street (now the embarcadero), we very likely skirt gaping holes in the planked wharf, exposing the dark water lapping the supporting piles, and are assailed by bilge-like odors that escape. two dejected horses await us. entering the car we find two lengthwise seats upholstered in red plush. if it be winter, the floor is liberally covered by straw, to mitigate the mud. if it be summer, the trade winds are liberally charged with fine sand and infinitesimal splinters from the planks which are utilized for both streets and sidewalks. we rattle along east and intersecting streets until we reach sansome, upon which we proceed to bush, which practically bounds the business district on the south, thence we meander by a circuitous route to laurel hill cemetery near lone mountain. a guide is almost necessary. an incoming stranger once asked the conductor to let him off at the american exchange, which the car passed. he was surprised at the distance to his destination. at the cemetery end of the line he discovered that the conductor had forgotten him, but was assured that he would stop at the hotel on the way back. the next thing he knew he reached the wharf; the conductor had again forgotten him. his confidence exhausted, he insisted on walking, following the track until he reached the hotel. in the present instance we alight from the car when it reaches montgomery street, at the occidental hotel, new and attractive, well managed by a new yorker named leland and especially patronized by army people. we rest briefly and start out for a preliminary survey. three blocks to the south we reach market street and gaze upon the outer edge of the bustling city. across the magnificently wide but rude and unfinished street, at the immediate right, where the palace hotel is to stand, we see st. patrick's church and an orphan asylum. a little beyond, at the corner of third street, is a huge hill of sand covering the present site of the glaus spreckels building, upon which a steam-paddy is at work loading flat steam cars that run mission-ward. the lot now occupied by the emporium is the site of a large catholic school. at our left, stretching to the bay are coal-yards, foundries, planing-mills, box-factories, and the like. it will be years before business crosses market street. happy valley and pleasant valley, beyond, are well covered by inexpensive residences. the north beach and south park car line connects the fine residence district on and around rincon hill with the fine stretches of northern stockton street and the environs of telegraph hill. at the time i picture, no street-cars ran below montgomery, on market street; traffic did not warrant it. it was a boundary rather than a thoroughfare. it was destined to be one of the world's noted streets, but at this time the city's life pulsed through montgomery street, to which we will now return. turning from the apparent jumping-off place we cross to the "dollar side" and join the promenaders who pass in review or pause to gaze at the shop windows. montgomery street has been pre-eminent since the early days and is now at its height. for a long time clay street harbored the leading dry-goods stores, like the city of paris, but all are struggling for place in montgomery. here every business is represented--beach, roman, and bancroft, the leading booksellers; barrett & sherwood, tucker, and andrews, jewelers; donohoe, kelly & co., john sime, and hickox & spear, bankers; and numerous dealers in carpets, furniture, hats, french shoes, optical goods, etc. of course barry & patten's was not the only saloon. passing along we are almost sure to see some of the characters of the day--certainly emperor norton and freddie coombs (a reincarnated franklin), probably colonel stevenson, with his punch-like countenance, towering isaac friedlander, the poor rich michael reese, handsome hall mcallister, and aristocratic ogden hoffman. should the fire-bell ring we will see knickerbocker no. five in action, with chief scannell and "bummer" and "lazarus," and perhaps lillie hitchcock. when we reach washington street we cross to make a call at the bank exchange in the montgomery block, the largest structure on the street. the "exchange" is merely a popular saloon, but it boasts ten billiard tables and back of the bar hangs the famous picture of "samson and delilah." luncheon being in order we are embarrassed with riches. perhaps the mint restaurant is as good as the best and probably gives a sight of more prominent politicians than any other resort; but something quite characteristic is the daily gathering at jury's, a humble hole-in-the-wall in merchant street back of the _bulletin_ office. four lawyers who like one another, and like good living as well, have a special table. alexander campbell, milton andros, george sharp, and judge dwinelle will stop first in the clay street market, conveniently opposite, and select the duck, fish, or english mutton-chops for the day's menu. one of the number bears the choice to the kitchen and superintends its preparation while the others engage in shrimps and table-talk until it is served. if jury's is overflowing with custom, there are two other french restaurants alongside. after luncheon we have a glimpse of the business district, following back on the "two-bit" side of the street. at clay we pass a saloon with a cigar-stand in front and find a group listening to a man with bushy hair and a reddish mustache, who in an easy attitude and in a quaintly drawling voice is telling a story. we await the laugh and pass on, and i say that he is a reporter, lately from nevada, called mark twain. very likely we encounter at commercial street, on his way to the _call_ office, a well-dressed young man with dundreary whiskers and an aquiline nose. he nods to me and i introduce bret harte, secretary to the superintendent of the mint, and author of the clever "condensed novels" being printed in the _californian_. at california street we turn east, passing the shipping offices and hardware houses, and coming to battery street, where israelites wax fat in wholesale dry goods and the clothing business. for solid big business in groceries, liquors, and provisions we must keep on to front street--front by name only, for four streets on filled-in land have crept in front of front. following this very important street past the shipping offices we reach washington street, passing up which we come to battery street, where we pause to glance at the custom house and post office at the right and the recently established bank of california on the southwest corner of the two streets. having fairly surveyed the legitimate business we wish to see something of the engrossing avocation of most of the people of the city, of any business or no business, and we pass on to montgomery, crossing over to the center of the stock exchange activities. groups of men and women are watching the tapes in the brokers' offices, messengers are running in and out the board entrances, intense excitement is everywhere apparent. having gained admission to the gallery of the board room we look down on the frantic mob, buying and selling comstock shares. how much is really sold and how much is washing no one knows, but enormous transactions, big with fate, are of everyday occurrence. as we pass out we notice a man with strong face whose shoes show dire need of patching. asked his name, i answer, "jim keane; just now he is down, but some day he is bound to be way up." we saunter up clay, passing burr's savings bank and a few remaining stores, to kearny, and portsmouth square, whose glory is departing. the city hall faces it, and so does exempt engine house, but dentists' offices and cheap theaters and chinese stores are crowding in. clay street holds good boarding-houses, but decay is manifest. we pass on to stockton, still a favorite residence street; turning south we pass, near sacramento, the church in which starr king first preached, now proudly owned by the negro methodists. at post we reach union square, nearly covered by the wooden pavilion in which the mechanics' institute holds its fairs. diagonally opposite the southeast corner of the desecrated park are the buildings of the ambitious city college, and east of them a beautiful church edifice always spoken of as "starr king's church." very likely, seeing the church, i might be reminded of one of mr. king's most valued friends, and suggest that we call upon him at the golden gate flour-mill in pine street, where the california market was to stand. if we met horace davis, i should feel that i had presented one of our best citizens. dinner presents many opportunities; but i am inclined to think we shall settle on frank garcia's restaurant in montgomery near jackson, where good service awaits us, and we may hear the upraised voices of some of the big lawyers who frequent the place. for the evening we have the choice between several bands of minstrels, but if forrest and john mccullough are billed for "jack cade" we shall probably call on tom maguire. after the strenuous play we pass up washington street to peter job's and indulge in his incomparable ice-cream. on sunday i shall continue my guidance. churches are plentiful and preachers are good. in the afternoon i think i may venture to invite my friend to the willows, a public garden between mission and valencia and seventeenth and nineteenth streets. we shall hear excellent music in the open air and can sit at a small table and sip good beer. i find such indulgence far less wicked than i had been led to believe. when there is something distinctive in a community a visitor is supposed to take it in, and in the evening we attend the meeting of the dashaway association in its own hall in post street near dupont. it numbers five thousand members and meets sunday mornings and evenings. strict temperance is a live issue at this time. the sons of temperance maintain four divisions. there are besides two lodges of good templars and a san francisco temperance union. and in spite of all this the city feels called upon to support a home for inebriates at stockton and chestnut streets, to which the supervisors contribute two hundred and fifty dollars a month. i shall feel that i am derelict if i do not manage a jaunt to the cliff house. the most desirable method demands a span of horses for a spin out point lobos avenue. we may, however, be obliged to take a mcginn bus that leaves the plaza hourly. it will be all the same when we reach the cliff and gaze on ben butler and his companion sea-lions as they disport themselves in the ocean or climb the rocks. wind or fog may greet us, but the indifferent monsters roar, fight, and play, while the restless waves roll in. we must, also, make a special trip to rincon hill and south park to see how and where our magnates dwell. the block in folsom street must not be neglected. the residences of such men as john parrott and milton s. latham are almost palatial. it is related that a visitor impressed with the elegance of one of these places asked a modest man in the neighborhood if he knew whose it was. "yes," he replied, "it belongs to an old fool by the name of john parrott, and i am he." we shall leave out something distinctive if we do not call at the what cheer house in sacramento street below montgomery, a hostelry for men, with moderate prices, notwithstanding many unusual privileges. it has a large reading-room and a library of five thousand volumes, besides a very respectable museum. guests are supplied with all facilities for blacking their own boots, and are made at home in every way. incidentally the proprietor made a good fortune, a large part of which he invested in turning his home at fourteenth and mission streets into a pleasure resort known as woodward's gardens, which for many years was our principal park, art gallery and museum. these are a few of the things i could have shown. but to know and appreciate the spirit and character of a city one must live in it and be of it; so i beg to be dismissed as a guide and to offer experiences and events that may throw some light on life in the stirring sixties. when i migrated from humboldt county and enlisted for life as a san franciscan i lived with my father's family in a small brick house in powell street near ellis. the golden west hotel now covers the lot. the little houses opposite were on a higher level and were surrounded by small gardens. both street and sidewalks were planked, but i remember that my brother and i, that we might escape the drifting sand, often walked on the flat board that capped the flimsy fence in front of a vacant lot. on the west of powell, at market, was st. ann's garden and nursery. on the east, where the flood building stands, was a stable and riding-school. much had been accomplished in city building, but the process was continuing. few of us realize the obstacles overcome. fifteen years before, the site was the rugged end of a narrow peninsula, with high rock hills, wastes of drifting sand, a curving cove of beach, bordered with swamps and estuaries, and here and there a few oases in the form of small valleys. in the general lines of the city were practically those of today. it was the present san francisco, laid out but not filled out. there was little west of larkin street and quite a gap between the city proper and the mission. size in a city greatly modifies character. in i found a compact community; whatever was going on seemed to interest all. we now have a multitude of unrelated circles; then there was one great circle including the sympathetic whole. the one theater that offered the legitimate drew and could accommodate all who cared for it. herold's orchestral concerts, a great singer like parepa rosa, or a violinist like ole bull drew all the music-lovers of the city. and likewise, in the early springtime when the unitarian picnic was announced at belmont or fairfax, it would be attended by at least a thousand, and heartily enjoyed by all, regardless of church connection. such things are no more, though the population to draw from be five times as large. in the sixties, church congregations and lecture audiences were much larger than they are now. there seemed always to be some one preacher or lecturer who was the vogue, practically monopolizing public interest. his name might be scudder or kittredge or moody, but while he lasted everybody rushed to hear him. and there was commonly some special fad that prevailed. spiritualism held the boards for quite a time. changes in real-estate values were a marked feature of the city's life. the laying out of broadway was significant of expectations. banks in the early days were north of pacific in montgomery, but very soon the drift to the south began. in , when the unitarian church in stockton street near sacramento was found too small, it was determined to push well to the front of the city's growth. two lots were under final consideration, the northwest corner of geary and powell, where the st. francis now stands, and the lot in geary east of stockton, now covered by the whitney building. the first lot was a corner and well situated, but it was rejected on the ground that it was "too far out." the trustees paid $ , for the other lot and built the fine church that was occupied until , when it was felt to be too far down town, and the present building at franklin and geary streets was erected. incidentally, the lot sold for $ , . the evolution of pavements has been an interesting incident of the city's life. planks were cheap and they held down some of the sand, but they grew in disfavor. in the superintendent of streets reported that in the previous year , , square feet of planks had been laid, and , square feet had been paved with cobbles, a lineal mile of which cost $ , . how much suffering they cost the militia who marched on them is not reported. nicholson pavement was tried and found wanting. basalt blocks found brief favor. finally we reached the modern era and approximate perfection. checker-board street planning was a serious misfortune to the city, and it was aggravated by the narrowness of most of the streets. kearny street, forty-five and one-half feet wide, and dupont, forty-four and one-half feet, were absurd. in steps were taken to add thirty feet to the west side of kearny. in the work was done, and it proved a great success. the cost was five hundred and seventy-nine thousand dollars, and the addition to the value of the property was not less than four million dollars. when the work began the front-foot value at the northern end was double that at market street. today the value at market street is more than five times that at broadway. the first sunday after my arrival in san francisco i went to the unitarian church and heard the wonderfully attractive and satisfying dr. bellows, temporary supply. it was the beginning of a church connection that still continues and to which i owe more than i can express. dr. bellows had endeared himself to the community by his warm appreciation of their liberal support of the sanitary commission during the civil war. the interchange of messages between him in new york and starr king in san francisco had been stimulating and effective. when the work was concluded it was found that california had furnished one-fourth of the $ , , expended. governor low headed the san francisco committee. the pacific coast, with a population of half a million, supplied one-third of all the money spent by this forerunner of the red cross. the other states of the union, with a population of about thirty-two million, supplied two-thirds. but california was far away and it was not thought wise to drain the west of its loyal forces, and we ought to have given freely of our money. in all, quite a number found their way to the fighting front. a friend of mine went to the wharf to see lieutenant sheridan, late of oregon, embark for the east and active service. sheridan was grimly in earnest, and remarked: "i'll come back a captain or i'll not come back at all." when he did come back it was with the rank of lieutenant-general. while san francisco was unquestionably loyal, there were not a few southern sympathizers, and loyalists were prepared for trouble. i soon discovered that a secret union league was active and vigilant. weekly meetings for drill were held in the pavilion in union square, admission being by password only. i promptly joined. the regimental commander was martin j. burke, chief of police. my company commander was george t. knox, a prominent notary public. i also joined the militia, choosing the state guard, captain dawes, which drilled weekly in the armory in market street opposite dupont. fellow members were horace davis and his brother george, charles w. wendte (now an eastern d.d.), samuel l. cutter, fred glimmer of the unitarian church, henry michaels, and w.w. henry, father of the present president of mills college. our active service was mainly confined to marching over the cruel cobble-stones on the fourth of july and other show-off occasions, while commonly we indulged in an annual excursion and target practice in the wilds of alameda. once we saw real service. when the news of the assassination of lincoln reached san francisco the excitement was intense. newspapers that had slandered him or been lukewarm in his support suffered. the militia was called out in fear of a riot and passed a night in the basement of platt's hall. but preparedness was all that was needed. a few days later we took part in a most imposing procession. all the military and most other organizations followed a massive catafalque and a riderless horse through streets heavily draped with black. the line of march was long, arms were reversed, the sorrowing people crowded the way, and solemnity and grief on every hand told how deeply lincoln was loved. i had cast my first presidential vote for him, at turn verein hall, bush street, november , . when the news of his re-election by the voters of every loyal state came to us, we went nearly wild with enthusiasm, but our heartiest rejoicing came with the fall of richmond. we had a great procession, following the usual route--from washington square to montgomery, to market, to third, to south park, where fair women from crowded balconies waved handkerchiefs and flags to shouting marchers--and back to the place of beginning. processioning was a great function of those days, observed by the cohorts of st. patrick and by all political parties. it was a painful process, for the street pavement was simply awful. sometimes there were trouble and mild assaults. the only recollection i have of striking a man is connected with a torchlight procession celebrating some union victory. when returning from south of market, a group of jeering toughs closed in on us and i was lightly hit. i turned and using my oil-filled lamp at the end of a staff as a weapon, hit out at my assailant. the only evidence that the blow was an effective one was the loss of the lamp; borne along by solid ranks of patriots i clung to an unilluminated stick. party feeling was strong in the sixties and bands and bonfires plentiful. at one election the democrats organized a corps of rangers, who marched with brooms, indicative of the impending clean sweep by which they were to "turn the rascals out." for each presidential election drill crops were organized, but the blaine invincibles didn't exactly prove so. the republican party held a long lease of power, however. governor low was a very popular executive, while municipally the people's party, formed in by adherents of the vigilance committee, was still in the saddle, giving good, though not far-sighted and progressive, government. only those who experienced the abuses under the old methods of conducting elections can realize the value of the provision for the uniform ballot and a quiet ballot box, adopted in . there had been no secrecy or privacy, and peddlers of rival tickets fought for patronage to the box's mouth. one served as an election officer at the risk of sanity if not of life. in the "fighting seventh" ward i once counted ballots for thirty-six consecutive hours, and as i remember conditions i was the only officer who finished sober. during my first year in government employ the depreciation in legal-tender notes in which we were paid was very embarrassing. one hundred dollars in notes would bring but thirty-five or forty dollars in gold, and we could get nothing we wanted except with gold. my second year in san francisco i lived in howard street near first and was bookkeeper for a stock-broker. i became familiar with the fascinating financial game that followed the development of the comstock lode, discovered in . it was before production was large. then began the silver age, a new era that completely transformed california and made san francisco a great center of financial power. within twenty years $ , , poured into her banks. the world's silver output increased from forty millions a year to sixty millions. in september of the stock board was organized. at first a share in a company represented a running foot on the lode's length. in , mr. cornelius o'connor bought ten shares of consolidated virginia at eight dollars a share. when it had been divided into one thousand shares and he was offered $ a share, he had the sagacity to sell, realizing a profit of $ , on his investment of $ . at the time he sold, a share represented one-fourteenth of an inch. in six years the bonanza yielded $ , , , of which $ , , was paid in dividends. the effect of such unparalleled riches was wide-spread. it made nevada a state and gave great impetus to the growth of san francisco. it had a marked influence on society and modified the character of the city itself. fifteen years of abnormal excitement, with gains and losses incredible in amount, unsettled the stability of trade and orderly business and proved a demoralizing influence. speculation became a habit. it was gambling adjusted to all conditions, with equal opportunity for millionaire or chambermaid, and few resisted altogether. few felt shame, but some were secretive. a few words are due adolph sutro, who dealt in cigars in his early manhood, but went to nevada in and by owned a quartz-mill. in he became impressed with the idea that the volume of water continually flowing into the deeper mines of the comstock lode would eventually demand an outlet on the floor of carson valley, four miles away. he secured the legislation and surprised both friends and enemies by raising the money to begin construction of the famous sutro tunnel. he began the work in , and in some way carried it through, spending five million dollars. the mine-owners did not want to use his tunnel, but they had to. he finally sold out at a good price and put the most of a large fortune in san francisco real estate. at one time he owned one-tenth of the area of the city. he forested the bald hills of the san miguel rancho, an immense improvement, changing the whole sky-line back of golden gate park. he built the fine sutro baths, planted the beautiful gardens on the heights above the cliff house, established a car line that meant to the ocean for a nickel, amassed a library of twenty thousand volumes, and incidentally made a good mayor. he was a public benefactor and should be held in grateful memory. the memories that cluster around a certain building are often impressive, both intrinsically and by reason of their variety. platt's hall is connected with experiences of first interest. for many years it was the place for most occasional events of every character. it was a large square auditorium on the spot now covered by the mills building. balls, lectures, concerts, political meetings, receptions, everything that was popular and wanted to be considered first-class went to platt's hall. starr king's popularity had given the unitarian church and sunday-school a great hold on the community. at christmas its festivals were held in platt's hall. we paid a hundred dollars for rent and twenty-five dollars for a christmas-tree. persons who served as doorkeepers or in any other capacity received ten dollars each. at one dollar for admission we crowded the big hall and always had money left over. our entertainments were elaborate, closing with a dance. my first service for the sunday-school was the unobserved holding up an angel's wing in a tableau. one of the most charming of effects was an artificial snowstorm, arranged for the concluding dance at a christmas festival. the ceiling of the hall was composed of horizontal windows giving perfect ventilation and incidentally making it feasible for a large force of boys to scatter quantities of cut-up white paper evenly and plentifully over the dancers, the evergreen garlands decorating the hall, and the polished floor. it was a long-continued downpour, a complete surprise, and for many a year a happy tradition. in platt's hall wonderfully fine orchestral concerts were held, under the very capable direction of rudolph herold. early in the sixties caroline richings had a successful season of english opera. later the howsons charmed us for a time. all the noteworthy lecturers of the world who visited california received us at platt's hall. beecher made a great impression. carl schurz, also, stirred us deeply. i recall one clever sentence. he said, "when the time came that this country needed a poultice it elected president hayes and got it." of our local talent real eloquence found its best expression in henry edgerton. the height of enthusiasm was registered in war-time by the mighty throng that gathered at lincoln's call for a hundred thousand men. starr king was the principal speaker. he had called upon his protégé, bret harte, for a poem for the occasion. harte doubted his ability, but he handed mr. king the result of his effort. he called it the "reveille." king was greatly delighted. harte hid himself in the concourse. king's wonderful voice, thrilling with emotion, carried the call to every heart and the audience with one accord stood and cheered again and again. one of the most striking coincidences i ever knew occurred in connection with the comparatively mild earthquake of . it visited us on a sunday at the last moments of the morning sermon. those in attendance at the unitarian church were engaged in singing the last hymn, standing with books in hand. the movement was not violent but threatening. it flashed through my mind that the strain on a building with a large unsupported roof must be great. faces blanched, but all stood quietly waiting the end, and all would have gone well had not the large central pipe of the organ, apparently unattached, only its weight holding it in place, tottered on its base and leaped over the heads of the choir, falling into the aisle in front of the first pews. the effect was electric. the large congregation waited for no benediction or other form of dismissal. the church was emptied in an incredibly short time, and the congregation was very soon in the middle of the street, hymnbooks in hand. the coincidence was that the verse being sung was, "the seas shall melt, and skies to smoke decay, rocks turn to dust, and mountains fall away." we had evening services at the time, and dr. stebbins again gave out the same hymn, and this time we sang it through. the story of golden gate park and how the city got it is very interesting, but must be much abridged. in i pieced out a modest income by reporting the proceedings of the board of supervisors and the school board for the _call_. it was in the palmy days of the people's party. the supervisors, elected from the wards in which they lived, were honest and fairly able. the man of most brains and initiative was frank mccoppin. the most important question before them was the disposition of the outside lands. in the city had sued for the four square leagues (seventeen thousand acres) allowed under the mexican law. it was granted ten thousand acres, which left all land west of divisadero street unsettled as to title. appeal was taken, and finally the city's claim was confirmed. in congress passed an act confirming the decree, and the legislature authorized the conveyance of the lands to occupants. they were mostly squatters, and the prize was a rich one. congress had decreed "that all of this land not needed for public purposes, or not previously disposed of, should be conveyed to the persons in possession," so that all the latitude allowed was as to what "needs for public purposes" covered. there had been agitation for a park; indeed, frederick law olmstead had made an elaborate but discouraging report, ignoring the availability of the drifting sand-hills that formed so large a part of the outside lands, recommending a park including our little duboce park and one at black point, the two to be connected by a widened and parked van ness avenue, sunken and crossed by ornamental bridges. the undistributed outside lands to be disposed of comprised eighty-four hundred acres. the supervisors determined to reserve one thousand acres for a park. some wanted to improve the opportunity to secure without cost considerably more. the _bulletin_ advocated an extension that would bring a bell-shaped panhandle down to the yerba buena cemetery, property owned by the city and now embraced in the civic center. after long consideration a compromise was made by which the claimants paid to those whose lands were kept for public use ten per cent of the value of the lands distributed. by this means , . acres were rescued, of which golden gate park included , . , the rest being used for a cemetery, buena vista park, public squares, school lots, etc. the ordinances accomplishing the qualified boon to the city were fathered by mccoppin and clement. other members of the committee, immortalized by the streets named after them, were clayton, ashbury, cole, shrader, and stanyan. the story of the development of golden gate park is well known. the beauty and charm are more eloquent than words, and john mclaren, ranks high among the city's benefactors. the years from to marked many changes in the character and appearance of san francisco. indeed, its real growth and development date from the end of the first decade. before that we were clearing off the lot and assembling the material. the foundation of the structure that we are still building was laid in the second decade. statistics establish the fact. in population we increased from less than , to , -- per cent. in the first decade our assessed property increased $ , , ; in the second, $ , , . our imports and exports increased from $ , , to $ , , . great gain came through the silver production, but greater far from the development of the permanent industries of the land--grain, fruit, lumber--and the shipping that followed it. the city made strides in growth and beauty. our greatest trial was too much prosperity and the growth of luxury and extravagance. chapter vi later san francisco in a brief chapter little can be offered that will tell the story of half a century of life of a great city. no attempt will be made to trace its progress or to recount its achievement. it is my purpose merely to record events and occurrences that i remember, for whatever interest they may have or whatever light they may throw on the life of the city or on my experience in it. for many years we greatly enjoyed the exhibits and promenade concerts of the mechanics' institute fairs. the large pavilion also served a useful purpose in connection with various entertainments demanding capacity. in there was held a very successful musical festival; twelve hundred singers participated and camilla urso was the violinist. the attendance exceeded six thousand. the mercantile library was in very strong and seemed destined to eternal life, but it became burdened with debt and sought to extricate itself by an outrageous expedient. the legislature passed an act especially permitting a huge lottery, and for three days in the town was given over to gambling, unabashed and unashamed. the result seemed a triumph. half a million dollars was realized, but it was a violation of decency that sounded the knell of the institution, and it was later absorbed by the plodding mechanics' institute, which had always been most judiciously managed. its investments in real estate that it used have made it wealthy. a gala day of was the spectacular removal of blossom rock. the early-day navigation was imperiled by a small rock northwest of angel island, covered at low tide by but five feet of water. it was called blossom, from having caused the loss of an english ship of that name. the government closed a bargain with engineer von schmidt, who three years before had excavated from the solid rock at hunter's point a dry dock that had gained wide renown. von schmidt guaranteed twenty-four feet of water at a cost of seventy-five thousand dollars, no payment to be made unless he succeeded. he built a cofferdam, sunk a shaft, planted twenty-three tons of powder in the tunnels he ran, and on may th, after notice duly served, which sent the bulk of the population to view-commanding hills, he pushed an electric button that fired the mine, throwing water and debris one hundred and fifty feet in the air. blossom rock was no more, deep water was secured, and von schmidt cashed his check. on my trip from humboldt county to san francisco in i made the acquaintance of andrew s. hallidie, an english engineer who had constructed a wire bridge over the klamath river. in he came to my printing office to order a prospectus announcing the formation of a small company to construct a new type of street-car, to be propelled by wire cable running in a conduit in the street and reached by a grip through a slot. it was suggested by the suffering of horses striving to haul cars up our steep hills and it utilized methods successfully used in transporting ores from the mines. on august , , the first cable-car made a successful trial trip of seven blocks over clay street hill, from kearny to leavenworth. later it was extended four blocks to the west. from this beginning the cable-roads spread over most of the city and around the world. with the development of the electric trolley they were largely displaced except on steep grades, where they still perform an important function. mr. hallidie was a public-spirited citizen and an influential regent of the university of california. in there was forced upon the citizens of san francisco the necessity of taking steps to give better care and opportunity to the neglected children of the community. a poorly conducted reform school was encouraging crime instead of effecting reform. on every hand was heard the question, "what shall we do with our boys?" encouraged by the reports of what had been accomplished in new york city by charles l. brace, correspondence was entered into, and finally the boys and girls aid society was organized. difficulty was encountered in finding any one willing to act as president of the organization, but george c. hickox, a well-known banker, was at last persuaded and became much interested in the work. for some time it was a difficult problem to secure funds to meet the modest expenses. a lecture by charles kingsley was a flat failure. much more successful was an entertainment at platt's hall at which well-known citizens took part in an old-time spelling-match. in a small building in clementina street we began with neighborhood boys, who were at first wild and unruly. senator george c. perkins became interested, and for more than forty years served as president. through him senator fair gave five thousand dollars and later the two valuable fifty-vara lots at grove and baker streets, still occupied by the home. we issued a little paper, _child and state_, in which we appealed for a building, and a copy fell into the hands of miss helen mcdowell, daughter of the general. she sent it to miss hattie crocker, who passed it to her father, charles crocker, of railroad fame. he became interested and wrote for particulars, and when the plans were submitted he told us to go ahead and build, sending the bills to him. these two substantial gifts made possible the working out of our plans, and the results have been very encouraging. when the building was erected, on the advice of the experts of the period, two lockups were installed, one without light. experience soon convinced us that they could be dispensed with, and both were torn out. an honor system was substituted, to manifest advantage, and failures to return when boys are permitted to visit parents are negligible in number. the three months of summer vacation are devoted to berry-picking, with satisfaction to growers and to the boys, who last year earned eleven thousand dollars, of which seven thousand dollars was paid to the boys who participated, in proportion to the amount earned. william c. ralston was able, daring, and brilliant. in he organized the bank of california, which, through its virginia city connection and the keenness and audacity of william sharon, practically monopolized the big business of the comstock, controlling mines, milling, and transportation. in san francisco it was _the_ bank, and its earnings were huge. ralston was public-spirited and enterprising. he backed all kinds of schemes as well as many legitimate undertakings. he seemed the great power of the pacific coast. but in , when the silver output dropped and the tide that had flowed in for a dozen years turned to ebb, distrust was speedy. on the afternoon of august th, as i chanced to be passing the bank, i saw with dismay the closing of its doors. the death of ralston, the discovery of wild investments, and the long train of loss were intensely tragic. the final rehabilitation of the bank brought assurance and rich reward to those who met their loss like men, but the lesson was a hard one. in retrospect ralston seems to typify that extraordinary era of wild speculation and recklessness. no glance at old san francisco can be considered complete which does not at least recognize emperor norton, a picturesque figure of its life. a heavy, elderly man, probably jewish, who paraded the streets in a dingy uniform with conspicuous epaulets, a plumed hat, and a knobby cane. whether he was a pretender or imagined that he was an emperor no one knew or seemed to care. he was good-natured, and he was humored. everybody bought his scrip in fifty cents denomination. i was his favored printer, and he assured me that when he came into his estate he would make me chancellor of the exchequer. he often attended the services of the unitarian church, and expressed his feeling that there were too many churches and that when the empire was established he should request all to accept the unitarian church. he once asked me if i could select from among the ladies of our church a suitable empress. i told him i thought i might, but that he must be ready to provide for her handsomely; that no man thought of keeping a bird until he had a cage, and that a queen must have a palace. he was satisfied, and i never was called upon. the most memorable of the fourth of july celebrations was in , when the hundredth anniversary called for something special. the best to be had was prepared for the occasion. the procession was elaborate and impressive. dr. stebbins delivered a fine oration; there was a poem, of course; but the especial feature was a military and naval spectacle, elaborate in character. the fortifications around the harbor and the ships available were scheduled to unite in an attack on a supposed enemy ship attempting to enter the harbor. the part of the invading cruiser was taken by a large scow anchored between sausalito and fort point. at an advertised hour the bombardment was to begin, and practically the whole population of the city sought the high hills commanding the view. the hills above the presidio were then bare of habitations, but on that day they were black with eager spectators. when the hour arrived the bombardment began. the air was full of smoke and the noise was terrific, but alas for marksmanship, the willing and waiting cruiser rode serenely unharmed and unhittable. the afternoon wore away and still no chance shot went home. finally a whitehall boat sneaked out and set the enemy ship on fire, that her continued security might no longer oppress us. it was a most impressive exhibit of unpreparedness, and gave us much to think of. on the evening of the same day, father neri, at st. ignatius college, displayed electric lighting for the first time in san francisco, using three french arc lights. the most significant event of the second decade was the rise and decline of the workingmen's party, following the remarkable episode of the sand lot and denis kearney. the winter of - had been one of slight rainfall, there had been a general failure of crops, the yield of gold and silver had been small, and there was much unemployment. there had been riots in the east and discontent and much resentment were rife. the line of least resistance seemed to be the clothes-line. the chinese, though in no wise responsible, were attacked. laundries were destroyed, but rioting brought speedy organization. a committee of safety, six thousand strong, took the situation in hand. the state and the national governments moved resolutely, and order was very soon restored. kearney was clever and knew when to stop. he used his qualities of leadership for his individual advantage and eventually became sleek and prosperous. in the meantime he was influential in forming a political movement that played a prominent part in giving us a new constitution. the ultra conservatives were frightened, but the new instrument did not prove so harmful as was feared. it had many good features and lent itself readily to judicial construction. while we now treat the episode lightly, it was at the time a serious matter. it was jack cade in real life, and threatened existing society much as the bolshevists do in russia. the significant feature of the experience was that there was a measure of justification for the protest. vast fortunes had been suddenly amassed and luxury and extravagance presented a damaging contrast to the poverty and suffering of the many. heartlessness and indifference are the primary danger. the result of the revolt was on the whole good. the warning was needed, and, on the other hand, the protestants learned that real reforms are not brought about by violence or even the summary change of organic law. in i had the good fortune to join the chit-chat club, which had been formed three years before on very simple lines. a few high-minded young lawyers interested in serious matters, but alive to good-fellowship, dined together once a month and discussed an essay that one of them had written. the essayist of one meeting presided at the next. a secretary-treasurer was the only officer. originally the papers alternated between literature and political economy, but as time went on all restrictions were removed, although by usage politics and religion are shunned. the membership has always been of high character and remarkable interest has been maintained. i have esteemed it a great privilege to be associated with so fine a body of kindly, cultivated men, and educationally it has been of great advantage. i have missed few meetings in the forty-four years, and the friendships formed have been many and close. we formerly celebrated our annual meetings and invited men of note. our guests included generals howard, gibbons, and miles, the lecontes, edward rowland sill, and luther burbank. we enjoyed meeting celebrities, but our regular meetings, with no formality, proved on the whole more to our taste and celebrations were given up. when i think of the delight and benefit that i have derived from this association of clubbable men i feel moved to urge that similar groups be developed wherever even a very few will make the attempt. in i joined many of my friends and acquaintances in a remarkable entertainment on a large scale. it was held in the mechanics' pavilion and continued for many successive nights. it was called the "carnival of authors." the immense floor was divided into a series of booths, occupied by representative characters of all the noted authors, shakespeare, chaucer, dickens, irving, scott, and many others. a grand march every evening introduced the performances or receptions given at the various booths, and was very colorful and amusing. my character was the fortune-teller in the alhambra, and my experiences were interesting and impressive. my disguise was complete, and in my zodiacal quarters i had much fun in telling fortunes for many people i knew quite well, and i could make revelations that seemed to them very wonderful. in the grand march i could indulge in the most unmannered swagger. my own sister asked in indignation: "who is that old man making eyes at me?" i held many charming hands as i pretended to study the lines. one evening charles crocker, as he strolled past, inquired if i would like any help. i assured him that beauty were safer in the hands of age. a young woman whom i saw weekly at church came with her cousin, a well-known banker. i told her fortune quite to her satisfaction, and then informed her that the gentleman with her was a relative, but not a brother. "how wonderful!" she exclaimed. a very well-known irish stock operator came with his daughter, whose fortune i made rosy. she persuaded her father to sit. nearly every morning i had met him as he rode a neat pony along a street running to north beach, where he took a swim. i told him that the lines of his hand indicated water, that he had been born across the water. "yes," he murmured, "in france." i told him he had been successful. "moderately so," he admitted. i said, "some people think it has been merely good luck, but you have contributed to good fortune. you are a man of very regular habits. among your habits is that of bathing every morning in the waters of the bay." "oh, god!" he ejaculated, "he knows me!" some experiences were not so humorous. a very hard-handed, poorly dressed but patently upright man took it very seriously. i told him he had had a pretty hard life, but that no man could look him in the face and say that he had been wronged by him. he said that was so, but he wanted to ask my advice as to what to do when persecuted because he could not do more than was possible to pay an old debt for which he was not to blame. i comforted him all i could, and told him he should not allow himself to be imposed upon. when he left he asked for my address down town. he wanted to see me again. the depth of suffering and the credulity revealed were often embarrassing and made me feel a fraud when i was aiming merely to amuse. i was glad again to become my undisguised self. it was in the late eighties that julia ward howe visited her sister near the city, and i very gladly was of service in helping her fill some of her engagements. she gave much pleasure by lectures and talks and enjoyed visiting some of our attractions. she was charmed with the broadway grammar school, where jean parker had achieved such wonderful results with the foreign girls of the north beach locality. i remember meeting a distinguished educator at a dinner, and i asked him if he had seen the school. he said he had. "what do you think of it?" i asked him. "i think it is the finest school in the world," he said. i took mrs. howe to a class. she was asked to say a few words, and in her beautiful voice she gained instant and warm attention. she asked all the little girls who spoke french in their homes to stand. many rose. then she called for spanish. many more stood. she followed with scandinavian and italian. but when she came to those who used english she found few. she spoke to several in their own tongue and was most enthusiastically greeted. i also escorted her across the bay to mills college, with which she was greatly pleased. she proved herself a good sport. with true bohemianism, she joined in luncheon on the ferryboat, eating ripe strawberries from the original package, using her fingers and enjoying the informality. she fitted every occasion with dignity or humor. in the pulpit at our church she preached a remarkably fine sermon. mozoomdar, the saintly representative of the brahmo somaj, was a highly attractive man. his voice was most musical, and his bearing and manner were beautiful. he seemed pure spirit and a type of the deeply religious nature. nor was he without humor. in speaking of his visit to england he said that his hosts generally seemed to think that for food he required only "an unlimited quantity of milk." politics has had a wide range in san francisco,--rotten at times, petty at others, with the saving grace of occasional idealism. the consolidation act and the people's party touched high-water mark in reform. with the lopping off of the san mateo end of the peninsula in , one board of supervisors was substituted for the three that had spent $ , , the year before. with e.w. burr at its head, under the new board expenditures were reduced to $ , . the people's party had a long lease of power, but in mccoppin was elected mayor. later came the reigns of little bosses, the specter of the big corporation boss behind them all, and then the triumph of decency under mcnab, when good men served as supervisors. then came the sinister triumph of ruef and the days of graft, cut short by the amazing exposure, detection, and overthrow of entrenched wickedness, and the administration of dr. taylor, a high idealist, too good to last. early in twenty-five gentlemen (five of whom were members of the chit-chat club) formed an association for the improvement and adornment of san francisco. d.h. burnham was invited to prepare a plan, and a bungalow was erected on a spur of twin peaks from which to study the problem. a year or more was given to the task, and in september, , a comprehensive report was made and officially sanctioned, by vote and publication. to what extent it might have been followed but for the event of april, , cannot be conjectured, but it is matter of deep regret that so little resulted from this very valuable study of a problem upon which the future of the city so vitally depends. it is not too late to follow its principal features, subject to such modifications as are necessary in the light of a good deal that we have accomplished since the report. san francisco's possibilities for beauty are very great. the earthquake and fire of april, , many san franciscans would gladly forget; but as they faced the fact, so they need not shrink from the memory. it was a never to be effaced experience of man's littleness and helplessness, leaving a changed consciousness and a new attitude. being aroused from deep sleep to find the solid earth wrenched and shaken beneath you, structures displaced, chimneys shorn from their bases, water shut off, railway tracks distorted, and new shocks recurring, induces terror that no imagination can compass. after breakfasting on an egg cooked by the heat from an alcohol lamp, i went to rescue the little i could from my office, and saw the resistless approaching fire shortly consume it. lack of provisions and scarcity of water drove me the next morning across the bay. two days afterward, leaving my motherless children, i returned to bear a hand in relief and restoration. every person going up market street stopped to throw a few bricks from the street to make possible a way for vehicles. for miles desolation reigned. in the unburned districts bread-lines marked the absolute leveling. bankers and beggars were one. very soon the mighty tide of relief set in, beginning with the near-by counties and extending to the ends of the earth. among our interesting experiences at red cross headquarters was the initiation of dr. devine into the habits of the earthquake. he had come from new york to our assistance. we were in session and j.s. merrill was speaking. there came a decidedly sharp shake. an incipient "oh!" from one of the ladies was smothered. mr. merrill kept steadily on. when he had concluded and the shock was over he turned to dr. devine and remarked: "doctor, you look a little pale. i thought a moment ago you were thinking of going out." dr. devine wanly smiled as he replied: "you must excuse me. remember that this is my first experience." i think i never saw a little thing give so much pleasure as when a man who had been given an old coat that was sent from mendocino county found in a pocket a quarter of a dollar that some sympathetic philanthropist had slipped in as a surprise. it seemed a fortune to one who had nothing. perhaps a penniless mother who came in with her little girl was equally pleased when she found that some kind woman had sent in a doll that her girl could have. one of our best citizens, frederick dohrmann, was in germany, his native land, at the time. he had taken his wife in pursuit of rest and health. they had received kindly entertainment from many friends, and decided to make some return by a california reception, at the town hostelry. they ordered a generous dinner. they thought of the usual wealth of flowers at a california party, and visiting a florist's display they bought his entire stock. the invited guests came in large numbers, and the host and hostess made every effort to emphasize their hospitality. but after they had gone mr. dohrmann remarked to his wife: "i somehow feel that the party has not been a success. the people did not seem to enjoy themselves as i thought they would." the next morning as they sought the breakfast-room they were asked if they had seen the morning papers. ordering them they found staring head-lines: "san francisco destroyed by an earthquake!" their guests had seen the billboards on their way to the party, but could not utterly spoil the evening by mentioning it, yet were incapable of merriment. mr. dohrmann and his wife returned at once, and though far from well, he threw himself into the work of restoration, in which no one was more helpful. the dreadful event, however, revealed much good in human nature. helpfulness in the presence of such devastation and suffering might be expected, but honor and integrity after the sharp call of sympathy was over have a deeper meaning. one of my best customers, the bancroft-whitney company, law publishers, having accounts with lawyers and law-booksellers all over the country, lost not only all their stock and plates but all their books of accounts, and were left without any evidence of what was owing them. they knew that exclusive of accounts considered doubtful there was due them by customers other than those in san francisco $ , . their only means of ascertaining the particulars was through those who owed it. they decided to make it wholly a matter of honor, and sent to the thirty-five thousand lawyers in the united states the following printed circular, which i printed at a hastily assembled temporary printing office across the bay: _to our friends and patrons_: _a_--we have lost all our records of accounts. _b_--our net loss will exceed $ , . simply a question of honor. _first_--will each lawyer in the country send us a statement of what he owes us, whether due or not due, and names of books covered by said statement on enclosed blank (blue blank). _second_--information for our records (yellow blank). _third_--send us a postal money order for all the money you can now spare. please fill out and send us as soon as possible the forms enclosed. may , . returns of money and of acknowledgment were prompt and encouraging. some of those considered doubtful were the first to acknowledge their indebtedness. before long they were able to reproduce their books and the acknowledged balances nearly equaled their estimated total of good accounts. remittances were made until over $ , was paid. of this amount about $ , covered accounts not included in their estimate of collectible indebtedness. this brought their estimated total to $ , , and established the fact that over eighty-five per cent of all that was owed them was acknowledged promptly under this call on honor. four years later they were surprised by the receipt of a check for $ from a lawyer in florida for a bill incurred long before, of which they had no memory. let those who scoff at ideals and bemoan the dishonesty of this materialistic age take note that money is not all, and let those who grudgingly admit that there are a few honest men but no honest lawyers take notice that even lawyers have some sense of honor. some few instances of escape are interesting. i have a friend who was living on the taylor street side of russian hill. when the quake came, his daughter, who had lived in japan and learned wise measures, immediately filled the bathtub with water. a doomed grocery-store near by asked customers to help themselves to goods. my friend chose a dozen large siphon bottles of soda water. the house was detached and for a time escaped, but finally the roof caught from flying embers and the fire was slowly extending. when the time came to leave the house a large american flag was raised to a conspicuous staff. a company of soldiers sent from the presidio for general duty saw the flag several blocks away, and made for the house to save the colors. finding the bathroom water supply, they mixed it with sand and plastered the burning spots. they arrested the spreading flames, but could not reach the fire under the cornice. then they utilized the siphon bottles; one soldier, held by his legs, hung over the roof and squirted the small stream on the crucial spot. the danger was soon over and the house was saved with quite a group of others that would have burned with it. while many individuals never recovered their property conditions or their nerve, it is certain that a new spirit was generated. great obstacles were overcome and determination was invincible. we were forced to act broadly, and we reversed the negative policy of doing nothing and owing nothing. we went into debt with our eyes open, and spent millions in money for the public good. the city was made safe and also beautiful. the city hall, the public library, and the auditorium make our civic center a source of pride. the really great exposition of was carried out in a way to increase our courage and our capacity. we have developed a fine public spirit and efficient co-operation. we need fear nothing in the future. we have character and we are gaining in capacity. vocation and avocation have about equally divided my time and energy during my residence in san francisco. i have done some things because i was obliged to and many others because i wished to. when one is fitted and trained for some one thing he is apt to devote himself steadily and profitably to it, but when he is an amateur and not a master he is sure to be handicapped. after about a year in the indian department a change in administration left me without a job. for about a year i was a bookkeeper for a stock-broker. then for another year i was a money-broker, selling currency, silver, and revenue stamps. when that petered out i was ready for anything. a friend had loaned money to a printer and seemed about to lose it. in i became bookkeeper and assistant in this printing office to rescue the loan, and finally succeeded. i liked the business and had the hardihood to buy a small interest, borrowing the necessary money from a bank at one per cent a month. i knew absolutely nothing of the art and little of business. it meant years of wrestling for the weekly pay-roll, often in apprehension of the sheriff, but for better or for worse i stuck to it and gradually established a good business. i found satisfaction in production and had many pleasant experiences. in illustration i reproduce an order i received in from fred beecher perkins, librarian of the recently established free public library. (he was father of charlotte perkins stetson.) san francisco free public library [handwritten: dec c.a. murdock & co gent. we need two hundred ( ) more of those blue chex. please make and deliver same pdq and oblige yours truly f.b. perkins librarian. p.s. the _substance_ of this order is official. the _form_ is slightly speckled with the spice of unofficiality. f.b.p.] [illustration: the clay street office the day after] in , as president of the san francisco typothetae, i had the great pleasure of cooperating with the president of the typographical union in giving a reception and dinner to george w. childs, of philadelphia. our relations were not always so friendly. we once resisted arbitrary methods and a strike followed. my men went out regretfully, shaking hands as they left. we won the strike, and then by gradual voluntary action gave them the pay and hours they asked for. when the earthquake fire of came i was unfortunately situated. i had lately bought out my partner and owed much money. to meet all my obligations i felt obliged to sell a controlling interest in the business, and that was the beginning of the end. i was in active connection with the printing business for forty-seven years. i am forced to admit that it would have been much to my advantage had i learned in my early life to say "no" at the proper time. the loss in scattering one's powers is too great to contemplate with comfort. i had a witty partner who once remarked, "i have great respect for james bunnell, for he has but one hobby at a time." i knew the inference. a man who has too many hobbies is not respectable. he is not even fair to the hobbies. i have always been overloaded and so not efficient. it is also my habit to hold on. it seems almost impossible to drop what i have taken up, and while there is gain in some ways through standing by there is gross danger in not resolutely stopping when you have enough. in addition to the activities i have incidentally mentioned i have served twenty-five years on the board of the associated charities, and still am treasurer. i have been a trustee of the california school of mechanical arts for at least as long. i have served for years on the board of the babies aid, and also represent the protestant charities on the home-finding agency of the native sons and daughters. it is an almost shameful admission of dissipation. no man of good discretion spreads himself too thin. when i was relieved from further public service, and had disposed of the printing business, it was a great satisfaction to accept the field secretaryship of the american unitarian association for the pacific coast. i enjoyed the travel and made many delightful acquaintances. it was an especial pleasure to accompany such a missionary as dr. william l. sullivan. in we visited most of the churches on the coast, and it was a constant pleasure to hear him and to see the gladness with which he was always received, and the fine spirit he inspired. i have also found congenial occupation in keeping alive _the pacific unitarian_. thirty years is almost venerable in the life of a religious journal. i have been favored with excellent health and with unnumbered blessings of many kinds. i rejoice at the goodness and kindness of my fellow men. my experience justifies my trustful and hopeful temperament. i believe "the best is yet to be." i am thankful that my lot has been cast in this fair city. i love it and i have faith in its future. there have been times of trial and of fear, but time has told in favor of courage not to be lost and deep confidence in final good. it cannot be doubted that the splendid achievement of the panama-pacific exposition gave strong faith in power to withstand adverse influences and temporary weakness. when we can look back upon great things we have accomplished we gain confidence in ability to reach any end that we are determined upon. it is manifest that a new spirit, an access of faith, has come to san francisco since she astonished the world and surprised herself by creating the magnificent dream on the shores of the bay. at its conclusion a few of us determined it should not be utterly lost. we formed an exposition preservation league through which we salvaged the palace of fine arts, the most beautiful building of the last five centuries, the incomparable marina, a connected driveway from black point to the presidio, the lagoon, and other features that will ultimately revert to the city, greatly adding to its attractiveness. fifty years of municipal life have seen great advance and promise a rich future. materially they have been as prosperous as well-being demands or as is humanly safe--years of healthy growth, free of fever and delirium, in which natural resources have been steadily developed and we have somewhat leisurely prepared for world business on a large scale. in population we have increased from about , to about , , which is an average advance from decade to decade of thirty-three per cent. bank clearances are considered the best test of business. our clearing house was established in , and the first year the total clearances were $ , . we passed the million mark in , and in they reached $ , , , . in our combined exports and imports were about $ , , . in they were $ , , , giving california fourth rank in the national record. the remarkable feature in all our records is the great acceleration in the increase in the years since the disaster of . savings bank receipts in are twice as large as in , postal receipts three times as large, national bank resources four times as large, national bank deposits nine times as large. there can be no reasonable doubt that san francisco is to be a very important industrial and commercial city. every indication leads to this conclusion. the more important consideration of character and spirit cannot be forecast by statistics, but much that has been accomplished and the changed attitude on social welfare and the humanities leave no doubt on the part of the discerning that we have made great strides and that the future is full of promise. chapter vii incidents in public service at twenty-two i found myself register of the humboldt land office, with offices on the first floor of a building at eureka, the second story of which was occupied by a school. an open veranda extended across the front. when i first let myself into the office, i carelessly left the key in the lock. a mischievous girl simply gave it a turn and i was a prisoner, with a plain but painful way of escape--not physically painful, but humiliating to my official pride. there was nothing for it but ignominiously to crawl out of the window onto the veranda and recover the key--and that i forthwith did. the archives of the office proved interesting. the original register was a missouri congressman, who had been instructed to proceed to humboldt city and open the office. humboldt city was on the map and seemed the logical location. but it had "died aborning" and as a city did not exist. so the register took the responsibility of locating the office at eureka, and in explanation addressed to the president, whom he denominated "buckhannan," a letter in which he went at length into the "hole" subject. the original draft was on file. i was authorized to receive homestead applications, to locate land warrants, to hear contests, and to sell "offered land." the latter was government land that had been offered for sale at $ . an acre and had not been taken. strangely enough, it embraced a portion of the redwood belt along mad river, near arcata. but one man seemed aware of the opportunity. john preston, a tanner of arcata, would accumulate thirty dollars in gold and with it buy fifty dollars in legal-tender notes. then he would call and ask for the plat, and, after considerable pawing, he would say, "well, charlie, i guess i'll take that forty." whereupon the transaction would be completed by my taking his greenbacks and giving him a certificate of purchase for the forty acres of timber-land that had cost him seventy-five cents an acre, and later probably netted him not less than three hundred dollars an acre for stumpage alone. today it would be worth twice that. the opportunity was open to all who had a few cents and a little sense. sales of land were few and locations infrequent, consequently commissions were inconsiderable. now and then i would hold a trial between conflicting claimants, some of them quite important. it was natural that the respective attorneys should take advantage of my youth and inexperience, for they had known me in my verdant boyhood and seemed to rejoice in my discomfiture. i had hard work to keep them in order. they threatened one another with ink-bottles and treated me with contempt. they would lure me on when i rejected evidence as inadmissible, offering slightly changed forms, until i was forced to reverse myself. when i was uncertain i would adjourn court and think it over. these were trying experiences, but i felt sure that the claimants' rights would be protected on appeal to the commissioner of the general land office and finally to the secretary of the interior. i was glad that in the biggest case i guessed right. one occurrence made a strong impression on me. it was war-time, and loyalty was an issue. a rancher from mendocino county came to eureka to prove up on his land and get a patent. he seemed to me a fine man, but when he was asked to take the oath of allegiance he balked. i tried my best to persuade him that it was harmless and reasonable, but he simply wouldn't take it, and went back home without his patent. my experiences while chief clerk in the office of the superintendent of indian affairs are too valuable to be overlooked. i traveled quite freely and saw unfamiliar life. i had a very interesting trip in , to inspect the round valley indian reservation and to distribute clothing to the indians. it was before the days of railroads in that part of california. two of us drove a light wagon from petaluma to ukiah, and then put saddles on our horses and started over the mountains to the valley. we took a cold lunch, planning to stay overnight at a stockman's ranch. when we reached the place we found a notice that he had gone to a rodeo. we broke into his barn to feed our horses, but we spared his house. failing to catch fish in the stream near by, we made our dinner of its good water, and after a troubled night had the same fare for breakfast. for once in my life i knew hunger. to the nearest ranch was half a day's journey, and we lost no time in heading for it. on the way i had an encounter with a vicious rattlesnake. the outcome was more satisfactory than it might have been. at noon, when we found a cattleman whose indian mate served venison and hot bread of good quality and abundant quantity, we were appreciative and happy. the remainder of the trip was uneventful. the equal division of clothing or supplies among a lot of indians throws helpful light on the causes of inequality. a very few days suffice to upset all efforts at impartiality. a few, the best gamblers, soon have more than they need, while the many have little or nothing. the valleys of mendocino county are fascinatingly beautiful, and a trip direct to the coast, with a spin along ten miles of perfect beach as we returned, was a fine contrast to hungry climbing over rugged heights. another memorable trip was with two indians from the mouth of the klamath river to its junction with the trinity at weitchpec. the whole course of the stream is between lofty peaks and is a continuous series of sharp turns. after threading its winding way, it is easy to understand what an almost solid resistance would be presented to a rapidly rising river. with such a watershed as is drained by the two rivers, the run-off in a storm would be so impeded as to be very slow. the actual result was demonstrated in . in august of that year, a.s. hallidie built a wire bridge at weitchpec. he made the closest possible examination as to the highest point the river had reached. in an indian rancheria he found a stone door-sill that had been hollowed by constant use for ages. this was then ninety-eight feet above the level of the flowing river. he accepted it as absolutely safe. in december, , the river rose thirty feet above the bridge and carried away the structure. the indians living on lower mad river had been removed for safety to the smith river indian reservation. they were not happy and felt they might safely return, now that the indian war was over. the white men who were friendly believed that if one of the trusted indians could be brought down to talk with his friends he could satisfy the others that it would be better to remain on the reservation. it was my job to go up and bring him down. we came down the beach past the mouth of the klamath, gold bluff, and trinidad, to fort humboldt, and interviewed many white settlers friendly to the indians until the representative was satisfied as to the proper course to follow. in "gold bluff" was the first great mining excitement. the klamath river enters the ocean just above the bluff that had been made by the deposit of sand, gravel, and boulders to the height of a hundred feet or more. the waves, beating against the bluff for ages, have doubtless washed gold into the ocean's bed. in it was discovered that at certain tides or seasons there were deposited on the beach quantities of black sand, mingled with which were particles of gold. nineteen men formed a company to take up a claim and work the supposedly exhaustless deposit. an expert report declared that the sand measured would yield each of the men the modest sum of $ , , . great excitement stirred san francisco and eight vessels left with adventurers. but it soon was found that black sand was scarce and gold much more so. for some time it paid something, but as a lure it soon failed. when i was first there i was tremendously impressed when shown at the level of the beach, beneath the bluff and its growing trees, an embedded redwood log. it started the imagination on conjectures of when and where it had been clad in beauty as part of a living landscape. an interesting conclusion to this experience was traveling over the state with charles maltby, appointed to succeed my friend, to turn over the property of the department. he was a personal friend of president lincoln, and he bore a striking resemblance to him and seemed like him in character. in a nominee for the assembly from san francisco declined the honor, and it devolved on a group of delegates to select a candidate in his place. they asked me to run, and on the condition that i should solicit no votes and spend no money i consented. i was one of four republicans elected from san francisco. in the entire state we were outnumbered about four to one. but politics ordinarily cuts little figure. the only measure i introduced provided for the probationary treatment of juvenile delinquents through commitment to an unsectarian organization that would seek to provide homes. i found no opposition in committee or on the floor. when it was reached i would not endanger its passage by saying anything for it. it passed unanimously and was concurred in by the senate. my general conclusion is that the average legislator is ready to support a measure that he feels is meritorious and has no other motive than the general good. we were summoned in extra session to act on matters affecting the railroads. it was at a time when they were decidedly in politics. the central pacific was generally credited with controlling the legislative body of the state. a powerful lobby was maintained, and the company was usually able to thwart the passage of any legislation the political manager considered detrimental to its interests. the farmers and country representatives did all in their power to correct abuses and protect the interests of the people of the state, but the city representatives, in many instances not men of character, were usually controlled by some boss ready to do the bidding of the railroad's chief lobbyist. the hope for decency is always in free men, and they generally are from the country. it was pathetic at times to watch proceedings. i recall one instance, where a young associate from san francisco had cast a vote that was discreditable and pretty plainly indicated corrupt influence. the measure he supported won a passage, but a motion for reconsideration carried, and when it came up the following day the father of the young man was seated by his side as the vote was taken. he was a much-respected plasterer, and he came from his home on a hurried call to save his son from disgrace. it was a great relief when on recall the son reversed his vote and the measure was lost. of course, there were punitive measures, unreasonable and unjust, and some men were afraid to be just if the railroad would in any way be benefited. i tried to be discriminating and impartial, judging each measure on its merits. i found it was a thankless task and bred suspicion. an independent man is usually distrusted. at the end of the session a fine old farmer, consistently against the railroad, said to me: "i couldn't make you out for a long time. some days i gave you a white mark, and some days a black one. i finally give you a white mark--but it was a close shave." i was impressed with the power of the speaker to favor or thwart legislation. at the regular session some senator had introduced a bill favoring the needs of the university of california. he wanted it concurred in by the assembly, and as the leading democrats were pretty busy with their own affairs he entrusted it to me. the speaker favored it, and he did not favor a bill in the hands of a leader of the house involving an appropriation. he called me to his seat and suggested that at the reassembling of the assembly after luncheon i should take the floor to move that the bill be placed on the first-reading file. he knew that the leader would be ready with his pet bill, but he would recognize me. when the gavel fell after luncheon three men leaped for the floor. i arose well at the side of the chamber, while the leader stood directly in front, but the speaker happened (?) to see me first, and the entrusted bill started for speedy success. it is always pleasant to discover unsuspected humor. there was a very serious-appearing country member who, with the others of a committee, visited the state prison at san quentin. we were there at the midday meal and saw the prisoners file in to a substantially laden table. he watched them enjoy the spread, and quietly remarked, "a man who wouldn't be satisfied with such food as that deserves to be turned out of the state prison." some reformer had introduced a bill providing for a complete new code of criminal procedure. it had been referred to the appropriate committee and in due time it made its report. i still can see the committee chairman, a country doctor, as he stood and shook a long finger at the members before him, saying: "mr. speaker, we ask that this measure be read in full to the assembly. i want you to know that i have been obliged to hear it, and i am bound that every member of the house shall hear it." my conclusion at the end of the session was that the people of the state were fortunate in faring no worse. the many had little fitness; a few had large responsibility. doubtful and useless measures predominate, but they are mostly quietly smothered. the country members are watchful and discriminating and a few leaders exercise great power. to me it was a fine experience, and i made good friends. i was interested in proposed measures, and would have willingly gone back the next term. some of my friends sounded the political boss of the period and asked if i could be given a place on the ticket. he smiled and said, "we have no use for him." when the nominating convention was held he sent in by a messenger a folded piece of paper upon which was inscribed the name of the man for whom they had use--and my legislative career was at an end. i went back to my printing business, which never should have been neglected, and stayed mildly by it for eleven years. then, there being a vacancy on the board of education, i responded to the wish of friends and accepted the appointment to help them in their endeavor to better our schools. john swett, an experienced educator, was superintendent. the majority of the board was composed of high-minded and able men. they had turned over the selection of teachers to the best-fitted professors of the university and were giving an economical and creditable administration. if a principalship was vacant, applications were apt to be disregarded, and the person in the department considered most capable and deserving was notified of election. there were, however, some loose methods. all graduates of the high schools were privileged to attend a normal class for a year and then were eligible without any examination to be appointed teachers. the board was not popular with the teachers, many of whom seemed to consider that the department was mainly for their benefit. at the end of the unexpired term i was elected a member of the succeeding board, and this was continued for five years. when the first elected board held a preliminary canvass i naturally felt much interest as to my associates, some of whom were entire strangers. among them was henry t. scott, of the firm of shipbuilders who had built the "oregon." some one remarked that a prominent politician (naming him) would like to know what patronage would be accorded him. mr. scott very forcibly and promptly replied: "so far as i am concerned, not a damned bit. i want none for myself, and i will oppose giving any to him or anyone else." i learned later that he had been elected without being consulted, while absent in the east. upon his return a somewhat notorious woman principal called on him and informed him that she was responsible for his election--at least, his name had been submitted to her and received her approval. he replied that he felt she deserved no thanks for that, as he had no desire to serve. she said she had but one request to make; her janitress must not be removed. he gave her no assurances. soon afterward the matter of appointments came up. mr. scott was asked what he wanted, and he replied: "i want but one thing. it involves the janitress of mrs. ----'s school. i want her to be removed immediately." "all right," replied the questioner. "whom shall we name?" "whomever you please," rejoined scott. "i have no candidate; but no one can tell me what i must or must not do." substitution followed at once. later mr. scott played the star part in the most interesting political struggle i ever knew. a democratic victory placed in the superintendent's office a man whose christian name was appropriately andrew jackson. he had the naming of his secretary, who was ex-officio clerk of the board, which confirmed the appointment. one george beanston had grown to manhood in the office and filled it most satisfactorily. the superintendent nominated a man with no experience, whom i shall call wells, for the reason that it was not his name. mr. scott, a democratic member, and i were asked to report on the nomination. the superintendent and the committee discussed the matter at a pleasant dinner at the pacific-union club, given by chairman scott. at its conclusion the majority conceded that usage and courtesy entitled the superintendent to the appointment. feeling that civil service and the interest of the school department were opposed to removal from position for mere political differences, i demurred and brought in a minority report. there were twelve members, and when the vote to concur in the appointment came up there was a tie, and the matter went over for a week. during the week one of the beanston supporters was given the privilege of naming a janitor, and the suspicion that a trade had been made was justified when on roll-call he hung his head and murmured "wells." the cause seemed lost; but when later in the alphabetical roll scott's name was reached, he threw up his head and almost shouted "beanston," offsetting the loss of the turncoat and leaving the vote still a tie. it was never called up again, and beanston retained the place for another two years. early in i was called up on the telephone and asked to come to mayor phelan's office at once. i found there some of the most ardent civil service supporters in the city. richard j. freud, a member of the civil service commission, had suddenly died the night before. the vacancy was filled by the mayor's appointment. eugene schmitz had been elected mayor and would take his seat the following day, and the friends of civil service distrusted his integrity. they did not dare to allow him to act. haste seemed discourteous to the memory of freud, but he would want the best for the service. persuaded of the gravity of the matter, i accepted the appointment for a year and filed my commission before returning to my place of business. i enjoyed the work and its obvious advantage to the departments under its operation. the police department especially was given an intelligent and well-equipped force. an amusing incident of an examination for promotion to the position of corporal concerned the hopes we entertained for the success of a popular patrolman. but he did not apply. one day one of the board met him and asked him if he was not to try for it. "i think not," he replied. "my early education was very unlimited. what i know, i know; but i'll be damned if i'm going to give you fellows a chance to find out what i don't know!" i chanced to visit washington during my term as commissioner, and through the courtesy of senator perkins had a pleasant call on president roosevelt. a senator seems to have ready access to the ordinary president, and almost before i realized it we were in the strenuous presence. a cordial hand-clasp and a genial smile followed my introduction, and as the senator remarked that i was a civil service commissioner, the president called: "shake again. i used to be one of those fellows myself." senator perkins went on: "mr. murdock and i have served for many years as fellow trustees of the boys and girls aid society." "ah," said the president, "modeled, i presume, on brace's society, in which my father was greatly interested. do you know i believe work with boys is about the only hope? it's pretty hard to change a man, but when you can start a boy in the right way he has a chance." turning to me he remarked, "did you know that governor brady of alaska was one of brace's placed-out boys!" then of perkins he asked, "by the way, senator, how is brady doing?" "very well, i understand," replied the senator. "i believe he is a thoroughly honest man." "yes; but is he also able? it is as necessary for a man in public life to be able as to be honest." he bade us a hearty good-by as we left him. he impressed me as untroubled and courageous, ready every day for what came, and meeting life with cheer. the story of the moral and political revolution of has never been adequately told, nor have the significance and importance of the event been fully recognized. the facts are of greater import than the record; but an eyewitness has responsibility, and i feel moved to give my testimony. perhaps so complete a reversal of spirit and administration was never before reached without an election by the people. the faithfulness and nerve of one official backed by the ability of a detective employed by a public-spirited citizen rescued the city government from the control of corrupt and irresponsible men and substituted a mayor and board of supervisors of high character and unselfish purpose. this was accomplished speedily and quietly. with positive proof of bribery that left conviction and a term in prison as the alternative to resignation, district attorney william h. langdon had complete control of the situation. in consultation with those who had proved their interest in the welfare of the city, he asked edward robeson taylor to serve as mayor, privileged to select sixteen citizens to act as supervisors in place of the implicated incumbents, who would be induced to resign. dr. taylor was an attorney of the highest standing, an idealist of fearless and determined character. no pledges hampered him. he was free to act in redeeming the city. in turn, he asked no pledge or promise of those whom he selected to serve as supervisors. he named men whom he felt he could trust, and he subsequently left them alone, asking nothing of them and giving them no advice. it was the year after the fire. i was conducting a substitute printing-office in the old car-barn at geary and buchanan streets. one morning dr. taylor came in and asked if he might speak to me in private. i was not supplied with facilities for much privacy, but i asked him in and we found seats in the corner of the office farthest from the bookkeeper. without preliminary, he said, "i want you to act as one of the supervisors." wholly surprised, i hesitated a moment and then assured him that my respect for him and what he had undertaken was so great that if he was sure he wanted me i would serve. he went out with no further comment, and i heard nothing more of it until i received a notice to meet at his office in the temporary city hall on july th. in response to the call i found fifteen other men, most of whom i knew slightly. we seemed to be waiting for something. mr. langdon was there and mr. burns, the detective, was in and out. mr. gallagher, late acting mayor and an old-time friend of the district attorney, was helping in the transfer, in which he was included. langdon would suggest some procedure: "how will this do, jim?" "it seems to me, billy, that this will be better," gallagher would reply. burns finally reported that the last of the "bunch" had signed his resignation and that we could go ahead. we filed into the boardroom. mayor taylor occupied the chair, to which the week before he had been obediently but not enthusiastically elected by "those about to die." the supervisor alphabetically ranking offered his written resignation, which the mayor promptly accepted. he then appointed as successor the first, alphabetically, on his list. the deputy county clerk was conveniently near and promptly administered the oath and certified the commission. the old member slunk or swaggered out and the new member took his place. so the dramatic scene continued until the transformation was accomplished and a new era dawned. the atmosphere was changed, but was very serious and determined. everyone felt the gravity of the situation and that we had no easy task ahead. solemnity marked the undertaking and full realization that hard work alone could overcome obstacles and restore endurable conditions. many of the men selected by dr. taylor had enjoyed experience and all were anxious to do their best. with firm grasp and resolute procedure, quick results followed. there was to be an election in november. some of the strongest members had accepted service as an emergency call and could not serve longer; but an incredible amount of planning was accomplished and a great deal disposed of, so that though ten of the appointed board served but six months they had rendered a great service and fortunately were succeeded by other men of character, and the good work went steadily on. in looking back to the problems that confronted the appointed board and the first elected board, also headed by dr. taylor, they seem insurmountable. it is hard now to appreciate the physical conditions of the city. it was estimated that not less than five million dollars would be required to put the streets into any decent condition. it was at first proposed to include this, sum in the bond issue that could not be escaped, but reflection assured us that so temporary a purpose was not a proper use of bond money, and we met the expenditure from the annual tax levy. we found the smallest amount required for urgent expenditure in excess of the tax levy was $ , , , and at a special election held early in the voters endorsed the proposed issue by a vote of over , to . the three largest expenditures were for an auxiliary water system for fire protection ($ , , ), for school buildings ($ , , ), and for sewers ($ , , ). i cannot follow the various steps by which order was brought out of chaos, nor can i give special acknowledgment where it is manifestly due; but i can bear testimony to the unselfishness and faithfulness of a remarkable body of public officials and to a few of the things accomplished. to correct gross evils and restore good conditions is no slight task; but to substitute the best for the worst is a great achievement. this san francisco has done in several marked instances. there was a time when about the only thing we could boast was that we spent a _less_ sum per capita than any city in the union for the care of hospital patients. i remember hearing that fine citizen, frederick dohrmann, once say, "every supervisor who has gone out of public service leaving our old county hospital standing is guilty of a municipal crime." it was a disgrace of which we were ashamed. the fire had spared the building, but the new supervisors did not. we now have one of the best hospitals in the country, admirably conducted. our city prison is equally reversed. it was our shame; it is our pride. the old almshouse was a discreditable asylum for the politician who chanced to superintend it. today our "relief home" is a model for the country. in the city was destroyed because unprotected against fire. today we are as safe as a city can be. in the meantime the reduced cost of insurance pays insured citizens a high rate of interest on the cost of our high-pressure auxiliary fire system. our streets were once noted for their poor construction and their filthy condition. recently an informed visitor has pronounced them the best to be found. we had no creditable boulevards or drives. quietly and without bond expenditure we have constructed magnificent examples. our school buildings were shabby and poor. many now are imposing and beautiful. this list could be extended; but turn for a moment to matters of manners. where are the awful corner-groceries that helped the saloons to ruin men and boys, and where are the busy nickel-in-the-slot machines and shameless smokers in the street-cars? where are the sellers of lottery tickets, where the horse-races and the open gambling? it was my fortune to be re-elected for eight years. sometimes i am impressed by how little i seem to have individually accomplished in this long period of time. one effect of experience is to modify one's expectations. it is not nearly so easy to accomplish things as one who has not tried is apt to imagine. reforming is not an easy process. inertia is something really to be overcome, and one is often surprised to find how obstinate majorities can be. initiative is a rare faculty and an average legislator must be content to follow. one can render good service sometimes by what he prevents. again, he may finally fail in some good purpose through no fault of his own, and yet win something even in losing. early in my term i was convinced that one thing that ought to be changed was our absurd liquor license. we had by far the lowest tax of any city in the union, and naturally had the largest number of saloons. i tried to have the license raised from eighty-four dollars to one thousand dollars, hoping to reduce our twenty-four hundred saloons. i almost succeeded. when i failed the liquor interest was so frightened at its narrow escape that it led the people to adopt a five-hundred-dollar substitute. i was led to undertake the correction of grave abuses and confusion in the naming of the city streets. the post-office authorities were greatly hampered in the mail delivery by the duplicate use of names. the dignified word "avenue" had been conferred on many alleys. a commission worked diligently and efficiently. one set of numbered streets was eliminated. the names of men who had figured in the history of the city were given to streets bearing their initials. anza, balboa, and cabrillo gave meaning to a, b, and c. we gave columbus an avenue, lincoln a "way," and substituted for east street the original name of the waterfront, "the embarcadero." in all we made more than four hundred changes and corrections. there were occasional humorous incidents connected with this task. there were opposition and prejudice against names offered. some one proposed a "st. francis boulevard." an apparently intelligent man asked why we wanted to perpetuate the name of "that old pirate." i asked, "who do you think we have in mind?" he replied, "i suppose you would honor sir francis drake." he seemed never to have heard of saint francis of assisi. it was predicted that the taylor administration with its excellent record would be continued, but at the end of two years it went down to defeat and the workingmen's party, with p.h. mccarthy as mayor, gained strong control. for two years, as a minority member, i enjoyed a different but interesting experience. it involved some fighting and preventive effort; but i found that if one fought fairly he was accorded consideration and opportunity. i introduced a charter amendment that seemed very desirable, and it found favor. the charter prescribed a two-year term for eighteen supervisors and their election each alternate year. under the provision it was possible to have every member without experience. by making the term four years and electing nine members every other year experience was assured, and the ballot would be half the length, a great advantage. it had seemed wise to me to allow the term of the mayor to remain two years, but the friends of mayor mccarthy were so confident of his re-election that they insisted on a four-year term. as so amended the matter went to the people and was adopted. at the following election mayor james rolph, jr., was elected for four years, two of which were an unintentional gift of his political opponents. i served for four years under the energetic rolph, and they were fruitful ones. most of the plans inaugurated by the taylor board were carried out, and materially the city made great strides. the exposition was a revelation of what was possible, and of the city hall and the civic center we may well be proud. some of my supervisorial experiences were trying and some were amusing. discussion was often relieved by rare bits of eloquence and surprising use of language. pronunciation was frequently original and unprecedented. amazing ignorance was unconcealed and the gift of gab was unrestrained. nothing quite equaled in fatal facility a progress report made by a former member soon after his debut: "we think we shall soon be able to bring chaos out of the present disorder, now existing." on one of our trips of investigation the city engineer had remarked on the watershed. one of the members later cornered him and asked "where is the watershed?" expecting to be shown a building that had escaped his attention. a pleasant episode of official duty early in rolph's term was an assignment to represent the city at a national municipal congress at los angeles. we were called upon, in connection with a study of municipal art, to make an exhibit of objects of beauty or ornament presented to the city by its citizens. we felt that san francisco had been kindly dealt with, but were surprised at the extent and variety of the gifts. enlarged sepia photographs of structures, monuments, bronzes, statuary, and memorials of all kinds were gathered and framed uniformly. there were very many, and they reflected great credit and taste. properly inscribed, they filled a large room in los angeles and attracted much attention. interest was enhanced by the cleverness of the young woman in charge. the general title of the collection was "objects of art presented by its citizens to the city of san francisco." she left a space and over a conspicuous panel printed the inscription "objects of art presented by its citizens to the city of los angeles." the panel was empty. the ordinarily proud city had nothing to show. moses at pisgah gazed upon the land he was not to enter. my pisgah was reached at the end of . my halls of service were temporary. the new city hall was not occupied until just after i had found my political moab; the pleasure of sitting in a hall which is pronounced the most beautiful in america was not for me. as i look back upon varied public service, i am not clear as to its value; but i do not regret having tried to do my part. my practical creed was never to seek and never to decline opportunity to serve. i feel that the effort to do what i was able to do hardly justified itself; but it always seemed worth trying, and i do not hold myself responsible for results. i am told that in parts of california infinitesimal diatoms form deposits five thousand feet in thickness. if we have but little to give we cannot afford not to give it. chapter viii an investment on the morning of october , , there appeared in san francisco's morning paper the following notice: religious intelligence there will be religious services (unitarian) on sunday morning next, october th, at simmons' athenaeum hall. entrance on commercial and sacramento streets. a discourse will be preached by rev. charles a. farley. san francisco at this time was a community very unlike any known to history. two years before it is said to have numbered eight hundred souls, and two years before that about two hundred. during the year , perhaps thirty thousand men had come from all over the world, of whom many went to the mines. the directory of that year contained twenty-five hundred names. by october, , the population may have been twenty thousand. they were scattered thinly over a hilly and rough peninsula, chaparral-covered but for drifting sand and with few habitable valleys. from pacific to california streets and from dupont to the bay was the beginning of the city's business. a few streets were graded and planked. clay street stretched up to stockton. to the south mountains of sand filled the present market street, and protected by them nestled happy valley, reaching from first to third streets and beyond mission. in it was a city of tents. wharves were pushing out into the bay. long wharf (commercial street) reached deep water about where drumm street now crosses it. among the motley argonauts were a goodly number of new englanders, especially from boston and maine. naturally some of them were unitarians. it seems striking that so many of them were interested in holding services. they had all left "home" within a year or so, and most of them expected to go back within two years with their respective fortunes. when it was learned that a real unitarian minister was among them, they arranged for a service. the halls of the period were west of kearny street in sacramento and california. they secured the athenaeum and gave notice in the _alta california_. it is significant that the day the notice appeared proved to be historical. the steamer "oregon" was due, and it was hoped she would bring the news of favorable action by congress on the application of california to be admitted into the union. when in the early forenoon the steamer, profusely decorated with bunting, rounded clark's point assurance was given, and by the time she landed at commercial and drumm the town was wild with excitement. [illustration: thomas starr king. san francisco, - ] eastern papers sold readily at a dollar a copy. all day and night impromptu celebrations continued. unnumbered silk hats (commonly worn by professional men and leading merchants) were demolished and champagne flowed freely. it should be remembered that thirty-nine days had elapsed since the actual admission, but none here had known it. the pilgrim yankees must have felt like going to church now that california was a part of the union and that another free state had been born. at any rate, the service conducted by rev. charles a. farley was voted a great success. one man had brought a service-book and another a hymnbook. four of the audience volunteered to lead the singing, while another played an accompaniment on the violin. after the services twenty-five men remained to talk things over, and arranged to continue services from week to week. on november , , "the first unitarian church of san francisco" was organized, captain frederick w. macondray being made the first moderator. mr. farley returned to new england in april, , and services were suspended. then occurred two very serious fires, disorganizing conditions and compelling postponement. it was more than a year before an attempt was made to call another minister. in may, , rev. joseph harrington was invited to take charge of the church. he came in august and began services under great promise in the united states district court building. a few weeks later he was taken alarmingly ill, and died on november d. it was a sad blow, but the society withstood it calmly and voted to complete the building it had begun in stockton street, near sacramento. rev. frederic t. gray, of bulfinch street chapel, boston, under a leave of absence for a year, came to california and dedicated the church on july , . this was the beginning of continuous church services. on the following sunday, pilgrim sunday-school was organized. mr. gray, a kind and gentle soul, rendered good service in organizing the activities of the church. he was succeeded by rev. rufus p. cutler, of portland, maine, a refined, scholarly man, who served for nearly five years. he resigned and sailed for new york in june, . during his term the sunday-school prospered under the charge of samuel l. lloyd. rev. j.a. buckingham filled the pulpit for ten months preceding april , , when thomas starr king arrived. the next day mr. king faced a congregation that crowded the church to overflowing and won the warm and enthusiastic regard of all, including many new adherents. with a winning personality, eloquent and brilliant, he was extraordinarily attractive as a preacher and as a man. he had great gifts and he was profoundly in earnest--a kindly, friendly, loving soul. in i planned to pass through the city on sunday with the possibility of hearing him. the church was crowded. i missed no word of his wonderful voice. he looked almost boyish, but his eyes and his bearing proclaimed him a man, and his word was thrilling. i heard him twice and went to my distant home with a blessed memory and an enlarged ideal of the power of a preacher. few who heard him still survive, but a woman of ninety-three years who loves him well vividly recalls his second service that led to a friendship that lasted all his life. in his first year he accomplished wonders for the church. he had felt on coming that in a year he should return to his devoted people in the hollis street church of boston. but when fort sumter was fired upon he saw clearly his appointed place. he threw himself into the struggle to hold california in the union. he lectured and preached everywhere, stimulating patriotism and loyalty. he became a great national leader and the most influential person on the pacific coast. he turned california from a doubtful state to one of solid loyalty. secession defeated, he accomplished wonders for the sanitary commission. a large part of he gave to the building of the beautiful church in geary street near stockton. it was dedicated in january, . he preached in it but seven sundays, when he was attacked with a malady which in these days is not considered serious but from which he died on march th, confirming a premonition that he would not live to the age of forty. he was very deeply mourned. it was regarded a calamity to the entire community. to the church and the denomination the loss seemed irreparable. to dr. henry w. bellows, of new york, the acknowledged unitarian leader, was entrusted the selection of the one to fill the vacant pulpit. he knew the available men and did not hesitate. he notified horatio stebbins, of portland, maine, that he was called by the great disaster to give up the parish he loved and was satisfied to serve and take the post of the fallen leader on the distant shore. dr. bellows at once came to san francisco to comfort the bereaved church and to prepare the way for mr. stebbins, who in the meantime went to new york to minister to dr. bellows' people in his absence. it was during the brief and brilliant ministry of dr. bellows that good fortune brought me to san francisco. dr. bellows was a most attractive preacher, persuasive and eloquent. his word and his manner were so far in advance of anything to which i was accustomed that they came as a revelation of power and beauty. i was entranced, and a new world of thought and feeling opened before me. life itself took on a new meaning, and i realized the privilege offered in such a church home. i joined without delay, and my connection has been uninterrupted from that day to this. for over fifty-seven years i have missed few opportunities to profit by its services. i speak of it not in any spirit of boasting, but in profound gratitude. physical disability and absence from the city have both been rare. in the absence of reasons i have never felt like offering excuses. early in september, horatio stebbins and family arrived from new york, and dr. bellows returned to his own church. the installation of the successor of starr king was an impressive event. the church building that had been erected by and for king was a beautiful and commodious building, but it would not hold all the people that sought to attend the installation of the daring man who came to take up the great work laid down by the preacher-patriot. he was well received, and a feeling of relief was manifest. the church was still in strong hands and the traditions would be maintained. on september th dr. stebbins stood modestly but resolutely in the pulpit so sanctified by the memory of king. few men have faced sharper trials and met them with more serenity and apparent lack of consciousness. it was not because of self-confidence or of failure to recognize what was before him. he knew very well what was implied in following such a man as starr king, but he was so little concerned with anything so comparatively unimportant as self-interest or so unessential as personal success that he was unruffled and calm. he indulged in no illusion of filling mr. king's place. he stood on his own feet to make his own place, and to do his own work in his own way, with such results as came, and he was undisturbed. toward the end of his life he spoke of always having preached from the level of his own mind. it was always true of him. he never strained for effect, or seemed unduly concerned for results. in one of his prayers he expresses his deep philosophy of life: "help us, each one in his place, in the place which is providentially allotted to us in life, to act well our part, with consecrated will, with pure affection, with simplicity of heart--to do our duty, and to leave the rest to god." it was wholly in that spirit that dr. stebbins took up the succession of thomas starr king. personally, i was very glad to renew my early admiration for mr. stebbins, who had chosen his first parish at fitchburg, adjoining my native town, and had always attracted me when he came to exchange with our minister. he was a strong, original, manly character, with great endowments of mind and heart. he was to enjoy a remarkable ministry of over thirty-five years and endear himself to all who knew him. he was a great preacher and a great man. he inspired confidence, and was broad and generous. he served the community as well as his church, being especially influential in promoting the interests of education. he was a kindly and helpful man, and he was not burdened by his large duties and responsibilities, he was never hurried or harassed. he steadily pursued his placid way and built up a really great influence. he was, above all else, an inspirer of steadfast faith. with a great capacity for friendship, he was very generous in it, and was indulgent in judgment of those he liked. i was a raw and ignorant young man, but he opened his great heart to me and treated me like an equal. twenty years difference in years seemed no barrier. he was fond of companionship in his travels, and i often accompanied him as he was called up and down the coast. in i went to the boston may meeting in his company and found delight in both him and it. he was a good traveler, enjoying the change of scene and the contact with all sorts of people. he was courteous and friendly with strangers, meeting them on their own ground with sympathy and understanding. in his own home he was especially happy, and it was a great privilege to share his table-talk and hospitality, for he had a great fund of kindly humor and his speech was bright with homely metaphor and apt allusions. not only was he a great preacher, he was a leader, an inspirer, and a provoker of good. what it meant to fall under the influence of such a man cannot be told. supplementing the blessing was the association with a number of the best of men among the church adherents. hardly second to the great and unearned friendship of dr. stebbins was that of horace davis, ten years my senior, and very close to dr. stebbins in every way. he had been connected with the church almost from the first and was a firm friend of starr king. like dr. stebbins, he was a graduate of harvard. scholarly, and also able in business, he typified sound judgment and common sense, was conservative by nature, but fresh and vigorous of mind. he was active in the sunday-school. we also were associated in club life and as fellow directors of the lick school. our friendship was uninterrupted for more than fifty years. i had great regard for mrs. davis and many happy hours were passed in their home. her interpretation of beethoven was in my experience unequaled. it is impossible even to mention the many men of character and conscience who were a helpful influence to me in my happy church life. captain levi stevens was very good to me; c. adolphe low was one of the best men i ever knew; i had unbounded respect for horatio frost; dr. henry gibbons was very dear to me; and charles r. bishop i could not but love. these few represent a host of noble associates. i would i could mention more of them. [illustration: horatio stebbins. san francisco, - ] we all greatly enjoyed the meetings of a shakespeare club that was sustained for more than twelve consecutive years among congenial friends in the church. we read half a play every other week, devoting the latter part of the evening to impromptu charades, in which we were utterly regardless of dignity and became quite expert. at our annual picnics we joined in the enjoyment of the children. i recall my surprise and chagrin at having challenged mr. davis to a footrace at belmont one year, giving him distance as an age handicap, and finding that i had overestimated the advantage of ten years difference. in we established the unitarian club of california. mr. davis was the first president. for seventeen years it was vigorous and prosperous. we enjoyed a good waiting-list and twice raised the limit of membership numbers. it was then the only forum in the city for the discussion of subjects of public interest. many distinguished visitors were entertained. booker t. washington was greeted by a large audience and so were susan b. anthony and anna h. shaw. as time passed, other organizations afforded opportunity for discussion, and numerous less formal church clubs accomplished its purpose in a simpler manner. a feature of strength in our church has been the william and alice hinckley fund, established in by the will of captain william c. hinckley, under the counsel and advice of dr. stebbins. his wife had died, he had no children, and he wanted his property to be helpful to others. he appointed the then church trustees his executors and the trustees of an endowment to promote human beneficence and charity, especially commending the aged and lonely and the interests of education and religion. shortly after coming to san francisco, in , he had bought a lot in bush street for sixty dollars. at the time of his death it was under lease to the california theater company at a ground rent of a thousand dollars a month. after long litigation, the will was sustained as to $ , , the full proportion of his estate allowed for charity. i have served as secretary of the trust fund for forty years. i am also surviving trustee for a library fund of $ , and another charity fund of $ . these three funds have earned in interest more than $ , . we have disbursed for the purposes indicated $ , , and have now on hand as capital more than $ , , the interest on which we disburse annually. it has been my fortune to outlive the eight trustees appointed with me, and, also, eight since appointed to fill vacancies caused by death or removal. we worshiped in the geary and stockton church for more than twenty-three years, and then concluded it was time to move from a business district to a residential section. we sold the building with the lot that had cost $ , for $ , , and at the corner of franklin and geary streets built a fine church, costing, lot included, $ , . during construction we met in the synagogue emanu-el, and the sunday-school was hospitably entertained in the first congregational church, which circumstances indicate the friendly relations maintained by our minister, who never arraigned or engaged in controversy with any other household of faith. in the new church was dedicated, dr. hedge writing a fine hymn for the occasion. dr. stebbins generally enjoyed robust health, but in he was admonished that he must lay down the work he loved so well. in september of that year, at his own request, he was relieved from active service and elected minister emeritus. subsequently his health improved, and frequently he was able to preach; but in , with his family, he returned to new england, where he lived with a good degree of comfort at cambridge, near his children, occasionally preaching, but gradually failing in health. he suffered severely at the last, and found final release on april , . of the later history of the church i need say little. recollections root in the remote. for thirteen years we were served by rev. bradford leavitt, and for the past eight rev. caleb s.s. dutton has been our leader. the noble traditions of the past have been followed and the place in the community has been fully maintained. the church has been a steady and powerful influence for good, and many a life has been quickened, strengthened, and made more abundant through its ministry. to me it has been a never-failing source of satisfaction and happiness. i would also bear brief testimony to the sunday-school. all my life i had attended sunday-school,--the best available. i remember well the school in leominster and the stories told by deacon cotton and others. i remember nay teacher in boston. coming to california i took what i could get, first the little methodist gathering and then the more respectable presbyterian. when in early manhood i came to san francisco i entered the bible-class at once. the school was large and vigorous. the attendance was around four hundred. lloyd baldwin, an able lawyer, was my first teacher, and a good one, but very soon i was induced to take a class of small boys. they were very bright and too quick for a youth from the country. one sunday we chanced to have as a lesson the healing of the daughter of jairus. in the gospel account the final word was the injunction: "jesus charged them that they tell no man." in all innocence i asked the somewhat leading question: "what did jesus charge them?" quick as a flash one of the boys answered, "he didn't charge them a cent." it was so pat and so unexpected that i could not protest at the levity. in the sunday-school library i met charles w. wendte, then a clerk in the bank of california. he had been befriended and inspired by starr king and soon turned from business and studied for the ministry. he is now a d.d. and has a long record of valuable service. in j.c.a. hill became superintendent of the school and appointed me his assistant. four years later he returned to new hampshire, much to our regret, and i succeeded him. with the exception of the two years that rev. william g. eliot, jr., was assistant to dr. stebbins, and took charge of the school, i served until . very many pleasant memories cluster around my connection with the sunday-school. the friendships made have been enduring. the beautiful young lives lured me on in service that never grew monotonous, and i have been paid over and over again for all i ever gave. it is a great satisfaction to feel that five of our nine church trustees are graduates of the sunday-school. i attended my first christmas festival of the sunday-school in platt's hall in , and i have never missed one since. fifty-seven consecutive celebrations incidentally testify to unbroken health. in looking back on what i have gained from the church, i am impressed with the fact that the association with the fine men and women attending it has been a very important part of my life. good friends are of untold value, and inspiration is not confined to the spoken words of the minister. especially am i impressed with the stream of community helpfulness that has flowed steadily from our church all these years. i wish i dared to refer to individual instances--but they are too many. finally, i must content myself with acknowledgment of great obligation for all i have profited from and enjoyed in church affiliation. i cannot conceive how any man can afford not to avail himself of the privilege of standing by some church. as an investment i am assured that nothing pays better and surer interest. returns are liberal, dividends are never passed, and capital never depreciates. chapter ix by-product in the conduct of life we select, or have assigned, certain measures of activity upon which we rely for our support and the self-respect that follows the doing of our part. this we call our business, and if we are wise we attend to it and prosecute it with due diligence and application. but it is not all of life, and its claim is not the only call that is made upon us. exclusive interest and devotion to it may end in the sort of success that robs us of the highest value, so that, however much substance we accumulate, we are failures as men. on the other hand, we take risks if we slight its just demands and scatter our powers on miscellaneous interests. whatever its value, every man, in addition to what he primarily produces, turns out some by-product. if it is worth anything, he may be thankful and add the amount to total income. the extracts of which this chapter is composed are selections from the editorial columns of _the pacific unitarian_, submitted not as exhibits in the case of achievement, but as indicating the convictions i have formed on the way of life. the beginning thirty years ago, a fairly active sunday-school was instigated to publish a monthly journal, nominally for all the organizations of the first unitarian society. it was not expected to be of great benefit, except to the school. after a year and a half it was adopted by the conference, its modest name, _the guidon_, being expanded to _the pacific unitarian_. its number of pages was increased to thirty-two. probably the most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that it has lived. the fact that it has enjoyed the opportunity of choice between life and death is quite surprising. other journals have had to die. it has never been easy to live, or absolutely necessary to die. anyhow, we have the thirty years of life to look back upon and take satisfaction in. we are grateful for friends far and near, and generous commendation has been pleasant to receive, whether it has been justified or not. christianity we realize more and more truly that christianity in its spirit is a very different thing from christianity as a theological structure formulated by the makers of the creed. the amazing thing is that such a misconception of the message of jesus as has generally prevailed has given us a civilization so creditable. the early councils were incapable of being led by the spirit of jesus. they were prejudiced by their preconceptions of the character of god and the nature of religion, and evolved a scheme of salvation to fit past conceptions instead of accepting as real the love of god and of man that jesus added to the religion of his fathers. even the christianity they fashioned has not been fairly tried. the christianity that jesus proclaimed, a call to trust, to love, and spiritual life, has hardly been tried at all. we seem just to be awakening to what it is, and to its application to the art of living. the prodigal's father what a difference in the thought of god and in the joy of life would have followed had the hearers of jesus given the parable of the prodigal son its full significance! they would then have found in the happy, loving father and his full forgiveness of the son who "came to himself" a type of the heavenly father. the shadow of the olden fear still persists, chilling human life. we do not trust the love of god and bear life's burdens with cheerful courage. from lurking fear of the jealous king of hebrew tradition, we are even afraid to be happy when we might. we fail of faith in the reality of god's love. we forget the robe, the ring, the overflowing joy of the earthly father, not earned by the prodigal, but given from complete love. the thing best worth while is faith in the love of god. if it be lacking, perhaps the best way to gain it is to assume it--to act on the basis of its existence, putting aside our doubts, and giving whatever love we have in our own hearts a chance to strengthen. whitsuntide whitsuntide is a church season that too often fails to receive due acknowledgment or recognition. it is, in observance, a poor third. christmas is largely diverted to a giving of superfluous gifts, and is popular from the wide-felt interest in the happiness of children. easter we can not forget, for it celebrates the rising or the risen life, and is marked by the fresh beauty of a beautiful world. to appreciate the pentecostal season and to care for spiritual inspiration appeals to the few, and to those few on a higher plane. but of all that religion has to give, it represents the highest gift, and it has to do with the world's greatest need. spiritual life is the most precious of possessions, the highest attainment of humanity. happy are we if our better spirit be quickened, if our hearts be lifted up, and our wills be strengthened, that worthy life may bring peace and joy! why the church? we cannot deny the truth that the things of the spirit are of first importance; but when it comes to living we seem to belie our convictions. we live as though we thought the spirit a doubtful matter. there are those who take pride in calling themselves materialists, but they are hardly as hopeless as those who are so indifferent that they have no opinion whatever. the man who thinks and cares is quite apt to come out right, but the mindless animal who only enjoys develops no recognizable soul. the seeking first is not in derogation of any true manhood. it is the full life, the whole life, that we are to compass--but life subordinated and controlled by the spirit, the spirit that recognizes the distinction between right and wrong. those who choose the right and bend all else to it, are of the kingdom. that is all that righteousness means. the church has no monopoly of righteousness, but it is of immense importance in cultivating the religious spirit, and cannot safely be dispensed with. and so it must be strongly supported and made efficient. to those who know true values this is an investment that cannot safely be ignored. to it we should give generously of our money, but equally generously we should give ourselves--our presence, our co-operation, our loyal support of our leaders, our constant effort to hold it to high ideals. if it is to give life, it must have life, and whatever life it has is the aggregation of our collected and consecrated lives. the church called christian cannot win by holding its old trenches. it must advance to the line that stretches from our little fortress where the flag of reason and religion defiantly floats. shall we retreat? no; it is for us to hold the fort at all costs, not for our sake alone, but for the army of humanity. we believe in god and we believe in man. as president eliot lately put it, "we believe in the principles of a simple, practical, and democratic religion. we are meeting ignorance, not with contempt, but with knowledge. we are meeting dogmatism and superstition, not with impatience, but with truth. we are meeting sin and injustice, not with abuse, but with good-will and high idealism. we have the right message for our time." to the church that seems to us to most nearly realize these ideals, it is our bounden duty, and should be our glad privilege, to present ourselves a reasonable sacrifice, that we may do our part in bringing in god's kingdom. the church and progress reforms depend upon reformed men. perhaps the greater need is _formed_ men. as we survey the majority of men around us, they seem largely unconscious of what they really are and of the privileges and responsibilities that appertain to manhood. it must be that men are better, and more, than they seem. visit a baseball game or a movie. the crowds seem wholly irresponsible, and, except in the pleasure or excitement sought, utterly uninterested--apparently without principle or purpose. and yet, when called upon to serve their country, men will go to the ends of the world, and place no limit on the sacrifice freely made for the general good. they are better than they seem, and in ways we know not of possess a sense of justice and a love of right which they found we know not where. this is encouraging, but must not relieve us from doing our utmost to inform more fully every son of man of his great opportunity and responsibility, and also of inspiring him to use his life to his and our best advantage. it is so evident that world-welfare rests upon individual well-being that we cannot escape the conviction that the best thing any one of us can do is to help to make our fellow-men better and happier. and the part of wisdom is to organize for the power we gain. it would seem that the church should be the most effective agency for promoting individual worth and consequent happiness. is it?--and if not, why not? we are apt to say we live in a new age, forgetting how little change of form matters. human nature, with its instincts and desires, love of self, and the general enjoyment of, and through, possessions, is so little changed that differences in condition and circumstance have only a modifying influence. it is man, the man within, that counts--not his clothing. but it is true that human institutions do undergo great changes, and nothing intimate and important has suffered greater changes than the church. religion itself, vastly more important than the church, has changed and is changing. martineau's illuminating classification helps us to realize this. the first expression, the pagan, was based on fear and the idea of winning favor by purchase, giving something to god--it might be burnt-offerings--for his good-will. then came the jewish, the ethical, the thought of doing, rather than giving. righteousness earns god's favor. the higher conception blossomed into christianity with its trust in the love of god and of serving him and fellow-man, self-sacrifice being the highest expression of harmony with him. following this general advance from giving and doing to being, we have the altar, the temple, and the church. the genuine unitarian unitarians owe first allegiance to the kingdom of god on earth. it is of little consequence through which door it is entered. if any other is nearer or broader or more attractive, use it. we offer ours for those who prefer it or who find others not to be entered without a password they cannot pronounce. a unitarian who merely says he is one thereby gives no satisfactory evidence that he is. there are individuals who seem to think they are unitarians because they are nothing else. they regard unitarianism as the next to nothing in its requirement of belief, losing all sight of the fact that even one real belief exceeds, and may be more difficult than, many half-beliefs and hundreds of make-beliefs, and that a unitarian church made up of those who have discarded all they thought they believed and became unitarian for its bald negations is to be pitied and must be patiently nurtured. as regards our responsibility for the growth of unitarianism, we surely cannot fail to recognize it, but it should be clearly qualified by our recognition of the object in view. to regard unitarianism as an end to be pursued for its own sake does not seem compatible with its own true spirit. the church itself is an instrument, and we are in right relation when we give the unitarian church our preference, as, to us, the best instrument, while we hold first allegiance to the idealism for which it stands and to the goodness it seeks to unfold in the heart of man. nor would we seek growth at any sacrifice of high quality or purpose. we do not expect large numbers and great popular applause. unitarians are pioneers, and too independent and discriminating to stir the feverish pulse of the multitude. we seek the heights, and it is our concern to reach them and hold them for the few that struggle up. loaves and fishes we have not to offer, nor can we promise wealth and health as an attractive by-product of righteousness. there is no better service that anyone can render than to implant higher ideals in the breast of another. in the matter of religious education as sought through the ordinary sunday-school, no one who has had any practical experience has ever found it easy, or kept free from doubt as to its being sufficiently efficacious to make it worth while. but the problem is to recognize the difficulty, face all doubts, and stand by. perfect teachers are impossible, satisfactory ones are not always to be had. if they are not dissatisfied with themselves, they are almost always unfit. but as between doing the best you can and doing nothing at all, it would seem that self-respect and a sense of deep responsibility would leave no recourse. there is no place for a shirker or a quitter in a real unitarian church. have we done our work? now and then some indifferent unitarian expresses doubt as to the future value of our particular church. there are those who say, "why should we keep it up? have we not done our work?" we have seen our original protests largely effective, and rejoice that more liberal and generous, and, we believe, more just and true, religious convictions prevail; but have we been constructive and strengthening? and until we have made our own churches fully free and fruitful in spiritual life are we absolved from the call to service? have we earned our discharge from the army of life? shall we be deserters or slackers! we ask no man to fight with us if his loyalty to any other corps is stronger, but to fight _somewhere_--to do his part for god and his fellow-men wherever he can do the most effective service. we are not unitarians first. we are not even christians first. we are human first, seeking the best in humanity, in our appointed place in a civilization that finds its greatest inspiration in the leadership of jesus of nazareth, we are next christians, and we are finally unitarians because for us their point of view embodies most truly the spirit that animated his teachings and his life. and so we appeal to those who really, not nominally, are of our household of faith to feel that it is best worth while to stand by the nearest church and to support it generously, that it may do its part in soul service and world welfare, and also to encourage it and give it more abundant life through attendance and participation in its activities. of first importance it is well for each soul, in the multiplicity of questions besetting him, to deliberately face them and determine what is of first importance. aspects are so diverse and bewildering that if we do not reduce them to some order, giving them rank, we are in danger of becoming purposeless drifters on the sea of life. what is the most important thing in life? what shall be our aim and purpose, as we look about us, observing our fellows--what they have accomplished and what they are--what commends itself to us as best worth while? and what course can we pursue to get the most and the best out of it? we find a world of infinite diversity in conditions, in aims, and in results. one of the most striking differences is in regard to what we call success. we are prone to conclude that he who is prosperous in the matter of having is the successful man. possessing is the proof of efficiency, and he who possesses little has measurably failed in the main object of life. this conclusion has a measure of truth, but is not wholly true. we see not a few instances of utter poverty of life concurrent with great possessions, and are forced to conclude that the real value of possessions is dependent on what they bring us. merely to have is of no advantage. indeed it may be a burden or a curse. happiness is at least desirable, but it has no necessary connection with property accumulations. they may make it possible, but they never insure it. possession may be an incident, but seldom is a cause. if we follow this thought further we shall find that in the accepted methods of accumulation arise many of the causes of current misery and unhappiness. generally he who is said to succeed pays a price, and a large one, for the prosperity he achieves. to be conspicuously successful commonly involves a degree of selfishness that is almost surely damaging. often injustice and unfairness are added to the train of factors, and dishonesty and absence of decency give the finishing touch. every dollar tinged with doubt is a moral liability. if it has been wrested from its rightful owner through fraud or force of opportunity, it would better be at the bottom of the sea. the best in life the power and practical irresponsibility of money have ruined many a man, and the misuse of wealth has left unused immense opportunity for good. it has coined a word that has become abhorrent, and "capitalism" has, in the minds of the suspicious, become the all-sufficient cause of everything deplorable in human conditions. no true-hearted observer can conclude that the first consideration of life should be wealth. on the other hand, no right-minded person will ignore the desirability and the duty of judiciously providing the means for a reasonable degree of comfort and self-respect, with a surplus for the furtherance of human welfare in general, and the relief of misfortune and suffering. thrift is a virtue; greed is a vice. reasonable possession is a commendable and necessary object. the unrestrained avarice that today is making cowards of us all is an unmeasured curse, a world-wide disgrace that threatens civilization. in considering ends of life we cannot ignore those who consider happiness as adequate. perhaps there are few who formulate this, but there are many who seem to give it practical assent. they apparently conform their lives to this butterfly estimate, and, in the absence of any other purpose, rest satisfied. happiness is indeed a desirable condition, and in the highest sense, where it borders on blessedness, may be fairly termed "the end and aim of being." but on the lower stretches of the senses, where it becomes mere enjoyment or pleasure, largely concerned with amusement and self-indulgence of various sorts, it becomes parasitic, robbing life of its strength and flavor and preventing its development and full growth. it is insidious in its deterioration and omnivorous in its appetite. it tends to habits that undermine and to the appropriation of a preponderating share of the valueless things of life. the danger is in the unrestrained appetite, in intemperance that becomes habit. pleasure is exhausting of both purse and mind. we naturally crave pleasant experiences, and we need a certain amount of relaxation. the danger is in overindulgence and indigestion resulting in spiritual invalidism. let us take life sanely, accepting pleasures gratefully but moderately. but what _is_ best in life? why, life itself. life is opportunity. here it is, around us, offered to us. we are free to take what we can or what we like. we have the great privilege of choice, and life's ministry to us depends on what we take and what we leave. we are providentially assigned our place, whatever it is, but in no fixed sense of its being final and unalterable. the only obligation implied is that of acceptance until it can be bettered. our moral responsibility is limited to our opportunity, and the vital question is the use we make of it. the great fact of life is that we are spiritual beings. religion has to do with soul existence and is the field of its development. it is concerned primarily with being and secondly with doing. it is righteousness inspired by love. it is recognition of our responsibilities to do god's will. hence the best life is that which accepts life as opportunity, and faithfully, happily seeks to make the most of it. it seeks to follow the right, and to do the best it can, in any circumstances. it accepts all that life offers, enjoying in moderation its varied gifts, but in restraint of self-indulgence, and with kindly consideration of others. it subordinates its impulses to the apprehended will of god, bears trials with fortitude, and trusts eternal good. overcoming obstacles one of the most impressive sights in the natural world is the difficulties resisted and overcome by a tree in its struggle for life. on the very summit of the sentinel dome, over eight thousand feet above sea-level, there is rooted in the apparently solid granite a lone pine two feet in diameter. it is not tall, for its struggle with the wind and snow has checked its aspirations, but it is sturdy and vigorous, while the wonder is that it ever established and maintained life at all. where it gains its nourishment is not apparent. disintegrated granite seems a hard diet, but it suffices, for the determined tree makes the best of the opportunities offered. like examples abound wherever a crevice holds any soil whatever. in a niche of el capitan, more than a thousand feet from the valley's floor, grows a tree a hundred feet high. a strong glass shows a single tree on the crest of half dome. such persistence is significant, and it enforces a lesson we very much need. reason should not be behind instinct in making the most of life. while man is less rigidly conditioned and may modify his environment, he, too, may nourish his life by using to the full whatever nutriment is offered. lincoln has been characterized as a man who made the most of his life. perhaps his greatness consisted mostly in that. we are inclined to blame conditions and circumstances for failures that result from our lack of effort. we lack in persistence, we resent disparity in the distribution of talents, we blink at responsibility, and are slothful and trifling. our life is a failure from lack of will. who are we that we should complain that life is hard, or conclude that it is not better so? why do we covet other opportunities instead of doing the best with those we have? what is the glory of life but to accept it with such satisfaction as we can command, to enjoy what we have a right to, and to use all it offers for its upbuilding and fulfillment? being right how evident it is that much more than good intentions is needed in one who would either maintain self-respect or be of any use in his daily life! it is not easy to be good, but it is often less easy to be right. it involves an understanding that presupposes both ability and effort. intelligence, thinking, often studious consideration, are necessary to give a working hypothesis of what is best. it is seldom that anything is so simple that without careful thought we can be sure that one course is right and another wrong. perhaps, after we have weighed all that is ponderable, we can only determine which seems the better course of action. being good may help our judgment. doing right is the will of god. patriotism "let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it." abraham lincoln had a marvelous aptitude for condensed statement, and in this compact sentence from his cooper union address expresses the very essence of the appeal that is made to us today. we can find no more fundamental slogan and no nobler one. whatever the circumstances presented and whatever the immediate result will be, we are to dare to do our duty as we understand it. and we are so to dare and so to do in complete faith that right makes might and in utter disregard of fear that might may triumph. the only basis of true courage is faith, and our trust must be in right, in good, in god. we live in a republic that sustains itself through the acceptance by all of the will of the majority, and to talk of despotism whenever the authority necessary for efficiency is exercised, and that with practically unanimous concurrence, is wholly unreasonable. a man who cannot yield allegiance to the country in which he lives should either be silent and inactive or go to some country where his sympathy corresponds with his loyalty. chapter x concerning persons as years increase we more and more value the personal and individual element in human life. character becomes the transcendent interest and friends are our chief assets. as i approach the end of my story of memories i feel that the most interesting feature of life has been the personal. i wish i had given more space to the people i have known. fortune has favored me with friends worth mentioning and of acquaintances, some of whom i must introduce. of horatio stebbins, the best friend and strongest influence of my life, i have tried to express my regard in a little book about to be published by the houghton mifflin company of boston. it will be procurable from our san francisco unitarian headquarters. that those who may not see it may know something of my feeling, i reprint a part of an editorial written when he died. horatio stebbins the thoughts that cluster around the memory of horatio stebbins so fill the mind that nothing else can be considered until some expression is made of them, and yet the impossibility of any adequate statement is so evident that it seems hopeless to begin. the event of his death was not unexpected. it has been imminent and threatening for years. his feebleness and the intense suffering of his later days relieve the grief that must be felt, and there springs by its side gratitude that rest and peace have come to him. and yet to those who loved him the world seems not quite the same since he has gone from it. there is an underlying feeling of something missing, of loss not to be overcome, that must be borne to the end. in my early boyhood horatio stebbins was "the preacher from fitchburg"--original in manner and matter, and impressive even to a boy. ten years passed, and our paths met in san francisco. from the day he first stood in the historic pulpit as successor of that gifted preacher and patriot, starr king, till his removal to cambridge, few opportunities for hearing him were neglected by me. his influence was a great blessing, association with him a delight, his example an inspiration, and his love the richest of undeserved treasures. dr. stebbins was ever the kindliest of men, and his friendliness and consideration were not confined to his social equals. without condescension, he always had a kind word for the humblest people. he was as gentlemanly and courteous to a hackdriver as he would be to a college president. none ever heard him speak severely or impatiently to a servant. he was considerate by nature, and patient from very largeness. he never harbored an injury, and by his generosity and apparent obliviousness or forgetfulness of the unpleasant past he often put to shame those who had wronged him. he was at times stern, and was always fearless in uttering what he felt to be the truth, whether it was to meet with favor or with disapproval from his hearers. as a friend he was loyalty itself, and for the slightest service he was deeply appreciative and grateful. he was the most charitable of men, and was not ashamed to admit that he had often been imposed upon. of his rank as a thinker and a preacher i am not a qualified judge, but he surely was great of heart and strong of mind. he was a man of profound faith, and deeply religious in a strong, manly way. he inspired others by his trust and his unquestioned belief in the reality of spiritual things. he never did anything for effect; his words fell from his lips in tones of wonderful beauty to express the thought and feeling that glowed within. noble man, great preacher, loving friend! thou art not dead, but translated to that higher life of which no doubt ever entered thy trusting mind! horace davis horace davis was born in worcester, massachusetts, on march , . his father was john davis, who served as governor of massachusetts and as united states senator. his mother was the daughter of rev. aaron bancroft, one of the pioneers of the unitarian ministry. horace davis graduated at harvard in the class of . he began the study of the law, but his eyes failed, and in he came to california to seek his fortune. he first tried the mines, starting a store at shaw's flat. when the venture failed he came to san francisco and sought any employment to be found. he began by piling lumber, but when his cousin, isaac davis, found him at it he put him aboard one of his coasting schooners as supercargo. being faithful and capable, he was sought by the pacific mail steamship company, and was for several years a good purser. he and his brother george had loaned their savings to a miller, and were forced to take over the property. mr. davis become the accepted authority on wheat and the production of flour, and enjoyed more than forty years of leadership in the business which he accidentally entered. he was always a public-spirited citizen, and in was elected to congress, serving for two terms. he proved too independent and unmanageable for the political leaders of the time and was allowed to return to private life. in he was urged to accept the presidency of the university of california, and for three years he discharged the duties of the office with credit. his interest in education was always great, and he entered with ardor and intelligence into the discharge of his duties as a trustee of the school of mechanical arts established by the will of james lick. as president of the board, he guided its course, and was responsible for the large plan for co-operation and co-ordination by which, with the wilmerding school and the lux school (of which he was also a leading trustee), a really great endowed industrial school under one administrative management has been built up in san francisco. a large part of his energy was devoted to this end, and it became the strongest desire of his life to see it firmly established. he also served for many years as a trustee for stanford university, and for a time was president of the board. to the day of his death (in july, ) he was active in the affairs of stanford, and was also deeply interested in the university of california. the degree of ll.d. was conferred by the university of the pacific, by harvard, and by the university of california. from his earliest residence in san francisco he was a loyal and devoted supporter of the first unitarian church and of its sunday-school. for over sixty years he had charge of the bible-class, and his influence for spiritual and practical christianity has been very great. he gave himself unsparingly for the cause of religious education, and never failed to prepare himself for his weekly ministration. for eight years he served on the board of trustees of the church and for seven years was moderator of the board. under the will of captain hinckley he was made a trustee of the william and alice hinckley fund, and for thirty-seven years took an active interest in its administration. at the time of his death he was its president. he was deeply interested in the pacific unitarian school for the ministry, and contributed munificently to its foundation and maintenance. mr. davis preserved his youth by the breadth of his sympathies. he seemed to have something in common with everyone he met; was young with the young. in his talks to college classes he was always happy, with a simplicity and directness that attracted close attention, and a sense of humor that lighted up his address. his domestic life was very happy. his first wife, the daughter of captain macondray, for many years an invalid, died in . in he married edith king, the only daughter of thomas starr king, a woman of rare personal gifts, who devoted her life to his welfare and happiness. she died suddenly in . mr. davis, left alone, went steadily on. his books were his constant companions and his friends were always welcome. he would not own that he was lonely. he kept occupied; he had his round of duties, attending to his affairs, and the administration of various benevolent trusts, and he had a large capacity for simple enjoyments. he read good books; he was hospitably inclined; he kept in touch with his old associates; he liked to meet them at luncheon at the university club or at the monthly dinner of the chit-chat club, which he had seldom missed in thirty-nine years of membership. he was punctilious in the preparation of his biennial papers, always giving something of interest and value. his intellectual interest was wide. he was a close student of shakespeare, and years ago printed a modest volume on the sonnets. he also published a fine study of the ministry of jesus, and a discriminating review of the american constitutions. mr. davis was a man of profound religious feeling. he said little of it, but it was a large part of his life. on his desk was a volume of dr. stebbins' prayers, the daily use of which had led to the reading again and again of the book he very deeply cherished. he was the most loyal of friends--patient, appreciative beyond deserts, kindly, and just. the influence for good of such a man is incalculable. one who makes no pretense of virtue, but simply lives uprightly as a matter of course, who is genuine and sound, who does nothing for effect, who shows simple tastes, and is not greedy for possessions, but who looks out for himself and his belongings in a prudent, self-respecting way, who takes what comes without complaint, who believes in the good and shows it by his daily course, who is never violent and desperate, but calmly tries to do his part to make his fellows happier and the world better, who trusts in god and cheerfully bears the trials that come, who holds on to life and its opportunities, without repining if he be left to walk alone, and who faces death with the confidence of a child who trusts in a father's love and care--such a man is blessed himself and is a blessing to his fellow-men. a memory of emerson in ralph waldo emerson visited california. he was accompanied by his daughter ellen, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the new scenes and new experiences. he visited the yosemite valley and other points of interest, and was persuaded to deliver a number of lectures. his first appearance before a california audience was at the unitarian church, then in geary street near stockton, on a sunday evening, when he read his remarkable essay on "immortality," wherein he spoke of people who talk of eternity and yet do not know what to do with a day. the church was completely filled and the interest to hear him seemed so great that it was determined to secure some week-day lectures if possible. in company with horace davis, who enjoyed his acquaintance, i called on him at the occidental hotel. he was the most approachable of men--as simple and kindly in his manner as could be imagined, and putting one at ease with that happy faculty which only a true gentleman possesses. [illustration: horace davis--fifty years a friend] [illustration: harvard university when he entered] his features are familiar from the many published pictures, but no one who had not met his smiling eyes can realize the charm of his personality. his talk was delightfully genial. i asked him if his journey had been wearisome. "not at all," he replied; "i have enjoyed it all." the scenery seemed to have impressed him deeply. "when one crosses your mountains," he said, "and sees their wonderful arches, one discovers how architecture came to be invented." when asked if he could favor us with some lectures, he smiled and said: "well, my daughter thought you might want something of that kind, and put a few in my trunk, in case of an emergency." when it came to dates, it was found that he was to leave the next day for a short trip to the geysers, and it was difficult to arrange the course of three, which had been fixed upon, after his return. it was about eleven o'clock when we called. i asked him if he could give us one of the lectures that evening. he smiled and said, "oh, yes," adding, "i don't know what you can do here, but in boston we could not expect to get an audience on such short notice." we assured him that we felt confident in taking the chances on that. going at once to the office of the _evening bulletin,_ we arranged for a good local notice, and soon had a number of small boys distributing announcements in the business streets. the audience was a good one in point of numbers, and a pleased and interested one. his peculiar manner of reading a few pages, and then shuffling his papers, as though they were inextricably mixed, was embarrassing at first, but when it was found that he was not disturbed by it, and that it was not the result of an accident, but a characteristic manner of delivery, the audience withheld its sympathy and rather enjoyed the novelty and the feeling of uncertainty as to what would come next. one little incident of the lecture occasioned an admiring smile. a small bunch of flowers had been placed on the reading-desk, and by some means, in one of his shuffles, they were tipped over and fell forward to the floor. not at all disconcerted, he skipped nimbly out of the pulpit, picked up the flowers, put them back in the vase, replaced it on the desk, and went on with the lecture as though nothing had happened. he was much interested in the twenty-dollar gold pieces in which he was paid, never before having met with that form of money. his encouraging friendliness of manner quite removed any feeling that a great man's time was being wasted through one's intercourse. he gossiped pleasantly of men and things as though talking with an equal. on one occasion he seemed greatly to enjoy recounting how cleverly james russell lowell imitated alfred tennyson's reading of his own poems. over the sunday-school of our church starr king had provided a small room where he could retire and gain seclusion. it pleased emerson. he said, "i think i should enjoy a study beyond the orbit of the servant girl." he was as self-effacing a man as i ever knew, and the most agreeable to meet. after his return from his short trip he gave two or three more lectures, with a somewhat diminishing attendance. dr. stebbins remarked in explanation, "i thought the people would tire in the sockets of their wings if they attempted to follow _him_." at this distance, i can remember little that he said, but no distance of time or space can ever dim the delight i felt in meeting him, or the impression formed of a most attractive, penetrating, and inspiring personality. his kindliness and geniality were unbounded. during our arrangement of dates mr. davis smiled as he said of one suggested by mr. emerson, "that would not be convenient for mr. murdock, for it is the evening of his wedding." he did not forget it. after the lecture, a few days later, he turned to me and asked, "is she here?" when i brought my flattered wife, he chatted with her familiarly, asking where she had lived before coming to california, and placing her wholly at ease. every tone of his voice and every glance of his eye suggested the most absolute serenity. he seemed the personification of calm wisdom. nothing disturbed him, nothing depressed him. he was as serene and unruffled as a morning in june. he radiated kindliness from a heart at peace with all mankind. his gentleness of manner was an illustration of the possibility of beauty in conduct. he was wholly self-possessed--to imagine him in a passion would be impossible. his word was searching, but its power was that of the sunbeam and not of the blast. he was above all teapot tempests, a strong, tender, fearless, trustful _man_. julia ward howe julia ward howe is something more than a noble memory. she has left her impress on her time, and given a new significance to womanhood. to hear the perfect music of the voice of so cultivated a woman is something of an education, and to have learned how gracious and kindly a great nature really is, is an experience well worth cherishing. mrs. howe was wonderfully alive to a wide range of interests--many-sided and sympathetic. she could take the place of a minister and speak effectively from deep conviction and a wide experience, or talk simply and charmingly to a group of school-children. when some years later than her san francisco visit she spoke at a king's chapel meeting in boston, growing feebleness was apparent, but the same gracious spirit was undimmed. later pictures have been somewhat pathetic. we do not enjoy being reminded of mortality in those of pre-eminent spirit, but what a span of events and changes her life records, and what a part in it all she had borne! when one ponders on the inspiring effect of the battle hymn of the republic, and of the arms it nerved and the hearts it strengthened, and on the direct blows she struck for the emancipation of woman, it seems that there has been abundant answer to her prayer, "as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free." timothy h. rearden in glancing back, i can think of no more charming man than timothy rearden. he had a most attractive personality, combining rare intelligence and kindly affection with humor and a modesty that left him almost shy. he was scholarly and brilliant, especially in literature and languages. his essays and studies in greek attracted world-acknowledgment, but at home he was known chiefly as a genial, self-effacing lawyer, not ambitious for a large practice and oblivious of position, but happy in his friends and in delving deep into whatever topic in the world of letters engaged his interest. he was born in ohio in and graduated from the cleveland high school and from kenyon college. he served in the civil war and came to california in . he was a fellow-worker with bret harte in the mint, and also on the _overland monthly_, contributing "favoring female conventualism" to the first number. he was a sound lawyer, but hid with his elders until , when he opened his own office. he was not a pusher, but his associates respected and loved him, so that when in the governor was called upon to appoint a judge, and, embarrassed by the number of candidates, he called upon the bar association to recommend someone, they took a vote and two-thirds of them named rearden. he served on the bench for eight years. he was a favorite member of the chit-chat club for many years and wrote many brilliant essays, a volume of which was printed in . the first two he gave were "francis petrarch" and "burning sappho." among the most charming was "ballads and lyrics," which was illustrated by the equally charming singing of representative selections by mrs. ida norton, the only time in its history when the club was invaded by a woman. its outside repetition was clamored for, and as the judge found a good excuse in his position and its requirements, he loaned the paper and i had the pleasure of substituting for him. when i was a candidate for the legislature he issued a card that was a departure from political methods. it was during the time when all the names were submitted on the ballot and voters crossed off those they did not want to win. he sent his friends a neat card, as follows: charles a. murdock (_of c.a. murdock & co., clay street_) is one of the republican candidates for the assembly from the tenth senatorial district if you prefer any candidate on any other ticket, scratch murdock. if you require any pledge other than that he will vote according to his honest convictions, scratch murdock. his friend, ambrose bierce, spoke of him as the most scholarly man on the pacific coast. he was surely among the most modest and affectionate. he had remarkable poetic gifts. in the thomas post of the grand army of the republic held a memorial service, and he contributed a poem beginning: "life's fevered day declines; its purple twilight falling draws length'ning shadows from the broken flanks; and from the column's head a viewless chief is calling: 'guide right; close up your ranks!'" he was ill when it was read. a week from the day of the meeting the happy, well-loved man breathed his last. john muir john muir, naturalist, enthusiast, writer, glorifier of the sierras, is held in affectionate memory the world over, but especially in california, where he was known as a delightful personality. real pleasure and a good understanding of his nature and quality await those who read of the meeting of emerson and muir in the yosemite in . it is recorded in their diaries. he was a very rare and versatile man. it was my good fortune to sit by him at a dinner on his return from alaska, where he had studied its glaciers, and had incidentally been honored by having its most characteristic one named after him. he was tremendously impressed by the wonder and majesty of what he had seen, but it in no wise dimmed his enthusiasm for the beauty and glory of the sierra nevada. in speaking of the exquisite loveliness of a mountain meadow he exclaimed: "i could conceive it no punishment to be staked out for a thousand years on one of those meadows." his tales of experiences in the high sierra, where he spent days alone and unarmed, with nothing but tea and a few breadcrusts to sustain him, were most thrilling. i was afterward charmed by his sketch of an adventure with a dog called "stickeen," on one of the great alaskan glaciers, and, meeting him, urged that he make a little book of it. he was pleased and told me he had just done it. late in life he was shocked at what he considered the desecration of the hetch-hetchy valley by the city of san francisco, which sought to dam it and form a great lake that should forever furnish a supply of water and power. he came to my office to supervise the publication of the _sierra club bulletin_, and we had a spirited but friendly discussion of the matter, i being much interested as a supervisor of the city. as a climax he exclaimed, "why, if san francisco ever gets the hetch-hetchy i shall _swear_, even if i am in heaven." george holmes howison among the many beneficent acts of horatio stebbins in his distinguished ministry in san francisco was his influence in the establishment of the chair of moral philosophy in the university of california. it was the gift of d.o. mills, who provided the endowment on the advice of dr. stebbins. the first occupant appointed was professor howison, who from to happily held a fruitful term. he was admirably fitted for his duties, and with the added influence of the philosophical union contributed much to the value of the university. a genial and kindly man, with a keen sense of humor, he was universally and deeply respected by the students and by his associates. he made philosophy almost popular, and could differ utterly from others without any of the common results of antagonism, for he generated so much more light than heat. his mind was so stored that when he began to speak there seemed to be no reason aside from discretion why he should ever stop. i enjoyed to the full one little business incident with him. in my publications i followed a somewhat severe style of typography, especially priding myself on the possession of a complete series of genuine old-style faces cast in philadelphia from moulds cut a hundred and seventy years ago. in these latter days a few bold men have tried to improve on this classic. one ronaldson especially departed from the simplicity and dignity of the cut approved by caxton, aldus, and elzevir, and substituted for the beautiful terminal of, say the capital t, two ridiculous curled points. i resented it passionately, and frequently remarked that a printer who would use ronaldson old-style would not hesitate to eat his pie with a knife. one day professor howison (i think his dog "socrates" was with him) came into my office and inquired if i had a cut of old-style type that had curved terminals on the capital ts. i had no idea why he asked the question; i might have supposed that he wanted the face, but i replied somewhat warmly that i had not, that i had never allowed it in the shop, to which he replied with a chuckle, "good! i was afraid i might get them." professor howison furnished one of the best stories of the great earthquake of . in common with most people, he was in bed at fourteen minutes past five on the th of april. while victims generally arose and dressed more or less, the professor calmly remained between the sheets, concluding that if he was to die the bed would be the most fitting and convenient place to be in. it took more than a full-grown earthquake to disturb his philosophy. josiah royce it is doubtful if any son of california has won greater recognition than josiah royce, born in grass valley in november, . in he graduated at the university of california. after gaining his ph.d. at johns hopkins, he returned to his _alma mater_ and for four years was instructor in english literature and logic. he joined the chit-chat club in and continued a member until his removal to harvard in . he was a brilliant and devoted member, with a whimsical wit and entire indifference to fit of clothes and general personal appearance. he was eminently good-natured and a very clever debater. with all the honors heaped upon him, he never forgot his youthful associates. at a reunion held in he sent this friendly message to the club: "have warmest memories of olden time. send heartiest greetings to all my fellow members. i used to be a long-winded speaker in chit-chat, but my love far outlasts my speeches. you inspired my youth. you make my older years glow." in my youthful complacency i had the audacity to print an essay on "the policy of protection," taking issue with most of my brother members, college men and free-traders. later, while on a visit to california, he told me, with a twinkle in his eye, "i am using your book at harvard as an example of logic." he died honored everywhere as america's greatest philosopher, one of the world's foremost thinkers, and withal a very lovable man. charles gordon ames in the early days rev. charles gordon ames preached for a time in santa cruz. later he removed to san jose, and occasionally addressed san francisco audiences. he was original and witty and was in demand for special occasions. in an address at a commencement day at berkeley, i heard him express his wonder at being called upon, since he had matriculated at a wood-pile and graduated in a printing-office. several years after he had returned east i was walking with him in boston. we met one of his friends, who said, "how are you, ames?" "why, i'm still at large, and have lucid intervals," replied the witty preacher. he once told me of an early experience in candidating. he was asked to preach in worcester, where there was a vacancy. next day he met a friend who told him the results, saying: "you seem to have been fortunate in satisfying both the radicals and the conservatives. but your language was something of a surprise; it does not follow the usual harvard type, and does not seem ministerial. you used unaccustomed illustrations. you spoke of something being as slow as molasses. now, so far as i know, molasses is not a scriptural word. honey is mentioned in the bible, but not molasses." joaquin miller the passing of joaquin miller removed from california her most picturesque figure. in his three-score and twelve years he found wide experience, and while his garb and habits were somewhat theatrical he was a strong character and a poet of power. in some respects he was more like walt whitman than any other american poet, and in vigor and grasp was perhaps his equal. of california authors he is the last of the acknowledged leading three, harte and clemens completing the group. for many years he lived with his wife and daughter at "the heights," in the foothills back of oakland, writing infrequently, but with power and insight. his "columbus" will probably be conceded to be his finest poem, and one of the most perfect in the language. he held his faculties till the last, writing a few days before his death a tender message of faith in the eternal. with strong unconventionality and a somewhat abrupt manner, he was genial and kindly in his feelings, with warm affections and great companionability. an amusing incident of many years ago comes back to freshen his memory. an entertainment of a social character was given at the oakland unitarian church, and when my turn came for a brief paper on wit and humor i found that joaquin miller sat near me on the platform. as an illustration of parody, bordering on burlesque, i introduced a miller imitation--the story of a frontiersman on an arizona desert accompanied by a native woman of "bare, brown beauty," and overtaken by heat so intense that but one could live, whereupon, to preserve the superior race, he seized a huge rock and "crushed with fearful blow her well-poised head." it was highly audacious, and but for a youthful pride of authorship and some curiosity as to how he would take it i should have omitted it. friends in the audience told me that the way in which i watched him from the corner of my eye was the most humorous thing in the paper. at the beginning his head was bowed, and for some time he showed no emotion of any sort, but as i went on and it grew worse and worse, he gave way to a burst of merriment and i saw that i was saved. i was gratified then, and his kindliness brings a little glow of good-will--that softens my farewell. mark twain of mark twain my memory is confined to two brief views, both before he had achieved his fame. one was hearing him tell a story with his inimitable drawl, as he stood smoking in front of a montgomery street cigar-store, and the other when on his return from a voyage to the hawaiian islands he delivered his famous lecture at the academy of music. it was a marvelous address, in which with apparently no effort he led his audience to heights of appreciative enthusiasm in the most felicitous description of the beautiful and wonderful things he had seen, and then dropped them from the sublime to the ridiculous by some absurd reference or surprisingly humorous reflection. the sharp contrast between his incomparably beautiful word paintings and his ludicrous humor was characteristic of two sides of the waggish newspaper reporter who developed into a good deal of a philosopher and the first humorist of his time. sheldon gaylord kellogg among my nearest friends i am proud to count sheldon g. kellogg, associated through both the unitarian church, the sunday-school, and the chit-chat club. he was a lawyer with a large and serviceable conscience as well as a well-trained mind. he grew to manhood in the middle west, graduated in a small methodist college, and studied deeply in germany. he came to san francisco, establishing himself in practice without acquaintance, and by sheer ability and character compelled success. his integrity and thoroughness were beyond any question. he went to the root of any matter that arose. he was remarkably well read and a passionate lover of books. he was exact and accurate in his large store of information. dr. stebbins, in his delightful extravagance, once said to mrs. kellogg, "your husband is the only man i'm afraid of--he knows so much." at the chit-chat no one dared to hazard a doubtful statement of fact. if it was not so, kellogg would know it. he was the most modest of men and would almost hesitate to quote the last census report to set us right, but such was our respect for him that his statements were never questioned; he inspired complete confidence. i remember an occasion when the supreme court of the state, or a department of it, had rendered an opinion setting aside a certain sum as the share of certain trustees. kellogg was our attorney. he studied the facts and the decision until he was perfectly sure the court had erred and that he could convince them of it. we applied for a hearing in bank and he was completely sustained. kellogg was an eminently fair man. he took part in a political convention on one occasion and was elected chairman. there was a bitter fight between contending factions, but kellogg was so just in his rulings that both sides were satisfied and counted him friendly. he was a lovable personality and the embodiment of honor. he was studious and scholarly and always justified our expectation of an able, valuable paper on whatever topic he treated. i do not recall that in all my experience i have ever known any other man so unreservedly and universally respected. joseph worcester it is a salutary experience to see the power of goodness, to know a man whose loveliness of life and character exerts an influence beyond the reach of great intellectual gift or conscious effort. joseph worcester was a modest, shrinking swedenborgian minister. his congregation was a handful of refined mystics who took no prominent part in public affairs and were quiet and unobtrusive citizens. he was not attractive as a preacher, his voice trembled with emotion and bashfulness, and he read with difficulty. he was painfully shy, and he was oppressed and suffered in a crowd. he was unmarried and lived by himself in great simplicity. he seemed to sustain generally good health on tea, toast, and marmalade, which at noonday he often shared with his friend william keith, the artist. he was essentially the gentle man. in public speaking his voice never rang out with indignation. he preserved the conversational tone and seemed devoid of passion and severity. he was patient, kind, and loving. he had humor, and a pleasant smile generally lighted up his benignant countenance. he was often playfully indignant. i remember that at one time an aesthetic character named russell addressed gatherings of society people advising them what they should throw out of their over-furnished rooms. in conversation with mr. worcester i asked him how he felt about it. he replied, "i know what i should throw out--mr. russell." it was so incongruous to think of the violence implied in mr. worcester's throwing out anything that it provoked a hearty laugh. yet there was no weakness in his kindliness. he was simply "slow to wrath," not acquiescent with wrong. his strength was not that of the storm, but of the genial shower and the smiling sun. his heart was full of love and everybody loved him. his hold was through the affections and his blissful unselfishness. he seemed never to think of himself at all. he thought very effectually of others. he was helpfulness incarnate, and since he was influential, surprising results followed. he was fond of children and gave much time to the inmates of the protestant orphan asylum, conducting services and reading to them. they grew very fond of him, and his influence on them was naturally great. he was much interested in the education of the boys and in their finding normal life. he took up especially the providing for them of a home where they could live happily and profitably while pursuing a course of study in the california school of mechanical arts. an incident of his efforts in their behalf illustrates what an influence he had gained in the community. a young man of wealth, not a member of his congregation and not considered a philanthropist, but conversant with what mr. worcester was doing and hoped to do, called upon him one day and said: "mr. worcester, here is a key that i wish to leave with you. i have taken a safe-deposit box; it has two keys. one i will keep to open the box and put in bonds from time to time, and the other i give you that you may open it and use coupons or bonds in carrying out your plans for helping the boys." this illustrates how he was loved and what good he provoked in others. without knowing it or seeking it he was a great community influence. he was gifted of the spirit. he had beauty of character, simplicity, unselfishness, love of god and his fellow-men. his special beliefs interested few, his life gave life, his goodness was radiant. he drew all men to him by his love, and he showed them the way. frederick lucian hosmer i cannot forego the pleasure of referring with sincere affection to my brother octogenarian, frederick l. hosmer. he achieved the fullness of honor two months in advance of me, which is wholly fitting, since we are much farther separated in every other regard. he has been a leader for a great many years, and i am proud to be in sight of him. his kindly friendship has long been one of the delights of my life, and i have long entertained the greatest respect and admiration for his ability and quality. as a writer of hymns he has won the first place in the world's esteem, and probably his noble verse is (after the psalms) the most universally used expression of the religious feeling of mankind. more worshipers unite in singing his hymns, unitarian though he be, than those of any other man, living or dead. it is a great distinction, and in meriting it he holds enviable rank as one of the world's greatest benefactors. yet he remains the most modest of men, with no apparent consciousness that he is great. his humility is an added charm and his geniality is beautiful. he has made the most of a fancied resemblance to me, and in many delightful ways has indulged in pleasantries based on it. in my room hangs a framed photograph signed "faithfully yours, chas. a. murdock." it is far better-looking than i ever was--but that makes no difference. we were once at a conference at seattle. he said with all seriousness, "murdock, i want you to understand that i intend to exercise great circumspection in my conduct, and i rely upon you to do the same." i greatly enjoyed dr. hosmer's party, with its eighty candles, and i was made happy that he could be at mine and nibble my cake. not all good and great men are so thoroughly lovable. thomas lamb eliot when horatio stebbins in assumed charge of the san francisco church he was the sole representative of the denomination on the pacific coast. for years he stood alone,--a beacon-like tower of liberalism. the first glimmer of companionship came from portland, oregon. at the solicitation of a few earnest unitarians dr. stebbins went to portland to consult with and encourage them. a society was formed to prepare the way for a church. a few consecrated women worked devotedly; they bought a lot in the edge of the woods and finally built a small chapel. then they moved for a minister. in st. louis, mo., rev. william greenleaf eliot had been for many years a force in religion and education. a strong unitarian church and washington university resulted. he had also founded a family and had inspired sons to follow in his footsteps. thomas lamb eliot had been ordained and was ready for the ministry. he was asked to take the portland church and he accepted. he came first to san francisco on his way. dr. stebbins was trying the experiment of holding services in the metropolitan theater, and i remember seeing in the stage box one sunday a very prepossessing couple that interested me much--they were the eliots on their way to portland. william g., jr., was an infant-in-arms. i was much impressed with the spirit that moved the attractive couple to venture into an unknown field. the acquaintance formed grew into a friendship that has deepened with the years. the ministry of the son in portland has been much like that of the father in st. louis. the church has been reverent and constructive, a steady force for righteousness, an influence for good in personal life and community welfare. dr. eliot has fostered many interests, but the church has been foremost. he has always been greatly respected and influential. dr. stebbins entertained for him the highest regard. he was wont to say: "thomas eliot is the wisest man for his years i ever knew." he has always been that and more to me. he has served one parish all his life, winning and holding the reverent regard of the whole community. the active service of the church has passed to his son and for years he has given most of his time and strength to reed college, established by his parishioners. in a few months he will complete his eighty years of beautiful life and noble service. he has kept the faith and passed on the fine spirit of his inheritance. chapter xi outings i have not been much of a traveler abroad, or even beyond the pacific states. i have been to the atlantic shore four times since my emigration thence, and going or coming i visited chicago, st. louis, denver, and other points, but have no striking memories of any of them. in i had a very delightful visit to the hawaiian islands, including the volcano. it was full of interest and charm, with a beauty and an atmosphere all its own; but any description, or the story of experiences or impressions, would but re-echo what has been told adequately by others. british columbia and western washington i found full of interest and greatly enjoyed; but they also must be left unsung. my outings from my beaten track have been brief, but have contributed a large stock of happy memories. camping in california is a joy that never palls, and among the pleasantest pictures on memory's walls are the companionship of congenial friends in the beautiful surroundings afforded by the santa cruz mountains. twice in all the years since leaving humboldt have i revisited its hospitable shores and its most impressive redwoods. my love for it will never grow less. twice, too, have i reveled in the yosemite valley and beyond to the valley that will form a majestic lake--glorious hetch-hetchy. i am thankful for the opportunity i have enjoyed of seeing so fully the great pacific empire. my church supervision included california, oregon, and washington, with the southern fringe of canada for good measure. even without this attractive neighbor my territory was larger than france (or germany) and belgium, england, wales, and ireland combined. san diego, bellingham, and spokane were the triangle of bright stars that bounded the constellation. to have found friends and to be sure of a welcome at all of these and everywhere between was a great extension to my enjoyment, and visiting them was not only a pleasant duty but a delightful outing. in the sierras belated vacations perhaps gain more than they lose, and in the sum total at least hold their own. it is one advantage of being well distributed that opportunities increase. in that an individual is an unsalaried editor, extensive or expensive trips are unthinkable; that his calling affords necessities but a scant allowance of luxuries, leaves recreation in the sierras out of the question; but that by the accidents of politics he happens to be a supervisor, certain privileges, disguised attractively as duties, prove too alluring to resist. the city had an option on certain remote lands supposed to be of great value for water and power, and no one wants to buy a pig of that size in a poke, so it was ordained that the city fathers, with their engineer and various clerks and functionaries entitled to a vacation and desiring information (or _vice versa_), should visit the lands proposed to be acquired. in the supervisors inspected the dam-sites at lake eleanor and the hetch-hetchy, but gained little idea of the intervening country and the route of the water on its way to the city. subsequently the trip was more thoroughly planned and the result was satisfactory, both in the end attained and in the incidental process. on the morning of august , , the party of seventeen disembarked from the stockton boat, followed by four fine municipal automobiles. when the men and the machines were satisfactorily supplied with fuel and the outfit was appropriately photographed, the procession started mountainward. for some time the good roads, fairly well watered, passed over level, fruitful country, with comfortable homes. then came gently rolling land and soon the foothills, with gravelly soil and scattered pines. a few orchards and ranches were passed, but not much that was really attractive. then we reached the scenes of early-day mining and half-deserted towns known to bret harte and the days of gold. knight's ferry became a memory instead of a name. chinese camp, once harboring thousands, is now a handful of houses and a few lonely stores and saloons. it had cast sixty-five votes a few days before our visit. then came a stratum of mills and mines, mostly deserted, a few operating sufficiently to discolor with the crushed mineral the streams flowing by. soon we reached the tuolumne, with clear, pellucid water in limited quantities, for the snow was not very plentiful the previous winter and it melted early. following its banks for a time, the road turned to climb a hill, and well along in the afternoon we reached "priests," a favorite roadhouse of the early stage line to the yosemite. here a good dinner was enjoyed, the machines were overhauled, and on we went. then big oak flat, a mining town of some importance, was passed, and a few miles farther groveland, where a quite active community turned out en masse to welcome the distinguished travelers. the day's work was done and the citizens showed a pathetic interest which testified to how little ordinarily happened. the shades of night were well down when hamilton's was reached--a stopping-place once well known, but now off the line of travel. here we were hospitably entertained and slept soundly after a full day's exercise. in the memory of all, perhaps the abundance of fried chicken for breakfast stands out as the distinguishing feature. a few will always remember it as the spot where for the first time they found themselves aboard a horse, and no kind chronicler would refer to which side of the animal they selected for the ascent. the municipally chartered pack-train, with cooks and supplies for man and beast, numbered over sixty animals, and chaparejos and cowboys, real and near, were numerous. the ride to the rim of the south fork of the tuolumne was short. the new trail was not sufficiently settled to be safe for the sharp descents, and for three-quarters of a mile the horses and mules were turned loose and the company dropped down the mountainside on foot. the lovely stream of water running between mountainous, wooded banks was followed up for many miles. about midday a charming spot for luncheon was found, where corral creek tumbles in a fine cascade on its way to the river. the day was warm, and when the mouth of eleanor creek was reached many enjoyed a good swim in an attractive deep basin. turning to the north, the bank of eleanor was followed to the first camping-place, plum flat, an attractive clearing, where wild plums have been augmented by fruit and vegetables. here, after a good dinner served in the open by the municipal cooks, the municipal sleeping-bags were distributed, and soft and level spots were sought for their spreading. the seasoned campers were happy and enjoyed the luxury. some who for the first time reposed upon the breast of mother earth failed to find her charm. one father awoke in the morning, sat up promptly, pointed his hand dramatically to the zenith, and said, "never again!" but he lived to revel in the open-air caravansary, and came home a tougher and a wiser man. a ride of fifteen miles through a finely wooded country brought us to the lake eleanor dam-site and the municipal camp, where general preparations are being made and runoff records are being taken. in a comfortable log house two assistants to the engineer spent the winter, keeping records of rainfall and other meteorological data. while we were in camp here, lake eleanor, a mile distant, was visited and enjoyed in various ways, and those who felt an interest in the main purpose of the trip rode over into the cherry creek watershed and inspected the sites and rights whose purchase is contemplated. saturday morning we left lake eleanor and climbed the steep ridge separating its watershed from that of the tuolumne. from eleanor to hetch-hetchy as the crow would fly, if there were a crow and he wanted to fly, is five miles. as mules crawl and men climb, it takes five hours. but it is well worth it for association with granite helps any politician. hetch-hetchy valley is about half as large as yosemite and almost as beautiful. early in the season the mosquitoes make life miserable, but as late as august the swampy land is pretty well dried up and they are few. the tuolumne tumbles in less effectively than the merced enters yosemite. instead of two falls of nine hundred feet, there is one of twenty or so. the wampana, corresponding to the yosemite falls, is not so high nor so picturesque, but is more industrious, and apparently takes no vacation. kolana is a noble knob, but not quite so imposing as sentinel rock. we camped in the valley two days and found it very delightful. the dam-site is not surpassed. nowhere in the world, it is said, can so large a body of water be impounded so securely at so small an expense. there is an admirable camping-ground within easy distance of the valley, and engineers say that at small expense a good trail, and even a wagon-road, can be built along the face of the north wall, making possible a fine view of the magnificent lake. with the argument for granting the right the city seeks i am not here concerned. the only purpose in view is the casual recital of a good time. it has to do with a delightful sojourn in good company, with songs around the camp-fire, trips up and down the valley, the taking of photographs, the appreciation of brook-trout, the towering mountains, the moon and stars that looked down on eyes facing direct from welcome beds. mention might be made of the discovery of characters--types of mountain guides who prove to be scholars and philosophers; of mules, like "flapjack," of literary fame; of close intercourse with men at their best; of excellent appetites satisfactorily met; of genial sun and of water so alluring as to compel intemperance in its use. the climbing of the south wall in the early morning, the noonday stop at hog ranch, and the touching farewell to mounts and pack-train, the exhilarating ride to crocker's, and the varied attractions of that fascinating resort, must be unsung. a night of mingled pleasure and rest with every want luxuriously supplied, a half-day of good coaching, and once more yosemite--the wonder of the west. its charms need no rehearsing. they not only never fade, but they grow with familiarity. the delight of standing on the summit of sentinel dome, conscious that your own good muscles have lifted you over four thousand feet from the valley's floor, with such a world spread before you; the indescribable beauty of a sunrise at glacier point, the beauty and majesty of vernal and nevada falls, the knightly crest of the half dome, and the imposing grandeur of the great capitan--what words can even hint their varied glory! all this packed into a week, and one comes back strengthened in body and spirit, with a renewed conviction of the beauty of the world, and a freshened readiness to lend a hand in holding human nature up to a standard that shall not shame the older sister. a day in concord there are many lovely spots in new england when june is doing her best. rolling hills dotted with graceful elms, meadows fresh with the greenest of grass, streams of water winding through the peaceful stretches, robins hopping in friendly confidence, distant hills blue against the horizon, soft clouds floating in the sky, air laden with the odor of lilacs and vibrant with songs of birds. there are many other spots of great historic interest, beautiful or not--it doesn't matter much--where memorable meetings have been held which set in motion events that changed the course of history, or where battles have been fought that no american can forget. there are still other places rich with human interest where some man of renown has lived and died--some man who has made his undying mark in letters, or has been a source of inspiration through his calm philosophy. but if one would stand upon the particular spot which can claim supremacy in each of these three respects, where can he go but to concord, massachusetts! it would be hard to find a lovelier view anywhere in the gentle east than is to be gained from the reservoir height--a beautifully broken landscape, hill and dale, woodland, distant trees, two converging streams embracing and flowing in a quiet, decorous union beneath the historic bridge, comfortable homes, many of them too simple and dignified to be suspected of being modern, a cluster of steeples rising above the elms in the center of the town, pastures and plowed fields, well-fed jerseys resting under the oaks, an occasional canoe floating on the gentle stream, genuine old new england homes, painted white, with green blinds, generous wood-piles near at hand, comfortable barns, and blossoming orchards, now and then a luxurious house, showing the architect's effort to preserve the harmonious--all of these and more, to form a scene of pastoral beauty and with nothing to mar the picture--no uncompromising factories, no blocks of flats, no elevated roads, no glaring signs of cuban cheroots or peruna bitters. it is simply an ideal exhibit of all that is most beautiful and attractive in new england scenery and life, and its charm is very great. turning to its historic interest, one is reminded of it at every side. upon a faithful reproduction of the original meeting-house, a tablet informs the visitor that here the first meeting was held that led to national independence. a placard on a quaint old hostelry informs us that it was a tavern in pre-revolutionary times. leaving the "common," around which most new england towns cluster, one soon reaches monument street. following it until houses grow infrequent, one comes to an interesting specimen which seems familiar. a conspicuous sign proclaims it private property and that sightseers are not welcome. it is the "old manse" made immortal by the genius of hawthorne. near by, an interesting road intersects leading to a river. soon we descry a granite monument at the famous bridge, and across the bridge "the minute man." the inscription on the monument informs us that here the first british soldier fell. an iron chain incloses a little plot by the side of a stone wall where rest those who met the first armed resistance. crossing the bridge which spans a dark and sluggish stream one reaches french's fine statue with emerson's noble inscription,-- "by the rude bridge that arched the flood, their flag to april's breeze unfurled, here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world." no historic spot has a finer setting or an atmosphere so well fitted to calm reflection on a momentous event. on the way to concord, if one is so fortunate as to go by trolley, one passes through lexington and catches a glimpse of its bronze "minute man," more spirited and lifelike in its tense suspended motion than french's calm and determined farmer-soldier. in the side of a farmhouse near the concord battle-field--if such an encounter can be called a battle--a shot from a british bullet pierced the wood, and that historic orifice is carefully preserved; a diamond-shaped pane surrounds it. our friend, rev. a.w. jackson, remarked, "i suppose if that house should burn down, the first thing they would try to save would be that bullet-hole." but concord is richest in the memory of the men who have lived and died there, and whose character and influence have made it a center of world-wide inspiration. one has but to visit sleepy hollow cemetery to be impressed with the number and weight of remarkable names associated with this quiet town, little more than a village. sleepy hollow is one of a number of rather unusual depressions separated by sharp ridges that border the town. the hills are wooded, and in some instances their steep sides make them seem like the half of a california canyon. the cemetery is not in the cuplike valley, but on the side and summit of a gentle hill. it is well kept and very impressive. one of the first names to attract attention is "hawthorne," cut on a simple slab with rounded top. it is the sole inscription on the little stone about a foot high. simplicity could go no farther. within a small radius are found the graves of emerson, thoreau, alcott, john weiss, and samuel hoar. emerson's monument is a beautiful boulder, on the smoothed side of which is placed a bronze tablet. the inscriptions on the stones placed to the memory of the different members of the family are most fitting and touching. this is also true of the singularly fine inscriptions in the lot where rest several generations of the hoar family. a good article might be written on monumental inscriptions in the concord burial-ground. it is a lovely spot where these illustrious sons of concord have found their final resting-place, and a pilgrimage to it cannot but freshen one's sense of indebtedness to these gifted men of pure lives and elevated thoughts. the most enjoyable incident of the delightful decoration day on which our trip was made was a visit to emerson's home. his daughter was in new york, but we were given the privilege of freely taking possession of the library and parlor. everything is as the sage left it. his books are undisturbed, his portfolio of notes lies upon the table, and his favorite chair invites the friend who feels he can occupy it. the atmosphere is quietly simple. the few pictures are good, but not conspicuous or insistent. the books bear evidence of loving use. bindings were evidently of no interest. nearly all the books are in the original cloth, now faded and worn. one expects to see the books of his contemporaries and friends, and the expectation is met. they are mostly in first editions, and many of them are almost shabby. taking down the first volume of _the dial_, i found it well filled with narrow strips of paper, marking articles of especial interest. the authors' names not being given, they were frequently supplied by mr. emerson on the margin. i noticed opposite one article the words "t. parker" in mr. emerson's writing. the books covered one side of a good-sized room and ran through the connecting hall into the quaint parlor, or sitting-room, behind it. a matting covered the floor, candlesticks rested on the chimney-piece, and there was no meaningless bric-a-brac, nor other objects of suspected beauty to distract attention. as you enter the house, the library occupies the large right-hand corner room. it was simple to the verge of austerity, and the farthest possible removed from a "collection." there was no effort at arrangement--they were just books, for use and for their own sake. the portfolio of fugitive notes and possible material for future use was interesting, suggesting the source of much that went to make up those fascinating essays where the "thoughts" often made no pretense at sequence, but rested in peaceful unregulated proximity, like eggs in a nest. here is a sentence that evidently didn't quite satisfy him, an uncertain mark of erasure leaving the approved portion in doubt: "read proudly. put the duty of being read invariably on the author. if he is not read, whose fault is it? i am quite ready to be charmed--but i shall not make believe i am charmed." dear man! he never would "make believe." transparent, sincere soul, how he puts to shame all affectation and pretense! mr. jackson says his townsmen found it hard to realize that he was great. they always thought of him as the kindly neighbor. one old farmer told of his experience in driving home a load of hay. he was approaching a gate and was just preparing to climb down to open it, when an old gentleman nimbly ran ahead and opened it for him. it was emerson, who apparently never gave it a second thought. it was simply the natural thing for him to do. walden pond is some little distance from the emerson home, and the time at our disposal did not permit a visit. but we had seen enough and felt enough to leave a memory of rare enjoyment to the credit of that precious day in concord. five days there are several degrees of rest, and there are many ways of resting. what is rest to one person might be an intolerable bore to another, but when one finds the ultimate he is never after in doubt. he knows what is, to him, _the real thing_. the effect of a sufficient season, say five days, to one who had managed to find very little for a disgracefully long time, is not easy to describe, but very agreeable to feel. my friend [footnote: horace davis] has a novel retreat. he is fond of nature as manifested in the growth of trees and plants, and some seventeen years ago he bought a few acres, mostly of woods, in the santa cruz mountains. there was a small orchard, a few acres of hillside hayfield, and a little good land where garden things would grow. there was, too, a somewhat eccentric house where a man who was trying to be theosophical had lived and communed with his mystified soul. to foster the process he had more or less blue glass and a window of gothic form in the peak of his rambling house. in his living-room a round window, with sanskrit characters, let in a doubtful gleam from another room. in the side-hill a supposedly fireproof vault had been built to hold the manuscript that held his precious thoughts. in the gulch he had a sacred spot, where, under the majestic redwoods, he retired to write, and in a small building he had a small printing-press, from which the world was to have been led to the light. but there was some failure of connection, and stern necessity compelled the surrender of these high hopes. my friend took over the plant, and the reformer reformed and went off to earn his daily bread. his memory is kept alive by the name mahatma, given to the gulch, and the blue glass has what effect it may on a neighbor's vegetables. the little house was made habitable. the home of the press was comfortably ceiled and made into a guest-chamber, and apples and potatoes are stored in the fireproof vault. the acres were fairly covered with a second growth of redwood and a wealth of madroños and other native trees; but there were many spaces where nature invited assistance, and my friend every year has planted trees of many kinds from many climes, until he has an arboretum hardly equaled anywhere. there are pines in endless variety--from the sierra and from the seashore, from new england, france, norway, and japan. there flourish the cedar, spruce, hemlock, oak, beech, birch, and maple. there in peace and plenty are the sequoia, the bamboo, and the deodar. eucalypts pierce the sky and japanese dwarfs hug the ground. these children of the woodland vary in age from six months to sixteen years, and each has its interest and tells its story of struggle, with results of success or failure, as conditions determine. at the entrance to the grounds an incense-cedar on one side and an arbor-vitae on the other stand dignified guard. the acres have been added to until about sixty are covered with growing trees. around the house, which wisteria has almost covered, is a garden in which roses predominate, but hollyhocks, coreopsis, and other flowers not demanding constant care grow in luxuriance. there is abundance of water, and filtered sunshine gives a delightful temperature. the thermometer on the vine-clad porch runs up to in the daytime and in the night drops down to . a sympathetic italian lives not far away, keeping a good cow, raising amazingly good vegetables, gathering the apples and other fruit, and caring for the place. the house is unoccupied except during the five days each month when my friend restores himself, mentally and physically, by rest and quiet contemplation and observation. he takes with him a faithful servitor, whose old age is made happy by these periodical sojourns, and the simple life is enjoyed to the full. into this resthaven it was my happy privilege to spend five-sevenths of a week of august, and the rare privilege of being obliged to do nothing was a great delight. early rising was permissible, but not encouraged. at eight o'clock a rich hibernian voice was heard to say, "hot water, mr. murdock," and it was so. a simple breakfast, meatless, but including the best of coffee and apricots, tree-ripened and fresh, was enjoyed at leisure undisturbed by thought of awaiting labor. following the pleasant breakfast chat was a forenoon of converse with my friend or a friendly book or magazine, broken by a stroll through some part of the wood and introduction to the hospitably entertained trees from distant parts. my friend is something of a botanist, and was able to pronounce the court names of all his visitors. wild flowers still persist, and among others was pointed out one which was unknown to the world till he chanced to find it. [illustration: outings in the sierras, in hawaii, ] very interesting is the fact that the flora of the region, which is a thousand feet above sea-level, has many of the characteristics of beach vicinity, and the reason is disclosed by the outcropping at various points of a deposit of white sand, very fine, and showing under the microscope the smoothly rounded form that tells of the rolling waves. this deposit is said to be traceable for two hundred miles easterly, and where it has been eroded by the streams of today enormous trees have grown on the deposited soil. the mind is lost in conjecture of the time that must have elapsed since an ancient sea wore to infinitesimal bits the quartz that some rushing stream had brought from its native mountains. another interesting feature of the landscape was the clearly marked course of the old "indian trail," known to the earliest settlers, which followed through this region from the coast at santa cruz to the santa clara valley. it followed the most accessible ridges and showed elemental surveying of a high order. along its line are still found bits of rusted iron, with specks of silver, relics of the spurs and bridles of the caballeros of the early days. the maples that sheltered the house are thinned out, that the sun may not be excluded, and until its glare becomes too radiant the steamer-chair or the rocker seeks the open that the genial page of "susan's escort, and others," one of the inimitable books of edward everett hale, may be enjoyed in comfort. when midday comes the denser shade of tree or porch is sought, and coats come off. at noon dinner is welcome, and proves that the high cost of living is largely a conventional requirement. it may be beans or a bit of roast ham brought from home, with potatoes or tomatoes, good bread and butter, and a dessert of toasted crackers with loganberries and cream. to experience the comfort of not eating too much and to find how little can be satisfying is a great lesson in the art of living. to supplement, and dispose of, this homily on food, our supper was always baked potatoes and cream toast,--but such potatoes and real cream toast! of course, fruit was always "on tap," and the good coffee reappeared. in the cool of the afternoon a longer walk. good trails lead over the whole place, and sometimes we would go afield and call on some neighbor. almost invariably they were italians, who were thriving where improvident americans had given up in despair. always my friend found friendly welcome. this one he had helped out of a trouble with a refractory pump, that one he had befriended in some other way. all were glad to see him, and wished him well. what a poor investment it is to quarrel with a neighbor! sometimes my friend would busy himself by leading water to some neglected and thirsty plant, while i was re-reading "tom grogan" or brander matthews' plays, but for much of the time we talked and exchanged views on current topics or old friends. when the evening came we prudently went inside and continued our reading or our talk till we felt inclined to seek our comfortable beds and the oblivion that blots out troubles or pleasures. and so on for five momentous days. quite unlike the "seven days" in the delightful farce-comedy of that name, in which everything happened, here nothing seemed to happen. we were miles from a post-office, and newspapers disturbed us not. the world of human activity was as though it were not. politics as we left it was a disturbing memory, but no fresh outbreaks aggravated our discomfort. we were at rest and we rested. a good recipe for long life, i think, would be: withdraw from life's turmoil regularly--five days in a month. an anniversary the humboldt county business established and conducted on honor by alex. brizard was continued on like lines by his three sons with conspicuous success. as the fiftieth anniversary approached they arranged to fitly celebrate the event. they invited many of their father's and business associates to take part in the anniversary observance in july, . with regret, i was about to decline when my good friend henry michaels, a state guard associate, who had become the head of the leading house in drugs and medicines with which brizard and his sons had extensively dealt, came in and urged me to join him in motoring to humboldt. he wanted to go, but would not go alone and the double delight of his company and joining in the anniversary led to prompt acceptance of his generous proposal. there followed one of the most enjoyable outings of my life. i had never compassed the overland trip to humboldt, and while i naturally expected much the realization far exceeded my anticipations. from the fine highway following the main ridge the various branches of the eel river were clearly outlined, and when we penetrated the world-famous redwood belt and approached the coast our enjoyment seemed almost impious, as though we were motoring through a cathedral. we found arcata bedecked for the coming anniversary. the whole community felt its significance. when the hour came every store in town closed. seemingly the whole population assembled in and around the brizard store, anxious to express kindly memory and approval of those who so well sustained the traditions of the elders. the oldest son made a brief, manly address and introduced a few of the many who could have borne tribute. it was a happy occasion in which good-will was made very evident. a ball in the evening concluded the festivities, and it was with positive regret that we turned from the delightful atmosphere and retraced our steps to home and duty. chapter xii occasional verse boston (after bret harte) on the south fork of yuba, in may, fifty-two, an old cabin stood on the hill, where the road to grass valley lay clear to the view, and a ditch that ran down to buck's mill. it was owned by a party that lately had come to discover what fate held in store; he was working for brigham, and prospecting some, while the clothes were well cut that he wore. he had spruced up the cabin, and by it would stay, for he never could bear a hotel. he refused to drink whiskey or poker to play, but was jolly and used the boys well. in the long winter evenings he started a club, to discuss the affairs of the day. he was up in the classics--a scholarly cub-- and the best of the talkers could lay. he could sing like a robin, and play on the flute, and he opened a school, which was free, where he taught all the musical fellows to toot, or to join in an anthem or glee. so he soon "held the age" over any young man who had ever been known on the bar; and the boys put him through, when for sheriff he ran, and his stock now was much above par. in the spring he was lucky, and struck a rich lead, and he let all his friends have a share; it was called the new boston, for that was his breed, and the rock that he showed them was rare. when he called on his partners to put up a mill, they were anxious to furnish the means; and the needful, of course, turned into his till just as freely as though it was beans. then he went to the bay with his snug little pile-- there was seventeen thousand and more-- to arrange for a mill of the most approved style, and to purchase a sturtevant blower. but they waited for boston a year and a day, and he never was heard of again. for the lead he had opened was salted with pay, and he'd played 'em with culture and brain. the greater freedom o god of battles, who sustained our fathers in the glorious days when they our priceless freedom gained, help us, as loyal sons, to raise anew the standard they upbore, and bear it on to farther heights, where freedom seeks for self no more, but love a life of service lights. our father is god our father? so sublime the thought we cannot hope its meaning full to grasp, e'en as the child the gifts the wise men brought could not within his infant fingers clasp. we speak the words from early childhood taught. we sometimes fancy that their truth we feel; but only on life's upper heights is caught the vital message that they may reveal. so on the heights may we be led to dwell, that nearer god we may more truly know how great the heritage his love will tell if we be lifted up from things below. resurgam the stricken city lifts her head, with eyes yet dim from flowing tears; her heart still throbs with pain unspent, but hope, triumphant, conquers fears. with vision calm, she sees her course, nor shrinks, though thorny be the way. shall human will succumb to fate, crushed by the happenings of a day? the city that we love shall live, and grow in beauty and in power; her loyal sons shall stand erect, their chastened courage heaven's dower. and when the story shall be told of direful ruin, loss, and dearth, there shall be said with pride and joy: "but man survived, and proved his worth." san francisco o "city loved around the world," triumphant over direful fate, thy flag of honor never furled, proud guardian of the golden gate; hold thou that standard from the dust of lower ends or doubtful gain; on thy good sword no taint of rust; on stars and stripes no blot or stain. thy loyal sons by thee shall stand, thy highest purpose to uphold; proclaim the word, o'er all the land, that truth more precious is than gold. let justice never be denied, resist the wrong, defend the right; where west meets east stand thou in pride of noble life,--a beacon-light. the new year the past is gone beyond recall, the future kindly veils its face; today we live, today is all we have or need, our day of grace. the world is god's, and hence 'tis plain that only wrong we need to fear; 'tis ours to live, come joy or pain, to make more blessed each new year. prodigals we tarry in a foreign land, with pleasure's husks elate, when robe and ring and father's hand at home our coming wait. deep-rooted fierce boreas in his wildest glee assails in vain the yielding tree that, rooted deep, gains strength to bear, and proudly lifts its head in air. when loss or grief, with sharp distress, to man brings brunt of storm and stress, he stands serene who calmly bends in strength that trust, deep-rooted, lends. to horatio stebbins the sun still shines, and happy, blithesome birds are singing on the swaying boughs in bloom. my eyes look forth and see no sign of gloom, no loss casts shadow on the grazing herds; and yet i bear within a grief that words can ne'er express, for in the silent tomb is laid the body of my friend, the doom of silence on that matchless voice. now girds my spirit for the struggle he would praise. a leader viewless to the mortal eye still guides my steps, still calls with clarion cry to deeds of honor, and my thoughts would raise to seek the truth and share the love on high. with loyal heart i'll follow all my days. new year, the sifting sand that marks the passing year in many-colored tints its course has run through days with shadows dark, or bright with sun, but hope has triumphed over doubt and fear, new radiance flows from stars that grace our flag. our fate we ventured, though full dark the night, and faced the fatuous host who trusted might. god called, the country's lovers could not lag, serenely trustful, danger grave despite, untrained, in love with peace, they dared to fight, and freed a threatened world from peril dire, establishing the majesty of right. our loyal hearts still burn with sacred fire, our spirits' wings are plumed for upward flight. new year, the curtain rises on the all-world stage, the play is unannounced; no prologue's word gives hint of scene, or voices to be heard; we may be called with tragedy to rage, in comedy or farce we may disport, with feverish melodrama we may thrill, or in a pantomimic role be still. we may find fame in field, or grace a court, whate'er the play, forthwith its lines will start, and every soul, in cloister or in mart, must act, and do his best from day to day-- so says the prompter to the human heart. "the play's the thing," might shakespear's hamlet say. "the thing," to us, is playing well our part. epilogue *walking in the way* to hold to faith when all seems dark to keep of good courage when failure follows failure to cherish hope when its promise is faintly whispered to bear without complaint the heavy burdens that must be borne to be cheerful whatever comes to preserve high ideals to trust unfalteringly that well-being follows well-doing this is the way of life to be modest in desires to enjoy simple pleasures to be earnest to be true to be kindly to be reasonably patient and ever-lastingly persistent to be considerate to be at least just to be helpful to be loving this is to walk therein. charles a. murdock principles of mining +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | published by the | | mcgraw-hill book company | | new york | | | | successors to the book departments of the | | mcgraw publishing company hill publishing company | | | | publishers of books for | | electrical world the engineering and mining journal | | engineering record power and the engineer | | electric railway journal american machinist | | metallurgical and chemical engineering | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ principles of mining valuation, organization and administration copper, gold, lead, silver, tin and zinc by herbert c. hoover _member american institute of mining engineers, mining and metallurgical society of america, société des ingénieurs civils de france, fellow royal geographical society, etc._ first edition _fourth thousand_ mcgraw-hill book company west th street, new york bouverie street, london, e.c. preface. this volume is a condensation of a series of lectures delivered in part at stanford and in part at columbia universities. it is intended neither for those wholly ignorant of mining, nor for those long experienced in the profession. the bulk of the material presented is the common heritage of the profession, and if any one may think there is insufficient reference to previous writers, let him endeavor to find to whom the origin of our methods should be credited. the science has grown by small contributions of experience since, or before, those unnamed egyptian engineers, whose works prove their knowledge of many fundamentals of mine engineering six thousand eight hundred years ago. if i have contributed one sentence to the accumulated knowledge of a thousand generations of engineers, or have thrown one new ray of light on the work, i shall have done my share. i therefore must acknowledge my obligations to all those who have gone before, to all that has been written that i have read, to those engineers with whom i have been associated for many years, and in particular to many friends for kindly reply to inquiry upon points herein discussed. contents. chapter . valuation of copper, gold, lead, silver, tin, and zinc lode mines determination of average metal content; sampling, assay plans, calculations of averages, percentage of errors in estimate from sampling. chapter ii. mine valuation (_continued_) calculation of quantities of ore, and classification of ore in sight. chapter iii. mine valuation (_continued_) prospective value. extension in depth; origin and structural character of the deposit; secondary enrichment; development in neighboring mines; depth of exhaustion. chapter iv. mine valuation (_continued_) recoverable percentage of the gross assay value; price of metals; cost of production. chapter v. mine valuation (_continued_) redemption or amortization of capital and interest. chapter vi. mine valuation (_concluded_) valuation of mines with little or no ore in sight; valuations on second-hand data; general conduct of examinations; reports. chapter vii. development of mines entry to the mine; tunnels; vertical, inclined, and combined shafts; location and number of shafts. chapter viii. development of mines (_continued_) shape and size of shafts; speed of sinking; tunnels. chapter ix. development of mines (_concluded_) subsidiary development: stations; crosscuts; levels; interval between levels; protection of levels; winzes and rises. development in the prospecting stage; drilling. chapter x. stoping methods of ore-breaking; underhand stopes; overhand stopes; combined stope. valuing ore in course of breaking. chapter xi. methods of supporting excavation timbering; filling with waste; filling with broken ore; pillars of ore; artificial pillars; caving system. chapter xii. mechanical equipment conditions bearing on mine equipment; winding appliances; haulage equipment in shafts; lateral underground transport; transport in stopes. chapter xiii. mechanical equipment (_continued_) drainage: controlling factors; volume and head of water; flexibility; reliability; power conditions; mechanical efficiency; capital outlay. systems of drainage,--steam pumps, compressed-air pumps, electrical pumps, rod-driven pumps, bailing; comparative value of various systems. chapter xiv. mechanical equipment (_concluded_) machine drilling: power transmission; compressed air _vs._ electricity; air drills; machine _vs._ hand drilling. workshops. improvement in equipment. chapter xv. ratio of output to the mine determination of possible maximum; limiting factors; cost of equipment; life of the mine; mechanical inefficiency of patchwork plant; overproduction of base metal; security of investment. chapter xvi. administration labor efficiency; skill; intelligence; application coördination; contract work; labor unions; real basis of wages. chapter xvii. administration (_continued_) accounts and technical data and reports; working costs; division of expenditure; inherent limitations in accuracy of working costs; working cost sheets. general technical data; labor, supplies, power, surveys, sampling, and assaying. chapter xviii. administration (_concluded_) administrative reports. chapter xix. the amount of risk in mining investments risk in valuation of mines; in mines as compared with other commercial enterprises. chapter xx. the character, training, and obligations of the mining engineering profession index principles of mining. chapter i. valuation of copper, gold, lead, silver, tin, and zinc lode mines. determination of average metal content; sampling, assay plans, calculations of averages, percentage of errors in estimate from sampling. the following discussion is limited to _in situ_ deposits of copper, gold, lead, silver, tin, and zinc. the valuation of alluvial deposits, iron, coal, and other mines is each a special science to itself and cannot be adequately discussed in common with the type of deposits mentioned above. the value of a metal mine of the order under discussion depends upon:-- _a_. the profit that may be won from ore exposed; _b_. the prospective profit to be derived from extension of the ore beyond exposures; _c_. the effect of a higher or lower price of metal (except in gold mines); _d_. the efficiency of the management during realization. the first may be termed the positive value, and can be approximately determined by sampling or test-treatment runs. the second and the third may be termed the speculative values, and are largely a matter of judgment based on geological evidence and the industrial outlook. the fourth is a question of development, equipment, and engineering method adapted to the prospects of the enterprise, together with capable executive control of these works. it should be stated at the outset that it is utterly impossible to accurately value any mine, owing to the many speculative factors involved. the best that can be done is to state that the value lies between certain limits, and that various stages above the minimum given represent various degrees of risk. further, it would be but stating truisms to those engaged in valuing mines to repeat that, because of the limited life of every mine, valuation of such investments cannot be based upon the principle of simple interest; nor that any investment is justified without a consideration of the management to ensue. yet the ignorance of these essentials is so prevalent among the public that they warrant repetition on every available occasion. to such an extent is the realization of profits indicated from the other factors dependent upon the subsequent management of the enterprise that the author considers a review of underground engineering and administration from an economic point of view an essential to any essay upon the subject. while the metallurgical treatment of ores is an essential factor in mine economics, it is considered that a detailed discussion of the myriad of processes under hypothetic conditions would lead too far afield. therefore the discussion is largely limited to underground and administrative matters. the valuation of mines arises not only from their change of ownership, but from the necessity in sound administration for a knowledge of some of the fundamentals of valuation, such as ore reserves and average values, that managerial and financial policy may be guided aright. also with the growth of corporate ownership there is a demand from owners and stockholders for periodic information as to the intrinsic condition of their properties. the growth of a body of speculators and investors in mining stocks and securities who desire professional guidance which cannot be based upon first-hand data is creating further demand on the engineer. opinions in these cases must be formed on casual visits or second-hand information, and a knowledge of men and things generally. despite the feeling of some engineers that the latter employment is not properly based professionally, it is an expanding phase of engineers' work, and must be taken seriously. although it lacks satisfactory foundation for accurate judgment, yet the engineer can, and should, give his experience to it when the call comes, out of interest to the industry as a whole. not only can he in a measure protect the lamb, by insistence on no investment without the provision of properly organized data and sound administration for his client, but he can do much to direct the industry from gambling into industrial lines. an examination of the factors which arise on the valuation of mines involves a wide range of subjects. for purposes of this discussion they may be divided into the following heads:-- . _determination of average metal contents of the ore._ . _determination of quantities of ore._ . _prospective value._ . _recoverable percentage of gross value._ . _price of metals._ . _cost of production._ . _redemption or amortization of capital and interest._ . _valuation of mines without ore in sight._ . _general conduct of examination and reports._ determination of average metal contents of the ore. three means of determination of the average metal content of standing ore are in use--previous yield, test-treatment runs, and sampling. previous yield.--there are certain types of ore where the previous yield from known space becomes the essential basis of determination of quantity and metal contents of ore standing and of the future probabilities. where metals occur like plums in a pudding, sampling becomes difficult and unreliable, and where experience has proved a sort of regularity of recurrence of these plums, dependence must necessarily be placed on past records, for if their reliability is to be questioned, resort must be had to extensive test-treatment runs. the lake superior copper mines and the missouri lead and zinc mines are of this type of deposit. on the other sorts of deposits the previous yield is often put forward as of important bearing on the value of the ore standing, but such yield, unless it can be _authentically_ connected with blocks of ore remaining, is not necessarily a criterion of their contents. except in the cases mentioned, and as a check on other methods of determination, it has little place in final conclusions. test parcels.--treatment on a considerable scale of sufficiently regulated parcels, although theoretically the ideal method, is, however, not often within the realm of things practical. in examination on behalf of intending purchasers, the time, expense, or opportunity to fraud are usually prohibitive, even where the plant and facilities for such work exist. even in cases where the engineer in management of producing mines is desirous of determining the value of standing ore, with the exception of deposits of the type mentioned above, it is ordinarily done by actual sampling, because separate mining and treatment of test lots is generally inconvenient and expensive. as a result, the determination of the value of standing ore is, in the great majority of cases, done by sampling and assaying. sampling.--the whole theory of sampling is based on the distribution of metals through the ore-body with more or less regularity, so that if small portions, that is samples, be taken from a sufficient number of points, their average will represent fairly closely the unit value of the ore. if the ore is of the extreme type of irregular metal distribution mentioned under "previous yield," then sampling has no place. how frequently samples must be taken, the manner of taking them, and the quantity that constitutes a fair sample, are matters that vary with each mine. so much depends upon the proper performance of this task that it is in fact the most critical feature of mine examination. ten samples properly taken are more valuable than five hundred slovenly ones, like grab samples, for such a number of bad ones would of a surety lead to wholly wrong conclusions. given a good sampling and a proper assay plan, the valuation of a mine is two-thirds accomplished. it should be an inflexible principle in examinations for purchase that every sample must be taken under the personal supervision of the examining engineer or his trusted assistants. aside from throwing open the doors to fraud, the average workman will not carry out the work in a proper manner, unless under constant supervision, because of his lack of appreciation of the issues involved. sampling is hard, uncongenial, manual labor. it requires a deal of conscientiousness to take enough samples and to take them thoroughly. the engineer does not exist who, upon completion of this task, considers that he has got too many, and most wish that they had taken more. the accuracy of sampling as a method of determining the value of standing ore is a factor of the number of samples taken. the average, for example, of separate samples from each square inch would be more accurate than those from each alternate square inch. however, the accumulated knowledge and experience as to the distribution of metals through ore has determined approximately the manner of taking such samples, and the least number which will still by the law of averages secure a degree of accuracy commensurate with the other factors of estimation. as metals are distributed through ore-bodies of fissure origin with most regularity on lines parallel to the strike and dip, an equal portion of ore from every point along cross-sections at right angles to the strike will represent fairly well the average values for a certain distance along the strike either side of these cross-sections. in massive deposits, sample sections are taken in all directions. the intervals at which sample sections must be cut is obviously dependent upon the general character of the deposit. if the values are well distributed, a longer interval may be employed than in one subject to marked fluctuations. as a general rule, five feet is the distance most accepted. this, in cases of regular distribution of values, may be stretched to ten feet, or in reverse may be diminished to two or three feet. the width of ore which may be included for one sample is dependent not only upon the width of the deposit, but also upon its character. where the ore is wider than the necessary stoping width, the sample should be regulated so as to show the possible locus of values. the metal contents may be, and often are, particularly in deposits of the impregnation or replacement type, greater along some streak in the ore-body, and this difference may be such as to make it desirable to stope only a portion of the total thickness. for deposits narrower than the necessary stoping width the full breadth of ore should be included in one sample, because usually the whole of the deposit will require to be broken. in order that a payable section may not possibly be diluted with material unnecessary to mine, if the deposit is over four feet and under eight feet, the distance across the vein or lode is usually divided into two samples. if still wider, each is confined to a span of about four feet, not only for the reason given above, but because the more numerous the samples, the greater the accuracy. thus, in a deposit twenty feet wide it may be taken as a good guide that a test section across the ore-body should be divided into five parts. as to the physical details of sample taking, every engineer has his own methods and safeguards against fraud and error. in a large organization of which the writer had for some years the direction, and where sampling of mines was constantly in progress on an extensive scale, not only in contemplation of purchase, but where it was also systematically conducted in operating mines for working data, he adopted the above general lines and required the following details. a fresh face of ore is first broken and then a trench cut about five inches wide and two inches deep. this trench is cut with a hammer and moil, or, where compressed air is available and the rock hard, a small air-drill of the hammer type is used. the spoil from the trench forms the sample, and it is broken down upon a large canvas cloth. afterwards it is crushed so that all pieces will pass a half-inch screen, mixed and quartered, thus reducing the weight to half. whether it is again crushed and quartered depends upon what the conditions are as to assaying. if convenient to assay office, as on a going mine, the whole of the crushing and quartering work can be done at that office, where there are usually suitable mechanical appliances. if the samples must be taken a long distance, the bulk for transport can be reduced by finer breaking and repeated quartering, until there remain only a few ounces. precautions against fraud.--much has been written about the precautions to be taken against fraud in cases of valuations for purchase. the best safeguards are an alert eye and a strong right arm. however, certain small details help. a large leather bag, arranged to lock after the order of a mail sack, into which samples can be put underground and which is never unfastened except by responsible men, not only aids security but relieves the mind. a few samples of country rock form a good check, and notes as to the probable value of the ore, from inspection when sampling, are useful. a great help in examination is to have the assays or analyses done coincidentally with the sampling. a doubt can then always be settled by resampling at once, and much knowledge can be gained which may relieve so exhaustive a program as might be necessary were results not known until after leaving the mine. assay of samples.--two assays, or as the case may be, analyses, are usually made of every sample and their average taken. in the case of erratic differences a third determination is necessary. assay plans.--an assay plan is a plan of the workings, with the location, assay value, and width of the sample entered upon it. in a mine with a narrow vein or ore-body, a longitudinal section is sufficient base for such entries, but with a greater width than one sample span it is desirable to make preliminary plans of separate levels, winzes, etc., and to average the value of the whole payable widths on such plans before entry upon a longitudinal section. such a longitudinal section will, through the indicated distribution of values, show the shape of the ore-body--a step necessary in estimating quantities and of the most fundamental importance in estimating the probabilities of ore extension beyond the range of the openings. the final assay plan should show the average value of the several blocks of ore, and it is from these averages that estimates of quantities must be made up. calculations of averages.--the first step in arriving at average values is to reduce erratic high assays to the general tenor of other adjacent samples. this point has been disputed at some length, more often by promoters than by engineers, but the custom is very generally and rightly adopted. erratically high samples may indicate presence of undue metal in the assay attributable to unconscious salting, for if the value be confined to a few large particles they may find their way through all the quartering into the assay. or the sample may actually indicate rich spots of ore; but in any event experience teaches that no dependence can be put upon regular recurrence of such abnormally rich spots. as will be discussed under percentage of error in sampling, samples usually indicate higher than the true value, even where erratic assays have been eliminated. there are cases of profitable mines where the values were all in spots, and an assay plan would show % of the assays _nil_, yet these pockets were so rich as to give value to the whole. pocket mines, as stated before, are beyond valuation by sampling, and aside from the previous yield recourse must be had to actual treatment runs on every block of ore separately. after reduction of erratic assays, a preliminary study of the runs of value or shapes of the ore-bodies is necessary before any calculation of averages. a preliminary delineation of the boundaries of the payable areas on the assay plan will indicate the sections of the mine which are unpayable, and from which therefore samples can be rightly excluded in arriving at an average of the payable ore (fig. ). in a general way, only the ore which must be mined need be included in averaging. the calculation of the average assay value of standing ore from samples is one which seems to require some statement of elementals. although it may seem primitive, it can do no harm to recall that if a dump of two tons of ore assaying twenty ounces per ton be added to a dump of five tons averaging one ounce per ton, the result has not an average assay of twenty-one ounces divided by the number of dumps. likewise one sample over a width of two feet, assaying twenty ounces per ton, if averaged with another sample over a width of five feet, assaying one ounce, is no more twenty-one ounces divided by two samples than in the case of the two dumps. if common sense were not sufficient demonstration of this, it can be shown algebraically. were samples equidistant from each other, and were they of equal width, the average value would be the simple arithmetical mean of the assays. but this is seldom the case. the number of instances, not only in practice but also in technical literature, where the fundamental distinction between an arithmetical and a geometrical mean is lost sight of is amazing. to arrive at the average value of samples, it is necessary, in effect, to reduce them to the actual quantity of the metal and volume of ore represented by each. the method of calculation therefore is one which gives every sample an importance depending upon the metal content of the volume of ore it represents. the volume of ore appertaining to any given sample can be considered as a prismoid, the dimensions of which may be stated as follows:-- _w_ = width in feet of ore sampled. _l_ = length in feet of ore represented by the sample. _d_ = depth into the block to which values are assumed to penetrate. we may also let:-- _c_ = the number of cubic feet per ton of ore. _v_ = assay value of the sample. then _wld_/c_ = tonnage of the prismoid.* _v wld_/c_ = total metal contents. [footnote *: strictly, the prismoidal formula should be used, but it complicates the study unduly, and for practical purposes the above may be taken as the volume.] the average value of a number of samples is the total metal contents of their respective prismoids, divided by the total tonnage of these prismoids. if we let _w_, _w_ , _v_, _v_ etc., represent different samples, we have:-- _v(_wld_/_c_) + _v_ (_w_ _l_ _d_ /_c_) + _v_ (_w_ _l_ _d_ /_c_) --------------------------------------------------------------------- _wld_/_c_ + _w_ _l_ _d_ /_c_ + _w_ _l_ _d_ /_c_ = average value. this may be reduced to:-- (_vwld_) + (_v_ _w_ _l_ _d_ ) + (_v_ _w_ _l_ _d_ ,), etc. --------------------------------------------------------------- (_wld_) + (_w_ _l_ _d_ ) + (_w_ _l_ _d_ ), etc. as a matter of fact, samples actually represent the value of the outer shell of the block of ore only, and the continuity of the same values through the block is a geological assumption. from the outer shell, all the values can be taken to penetrate equal distances into the block, and therefore _d_, _d_ , _d_ may be considered as equal and the equation becomes:-- (_vwl_) + (_v_ _w_ _l_ ) + (_v_ _w_ _l_ ), etc. --------------------------------------------------- (_wl_) + (_w_ _l_ ) + (_w_ _l_ ), etc. the length of the prismoid base _l_ for any given sample will be a distance equal to one-half the sum of the distances to the two adjacent samples. as a matter of practice, samples are usually taken at regular intervals, and the lengths _l_, _l_ , _l_ becoming thus equal can in such case be eliminated, and the equation becomes:-- (_vw_) + (_v_ _w_ ) + (_v_ _w_ ), etc. ---------------------------------------- _w_ + _w_ + _w_ , etc. the name "assay foot" or "foot value" has been given to the relation _vw_, that is, the assay value multiplied by the width sampled.[*] it is by this method that all samples must be averaged. the same relation obviously can be evolved by using an inch instead of a foot, and in narrow veins the assay inch is generally used. [footnote *: an error will be found in this method unless the two end samples be halved, but in a long run of samples this may be disregarded.] where the payable cross-section is divided into more than one sample, the different samples in the section must be averaged by the above formula, before being combined with the adjacent section. where the width sampled is narrower than the necessary stoping width, and where the waste cannot be broken separately, the sample value must be diluted to a stoping width. to dilute narrow samples to a stoping width, a blank value over the extra width which it is necessary to include must be averaged with the sample from the ore on the above formula. cases arise where, although a certain width of waste must be broken with the ore, it subsequently can be partially sorted out. practically nothing but experience on the deposit itself will determine how far this will restore the value of the ore to the average of the payable seam. in any event, no sorting can eliminate all such waste; and it is necessary to calculate the value on the breaking width, and then deduct from the gross tonnage to be broken a percentage from sorting. there is always an allowance to be made in sorting for a loss of good ore with the discards. percentage of error in estimates from sampling.--it must be remembered that the whole theory of estimation by sampling is founded upon certain assumptions as to evenness of continuity and transition in value and volume. it is but a basis for an estimate, and an estimate is not a statement of fact. it cannot therefore be too forcibly repeated that an estimate is inherently but an approximation, take what care one may in its founding. while it is possible to refine mathematical calculation of averages to almost any nicety, beyond certain essentials it adds nothing to accuracy and is often misleading. it is desirable to consider where errors are most likely to creep in, assuming that all fundamental data are both accurately taken and considered. sampling of ore _in situ_ in general has a tendency to give higher average value than the actual reduction of the ore will show. on three west australian gold mines, in records covering a period of over two years, where sampling was most exhaustive as a daily régime of the mines, the values indicated by sampling were % higher than the mill yield plus the contents of the residues. on the witwatersrand gold mines, the actual extractable value is generally considered to be about to % of the average shown by sampling, while the mill extractions are on average about to % of the head value coming to the mill. in other words, there is a constant discrepancy of about to % between the estimated value as indicated by mine samples, and the actual value as shown by yield plus the residues. at broken hill, on three lead mines, the yield is about % less than sampling would indicate. this constancy of error in one direction has not been so generally acknowledged as would be desirable, and it must be allowed for in calculating final results. the causes of the exaggeration seem to be:-- _first_, inability to stope a mine to such fine limitations of width, or exclusion of unpayable patches, as would appear practicable when sampling, that is by the inclusion when mining of a certain amount of barren rock. even in deposits of about normal stoping width, it is impossible to prevent the breaking of a certain amount of waste, even if the ore occurrence is regularly confined by walls. if the mine be of the impregnation type, such as those at goldfield, or kalgoorlie, with values like plums in a pudding, and the stopes themselves directed more by assays than by any physical differences in the ore, the discrepancy becomes very much increased. in mines where the range of values is narrower than the normal stoping width, some wall rock must be broken. although it is customary to allow for this in calculating the average value from samples, the allowance seldom seems enough. in mines where the ore is broken on to the top of stopes filled with waste, there is some loss underground through mixture with the filling. _second_, the metal content of ores, especially when in the form of sulphides, is usually more friable than the matrix, and in actual breaking of samples an undue proportion of friable material usually creeps in. this is true more in lead, copper, and zinc, than in gold ores. on several gold mines, however, tests on accumulated samples for their sulphide percentage showed a distinctly greater ratio than the tenor of the ore itself in the mill. as the gold is usually associated with the sulphides, the samples showed higher values than the mill. in general, some considerable factor of safety must be allowed after arriving at calculated average of samples,--how much it is difficult to say, but, in any event, not less than %. chapter ii. mine valuation (_continued_). calculation of quantities of ore, and classification of ore in sight. as mines are opened by levels, rises, etc., through the ore, an extension of these workings has the effect of dividing it into "blocks." the obvious procedure in determining tonnages is to calculate the volume and value of each block separately. under the law of averages, the multiplicity of these blocks tends in proportion to their number to compensate the percentage of error which might arise in the sampling or estimating of any particular one. the shapes of these blocks, on longitudinal section, are often not regular geometrical figures. as a matter of practice, however, they can be subdivided into such figures that the total will approximate the whole with sufficient closeness for calculations of their areas. the average width of the ore in any particular block is the arithmetical mean of the width of the sample sections in it,[*] if the samples be an equal distance apart. if they are not equidistant, the average width is the sum of the areas between samples, divided by the total length sampled. the cubic foot contents of a particular block is obviously the width multiplied by the area of its longitudinal section. [footnote *: this is not strictly true unless the sum of the widths of the two end-sections be divided by two and the result incorporated in calculating the means. in a long series that error is of little importance.] the ratio of cubic feet to tons depends on the specific gravity of the ore, its porosity, and moisture. the variability of ores throughout the mine in all these particulars renders any method of calculation simply an approximation in the end. the factors which must remain unknown necessarily lead the engineer to the provision of a margin of safety, which makes mathematical refinement and algebraic formulæ ridiculous. there are in general three methods of determination of the specific volume of ores:-- _first_, by finding the true specific gravity of a sufficient number of representative specimens; this, however, would not account for the larger voids in the ore-body and in any event, to be anything like accurate, would be as expensive as sampling and is therefore of little more than academic interest. _second_, by determining the weight of quantities broken from measured spaces. this also would require several tests from different portions of the mine, and, in examinations, is usually inconvenient and difficult. yet it is necessary in cases of unusual materials, such as leached gossans, and it is desirable to have it done sooner or later in going mines, as a check. _third_, by an approximation based upon a calculation from the specific gravities of the predominant minerals in the ore. ores are a mixture of many minerals; the proportions vary through the same ore-body. despite this, a few partial analyses, which are usually available from assays of samples and metallurgical tests, and a general inspection as to the compactness of the ore, give a fairly reliable basis for approximation, especially if a reasonable discount be allowed for safety. in such discount must be reflected regard for the porosity of the ore, and the margin of safety necessary may vary from to %. if the ore is of unusual character, as in leached deposits, as said before, resort must be had to the second method. the following table of the weights per cubic foot and the number of cubic feet per ton of some of the principal ore-forming minerals and gangue rocks will be useful for approximating the weight of a cubic foot of ore by the third method. weights are in pounds avoirdupois, and two thousand pounds are reckoned to the ton. ============================================ | | number of | weight per | cubic feet | cubic foot | per ton of | | lb. ------------------|------------|------------ antimony | . | . sulphide | . | . arsenical pyrites | . | . barium sulphate | . | . calcium: | | fluorite | . | . gypsum | . | . calcite | . | . copper | . | . calcopyrite | . | . bornite | . | . malachite | . | . azurite | . | . chrysocolla | . | . iron (cast) | . | . magnetite | . | . hematite | . | . limonite | . | . pyrite | . | . carbonate | . | . lead | . | . galena | . | . carbonate | . | . manganese oxide | . | . rhodonite | . | . magnesite | . | . dolomite | . | . quartz | . | . quicksilver | . | . cinnabar | . | . sulphur | . | . tin | . | . oxide | . | . zinc | . | . blende | . | . carbonate | . | . silicate | . | . andesite | . | . granite | . | . diabase | . | . diorite | . | . slates | . | . sandstones | . | . rhyolite | . | . ============================================ the specific gravity of any particular mineral has a considerable range, and a medium has been taken. the possible error is inconsequential for the purpose of these calculations. for example, a representative gold ore may contain in the main % quartz, and % iron pyrite, and the weight of the ore may be deduced as follows:-- quartz, % x . = . iron pyrite, % x . = . ----- . cubic feet per ton. most engineers, to compensate porosity, would allow twelve to thirteen cubic feet per ton. classification of ore in sight. the risk in estimates of the average value of standing ore is dependent largely upon how far values disclosed by sampling are assumed to penetrate beyond the tested face, and this depends upon the geological character of the deposit. from theoretical grounds and experience, it is known that such values will have some extension, and the assumption of any given distance is a calculation of risk. the multiplication of development openings results in an increase of sampling points available and lessens the hazards. the frequency of such openings varies in different portions of every mine, and thus there are inequalities of risk. it is therefore customary in giving estimates of standing ore to classify the ore according to the degree of risk assumed, either by stating the number of sides exposed or by other phrases. much discussion and ink have been devoted to trying to define what risk may be taken in such matters, that is in reality how far values may be assumed to penetrate into the unbroken ore. still more has been consumed in attempts to coin terms and make classifications which will indicate what ratio of hazard has been taken in stating quantities and values. the old terms "ore in sight" and "profit in sight" have been of late years subject to much malediction on the part of engineers because these expressions have been so badly abused by the charlatans of mining in attempts to cover the flights of their imaginations. a large part of volume x of the "institution of mining and metallurgy" has been devoted to heaping infamy on these terms, yet not only have they preserved their places in professional nomenclature, but nothing has been found to supersede them. some general term is required in daily practice to cover the whole field of visible ore, and if the phrase "ore in sight" be defined, it will be easier to teach the laymen its proper use than to abolish it. in fact, the substitutes are becoming abused as much as the originals ever were. all convincing expressions will be misused by somebody. the legitimate direction of reform has been to divide the general term of "ore in sight" into classes, and give them names which will indicate the variable amount of risk of continuity in different parts of the mine. as the frequency of sample points, and consequently the risk of continuity, will depend upon the detail with which the mine is cut into blocks by the development openings, and upon the number of sides of such blocks which are accessible, most classifications of the degree of risk of continuity have been defined in terms of the number of sides exposed in the blocks. many phrases have been coined to express such classifications; those most currently used are the following:-- positive ore \ ore exposed on four sides in blocks of a size ore developed / variously prescribed. ore blocked out ore exposed on three sides within reasonable distance of each other. probable ore \ ore developing / ore exposed on two sides. possible ore \ the whole or a part of the ore below the ore expectant / lowest level or beyond the range of vision. no two of these parallel expressions mean quite the same thing; each more or less overlies into another class, and in fact none of them is based upon a logical footing for such a classification. for example, values can be assumed to penetrate some distance from every sampled face, even if it be only ten feet, so that ore exposed on one side will show some "positive" or "developed" ore which, on the lines laid down above, might be "probable" or even "possible" ore. likewise, ore may be "fully developed" or "blocked out" so far as it is necessary for stoping purposes with modern wide intervals between levels, and still be in blocks too large to warrant an assumption of continuity of values to their centers (fig. ). as to the third class of "possible" ore, it conveys an impression of tangibility to a nebulous hazard, and should never be used in connection with positive tonnages. this part of the mine's value comes under extension of the deposit a long distance beyond openings, which is a speculation and cannot be defined in absolute tons without exhaustive explanation of the risks attached, in which case any phrase intended to shorten description is likely to be misleading. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of a mine, showing classification of the exposed ore. scale, feet = inch.] therefore empirical expressions in terms of development openings cannot be made to cover a geologic factor such as the distribution of metals through a rock mass. the only logical basis of ore classification for estimation purposes is one which is founded on the chances of the values penetrating from the surface of the exposures for each particular mine. ore that may be calculated upon to a certainty is that which, taking into consideration the character of the deposit, can be said to be so sufficiently surrounded by sampled faces that the distance into the mass to which values are assumed to extend is reduced to a minimum risk. ore so far removed from the sampled face as to leave some doubt, yet affording great reason for expectation of continuity, is "probable" ore. the third class of ore mentioned, which is that depending upon extension of the deposit and in which, as said above, there is great risk, should be treated separately as the speculative value of the mine. some expressions are desirable for these classifications, and the writer's own preference is for the following, with a definition based upon the controlling factor itself. they are:-- proved ore ore where there is practically no risk of failure of continuity. probable ore ore where there is some risk, yet warrantable justification for assumption of continuity. prospective ore ore which cannot be included in the above classes, nor definitely known or stated in any terms of tonnage. what extent of openings, and therefore of sample faces, is required for the ore to be called "proved" varies naturally with the type of deposit,--in fact with each mine. in a general way, a fair rule in gold quartz veins below influence of secondary alteration is that no point in the block shall be over fifty feet from the points sampled. in limestone or andesite replacements, as by gold or lead or copper, the radius must be less. in defined lead and copper lodes, or in large lenticular bodies such as the tennessee copper mines, the radius may often be considerably greater,--say one hundred feet. in gold deposits of such extraordinary regularity of values as the witwatersrand bankets, it can well be two hundred or two hundred and fifty feet. "probable ore" should be ore which entails continuity of values through a greater distance than the above, and such distance must depend upon the collateral evidence from the character of the deposit, the position of openings, etc. ore beyond the range of the "probable" zone is dependent upon the extension of the deposit beyond the realm of development and will be discussed separately. although the expression "ore in sight" may be deprecated, owing to its abuse, some general term to cover both "positive" and "probable" ore is desirable; and where a general term is required, it is the intention herein to hold to the phrase "ore in sight" under the limitations specified. chapter iii. mine valuation (_continued_). prospective value.[*] extension in depth; origin and structural character of the deposit; secondary enrichment; development in neighboring mines; depth of exhaustion. [footnote *: the term "extension in depth" is preferred by many to the phrase "prospective value." the former is not entirely satisfactory, as it has a more specific than general application. it is, however, a current miner's phrase, and is more expressive. in this discussion "extension in depth" is used synonymously, and it may be taken to include not alone the downward prolongation of the ore below workings, but also the occasional cases of lateral extension beyond the range of development work. the commonest instance is continuance below the bottom level. in any event, to the majority of cases of different extension the same reasoning applies.] it is a knotty problem to value the extension of a deposit beyond a short distance from the last opening. a short distance beyond it is "proved ore," and for a further short distance is "probable ore." mines are very seldom priced at a sum so moderate as that represented by the profit to be won from the ore in sight, and what value should be assigned to this unknown portion of the deposit admits of no certainty. no engineer can approach the prospective value of a mine with optimism, yet the mining industry would be non-existent to-day were it approached with pessimism. any value assessed must be a matter of judgment, and this judgment based on geological evidence. geology is not a mathematical science, and to attach a money equivalence to forecasts based on such evidence is the most difficult task set for the mining engineer. it is here that his view of geology must differ from that of his financially more irresponsible brother in the science. the geologist, contributing to human knowledge in general, finds his most valuable field in the examination of mines largely exhausted. the engineer's most valuable work arises from his ability to anticipate in the youth of the mine the symptoms of its old age. the work of our geologic friends is, however, the very foundation on which we lay our forecasts. geologists have, as the result of long observation, propounded for us certain hypotheses which, while still hypotheses, have proved to account so widely for our underground experience that no engineer can afford to lose sight of them. although there is a lack of safety in fixed theories as to ore deposition, and although such conclusions cannot be translated into feet and metal value, they are nevertheless useful weights on the scale where probabilities are to be weighed. a method in vogue with many engineers is, where the bottom level is good, to assume the value of the extension in depth as a sum proportioned to the profit in sight, and thus evade the use of geological evidence. the addition of various percentages to the profit in sight has been used by engineers, and proposed in technical publications, as varying from to %. that is, they roughly assess the extension in depth to be worth one-fifth to one-third of the whole value of an equipped mine. while experience may have sometimes demonstrated this to be a practical method, it certainly has little foundation in either science or logic, and the writer's experience is that such estimates are untrue in practice. the quantity of ore which may be in sight is largely the result of managerial policy. a small mill on a large mine, under rapid development, will result in extensive ore-reserves, while a large mill eating away rapidly on the same mine under the same scale of development would leave small reserves. on the above scheme of valuation the extension in depth would be worth very different sums, even when the deepest level might be at the same horizon in both cases. moreover, no mine starts at the surface with a large amount of ore in sight. yet as a general rule this is the period when its extension is most valuable, for when the deposit is exhausted to feet, it is not likely to have such extension in depth as when opened one hundred feet, no matter what the ore-reserves may be. further, such bases of valuation fail to take into account the widely varying geologic character of different mines, and they disregard any collateral evidence either of continuity from neighboring development, or from experience in the district. logically, the prospective value can be simply a factor of how _far_ the ore in the individual mine may be expected to extend, and not a factor of the remnant of ore that may still be unworked above the lowest level. an estimation of the chances of this extension should be based solely on the local factors which bear on such extension, and these are almost wholly dependent upon the character of the deposit. these various geological factors from a mining engineer's point of view are:-- . the origin and structural character of the ore-deposit. . the position of openings in relation to secondary alteration. . the size of the deposit. . the depth to which the mine has already been exhausted. . the general experience of the district for continuity and the development of adjoining mines. the origin and structural character of the deposit.--in a general way, the ore-deposits of the order under discussion originate primarily through the deposition of metals from gases or solutions circulating along avenues in the earth's crust.[*] the original source of metals is a matter of great disagreement, and does not much concern the miner. to him, however, the origin and character of the avenue of circulation, the enclosing rock, the influence of the rocks on the solution, and of the solutions on the rocks, have a great bearing on the probable continuity of the volume and value of the ore. [footnote *: the class of magmatic segregations is omitted, as not being of sufficiently frequent occurrence in payable mines to warrant troubling with it here.] all ore-deposits vary in value and, in the miner's view, only those portions above the pay limit are ore-bodies, or ore-shoots. the localization of values into such pay areas in an ore-deposit are apparently influenced by: . the distribution of the open spaces created by structural movement, fissuring, or folding as at bendigo. . the intersection of other fractures which, by mingling of solutions from different sources, provided precipitating conditions, as shown by enrichments at cross-veins. . the influence of the enclosing rocks by:-- (a) their solubility, and therefore susceptibility to replacement. (b) their influence as a precipitating agent on solutions. (c) their influence as a source of metal itself. (d) their texture, in its influence on the character of the fracture. in homogeneous rocks the tendency is to open clean-cut fissures; in friable rocks, zones of brecciation; in slates or schistose rocks, linked lenticular open spaces;--these influences exhibiting themselves in miner's terms respectively in "well-defined fissure veins," "lodes," and "lenses." (e) the physical character of the rock mass and the dynamic forces brought to bear upon it. this is a difficult study into the physics of stress in cases of fracturing, but its local application has not been without results of an important order. . secondary alteration near the surface, more fully discussed later. it is evident enough that the whole structure of the deposit is a necessary study, and even a digest of the subject is not to be compressed into a few paragraphs. from the point of view of continuity of values, ore-deposits may be roughly divided into three classes. they are:-- . deposits of the infiltration type in porous beds, such as lake superior copper conglomerates and african gold bankets. . deposits of the fissure vein type, such as california quartz veins. . replacement or impregnation deposits on the lines of fissuring or otherwise. in a general way, the uniformity of conditions of deposition in the first class has resulted in the most satisfactory continuity of ore and of its metal contents. in the second, depending much upon the profundity of the earth movements involved, there is laterally and vertically a reasonable basis for expectation of continuity but through much less distance than in the first class. the third class of deposits exhibits widely different phenomena as to continuity and no generalization is of any value. in gold deposits of this type in west australia, colorado, and nevada, continuity far beyond a sampled face must be received with the greatest skepticism. much the same may be said of most copper replacements in limestone. on the other hand the most phenomenal regularity of values have been shown in certain utah and arizona copper mines, the result of secondary infiltration in porphyritic gangues. the mississippi valley lead and zinc deposits, while irregular in detail, show remarkable continuity by way of reoccurrence over wide areas. the estimation of the prospective value of mines where continuity of production is dependent on reoccurrence of ore-bodies somewhat proportional to the area, such as these mississippi deposits or to some extent as in cobalt silver veins, is an interesting study, but one that offers little field for generalization. the position of the openings in relation to secondary alteration.--the profound alteration of the upper section of ore-deposits by oxidation due to the action of descending surface waters, and their associated chemical agencies, has been generally recognized for a great many years. only recently, however, has it been appreciated that this secondary alteration extends into the sulphide zone as well. the bearing of the secondary alteration, both in the oxidized and upper sulphide zones, is of the most sweeping economic character. in considering extension of values in depth, it demands the most rigorous investigation. not only does the metallurgical character of the ores change with oxidation, but the complex reactions due to descending surface waters cause leaching and a migration of metals from one horizon to another lower down, and also in many cases a redistribution of their sequence in the upper zones of the deposit. the effect of these agencies has been so great in many cases as to entirely alter the character of the mine and extension in depth has necessitated a complete reëquipment. for instance, the mt. morgan gold mine, queensland, has now become a copper mine; the copper mines at butte were formerly silver mines; leadville has become largely a zinc producer instead of lead. from this alteration aspect ore-deposits may be considered to have four horizons:-- . the zone near the outcrop, where the dominating feature is oxidation and leaching of the soluble minerals. . a lower horizon, still in the zone of oxidation, where the predominant feature is the deposition of metals as native, oxides, and carbonates. . the upper horizon of the sulphide zone, where the special feature is the enrichment due to secondary deposition as sulphides. . the region below these zones of secondary alteration, where the deposit is in its primary state. these zones are seldom sharply defined, nor are they always all in evidence. how far they are in evidence will depend, among other things, upon the amount and rapidity of erosion, the structure and mineralogical character of the deposit, and upon the enclosing rock. if erosion is extremely rapid, as in cold, wet climates, and rough topography, or as in the case of glaciation of the lake copper deposits, denudation follows close on the heels of alteration, and the surface is so rapidly removed that we may have the primary ore practically at the surface. flat, arid regions present the other extreme, for denudation is much slower, and conditions are most perfect for deep penetration of oxidizing agencies, and the consequent alteration and concentration of the metals. the migration of metals from the top of the oxidized zone leaves but a barren cap for erosion. the consequent effect of denudation that lags behind alteration is to raise slowly the concentrated metals toward the surface, and thus subject them to renewed attack and repeated migration. in this manner we can account for the enormous concentration of values in the lower oxidized and upper sulphide zones overlying very lean sulphides in depth. some minerals are more freely soluble and more readily precipitated than others. from this cause there is in complex metal deposits a rearrangement of horizontal sequence, in addition to enrichment at certain horizons and impoverishment at others. the whole subject is one of too great complexity for adequate consideration in this discussion. no engineer is properly equipped to give judgment on extension in depth without a thorough grasp of the great principles laid down by van hise, emmons, lindgren, weed, and others. we may, however, briefly examine some of the theoretical effects of such alteration. zinc, iron, and lead sulphides are a common primary combination. these metals are rendered soluble from their usual primary forms by oxidizing agencies, in the order given. they reprecipitate as sulphides in the reverse sequence. the result is the leaching of zinc and iron readily in the oxidized zone, thus differentially enriching the lead which lags behind, and a further extension of the lead horizon is provided by the early precipitation of such lead as does migrate. therefore, the lead often predominates in the second and the upper portion of the third zone, with the zinc and iron below. although the action of all surface waters is toward oxidation and carbonation of these metals, the carbonate development of oxidized zones is more marked when the enclosing rocks are calcareous. in copper-iron deposits, the comparatively easy decomposition and solubility and precipitation of the copper and some iron salts generally result in more extensive impoverishment of these metals near the surface, and more predominant enrichment at a lower horizon than is the case with any other metals. the barren "iron hat" at the first zone, the carbonates and oxides at the second, the enrichment with secondary copper sulphides at the top of the third, and the occurrence of secondary copper-iron sulphides below, are often most clearly defined. in the easy recognition of the secondary copper sulphides, chalcocite, bornite, etc., the engineer finds a finger-post on the road to extension in depth; and the directions upon this post are not to be disregarded. the number of copper deposits enriched from unpayability in the first zone to a profitable character in the next two, and unpayability again in the fourth, is legion. silver occurs most abundantly in combination with either lead, copper, iron, or gold. as it resists oxidation and solution more strenuously than copper and iron, its tendency when in combination with them is to lag behind in migration. there is thus a differential enrichment of silver in the upper two zones, due to the reduction in specific gravity of the ore by the removal of associated metals. silver does migrate somewhat, however, and as it precipitates more readily than copper, lead, zinc, or iron, its tendency when in combination with them is towards enrichment above the horizons of enrichment of these metals. when it is in combination with lead and zinc, its very ready precipitation from solution by the galena leaves it in combination more predominantly with the lead. the secondary enrichment of silver deposits at the top of the sulphide zone is sometimes a most pronounced feature, and it seems to be the explanation of the origin of many "bonanzas." in gold deposits, the greater resistance to solubility of this metal than most of the others, renders the phenomena of migration to depth less marked. further than this, migration is often interfered with by the more impervious quartz matrix of many gold deposits. where gold is associated with large quantities of base metals, however, the leaching of the latter in the oxidized zone leaves the ore differentially richer, and as gold is also slightly soluble, in such cases the migration of the base metals does carry some of the gold. in the instance especially of impregnation or replacement deposits, where the matrix is easily permeable, the upper sulphide zone is distinctly richer than lower down, and this enrichment is accompanied by a considerable increase in sulphides and tellurides. the predominant characteristic of alteration in gold deposits is, however, enrichment in the oxidized zone with the maximum values near the surface. the reasons for this appear to be that gold in its resistance to oxidation and wholesale migration gives opportunities to a sort of combined mechanical and chemical enrichment. in dry climates, especially, the gentleness of erosion allows of more thorough decomposition of the outcroppings, and a mechanical separation of the gold from the detritus. it remains on or near the deposit, ready to be carried below, mechanically or otherwise. in wet climates this is less pronounced, for erosion bears away the croppings before such an extensive decomposition and freeing of the gold particles. the west australian gold fields present an especially prominent example of this type of superficial enrichment. during the last fifteen years nearly eight hundred companies have been formed for working mines in this region. although from four hundred of these high-grade ore has been produced, some thirty-three only have ever paid dividends. the great majority have been unpayable below oxidation,--a distance of one or two hundred feet. the writer's unvarying experience with gold is that it is richer in the oxidized zone than at any point below. while cases do occur of gold deposits richer in the upper sulphide zone than below, even the upper sulphides are usually poorer than the oxidized region. in quartz veins preëminently, evidence of enrichment in the third zone is likely to be practically absent. tin ores present an anomaly among the base metals under discussion, in that the primary form of this metal in most workable deposits is an oxide. tin in this form is most difficult of solution from ground agencies, as witness the great alluvial deposits, often of considerable geologic age. in consequence the phenomena of migration and enrichment are almost wholly absent, except such as are due to mechanical penetration of tin from surface decomposition of the matrix akin to that described in gold deposits. in general, three or four essential facts from secondary alteration must be kept in view when prognosticating extensions. oxidation usually alters treatment problems, and oxidized ore of the same grade as sulphides can often be treated more cheaply. this is not universal. low-grade ores of lead, copper, and zinc may be treatable by concentration when in the form of sulphides, and may be valueless when oxidized, even though of the same grade. copper ores generally show violent enrichment at the base of the oxidized, and at the top of the sulphide zone. lead-zinc ores show lead enrichment and zinc impoverishment in the oxidized zone but have usually less pronounced enrichment below water level than copper. the rearrangement of the metals by the deeper migration of the zinc, also renders them metallurgically of less value with depth. silver deposits are often differentially enriched in the oxidized zone, and at times tend to concentrate in the upper sulphide zone. gold deposits usually decrease in value from the surface through the whole of the three alteration zones. size of deposits.--the proverb of a relation between extension in depth and size of ore-bodies expresses one of the oldest of miners' beliefs. it has some basis in experience, especially in fissure veins, but has little foundation in theory and is applicable over but limited areas and under limited conditions. from a structural view, the depth of fissuring is likely to be more or less in proportion to its length and breadth and therefore the volume of vein filling with depth is likely to be proportional to length and width of the fissure. as to the distribution of values, if we eliminate the influence of changing wall rocks, or other precipitating agencies which often cause the values to arrange themselves in "floors," and of secondary alteration, there may be some reason to assume distribution of values of an extent equal vertically to that displayed horizontally. there is, as said, more reason in experience for this assumption than in theory. a study of the shape of a great many ore-shoots in mines of fissure type indicates that when the ore-shoots or ore-bodies are approaching vertical exhaustion they do not end abruptly, but gradually shorten and decrease in value, their bottom boundaries being more often wedge-shaped than even lenticular. if this could be taken as the usual occurrence, it would be possible (eliminating the evident exceptions mentioned above) to state roughly that the minimum extension of an ore-body or ore-shoot in depth below any given horizon would be a distance represented by a radius equal to one-half its length. by length is not meant necessarily the length of a horizontal section, but of one at right angles to the downward axis. on these grounds, which have been reënforced by much experience among miners, the probabilities of extension are somewhat in proportion to the length and width of each ore-body. for instance, in the a mine, with an ore-shoot feet long and feet wide, on its bottom level, the minimum extension under this hypothesis would be a wedge-shaped ore-body with its deepest point feet below the lowest level, or a minimum of say , tons. similarly, the b mine with five ore-bodies, each hundred feet long and feet wide, exposed on its lowest level, would have a minimum of five wedges feet deep at their deepest points, or say , tons. this is not proposed as a formula giving the total amount of extension in depth, but as a sort of yardstick which has experience behind it. this experience applies in a much less degree to deposits originating from impregnation along lines of fissuring and not at all to replacements. development in neighboring mines.--mines of a district are usually found under the same geological conditions, and show somewhat the same habits as to extension in depth or laterally, and especially similar conduct of ore-bodies and ore-shoots. as a practical criterion, one of the most intimate guides is the actual development in adjoining mines. for instance, in kalgoorlie, the great boulder mine is (march, ) working the extension of ivanhoe lodes at points feet below the lowest level in the ivanhoe; likewise, the block lead mine at broken hill is working the central ore-body on the central boundary some feet below the central workings. such facts as these must have a bearing on assessing the downward extension. depth of exhaustion.--all mines become completely exhausted at some point in depth. therefore the actual distance to which ore can be expected to extend below the lowest level grows less with every deeper working horizon. the really superficial character of ore-deposits, even outside of the region of secondary enrichment is becoming every year better recognized. the prospector's idea that "she gets richer deeper down," may have some basis near the surface in some metals, but it is not an idea which prevails in the minds of engineers who have to work in depth. the writer, with some others, prepared a list of several hundred dividend-paying metal mines of all sorts, extending over north and south america, australasia, england, and africa. notes were made as far as possible of the depths at which values gave out, and also at which dividends ceased. although by no means a complete census, the list indicated that not % of mines (outside banket) that have yielded profits, ever made them from ore won below feet. of mines that paid dividends, % did not show profitable value below feet, and a sad majority died above . failures at short depths may be blamed upon secondary enrichment, but the majority that reached below this influence also gave out. the geological reason for such general unseemly conduct is not so evident. conclusion.--as a practical problem, the assessment of prospective value is usually a case of "cut and try." the portion of the capital to be invested, which depends upon extension, will require so many tons of ore of the same value as that indicated by the standing ore, in order to justify the price. to produce this tonnage at the continued average size of the ore-bodies will require their extension in depth so many feet--or the discovery of new ore-bodies of a certain size. the five geological weights mentioned above may then be put into the scale and a basis of judgment reached. chapter iv. mine valuation (_continued_). recoverable percentage of the gross assay value; price of metals; cost of production. the method of treatment for the ore must be known before a mine can be valued, because a knowledge of the recoverable percentage is as important as that of the gross value of the ore itself. the recoverable percentage is usually a factor of working costs. practically every ore can be treated and all the metal contents recovered, but the real problem is to know the method and percentage of recovery which will yield the most remunerative result, if any. this limit to profitable recovery regulates the amount of metal which should be lost, and the amount of metal which consequently must be deducted from the gross value before the real net value of the ore can be calculated. here, as everywhere else in mining, a compromise has to be made with nature, and we take what we can get--profitably. for instance, a copper ore may be smelted and a % recovery obtained. under certain conditions this might be done at a loss, while the same ore might be concentrated before smelting and yield a profit with a % recovery. an additional % might be obtained by roasting and leaching the residues from concentration, but this would probably result in an expenditure far greater than the value of the % recovered. if the ore is not already under treatment on the mine, or exactly similar ore is not under treatment elsewhere, with known results, the method must be determined experimentally, either by the examining engineer or by a special metallurgist. where partially treated products, such as concentrates, are to be sold, not only will there be further losses, but deductions will be made by the smelter for deleterious metals and other charges. all of these factors must be found out,--and a few sample smelting returns from a similar ore are useful. to cover the whole field of metallurgy and discuss what might apply, and how it might apply, under a hundred supposititious conditions would be too great a digression from the subject in hand. it is enough to call attention here to the fact that the residues from every treatment carry some metal, and that this loss has to be deducted from the gross value of the ore in any calculations of net values. price of metals. unfortunately for the mining engineer, not only has he to weigh the amount of risk inherent in calculations involved in the mine itself, but also that due to fluctuations in the value of metals. if the ore is shipped to custom works, he has to contemplate also variations in freights and smelting charges. gold from the mine valuer's point of view has no fluctuations. it alone among the earth's products gives no concern as to the market price. the price to be taken for all other metals has to be decided before the mine can be valued. this introduces a further speculation and, as in all calculations of probabilities, amounts to an estimate of the amount of risk. in a free market the law of supply and demand governs the value of metals as it does that of all other commodities. so far, except for tariff walls and smelting rings, there is a free market in the metals under discussion. the demand for metals varies with the unequal fluctuations of the industrial tides. the sea of commercial activity is subject to heavy storms, and the mine valuer is compelled to serve as weather prophet on this ocean of trouble. high prices, which are the result of industrial booms, bring about overproduction, and the collapse of these begets a shrinkage of demand, wherein consequently the tide of price turns back. in mining for metals each pound is produced actually at a different cost. in case of an oversupply of base metals the price will fall until it has reached a point where a portion of the production is no longer profitable, and the equilibrium is established through decline in output. however, in the backward swing, due to lingering overproduction, prices usually fall lower than the cost of producing even a much-diminished supply. there is at this point what we may call the "basic" price, that at which production is insufficient and the price rises again. the basic price which is due to this undue backward swing is no more the real price of the metal to be contemplated over so long a term of years than is the highest price. at how much above the basic price of depressed times the product can be safely expected to find a market is the real question. few mines can be bought or valued at this basic price. an indication of what this is can be gained from a study of fluctuations over a long term of years. it is common to hear the average price over an extended period considered the "normal" price, but this basis for value is one which must be used with discretion, for it is not the whole question when mining. the "normal" price is the average price over a long term. the lives of mines, and especially ore in sight, may not necessarily enjoy the period of this "normal" price. the engineer must balance his judgments by the immediate outlook of the industrial weather. when lead was falling steadily in december, , no engineer would accept the price of that date, although it was then below "normal"; his product might go to market even lower yet. it is desirable to ascertain what the basic and normal prices are, for between them lies safety. since there have been three cycles of commercial expansion and contraction. if the average prices are taken for these three cycles separately ( - ), - , - ) it will be seen that there has been a steady advance in prices. for the succeeding cycles lead on the london exchange,[*] the freest of the world's markets was £ _s._ _d._, £ _s._ _d._, and £ _s._ _d._ respectively; zinc, £ _s._ _d._, £ _s._ _d._, and £ _s._ _d._; and standard copper, £ _s._ _d._, £ _s._ _d._, and £ _s._ _d._ it seems, therefore, that a higher standard of prices can be assumed as the basic and normal than would be indicated if the general average of, say, twenty years were taken. during this period, the world's gold output has nearly quadrupled, and, whether the quantitative theory of gold be accepted or not, it cannot be denied that there has been a steady increase in the price of commodities. in all base-metal mining it is well to remember that the production of these metals is liable to great stimulus at times from the discovery of new deposits or new processes of recovery from hitherto unprofitable ores. it is therefore for this reason hazardous in the extreme to prophesy what prices will be far in the future, even when the industrial weather is clear. but some basis must be arrived at, and from the available outlook it would seem that the following metal prices are justifiable for some time to come, provided the present tariff schedules are maintained in the united states: [footnote *: all london prices are based on the long ton of , lbs. much confusion exists in the copper trade as to the classification of the metal. new york prices are quoted in electrolytic and "lake"; london's in "standard." "standard" has now become practically an arbitrary term peculiar to london, for the great bulk of copper dealt in is "electrolytic" valued considerably over "standard."] ========================================================================== | lead | spelter | copper | tin | silver |------------|----------|----------|----------|--------------- |london| n.y.|lon.| n.y.|lon.| n.y.|lon.| n.y.| lon. | n.y. | ton |pound|ton |pound|ton |pound|ton |pound|per oz.|per oz. ------------|------|-----|----|-----|----|-----|----|-----|-------|------- basic price | £ . |$. |£ |$. |£ |$. |£ |$. | _d._|$. normal price| . | . | | . | | . | | . | | . ========================================================================== in these figures the writer has not followed strict averages, but has taken the general outlook combined with the previous records. the likelihood of higher prices for lead is more encouraging than for any other metal, as no new deposits of importance have come forward for years, and the old mines are reaching considerable depths. nor does the frenzied prospecting of the world's surface during the past ten years appear to forecast any very disturbing developments. the zinc future is not so bright, for metallurgy has done wonders in providing methods of saving the zinc formerly discarded from lead ores, and enormous supplies will come forward when required. the tin outlook is encouraging, for the supply from a mining point of view seems unlikely to more than keep pace with the world's needs. in copper the demand is growing prodigiously, but the supplies of copper ores and the number of copper mines that are ready to produce whenever normal prices recur was never so great as to-day. one very hopeful fact can be deduced for the comfort of the base metal mining industry as a whole. if the growth of demand continues through the next thirty years in the ratio of the past three decades, the annual demand for copper will be over , , tons, of lead over , , tons, of spelter , , tons, of tin , tons. where such stupendous amounts of these metals are to come from at the present range of prices, and even with reduced costs of production, is far beyond any apparent source of supply. the outlook for silver prices is in the long run not bright. as the major portion of the silver produced is a bye product from base metals, any increase in the latter will increase the silver production despite very much lower prices for the precious metal. in the meantime the gradual conversion of all nations to the gold standard seems a matter of certainty. further, silver may yet be abandoned as a subsidiary coinage inasmuch as it has now but a token value in gold standard countries if denuded of sentiment. cost of production. it is hardly necessary to argue the relative importance of the determination of the cost of production and the determination of the recoverable contents of the ore. obviously, the aim of mine valuation is to know the profits to be won, and the profit is the value of the metal won, less the cost of production. the cost of production embraces development, mining, treatment, management. further than this, it is often contended that, as the capital expended in purchase and equipment must be redeemed within the life of the mine, this item should also be included in production costs. it is true that mills, smelters, shafts, and all the paraphernalia of a mine are of virtually negligible value when it is exhausted; and that all mines are exhausted sometime and every ton taken out contributes to that exhaustion; and that every ton of ore must bear its contribution to the return of the investment, as well as profit upon it. therefore it may well be said that the redemption of the capital and its interest should be considered in costs per ton. the difficulty in dealing with the subject from the point of view of production cost arises from the fact that, except possibly in the case of banket gold and some conglomerate copper mines, the life of a metal mine is unknown beyond the time required to exhaust the ore reserves. the visible life at the time of purchase or equipment may be only three or four years, yet the average equipment has a longer life than this, and the anticipation for every mine is also for longer duration than the bare ore in sight. for clarity of conclusions in mine valuation the most advisable course is to determine the profit in sight irrespective of capital redemption in the first instance. the questions of capital redemption, purchase price, or equipment cost can then be weighed against the margin of profit. one phase of redemption will be further discussed under "amortization of capital" and "ratio of output to the mine." the cost of production depends upon many things, such as the cost of labor, supplies, the size of the ore-body, the treatment necessary, the volume of output, etc.; and to discuss them all would lead into a wilderness of supposititious cases. if the mine is a going concern, from which reliable data can be obtained, the problem is much simplified. if it is virgin, the experience of other mines in the same region is the next resource; where no such data can be had, the engineer must fall back upon the experience with mines still farther afield. use is sometimes made of the "comparison ton" in calculating costs upon mines where data of actual experience are not available. as costs will depend in the main upon items mentioned above, if the known costs of a going mine elsewhere be taken as a basis, and subtractions and additions made for more unfavorable or favorable effect of the differences in the above items, a fairly close result can be approximated. mine examinations are very often inspired by the belief that extended operations or new metallurgical applications to the mine will expand the profits. in such cases the paramount questions are the reduction of costs by better plant, larger outputs, new processes, or alteration of metallurgical basis and better methods. if every item of previous expenditure be gone over and considered, together with the equipment, and method by which it was obtained, the possible savings can be fairly well deduced, and justification for any particular line of action determined. one view of this subject will be further discussed under "ratio of output to the mine." the conditions which govern the working costs are on every mine so special to itself, that no amount of advice is very useful. volumes of advice have been published on the subject, but in the main their burden is not to underestimate. in considering the working costs of base-metal mines, much depends upon the opportunity for treatment in customs works, smelters, etc. such treatment means a saving of a large portion of equipment cost, and therefore of the capital to be invested and subsequently recovered. the economics of home treatment must be weighed against the sum which would need to be set aside for redemption of the plant, and unless there is a very distinct advantage to be had by the former, no risks should be taken. more engineers go wrong by the erection of treatment works where other treatment facilities are available, than do so by continued shipping. there are many mines where the cost of equipment could never be returned, and which would be valueless unless the ore could be shipped. another phase of foreign treatment arises from the necessity or advantage of a mixture of ores,--the opportunity of such mixtures often gives the public smelter an advantage in treatment with which treatment on the mine could never compete. fluctuation in the price of base metals is a factor so much to be taken into consideration, that it is desirable in estimating mine values to reduce the working costs to a basis of a "per unit" of finished metal. this method has the great advantage of indicating so simply the involved risks of changing prices that whoso runs may read. where one metal predominates over the other to such an extent as to form the "backbone" of the value of the mine, the value of the subsidiary metals is often deducted from the cost of the principal metal, in order to indicate more plainly the varying value of the mine with the fluctuating prices of the predominant metal. for example, it is usual to state that the cost of copper production from a given ore will be so many cents per pound, or so many pounds sterling per ton. knowing the total metal extractable from the ore in sight, the profits at given prices of metal can be readily deduced. the point at which such calculation departs from the "per-ton-of-ore" unto the per-unit-cost-of-metal basis, usually lies at the point in ore dressing where it is ready for the smelter. to take a simple case of a lead ore averaging %: this is to be first concentrated and the lead reduced to a concentrate averaging % and showing a recovery of % of the total metal content. the cost per ton of development, mining, concentration, management, is to this point say $ per ton of original crude ore. the smelter buys the concentrate for % of the value of the metal, less the smelting charge of $ per ton, or there is a working cost of a similar sum by home equipment. in this case . tons of ore are required to produce one ton of concentrates, and therefore each ton of concentrates costs $ . . this amount, added to the smelting charge, gives a total of $ . for the creation of % of one ton of finished lead, or equal to . cents per pound which can be compared with the market price less %. if the ore were to contain ounces of silver per ton, of which ounces were recovered into the leady concentrates, and the smelter price for the silver were cents per ounce, then the $ . thus recovered would be subtracted from $ . , making the apparent cost of the lead . cents per pound. chapter v. mine valuation (_continued_). redemption or amortization of capital and interest. it is desirable to state in some detail the theory of amortization before consideration of its application in mine valuation. as every mine has a limited life, the capital invested in it must be redeemed during the life of the mine. it is not sufficient that there be a bare profit over working costs. in this particular, mines differ wholly from many other types of investment, such as railways. in the latter, if proper appropriation is made for maintenance, the total income to the investor can be considered as interest or profit; but in mines, a portion of the annual income must be considered as a return of capital. therefore, before the yield on a mine investment can be determined, a portion of the annual earnings must be set aside in such a manner that when the mine is exhausted the original investment will have been restored. if we consider the date due for the return of the capital as the time when the mine is exhausted, we may consider the annual instalments as payments before the due date, and they can be put out at compound interest until the time for restoration arrives. if they be invested in safe securities at the usual rate of about %, the addition of this amount of compound interest will assist in the repayment of the capital at the due date, so that the annual contributions to a sinking fund need not themselves aggregate the total capital to be restored, but may be smaller by the deficiency which will be made up by their interest earnings. such a system of redemption of capital is called "amortization." obviously it is not sufficient for the mine investor that his capital shall have been restored, but there is required an excess earning over and above the necessities of this annual funding of capital. what rate of excess return the mine must yield is a matter of the risks in the venture and the demands of the investor. mining business is one where % above provision for capital return is an absolute minimum demanded by the risks inherent in mines, even where the profit in sight gives warranty to the return of capital. where the profit in sight (which is the only real guarantee in mine investment) is below the price of the investment, the annual return should increase in proportion. there are thus two distinct directions in which interest must be computed,--first, the internal influence of interest in the amortization of the capital, and second, the percentage return upon the whole investment after providing for capital return. there are many limitations to the introduction of such refinements as interest calculations in mine valuation. it is a subject not easy to discuss with finality, for not only is the term of years unknown, but, of more importance, there are many factors of a highly speculative order to be considered in valuing. it may be said that a certain life is known in any case from the profit in sight, and that in calculating this profit a deduction should be made from the gross profit for loss of interest on it pending recovery. this is true, but as mines are seldom dealt with on the basis of profit in sight alone, and as the purchase price includes usually some proportion for extension in depth, an unknown factor is introduced which outweighs the known quantities. therefore the application of the culminative effect of interest accumulations is much dependent upon the sort of mine under consideration. in most cases of uncertain continuity in depth it introduces a mathematical refinement not warranted by the speculative elements. for instance, in a mine where the whole value is dependent upon extension of the deposit beyond openings, and where an expected return of at least % per annum is required to warrant the risk, such refinement would be absurd. on the other hand, in a witwatersrand gold mine, in gold and tin gravels, or in massive copper mines such as bingham and lake superior, where at least some sort of life can be approximated, it becomes a most vital element in valuation. in general it may be said that the lower the total annual return expected upon the capital invested, the greater does the amount demanded for amortization become in proportion to this total income, and therefore the greater need of its introduction in calculations. especially is this so where the cost of equipment is large proportionately to the annual return. further, it may be said that such calculations are of decreasing use with increasing proportion of speculative elements in the price of the mine. the risk of extension in depth, of the price of metal, etc., may so outweigh the comparatively minor factors here introduced as to render them useless of attention. in the practical conduct of mines or mining companies, sinking funds for amortization of capital are never established. in the vast majority of mines of the class under discussion, the ultimate duration of life is unknown, and therefore there is no basis upon which to formulate such a definite financial policy even were it desired. were it possible to arrive at the annual sum to be set aside, the stockholders of the mining type would prefer to do their own reinvestment. the purpose of these calculations does not lie in the application of amortization to administrative finance. it is nevertheless one of the touchstones in the valuation of certain mines or mining investments. that is, by a sort of inversion such calculations can be made to serve as a means to expose the amount of risk,--to furnish a yardstick for measuring the amount of risk in the very speculations of extension in depth and price of metals which attach to a mine. given the annual income being received, or expected, the problem can be formulated into the determination of how many years it must be continued in order to amortize the investment and pay a given rate of profit. a certain length of life is evident from the ore in sight, which may be called the life in sight. if the term of years required to redeem the capital and pay an interest upon it is greater than the life in sight, then this extended life must come from extension in depth, or ore from other direction, or increased price of metals. if we then take the volume and profit on the ore as disclosed we can calculate the number of feet the deposit must extend in depth, or additional tonnage that must be obtained of the same grade, or the different prices of metal that must be secured, in order to satisfy the demanded term of years. these demands in actual measure of ore or feet or higher price can then be weighed against the geological and industrial probabilities. the following tables and examples may be of assistance in these calculations. table . to apply this table, the amount of annual income or dividend and the term of years it will last must be known or estimated factors. it is then possible to determine the _present_ value of this annual income after providing for amortization and interest on the investment at various rates given, by multiplying the annual income by the factor set out. a simple illustration would be that of a mine earning a profit of $ , annually, and having a total of , , tons in sight, yielding a profit of $ a ton, or a total profit in sight of $ , , , thus recoverable in ten years. on a basis of a % return on the investment and amortization of capital (table i), the factor is . x $ , = $ , , as the present value of the gross profits exposed. that is, this sum of $ , , , if paid for the mine, would be repaid out of the profit in sight, together with % interest if the annual payments into sinking fund earn %. table i. present value of an annual dividend over -- years at --% and replacing capital by reinvestment of an annual sum at %. ======================================================= years | % | % | % | % | % | % -------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|------- | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . ======================================================= condensed from inwood's tables. table ii is practically a compound discount table. that is, by it can be determined the present value of a fixed sum payable at the end of a given term of years, interest being discounted at various given rates. its use may be illustrated by continuing the example preceding. table ii. present value of $ , or £ , payable in -- years, interest taken at --%. =================================== years | % | % | % | % ------|------|------|------|------- | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . =================================== condensed from inwood's tables. if such a mine is not equipped, and it is assumed that $ , are required to equip the mine, and that two years are required for this equipment, the value of the ore in sight is still less, because of the further loss of interest in delay and the cost of equipment. in this case the present value of $ , , in two years, interest at %, the factor is . x , , = $ , , . from this comes off the cost of equipment, or $ , , leaving $ , as the present value of the profit in sight. a further refinement could be added by calculating the interest chargeable against the $ , equipment cost up to the time of production. table iii. =========================================================================== annual | number of years of life required to yield--% interest, and in rate of | addition to furnish annual instalments which, if reinvested at dividend.| % will return the original investment at the end of the period. ---------|----------------------------------------------------------------- % | % | % | % | % | % | % | | | | | | | . | | | | | | . | . | | | | | . | . | . | | | | . | . | . | . | | | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . =========================================================================== table iii. this table is calculated by inversion of the factors in table i, and is the most useful of all such tables, as it is a direct calculation of the number of years that a given rate of income on the investment must continue in order to amortize the capital (the annual sinking fund being placed at compound interest at %) and to repay various rates of interest on the investment. the application of this method in testing the value of dividend-paying shares is very helpful, especially in weighing the risks involved in the portion of the purchase or investment unsecured by the profit in sight. given the annual percentage income on the investment from the dividends of the mine (or on a non-producing mine assuming a given rate of production and profit from the factors exposed), by reference to the table the number of years can be seen in which this percentage must continue in order to amortize the investment and pay various rates of interest on it. as said before, the ore in sight at a given rate of exhaustion can be reduced to terms of life in sight. this certain period deducted from the total term of years required gives the life which must be provided by further discovery of ore, and this can be reduced to tons or feet of extension of given ore-bodies and a tangible position arrived at. the test can be applied in this manner to the various prices which must be realized from the base metal in sight to warrant the price. taking the last example and assuming that the mine is equipped, and that the price is $ , , , the yearly return on the price is %. if it is desired besides amortizing or redeeming the capital to secure a return of % on the investment, it will be seen by reference to the table that there will be required a life of . years. as the life visible in the ore in sight is ten years, then the extensions in depth must produce ore for . years longer-- , , tons. if the ore-body is , feet long and feet wide, it will furnish of gold ore , tons per foot of depth; hence the ore-body must extend , feet deeper to justify the price. mines are seldom so simple a proposition as this example. there are usually probabilities of other ore; and in the case of base metal, then variability of price and other elements must be counted. however, once the extension in depth which is necessary is determined for various assumptions of metal value, there is something tangible to consider and to weigh with the five geological weights set out in chapter iii. the example given can be expanded to indicate not only the importance of interest and redemption in the long extension in depth required, but a matter discussed from another point of view under "ratio of output." if the plant on this mine were doubled and the earnings increased to % ($ , per annum) (disregarding the reduction in working expenses that must follow expansion of equipment), it will be found that the life required to repay the purchase money,--$ , , ,--and % interest upon it, is about . years. as at this increased rate of production there is in the ore in sight a life of five years, the extension in depth must be depended upon for . years, or only , tons,--that is, feet of extension. similarly, the present value of the ore in sight is $ , greater if the mine be given double the equipment, for thus the idle money locked in the ore is brought into the interest market at an earlier date. against this increased profit must be weighed the increased cost of equipment. the value of low grade mines, especially, is very much a factor of the volume of output contemplated. chapter vi. mine valuation (_concluded_). valuation of mines with little or no ore in sight; valuations on second-hand data; general conduct of examinations; reports. a large number of examinations arise upon prospecting ventures or partially developed mines where the value is almost wholly prospective. the risks in such enterprises amount to the possible loss of the whole investment, and the possible returns must consequently be commensurate. such business is therefore necessarily highly speculative, but not unjustifiable, as the whole history of the industry attests; but this makes the matter no easier for the mine valuer. many devices of financial procedure assist in the limitation of the sum risked, and offer a middle course to the investor between purchase of a wholly prospective value and the loss of a possible opportunity to profit by it. the usual form is an option to buy the property after a period which permits a certain amount of development work by the purchaser before final decision as to purchase. aside from young mines such enterprises often arise from the possibility of lateral extension of the ore-deposit outside the boundaries of the property of original discovery (fig. ), in which cases there is often no visible ore within the property under consideration upon which to found opinion. in regions where vertical side lines obtain, there is always the possibility of a "deep level" in inclined deposits. therefore the ground surrounding known deposits has a certain speculative value, upon which engineers are often called to pass judgment. except in such unusual occurrences as south african bankets, or lake superior coppers, prospecting for deep level of extension is also a highly speculative phase of mining. the whole basis of opinion in both classes of ventures must be the few geological weights,--the geology of the property and the district, the development of surrounding mines, etc. in any event, there is a very great percentage of risk, and the profit to be gained by success must be, proportionally to the expenditure involved, very large. it is no case for calculating amortization and other refinements. it is one where several hundreds or thousands of per cent hoped for on the investment is the only justification. opinions and valuations upon second-hand data. some one may come forward and deprecate the bare suggestion of an engineer's offering an opinion when he cannot have proper first-hand data. but in these days we have to deal with conditions as well as theories of professional ethics. the growing ownership of mines by companies, that is by corporations composed of many individuals, and with their stocks often dealt in on the public exchanges, has resulted in holders whose interest is not large enough to warrant their undertaking the cost of exhaustive examinations. the system has produced an increasing class of mining speculators and investors who are finding and supplying the enormous sums required to work our mines,--sums beyond the reach of the old-class single-handed mining men. every year the mining investors of the new order are coming more and more to the engineer for advice, and they should be encouraged, because such counsel can be given within limits, and these limits tend to place the industry upon a sounder footing of ownership. as was said before, the lamb can be in a measure protected. the engineer's interest is to protect him, so that the industry which concerns his own life-work may be in honorable repute, and that capital may be readily forthcoming for its expansion. moreover, by constant advice to the investor as to what constitutes a properly presented and managed project, the arrangement of such proper presentation and management will tend to become an _a priori_ function of the promoter. sometimes the engineer can make a short visit to the mine for data purposes,--more often he cannot. in the former case, he can resolve for himself an approximation upon all the factors bearing on value, except the quality of the ore. for this, aside from inspection of the ore itself, a look at the plans is usually enlightening. a longitudinal section of the mine showing a continuous shortening of the stopes with each succeeding level carries its own interpretation. in the main, the current record of past production and estimates of the management as to ore-reserves, etc., can be accepted in ratio to the confidence that can be placed in the men who present them. it then becomes a case of judgment of men and things, and here no rule applies. advice must often be given upon data alone, without inspection of the mine. most mining data present internal evidence as to credibility. the untrustworthy and inexperienced betray themselves in their every written production. assuming the reliability of data, the methods already discussed for weighing the ultimate value of the property can be applied. it would be possible to cite hundreds of examples of valuation based upon second-hand data. three will, however, sufficiently illustrate. first, the r mine at johannesburg. with the regularity of this deposit, the development done, and a study of the workings on the neighboring mines and in deeper ground, it is a not unfair assumption that the reefs will maintain size and value throughout the area. the management is sound, and all the data are given in the best manner. the life of the mine is estimated at six years, with some probabilities of further ore from low-grade sections. the annual earnings available for dividends are at the rate of about £ , per annum. the capital is £ , in £ shares. by reference to the table on page it will be seen that the present value of £ , spread over six years to return capital at the end of that period, and give % dividends in the meantime, is . x £ , = £ , , ÷ , = £ _s_. _d_. per share. so that this mine, on the assumption of continuity of values, will pay about % and return the price. seven per cent is, however, not deemed an adequate return for the risks of labor troubles, faults, dykes, or poor patches. on a % basis, the mine is worth about £ _s_. per share. second, the g mine in nevada. it has a capital of $ , , in $ shares, standing in the market at cents each. the reserves are , tons, yielding a profit for yearly division of $ per ton. it has an annual capacity of about , tons, or $ , net profit, equal to % on the market value. in order to repay the capital value of $ , , and % per annum, it will need a life of (table iii) years, of which - / are visible. the size of the ore-bodies indicates a yield of about , tons per foot of depth. at an exhaustion rate of , tons per annum, the mine would need to extend to a depth of over a thousand feet below the present bottom. there is always a possibility of finding parallel bodies or larger volumes in depth, but it would be a sanguine engineer indeed who would recommend the stock, even though it pays an apparent %. third, the b mine, with a capital of $ , , in , , shares of $ each. the promoters state that the mine is in the slopes of the andes in peru; that there are , , tons of "ore blocked out"; that two assays by the assayers of the bank of england average % copper; that the copper can be produced at five cents per pound; that there is thus a profit of $ , , in sight. the evidences are wholly incompetent. it is a gamble on statements of persons who have not the remotest idea of sound mining. general conduct of examination. complete and exhaustive examination, entailing extensive sampling, assaying, and metallurgical tests, is very expensive and requires time. an unfavorable report usually means to the employer absolute loss of the engineer's fee and expenses. it becomes then the initial duty of the latter to determine at once, by the general conditions surrounding the property, how far the expenditure for exhaustive examination is warranted. there is usually named a money valuation for the property, and thus a peg is afforded upon which to hang conclusions. very often collateral factors with a preliminary sampling, or indeed no sampling at all, will determine the whole business. in fact, it is becoming very common to send younger engineers to report as to whether exhaustive examination by more expensive men is justified. in the course of such preliminary inspection, the ore-bodies may prove to be too small to insure adequate yield on the price, even assuming continuity in depth and represented value. they may be so difficult to mine as to make costs prohibitive, or they may show strong signs of "petering out." the ore may present visible metallurgical difficulties which make it unprofitable in any event. a gold ore may contain copper or arsenic, so as to debar cyanidation, where this process is the only hope of sufficiently moderate costs. a lead ore may be an amorphous compound with zinc, and successful concentration or smelting without great penalties may be precluded. a copper ore may carry a great excess of silica and be at the same time unconcentratable, and there may be no base mineral supply available for smelting mixture. the mine may be so small or so isolated that the cost of equipment will never be justified. some of these conditions may be determined as unsurmountable, assuming a given value for the ore, and may warrant the rejection of the mine at the price set. it is a disagreeable thing to have a disappointed promoter heap vituperation on an engineer's head because he did not make an exhaustive examination. although it is generally desirable to do some sampling to give assurance to both purchaser and vendor of conscientiousness, a little courage of conviction, when this is rightly and adequately grounded, usually brings its own reward. supposing, however, that conditions are right and that the mine is worth the price, subject to confirmation of values, the determination of these cannot be undertaken unless time and money are available for the work. as was said, a sampling campaign is expensive, and takes time, and no engineer has the moral right to undertake an examination unless both facilities are afforded. curtailment is unjust, both to himself and to his employer. how much time and outlay are required to properly sample a mine is obviously a question of its size, and the character of its ore. an engineer and one principal assistant can conduct two sampling parties. in hard rock it may be impossible to take more than five samples a day for each party. but, in average ore, ten samples for each is reasonable work. as the number of samples is dependent upon the footage of openings on the deposit, a rough approximation can be made in advance, and a general idea obtained as to the time required. this period must be insisted upon. reports. reports are to be read by the layman, and their first qualities should be simplicity of terms and definiteness of conclusions. reports are usually too long, rather than too short. the essential facts governing the value of a mine can be expressed on one sheet of paper. it is always desirable, however, that the groundwork data and the manner of their determination should be set out with such detail that any other engineer could come to the same conclusion if he accepted the facts as accurately determined. in regard to the detailed form of reports, the writer's own preference is for a single page summarizing the main factors, and an assay plan, reduced to a longitudinal section where possible. then there should be added, for purposes of record and for submission to other engineers, a set of appendices going into some details as to the history of the mine, its geology, development, equipment, metallurgy, and management. a list of samples should be given with their location, and the tonnages and values of each separate block. a presentation should be made of the probabilities of extension in depth, together with recommendations for working the mine. general summary. the bed-rock value which attaches to a mine is the profit to be won from proved ore and in which the price of metal is calculated at some figure between "basic" and "normal." this we may call the "_a_" value. beyond this there is the speculative value of the mine. if the value of the "probable" ore be represented by _x_, the value of extension of the ore by _y_, and a higher price for metal than the price above assumed represented by _z_, then if the mine be efficiently managed the value of the mine is _a_ + _x_ + _y_ + _z_. what actual amounts should be attached to _x, y, z_ is a matter of judgment. there is no prescription for good judgment. good judgment rests upon a proper balancing of evidence. the amount of risk in _x, y, z_ is purely a question of how much these factors are required to represent in money,--in effect, how much more ore must be found, or how many feet the ore must extend in depth; or in convertible terms, what life in years the mine must have, or how high the price of metal must be. in forming an opinion whether these requirements will be realized, _x, y, z_ must be balanced in a scale whose measuring standards are the five geological weights and the general industrial outlook. the wise engineer will put before his clients the scale, the weights, and the conclusion arrived at. the shrewd investor will require to know these of his adviser. chapter vii. development of mines. entry to the mine; tunnels; vertical, inclined, and combined shafts; location and number of shafts. development is conducted for two purposes: first, to search for ore; and second, to open avenues for its extraction. although both objects are always more or less in view, the first predominates in the early life of mines, the prospecting stage, and the second in its later life, the producing stage. it is proposed to discuss development designed to embrace extended production purposes first, because development during the prospecting stage is governed by the same principles, but is tempered by the greater degree of uncertainty as to the future of the mine, and is, therefore, of a more temporary character. entry to the mine. there are four methods of entry: by tunnel, vertical shaft, inclined shaft, or by a combination of the last two, that is, by a shaft initially vertical then turned to an incline. combined shafts are largely a development of the past few years to meet "deep level" conditions, and have been rendered possible only by skip-winding. the angle in such shafts (fig. ) is now generally made on a parabolic curve, and the speed of winding is then less diminished by the bend. the engineering problems which present themselves under "entry" may be divided into those of:-- . method. . location. . shape and size. the resolution of these questions depends upon the:-- a. degree of dip of the deposit. b. output of ore to be provided for. c. depth at which the deposit is to be attacked. d. boundaries of the property. e. surface topography. f. cost. g. operating efficiency. h. prospects of the mine. [illustration: fig. .--showing arrangement of the bend in combined shafts.] from the point of view of entrance, the coöperation of a majority of these factors permits the division of mines into certain broad classes. the type of works demanded for moderate depths (say vertically , to , feet) is very different from that required for great depths. to reach great depths, the size of shafts must greatly expand, to provide for extended ventilation, pumping, and winding necessities. moreover inclined shafts of a degree of flatness possible for moderate depths become too long to be used economically from the surface. the vast majority of metal-mining shafts fall into the first class, those of moderate depths. yet, as time goes on and ore-deposits are exhausted to lower planes, problems of depth will become more common. one thing, however, cannot be too much emphasized, especially on mines to be worked from the outcrop, and that is, that no engineer is warranted, owing to the speculation incidental to extension in depth, in initiating early in the mine's career shafts of such size or equipment as would be available for great depths. moreover, the proper location of a shaft so as to work economically extension of the ore-bodies is a matter of no certainty, and therefore shafts of speculative mines are tentative in any event. another line of division from an engineering view is brought about by a combination of three of the factors mentioned. this is the classification into "outcrop" and "deep-level" mines. the former are those founded upon ore-deposits to be worked from or close to the surface. the latter are mines based upon the extension in depth of ore-bodies from outcrop mines. such projects are not so common in america, where the law in most districts gives the outcrop owner the right to follow ore beyond his side-lines, as in countries where the boundaries are vertical on all sides. they do, however, arise not alone in the few american sections where the side-lines are vertical boundaries, but in other parts owing to the pitch of ore-bodies through the end lines (fig. ). more especially do such problems arise in america in effect, where the ingress questions have to be revised for mines worked out in the upper levels (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section showing "deep level" project arising from dip of ore-body through end-line.] if from a standpoint of entrance questions, mines are first classified into those whose works are contemplated for moderate depths, and those in which work is contemplated for great depth, further clarity in discussion can be gained by subdivision into the possible cases arising out of the factors of location, dip, topography, and boundaries. mines of moderate depths. case i. deposits where topographic conditions permit the alternatives of shaft or tunnel. case ii. vertical or horizontal deposits, the only practical means of attaining which is by a vertical shaft. case iii. inclined deposits to be worked from near the surface. there are in such instances the alternatives of either a vertical or an inclined shaft. case iv. inclined deposits which must be attacked in depth, that is, deep-level projects. there are the alternatives of a compound shaft or of a vertical shaft, and in some cases of an incline from the surface. mines to great depths. case v. vertical or horizontal deposits, the only way of reaching which is by a vertical shaft. case vi. inclined deposits. in such cases the alternatives are a vertical or a compound shaft. case i.--although for logical arrangement tunnel entry has been given first place, to save repetition it is proposed to consider it later. with few exceptions, tunnels are a temporary expedient in the mine, which must sooner or later be opened by a shaft. case ii. vertical or horizontal deposits.--these require no discussion as to manner of entry. there is no justifiable alternative to a vertical shaft (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .--cross-sections showing entry to vertical or horizontal deposits. case ii.] [illustration: fig. .--cross-section showing alternative shafts to inclined deposit to be worked from surface. case iii.] case iii. inclined deposits which are intended to be worked from the outcrop, or from near it (fig. ).--the choice of inclined or vertical shaft is dependent upon relative cost of construction, subsequent operation, and the useful life of the shaft, and these matters are largely governed by the degree of dip. assuming a shaft of the same size in either alternative, the comparative cost per foot of sinking is dependent largely on the breaking facilities of the rock under the different directions of attack. in this, the angles of the bedding or joint planes to the direction of the shaft outweigh other factors. the shaft which takes the greatest advantage of such lines of breaking weakness will be the cheapest per foot to sink. in south african experience, where inclined shafts are sunk parallel to the bedding planes of hard quartzites, the cost per foot appears to be in favor of the incline. on the other hand, sinking shafts across tight schists seems to be more advantageous than parallel to the bedding planes, and inclines following the dip cost more per foot than vertical shafts. an inclined shaft requires more footage to reach a given point of depth, and therefore it would entail a greater total expense than a vertical shaft, assuming they cost the same per foot. the excess amount will be represented by the extra length, and this will depend upon the flatness of the dip. with vertical shafts, however, crosscuts to the deposit are necessary. in a comparative view, therefore, the cost of the crosscuts must be included with that of the vertical shaft, as they would be almost wholly saved in an incline following near the ore. the factor of useful life for the shaft enters in deciding as to the advisability of vertical shafts on inclined deposits, from the fact that at some depth one of two alternatives has to be chosen. the vertical shaft, when it reaches a point below the deposit where the crosscuts are too long (_c_, fig. ), either becomes useless, or must be turned on an incline at the intersection with the ore (_b_). the first alternative means ultimately a complete loss of the shaft for working purposes. the latter has the disadvantage that the bend interferes slightly with haulage. the following table will indicate an hypothetical extreme case,--not infrequently met. in it a vertical shaft , feet in depth is taken as cutting the deposit at the depth of feet, the most favored position so far as aggregate length of crosscuts is concerned. the cost of crosscutting is taken at $ per foot and that of sinking the vertical shaft at $ per foot. the incline is assumed for two cases at $ and $ per foot respectively. the stoping height upon the ore between levels is counted at feet. dip of | depth of | length of |no. of crosscuts| total length deposit from | vertical | incline | required from | of crosscuts, horizontal | shaft | required | v shaft | feet -------------|-------------|-------------|----------------|--------------- ° | , | , | | ° | , | , | | , ° | , | , | | , ° | , | , | | , ° | , | , | | , ° | , | , | | , ========================================================================== cost of |cost vertical| total cost | cost of incline|cost of incline crosscuts $ | shaft $ | of vertical | $ per foot | $ per foot per foot | per foot |and crosscuts| | -------------|-------------|-------------|----------------|--------------- $ , | $ , | $ , | $ , | $ , , | , | , | , | , , | , | , | , | , , | , | , | , | , , | , | , | , | , , | , | , | , | , from the above examples it will be seen that the cost of crosscuts put at ordinary level intervals rapidly outruns the extra expense of increased length of inclines. if, however, the conditions are such that crosscuts from a vertical shaft are not necessary at so frequent intervals, then in proportion to the decrease the advantages sway to the vertical shaft. most situations wherein the crosscuts can be avoided arise in mines worked out in the upper levels and fall under case iv, that of deep-level projects. there can be no doubt that vertical shafts are cheaper to operate than inclines: the length of haul from a given depth is less; much higher rope speed is possible, and thus the haulage hours are less for the same output; the wear and tear on ropes, tracks, or guides is not so great, and pumping is more economical where the cornish order of pump is used. on the other hand, with a vertical shaft must be included the cost of operating crosscuts. on mines where the volume of ore does not warrant mechanical haulage, the cost of tramming through the extra distance involved is an expense which outweighs any extra operating outlay in the inclined shaft itself. even with mechanical haulage in crosscuts, it is doubtful if there is anything in favor of the vertical shaft on this score. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section showing auxiliary vertical outlet.] in deposits of very flat dips, under °, the case arises where the length of incline is so great that the saving on haulage through direct lift warrants a vertical shaft as an auxiliary outlet in addition to the incline (fig. ). in such a combination the crosscut question is eliminated. the mine is worked above and below the intersection by incline, and the vertical shaft becomes simply a more economical exit and an alternative to secure increased output. the north star mine at grass valley is an illustration in point. such a positive instance borders again on case iv, deep-level projects. in conclusion, it is the writer's belief that where mines are to be worked from near the surface, coincidentally with sinking, and where, therefore, crosscuts from a vertical shaft would need to be installed frequently, inclines are warranted in all dips under ° and over °. beyond ° the best alternative is often undeterminable. in the range under ° and over °, although inclines are primarily necessary for actual delivery of ore from levels, they can often be justifiably supplemented by a vertical shaft as a relief to a long haul. in dips of less than °, as in those over °, the advantages again trend strongly in favor of the vertical shaft. there arise, however, in mountainous countries, topographic conditions such as the dip of deposits into the mountain, which preclude any alternative on an incline at any angled dip. case iv. inclined deposits which must be attacked in depth (fig. ).--there are two principal conditions in which such properties exist: first, mines being operated, or having been previously worked, whose method of entry must be revised; second, those whose ore-bodies to be attacked do not outcrop within the property. the first situation may occur in mines of inadequate shaft capacity or wrong location; in mines abandoned and resurrected; in mines where a vertical shaft has reached its limit of useful extensions, having passed the place of economical crosscutting; or in mines in flat deposits with inclines whose haul has become too long to be economical. three alternatives present themselves in such cases: a new incline from the surface (_a b f_, fig. ), or a vertical shaft combined with incline extension (_c d f_), or a simple vertical shaft (_h g_). a comparison can be first made between the simple incline and the combined shaft. the construction of an incline from the surface to the ore-body will be more costly than a combined shaft, for until the horizon of the ore is reached (at _d_) no crosscuts are required in the vertical section, while the incline must be of greater length to reach the same horizon. the case arises, however, where inclines can be sunk through old stopes, and thus more cheaply constructed than vertical shafts through solid rock; and also the case of mountainous topographic conditions mentioned above. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of inclined deposit which must be attacked in depth.] from an operating point of view, the bend in combined shafts (at _d_) gives rise to a good deal of wear and tear on ropes and gear. the possible speed of winding through a combined shaft is, however, greater than a simple incline, for although haulage speed through the incline section (_d f_) and around the bend of the combined shaft is about the same as throughout a simple incline (_a f_), the speed can be accelerated in the vertical portion (_d c_) above that feasible did the incline extend to the surface. there is therefore an advantage in this regard in the combined shaft. the net advantages of the combined over the inclined shaft depend on the comparative length of the two alternative routes from the intersection (_d_) to the surface. certainly it is not advisable to sink a combined shaft to cut a deposit at feet in depth if a simple incline can be had to the surface. on the other hand, a combined shaft cutting the deposit at , feet will be more advisable than a simple incline , feet long to reach the same point. the matter is one for direct calculation in each special case. in general, there are few instances of really deep-level projects where a complete incline from the surface is warranted. in most situations of this sort, and in all of the second type (where the outcrop is outside the property), actual choice usually lies between combined shafts (_c d f_) and entire vertical shafts (_h g_). the difference between a combined shaft and a direct vertical shaft can be reduced to a comparison of the combined shaft below the point of intersection (_d_) with that portion of a vertical shaft which would cover the same horizon. the question then becomes identical with that of inclined _versus_ verticals, as stated in case iii, with the offsetting disadvantage of the bend in the combined shaft. if it is desired to reach production at the earliest date, the lower section of a simple vertical shaft must have crosscuts to reach the ore lying above the horizon of its intersection (_e_). if production does not press, the ore above the intersection (_eb_) can be worked by rises from the horizon of intersection (_e_). in the use of rises, however, there follow the difficulties of ventilation and lowering the ore down to the shaft, which brings expenses to much the same thing as operating through crosscuts. the advantages of combined over simple vertical shafts are earlier production, saving of either rises or crosscuts, and the ultimate utility of the shaft to any depth. the disadvantages are the cost of the extra length of the inclined section, slower winding, and greater wear and tear within the inclined section and especially around the bend. all these factors are of variable import, depending upon the dip. on very steep dips,--over °,--the net result is in favor of the simple vertical shaft. on other dips it is in favor of the combined shaft. cases v and vi. mines to be worked to great depths,--over , feet.--in case v, with vertical or horizontal deposits, there is obviously no desirable alternative to vertical shafts. in case vi, with inclined deposits, there are the alternatives of a combined or of a simple vertical shaft. a vertical shaft in locations (_h_, fig. ) such as would not necessitate extension in depth by an incline, would, as in case iv, compel either crosscuts to the ore or inclines up from the horizon of intersection (_e_). apart from delay in coming to production and the consequent loss of interest on capital, the ventilation problems with this arrangement would be appalling. moreover, the combined shaft, entering the deposit near its shallowest point, offers the possibility of a separate haulage system on the inclined and on the vertical sections, and such separate haulage is usually advisable at great depths. in such instances, the output to be handled is large, for no mine of small output is likely to be contemplated at such depth. several moderate-sized inclines from the horizon of intersection have been suggested (_ef_, _dg_, _ch_, fig. ) to feed a large primary shaft (_ab_), which thus becomes the trunk road. this program would cheapen lateral haulage underground, as mechanical traction can be used in the main level, (_ec_), and horizontal haulage costs can be reduced on the lower levels. moreover, separate winding engines on the two sections increase the capacity, for the effect is that of two trains instead of one running on a single track. shaft location.--although the prime purpose in locating a shaft is obviously to gain access to the largest volume of ore within the shortest haulage distance, other conditions also enter, such as the character of the surface and the rock to be intersected, the time involved before reaching production, and capital cost. as shafts must bear two relations to a deposit,--one as to the dip and the other as to the strike,--they may be considered from these aspects. vertical shafts must be on the hanging-wall side of the outcrop if the deposit dips at all. in any event, the shaft should be far enough away to be out of the reach of creeps. an inclined shaft may be sunk either on the vein, in which case a pillar of ore must be left to support the shaft; or, instead, it may be sunk a short distance in the footwall, and where necessary the excavation above can be supported by filling. following the ore has the advantage of prospecting in sinking, and in many cases the softness of the ground in the region of the vein warrants this procedure. it has, however, the disadvantage that a pillar of ore is locked up until the shaft is ready for abandonment. moreover, as veins or lodes are seldom of even dip, an inclined shaft, to have value as a prospecting opening, or to take advantage of breaking possibilities in the lode, will usually be crooked, and an incline irregular in detail adds greatly to the cost of winding and maintenance. these twin disadvantages usually warrant a straight incline in the footwall. inclines are not necessarily of the same dip throughout, but for reasonably economical haulage change of angle must take place gradually. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section showing shaft arrangement proposed for very deep inclined deposits.] in the case of deep-level projects on inclined deposits, demanding combined or vertical shafts, the first desideratum is to locate the vertical section as far from the outcrop as possible, and thus secure the most ore above the horizon of intersection. this, however, as stated before, would involve the cost of crosscuts or rises and would cause delay in production, together with the accumulation of capital charges. how important the increment of interest on capital may become during the period of opening the mine may be demonstrated by a concrete case. for instance, the capital of a company or the cost of the property is, say, $ , , , and where opening the mine for production requires four years, the aggregate sum of accumulated compound interest at % (and most operators want more from a mining investment) would be $ , . under such circumstances, if a year or two can be saved in getting to production by entering the property at a higher horizon, the difference in accumulated interest will more than repay the infinitesimal extra cost of winding through a combined shaft of somewhat increased length in the inclined section. the unknown character of the ore in depth is always a sound reason for reaching it as quickly and as cheaply as possible. in result, such shafts are usually best located when the vertical section enters the upper portion of the deposit. the objective in location with regard to the strike of the ore-bodies is obviously to have an equal length of lateral ore-haul in every direction from the shaft. it is easier to specify than to achieve this, for in all speculative deposits ore-shoots are found to pursue curious vagaries as they go down. ore-bodies do not reoccur with the same locus as in the upper levels, and generally the chances to go wrong are more numerous than those to go right. number of shafts.--the problem of whether the mine is to be opened by one or by two shafts of course influences location. in metal mines under cases ii and iii (outcrop properties) the ore output requirements are seldom beyond the capacity of one shaft. ventilation and escape-ways are usually easily managed through the old stopes. under such circumstances, the conditions warranting a second shaft are the length of underground haul and isolation of ore-bodies or veins. lateral haulage underground is necessarily disintegrated by the various levels, and usually has to be done by hand. by shortening this distance of tramming and by consolidation of the material from all levels at the surface, where mechanical haulage can be installed, a second shaft is often justified. there is therefore an economic limitation to the radius of a single shaft, regardless of the ability of the shaft to handle the total output. other questions also often arise which are of equal importance to haulage costs. separate ore-shoots or ore-bodies or parallel deposits necessitate, if worked from one shaft, constant levels through unpayable ground and extra haul as well, or ore-bodies may dip away from the original shaft along the strike of the deposit and a long haulage through dead levels must follow. for instance, levels and crosscuts cost roughly one-quarter as much per foot as shafts. therefore four levels in barren ground, to reach a parallel vein or isolated ore-body , feet away, would pay for a shaft , feet deep. at a depth of , feet, at least six levels might be necessary. the tramming of ore by hand through such a distance would cost about double the amount to hoist it through a shaft and transport it mechanically to the dressing plant at surface. the aggregate cost and operation of barren levels therefore soon pays for a second shaft. if two or more shafts are in question, they must obviously be set so as to best divide the work. under cases iv, v, and vi,--that is, deep-level projects,--ventilation and escape become most important considerations. even where the volume of ore is within the capacity of a single shaft, another usually becomes a necessity for these reasons. their location is affected not only by the locus of the ore, but, as said, by the time required to reach it. where two shafts are to be sunk to inclined deposits, it is usual to set one so as to intersect the deposit at a lower point than the other. production can be started from the shallower, before the second is entirely ready. the ore above the horizon of intersection of the deeper shaft is thus accessible from the shallower shaft, and the difficulty of long rises or crosscuts from that deepest shaft does not arise. chapter viii. development of mines (_continued_). shape and size of shafts; speed of sinking; tunnels. shape of shafts.--shafts may be round or rectangular.[*] round vertical shafts are largely applied to coal-mines, and some engineers have advocated their usefulness to the mining of the metals under discussion. their great advantages lie in their structural strength, in the large amount of free space for ventilation, and in the fact that if walled with stone, brick, concrete, or steel, they can be made water-tight so as to prevent inflow from water-bearing strata, even when under great pressure. the round walled shafts have a longer life than timbered shafts. all these advantages pertain much more to mining coal or iron than metals, for unsound, wet ground is often the accompaniment of coal-measures, and seldom troubles metal-mines. ventilation requirements are also much greater in coal-mines. from a metal-miner's standpoint, round shafts are comparatively much more expensive than the rectangular timbered type.[**] for a larger area must be excavated for the same useful space, and if support is needed, satisfactory walling, which of necessity must be brick, stone, concrete, or steel, cannot be cheaply accomplished under the conditions prevailing in most metal regions. although such shafts would have a longer life, the duration of timbered shafts is sufficient for most metal mines. it follows that, as timber is the cheapest and all things considered the most advantageous means of shaft support for the comparatively temporary character of metal mines, to get the strains applied to the timbers in the best manner, and to use the minimum amount of it consistent with security, and to lose the least working space, the shaft must be constructed on rectangular lines. [footnote *: octagonal shafts were sunk in mexico in former times. at each face of the octagon was a whim run by mules, and hauling leather buckets.] [footnote **: the economic situation is rapidly arising in a number of localities that steel beams can be usefully used instead of timber. the same arguments apply to this type of support that apply to timber.] the variations in timbered shaft design arise from the possible arrangement of compartments. many combinations can be imagined, of which figures , , , , , and are examples. [illustration: fig. . fig. . fig. . fig. . fig. . fig. .] the arrangement of compartments shown in figures , , , and gives the greatest strength. it permits timbering to the best advantage, and avoids the danger underground involved in crossing one compartment to reach another. it is therefore generally adopted. any other arrangement would obviously be impossible in inclined or combined shafts. size of shafts.--in considering the size of shafts to be installed, many factors are involved. they are in the main:-- _a_. amount of ore to be handled. _b_. winding plant. _c_. vehicle of transport. _d_. depth. _e_. number of men to be worked underground. _f_. amount of water. _g_. ventilation. _h_. character of the ground. _i_. capital outlay. _j_. operating expense. it is not to be assumed that these factors have been stated in the order of relative importance. more or less emphasis will be attached to particular factors by different engineers, and under different circumstances. it is not possible to suggest any arbitrary standard for calculating their relative weight, and they are so interdependent as to preclude separate discussion. the usual result is a compromise between the demands of all. certain factors, however, dictate a minimum position, which may be considered as a datum from which to start consideration. _first_, a winding engine, in order to work with any economy, must be balanced, that is, a descending empty skip or cage must assist in pulling up a loaded one. therefore, except in mines of very small output, at least two compartments must be made for hoisting purposes. water has to be pumped from most mines, escape-ways are necessary, together with room for wires and air-pipes, so that at least one more compartment must be provided for these objects. we have thus three compartments as a sound minimum for any shaft where more than trivial output is required. _second_, there is a certain minimum size of shaft excavation below which there is very little economy in actual rock-breaking.[*] in too confined a space, holes cannot be placed to advantage for the blast, men cannot get round expeditiously, and spoil cannot be handled readily. the writer's own experience leads him to believe that, in so far as rock-breaking is concerned, to sink a shaft fourteen to sixteen feet long by six to seven feet wide outside the timbers, is as cheap as to drive any smaller size within the realm of consideration, and is more rapid. this size of excavation permits of three compartments, each about four to five feet inside the timbers. [footnote *: notes on the cost of shafts in various regions which have been personally collected show a remarkable decrease in the cost per cubic foot of material excavated with increased size of shaft. variations in skill, in economic conditions, and in method of accounting make data regarding different shafts of doubtful value, but the following are of interest:-- in australia, eight shafts between and feet long by to feet wide cost an average of $ . per cubic foot of material excavated. six shafts to feet long by to feet wide cost an average of $ . per cubic foot; seven shafts to feet long and to feet wide cost an average of $ . per cubic foot. in south africa, eleven shafts to feet long by to feet wide cost an average of $ . per cubic foot; five shafts to feet long by feet wide, cost $ . ; and seven shafts feet by feet cost $ . per cubic foot.] the cost of timber, it is true, is a factor of the size of shaft, but the labor of timbering does not increase in the same ratio. in any event, the cost of timber is only about % of the actual shaft cost, even in localities of extremely high prices. _third_, three reasons are rapidly making the self-dumping skip the almost universal shaft-vehicle, instead of the old cage for cars. first, there is a great economy in labor for loading into and discharging from a shaft; second, there is more rapid despatch and discharge and therefore a larger number of possible trips; third, shaft-haulage is then independent of delays in arrival of cars at stations, while tramming can be done at any time and shaft-haulage can be concentrated into certain hours. cages to carry mine cars and handle the same load as a skip must either be big enough to take two cars, which compels a much larger shaft than is necessary with skips, or they must be double-decked, which renders loading arrangements underground costly to install and expensive to work. for all these reasons, cages can be justified only on metal mines of such small tonnage that time is no consideration and where the saving of men is not to be effected. in compartments of the minimum size mentioned above (four to five feet either way) a skip with a capacity of from two to five tons can be installed, although from two to three tons is the present rule. lighter loads than this involve more trips, and thus less hourly capacity, and, on the other hand, heavier loads require more costly engines. this matter is further discussed under "haulage appliances." we have therefore as the economic minimum a shaft of three compartments (fig. ), each four to five feet square. when the maximum tonnage is wanted from such a shaft at the least operating cost, it should be equipped with loading bins and skips. the output capacity of shafts of this size and equipment will depend in a major degree upon the engine employed, and in a less degree upon the hauling depth. the reason why depth is a subsidiary factor is that the rapidity with which a load can be drawn is not wholly a factor of depth. the time consumed in hoisting is partially expended in loading, in acceleration and retardation of the engine, and in discharge of the load. these factors are constant for any depth, and extra distance is therefore accomplished at full speed of the engine. vertical shafts will, other things being equal, have greater capacity than inclines, as winding will be much faster and length of haul less for same depth. since engines have, however, a great tractive ability on inclines, by an increase in the size of skip it is usually possible partially to equalize matters. therefore the size of inclines for the same output need not differ materially from vertical shafts. the maximum capacity of a shaft whose equipment is of the character and size given above, will, as stated, decrease somewhat with extension in depth of the haulage horizon. at feet, such a shaft if vertical could produce to tons per hour comfortably with an engine whose winding speed was feet per minute. as men and material other than ore have to be handled in and out of the mine, and shaft-sinking has to be attended to, the winding engine cannot be employed all the time on ore. twelve hours of actual daily ore-winding are all that can be expected without auxiliary help. this represents a capacity from such a depth of to , tons per day. a similar shaft, under ordinary working conditions, with an engine speed of , feet per minute, should from, say, , feet have a capacity of about to tons daily. it is desirable to inquire at what stages the size of shaft should logically be enlarged in order to attain greater capacity. a considerable measure of increase can be obtained by relieving the main hoisting engine of all or part of its collateral duties. where the pumping machinery is not elaborate, it is often possible to get a small single winding compartment into the gangway without materially increasing the size of the shaft if the haulage compartments be made somewhat narrower (fig. ). such a compartment would be operated by an auxiliary engine for sinking, handling tools and material, and assisting in handling men. if this arrangement can be effected, the productive time of the main engine can be expanded to about twenty hours with an addition of about two-thirds to the output. where the exigencies of pump and gangway require more than two and one-half feet of shaft length, the next stage of expansion becomes four full-sized compartments (fig. ). by thus enlarging the auxiliary winding space, some assistance may be given to ore-haulage in case of necessity. the mine whose output demands such haulage provisions can usually stand another foot of width to the shaft, so that the dimensions come to about feet to feet by feet to feet outside the timbers. such a shaft, with three- to four-ton skips and an appropriate engine, will handle up to tons per hour from a depth of , feet. the next logical step in advance is the shaft of five compartments with four full-sized haulage ways (fig. ), each of greater size than in the above instance. in this case, the auxiliary engine becomes a balanced one, and can be employed part of the time upon ore-haulage. such a shaft will be about feet to feet long by feet wide outside the timbers, when provision is made for one gangway. the capacity of such shafts can be up to , tons a day, depending on the depth and engine. when very large quantities of water are to be dealt with and rod-driven pumps to be used, two pumping compartments are sometimes necessary, but other forms of pumps do not require more than one compartment,--an additional reason for their use. for depths greater than , feet, other factors come into play. ventilation questions become of more import. the mechanical problems on engines and ropes become involved, and their sum-effect is to demand much increased size and a greater number of compartments. the shafts at johannesburg intended as outlets for workings , feet deep are as much as feet by feet outside timbers. it is not purposed to go into details as to sinking methods or timbering. while important matters, they would unduly prolong this discussion. besides, a multitude of treatises exist on these subjects and cover all the minutiæ of such work. speed of sinking.--mines may be divided into two cases,--those being developed only, and those being operated as well as developed. in the former, the entrance into production is usually dependent upon the speed at which the shaft is sunk. until the mine is earning profits, there is a loss of interest on the capital involved, which, in ninety-nine instances out of a hundred, warrants any reasonable extra expenditure to induce more rapid progress. in the case of mines in operation, the volume of ore available to treatment or valuation is generally dependent to a great degree upon the rapidity of the extension of workings in depth. it will be demonstrated later that, both from a financial and a technical standpoint, the maximum development is the right one and that unremitting extension in depth is not only justifiable but necessary. speed under special conditions or over short periods has a more romantic than practical interest, outside of its value as a stimulant to emulation. the thing that counts is the speed which can be maintained over the year. rapidity of sinking depends mainly on:-- _a_. whether the shaft is or is not in use for operating the mine. _b_. the breaking character of the rock. _c_. the amount of water. the delays incident to general carrying of ore and men are such that the use of the main haulage engine for shaft-sinking is practically impossible, except on mines with small tonnage output. even with a separate winch or auxiliary winding-engine, delays are unavoidable in a working shaft, especially as it usually has more water to contend with than one not in use for operating the mine. the writer's own impression is that an average of feet per month is the maximum possibility for year in and out sinking under such conditions. in fact, few going mines manage more than feet a year. in cases of clean shaft-sinking, where every energy is bent to speed, feet per month have been averaged for many months. special cases have occurred where as much as feet have been achieved in a single month. with ordinary conditions, , feet in a year is very good work. rock awkward to break, and water especially, lowers the rate of progress very materially. further reference to speed will be found in the chapter on "drilling methods." tunnel entry.--the alternative of entry to a mine by tunnel is usually not a question of topography altogether, but, like everything else in mining science, has to be tempered to meet the capital available and the expenditure warranted by the value showing. in the initial prospecting of a mine, tunnels are occasionally overdone by prospectors. often more would be proved by a few inclines. as the pioneer has to rely upon his right arm for hoisting and drainage, the tunnel offers great temptations, even when it is long and gains but little depth. at a more advanced stage of development, the saving of capital outlay on hoisting and pumping equipment, at a time when capital is costly to secure, is often sufficient justification for a tunnel entry. but at the stage where the future working of ore below a tunnel-level must be contemplated, other factors enter. for ore below tunnel-level a shaft becomes necessary, and in cases where a tunnel enters a few hundred feet below the outcrop the shaft should very often extend to the surface, because internal shafts, winding from tunnel-level, require large excavations to make room for the transfer of ore and for winding gear. the latter must be operated by transmitted power, either that of steam, water, electricity, or air. where power has to be generated on the mine, the saving by the use of direct steam, generated at the winding gear, is very considerable. moreover, the cost of haulage through a shaft for the extra distance from tunnel-level to the surface is often less than the cost of transferring the ore and removing it through the tunnel. the load once on the winding-engine, the consumption of power is small for the extra distance, and the saving of labor is of consequence. on the other hand, where drainage problems arise, they usually outweigh all other considerations, for whatever the horizon entered by tunnel, the distance from that level to the surface means a saving of water-pumpage against so much head. the accumulation of such constant expense justifies a proportioned capital outlay. in other words, the saving of this extra pumping will annually redeem the cost of a certain amount of tunnel, even though it be used for drainage only. in order to emphasize the rapidity with which such a saving of constant expense will justify capital outlay, one may tabulate the result of calculations showing the length of tunnel warranted with various hypothetical factors of quantity of water and height of lift eliminated from pumping. in these computations, power is taken at the low rate of $ per horsepower-year, the cost of tunneling at an average figure of $ per foot, and the time on the basis of a ten-year life for the mine. feet of tunnel paid for in years with under-mentioned conditions. ============================================================= feet of | , | , | , | , | , , water lift | gallons | gallons | gallons | gallons | gallons avoided |per diem |per diem |per diem |per diem |per diem -----------|---------|---------|---------|---------|--------- | | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , | , , | , | , | , | , | , ============================================================= the size of tunnels where ore-extraction is involved depends upon the daily tonnage output required, and the length of haul. the smallest size that can be economically driven and managed is about - / feet by feet inside the timbers. such a tunnel, with single track for a length of , feet, with one turn-out, permits handling up to tons a day with men and animals. if the distance be longer or the tonnage greater, a double track is required, which necessitates a tunnel at least feet wide by - / feet to feet high, inside the timbers. there are tunnel projects of a much more impressive order than those designed to operate upper levels of mines; that is, long crosscut tunnels designed to drain and operate mines at very considerable depths, such as the sutro tunnel at virginia city. the advantage of these tunnels is very great, especially for drainage, and they must be constructed of large size and equipped with appliances for mechanical haulage. chapter ix. development of mines (_concluded_). subsidiary development;--stations; crosscuts; levels; interval between levels; protection of levels; winzes and rises. development in the prospecting stage; drilling. subsidiary development. stations, crosscuts, levels, winzes, and rises follow after the initial entry. they are all expensive, and the least number that will answer is the main desideratum. stations.--as stations are the outlets of the levels to the shaft, their size and construction is a factor of the volume and character of the work at the levels which they are to serve. if no timber is to be handled, and little ore, and this on cages, the stations need be no larger than a good sized crosscut. where timber is to be let down, they must be ten to fifteen feet higher than the floor of the crosscut. where loading into skips is to be provided for, bins must be cut underneath and sufficient room be provided to shift the mine cars comfortably. such bins are built of from to tons' capacity in order to contain some reserve for hoisting purposes, and in many cases separate bins must be provided on opposite sides of the shaft for ore and waste. it is a strong argument in favor of skips, that with this means of haulage storage capacity at the stations is possible, and the hoisting may then go on independently of trucking and, as said before, there are no idle men at the stations. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of station arrangement for skip-haulage in vertical shaft.] [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of station arrangement for skip-haulage in vertical shaft.] it is always desirable to concentrate the haulage to the least number of levels, for many reasons. among them is that, where haulage is confined to few levels, storage-bins are not required at every station. figures , , , and illustrate various arrangements of loading bins. crosscuts.--crosscuts are for two purposes, for roadway connection of levels to the shaft or to other levels, and for prospecting purposes. the number of crosscuts for roadways can sometimes be decreased by making the connections with the shaft at every second or even every third level, thus not only saving in the construction cost of crosscuts and stations, but also in the expenses of scattered tramming. the matter becomes especially worth considering where the quantity of ore that can thus be accumulated warrants mule or mechanical haulage. this subject will be referred to later on. [illustration: fig. .--arrangement of loading chutes in vertical shaft.] on the second purpose of crosscuts,--that of prospecting,--one observation merits emphasis. this is, that the tendency of ore-fissures to be formed in parallels warrants more systematic crosscutting into the country rock than is done in many mines. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of station arrangement for skip-haulage in inclined shaft.] levels. the word "level" is another example of miners' adaptations in nomenclature. its use in the sense of tunnels driven in the direction of the strike of the deposit has better, but less used, synonyms in the words "drifts" or "drives." the term "level" is used by miners in two senses, in that it is sometimes applied to all openings on one horizon, crosscuts included. levels are for three purposes,--for a stoping base; for prospecting the deposit; and for roadways. as a prospecting and a stoping base it is desirable that the level should be driven on the deposit; as a roadway, that it should constitute the shortest distance between two points and be in the soundest ground. on narrow, erratic deposits the levels usually must serve all three purposes at once; but in wider and more regular deposits levels are often driven separately for roadways from the level which forms the stoping base and prospecting datum. there was a time when mines were worked by driving the level on ore and enlarging it top and bottom as far as the ground would stand, then driving the next level to feet below, and repeating the operation. this interval gradually expanded, but for some reason feet was for years assumed to be the proper distance between levels. scattered over every mining camp on earth are thousands of mines opened on this empirical figure, without consideration of the reasons for it or for any other distance. the governing factors in determining the vertical interval between levels are the following:-- _a_. the regularity of the deposit. _b_. the effect of the method of excavation of winzes and rises. _c_. the dip and the method of stoping. regularity of the deposit.--from a prospecting point of view the more levels the better, and the interval therefore must be determined somewhat by the character of the deposit. in erratic deposits there is less risk of missing ore with frequent levels, but it does not follow that every level need be a through roadway to the shaft or even a stoping base. in such deposits, intermediate levels for prospecting alone are better than complete levels, each a roadway. nor is it essential, even where frequent levels are required for a stoping base, that each should be a main haulage outlet to the shaft. in some mines every third level is used as a main roadway, the ore being poured from the intermediate ones down to the haulage line. thus tramming and shaft work, as stated before, can be concentrated. effect of method of excavating winzes and rises.--with hand drilling and hoisting, winzes beyond a limited depth become very costly to pull spoil out of, and rises too high become difficult to ventilate, so that there is in such cases a limit to the interval desirable between levels, but these difficulties largely disappear where air-winches and air-drills are used. the dip and method of stoping.--the method of stoping is largely dependent upon the dip, and indirectly thus affects level intervals. in dips under that at which material will "flow" in the stopes--about ° to °--the interval is greatly dependent on the method of stope-transport. where ore is to be shoveled from stopes to the roadway, the levels must be comparatively close together. where deposits are very flat, under °, and walls fairly sound, it is often possible to use a sort of long wall system of stoping and to lay tracks in the stopes with self-acting inclines to the levels. in such instances, the interval can be expanded to or even feet. in dips between ° and °, tracks are not often possible, and either shoveling or "bumping troughs"[*] are the only help to transport. with shoveling, intervals of feet[**] are most common, and with troughs the distance can be expanded up to or feet. [footnote *: page .] [footnote **: intervals given are measured on the dip.] in dips of over ° to °, depending on the smoothness of the foot wall, the distance can again be increased, as stope-transport is greatly simplified, since the stope materials fall out by gravity. in timbered stopes, in dips over about °, intervals of to feet are possible. in filled stopes intervals of over feet present difficulties in the maintenance of ore-passes, for the wear and tear of longer use often breaks the timbers. in shrinkage-stopes, where no passes are to be maintained and few winzes put through, the interval is sometimes raised to feet. the subject is further discussed under "stoping." another factor bearing on level intervals is the needed insurance of sufficient points of stoping attack to keep up a certain output. this must particularly influence the manager whose mine has but little ore in reserve. [illustration: fig. .] protection of levels.--until recent years, timbering and occasional walling was the only method for the support of the roof, and for forming a platform for a stoping base. where the rock requires no support sublevels can be used as a stoping base, and timbering for such purpose avoided altogether (figs. , , ). in such cases the main roadway can then be driven on straight lines, either in the walls or in the ore, and used entirely for haulage. the subheading for a stoping base is driven far enough above or below the roadway (depending on whether overhand or underhand stoping is to be used) to leave a supporting pillar which is penetrated by short passes for ore. in overhand stopes, the ore is broken directly on the floor of an upper sublevel; and in underhand stopes, broken directly from the bottom of the sublevel. the method entails leaving a pillar of ore which can be recovered only with difficulty in mines where stope-support is necessary. the question of its adoption is then largely one of the comparative cost of timbering, the extra cost of the sublevel, and the net value of the ore left. in bad swelling veins, or badly crushing walls, where constant repair to timbers would be necessary, the use of a sublevel is a most useful alternative. it is especially useful with stopes to be left open or worked by shrinkage-stoping methods. if the haulage level, however, is to be the stoping base, some protection to the roadway must be provided. there are three systems in use,--by wood stulls or sets (figs. , , ), by dry-walling with timber caps (fig. ), and in some localities by steel sets. stulls are put up in various ways, and, as their use entails the least difficulty in taking the ore out from beneath the level, they are much favored, but are applicable only in comparatively narrow deposits. winzes and rises. these two kinds of openings for connecting two horizons in a mine differ only in their manner of construction. a winze is sunk underhand, while a rise is put up overhand. when the connection between levels is completed, a miner standing at the bottom usually refers to the opening as a rise, and when he goes to the top he calls it a winze. this confusion in terms makes it advisable to refer to all such completed openings as winzes, regardless of how they are constructed. in actual work, even disregarding water, it costs on the average about % less to raise than to sink such openings, for obviously the spoil runs out or is assisted by gravity in one case, and in the other has to be shoveled and hauled up. moreover, it is easier to follow the ore in a rise than in a winze. it usually happens, however, that in order to gain time both things are done, and for prospecting purposes sinking is necessary. the number of winzes required depends upon the method of stoping adopted, and is mentioned under "stoping." after stoping, the number necessary to be maintained open depends upon the necessities of ventilation, of escape, and of passageways for material to be used below. where stopes are to be filled with waste, more winzes must be kept open than when other methods are used, and these winzes must be in sufficient alignment to permit the continuous flow of material down past the various levels. in order that the winzes should deliver timber and filling to the most advantageous points, they should, in dipping ore-bodies, be as far as possible on the hanging wall side. development in the early prospecting stage. the prime objects in the prospecting stage are to expose the ore and to learn regarding the ore-bodies something of their size, their value, metallurgical character, location, dip, strike, etc.,--so much at least as may be necessary to determine the works most suitable for their extraction or values warranting purchase. in outcrop mines there is one rule, and that is "follow the ore." small temporary inclines following the deposit, even though they are eventually useless; are nine times out of ten justified. in prospecting deep-level projects, it is usually necessary to layout work which can be subsequently used in operating the mine, because the depth involves works of such considerable scale, even for prospecting, that the initial outlay does not warrant any anticipation of revision. such works have to be located and designed after a study of the general geology as disclosed in adjoining mines. practically the only method of supplementing such information is by the use of churn- and diamond-drills. drilling.--churn-drills are applicable only to comparatively shallow deposits of large volume. they have an advantage over the diamond drill in exposing a larger section and in their application to loose material; but inability to determine the exact horizon of the spoil does not lend them to narrow deposits, and in any event results are likely to be misleading from the finely ground state of the spoil. they are, however, of very great value for preliminary prospecting to shallow horizons. two facts in diamond-drilling have to be borne in mind: the indication of values is liable to be misleading, and the deflection of the drill is likely to carry it far away from its anticipated destination. a diamond-drill secures a small section which is sufficiently large to reveal the geology, but the values disclosed in metal mines must be accepted with reservations. the core amounts to but a little sample out of possibly large amounts of ore, which is always of variable character, and the core is most unlikely to represent the average of the deposit. two diamond-drill holes on the oroya brownhill mine both passed through the ore-body. one apparently disclosed unpayable values, the other seemingly showed ore forty feet in width assaying $ per ton. neither was right. on the other hand, the predetermination of the location of the ore-body justified expenditure. a recent experiment at johannesburg of placing a copper wedge in the hole at a point above the ore-body and deflecting the drill on reintroducing it, was successful in giving a second section of the ore at small expense. the deflection of diamond-drill holes from the starting angle is almost universal. it often amounts to a considerable wandering from the intended course. the amount of such deflection varies with no seeming rule, but it is probable that it is especially affected by the angle at which stratification or lamination planes are inclined to the direction of the hole. a hole has been known to wander in a depth of , feet more than feet from the point intended. various instruments have been devised for surveying deep holes, and they should be brought into use before works are laid out on the basis of diamond-drill results, although none of the inventions are entirely satisfactory. chapter x. stoping. methods of ore-breaking; underhand stopes; overhand stopes; combined stope. valuing ore in course of breaking. there is a great deal of confusion in the application of the word "stoping." it is used not only specifically to mean the actual ore-breaking, but also in a general sense to indicate all the operations of ore-breaking, support of excavations, and transportation between levels. it is used further as a noun to designate the hole left when the ore is taken out. worse still, it is impossible to adhere to miners' terms without employing it in every sense, trusting to luck and the context to make the meaning clear. the conditions which govern the method of stoping are in the main:-- _a_. the dip. _b_. the width of the deposit. _c_. the character of the walls. _d_. the cost of materials. _e_. the character of the ore. every mine, and sometimes every stope in a mine, is a problem special to itself. any general consideration must therefore be simply an inquiry into the broad principles which govern the adaptability of special methods. a logical arrangement of discussion is difficult, if not wholly impossible, because the factors are partially interdependent and of varying importance. for discussion the subject may be divided into: . methods of ore-breaking. . methods of supporting excavation. . methods of transport in stopes. methods of ore-breaking. the manner of actual ore-breaking is to drill and blast off slices from the block of ground under attack. as rock obviously breaks easiest when two sides are free, that is, when corners can be broken off, the detail of management for blasts is therefore to set the holes so as to preserve a corner for the next cut; and as a consequence the face of the stope shapes into a series of benches (fig. ),--inverted benches in the case of overhand stopes (figs. , ). the size of these benches will in a large measure depend on the depth of the holes. in wide stopes with machine-drills they vary from to feet; in narrow stopes with hand-holes, from two to three feet. [illustration: fig. .] the position of the men in relation to the working face gives rise to the usual primary classification of the methods of stoping. they are:-- . underhand stopes, . overhand stopes, . combined stopes. these terms originated from the direction of the drill-holes, but this is no longer a logical basis of distinction, for underhand holes in overhand stopes,--as in rill-stoping,--are used entirely in some mines (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .] underhand stopes.--underhand stopes are those in which the ore is broken downward from the levels. inasmuch as this method has the advantage of allowing the miner to strike his blows downward and to stand upon the ore when at work, it was almost universal before the invention of powder; and was applied more generally before the invention of machine-drills than since. it is never rightly introduced unless the stope is worked back from winzes through which the ore broken can be let down to the level below, as shown in figures and . [illustration: fig. .] this system can be advantageously applied only in the rare cases in which the walls require little or no support, and where very little or no waste requiring separation is broken with the ore in the stopes. to support the walls in bad ground in underhand stopes would be far more costly than with overhand stopes, for square-set timbering would be most difficult to introduce, and to support the walls with waste and stulls would be even more troublesome. any waste broken must needs be thrown up to the level above or be stored upon specially built stages--again a costly proceeding. a further drawback lies in the fact that the broken ore follows down the face of the stope, and must be shoveled off each bench. it thus all arrives at a single point,--the winze,--and must be drawn from a single ore-pass into the level. this usually results not only in more shoveling but in a congestion at the passes not present in overhand stoping, for with that method several chutes are available for discharging ore into the levels. where the walls require no support and no selection is desired in the stopes, the advantage of the men standing on the solid ore to work, and of having all down holes and therefore drilled wet, gives this method a distinct place. in using this system, in order to protect the men, a pillar is often left under the level by driving a sublevel, the pillar being easily recoverable later. the method of sublevels is of advantage largely in avoiding the timbering of levels. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of an underhand stope.] overhand stopes.--by far the greatest bulk of ore is broken overhand, that is broken upward from one level to the next above. there are two general forms which such stopes are given,--"horizontal" and "rill." [illustration: fig. .--horizontal-cut overhand stope--longitudinal section.] the horizontal "flat-back" or "long-wall" stope, as it is variously called, shown in figure , is operated by breaking the ore in slices parallel with the levels. in rill-stoping the ore is cut back from the winzes in such a way that a pyramid-shaped room is created, with its apex in the winze and its base at the level (figs. and ). horizontal or flat-backed stopes can be applied to almost any dip, while "rill-stoping" finds its most advantageous application where the dip is such that the ore will "run," or where it can be made to "run" with a little help. the particular application of the two systems is dependent not only on the dip but on the method of supporting the excavation and the ore. with rill-stoping, it is possible to cut the breaking benches back horizontally from the winzes (fig. ), or to stagger the cuts in such a manner as to take the slices in a descending angle (figs. and ). [illustration: fig. .--rill-cut overhand stope--longitudinal section.] in the "rill" method of incline cuts, all the drill-holes are "down" holes (fig. ), and can be drilled wet, while in horizontal cuts or flat-backed stopes, at least part of the holes must be "uppers" (fig. ). aside from the easier and cheaper drilling and setting up of machines with this kind of "cut," there is no drill dust,--a great desideratum in these days of miners' phthisis. a further advantage in the "rill" cut arises in cases where horizontal jointing planes run through the ore of a sort from which unduly large masses break away in "flat-back" stopes. by the descending cut of the "rill" method these calamities can be in a measure avoided. in cases of dips over º the greatest advantage in "rill" stoping arises from the possibility of pouring filling or timber into the stope from above with less handling, because the ore and material will run down the sides of the pyramid (figs. and ). thus not only is there less shoveling required, but fewer ore-passes and a less number of preliminary winzes are necessary, and a wider level interval is possible. this matter will be gone into more fully later. [illustration: fig. .--rill-cut overhand stope-longitudinal section.] combined stopes.--a combined stope is made by the coincident working of the underhand and "rill" method (fig. ). this order of stope has the same limitations in general as the underhand kind. for flat veins with strong walls, it has a great superiority in that the stope is carried back more or less parallel with the winzes, and thus broken ore after blasting lies in a line on the gradient of the stope. it is, therefore, conveniently placed for mechanical stope haulage. a further advantage is gained in that winzes may be placed long distances apart, and that men are not required, either when at work or passing to and from it, to be ever far from the face, and they are thus in the safest ground, so that timber and filling protection which may be otherwise necessary is not required. this method is largely used in south africa. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of a combined stope.] minimum width of stopes.--the minimum stoping width which can be consistently broken with hand-holes is about inches, and this only where there is considerable dip to the ore. this space is so narrow that it is of doubtful advantage in any case, and inches is more common in narrow mines, especially where worked with white men. where machine-drills are used about feet is the minimum width feasible. resuing.--in very narrow veins where a certain amount of wall-rock must be broken to give working space, it pays under some circumstances to advance the stope into the wall-rock ahead of the ore, thus stripping the ore and enabling it to be broken separately. this permits of cleaner selection of the ore; but it is a problem to be worked out in each case, as to whether rough sorting of some waste in the stopes, or further sorting at surface with inevitable treatment of some waste rock, is more economical than separate stoping cuts and inevitably wider stopes. valuing ore in course of breaking.--there are many ores whose payability can be determined by inspection, but there are many of which it cannot. continuous assaying is in the latter cases absolutely necessary to avoid the treatment of valueless material. in such instances, sampling after each stoping-cut is essential, the unprofitable ore being broken down and used as waste. where values fade into the walls, as in impregnation deposits, the width of stopes depends upon the limit of payability. in these cases, drill-holes are put into the walls and the drillings assayed. if the ore is found profitable, the holes are blasted out. the gauge of what is profitable in such situations is not dependent simply upon the average total working costs of the mine, for ore in that position can be said to cost nothing for development work and administration; moreover, it is usually more cheaply broken than the average breaking cost, men and machines being already on the spot. chapter xi. methods of supporting excavation. timbering; filling with waste; filling with broken ore; pillars of ore; artificial pillars; caving system. most stopes require support to be given to the walls and often to the ore itself. where they do require support there are five principal methods of accomplishing it. the application of any particular method depends upon the dip, width of ore-body, character of the ore and walls, and cost of materials. the various systems are by:-- . timbering. . filling with waste. . filling with broken ore subsequently withdrawn. . pillars of ore. . artificial pillars built of timbers and waste. . caving. timbering.--at one time timbering was the almost universal means of support in such excavations, but gradually various methods for the economical application of waste and ore itself have come forward, until timbering is fast becoming a secondary device. aside from economy in working without it, the dangers of creeps, or crushing, and of fires are sufficient incentives to do away with wood as far as possible. there are three principal systems of timber support to excavations,--by stulls, square-sets, and cribs. stulls are serviceable only where the deposit is so narrow that the opening can be bridged by single timbers between wall and wall (figs. and ). this system can be applied to any dip and is most useful in narrow deposits where the walls are not too heavy. stulls in inclined deposits are usually set at a slightly higher angle than that perpendicular to the walls, in order that the vertical pressure of the hanging wall will serve to tighten them in position. the "stull" system can, in inclined deposits, be further strengthened by building waste pillars against them, in which case the arrangement merges into the system of artificial pillars. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of stull-supported stope.] [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section showing square-set timbering.] [illustration: fig. .--square-set timbering on inclined ore-body. showing ultimate strain on timbers.] square-sets (figs. and ), that is, trusses built in the opening as the ore is removed, are applicable to almost any dip or width of ore, but generally are applied only in deposits too wide, or to rock too heavy, for stulls. such trusses are usually constructed on vertical and horizontal lines, and while during actual ore-breaking the strains are partially vertical, ultimately, however, when the weight of the walls begins to be felt, these strains, except in vertical deposits, come at an angle to lines of strength in the trusses, and therefore timber constructions of this type present little ultimate resistance (fig. ). square-set timbers are sometimes set to present the maximum resistance to the direction of strain, but the difficulties of placing them in position and variations in the direction of strain on various parts of the stope do not often commend the method. as a general rule square-sets on horizontal lines answer well enough for the period of actual ore-breaking. the crushing or creeps is usually some time later; and if the crushing may damage the whole mine, their use is fraught with danger. reënforcement by building in waste is often resorted to. when done fully, it is difficult to see the utility of the enclosed timber, for entire waste-filling would in most cases be cheaper and equally efficient. [illustration: fig. .--"cribs."] there is always, with wood constructions, as said before, the very pertinent danger of subsequent crushing and of subsidence in after years, and the great risk of fires. both these disasters have cost comstock and broken hill mines, directly or indirectly, millions of dollars, and the outlay on timber and repairs one way or another would have paid for the filling system ten times over. there are cases where, by virtue of the cheapness of timber, "square-setting" is the most economical method. again, there are instances where the ore lies in such a manner--particularly in limestone replacements--as to preclude other means of support. these cases are being yearly more and more evaded by the ingenuity of engineers in charge. the author believes it soon will be recognized that the situation is rare indeed where complete square-setting is necessarily without an economical alternative. an objection is sometimes raised to filling in favor of timber, in that if it become desirable to restope the walls for low-grade ore left behind, such stopes could only be entered by drawing the filling, with consequent danger of total collapse. such a contingency can be provided for in large ore-bodies by installing an outer shell of sets of timber around the periphery of the stope and filling the inside with waste. if the crushing possibilities are too great for this method then, the subsequent recovery of ore is hopeless in any event. in narrow ore-bodies with crushing walls recovery of ore once left behind is not often possible. the third sort of timber constructions are cribs, a "log-house" sort of structure usually filled with waste, and more fully discussed under artificial pillars (fig. ). the further comparative merits of timbering with other methods will be analyzed as the different systems are described. filling with waste.--the system of filling stope-excavations completely with waste in alternating progress with ore-breaking is of wide and increasingly general application (figs. , , , ). although a certain amount of waste is ordinarily available in the stopes themselves, or from development work in the mine, such a supply must usually be supplemented from other directions. treatment residues afford the easiest and cheapest handled material. quarried rock ranks next, and in default of any other easy supply, materials from crosscuts driven into the stope-walls are sometimes resorted to. in working the system to the best advantage, the winzes through the block of ore under attack are kept in alignment with similar openings above, in order that filling may be poured through the mine from the surface or any intermediate point. winzes to be used for filling should be put on the hanging-wall side of the area to be filled, for the filling poured down will then reach the foot-wall side of the stopes with a minimum of handling. in some instances, one special winze is arranged for passing all filling from the surface to a level above the principal stoping operations; and it is then distributed along the levels into the winzes, and thus to the operating stopes, by belt-conveyors. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section. rill stope filled with waste.] [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section. horizontal stope filled with waste.] [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section. waste-filled stope with dry-walling of levels and passes.] in this system of stope support the ore is broken at intervals alternating with filling. if there is danger of much loss from mixing broken ore and filling, "sollars" of boards or poles are laid on the waste. if the ore is very rich, old canvas or cowhides are sometimes put under the boards. before the filling interval, the ore passes are built close to the face above previous filling and their tops covered temporarily to prevent their being filled with running waste. if the walls are bad, the filling is kept close to the face. if the unbroken ore requires support, short stulls set on the waste (as in fig. ) are usually sufficient until the next cut is taken off, when the timber can be recovered. if stulls are insufficient, cribs or bulkheads (fig. ) are also used and often buried in the filling. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of fig. on line _a-b_.] both flat-backed and rill-stope methods of breaking are employed in conjunction with filled stopes. the advantages of the rill-stopes are so patent as to make it difficult to understand why they are not universally adopted when the dip permits their use at all. in rill-stopes (figs. and ) the waste flows to its destination with a minimum of handling. winzes and ore-passes are not required with the same frequency as in horizontal breaking, and the broken ore always lies on the slope towards the passes and is therefore also easier to shovel. in flat-backed stopes (fig. ) winzes must be put in every feet or so, while in rill-stopes they can be double this distance apart. the system is applicable by modification to almost any width of ore. it finds its most economical field where the dip of the stope floor is over °, when waste and ore, with the help of the "rill," will flow to their destination. for dips from under about ° to about ° or °, where the waste and ore will not "flow" easily, shoveling can be helped by the use of the "rill" system and often evaded altogether, if flow be assisted by a sheet-iron trough described in the discussion of stope transport. further saving in shoveling can be gained in this method, by giving a steeper pitch to the filling winzes and to the ore-passes, by starting them from crosscuts in the wall, and by carrying them at greater angles than the pitch of the ore (fig. ). these artifices combined have worked out most economically on several mines within the writer's experience, with the dip as flat as °. for very flat dips, where filling is to be employed, rill-stoping has no advantage over flat-backed cuts, and in such cases it is often advisable to assist stope transport by temporary tracks and cars which obviously could not be worked on the tortuous contour of a rill-stope, so that for dips under ° advantage lies with "flat-backed" ore-breaking. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section showing method of steepening winzes and ore passes.] on very wide ore-bodies where the support of the standing ore itself becomes a great problem, the filling system can be applied by combining it with square-setting. in this case the stopes are carried in panels laid out transversally to the strike as wide as the standing strength of the ore permits. on both sides of each panel a fence of lagged square-sets is carried up and the area between is filled with waste. the panels are stoped out alternately. the application of this method at broken hill will be described later. (see pages and figs. and .) the same type of wide ore-body can be managed also on the filling system by the use of frequent "bulkheads" to support the ore (fig. ). compared with timbering methods, filling has the great advantage of more effective support to the mine, less danger of creeps, and absolute freedom from the peril of fire. the relative expense of the two systems is determined by the cost of materials and labor. two extreme cases illustrate the result of these economic factors with sufficient clearness. it is stated that the cost of timbering stopes on the le roi mine by square-sets is about cents per ton of ore excavated. in the ivanhoe mine of west australia the cost of filling stopes with tailings is about cents per ton of ore excavated. at the former mine the average cost of timber is under $ per m board-measure, while at the latter its price would be $ per m board-measure; although labor is about of the same efficiency and wage, the cost in the ivanhoe by square-setting would be about cents per ton of ore broken. in the le roi, on the other hand, no residues are available for filling. to quarry rock or drive crosscuts into the walls might make this system cost cents per ton of ore broken if applied to that mine. the comparative value of the filling method with other systems will be discussed later. filling with broken ore subsequently withdrawn.--this order of support is called by various names, the favorite being "shrinkage-stoping." the method is to break the ore on to the roof of the level, and by thus filling the stope with broken ore, provide temporary support to the walls and furnish standing floor upon which to work in making the next cut (figs. , , and .) as broken material occupies to % more space than rock _in situ_, in order to provide working space at the face, the broken ore must be drawn from along the level after each cut. when the area attacked is completely broken through from level to level, the stope will be full of loose broken ore, which is then entirely drawn off. a block to be attacked by this method requires preliminary winzes only at the extremities of the stope,--for entry and for ventilation. where it is desired to maintain the winzes after stoping, they must either be strongly timbered and lagged on the stope side, be driven in the walls, or be protected by a pillar of ore (fig. ). the settling ore and the crushing after the stope is empty make it difficult to maintain timbered winzes. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of stope filled with broken ore.] where it can be done without danger to the mine, the empty stopes are allowed to cave. if such crushing would be dangerous, either the walls must be held up by pillars of unbroken ore, as in the alaska treadwell, where large "rib" pillars are left, or the open spaces must be filled with waste. filling the empty stope is usually done by opening frequent passes along the base of the filled stope above, and allowing the material of the upper stope to flood the lower one. this program continued upwards through the mine allows the whole filling of the mine to descend gradually and thus requires replenishment only into the top. the old stopes in the less critical and usually exhausted territory nearer the surface are sometimes left without replenishing their filling. the weight of broken ore standing at such a high angle as to settle rapidly is very considerable upon the level; moreover, at the moment when the stope is entirely drawn off, the pressure of the walls as well is likely to be very great. the roadways in this system therefore require more than usual protection. three methods are used: (_a_) timbering; (_b_) driving a sublevel in the ore above the main roadway as a stoping-base, thus leaving a pillar of ore over the roadway (fig. ); (_c_) by dry-walling the levels, as in the baltic mine, michigan (figs. and ). by the use of sublevels the main roadways are sometimes driven in the walls (fig. ) and in many cases all timbering is saved. to recover pillars left below sublevels is a rather difficult task, especially if the old stope above is caved or filled. the use of pillars in substitution for timber, if the pillars are to be lost, is simply a matter of economics as to whether the lost ore would repay the cost of other devices. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of "shrinkage" stope.] frequent ore-chutes through the level timbers, or from the sublevels, are necessary to prevent lodgment of broken ore between such passes, because it is usually too dangerous for men to enter the emptying stope to shovel out the lodged remnants. where the ore-body is wide, and in order that there may be no lodgment of ore, the timbers over the level are set so as to form a trough along the level; or where pillars are left, they are made "a"-shaped between the chutes, as indicated in figure . [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of "shrinkage" stope.] the method of breaking the ore in conjunction with this means of support in comparatively narrow deposits can be on the rill, in order to have the advantage of down holes. usually, however, flat-back or horizontal cuts are desirable, as in such an arrangement it is less troublesome to regulate the drawing of the ore so as to provide proper head room. where stopes are wide, ore is sometimes cut arch-shaped from wall to wall to assure its standing. where this method of support is not of avail, short, sharply tapering stulls are put in from the broken ore to the face (fig. ). when the cut above these stulls is taken out, they are pulled up and are used again. this method of stoping is only applicable when:-- . the deposit dips over °, and thus broken material will freely settle downward to be drawn off from the bottom. . the ore is consistently payable in character. no selection can be done in breaking, as all material broken must be drawn off together. . the hanging wall is strong, and will not crush or spall off waste into the ore. . the ore-body is regular in size, else loose ore will lodge on the foot wall. stopes opened in this manner when partially empty are too dangerous for men to enter for shoveling out remnants. the advantages of this system over others, where it is applicable, are:-- (_a_) a greater distance between levels can be operated and few winzes and rises are necessary, thus a great saving of development work can be effected. a stope to feet long can be operated with a winze at either end and with levels or feet apart. (_b_) there is no shoveling in the stopes at all. (_c_) no timber is required. as compared with timbering by stulling, it will apply to stopes too wide and walls too heavy for this method. moreover, little staging is required for working the face, since ore can be drawn from below in such a manner as to allow just the right head room. (_d_) compared to the system of filling with waste, coincidentally with breaking (second method), it saves altogether in some cases the cost of filling. in any event, it saves the cost of ore-passes, of shoveling into them, and of the detailed distribution of the filling. compared with other methods, the system has the following disadvantages, that: _a_. the ore requires to be broken in the stopes to a degree of fineness which will prevent blocking of the chutes at the level. when pieces too large reach the chutes, nothing will open them but blasting,--to the damage of timbers and chutes. some large rocks are always liable to be buried in the course of ore-breaking. _b_. practically no such perfection of walls exists, but some spalling of waste into the ore will take place. a crushing of the walls would soon mean the loss of large amounts of ore. _c_. there is no possibility of regulating the mixture of grade of ore by varying the working points. it is months after the ore is broken before it can reach the levels. _d_. the breaking of % more ore than immediate treatment demands results in the investment of a considerable sum of money. an equilibrium is ultimately established in a mine worked on this system when a certain number of stopes full of completely broken ore are available for entire withdrawal, and there is no further accumulation. but, in any event, a considerable amount of broken ore must be held in reserve. in one mine worked on this plan, with which the writer has had experience, the annual production is about , tons and the broken ore represents an investment which, at %, means an annual loss of interest amounting to cents per ton of ore treated. _e_. a mine once started on the system is most difficult to alter, owing to the lack of frequent winzes or passes. especially is this so if the only alternative is filling, for an alteration to the system of filling coincident with breaking finds the mine short of filling winzes. as the conditions of walls and ore often alter with depth, change of system may be necessary and the situation may become very embarrassing. _f_. the restoping of the walls for lower-grade ore at a later period is impossible, for the walls of the stope will be crushed, or, if filled with waste, will usually crush when it is drawn off to send to a lower stope. the system has much to recommend it where conditions are favorable. like all other alternative methods of mining, it requires the most careful study in the light of the special conditions involved. in many mines it can be used for some stopes where not adaptable generally. it often solves the problem of blind ore-bodies, for they can by this means be frequently worked with an opening underneath only. thus the cost of driving a roadway overhead is avoided, which would be required if timber or coincident filling were the alternatives. in such cases ventilation can be managed without an opening above, by so directing the current of air that it will rise through a winze from the level below, flow along the stope and into the level again at the further end of the stope through another winze. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section. ore-pillar support in narrow stopes.] support by pillars of ore.--as a method of mining metals of the sort under discussion, the use of ore-pillars except in conjunction with some other means of support has no general application. to use them without assistance implies walls sufficiently strong to hold between pillars; to leave them permanently anywhere implies that the ore abandoned would not repay the labor and the material of a substitute. there are cases of large, very low-grade mines where to abandon one-half the ore as pillars is more profitable than total extraction, but the margin of payability in such ore must be very, very narrow. unpayable spots are always left as pillars, for obvious reasons. permanent ore-pillars as an adjunct to other methods of support are in use. such are the rib-pillars in the alaska treadwell, the form of which is indicated by the upward extension of the pillars adjacent to the winzes, shown in figure . always a careful balance must be cast as to the value of the ore left, and as to the cost of a substitute, because every ore-pillar can be removed at some outlay. temporary pillars are not unusual, particularly to protect roadways and shafts. they are, when left for these purposes, removed ultimately, usually by beginning at the farther end and working back to the final exit. [illustration: fig. .--horizontal plan at levels of broken hill. method of alternate stopes and ore-pillars.] [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of figure .] a form of temporary ore-pillars in very wide deposits is made use of in conjunction with both filling and timbering (figs. , , ). in the use of temporary pillars for ore-bodies to feet wide at broken hill, stopes are carried up at right angles to the strike, each fifty feet wide and clear across the ore-body (figs. and ). a solid pillar of the same width is left in the first instance between adjacent stopes, and the initial series of stopes are walled with one square-set on the sides as the stope is broken upward. the room between these two lines of sets is filled with waste alternating with ore-breaking in the usual filling method. when the ore from the first group of alternate stopes (_abc_, fig. ) is completely removed, the pillars are stoped out and replaced with waste. the square-sets of the first set of stopes thus become the boundaries of the second set. entry and ventilation are obtained through these lines of square-sets, and the ore is passed out of the stopes through them. [illustration: fig. .--cross-section of stull support with waste reënforcement.] artificial pillars.--this system also implies a roof so strong as not to demand continuous support. artificial pillars are built in many different ways. the method most current in fairly narrow deposits is to reënforce stulls by packing waste above them (figs. and ). not only is it thus possible to economize in stulls by using the waste which accumulates underground, but the principle applies also to cases where the stulls alone are not sufficient support, and yet where complete filling or square-setting is unnecessary. when the conditions are propitious for this method, it has the comparative advantage over timber systems of saving timber, and over filling systems of saving imported filling. moreover, these constructions being pillar-shaped (fig. ), the intervals between them provide outlets for broken ore, and specially built passes are unnecessary. the method has two disadvantages as against the square-set or filling process, in that more staging must be provided from which to work, and in stopes over six feet the erection of machine-drill columns is tedious and costly in time and wages. [illustration: fig. .--longitudinal section of stull and waste pillars.] in wide deposits of markedly flat, irregular ore-bodies, where a definite system is difficult and where timber is expensive, cribs of cord-wood or logs filled with waste after the order shown in figure , often make fairly sound pillars. they will not last indefinitely and are best adapted to the temporary support of the ore-roof pending filling. the increased difficulty in setting up machine drills in such stopes adds to the breaking costs,--often enough to warrant another method of support. [illustration: fig. .--sublevel caving system.] caving systems.--this method, with variations, has been applied to large iron deposits, to the kimberley diamond mines, to some copper mines, but in general it has little application to the metal mines under consideration, as few ore-bodies are of sufficiently large horizontal area. the system is dependent upon a large area of loose or "heavy" ground pressing directly on the ore with weight, such that if the ore be cut into pillars, these will crush. the details of the system vary, but in general the _modus operandi_ is to prepare roadways through the ore, and from the roadways to put rises, from which sublevels are driven close under the floating mass of waste and ore,--sometimes called the "matte" (fig. ). the pillars between these sublevels are then cut away until the weight above crushes them down. when all the crushed ore which can be safely reached is extracted, retreat is made and another series of subopenings is then driven close under the "matte." the pillar is reduced until it crushes and the operation is repeated. eventually the bottom strata of the "matte" become largely ore, and a sort of equilibrium is reached when there is not much loss in this direction. "top slicing" is a variation of the above method by carrying a horizontal stope from the rises immediately under the matte, supporting the floating material with timber. at kimberley the system is varied in that galleries are run out to the edge of the diamond-iferous area and enlarged until the pillar between crushes. in the caving methods, between and % of the ore is removed by the preliminary openings, and as they are all headings of some sort, the average cost per ton of this particular ore is higher than by ordinary stoping methods. on the other hand, the remaining to % of the ore costs nothing to break, and the average cost is often remarkably low. as said, the system implies bodies of large horizontal area. they must start near enough to the surface that the whole superincumbent mass may cave and give crushing weight, or the immediately overhanging roof must easily cave. all of these are conditions not often met with in mines of the character under review. chapter xii. mechanical equipment. conditions bearing on mine equipment; winding appliances; haulage equipment in shafts; lateral underground transport; transport in stopes. there is no type of mechanical engineering which presents such complexities in determination of the best equipment as does that of mining. not only does the economic side dominate over pure mechanics, but machines must be installed and operated under difficulties which arise from the most exceptional and conflicting conditions, none of which can be entirely satisfied. compromise between capital outlay, operating efficiency, and conflicting demands is the key-note of the work. these compromises are brought about by influences which lie outside the questions of mechanics of individual machines, and are mainly as follows:-- . continuous change in horizon of operations. . uncertain life of the enterprise. . care and preservation of human life. . unequal adaptability of power transmission mediums. . origin of power. _first._--the depth to be served and the volume of ore and water to be handled, are not only unknown at the initial equipment, but they are bound to change continuously in quantity, location, and horizon with the extension of the workings. _second._--from the mine manager's point of view, which must embrace that of the mechanical engineer, further difficulty presents itself because the life of the enterprise is usually unknown, and therefore a manifest necessity arises for an economic balance of capital outlay and of operating efficiency commensurate with the prospects of the mine. moreover, the initial capital is often limited, and makeshifts for this reason alone must be provided. in net result, no mineral deposit of speculative ultimate volume of ore warrants an initial equipment of the sort that will meet every eventuality, or of the kind that will give even the maximum efficiency which a free choice of mining machinery could obtain. _third._--in the design and selection of mining machines, the safety of human life, the preservation of the health of workmen under conditions of limited space and ventilation, together with reliability and convenience in installing and working large mechanical tools, all dominate mechanical efficiency. for example, compressed-air transmission of power best meets the requirements of drilling, yet the mechanical losses in the generation, the transmission, and the application of compressed air probably total, from first to last, to %. _fourth._--all machines, except those for shaft haulage, must be operated by power transmitted from the surface, as obviously power generation underground is impossible. the conversion of power into a transmission medium and its transmission are, at the outset, bound to be the occasions of loss. not only are the various forms of transmission by steam, electricity, compressed air, or rods, of different efficiency, but no one system lends itself to universal or economical application to all kinds of mining machines. therefore it is not uncommon to find three or four different media of power transmission employed on the same mine. to illustrate: from the point of view of safety, reliability, control, and in most cases economy as well, we may say that direct steam is the best motive force for winding-engines; that for mechanical efficiency and reliability, rods constitute the best media of power transmission to pumps; that, considering ventilation and convenience, compressed air affords the best medium for drills. yet there are other conditions as to character of the work, volume of water or ore, and the origin of power which must in special instances modify each and every one of these generalizations. for example, although pumping water with compressed air is mechanically the most inefficient of devices, it often becomes the most advantageous, because compressed air may be of necessity laid on for other purposes, and the extra power required to operate a small pump may be thus most cheaply provided. _fifth._--further limitations and modifications arise out of the origin of power, for the sources of power have an intimate bearing on the type of machine and media of transmission. this very circumstance often compels giving away efficiency and convenience in some machines to gain more in others. this is evident enough if the principal origins of power generation be examined. they are in the main as follows:-- _a_. water-power available at the mine. _b_. water-power available at a less distance than three or four miles. _c_. water-power available some miles away, thus necessitating electrical transmission (or purchased electrical power). _d_. steam-power to be generated at the mine. _e_. gas-power to be generated at the mine. _a_. with water-power at the mine, winding engines can be operated by direct hydraulic application with a gain in economy over direct steam, although with the sacrifice of control and reliability. rods for pumps can be driven directly with water, but this superiority in working economy means, as discussed later, a loss of flexibility and increased total outlay over other forms of transmission to pumps. as compressed air must be transmitted for drills, the compressor would be operated direct from water-wheels, but with less control in regularity of pressure delivery. _b_. with water-power a short distance from the mine, it would normally be transmitted either by compressed air or by electricity. compressed-air transmission would better satisfy winding and drilling requirements, but would show a great comparative loss in efficiency over electricity when applied to pumping. despite the latter drawback, air transmission is a method growing in favor, especially in view of the advance made in effecting compression by falling water. _c_. in the situation of transmission too far for using compressed air, there is no alternative but electricity. in these cases, direct electric winding is done, but under such disadvantages that it requires a comparatively very cheap power to take precedence over a subsidiary steam plant for this purpose. electric air-compressors work under the material disadvantage of constant speed on a variable load, but this installation is also a question of economics. the pumping service is well performed by direct electrical pumps. _d_. in this instance, winding and air-compression are well accomplished by direct steam applications; but pumping is beset with wholly undesirable alternatives, among which it is difficult to choose. _e_. with internal combustion engines, gasoline (petrol) motors have more of a position in experimental than in systematic mining, for their application to winding and pumping and drilling is fraught with many losses. the engine must be under constant motion, and that, too, with variable loads. where power from producer gas is used, there is a greater possibility of installing large equipments, and it is generally applied to the winding and lesser units by conversion into compressed air or electricity as an intermediate stage. one thing becomes certain from these examples cited, that the right installation for any particular portion of the mine's equipment cannot be determined without reference to all the others. the whole system of power generation for surface work, as well as the transmission underground, must be formulated with regard to furnishing the best total result from all the complicated primary and secondary motors, even at the sacrifice of some members. each mine is a unique problem, and while it would be easy to sketch an ideal plant, there is no mine within the writer's knowledge upon which the ideal would, under the many variable conditions, be the most economical of installation or the most efficient of operation. the dominant feature of the task is an endeavor to find a compromise between efficiency and capital outlay. the result is a series of choices between unsatisfying alternatives, a number of which are usually found to have been wrong upon further extension of the mine in depth. in a general way, it may be stated that where power is generated on the mine, economy in labor of handling fuel, driving engines, generation and condensing steam where steam is used, demand a consolidated power plant for the whole mine equipment. the principal motors should be driven direct by steam or gas, with power distribution by electricity to all outlying surface motors and sometimes to underground motors, and also to some underground motors by compressed air. much progress has been made in the past few years in the perfection of larger mining tools. inherently many of our devices are of a wasteful character, not only on account of the need of special forms of transmission, but because they are required to operate under greatly varying loads. as an outcome of transmission losses and of providing capacity to cope with heavy peak loads, their efficiency on the basis of actual foot-pounds of work accomplished is very low. the adoption of electric transmission in mine work, while in certain phases beneficial, has not decreased the perplexity which arises from many added alternatives, none of which are as yet a complete or desirable answer to any mine problem. when a satisfactory electric drill is invented, and a method is evolved of applying electricity to winding-engines that will not involve such abnormal losses due to high peak load then we will have a solution to our most difficult mechanical problems, and electricity will deserve the universal blessing which it has received in other branches of mechanical engineering. it is not intended to discuss mine equipment problems from the machinery standpoint,--there are thousands of different devices,--but from the point of view of the mine administrator who finds in the manufactory the various machines which are applicable, and whose work then becomes that of choosing, arranging, and operating these tools. the principal mechanical questions of a mine may be examined under the following heads:-- . shaft haulage. . lateral underground transport. . drainage. . rock drilling. . workshops. . improvements in equipment. shaft haulage. winding appliances.--no device has yet been found to displace the single load pulled up the shaft by winding a rope on a drum. of driving mechanisms for drum motors the alternatives are the steam-engine, the electrical motor, and infrequently water-power or gas engines. all these have to cope with one condition which, on the basis of work accomplished, gives them a very low mechanical efficiency. this difficulty is that the load is intermittent, and it must be started and accelerated at the point of maximum weight, and from that moment the power required diminishes to less than nothing at the end of the haul. a large number of devices are in use to equalize partially the inequalities of the load at different stages of the lift. the main lines of progress in this direction have been:-- _a_. the handling of two cages or skips with one engine or motor, the descending skip partially balancing the ascending one. _b_. the use of tail-ropes or balance weights to compensate the increasing weight of the descending rope. _c_. the use of skips instead of cages, thus permitting of a greater percentage of paying load. _d_. the direct coupling of the motor to the drum shaft. _e_. the cone-shaped construction of drums,--this latter being now largely displaced by the use of the tail-rope. the first and third of these are absolutely essential for anything like economy and speed; the others are refinements depending on the work to be accomplished and the capital available. steam winding-engines require large cylinders to start the load, but when once started the requisite power is much reduced and the load is too small for steam economy. the throttling of the engine for controlling speed and reversing the engine at periodic stoppages militates against the maximum expansion and condensation of the steam and further increases the steam consumption. in result, the best of direct compound condensing engines consume from to pounds of steam per horse-power hour, against a possible efficiency of such an engine working under constant load of less than pounds of steam per horse-power hour. it is only within very recent years that electrical motors have been applied to winding. even yet, all things considered, this application is of doubtful value except in localities of extremely cheap electrical power. the constant speed of alternating current motors at once places them at a disadvantage for this work of high peak and intermittent loads. while continuous-current motors can be made to partially overcome this drawback, such a current, where power is purchased or transmitted a long distance, is available only by conversion, which further increases the losses. however, schemes of electrical winding are in course of development which bid fair, by a sort of storage of power in heavy fly-wheels or storage batteries after the peak load, to reduce the total power consumption; but the very high first cost so far prevents their very general adoption for metal mining. winding-engines driven by direct water- or gas-power are of too rare application to warrant much discussion. gasoline driven hoists have a distinct place in prospecting and early-stage mining, especially in desert countries where transport and fuel conditions are onerous, for both the machines and their fuel are easy of transport. as direct gas-engines entail constant motion of the engine at the power demand of the peak load, they are hopeless in mechanical efficiency. like all other motors in mining, the size and arrangement of the motor and drum are dependent upon the duty which they will be called upon to perform. this is primarily dependent upon the depth to be hoisted from, the volume of the ore, and the size of the load. for shallow depths and tonnages up to, say, tons daily, geared engines have a place on account of their low capital cost. where great rope speed is not essential they are fully as economical as direct-coupled engines. with great depths and greater capacities, speed becomes a momentous factor, and direct-coupled engines are necessary. where the depth exceeds , feet, another element enters which has given rise to much debate and experiment; that is, the great increase of starting load due to the increased length and size of ropes and the drum space required to hold it. so far the most advantageous device seems to be the whiting hoist, a combination of double drums and tail rope. on mines worked from near the surface, where depth is gained by the gradual exhaustion of the ore, the only prudent course is to put in a new hoist periodically, when the demand for increased winding speed and power warrants. the lack of economy in winding machines is greatly augmented if they are much over-sized for the duty. an engine installed to handle a given tonnage to a depth of , feet will have operated with more loss during the years the mine is progressing from the surface to that depth than several intermediate-sized engines would have cost. on most mines the uncertainty of extension in depth would hardly warrant such a preliminary equipment. more mines are equipped with over-sized than with under-sized engines. for shafts on going metal mines where the future is speculative, an engine will suffice whose size provides for an extension in depth of , feet beyond that reached at the time of its installation. the cost of the engine will depend more largely upon the winding speed desired than upon any other one factor. the proper speed to be arranged is obviously dependent upon the depth of the haulage, for it is useless to have an engine able to wind , feet a minute on a shaft feet deep, since it could never even get under way; and besides, the relative operating loss, as said, would be enormous. haulage equipment in the shaft.--originally, material was hoisted through shafts in buckets. then came the cage for transporting mine cars, and in more recent years the "skip" has been developed. the aggrandized bucket or "kibble" of the cornishman has practically disappeared, but the cage still remains in many mines. the advantages of the skip over the cage are many. some of them are:-- _a_. it permits to % greater load of material in proportion to the dead weight of the vehicle. _b_. the load can be confined within a smaller horizontal space, thus the area of the shaft need not be so great for large tonnages. _c_. loading and discharging are more rapid, and the latter is automatic, thus permitting more trips per hour and requiring less labor. _d_. skips must be loaded from bins underground, and by providing in the bins storage capacity, shaft haulage is rendered independent of the lateral transport in the mine, and there are no delays to the engine awaiting loads. the result is that ore-winding can be concentrated into fewer hours, and indirect economies in labor and power are thus effected. _e_. skips save the time of the men engaged in the lateral haulage, as they have no delay waiting for the winding engine. loads equivalent to those from skips are obtained in some mines by double-decked cages; but, aside from waste weight of the cage, this arrangement necessitates either stopping the engine to load the lower deck, or a double-deck loading station. double-deck loading stations are as costly to install and more expensive to work than skip-loading station ore-bins. cages are also constructed large enough to take as many as four trucks on one deck. this entails a shaft compartment double the size required for skips of the same capacity, and thus enormously increases shaft cost without gaining anything. altogether the advantages of the skip are so certain and so important that it is difficult to see the justification for the cage under but a few conditions. these conditions are those which surround mines of small output where rapidity of haulage is no object, where the cost of station-bins can thus be evaded, and the convenience of the cage for the men can still be preserved. the easy change of the skip to the cage for hauling men removes the last objection on larger mines. there occurs also the situation in which ore is broken under contract at so much per truck, and where it is desirable to inspect the contents of the truck when discharging it, but even this objection to the skip can be obviated by contracting on a cubic-foot basis. skips are constructed to carry loads of from two to seven tons, the general tendency being toward larger loads every year. one of the most feasible lines of improvement in winding is in the direction of larger loads and less speed, for in this way the sum total of dead weight of the vehicle and rope to the tonnage of ore hauled will be decreased, and the efficiency of the engine will be increased by a less high peak demand, because of this less proportion of dead weight and the less need of high acceleration. lateral underground transport. inasmuch as the majority of metal mines dip at considerable angles, the useful life of a roadway in a metal mine is very short because particular horizons of ore are soon exhausted. therefore any method of transport has to be calculated upon a very quick redemption of the capital laid out. furthermore, a roadway is limited in its daily traffic to the product of the stopes which it serves. men and animals.--some means of transport must be provided, and the basic equipment is light tracks with push-cars, in capacity from half a ton to a ton. the latter load is, however, too heavy to be pushed by one man. as but one car can be pushed at a time, hand-trucking is both slow and expensive. at average american or australian wages, the cost works out between and cents a ton per mile. an improvement of growing import where hand-trucking is necessary is the overhead mono-rail instead of the track. if the supply to any particular roadway is such as to fully employ horses or mules, the number of cars per trip can be increased up to seven or eight. in this case the expense, including wages of the men and wear, tear, and care of mules, will work out roughly at from to cents per ton mile. manifestly, if the ore-supply to a particular roadway is insufficient to keep a mule busy, the economy soon runs off. mechanical haulage.--mechanical haulage is seldom applicable to metal mines, for most metal deposits dip at considerable angles, and therefore, unlike most coal-mines, the horizon of haulage must frequently change, and there are no main arteries along which haulage continues through the life of the mine. any mechanical system entails a good deal of expense for installation, and the useful life of any particular roadway, as above said, is very short. moreover, the crooked roadways of most metal mines present difficulties of negotiation not to be overlooked. in order to use such systems it is necessary to condense the haulage to as few roadways as possible. where the tonnage on one level is not sufficient to warrant other than men or animals, it sometimes pays (if the dip is steep enough) to dump everything through winzes from one to two levels to a main road below where mechanical equipment can be advantageously provided. the cost of shaft-winding the extra depth is inconsiderable compared to other factors, for the extra vertical distance of haulage can be done at a cost of one or two cents per ton mile. moreover, from such an arrangement follows the concentration of shaft-bins, and of shaft labor, and winding is accomplished without so much shifting as to horizon, all of which economies equalize the extra distance of the lift. there are three principal methods of mechanical transport in use:-- . cable-ways. . compressed-air locomotives. . electrical haulage. cable-ways or endless ropes are expensive to install, and to work to the best advantage require double tracks and fairly straight roads. while they are economical in operation and work with little danger to operatives, the limitations mentioned preclude them from adoption in metal mines, except in very special circumstances such as main crosscuts or adit tunnels, where the haulage is straight and concentrated from many sources of supply. compressed-air locomotives are somewhat heavy and cumbersome, and therefore require well-built tracks with heavy rails, but they have very great advantages for metal mine work. they need but a single track and are of low initial cost where compressed air is already a requirement of the mine. no subsidiary line equipment is needed, and thus they are free to traverse any road in the mine and can be readily shifted from one level to another. their mechanical efficiency is not so low in the long run as might appear from the low efficiency of pneumatic machines generally, for by storage of compressed air at the charging station a more even rate of energy consumption is possible than in the constant cable and electrical power supply which must be equal to the maximum demand, while the air-plant consumes but the average demand. electrical haulage has the advantage of a much more compact locomotive and the drawback of more expensive track equipment, due to the necessity of transmission wire, etc. it has the further disadvantages of uselessness outside the equipped haulage way and of the dangers of the live wire in low and often wet tunnels. in general, compressed-air locomotives possess many attractions for metal mine work, where air is in use in any event and where any mechanical system is at all justified. any of the mechanical systems where tonnage is sufficient in quantity to justify their employment will handle material for from . to cents per ton mile. tracks.--tracks for hand, mule, or rope haulage are usually built with from - to -pound rails, but when compressed-air or electrical locomotives are to be used, less than -pound rails are impossible. as to tracks in general, it may be said that careful laying out with even grades and gentle curves repays itself many times over in their subsequent operation. further care in repair and lubrication of cars will often make a difference of % in the track resistance. transport in stopes.--owing to the even shorter life of individual stopes than levels, the actual transport of ore or waste in them is often a function of the aboriginal shovel plus gravity. as shoveling is the most costly system of transport known, any means of stoping that decreases the need for it has merit. shrinkage-stoping eliminates it altogether. in the other methods, gravity helps in proportion to the steepness of the dip. when the underlie becomes too flat for the ore to "run," transport can sometimes be helped by pitching the ore-passes at a steeper angle than the dip (fig. ). in some cases of flat deposits, crosscuts into the walls, or even levels under the ore-body, are justifiable. the more numerous the ore-passes, the less the lateral shoveling, but as passes cost money for construction and for repair, there is a nice economic balance in their frequency. mechanical haulage in stopes has been tried and finds a field under some conditions. in dips under ° and possessing fairly sound hanging-wall, where long-wall or flat-back cuts are employed, temporary tracks can often be laid in the stopes and the ore run in cars to the main passes. in such cases, the tracks are pushed up close to the face after each cut. further self-acting inclines to lower cars to the levels can sometimes be installed to advantage. this arrangement also permits greater intervals between levels and less number of ore-passes. for dips between ° and ° where the mine is worked without stope support or with occasional pillars, a very useful contrivance is the sheet-iron trough--about eighteen inches wide and six inches deep--made in sections ten or twelve feet long and readily bolted together. in dips ° to ° this trough, laid on the foot-wall, gives a sufficiently smooth surface for the ore to run upon. when the dip is flat, the trough, if hung from plugs in the hanging-wall, may be swung backward and forward. the use of this "bumping-trough" saves much shoveling. for handling filling or ore in flat runs it deserves wider adoption. it is, of course, inapplicable in passes as a "bumping-trough," but can be fixed to give smooth surface. in flat mines it permits a wider interval between levels and therefore saves development work. the life of this contrivance is short when used in open stopes, owing to the dangers of bombardment from blasting. in dips steeper than ° much of the shoveling into passes can be saved by rill-stoping, as described on page . where flat-backed stopes are used in wide ore-bodies with filling, temporary tracks laid on the filling to the ore-passes are useful, for they permit wider intervals between passes. in that underground engineer's paradise, the witwatersrand, where the stopes require neither timber nor filling, the long, moderately pitched openings lend themselves particularly to the swinging iron troughs, and even endless wire ropes have been found advantageous in certain cases. where the roof is heavy and close support is required, and where the deposits are very irregular in shape and dip, there is little hope of mechanical assistance in stope transport. chapter xiii. mechanical equipment. (_continued_). drainage: controlling factors; volume and head of water; flexibility; reliability; power conditions; mechanical efficiency; capital outlay. systems of drainage,--steam pumps, compressed-air pumps, electrical pumps, rod-driven pumps, bailing; comparative value of various systems. with the exception of drainage tunnels--more fully described in chapter viii--all drainage must be mechanical. as the bulk of mine water usually lies near the surface, saving in pumping can sometimes be effected by leaving a complete pillar of ore under some of the upper levels. in many deposits, however, the ore has too many channels to render this of much avail. there are six factors which enter into a determination of mechanical drainage systems for metal mines:-- . volume and head of water. . flexibility to fluctuation in volume and head. . reliability. . capital cost. . the general power conditions. . mechanical efficiency. in the drainage appliances, more than in any other feature of the equipment, must mechanical efficiency be subordinated to the other issues. flexibility.--flexibility in plant is necessary because volume and head of water are fluctuating factors. in wet regions the volume of water usually increases for a certain distance with the extension of openings in depth. in dry climates it generally decreases with the downward extension of the workings after a certain depth. moreover, as depth progresses, the water follows the openings more or less and must be pumped against an ever greater head. in most cases the volume varies with the seasons. what increase will occur, from what horizon it must be lifted, and what the fluctuations in volume are likely to be, are all unknown at the time of installation. if a pumping system were to be laid out for a new mine, which would peradventure meet every possible contingency, the capital outlay would be enormous, and the operating efficiency would be very low during the long period in which it would be working below its capacity. the question of flexibility does not arise so prominently in coal-mines, for the more or less flat deposits give a fixed factor of depth. the flow is also more steady, and the volume can be in a measure approximated from general experience. reliability.--the factor of reliability was at one time of more importance than in these days of high-class manufacture of many different pumping systems. practically speaking, the only insurance from flooding in any event lies in the provision of a relief system of some sort,--duplicate pumps, or the simplest and most usual thing, bailing tanks. only cornish and compressed-air pumps will work with any security when drowned, and electrical pumps are easily ruined. general power conditions.--the question of pumping installation is much dependent upon the power installation and other power requirements of the mine. for instance, where electrical power is purchased or generated by water-power, then electrical pumps have every advantage. or where a large number of subsidiary motors can be economically driven from one central steam- or gas-driven electrical generation plant, they again have a strong call,--especially if the amount of water to be handled is moderate. where the water is of limited volume and compressed-air plant a necessity for the mine, then air-driven pumps may be the most advantageous, etc. mechanical efficiency.--the mechanical efficiency of drainage machinery is very largely a question of method of power application. the actual pump can be built to almost the same efficiency for any power application, and with the exception of the limited field of bailing with tanks, mechanical drainage is a matter of pumps. all pumps must be set below their load, barring a few possible feet of suction lift, and they are therefore perforce underground, and in consequence all power must be transmitted from the surface. transmission itself means loss of power varying from to %, depending upon the medium used. it is therefore the choice of transmission medium that largely governs the mechanical efficiency. systems of drainage.--the ideal pumping system for metal mines would be one which could be built in units and could be expanded or contracted unit by unit with the fluctuation in volume; which could also be easily moved to meet the differences of lifts; and in which each independent unit could be of the highest mechanical efficiency and would require but little space for erection. such an ideal is unobtainable among any of the appliances with which the writer is familiar. the wide variations in the origin of power, in the form of transmission, and in the method of final application, and the many combinations of these factors, meet the demands for flexibility, efficiency, capital cost, and reliability in various degrees depending upon the environment of the mine. power nowadays is generated primarily with steam, water, and gas. these origins admit the transmission of power to the pumps by direct steam, compressed air, electricity, rods, or hydraulic columns. direct steam-pumps.--direct steam has the disadvantage of radiated heat in the workings, of loss by the radiation, and, worse still, of the impracticability of placing and operating a highly efficient steam-engine underground. it is all but impossible to derive benefit from the vacuum, as any form of surface condenser here is impossible, and there can be no return of the hot soft water to the boilers. steam-pumps fall into two classes, rotary and direct-acting; the former have the great advantage of permitting the use of steam expansively and affording some field for effective use of condensation, but they are more costly, require much room, and are not fool-proof. the direct-acting pumps have all the advantage of compactness and the disadvantage of being the most inefficient of pumping machines used in mining. taking the steam consumption of a good surface steam plant at pounds per horse-power hour, the efficiency of rotary pumps with well-insulated pipes is probably not over %, and of direct-acting pumps from % down to %. the advantage of all steam-pumps lies in the low capital outlay,--hence their convenient application to experimental mining and temporary pumping requirements. for final equipment they afford a great deal of flexibility, for if properly constructed they can be, with slight alteration, moved from one horizon to another without loss of relative efficiency. thus the system can be rearranged for an increased volume of water, by decreasing the lift and increasing the number of pumps from different horizons. compressed-air pumps.--compressed-air transmission has an application similar to direct steam, but it is of still lower mechanical efficiency, because of the great loss in compression. it has the superiority of not heating the workings, and there is no difficulty as to the disposal of the exhaust, as with steam. moreover, such pumps will work when drowned. compressed air has a distinct place for minor pumping units, especially those removed from the shaft, for they can be run as an adjunct to the air-drill system of the mine, and by this arrangement much capital outlay may be saved. the cost of the extra power consumed by such an arrangement is less than the average cost of compressed-air power, because many of the compressor charges have to be paid anyway. when compressed air is water-generated, they have a field for permanent installations. the efficiency of even rotary air-driven pumps, based on power delivered into a good compressor, is probably not over %. electrical pumps.--electrical pumps have somewhat less flexibility than steam- or air-driven apparatus, in that the speed of the pumps can be varied only within small limits. they have the same great advantage in the easy reorganization of the system to altered conditions of water-flow. electricity, when steam-generated, has the handicap of the losses of two conversions, the actual pump efficiency being about % in well-constructed plants; the efficiency is therefore greater than direct steam or compressed air. where the mine is operated with water-power, purchased electric current, or where there is an installation of electrical generating plant by steam or gas for other purposes, electrically driven pumps take precedence over all others on account of their combined moderate capital outlay, great flexibility, and reasonable efficiency. in late years, direct-coupled, electric-driven centrifugal pumps have entered the mining field, but their efficiency, despite makers' claims, is low. while they show comparatively good results on low lifts the slip increases with the lift. in heads over feet their efficiency is probably not % of the power delivered to the electrical generator. their chief attractions are small capital cost and the compact size which admits of easy installation. rod-driven pumps.--pumps of the cornish type in vertical shafts, if operated to full load and if driven by modern engines, have an efficiency much higher than any other sort of installation, and records of to % are not unusual. the highest efficiency in these pumps yet obtained has been by driving the pump with rope transmission from a high-speed triple expansion engine, and in this plant an actual consumption of only pounds of steam per horse-power hour for actual water lifted has been accomplished. to provide, however, for increase of flow and change of horizon, rod-driven pumps must be so overpowered at the earlier stage of the mine that they operate with great loss. of all pumping systems they are the most expensive to provide. they have no place in crooked openings and only work in inclines with many disadvantages. in general their lack of flexibility is fast putting them out of the metal miner's purview. where the pumping depth and volume of water are approximately known, as is often the case in coal mines, this, the father of all pumps, still holds its own. hydraulic pumps.--hydraulic pumps, in which a column of water is used as the transmission fluid from a surface pump to a corresponding pump underground has had some adoption in coal mines, but little in metal mines. they have a certain amount of flexibility but low efficiency, and are not likely to have much field against electrical pumps. bailing.--bailing deserves to be mentioned among drainage methods, for under certain conditions it is a most useful system, and at all times a mine should be equipped with tanks against accident to the pumps. where the amount of water is limited,--up to, say, , gallons daily,--and where the ore output of the mine permits the use of the winding-engine for part of the time on water haulage, there is in the method an almost total saving of capital outlay. inasmuch as the winding-engine, even when the ore haulage is finished for the day, must be under steam for handling men in emergencies, and as the labor of stokers, engine-drivers, shaft-men, etc., is therefore necessary, the cost of power consumed by bailing is not great, despite the low efficiency of winding-engines. comparison of various systems.--if it is assumed that flexibility, reliability, mechanical efficiency, and capital cost can each be divided into four figures of relative importance,--_a_, _b_, _c_, and _d_, with _a_ representing the most desirable result,--it is possible to indicate roughly the comparative values of various pumping systems. it is not pretended that the four degrees are of equal import. in all cases the factor of general power conditions on the mine may alter the relative positions. ==================================================================== |direct|compressed| |steam-| | |steam | air |electricity|driven|hydraulic|bailing |pumps | | | rods | columns | tanks -------------|------|----------|-----------|------|---------|------- flexibility. | _a_ | _a_ | _b_ | _d_ | _b_ | _a_ reliability. | _b_ | _b_ | _b_ | _a_ | _d_ | _a_ mechanical | | | | | | efficiency.| _c_ | _d_ | _b_ | _a_ | _c_ | _d_ capital cost | _a_ | _b_ | _b_ | _d_ | _d_ | -- ==================================================================== as each mine has its special environment, it is impossible to formulate any final conclusion on a subject so involved. the attempt would lead to a discussion of a thousand supposititious cases and hypothetical remedies. further, the description alone of pumping machines would fill volumes, and the subject will never be exhausted. the engineer confronted with pumping problems must marshal all the alternatives, count his money, and apply the tests of flexibility, reliability, efficiency, and cost, choose the system of least disadvantages, and finally deprecate the whole affair, for it is but a parasite growth on the mine. chapter xiv. mechanical equipment (_concluded_). machine drilling: power transmission; compressed air _vs_. electricity; air drills; machine _vs_. hand drilling. work-shops. improvement in equipment. for over two hundred years from the introduction of drill-holes for blasting by caspar weindel in hungary, to the invention of the first practicable steam percussion drill by j. j. crouch of philadelphia, in , all drilling was done by hand. since crouch's time a host of mechanical drills to be actuated by all sorts of power have come forward, and even yet the machine-drill has not reached a stage of development where it can displace hand-work under all conditions. steam-power was never adapted to underground work, and a serviceable drill for this purpose was not found until compressed air for transmission was demonstrated by dommeiller on the mt. cenis tunnel in . the ideal requirements for a drill combine:-- a. power transmission adapted to underground conditions. b. lightness. c. simplicity of construction. d. strength. e. rapidity and strength of blow. f. ease of erection. g. reliability. h. mechanical efficiency. i. low capital cost. no drill invented yet fills all these requirements, and all are a compromise on some point. power transmission; compressed air _vs_. electricity.--the only transmissions adapted to underground drill-work are compressed air and electricity, and as yet an electric-driven drill has not been produced which meets as many of the requirements of the metal miner as do compressed-air drills. the latter, up to date, have superiority in simplicity, lightness, ease of erection, reliability, and strength over electric machines. air has another advantage in that it affords some assistance to ventilation, but it has the disadvantage of remarkably low mechanical efficiency. the actual work performed by the standard - / -inch air-drill probably does not amount to over two or three horse-power against from fifteen to eighteen horse-power delivered into the compressor, or mechanical efficiency of less than %. as electrical power can be delivered to the drill with much less loss than compressed air, the field for a more economical drill on this line is wide enough to create eventually the proper tool to apply it. the most satisfactory electric drill produced has been the temple drill, which is really an air-drill driven by a small electrically-driven compressor placed near the drill itself. but even this has considerable deficiencies in mining work; the difficulties of setting up, especially for stoping work, and the more cumbersome apparatus to remove before blasting are serious drawbacks. it has deficiencies in reliability and greater complication of machinery than direct air. air-compression.--the method of air-compression so long accomplished only by power-driven pistons has now an alternative in some situations by the use of falling water. this latter system is a development of the last twelve years, and, due to the low initial outlay and extremely low operating costs, bids fair in those regions where water head is available not only to displace the machine compressor, but also to extend the application of compressed air to mine motors generally, and to stay in some environments the encroachment of electricity into the compressed-air field. installations of this sort in the west kootenay, b.c., and at the victoria copper mine, michigan, are giving results worthy of careful attention. mechanical air-compressors are steam-, water-, electrical-, and gas-driven, the alternative obviously depending on the source and cost of power. electrical- and gas- and water-driven compressors work under the disadvantage of constant speed motors and respond little to the variation in load, a partial remedy for which lies in enlarged air-storage capacity. inasmuch as compressed air, so far as our knowledge goes at present, must be provided for drills, it forms a convenient transmission of power to various motors underground, such as small pumps, winches, or locomotives. as stated in discussing those machines, it is not primarily a transmission of even moderate mechanical efficiency for such purposes; but as against the installation and operation of independent transmission, such as steam or electricity, the economic advantage often compensates the technical losses. where such motors are fixed, as in pumps and winches, a considerable gain in efficiency can be obtained by reheating. it is not proposed to enter a discussion of mechanical details of air-compression, more than to call attention to the most common delinquency in the installation of such plants. this deficiency lies in insufficient compression capacity for the needs of the mine and consequent effective operation of drills, for with under pounds pressure the drills decrease remarkably in rapidity of stroke and force of the blow. the consequent decrease in actual accomplishment is far beyond the ratio that might be expected on the basis of mere difference of pressure. another form of the same chronic ill lies in insufficient air-storage capacity to provide for maintenance of pressure against moments when all drills or motors in the mine synchronize in heavy demand for air, and thus lower the pressure at certain periods. air-drills.--air-drills are from a mechanical point of view broadly of two types,--the first, in which the drill is the piston extension; and the second, a more recent development for mining work, in which the piston acts as a hammer striking the head of the drill. from an economic point of view drills may be divided into three classes. first, heavy drills, weighing from to pounds, which require two men for their operation; second, "baby" drills of the piston type, weighing from to pounds, requiring one man with occasional assistance in setting up; and third, very light drills almost wholly of the hammer type. this type is built in two forms: a heavier type for mounting on columns, weighing about pounds; and a type after the order of the pneumatic riveter, weighing as low as pounds and worked without mounting. the weight and consequent mobility of a drill, aside from labor questions, have a marked effect on costs, for the lighter the drill the less difficulty and delay in erection, and consequent less loss of time and less tendency to drill holes from one radius, regardless of pointing to take best advantage of breaking planes. moreover, smaller diameter and shorter holes consume less explosives per foot advanced or per ton broken. the best results in tonnage broken and explosive consumed, if measured by the foot of drill-hole necessary, can be accomplished from hand-drilling and the lighter the machine drill, assuming equal reliability, the nearer it approximates these advantages. the blow, and therefore size and depth of hole and rapidity of drilling, are somewhat dependent upon the size of cylinders and length of stroke, and therefore the heavier types are better adapted to hard ground and to the deep holes of some development points. their advantages over the other classes lie chiefly in this ability to bore exceedingly hard material and in the greater speed of advance possible in development work; but except for these two special purposes they are not as economical per foot advanced or per ton of ore broken as the lighter drills. the second class, where men can be induced to work them one man per drill, saves in labor and gains in mobility. many tests show great economy of the "baby" type of piston drills in average ground over the heavier machines for stoping and for most lateral development. all piston types are somewhat cumbersome and the heavier types require at least four feet of head room. the "baby" type can be operated in less space than this, but for narrow stopes they do not lend themselves with the same facility as the third class. the third class of drills is still in process of development, but it bids fair to displace much of the occupation of the piston types of drill. aside from being a one-man drill, by its mobility it will apparently largely reproduce the advantage of hand-drilling in ability to place short holes from the most advantageous angles and for use in narrow places. as compared with other drills it bids fair to require less time for setting up and removal and for change of bits; to destroy less steel by breakages; to dull the bits less rapidly per foot of hole; to be more economical of power; to require much less skill in operation, for judgment is less called upon in delivering speed; and to evade difficulties of fissured ground, etc. and finally the cost is only one-half, initially and for spares. its disadvantage so far is a lack of reliability due to lightness of construction, but this is very rapidly being overcome. this type, however, is limited in depth of hole possible, for, from lack of positive reverse movement, there is a tendency for the spoil to pack around the bit, and as a result about four feet seems the limit. the performance of a machine-drill under show conditions may be anything up to ten or twelve feet of hole per hour on rock such as compact granite; but in underground work a large proportion of the time is lost in picking down loose ore, setting up machines, removal for blasting, clearing away spoil, making adjustments, etc. the amount of lost time is often dependent upon the width of stope or shaft and the method of stoping. situations which require long drill columns or special scaffolds greatly accentuate the loss of time. further, the difficulties in setting up reflect indirectly on efficiency to a greater extent in that a larger proportion of holes are drilled from one radius and thus less adapted to the best breaking results than where the drill can easily be reset from various angles. the usual duty of a heavy drill per eight-hour shift using two men is from to feet of hole, depending upon the rock, facilities for setting up, etc., etc.[*] the lighter drills have a less average duty, averaging from to feet per shift. [footnote *: over the year in twenty-eight mines compiled from alaska to australia, an average of . feet was drilled per eight-hour shift by machines larger than three-inch cylinder.] machine _vs_. hand-drilling.--the advantages of hand-drilling over machine-drilling lie, first, in the total saving of power, the absence of capital cost, repairs, depreciation, etc., on power, compresser and drill plant; second, the time required for setting up machine-drills does not warrant frequent blasts, so that a number of holes on one radius are a necessity, and therefore machine-holes generally cannot be pointed to such advantage as hand-holes. hand-holes can be set to any angle, and by thus frequent blasting yield greater tonnage per foot of hole. third, a large number of comparative statistics from american, south african, and australian mines show a saving of about % in explosives for the same tonnage or foot of advance by hand-holes over medium and heavy drill-holes. the duty of a skilled white man, single-handed, in rock such as is usually met below the zone of oxidation, is from to feet per shift, depending on the rock and the man. two men hand-drilling will therefore do from / to / of the same footage of holes that can be done by two men with a heavy machine-drill, and two men hand-drilling will do from / to / the footage of two men with two light drills. the saving in labor of from to % by machine-drilling may or may not be made up by the other costs involved in machine-work. the comparative value of machine- and hand-drilling is not subject to sweeping generalization. a large amount of data from various parts of the world, with skilled white men, shows machine-work to cost from half as much per ton or foot advanced as hand-work to % more than handwork, depending on the situation, type of drill, etc. in a general way hand-work can more nearly compete with heavy machines than light ones. the situations where hand-work can compete with even light machines are in very narrow stopes where drills cannot be pointed to advantage, and where the increased working space necessary for machine drills results in breaking more waste. further, hand-drilling can often compete with machine-work in wide stopes where long columns or platforms must be used and therefore there is much delay in taking down, reërection, etc. many other factors enter into a comparison, however, for machine-drilling produces a greater number of deeper holes and permits larger blasts and therefore more rapid progress. in driving levels under average conditions monthly footage is from two to three times as great with heavy machines as by hand-drilling, and by lighter machines a somewhat less proportion of greater speed. the greater speed obtained in development work, the greater tonnage obtained per man in stoping, with consequent reduction in the number of men employed, and in reduction of superintendence and general charges are indirect advantages for machine-drilling not to be overlooked. the results obtained in south africa by hand-drilling in shafts, and its very general adoption there, seem to indicate that better speed and more economical work can be obtained in that way in very large shafts than by machine-drilling. how far special reasons there apply to smaller shafts or labor conditions elsewhere have yet to be demonstrated. in large-dimension shafts demanding a large number of machines, the handling of long machine bars and machines generally results in a great loss of time. the large charges in deep holes break the walls very irregularly; misfires cause more delay; timbering is more difficult in the face of heavy blasting charges; and the larger amount of spoil broken at one time delays renewed drilling, and altogether the advantages seem to lie with hand-drilling in shafts of large horizontal section. the rapid development of special drills for particular conditions has eliminated the advantage of hand-work in many situations during the past ten years, and the invention of the hammer type of drill bids fair to render hand-drilling a thing of the past. one generalization is possible, and that is, if drills are run on - pounds' pressure they are no economy over hand-drilling. workshops. in addition to the ordinary blacksmithy, which is a necessity, the modern tendency has been to elaborate the shops on mines to cover machine-work, pattern-making and foundry-work, in order that delays may be minimized by quick repairs. to provide, however, for such contingencies a staff of men must be kept larger than the demand of average requirements. the result is an effort to provide jobs or to do work extravagantly or unnecessarily well. in general, it is an easy spot for fungi to start growing on the administration, and if custom repair shops are available at all, mine shops can be easily overdone. a number of machines are now in use for sharpening drills. machine-sharpening is much cheaper than hand-work, although the drills thus sharpened are rather less efficient owing to the difficulty of tempering them to the same nicety; however, the net results are in favor of the machines. improvement in equipment. not only is every mine a progressive industry until the bottom gives out, but the technology of the industry is always progressing, so that the manager is almost daily confronted with improvements which could be made in his equipment that would result in decreasing expenses or increasing metal recovery. there is one test to the advisability of such alterations: how long will it take to recover the capital outlay from the savings effected? and over and above this recovery of capital there must be some very considerable gain. the life of mines is at least secured over the period exposed in the ore-reserves, and if the proposed alteration will show its recovery and profit in that period, then it is certainly justified. if it takes longer than this on the average speculative ore-deposit, it is a gamble on finding further ore. as a matter of practical policy it will be found that an improvement in equipment which requires more than three or four years to redeem itself out of saving, is usually a mechanical or metallurgical refinement the indulgence in which is very doubtful. chapter xv. ratio of output to the mine. determination of the possible maximum; limiting factors; cost of equipment; life of the mine; mechanical inefficiency of patchwork plant; overproduction of base metal; security of investment. the output obtainable from a given mine is obviously dependent not only on the size of the deposit, but also on the equipment provided,--in which equipment means the whole working appliances, surface and underground. a rough and ready idea of output possibilities of inclined deposits can be secured by calculating the tonnage available per foot of depth from the horizontal cross-section of the ore-bodies exposed and assuming an annual depth of exhaustion, or in horizontal deposits from an assumption of a given area of exhaustion. few mines, at the time of initial equipment, are developed to an extent from which their possibilities in production are evident, for wise finance usually leads to the erection of some equipment and production before development has been advanced to a point that warrants a large or final installation. moreover, even were the full possibilities of the mine known, the limitations of finance usually necessitate a less plant to start with than is finally contemplated. therefore output and equipment are usually growing possibilities during the early life of a mine. there is no better instance in mine engineering where pure theory must give way to practical necessities of finance than in the determination of the size of equipment and therefore output. moreover, where finance even is no obstruction, there are other limitations of a very practical order which must dominate the question of the size of plant giving the greatest technical economy. it is, however, useful to state the theoretical considerations in determining the ultimate volume of output and therefore the size of equipments, for the theory will serve to illuminate the practical limitations. the discussion will also again demonstrate that all engineering is a series of compromises with natural and economic forces. output giving least production cost.--as one of the most important objectives is to work the ore at the least cost per ton, it is not difficult to demonstrate that the minimum working costs can be obtained only by the most intensive production. to prove this, it need only be remembered that the working expenses of a mine are of two sorts: one is a factor of the tonnage handled, such as stoping and ore-dressing; the other is wholly or partially dependent upon time. a large number of items are of this last order. pumping and head-office expenses are almost entirely charges independent of the tonnage handled. superintendence and staff salaries and the like are in a large proportion dependent upon time. many other elements of expense, such as the number of engine-drivers, etc., do not increase proportionately to increase in tonnage. these charges, or the part of them dependent upon time apart from tonnage, may be termed the "fixed charges." there is another fixed charge more obscure yet no less certain. ore standing in a mine is like money in a bank drawing no interest, and this item of interest may be considered a "fixed charge," for if the ore were realized earlier, this loss could be partially saved. this subject is further referred to under "amortization." if, therefore, the time required to exhaust the mine be prolonged by the failure to maintain the maximum output, the total cost of working it will be greater by the fixed charges over such an increased period. conversely, by equipping on a larger scale, the mine will be exhausted more quickly, a saving in total cost can be made, and the ultimate profit can be increased by an amount corresponding to the time saved from the ravages of fixed charges. in fine, the working costs may be reduced by larger operations, and therefore the value of the mine increased. the problem in practice usually takes the form of the relative superiority of more or of fewer units of plant, and it can be considered in more detail if the production be supposed to consist of units averaging say tons per day each. the advantage of more units over less will be that the extra ones can be produced free of fixed charges, for these are an expense already involved in the lesser units. this extra production will also enjoy the interest which can be earned over the period of its earlier production. moreover, operations on a larger scale result in various minor economies throughout the whole production, not entirely included in the type of expenditure mentioned as "fixed charges." we may call these various advantages the "saving of fixed charges" due to larger-scale operations. the saving of fixed charges amounts to very considerable sums. in general the items of working cost alone, mentioned above, which do not increase proportionately to the tonnage, aggregate from to % of the total costs. where much pumping is involved, the percentage will become even greater. the question of the value of the mine as affected by the volume of output becomes very prominent in low-grade mines, where, if equipped for output on too small a scale, no profits at all could be earned, and a sufficient production is absolutely imperative for any gain. there are many mines in every country which with one-third of their present rate of production would lose money. that is, the fixed charges, if spread over small output, would be so great per ton that the profit would be extinguished by them. in the theoretical view, therefore, it would appear clear that the greatest ultimate profit from a mine can be secured only by ore extraction under the highest pressure. as a corollary to this it follows that development must proceed with the maximum speed. further, it follows that the present value of a mine is at least partially a factor of the volume of output contemplated. factors limiting the output. although the above argument can be academically defended, there are, as said at the start, practical limitations to the maximum intensity of production, arising out of many other considerations to which weight must be given. in the main, there are five principal limitations:-- . cost of equipment. . life of the mine. . mechanical inefficiency of patchwork plant. . overproduction of base metal. . security of investment. cost of equipment.--the "saving of fixed charges" can only be obtained by larger equipment, which represents an investment. mining works, shafts, machinery, treatment plants, and all the paraphernalia cost large sums of money. they become either worn out or practically valueless through the exhaustion of the mines. even surface machinery when in good condition will seldom realize more than one-tenth of its expense if useless at its original site. all mines are ephemeral; therefore virtually the entire capital outlay of such works must be redeemed during the life of the mine, and the interest on it must also be recovered. the certain life, with the exception of banket and a few other types of deposit, is that shown by the ore in sight, plus something for extension of the deposit beyond exposures. so, against the "savings" to be made, must be set the cost of obtaining them, for obviously it is of no use investing a dollar to save a total of ninety cents. the economies by increased production are, however, of such an important character that the cost of almost any number of added units (within the ability of the mine to supply them) can be redeemed from these savings in a few years. for instance, in a californian gold mine where the working expenses are $ and the fixed charges are at the low rate of cents per ton, one unit of increased production would show a saving of over $ , per annum from the saving of fixed charges. in about three years this sum would repay the cost of the additional treatment equipment. if further shaft capacity were required, the period would be much extended. on a western copper mine, where the costs are $ and the fixed charges are cents per ton, one unit of increased production would effect a saving of the fixed charges equal to the cost of the extra unit in about three years. that is, the total sum would amount to $ , , or enough to provide almost any type of mechanical equipment for such additional tonnage. the first result of vigorous development is to increase the ore in sight,--the visible life of the mine. when such visible life has been so lengthened that the period in which the "saving of fixed charges" will equal the amount involved in expansion of equipment, then from the standpoint of this limitation only is the added installation justified. the equipment if expanded on this practice will grow upon the heels of rapid development until the maximum production from the mine is reached, and a kind of equilibrium establishes itself. conversely, this argument leads to the conclusion that, regardless of other considerations, an equipment, and therefore output, should not be expanded beyond the redemption by way of "saving from fixed charges" of the visible or certain life of the mine. in those mines, such as at the witwatersrand, where there is a fairly sound assurance of definite life, it is possible to calculate at once the size of plant which by saving of "fixed charges" will be eventually the most economical, but even here the other limitations step in to vitiate such policy of management,--chiefly the limitation through security of investment. life of the mine.--if carried to its logical extreme, the above program means a most rapid exhaustion of the mine. the maximum output will depend eventually upon the rapidity with which development work may be extended. as levels and other subsidiary development openings can be prepared in inclined deposits much more quickly than the shaft can be sunk, the critical point is the shaft-sinking. as a shaft may by exertion be deepened at least feet a year on a going mine, the provision of an equipment to eat up the ore-body at this rate of sinking means very early exhaustion indeed. in fact, had such a theory of production been put into practice by our forefathers, the mining profession might find difficulty in obtaining employment to-day. such rapid exhaustion would mean a depletion of the mineral resources of the state at a pace which would be alarming. mechanical inefficiency of patchwork plant.--mine equipments on speculative mines (the vast majority) are often enough patchwork, for they usually grow from small beginnings; but any scheme of expansion based upon the above doctrine would need to be modified to the extent that additions could be in units large in ratio to previous installations, or their patchwork character would be still further accentuated. it would be impossible to maintain mechanical efficiency under detail expansion. overproduction of base metal.--were this intensity of production of general application to base metal mines it would flood the markets, and, by an overproduction of metal depress prices to a point where the advantages of such large-scale operations would quickly vanish. the theoretical solution in this situation would be, if metals fell below normal prices, let the output be reduced, or let the products be stored until the price recovers. from a practical point of view either alternative is a policy difficult to face. in the first case, reduction of output means an increase of working expenses by the spread of fixed charges over less tonnage, and this in the face of reduced metal prices. it may be contended, however, that a falling metal market is usually the accompaniment of a drop in all commodities, wherefore working costs can be reduced somewhat in such times of depression, thereby partially compensating the other elements making for increased costs. falls in commodities are also the accompaniment of hard times. consideration of one's workpeople and the wholesale slaughter of dividends to the then needy stockholders, resulting from a policy of reduced production, are usually sufficient deterrents to diminished output. the second alternative, that of storing metal, means equally a loss of dividends by the investment of a large sum in unrealized products, and the interest on this sum. the detriment to the market of large amounts of unsold metal renders such a course not without further disadvantages. security of investment.--another point of view antagonistic to such wholesale intensity of production, and one worthy of careful consideration, is that of the investor in mines. the root-value of mining stocks is, or should be, the profit in sight. if the policy of greatest economy in production costs be followed as outlined above, the economic limit of ore-reserves gives an apparently very short life, for the ore in sight will never represent a life beyond the time required to justify more plant. thus the "economic limit of ore in reserve" will be a store equivalencing a period during which additional equipment can be redeemed from the "saving of fixed charges," or three or four years, usually. the investor has the right to say that he wants the guarantee of longer life to his investment,--he will in effect pay insurance for it by a loss of some ultimate profit. that this view, contradictory to the economics of the case, is not simply academic, can be observed by any one who studies what mines are in best repute on any stock exchange. all engineers must wish to have the industry under them in high repute. the writer knows of several mines paying % on their stocks which yet stand lower in price on account of short ore-reserves than mines paying less annual returns. the speculator, who is an element not to be wholly disregarded, wishes a rise in his mining stock, and if development proceeds at a pace in advance of production, he will gain a legitimate rise through the increase in ore-reserves. the investor's and speculator's idea of the desirability of a proved long life readily supports the technical policy of high-pressure development work, but not of expansion of production, for they desire an increasing ore-reserve. even the metal operator who is afraid of overproduction does not object to increased ore-reserves. on the point of maximum intensity of development work in a mine all views coincide. the mining engineer, if he takes a machiavellian view, must agree with the investor and the metal dealer, for the engineer is a "fixed charge" the continuance of which is important to his daily needs. the net result of all these limitations is therefore an invariable compromise upon some output below the possible maximum. the initial output to be contemplated is obviously one upon which the working costs will be low enough to show a margin of profit. the medium between these two extremes is determinable by a consideration of the limitations set out,--and the cash available. when the volume of output is once determined, it must be considered as a factor in valuation, as discussed under "amortization." chapter xvi. administration. labor efficiency; skill; intelligence; application coordination; contract work; labor unions; real basis of wages. the realization from a mine of the profits estimated from the other factors in the case is in the end dependent upon the management. good mine management is based upon three elementals: first, sound engineering; second, proper coördination and efficiency of every human unit; third, economy in the purchase and consumption of supplies. the previous chapters have been devoted to a more or less extended exposition of economic engineering. while the second and third requirements are equally important, they range in many ways out of the engineering and into the human field. for this latter reason no complete manual will ever be published upon "how to become a good mine manager." it is purposed, however, to analyze some features of these second and third fundamentals, especially in their interdependent phases, and next to consider the subject of mine statistics, for the latter are truly the microscopes through which the competence of the administration must be examined. the human units in mine organization can be divided into officers and men. the choice of mine officers is the assembling of specialized brains. their control, stimulation, and inspiration is the main work of the administrative head. success in the selection and control of staff is the index of executive ability. there are no mathematical, mechanical, or chemical formulas for dealing with the human mind or human energies. labor.--the whole question of handling labor can be reduced to the one term "efficiency." not only does the actual labor outlay represent from to % of the total underground expenses, but the capacity or incapacity of its units is responsible for wider fluctuations in production costs than the bare predominance in expenditure might indicate. the remaining expense is for supplies, such as dynamite, timber, steel, power, etc., and the economical application of these materials by the workman has the widest bearing upon their consumption. efficiency of the mass is the resultant of that of each individual under a direction which coördinates effectively all units. the lack of effectiveness in one individual diminishes the returns not simply from that man alone; it lowers the results from numbers of men associated with the weak member through the delaying and clogging of their work, and of the machines operated by them. coördination of work is a necessary factor of final efficiency. this is a matter of organization and administration. the most zealous stoping-gang in the world if associated with half the proper number of truckers must fail to get the desired result. efficiency in the single man is the product of three factors,--skill, intelligence, and application. a great proportion of underground work in a mine is of a type which can be performed after a fashion by absolutely unskilled and even unintelligent men, as witness the breaking-in of savages of low average mentality, like the south african kaffirs. although most duties can be performed by this crudest order of labor, skill and intelligence can be applied to it with such economic results as to compensate for the difference in wage. the reason for this is that the last fifty years have seen a substitution of labor-saving machines for muscle. such machines displace hundreds of raw laborers. not only do they initially cost large sums, but they require large expenditure for power and up-keep. these fixed charges against the machine demand that it shall be worked at its maximum. for interest, power, and up-keep go on in any event, and the saving on crude labor displaced is not so great but that it quickly disappears if the machine is run under its capacity. to get its greatest efficiency, a high degree of skill and intelligence is required. nor are skill and intelligence alone applicable to labor-saving devices themselves, because drilling and blasting rock and executing other works underground are matters in which experience and judgment in the individual workman count to the highest degree. how far skill affects production costs has had a thorough demonstration in west australia. for a time after the opening of those mines only a small proportion of experienced men were obtainable. during this period the rock broken per man employed underground did not exceed the rate of tons a year. in the large mines it has now, after some eight years, attained to tons. how far intelligence is a factor indispensable to skill can be well illustrated by a comparison of the results obtained from working labor of a low mental order, such as asiatics and negroes, with those achieved by american or australian miners. in a general way, it may be stated with confidence that the white miners above mentioned can, under the same physical conditions, and with from five to ten times the wage, produce the same economic result,--that is, an equal or lower cost per unit of production. much observation and experience in working asiatics and negroes as well as americans and australians in mines, leads the writer to the conclusion that, averaging actual results, one white man equals from two to three of the colored races, even in the simplest forms of mine work such as shoveling or tramming. in the most highly skilled branches, such as mechanics, the average ratio is as one to seven, or in extreme cases even eleven. the question is not entirely a comparison of bare efficiency individually; it is one of the sum total of results. in mining work the lower races require a greatly increased amount of direction, and this excess of supervisors consists of men not in themselves directly productive. there is always, too, a waste of supplies, more accidents, and more ground to be kept open for accommodating increased staff, and the maintenance of these openings must be paid for. there is an added expense for handling larger numbers in and out of the mine, and the lower intelligence reacts in many ways in lack of coördination and inability to take initiative. taking all divisions of labor together, the ratio of efficiency as measured in amount of output works out from four to five colored men as the equivalent of one white man of the class stated. the ratio of costs, for reasons already mentioned, and in other than quantity relation, figures still more in favor of the higher intelligence. the following comparisons, which like all mine statistics must necessarily be accepted with reservation because of some dissimilarity of economic surroundings, are yet on sufficiently common ground to demonstrate the main issue,--that is, the bearing of inherent intelligence in the workmen and their consequent skill. four groups of gold mines have been taken, from india, west australia, south africa, and western america. all of those chosen are of the same stoping width, to feet. all are working in depth and with every labor-saving device available. all dip at about the same angle and are therefore in much the same position as to handling rock. the other conditions are against the white-manned mines and in favor of the colored. that is, the indian mines have water-generated electric power and south africa has cheaper fuel than either the american or australian examples. in both the white-manned groups, the stopes are supported, while in the others no support is required. ======================================================================= | tons of | average |tons | | material | number of men | per |cost per group of mines | excavated | employed | man | ton of |over period|---------------| per |material |compiled[ ]|colored| white |annum| broken ----------------------------|-----------|-------|-------|-----|-------- four kolar mines[ ] | , | , | | . | $ . six australian mines[ ] | , , | -- | , | . | . three witwatersrand mines[ ]| , , | , | , | . | . five american mines[ ] | , , | -- | , | . | . ======================================================================= [footnote : indian wages average about cents per day.] [footnote : white men's wages average about $ per day.] [footnote : about two-fifths of the colored workers were negroes, and three-fifths chinamen. negroes average about cents, and chinamen about cents per day, including keep.] [footnote : wages about $ . . tunnel entry in two mines.] [footnote : includes rock broken in development work. in the case of the specified african mines, the white labor is employed almost wholly in positions of actual or semi-superintendence, such as one white man in charge of two or three drills. in the indian case, in addition to the white men who are wholly in superintendence, there were of the natives enumerated some in positions of semi-superintendence, as contractors or headmen, working-gangers, etc.] one issue arises out of these facts, and that is that no engineer or investor in valuing mines is justified in anticipating lower costs in regions where cheap labor exists. in supplement to sheer skill and intelligence, efficiency can be gained only by the application of the man himself. a few months ago a mine in california changed managers. the new head reduced the number employed one-third without impairing the amount of work accomplished. this was not the result of higher skill or intelligence in the men, but in the manager. better application and coördination were secured from the working force. inspiration to increase of exertion is created less by "driving" than by recognition of individual effort, in larger pay, and by extending justifiable hope of promotion. a great factor in the proficiency of the mine manager is his ability to create an _esprit-de-corps_ through the whole staff, down to the last tool boy. friendly interest in the welfare of the men and stimulation by competitions between various works and groups all contribute to this end. contract work.--the advantage both to employer and employed of piece work over wage needs no argument. in a general way, contract work honorably carried out puts a premium upon individual effort, and thus makes for efficiency. there are some portions of mine work which cannot be contracted, but the development, stoping, and trucking can be largely managed in this way, and these items cover to % of the total labor expenditure underground. in development there are two ways of basing contracts,--the first on the footage of holes drilled, and the second on the footage of heading advanced. in contract-stoping there are four methods depending on the feet of hole drilled, on tonnage, on cubic space, and on square area broken. all these systems have their rightful application, conditioned upon the class of labor and character of the deposit. in the "hole" system, the holes are "pointed" by some mine official and are blasted by a special crew. the miner therefore has little interest in the result of the breaking. if he is a skilled white man, the hours which he has wherein to contemplate the face usually enable him to place holes to better advantage than the occasional visiting foreman. with colored labor, the lack of intelligence in placing holes and blasting usually justifies contracts per "foot drilled." then the holes are pointed and blasted by superintending men. on development work with the foot-hole system, unless two working faces can be provided for each contracting party, they are likely to lose time through having finished their round of holes before the end of the shift. as blasting must be done outside the contractor's shifts, it means that one shift per day must be set aside for the purpose. therefore not nearly such progress can be made as where working the face with three shifts. for these reasons, the "hole" system is not so advantageous in development as the "foot of advance" basis. in stoping, the "hole" system has not only a wider, but a sounder application. in large ore-bodies where there are waste inclusions, it has one superiority over any system of excavation measurement, namely, that the miner has no interest in breaking waste into the ore. the plan of contracting stopes by the ton has the disadvantage that either the ore produced by each contractor must be weighed separately, or truckers must be trusted to count correctly, and to see that the cars are full. moreover, trucks must be inspected for waste,--a thing hard to do underground. so great are these detailed difficulties that many mines are sending cars to the surface in cages when they should be equipped for bin-loading and self-dumping skips. the method of contracting by the cubic foot of excavation saves all necessity for determining the weight of the output of each contractor. moreover, he has no object in mixing waste with the ore, barring the breaking of the walls. this system therefore requires the least superintendence, permits the modern type of hoisting, and therefore leaves little justification for the survival of the tonnage basis. where veins are narrow, stoping under contract by the square foot or fathom measured parallel to the walls has an advantage. the miner has no object then in breaking wall-rock, and the thoroughness of the ore-extraction is easily determined by inspection. bonus systems.--by giving cash bonuses for special accomplishment, much the same results can be obtained in some departments as by contracting. a bonus per foot of heading gained above a minimum, or an excess of trucks trammed beyond a minimum, or prizes for the largest amount done during the week or month in special works or in different shifts,--all these have a useful application in creating efficiency. a high level of results once established is easily maintained. labor unions.--there is another phase of the labor question which must be considered and that is the general relations of employer and employed. in these days of largely corporate proprietorship, the owners of mines are guided in their relations with labor by engineers occupying executive positions. on them falls the responsibility in such matters, and the engineer becomes thus a buffer between labor and capital. as corporations have grown, so likewise have the labor unions. in general, they are normal and proper antidotes for unlimited capitalistic organization. labor unions usually pass through two phases. first, the inertia of the unorganized labor is too often stirred only by demagogic means. after organization through these and other agencies, the lack of balance in the leaders often makes for injustice in demands, and for violence to obtain them and disregard of agreements entered upon. as time goes on, men become educated in regard to the rights of their employers, and to the reflection of these rights in ultimate benefit to labor itself. then the men, as well as the intelligent employer, endeavor to safeguard both interests. when this stage arrives, violence disappears in favor of negotiation on economic principles, and the unions achieve their greatest real gains. given a union with leaders who can control the members, and who are disposed to approach differences in a business spirit, there are few sounder positions for the employer, for agreements honorably carried out dismiss the constant harassments of possible strikes. such unions exist in dozens of trades in this country, and they are entitled to greater recognition. the time when the employer could ride roughshod over his labor is disappearing with the doctrine of "_laissez faire_," on which it was founded. the sooner the fact is recognized, the better for the employer. the sooner some miners' unions develop from the first into the second stage, the more speedily will their organizations secure general respect and influence.[*] [footnote *: some years of experience with compulsory arbitration in australia and new zealand are convincing that although the law there has many defects, still it is a step in the right direction, and the result has been of almost unmixed good to both sides. one of its minor, yet really great, benefits has been a considerable extinction of the parasite who lives by creating violence.] the crying need of labor unions, and of some employers as well, is education on a fundamental of economics too long disregarded by all classes and especially by the academic economist. when the latter abandon the theory that wages are the result of supply and demand, and recognize that in these days of international flow of labor, commodities and capital, the real controlling factor in wages is efficiency, then such an educational campaign may become possible. then will the employer and employee find a common ground on which each can benefit. there lives no engineer who has not seen insensate dispute as to wages where the real difficulty was inefficiency. no administrator begrudges a division with his men of the increased profit arising from increased efficiency. but every administrator begrudges the wage level demanded by labor unions whose policy is decreased efficiency in the false belief that they are providing for more labor. chapter xvii. administration (_continued_). accounts and technical data and reports; working costs; division of expenditure; inherent limitations in accuracy of working costs; working cost sheets. general technical data; labor, supplies, power, surveys, sampling, and assaying. first and foremost, mine accounts are for guidance in the distribution of expenditure and in the collection of revenue; secondly, they are to determine the financial progress of the enterprise, its profit or loss; and thirdly, they are to furnish statistical data to assist the management in its interminable battle to reduce expenses and increase revenue, and to enable the owner to determine the efficiency of his administrators. bookkeeping _per se_ is no part of this discussion. the fundamental purpose of that art is to cover the first two objects, and, as such, does not differ from its application to other commercial concerns. in addition to these accounting matters there is a further type of administrative report of equal importance--that is the periodic statements as to the physical condition of the property, the results of exploration in the mine, and the condition of the equipment. accounts. the special features of mine accounting reports which are a development to meet the needs of this particular business are the determination of working costs, and the final presentation of these data in a form available for comparative purposes. the subject may be discussed under:-- . classes of mine expenditure. . working costs. . the dissection of expenditures departmentally. . inherent limitations in the accuracy of working costs. . working cost sheets. in a wide view, mine expenditures fall into three classes, which maybe termed the "fixed charges," "proportional charges," and "suspense charges" or "capital expenditure." "fixed charges" are those which, like pumping and superintendence, depend upon time rather than tonnage and material handled. they are expenditures that would not decrease relatively to output. "proportional charges" are those which, like ore-breaking, stoping, supporting stopes, and tramming, are a direct coefficient of the ore extracted. "suspense charges" are those which are an indirect factor of the cost of the ore produced, such as equipment and development. these expenditures are preliminary to output, and they thus represent a storage of expense to be charged off when the ore is won. this outlay is often called "capital expenditure." such a term, though in common use, is not strictly correct, for the capital value vanishes when the ore is extracted, but in conformity with current usage the term "capital expenditure" will be adopted. except for the purpose of special inquiry, such as outlined under the chapter on "ratio of output," "fixed charges" are not customarily a special division in accounts. in a general way, such expenditures, combined with the "proportional charges," are called "revenue expenditure," as distinguished from the capital, or "suspense," expenditures. in other words, "revenue" expenditures are those involved in the daily turnover of the business and resulting in immediate returns. the inherent difference in character of revenue and capital expenditures is responsible for most of the difficulties in the determination of working costs, and most of the discussion on the subject. working costs.--"working costs" are a division of expenditure for some unit,--the foot of opening, ton of ore, a pound of metal, cubic yard or fathom of material excavated, or some other measure. the costs per unit are usually deduced for each month and each year. they are generally determined for each of the different departments of the mine or special works separately. further, the various sorts of expenditure in these departments are likewise segregated. in metal mining the ton is the universal unit of distribution for administrative purpose, although the pound of metal is often used to indicate final financial results. the object of determination of "working costs" is fundamentally for comparative purposes. together with other technical data, they are the nerves of the administration, for by comparison of detailed and aggregate results with other mines and internally in the same mine, over various periods and between different works, a most valuable check on efficiency is possible. further, there is one collateral value in all statistical data not to be overlooked, which is that the knowledge of its existence induces in the subordinate staff both solicitude and emulation. the fact must not be lost sight of, however, that the wide variations in physical and economic environment are so likely to vitiate conclusions from comparisons of statistics from two mines or from two detailed works on the same mine, or even from two different months on the same work, that the greatest care and discrimination are demanded in their application. moreover, the inherent difficulties in segregating and dividing the accounts which underlie such data, render it most desirable to offer some warning regarding the limits to which segregation and division may be carried to advantage. as working costs are primarily for comparisons, in order that they may have value for this purpose they must include only such items of expenditure as will regularly recur. if this limitation were more generally recognized, a good deal of dispute and polemics on the subject might be saved. for this reason it is quite impossible that all the expenditure on the mine should be charged into working costs, particularly some items that arise through "capital expenditure." the dissection of expenditures departmentally.--the final division in the dissection of the mine expenditure is in the main:-- /( ) general expenses. / ore-breaking. \ | | supporting stopes. | various _revenue._< ( ) ore extraction. < trucking ore. | expenditures | \ hoisting. | for labor, \( ) pumping. | supplies, power, / shaft-sinking. | repairs, etc., | station-cutting. > worked out per | crosscutting. | ton or foot /( ) development. < driving. | advanced _capital | | rising. | over each or < | winzes. | department. suspense._ | \ diamond drilling. / | | ( ) construction and \ various works. \ equipment. / the detailed dissection of expenditures in these various departments with view to determine amount of various sorts of expenditure over the department, or over some special work in that department, is full of unsolvable complications. the allocation of the direct expenditure of labor and supplies applied to the above divisions or special departments in them, is easily accomplished, but beyond this point two sorts of difficulties immediately arise and offer infinite field for opinion and method. the first of these difficulties arises from supplementary departments on the mine, such as "power," "repairs and maintenance," "sampling and assaying." these departments must be "spread" over the divisions outlined above, for such charges are in part or whole a portion of the expense of these divisions. further, all of these "spread" departments are applied to surface as well as to underground works, and must be divided not only over the above departments but also over the surface departments,--not under discussion here. the common method is to distribute "power" on a basis of an approximation of the amount used in each department; to distribute "repairs and maintenance," either on a basis of shop returns, or a distribution over all departments on the basis of the labor employed in those departments, on the theory that such repairs arise in this proportion; to distribute sampling and assaying over the actual points to which they relate at the average cost per sample or assay. "general expenses," that is, superintendence, etc., are often not included in the final departments as above, but are sometimes "spread" in an attempt to charge a proportion of superintendence to each particular work. as, however, such "spreading" must take place on the basis of the relative expenditure in each department, the result is of little value, for such a basis does not truly represent the proportion of general superintendence, etc., devoted to each department. if they are distributed over all departments, capital as well as revenue, on the basis of total expenditure, they inflate the "capital expenditure" departments against a day of reckoning when these charges come to be distributed over working costs. although it may be contended that the capital departments also require supervision, such a practice is a favorite device for showing apparently low working costs in the revenue departments. the most courageous way is not to distribute general expenses at all, but to charge them separately and directly to revenue accounts and thus wholly into working costs. the second problem is to reduce the "suspense" or capital charges to a final cost per ton, and this is no simple matter. development expenditures bear a relation to the tonnage developed and not to that extracted in any particular period. if it is desired to preserve any value for comparative purposes in the mining costs, such outlay must be charged out on the basis of the tonnage developed, and such portion of the ore as is extracted must be written off at this rate; otherwise one month may see double the amount of development in progress which another records, and the underground costs would be swelled or diminished thereby in a way to ruin their comparative value from month to month. the ore developed cannot be satisfactorily determined at short intervals, but it can be known at least annually, and a price may be deduced as to its cost per ton. in many mines a figure is arrived at by estimating ore-reserves at the end of the year, and this figure is used during the succeeding year as a "redemption of development" and as such charged to working costs, and thus into revenue account in proportion to the tonnage extracted. this matter is further elaborated in some mines, in that winzes and rises are written off at one rate, levels and crosscuts at another, and shafts at one still lower, on the theory that they lost their usefulness in this progression as the ore is extracted. this course, however, is a refinement hardly warranted. plant and equipment constitute another "suspense" account even harder to charge up logically to tonnage costs, for it is in many items dependent upon the life of the mine, which is an unknown factor. most managers debit repairs and maintenance directly to the revenue account and leave the reduction of the construction outlay to an annual depreciation on the final balance sheet, on the theory that the plant is maintained out of costs to its original value. this subject will be discussed further on. inherent limitations in accuracy of working costs.--there are three types of such limitations which arise in the determination of costs and render too detailed dissection of such costs hopeless of accuracy and of little value for comparative purposes. they are, first, the difficulty of determining all of even direct expenditure on any particular crosscut, stope, haulage, etc.; second, the leveling effect of distributing the "spread" expenditures, such as power, repairs, etc.; and third, the difficulties arising out of the borderland of various departments. of the first of these limitations the instance may be cited that foremen and timekeepers can indicate very closely the destination of labor expense, and also that of some of the large items of supply, such as timber and explosives, but the distribution of minor supplies, such as candles, drills, picks, and shovels, is impossible of accurate knowledge without an expense wholly unwarranted by the information gained. to determine at a particular crosscut the exact amount of steel, and of tools consumed, and the cost of sharpening them, would entail their separate and special delivery to the same place of attack and a final weighing-up to learn the consumption. of the second sort of limitations, the effect of "spread" expenditure, the instance may be given that the repairs and maintenance are done by many men at work on timbers, tracks, machinery, etc. it is hopeless to try and tell how much of their work should be charged specifically to detailed points. in the distribution of power may be taken the instance of air-drills. although the work upon which the drill is employed can be known, the power required for compression usually comes from a common power-plant, so that the portion of power debited to the air compressor is an approximation. the assumption of an equal consumption of air by all drills is a further approximation. in practice, therefore, many expenses are distributed on the theory that they arise in proportion to the labor employed, or the machines used in the various departments. the net result is to level down expensive points and level up inexpensive ones. the third sort of limitation of accounting difficulty referred to, arises in determining into which department are actually to be allocated the charges which lie in the borderland between various primary classes of expenditure. for instance, in ore won from development,--in some months three times as much development may be in ore as in other months. if the total expense of development work which yields ore be charged to stoping account, and if cost be worked out on the total tonnage of ore hoisted, then the stoping cost deduced will be erratic, and the true figures will be obscured. on the other hand, if all development is charged to 'capital account' and the stoping cost worked out on all ore hoisted, it will include a fluctuating amount of ore not actually paid for by the revenue departments or charged into costs. this fluctuation either way vitiates the whole comparative value of the stoping costs. in the following system a compromise is reached by crediting "development" with an amount representing the ore won from development at the average cost of stoping, and by charging this amount into "stoping." a number of such questions arise where the proper division is simply a matter of opinion. the result of all these limitations is that a point in detail is quickly reached where no further dissection of expenditure is justified, since it becomes merely an approximation. the writer's own impression is that without an unwarrantable number of accountants, no manager can tell with any accuracy the cost of any particular stope, or of any particular development heading. therefore, aside from some large items, such detailed statistics, if given, are to be taken with great reserve. working cost sheets.--there are an infinite number of forms of working cost sheets, practically every manager having a system of his own. to be of greatest value, such sheets should show on their face the method by which the "spread" departments are handled, and how revenue and suspense departments are segregated. when too much detail is presented, it is but a waste of accounting and consequent expense. where to draw the line in this regard is, however, a matter of great difficulty. no cost sheet is entirely satisfactory. the appended sheet is in use at a number of mines. it is no more perfect than many others. it will be noticed that the effect of this system is to throw the general expenses into the revenue expenditures, and as little as possible into the "suspense" account. general technical data. for the purposes of efficient management, the information gathered under this head is of equal, if not superior, importance to that under "working costs." such data fall generally under the following heads:-- labor.--returns of the shifts worked in the various departments for each day and for the month; worked out on a monthly basis of footage progress, tonnage produced or tons handled per man; also where possible the footage of holes drilled, worked out per man and per machine. supplies.--daily returns of supplies used; the principal items worked out monthly in quantity per foot of progress, or per ton of ore produced. power.--fuel, lubricant, etc., consumed in steam production, worked out into units of steam produced, and this production allocated to the various engines. where electrical power is used, the consumption of the various motors is set out. surveys.--the need of accurate plans requires no discussion. aside from these, the survey-office furnishes the returns of development footage, measurements under contracts, and the like. sampling and assaying.--mine sampling and assaying fall under two heads,--the determination of the value of standing ore, and of products from the mine. the sampling and assaying on a going mine call for the same care and method as in cases of valuation of the mine for purchase,--the details of which have been presented under "mine valuation,"--for through it, guidance must not only be had to the value of the mine and for reports to owners, but the detailed development and ore extraction depend on an absolute knowledge of where the values lie. chapter xviii. administration (_concluded_). administrative reports. in addition to financial returns showing the monthly receipts, expenditures, and working costs, there must be in proper administration periodic reports from the officers of the mine to the owners or directors as to the physical progress of the enterprise. such reports must embrace details of ore extraction, metal contents, treatment recoveries, construction of equipment, and the results of underground development. the value of mines is so much affected by the monthly or even daily result of exploration that reports of such work are needed very frequently,--weekly or even daily if critical work is in progress. these reports must show the width, length, and value of the ore disclosed. the tangible result of development work is the tonnage and grade of ore opened up. how often this stock-taking should take place is much dependent upon the character of the ore. the result of exploration in irregular ore-bodies often does not, over short periods, show anything tangible in definite measurable tonnage, but at least annually the ore reserve can be estimated. in mines owned by companies, the question arises almost daily as to how much of and how often the above information should be placed before stockholders (and therefore the public) by the directors. in a general way, any company whose shares are offered on the stock exchange is indirectly inviting the public to become partners in the business, and these partners are entitled to all the information which affects the value of their property and are entitled to it promptly. moreover, mining is a business where competition is so obscure and so much a matter of indifference, that suppression of important facts in documents for public circulation has no justification. on the other hand, both the technical progress of the industry and its position in public esteem demand the fullest disclosure and greatest care in preparation of reports. most stockholders' ignorance of mining technology and of details of their particular mine demands a great deal of care and discretion in the preparation of these public reports that they may not be misled. development results may mean little or much, depending upon the location of the work done in relation to the ore-bodies, etc., and this should be clearly set forth. the best opportunity of clear, well-balanced statements lies in the preparation of the annual report and accounts. such reports are of three parts:-- . the "profit and loss" account, or the "revenue account." . the balance sheet; that is, the assets and liabilities statement. . the reports of the directors, manager, and consulting engineer. the first two items are largely matters of bookkeeping. they or the report should show the working costs per ton for the year. what must be here included in costs is easier of determination than in the detailed monthly cost sheets of the administration; for at the annual review, it is not difficult to assess the amount chargeable to development. equipment expenditure, however, presents an annual difficulty, for, as said, the distribution of this item is a factor of the life of the mine, and that is unknown. if such a plant has been paid for out of the earnings, there is no object in carrying it on the company's books as an asset, and most well-conducted companies write it off at once. on the other hand, where the plant is paid for out of capital provided for the purpose, even to write off depreciation means that a corresponding sum of cash must be held in the company's treasury in order to balance the accounts,--in other words, depreciation in such an instance becomes a return of capital. the question then is one of policy in the company's finance, and in neither case is it a matter which can be brought into working costs and leave them any value for comparative purposes. indeed, the true cost of working the ore from any mine can only be told when the mine is exhausted; then the dividends can be subtracted from the capital sunk and metal sold, and the difference divided over the total tonnage produced. the third section of the report affords wide scope for the best efforts of the administration. this portion of the report falls into three divisions: (_a_) the construction and equipment work of the year, (_b_) the ore extraction and treatment, and (_c_) the results of development work. the first requires a statement of the plant constructed, its object and accomplishment; the second a disclosure of tonnage produced, values, metallurgical and mechanical efficiency. the third is of the utmost importance to the stockholder, and is the one most often disregarded and obscured. upon this hinges the value of the property. there is no reason why, with plans and simplicity of terms, such reports cannot be presented in a manner from which the novice can judge of the intrinsic position of the property. a statement of the tonnage of ore-reserves and their value, or of the number of years' supply of the current output, together with details of ore disclosed in development work, and the working costs, give the ground data upon which any stockholder who takes interest in his investment may judge for himself. failure to provide such data will some day be understood by the investing public as a _prima facie_ index of either incapacity or villainy. by the insistence of the many engineers in administration of mines upon the publication of such data, and by the insistence of other engineers upon such data for their clients before investment, and by the exposure of the delinquents in the press, a more practicable "protection of investors" can be reached than by years of academic discussion. chapter xix. the amount of risk in mining investments. risk in valuation of mines; in mines as compared with other commercial enterprises. from the constant reiteration of the risks and difficulties involved in every step of mining enterprise from the valuation of the mine to its administration as a going concern, the impression may be gained that the whole business is one great gamble; in other words, that the point whereat certainties stop and conjecture steps in is so vital as to render the whole highly speculative. far from denying that mining is, in comparison with better-class government bonds, a speculative type of investment, it is desirable to avow and emphasize the fact. but it is none the less well to inquire what degree of hazard enters in and how it compares with that in other forms of industrial enterprise. mining business, from an investment view, is of two sorts,--prospecting ventures and developed mines; that is, mines where little or no ore is exposed, and mines where a definite quantity of ore is measurable or can be reasonably anticipated. the great hazards and likewise the aladdin caves of mining are mainly confined to the first class. although all mines must pass through the prospecting stage, the great industry of metal production is based on developed mines, and it is these which should come into the purview of the non-professional investor. the first class should be reserved invariably for speculators, and a speculator may be defined as one who hazards all to gain much. it is with mining as an investment, however, that this discussion is concerned. risk in valuation of mines.--assuming a competent collection of data and efficient management of the property, the risks in valuing are from step to step:-- . the risk of continuity in metal contents beyond sample faces. . the risk of continuity in volume through the blocks estimated. . the risk of successful metallurgical treatment. . the risk of metal prices, in all but gold. . the risk of properly estimating costs. . the risk of extension of the ore beyond exposures. . the risk of management. as to the continuity of values and volumes through the estimated area, the experience of hundreds of engineers in hundreds of mines has shown that when the estimates are based on properly secured data for "proved ore," here at least there is absolutely no hazard. metallurgical treatment, if determined by past experience on the ore itself, carries no chance; and where determined by experiment, the risk is eliminated if the work be sufficiently exhaustive. the risk of metal price is simply a question of how conservative a figure is used in estimating. it can be eliminated if a price low enough be taken. risk of extension in depth or beyond exposures cannot be avoided. it can be reduced in proportion to the distance assumed. obviously, if no extension is counted, there is nothing chanced. the risk of proper appreciation of costs is negligible where experience in the district exists. otherwise, it can be eliminated if a sufficiently large allowance is taken. the risk of failure to secure good management can be eliminated if proved men are chosen. there is, therefore, a basic value to every mine. the "proved" ore taken on known metallurgical grounds, under known conditions of costs on minimum prices of metals, has a value as certain as that of money in one's own vault. this is the value previously referred to as the "_a_" value. if the price (and interest on it pending recovery) falls within this amount, there is no question that the mine is worth the price. what the risk is in mining is simply what amount the price of the investment demands shall be won from extension of the deposit beyond known exposures, or what higher price of metal must be realized than that calculated in the "_a_" value. the demands on this _x, y_ portion of the mine can be converted into tons of ore, life of production, or higher prices, and these can be weighed with the geological weights and the industrial outlook. mines compared to other commercial enterprises.--the profits from a mining venture over and above the bed-rock value _a_, that is, the return to be derived from more extensive ore-recovery and a higher price of metal, may be compared to the value included in other forms of commercial enterprise for "good-will." such forms of enterprise are valued on a basis of the amount which will replace the net assets plus (or minus) an amount for "good-will," that is, the earning capacity. this good-will is a speculation of varying risk depending on the character of the enterprise. for natural monopolies, like some railways and waterworks, the risk is less and for shoe factories more. even natural monopolies are subject to the risks of antagonistic legislation and industrial storms. but, eliminating this class of enterprise, the speculative value of a good-will involves a greater risk than prospective value in mines, if properly measured; because the dangers of competition and industrial storms do not enter to such a degree, nor is the future so dependent upon the human genius of the founder or manager. mining has reached such a stage of development as a science that management proceeds upon comparatively well-known lines. it is subject to known checks through the opportunity of comparisons by which efficiency can be determined in a manner more open for the investor to learn than in any other form of industry. while in mining an estimate of a certain minimum of extension in depth, as indicated by collateral factors, may occasionally fall short, it will, in nine cases out of ten, be exceeded. if investment in mines be spread over ten cases, similarly valued as to minimum of extension, the risk has been virtually eliminated. the industry, if reduced to the above basis for financial guidance, is a more profitable business and is one of less hazards than competitive forms of commercial enterprises. in view of what has been said before, it may be unnecessary to refer again to the subject, but the constant reiteration by wiseacres that the weak point in mining investments lies in their short life and possible loss of capital, warrants a repetition that the _a, b, c_ of proper investment in mines is to be assured, by the "_a_" value, of a return of the whole or major portion of the capital. the risk of interest and profit may be deferred to the _x, y_ value, and in such case it is on a plane with "good-will." it should be said at once to that class who want large returns on investment without investigation as to merits, or assurance as to the management of the business, that there is no field in this world for the employment of their money at over %. unfortunately for the reputation of the mining industry, and metal mines especially, the business is often not conducted or valued on lines which have been outlined in these chapters. there is often the desire to sell stocks beyond their value. there is always the possibility that extension in depth will reveal a glorious eldorado. it occasionally does, and the report echoes round the world for years, together with tributes to the great judgment of the exploiters. the volume of sound allures undue numbers of the venturesome, untrained, and ill-advised public to the business, together with a mob of camp-followers whose objective is to exploit the ignorant by preying on their gambling instincts. thus a considerable section of metal mining industry is in the hands of these classes, and a cloud of disrepute hangs ever in the horizon. there has been a great educational campaign in progress during the past few years through the technical training of men for conduct of the industry, by the example of reputable companies in regularly publishing the essential facts upon which the value of their mines is based, and through understandable nontechnical discussion in and by some sections of the financial and general press. the real investor is being educated to distinguish between reputable concerns and the counters of gamesters. moreover, yearly, men of technical knowledge are taking a stronger and more influential part in mining finance and in the direction of mining and exploration companies. the net result of these forces will be to put mining on a better plane. chapter xx. the character, training, and obligations of the mining engineering profession. in a discussion of some problems of metal mining from the point of view of the direction of mining operations it may not be amiss to discuss the character of the mining engineering profession in its bearings on training and practice, and its relations to the public. the most dominant characteristic of the mining engineering profession is the vast preponderance of the commercial over the technical in the daily work of the engineer. for years a gradual evolution has been in progress altering the larger demands on this branch of the engineering profession from advisory to executive work. the mining engineer is no longer the technician who concocts reports and blue prints. it is demanded of him that he devise the finance, construct and manage the works which he advises. the demands of such executive work are largely commercial; although the commercial experience and executive ability thus become one pier in the foundation of training, the bridge no less requires two piers, and the second is based on technical knowledge. far from being deprecated, these commercial phases cannot be too strongly emphasized. on the other hand, i am far from contending that our vocation is a business rather than a profession. for many years after the dawn of modern engineering, the members of our profession were men who rose through the ranks of workmen, and as a result, we are to this day in the public mind a sort of superior artisan, for to many the engine-driver is equally an engineer with the designer of the engine, yet their real relation is but as the hand to the brain. at a later period the recruits entered by apprenticeship to those men who had established their intellectual superiority to their fellow-workers. these men were nearly always employed in an advisory way--subjective to the executive head. during the last few decades, the advance of science and the complication of industry have demanded a wholly broader basis of scientific and general training for its leaders. executive heads are demanded who have technical training. this has resulted in the establishment of special technical colleges, and compelled a place for engineering in the great universities. the high intelligence demanded by the vocation itself, and the revolution in training caused by the strengthening of its foundations in general education, has finally, beyond all question, raised the work of application of science to industry to the dignity of a profession on a par with the law, medicine, and science. it demands of its members equally high mental attainments,--and a more rigorous training and experience. despite all this, industry is conducted for commercial purposes, and leaves no room for the haughty intellectual superiority assumed by some professions over business callings. there is now demanded of the mining specialist a wide knowledge of certain branches of civil, mechanical, electrical, and chemical engineering, geology, economics, the humanities, and what not; and in addition to all this, engineering sense, executive ability, business experience, and financial insight. engineering sense is that fine blend of honesty, ingenuity, and intuition which is a mental endowment apart from knowledge and experience. its possession is the test of the real engineer. it distinguishes engineering as a profession from engineering as a trade. it is this sense that elevates the possessor to the profession which is, of all others, the most difficult and the most comprehensive. financial insight can only come by experience in the commercial world. likewise must come the experience in technical work which gives balance to theoretical training. executive ability is that capacity to coördinate and command the best results from other men,--it is a natural endowment. which can be cultivated only in actual use. the practice of mine engineering being so large a mixture of business, it follows that the whole of the training of this profession cannot be had in schools and universities. the commercial and executive side of the work cannot be taught; it must be absorbed by actual participation in the industry. nor is it impossible to rise to great eminence in the profession without university training, as witness some of our greatest engineers. the university can do much; it can give a broad basis of knowledge and mental training, and can inculcate moral feeling, which entitles men to lead their fellows. it can teach the technical fundamentals of the multifold sciences which the engineer should know and must apply. but after the university must come a schooling in men and things equally thorough and more arduous. in this predominating demand for commercial qualifications over the technical ones, the mining profession has differentiated to a great degree from its brother engineering branches. that this is true will be most apparent if we examine the course through which engineering projects march, and the demands of each stage on their road to completion. the life of all engineering projects in a general way may be divided into five phases:[*]-- [footnote *: these phases do not necessarily proceed step by step. for an expanding works especially, all of them may be in process at the same time, but if each item be considered to itself, this is the usual progress, or should be when properly engineered.] . determination of the value of the project. . determination of the method of attack. . the detailed delineation of method, means, and tools. . the execution of the works. . the operation of the completed works. these various stages of the resolution of an engineering project require in each more or less of every quality of intellect, training, and character. at the different stages, certain of these qualities are in predominant demand: in the first stage, financial insight; in the second, "engineering sense"; in the third, training and experience; in the fourth and fifth, executive ability. a certain amount of compass over the project during the whole five stages is required by all branches of the engineering profession,--harbor, canal, railway, waterworks, bridge, mechanical, electrical, etc.; but in none of them so completely and in such constant combination is this demanded as in mining. the determination of the commercial value of projects is a greater section of the mining engineer's occupation than of the other engineering branches. mines are operated only to earn immediate profits. no question of public utility enters, so that all mining projects have by this necessity to be from the first weighed from a profit point of view alone. the determination of this question is one which demands such an amount of technical knowledge and experience that those who are not experts cannot enter the field,--therefore the service of the engineer is always demanded in their satisfactory solution. moreover, unlike most other engineering projects, mines have a faculty of changing owners several times during their career, so that every one has to survive a periodic revaluation. from the other branches of engineering, the electrical engineer is the most often called upon to weigh the probabilities of financial success of the enterprise, but usually his presence in this capacity is called upon only at the initial stage, for electrical enterprises seldom change hands. the mechanical and chemical branches are usually called upon for purely technical service on the demand of the operator, who decides the financial problems for himself, or upon works forming but units in undertakings where the opinion on the financial advisability is compassed by some other branch of the engineering profession. the other engineering branches, even less often, are called in for financial advice, and in those branches involving works of public utility the profit-and-loss phase scarcely enters at all. given that the project has been determined upon, and that the enterprise has entered upon the second stage, that of determination of method of attack, the immediate commercial result limits the mining engineer's every plan and design to a greater degree than it does the other engineering specialists. the question of capital and profit dogs his every footstep, for all mines are ephemeral; the life of any given mine is short. metal mines have indeed the shortest lives of any. while some exceptional ones may produce through one generation, under the stress of modern methods a much larger proportion extend only over a decade or two. but of more pertinent force is the fact that as the certain life of a metal mine can be positively known in most cases but a short period beyond the actual time required to exhaust the ore in sight, not even a decade of life to the enterprise is available for the estimates of the mining engineer. mining works are of no value when the mine is exhausted; the capital invested must be recovered in very short periods, and therefore all mining works must be of the most temporary character that will answer. the mining engineer cannot erect a works that will last as long as possible; it is to last as long as the mine only, and, in laying it out, forefront in his mind must be the question, can its cost be redeemed in the period of use of which i am certain it will find employment? if not, will some cheaper device, which gives less efficiency, do? the harbor engineer, the railway engineer, the mechanical engineer, build as solidly as they can, for the demand for the work will exist till after their materials are worn out, however soundly they construct. our engineer cousins can, in a greater degree by study and investigation, marshal in advance the factors with which they have to deal. the mining engineer's works, on the other hand, depend at all times on many elements which, from the nature of things, must remain unknown. no mine is laid bare to study and resolve in advance. we have to deal with conditions buried in the earth. especially in metal mines we cannot know, when our works are initiated, what the size, mineralization, or surroundings of the ore-bodies will be. we must plunge into them and learn,--and repent. not only is the useful life of our mining works indeterminate, but the very character of them is uncertain in advance. all our works must be in a way doubly tentative, for they are subject to constant alterations as they proceed. not only does this apply to our initial plans, but to our daily amendment of them as we proceed into the unknown. mining engineering is, therefore, never ended with the initial determination of a method. it is called upon daily to replan and reconceive, coincidentally with the daily progress of the constructions and operation. weary with disappointment in his wisest conception, many a mining engineer looks jealously upon his happier engineering cousin, who, when he designs a bridge, can know its size, its strains, and its cost, and can wash his hands of it finally when the contractor steps in to its construction. and, above all, it is no concern of his whether it will pay. did he start to build a bridge over a water, the width or depth or bottom of which he could not know in advance, and require to get its cost back in ten years, with a profit, his would be a task of similar harassments. as said before, it is becoming more general every year to employ the mining engineer as the executive head in the operation of mining engineering projects, that is, in the fourth and fifth stages of the enterprise. he is becoming the foreman, manager, and president of the company, or as it may be contended by some, the executive head is coming to have technical qualifications. either way, in no branch of enterprise founded on engineering is the operative head of necessity so much a technical director. not only is this caused by the necessity of executive knowledge before valuations can be properly done, but the incorporation of the executive work with the technical has been brought about by several other forces. we have a type of works which, by reason of the new conditions and constant revisions which arise from pushing into the unknown coincidentally with operating, demands an intimate continuous daily employment of engineering sense and design through the whole history of the enterprise. these works are of themselves of a character which requires a constant vigilant eye on financial outcome. the advances in metallurgy, and the decreased cost of production by larger capacities, require yearly larger, more complicated, and more costly plants. thus, larger and larger capitals are required, and enterprise is passing from the hands of the individual to the financially stronger corporation. this altered position as to the works and finance has made keener demands, both technically and in an administrative way, for the highly trained man. in the early stages of american mining, with the moderate demand on capital and the simpler forms of engineering involved, mining was largely a matter of individual enterprise and ownership. these owners were men to whom experience had brought some of the needful technical qualifications. they usually held the reins of business management in their own hands and employed the engineer subjectively, when they employed him at all. they were also, as a rule, distinguished by their contempt for university-trained engineers. the gradually increasing employment of the engineer as combined executive and technical head, was largely of american development. many english and european mines still maintain the two separate bureaus, the technical and the financial. such organization is open to much objection from the point of view of the owner's interests, and still more from that of the engineer. in such an organization the latter is always subordinate to the financial control,--hence the least paid and least respected. when two bureaus exist, the technical lacks that balance of commercial purpose which it should have. the ambition of the theoretical engineer, divorced from commercial result, is complete technical nicety of works and low production costs without the regard for capital outlay which the commercial experience and temporary character of mining constructions demand. on the other hand, the purely financial bureau usually begrudges the capital outlay which sound engineering may warrant. the result is an administration that is not comparable to the single head with both qualifications and an even balance in both spheres. in america, we still have a relic of this form of administration in the consulting mining engineer, but barring his functions as a valuer of mines, he is disappearing in connection with the industry, in favor of the manager, or the president of the company, who has administrative control. the mining engineer's field of employment is therefore not only wider by this general inclusion of administrative work, but one of more responsibility. while he must conduct all five phases of engineering projects coincidentally, the other branches of the profession are more or less confined to one phase or another. they can draw sharper limitations of their engagements or specialization and confine themselves to more purely technical work. the civil engineer may construct railway or harbor works; the mechanical engineer may design and build engines; the naval architect may build ships; but given that he designed to do the work in the most effectual manner, it is no concern of his whether they subsequently earn dividends. he does not have to operate them, to find the income, to feed the mill, or sell the product. the profit and loss does not hound his footsteps after his construction is complete. although it is desirable to emphasize the commercial side of the practice of the mining engineer's profession, there are other sides of no less moment. there is the right of every red-blooded man to be assured that his work will be a daily satisfaction to himself; that it is a work which is contributing to the welfare and advance of his country; and that it will build for him a position of dignity and consequence among his fellows. there are the moral and public obligations upon the profession. there are to-day the demands upon the engineers which are the demands upon their positions as leaders of a great industry. in an industry that lends itself so much to speculation and chicanery, there is the duty of every engineer to diminish the opportunity of the vulture so far as is possible. where he can enter these lists has been suggested in the previous pages. further than to the "investor" in mines, he has a duty to his brothers in the profession. in no profession does competition enter so obscurely, nor in no other are men of a profession thrown into such terms of intimacy in professional work. from these causes there has arisen a freedom of disclosure of technical results and a comradery of members greater than that in any other profession. no profession is so subject to the capriciousness of fortune, and he whose position is assured to-day is not assured to-morrow unless it be coupled with a consideration of those members not so fortunate. especially is there an obligation to the younger members that they may have opportunity of training and a right start in the work. the very essence of the profession is that it calls upon its members to direct men. they are the officers in the great industrial army. from the nature of things, metal mines do not, like our cities and settlements, lie in those regions covered deep in rich soils. our mines must be found in the mountains and deserts where rocks are exposed to search. thus they lie away from the centers of comfort and culture,--they are the outposts of civilization. the engineer is an officer on outpost duty, and in these places he is the camp leader. by his position as a leader in the community he has a chieftainship that carries a responsibility besides mere mine management. his is the responsibility of example in fair dealing and good government in the community. in but few of its greatest works does the personality of its real creator reach the ears of the world; the real engineer does not advertise himself. but the engineering profession generally rises yearly in dignity and importance as the rest of the world learns more of where the real brains of industrial progress are. the time will come when people will ask, not who paid for a thing, but who built it. to the engineer falls the work of creating from the dry bones of scientific fact the living body of industry. it is he whose intellect and direction bring to the world the comforts and necessities of daily need. unlike the doctor, his is not the constant struggle to save the weak. unlike the soldier, destruction is not his prime function. unlike the lawyer, quarrels are not his daily bread. engineering is the profession of creation and of construction, of stimulation of human effort and accomplishment. index. accounts. administration. administrative reports. air-compression. -drills. alteration, secondary. alternative shafts to inclined deposit. amortization of capital and interest. animals for underground transport. annual demand for base metals. report. artificial pillars. assay foot. inch. of samples. plans. assaying. a value of mine. averages, calculation. bailing. balance sheet. basic price. value of mine. benches. bend in combined shafts. bins. blocked-out ore. blocks. bonanzas, origin. bonus systems, of work. breaking ore. broken hill, levels. ore-pillars. bumping-trough. cable-ways. cages. calculation of averages. of quantities of ore. capital expenditure. caving systems. churn-drills. chutes, loading, in vertical shaft. classification of ore in sight. combined shaft. stopes. commercial value of projects, determination. compartments for shaft. compressed-air locomotives. -air pumps. _vs_. electricity for drills. content, average metal, determining. metal, differences. contract work. copper, annual demand. deposits. ores, enrichment. cost of entry into mine. of equipment. production. per foot of sinking. working. cribs. crosscuts. cross-section of inclined deposit which must be attacked in depth. showing auxiliary vertical outlet. crouch, j. j. cubic feet per ton of ore. foot contents of block. deep-level mines. demand for metals. departmental dissection of expenditures. deposits, _in situ_. ore, classes. regularity. size. structure. depth of exhaustion. determination of average metal contents of ore. development in early prospecting stage. in neighboring mines. of mines. diamond-drilling. diluting narrow samples to a stoping width. dip. direct-acting steam-pumps. distribution of values. dividend, annual, present value. dommeiler. down holes. drainage. comparison of different systems. systems. drifts. drill, requirements. drilling. drives. dry walling with timber caps. efficiency, factors of. of mass. electrical haulage. pumps. electricity for drills. engine, size for winding appliances. engineer, mining, as executive. engineering projects, phases of. enrichment. at cross-veins. entry, to mine. to vertical or horizontal deposits. equipment, cost. improvements. mechanical. erosion. error, percentage in estimates from sampling. escape. examination of mining property. excavation, supporting. exhaustion, depth. expenditures, departmental dissection. mine. extension in depth. factor of safety in calculating averages of samples. filling. system combined with square-setting. with broken ore subsequently withdrawn. waste. fissure veins. fissuring. depth. fixed charges. flat-back stope. flexibility in drainage system. floors. folding. foot-drilled system of contract work. -hole system of contract work. of advance system of contract work. value. fraud, precautions against in sampling. general expenses. gold deposits. deposits, alteration. enrichment. hammer type of drill. hand-drilling. -trucking. haulage, electrical. equipment in shaft. mechanical. hole system of contract work. horizons of ore-deposits. horizontal deposits, entry. stope. filled with waste. hydraulic pumps. impregnation deposits. inch, assay. inclined deposits to be worked from outcrop or near it. deposits which must be attacked in depth. shaft. inclines. capacity. infiltration type of deposits. intelligence as factor of skill. interest calculations in mine valuation. intervals, level. inwood's tables. iron hat. leaching. ivanhoe mine, west australia. kibble. labor, general technical data. handling. unions. lateral underground transport. le roi mine. lead, annual demand. deposits. enriching. prices, - . -zinc ores, enrichment. lenses. levels. intervals. of broken hill. protection. life, in sight. of mine. locomotives, compressed-air. lode mines, valuation. lodes. long-wall stope. machine-drill, performance. drilling. _vs_. hand-drilling. management, mine. matte. mechanical efficiency of drainage machinery. equipment. men for underground transport. metal content, determining. contents, differences. demand for. mine, value. price. mines compared to other commercial enterprises. equipment. expenditures. mines--_continued._ life of. metal, value of. of moderate depths. to be worked to great depths. valuation. mining engineering profession. mt. cenis tunnel. morgan gold mine. normal price. obligations of engineering profession. openings, position in relation to secondary alteration. ore, average width in block. blocked-out. -bodies. shapes. -breaking, methods. calculation of quantities of. -chutes in shrinkage-stoping. -deposits, classes. determination of average metal contents. developed. developing. expectant. in sight. sight, classification. -pillars. support in narrow stopes. -shoots. weight of a cubic foot. width for one sample. origin of deposit. outcrop mines. output, factors limiting. giving least production cost. maximum, determination. overhand stapes. overproduction of base metal. oxidation. patchwork plant, mechanical inefficiency of. pay areas, formation. pillars, artificial. positive ore. value of metal mine. possible ore. power conditions. general technical data. sources. transmission. preliminary inspection. previous yield. price of metals. probable ore. producing stage of mine. production, cost. profit and loss account. factors determining. in sight. proportional charges. prospecting stage of mine. prospective ore. value. protection of levels. proved ore. pumping systems. pumps, compressed-air. electrical. hydraulic. rod-driven. ratio of output to mine. recoverable percentage of gross assay value. recovery of ore. rectangular shaft. redemption of capital and interest. reduction of output. regularity of deposit. reliability of drainage system. replacement. reports. administrative. resuing. revenue account. rill-cut overhand stope. method of incline cuts. -stopes. filled with waste. -stoping. rises. risk in mining investments. in valuation of mines. roadways, protecting in shrinkage-stoping. rod-driven pumps. rotary steam-pumps. round vertical shafts. runs of value. test-treatment. safety, factor of, in calculating averages of samples. sample, assay of. average value. narrow, diluting to a stoping width. sections. taking, physical details. manner of taking. sampling. accuracy. percentage of error in estimates from. precautions against fraud. saving of fixed charges. secondary alteration. enrichment. security of investment. self-dumping skip. sets. shafts. arrangement for very deep inclined shafts. compartments. different depths. haulage. location. number. output capacity. shape. size. shrinkage-stope. -stoping. advantages. disadvantages. when applicable. silver deposits. deposits, enrichment. prices. sinking, speed. size of deposit. skill, effect on production cost. skips. balanced. haulage in vertical shaft. sollars. solubility of minerals. specific volume of ores. speculative values of metal mine. value of mine. spelter, annual demand. square-set. -set timbering. stations. arrangement for skip haulage in vertical shaft. steam-pumps, direct. steepening winzes and ore passes. stope filled with broken ore. minimum width. stoping. contract systems. storing metal. structural character of deposit. structure of deposit. stull and waste pillars. support with waste reënforcement. -supported stope. stulls. wood. subheading. sublevel caving system. subsidiary development. superficial enrichment. supplies, general technical data. support by pillars of ore. supporting excavation. surveys. suspense charges. test parcels. sections. -treatment runs. timber, cost. timbered shaft design. timbering. tin, annual demand. deposits. ore, migration and enrichment. tools. top slicing. tracks. transport in stopes. tunnel entry. feet paid for in years. size. underhand stopes. uppers. valuation, mine. of lode mines. mines, risk in. mines with little or no ore in sight. on second-hand data. value, average, of samples. discrepancy between estimated and actual. distribution. of extension in depth, estimating. positive, of metal mine. present, of an annual dividend. of $ or £ , payable in -- years. runs of. speculative, of metal mine. valuing ore in course of breaking. ventilation. vertical deposits, entry. interval between levels. shafts. capacity. volume, specific, of ores. waste-filled stope. water-power. weight per cubic foot of ore. weindel, caspar. whiting hoist. width of ore for one sample. winding appliances. winzes. in shrinkage-stoping. to be used for filling. working cost. inherent limitations in accuracy of. sheets. workshops. yield, previous. years of life required to yield --% interest. zinc deposits. leaching. the heritage of the hills by arthur p. hankins author of "the jubilee girl," etc. new york dodd, mead and company copyright, , by dodd, mead and company, inc. printed in u. s. a. contents i at honeymoon flat ii peter drew's last message iii b for bolivio iv the first caller v "and i'll help you!" vi according to the records vii lilac spodumene viii poison oak ranch ix nancy field's windfall x jessamy's hummingbird xi concerning springs and showut poche-daka xii the poison oakers ride xiii shinplaster and creeds xiv high power xv the fire dance xvi a guest at the rancho xvii the girl in red xviii spies xix contentions xx "wait!" xxi "when we meet again!" xxii the watchman of the dead xxiii the question xxiv in the deer path xxv the answer the heritage of the hills chapter i at halfmoon flat the road wound ever upward through pines and spruce and several varieties of oak. some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all massive. now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond green pasture lands, and other hills covered with dense growths of buckhorn and manzanita. poison oak grew everywhere, and, at this time of year--early spring--was most prolific, most beautiful in its dark rich green, most poisonous. occasionally the lone horseman crossed a riotous stream, plunging down from the snow-topped sierras in the far distance. rail fences, for the most part in a tumbledown condition, paralleled the dirt road here and there. at long intervals they passed tall, old-fashioned ranch houses, with their accompanying stables, deciduous orchards and still dormant vineyards, wandering turkeys and mud-incrusted pigs. an air of decay and haphazard ambition pervaded all these evidences of the dwelling places of men. "well, poche," remarked oliver drew, "it's been a long, hard trip, but we're getting close to home." the man spoke the word "home" with a touch of bitterness. the rangy bay saddler slanted his left ear back at oliver drew and quickened his walking-trot. "no, no!" laughed oliver, tightening the reins. "all the more reason we should take it easy today, old horse. don't you ever tire?" for an hour poche climbed steadily. now he topped the summit of the miniature mountain, and oliver stopped him to gaze down fifteen hundred feet into the timbered cañon of the american river. even the cow-pony seemed enthralled with the grandeur of the scene--the wooded hills climbing shelf by shelf to the faraway mist-hung mountains; the green river winding its serpentine course far below. far up the river a gold dredger was at work, the low rumble of its machinery carried on the soft morning breeze. half an hour later poche ambled briskly into the little town of halfmoon flat, snuggled away in the pines and spruces, sunflecked, indolent, content. it suited oliver's mood, this lazy old-fashioned halfmoon flat, with its one shady "business" street, its false-front, one-story shops and stores, redolent still of the glamorous days of ' . he drew up before a saloon to inquire after the road he should take out of town to reach his destination. the loungers about the door of the place all proved to be french- or spanish-basque sheep herders; and their agglutinative language was as a closed book to the traveler. so he dropped the reins from poche's neck and entered the dark, low-ceiled bar-room, with its many decorations of dusty deer antlers on fly-specked walls. all was strangely quiet within. there were no patrons, no bartender behind the black, stained bar. he saw this white-aproned personage, however, a fat, wide, sandy-haired man, standing framed by the rear door, his back toward the front. through a dirty rear window oliver saw men in the back yard--silent, motionless men, with faces intent on something of captivating interest, some silent, muscle-tensing event. with awakened wonder he walked to the fat bartender's back and looked out over his shoulder. strange indeed was the scene that was revealed. perhaps twenty men were in an unfenced portion of the lot behind the saloon. some of them had been pitching horseshoes, for two stood with the iron semicircles still in hand. every man there gazed with silent intensity at two central figures, who furnished the drama. the first, a squat, dark, slit-eyed man of about twenty-five, lazed in a big western saddle on a lean roan horse. his left spurred heel stood straight out at right angles to the direction in which his horse faced. he hung in the saddle by the bend in his right leg, the foot out of the stirrup, the motionless man facing to the right, a leering grin on his face, half whimsical, half sardonic. that he was a fatalist was evidenced by every line on his swarthy, hairless face; for he looked sneering indifference into the wavering muzzle of a colt . , in the hand of the other actor in the pantomime. his own colt lay passive against his hip. his right forearm rested across his thigh, the hand far from the butt of the weapon. a cigarette drooped lazily from his grinning lips. yet for all his indifferent calm, there was in his glittering, mongolic eyes an eagle watchfulness that bespoke the fires of hatred within him. the dismounted man who had the drop on him was of another type. tall, angular, countrified, he personified the popular conception of a connecticut yankee. he boiled with silent rage as he stood, with long body bent forward, threatening the other with his enormous gun. despite the present superiority of his position, there was something of pathos in his lean, bronzed face, something of a nature downtrodden, of the worm suddenly turned. for seconds that seemed like ages the two statuesque figures confronted each other. men breathed in short inhalations, as if fearful of breaking the spell. then the threatened man in the saddle puffed out a cloud of cigarette smoke, and drawled sarcastically: "well, why don't you shoot, ol'-timer? you got the drop." complete indifference to his fate marked the squat man's tone and attitude. only those small black eyes, gleaming like points of jet from under the lowered chinamanlike lids, proclaimed that the other had better make a thorough piece of work of this thing that he had started. the lank man found his tongue at the sound of the other's voice. "why don't i shoot, you coyote whelp! why don't i shoot! you know why! because they's a law in this land, that's why! i oughta kill ye, an' everybody here knows it, but i'd hang for it." the man on the roan blew another puff of smoke. "you oughta thought o' that when you threw down on me," he lazily reminded the other. "_you_ ain't got no license packin' a gun, pardner." the expression that crossed his antagonist's face was one of torture, bafflement. it proved that he knew the mounted man had spoken truth. he was no killer. in a fit of rage he had drawn his weapon and got the drop on his enemy, only to shrink from the thought of taking a human life and from the consequences of such an act. but he essayed to bluster his way out of the situation in which his uncontrollable wrath had inveigled him. "i can't shoot ye in cold blood!" he hotly cried. "i'm not the skunk that you are. i'm too much of a man. i'll let ye go this time. but mind me--if you or any o' your thievin' gang pesters me ag'in, i'll--i'll kill ye!" "better attend to that little business right now, pardner," came the fatalist's smooth admonition. "don't rile me too far!" fumed the other. "god knows i could kill ye an' never fear for the hereafter. but i'm a law-abidin' man, an'"--the six-shooter in his hand was wavering--"an' i'm a law-abidin' man," he repeated, floundering. "so this time i'll let ye--" a fierce clatter of hoofs interrupted him. down the street, across the board sidewalk, into the lot back of the saloon dashed a white horse, a black-haired girl astride in the saddle. she reined her horse to its haunches, scattering spectators right and left. "don't lower that gun!" she shrieked. "shoot! kill him!" her warning came too late. it may have been, even, that instead of a warning it was a knell. for a loud report sent the echoes galloping through the sleepy little town. the man on the ground, who had half lowered his gun as the girl raced in, threw up both hands, and went reeling about drunkenly. another shot rang out. the squat man still lolled in his saddle, facing to the right. the gun that he had drawn in a flash when the other's indecision had reached a climax was levelled rigidly from his hip, the muzzle slowly following his staggering, twice-wounded enemy. in horror the watchers gazed, silent. the stricken man reeled against the legs of the girl's horse, strove to clasp them. the animal snorted at the smell of blood and reared. his temporary support removed, the man collapsed, face downward, on the ground, turned over once, lay still. the squat man slowly holstered his gun. then the first sound to break the silence since the shots was his voice as he spoke to the girl. "much obliged, jess'my," he said; then straightened in his saddle, spurred the roan, and dashed across the sidewalk to disappear around the corner of the building. a longdrawn, derisive "hi-yi!" floated back, and the clatter of the roan's hoofbeats died away. the girl had sprung from her mare and was bending over the fallen man. the others crowded about her now, all talking at once. she lifted a white, tragic face to them, a face so wildly beautiful that, even under the stress of the moment, oliver drew felt that sudden fierce pang of desire which the first startled sight of "the one woman" brings to a healthy, manly man. "he's dead! i've killed him!" she cried. "no, no, no, miss jessamy," protested a hoarse voice quickly. "you wasn't to blame." "o' course not!" chorused a dozen. "he'd 'a' lowered that gun," went on her first consoler. "he was backin' out when you come, miss jessamy. an' as sure as he'd took his gun off digger foss, digger'd 'a' killed 'im. it was a fool business from the start, miss jessamy." "then why didn't some of you warn this man?" she flamed. "you cowards! are you afraid of digger foss? oh, i--" "now, looky-here, miss jessamy," soothed the spokesman, "bein' afraid o' digger foss ain't got anything to do with it. it wasn't our fight. we had no call to butt in. men don't do that in a gun country, miss jessamy--you know that. this fella pulled on digger, then lost his nerve. what you told 'im to do, miss jessamy, was right. man ain't got no call to throw down on another one unless he intends to shoot. you know that, miss jessamy--you as much as said so." for answer the girl burst into tears. she rose, and the silent men stood back for her. she mounted and rode away without another word, wiping fiercely at her eyes with a handkerchief. four men carried the dead man away. the rest, obviously in need of a stimulant, crowded in and up to the black bar. oliver joined them. the weird sight that he had witnessed had left him weak and sick at the stomach. silently the fat, blond bartender set out whisky glasses, then looked hesitatingly at the stranger. "go ahead, swede," encouraged a big fellow at oliver's left. "he needs one, too. he saw it." the bartender shrugged, thumped a glass toward oliver, and broke the laws of the land. "what was it all about?" oliver, encouraged by this confidence, asked of the big, goodnatured man who had vouched for him on sight. the other looked him over. "this fella dodd," he said, "started something he couldn't finish--that's all. dodd's had it in for digger foss and the selden boys and some more of 'em for a year. selden was runnin' cattle on dodd's land, and dodd claimed they cut fences to _get_ 'em on. i don't know what all was between 'em. there's always bad blood between old man selden and his boys and the rest o' the poison oakers, and somebody. "anyway," he went on, "this mornin' henry dodd comes in and gets the drop on digger foss, who's thick with the seldens, and is one o' the poison oakers; and then dodd ain't got the nerve to shoot. you saw what it cost him. fill 'em up again, boys." "i can't understand that girl," oliver remarked. "why, she rode in and told the man to shoot--to kill." "and wasn't she right?" "none of the rest of you did it, as she pointed out to you." "no--men wouldn't do that, i reckon. but a woman's different. they butt in for what they think's right, regardless. but i look at it like this, pardner: dodd's a grown man and is packin' a hip gun. why's he packin' it if he don't mean to use it? only a kid ought to be excused from flourishin' iron like he did. he was just lettin' off steam. but he picked the wrong man to relieve himself on. if he'd 'a' killed digger, as miss jessamy told him to, maybe he'd a hung for it. but he'd a had a chance with a jury. where if he took his gat offen digger foss, it was sure death. i knew it; all of us knew it. and i knew he was goin' to lower it after he'd painted pictures in the air with it and thought he'd convinced all of us he was a bad man, and all that. he'd never pulled the trigger, and digger foss knew it." "then if this digger foss knew he was only bluffing, he--why, he practically shot the man in cold blood!" cried oliver. "not practically but ab-so-lutely. digger knew he was within the law, as they say. while he knew dodd wouldn't shoot, no prosecutin' attorney can _prove_ that he knew it. dodd had held a gun on him and threatened to kill 'im. when digger gets the chance he takes it--makes his lightin' draw and kills dodd. on the face of it it's self-defence, pure and simple, and digger'll be acquitted. he'll be in tonight and give himself up to the constable. he knows just where he stands." oliver's informant tossed off his liquor. "and miss jessamy knew all this--see?" he continued. "she savvies gunmen. she ought to, bein' a selden. at least she calls herself a selden, but her right name's lomax. old man selden married a widow, and this girl's her daughter. well, she rides in and tells dodd to shoot. she knew it was his life or digger's, after he'd made that crack. but the poor fool!--well, you saw what happened. don't belong about here, do you, pardner?" "i do now," oliver returned. "i'm just moving in, as it were. i own forty acres down on clinker creek. i came in here to inquire the way, and stumbled onto this tragedy." "on clinker creek! what forty?" "it's called the old tabor ivison place." "heavens above! you own the old tabor ivison place?" "so the recorder's office says--or ought to." for fully ten seconds the big fellow faced oliver, his blue eyes studying him carefully, appraisingly. "well, by thunder!" he muttered at last. "tell me about it, pardner. my name's damon tamroy." "mine is oliver drew," said oliver, offering his hand. "well, i'll be damned!" ejaculated tamroy in a low voice, his eyes, wide with curiosity, devouring oliver. "the old ivison place!" "you seem surprised." "surprised! hump! say--le'me tell you right here, pardner; don't _you_ ever pull a gun on any o' the poison oakers and act like henry dodd did. maybe it's well you saw what was pulled off today--if you'll only remember when you get down there on the tabor ivison place." chapter ii peter drew's last message "i'll take a seegar," mr. damon tamroy replied in response to oliver's invitation. they lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy saloon. "you speak of this as a gun country," remarked oliver. "well, it's at least got traditions," returned mr. tamroy, adding the unlettered man's apology for his little fanciful flight, "'as the fella says.' like father like son, you know. the seldens are gunmen. old adam selden's dad was a 'forty-niner; and adam selden--the old man selden of today--was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five years old. le's see--that makes old adam 'round about seventy. but he's spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country. "he takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o' 'forty-nine, and his boys take after him. they're a bad outfit, takin' 'em all in all. the boys are hurlock, moffat, bolar, and winthrop--four of 'em. all gunmen. then there's jessamy selden--the only girl--who ain't rightly a selden at all. none o' the old man's blood in jessamy, o' course. mis' selden--she was an ivison before she married lomax--myrtle ivison was her name--she's a fine lady. but she won't leave the old man for all his wickedness, and miss jessamy won't leave her mother. so there you are!" "i see," said oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present subject of conversation. "now, here's this digger foss," tamroy went on. "he's half-american, quarter-chinaman, and quarter-digger-indian. the last's what gives him his name. there's a tribe o' digger indians close to here. he's killed two men and got away with it. now he's added a third to his list, and likely he'll get away with that. the rest o' the poison oakers are obed pence, ed buchanan, jay muenster, and chuck allegan--ten in all." "just what are the poison oakers?" oliver asked as damon tamroy paused reflectively. "well, _anybody_ who lives in this country is called a poison oaker. you're one now. the woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and that's where we get the name. that's what outsiders call us. but when we ourselves speak of poison oakers we mean old man selden's gang--him, his four sons, and the hombres i just mentioned--a regular old back-country gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. you know what i mean. "they just drifted together by natural instinct, i reckon. old man selden shot a man up around willow twig, and come clean at the trial. obed pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about three years ago. chuck and ed have both done something to make 'em eligible--knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. and the selden boys are chips off the old block." "but what is the gang's particular purpose?" "meanness, s'far's i c'n see! just meanness! old man selden owns a ranch down your way that you can get to only by a trail. no wheeled vehicle can get in. all the boys live there with him. kind of a colony, for two o' the boys are married. the other poison oakers live here and there about the country, on ranches. ambition don't worry none of 'em much. old man selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been proved." "now about the old tabor ivison place?" said oliver. "well, it's there yet, i reckon; but i ain't been down that way for years. now and then a deer hunt leads me into clinker creek cañon, but not often. "it's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. several families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been abandoned long since, and all the folks gone god knows where. it's a pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and rough; but down in that cañon it's too cold for pears and such fruit--and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills. "old tabor ivison homesteaded your place. he's been dead matter o' fifteen years. died down there. for years he'd lived there all by 'imself. good old man. asked for little in life--and got it. "but for years now all that country's been abandoned. there's pretty good pickin's down in there; and old man selden and some more o' the poison oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it." "i'm glad there's pasture," oliver interposed. "oh, pasture's all right. but selden's outfit has looked at that land as theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. you're bound to have trouble with the poison oakers, mr. drew, and i'd consider the land not worth it. why, i can buy a thousan' acres down in there for two and a half an acre! you'll starve to death if you have to depend on that forty for a livin'. how come you to own the place?" "my father willed it to me," oliver replied. "your father?" "yes, peter drew. have you ever heard of him?" "no," returned damon tamroy. "i reckon he was here before my time. how'd he come by the place? i thought one o' the ivison girls--nancy--still owned it." "i'm sure i can't tell you how dad came to own it," oliver made answer. "i haven't an abstract of title. i know, though, that dad owned it for some time before his death." "well, well!" damon tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man once more. they steadied themselves on the silver-mounted spanish spurs on oliver's riding boots. "travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and his look of puzzlement deepened. "yes," said oliver a little bitterly. "i'm riding about all that i possess in this world, since you have pronounced the old tabor ivison place next to worthless." he grew thoughtful. "you're puzzled over me," he smiled at last. "frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than i am over myself and my rather odd situation. i'm a man of mystery." he laughed. "i think i'll tell you all about it. "as far back as i can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the southern part of the state. i can't remember my mother, who died when i was very young. i always thought my father wealthy until he died, two weeks ago, and his will was read to me. he had orange and lemon groves besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country bank. i was graduated at the state university, and went from there to france. since, i've been resting up and sort of managing dad's property. "my father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with me. he was uneducated, as the term is understood today--a rough-and-ready old westerner who had made his strike and settled down to peaceful days--or so i always imagined. but two weeks ago he died suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me i got a jolt from which i haven't yet recovered. "the home ranch and the other real estate, together with all livestock and appurtenances--with one exception, which i shall mention later--were willed to the catholic church, to be handled as they saw fit. it seemed that there was little else to be disposed of. i was left five hundred dollars in cash, a saddle horse named poche, a silver-mounted bridle and saddle and martingales, the old spanish spurs you see on my feet, and the old tabor ivison place, in chaparral county, of which i knew almost nothing. that was all--with the exception of the written instructions in my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. maybe you can throw some light on the matter, mr. tamroy. would you care to hear my father's last message to me?" tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping forward his chair. oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "i don't know that i ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, i'll never learn the mystery of it if i keep the matter from people about here. so here goes: "'_my dear son oliver_: "'as you know perfectly well, i am an ignorant old westerner. there is no use mincing matters in regard to this. when i was young i didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but when i grew up and married, and you was born, i said you'd never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like i did. so i tried to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.' "'i did this for a double purpose, oliver. i knew that i was going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. for pretty near thirty years, oliver, i've had a problem to fight; and i never knew how to settle the matter because i wasn't educated. so i let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and go through college. and now that's happened; and you're educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for nearly half my life. the answer is either yes or no, and you've got to find out which is right.' "'i'm leaving you poche, the best cow horse in southern california, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me thousands of miles, the martingales, and my old silver-mounted bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the vaqueros of the clinker creek country over thirty years ago, and my spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. these things, oliver, and five hundred dollars in cash, and forty acres of land on clinker creek, in chaparral county, called the old tabor ivison place.' "'they are all you'll need to find the answer to the question that's bothered me for thirty years. buckle on the spurs, throw the saddle on poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars and the deed to the old tabor ivison place in your jeans, and hit the trail for clinker creek. stay there till you know whether the answer is yes or no. then go to my lawyers and tell them which it is. and the god of your mother go with you!' "'your affectionate father,' "'peter drew.' "'in his seventy-third year.'" oliver folded the paper. damon tamroy only sat and stared at him. chapter iii b for bolivio "boy," said the kindly mr. tamroy, leaning forward toward oliver drew, "those are the queerest last words of a father to his son that i ever listened to. what on earth you goin' to do?" oliver shrugged and spread his hands. "keep on obeying instructions," he said. "i've followed them to the letter so far. i'm only a few miles from my destination, and i've ridden in the silver-mounted saddle on poche's back the entire five hundred miles and over. my father was not a fool. he was of sound mind, i fully believe, when he wrote that message for me. there's some deep meaning underlying all this. i must simply stay on the old tabor ivison place till i know what puzzled old dad all those years, and find out whether the answer is yes or no." "heavens above!" muttered mr. tamroy. "but how you goin' to live? what're you goin' to do down in there? gonta get a job? it's too far away from everything for you to go and come to a job, mr. drew." "i'll tell you," said oliver. "at the university i took an agricultural course. since my graduation i have written not a few articles and sold them to leading farm journals. if the old tabor ivison place is of any value at all, i want to experiment in raising all sorts of things on a small scale, and write articles about my results. i'll have a few stands of bees, and maybe a cow. i'll try all sorts of things, get a second-hand typewriter, and go to it. i think i can live while i'm waiting for my father's big question to crop up." "you can raise a garden all right, i reckon," oliver's new friend told him, following him as he rose to continue his journey. "but you got to irrigate, and there ain't the water in clinker creek there used to be. folks up near the headwaters use nearly all of it, and in the hot months what they turn back will all go up in evaporation before it gets down to you. there's a good spring, though, but it strikes me it don't flow anything like it did when old tabor ivison lived on the land." "is there a house on the place?" "only an old cabin. at least there was last time i chased a buck down in there. and something of a fence, if i remember right. but fifteen years is a long time--i reckon everything left is next to worthless." they came to a pause at the edge of the sidewalk beside an aged villager, who stood leaning on his crooked manzanita cane as he gazed at poche and his silver-mounted trappings. "that's old dad sloan," whispered damon tamroy. "he's one o' the last of the 'forty-niners. just hobbles about on his cane, livin' off the county, and waitin' to die. never saw him take much interest in anything before, but that outfit o' yours has caught his eye. little wonder, by golly!" oliver stepped into the street and lifted the hair-tassled reins of the famous bridle. he turned to find the watery blue eyes of the patriarch fixed on him intently. with a trembling left hand the old man brushed back his long grey hair, then the fingers shakily caressed a grizzled beard, flaring and wiry as excelsior. a long finger at length pointed to the horse. "where'd you get that outfit, young feller?" came the quavering tones. mr. tamroy winked knowingly at oliver. "it was my father's," said oliver in eager tones. the 'forty-niner cupped a hand back of his ear. "hey?" he shrilled. oliver lifted his voice and repeated. "yer papy's hey?" he tottered into the street and fingered the heavily silvered spanish halfbreed bit, which, oliver had been told, was very valuable intrinsically and as a relic. then the knotty fingers travelled up an intricately plaited cheekstrap to one of the glittering silver-bordered _conchas_. the old fellow fumbled for his glasses, placed them on his nose, and studied the last named conceit with careful, lengthy scrutiny. "is that there glass, young feller?" he croaked at last, pointing to the setting of the _concha_, a lilac-hued crystal about two inches in diameter. "i think it is," oliver shouted. the old man shook his head. "i can't see well any more," he quavered. "but this don't look like glass to me." "i've never had it examined," oliver told him. "i supposed the settings of the _conchas_ to be glass or some sort of quartz." "quartz?" "yes, sir." the grey head slowly shook back and forth. "young man," came the piping tones, "is they a 'b' cut in the metal that holds them stones in place?" oliver's eyes widened. "there is," he said. "on the inside of each one." the old man stared at him, and his bearded lips trembled. "bolivio!" he croaked weirdly. "i don't understand," said oliver. "bolivio made them _conchas_, young feller. bolivio made that bit. bolivio plaited that bridle. bolivio made them martingales." "and who is bolivio?" puzzled the stranger. "dead and gone--dead and gone!" crooned the ancient. "that outfit's maybe a hundred years old, young feller--part of it, 'tleast. and that ain't glass in there--and it ain't quartz in in there--and there's only one man ever in this country ever had a bridle like that." "and who was he?" asked oliver almost breathlessly. "dan smeed--that's who! dan smeed--outlaw, highwayman, squawman! dan smeed--gone these thirty years and more. that's his bridle--that's his saddle--all made by bolivio, maybe a hundred years ago. and them stones in them _conchas_ are gems from the lost mine o' bolivio. the lost gems o' bolivio, young feller!" oliver and tamroy stared into each other's eyes as the old man tottered back to the sidewalk. "tell me more!" cried oliver, as the ancient began tapping his crooked cane along the street. there was no answer. "he didn't hear," said tamroy. "we'll get at him again sometime. maybe he'll tell what he knows and maybe he won't. he's awful childish--awful headstrong. for days at a time he won't speak to a soul." oliver stood in deep thought, mystified beyond measure, yet thrilled with the thought that he was nearing the beginning of the trail to the mysterious question. he roused himself at length. "well, i must be getting along," he said. "i'll go right down to clinker creek now, if you'll point the way. i've enough grub behind my saddle for tonight and tomorrow morning. there's grass for the horse at present?" "oh, yes--horse'll get along all right." "then i'll go down and give my property the once-over, and be up tomorrow to get what i need." damon tamroy showed him the road and shook hands with him. "ride up and get acquainted regular someday," he invited. "i got a little ranch up the line--pears and apples and things. give you some cherries a little later on. well, so-long. remember the poison oakers!" oliver galloped away, his flashing equipment the target of all eyes, on the road that led to the old tabor ivison place, his brain in a whirl of excitement. chapter iv the first caller toward noon poche was carefully feeling his way down the rocky cañon of clinker creek, over a forgotten road. oliver walked, for poche needs must scramble over huge boulders, fallen pines, and tangles of driftwood. the road followed the course of the creek for the most part, and in many places the creek had broken through and washed great gaps. but the country was delightful. wild grapevines grew in profusion at the creekside, gracefully festooned from overhanging buckeye limbs. odorous alders, several varieties of willow, and white oak also followed the watercourse; and up on the hills on either side were black oaks and live oaks, together with yellow and sugar and digger pines, and spruce. everywhere grew the now significant poison oak. finally poche scraped through chaparral that almost hid the road and came out in a clearing. oliver at last stood looking at his future home. a quaint old cabin, with a high peaked roof, apparently in better repair than he had expected, stood on a little rise above the creek. the cañon widened here, and narrowed again farther down. the creek bowed and followed the base of the steep hills to the west. a level strip of land comprising about an acre paralleled the creek, and invited tillage. all about the clearing, perhaps fifteen acres in area, stood tall pines and spruce, and magnificent oaks rose above the cabin, their great limbs sprawled over it protectingly. acres and acres of heavy, impenetrable chaparral covered both steep slopes beyond the conifers. for several minutes oliver drank in the beauty of it, then heaved himself into the saddle and galloped to the cabin over the unobstructed land. he loosed poche when the saddle and bridle were off, and the horse eagerly buried his muzzle in the tall green grass. up in the branches paired california linnets, red breasted for their love season, went over plans and specifications for nest-building with much conversation and flit-flit of feathered wings. wild canaries engaged in a like pursuit. overhead in the heavens an eagle sailed. from the sunny chaparral came the scolding quit-quit-quit of mother quail, while the pompous cocks perched themselves at the tops of manzanita bushes and whistled, "cut that out! cut that out!" all nature was home-building; and oliver forgot the loss of the fortune he had expected at his father's death and caught the spirit. he collected oak limbs and built a fire. he carried water from the creek and set it on to boil. while waiting for this he strolled about, revelling in the soft spring air, fragrant with the smell of wild flowers. that the cabin had been occupied often by hunters and other wanderers in the cañon was evidenced by the many carvings on the door and signs of bygone campfires all about. he stepped upon the rotting porch and studied the monograms, initials, and flippant messages of the lonely men who had passed that way. "all hope abandon, ye who enter here" was carved in ancient letters just under the lintel of the door. next he was informed that "fools names, like their faces, are always seen in public places." "only a sucker would live here" was the parting decision of some disgruntled guest. "home, sweet home" adorned the bottom of the door. one panel had proved an excellent target, and no less than twenty bullet holes had made a sieve of it. "welcome, wanderer!" and "dew drop inn" and "though lost to sight to memory dear" occupied conspicuous places. then on the right-hand frame he noticed this: [illustration: beware] the carving was neatly executed. the leaves represented were indisputably those of the poison oak. had some one carved this in a jocular effort to warn chance visitors to the place of the danger of the poison weed? or did the carving represent the emblem of the poison oakers? oliver smiled grimly and opened the door. he passed through the three small rooms of the house and investigated the loft. the structure seemed solid. a new roof would be necessary, and new windows and frames and a new porch; and as oliver was no mean carpenter, he thought he could make the cabin snug and tight for seventy-five dollars. the front door had closed of itself, he found, when he started back to his campfire. he stopped in the main room, and a smile, slightly bitter, flickered across his lips. as neatly carved as was the symbol of the poison oakers outside--if that was what it was--and evidently executed by the same hand, was this, on the inside of the door: jessamy, my sweetheart oliver went on out and squatted over his fire, peeling potatoes. his blue eyes grew studious. in the flickering blaze he saw the picture of a black-eyed, black-haired girl on a white horse crouched on its haunches. "great scott!" he muttered. "i'll have to forget that!" * * * * * in the month that followed, oliver drew, spurred by feverish enthusiasm, worked miracles on the old tabor ivison place. he repaired the line fences and rehabilitated the cabin; bought a burro and pack-saddle and packed in lumber and tools and household necessities; fenced off his experimental garden on the level land with rabbit-tight netting; cleaned and boxed the spring; and early in may was following the spading up of his garden plot by planting vegetable seed. with all this behind him, he went at the clearing of the road that connected him with his kind. today as he laboured with pick and shovel and bar he was cheerful, though his thoughts clung to the subject of his father's death and the odd situation in which it had left him. he had fully expected to inherit properties and money to the extent of a hundred thousand dollars. he was not particularly resentful because this had not come to pass, for he never had been a pampered young man; but the mystery of his father's last message puzzled and chagrined him. he would always remember peter drew as a peculiar man. he had been a kindly father, but a reticent one. there were many pages in his past that never had been opened to his son. oliver was the child of peter drew's second wife. about the queer old westerner's former marriage he had been told practically nothing. believing his father to have been of sound mind when he penned that last strange communication, oliver could not hold that the situation which it imposed was not for the best. surely old peter drew had had some wise reason for his act, and in the end oliver would know what it was. he had been told to seek the clinker creek country to learn the question that had puzzled his father for thirty years, to decide whether the proper answer was yes or no, and communicate his decision to his father's lawyers. that was all. when in the wisdom which his father had supposed would be the natural result of his son's university training he had made his decision and placed it before these legal gentlemen, what would happen? speculation over this led nowhere. at first it had seemed to oliver that the mission with which he had been intrusted was more or less a secret matter, and that he must keep still about it. then as the staunch cow-pony bore him nearer and nearer to the clinker creek country it gradually dawned upon him that, by so doing, he might stand a poor chance of even finding out what had puzzled his sire. to say nothing of the answer which he was to seek. it was then he decided that he had nothing to hide and must place his situation before the people of the country who would likely be able to help him. hence his confidences to mr. damon tamroy. tamroy had aided him not at all; but the 'forty-niner, old dad sloan, knew something. dan smeed, outlaw, highwayman, had owned a saddle and bridle like oliver's. the old man had mysteriously mentioned the lost mine of bolivio, and had said the settings in oliver's _conchas_ were gems. if only the old man could be made to talk! the muffled thud of a horse's hoofs came between the strokes of oliver's pick. with an odd and unfamiliar sensation he glimpsed a white horse and rider approaching through the pines. it was she--jessamy selden--the black-haired, black-eyed girl of whom he reluctantly had thought so often since his first day in the clinker creek country. she was riding straight down the cañon, the white mare gingerly picking her way between boulders and snarls of driftwood. the girl looked up. oliver felt that she saw him. her ears could not have been insensible to the ring of his pick on the flinty stones. she did not leave the trail, however, but continued on in his direction. he rested on the handle of his tool and waited. "good morning," he ventured, sweeping off his battered hat, as the mare stopped without pressure on the reins and gravely contemplated him. the girl smiled and returned his greeting brightly. "if you had waited a few days longer for your ride down here," said oliver, "i'd have had a better trail for you." "oh, i don't know that i want it any better," she laughed. "i like things pretty much as they are, when old mother nature has built them. i ride down this way frequently." she was no fragile reed, this girl. she was rather more substantially built than most members of her sex. her figure was straight and tall and rounded, and her strong, graceful neck upreared itself proudly between sturdy shoulders. grace and strength, rather than purely feminine beauty, predominated in the impression she created in oliver. she wore a man's stetson hat over her lavish crown of coal-black hair, a man's flannel shirt, a whipcord divided skirt, and dark-russet riding boots. the saddle that she rode in had not been built for a woman to handle, and, with its long, pointed tapaderos, must have weighed close to fifty pounds. the steady, friendly, confident gaze of her large black eyes was thrilling. a man instinctively felt that, if he could win this woman, he would have acquired a wife among a thousand, a loyal friend and comrade, and a partner who could and would shoulder more than a woman's share of their load. still, oliver knew nothing at all about her. what he had heard of her was not exactly of the best. yet he felt that she was gloriously all right, and did not try to argue otherwise. "well, i suppose i must introduce myself first," she was saying in her full, ringing tones. "i'm jessamy selden. my name is not selden, though, but lomax. when my mother married adam selden i took her new name. i heard somebody had moved onto the old ivison place, and i deliberately rode down to get acquainted." "you waited a month, i notice," oliver laughingly reproached. "my name is oliver drew. if you'll get off your horse i'll tell you what a wonderful man i am." she swung to the ground and held out a strong, brown, ungloved hand. "i'll walk to your cabin with you," she said, "if you'll invite me. i'd like to see how you've been improving your time since your arrival." scarce able to find words with which to meet such delightful frankness, oliver walked beside her, the white mare following and nosing at his pockets to prove that she was a privileged character. the girl loosed her within the inclosure, and let her drag her reins. poche trotted up to make the white's acquaintance, followed by the new mouse-coloured burro, smith, who long since had assumed a "where thou goest i will go" affection for the bay saddler. jessamy selden came to a stop before the cabin, her black eyes dancing. "who would have thought," she said in low tones, "that the clinker creek people ever would see the old ivison cabin rebuilt and inhabited once more! how sturdily it must have been built to stand up against wind and storm all these years. are you going to invite me in and show me around?" she levelled that direct glance at him and showed her white teeth in a smile. oliver was thinking of the carving on the inside of the old door, "jessamy, my sweetheart." he had not replaced the door with a new one, for every penny counted. it still was serviceable; and, besides, there seemed to be a sort of companionship about the carved observations of the unknowns who had been sheltered by the old cabin during the past fifteen years. "you've been in the house often, i suppose?" he made it a question. "oh, yes," she said. "i've lunched in it many a time, and have run in out of the rain during winter months. i slept in it all night once." "you seem to be an independent sort of young woman," suggested oliver. "i'm a rather lonely sort of woman, if that's what you mean," she replied. "yes, i ride about lots alone. i like it. don't you want me to go in?" "er--why, certainly," he stammered. "please don't think me inhospitable. come on." he led the way, and stood back for her at the door. he would leave the door open, swung back into the corner, he thought, so that she would not see the carving. she had been in the cabin many times. did she know the carving to be there? of course it might have been executed since her last visit, though it did not seem very fresh. who had carved the words? oliver could imagine any of the young clinker creek swains as being secretly in love with this marvellous girl, and pouring out his tortured soul through the blade of his jack-knife when securely hidden from profane eyes in this vast wilderness. she passed complimentary remarks about his practically built home-made furniture, and the neatness and necessary simplicity of everything. "what an old maid you are for one so young!" she laughed. "and, please, what's the typewriter for--if i'm not too bold?" "well," said oliver, "it occurred to me that i must make a living down here. i'm a graduate of the state college of agriculture, and i like to farm and write about it. i've sold several articles to agricultural papers. i'm going to experiment here, and try to make a living by writing up the results!" "why, how perfectly fine!" she cried enthusiastically. "i couldn't imagine anything more engrossing. i'm a state university girl." "you don't say!" and this furnished a topic for ten minutes' conversation. "if you're as good a writer and farmer as you are tinker and carpenter," she observed, passing into the front room again, "you'll do splendidly." she was standing, straight as a young spruce, hands on hips, looking with twinkling eyes at the open door. "the old door still hangs, i see," she murmured. "now just why didn't you replace it, mr. drew?" oliver looked apprehensive. "well," he replied hesitatingly, "for several reasons. first, a new door costs money, and so would the lumber with which to make one--and i haven't much of that article. second, i get some amusement from looking at those old carvings and speculating on the possible personalities of the carvers. for all i know, some great celebrities' ideas may be among those expressed there--some future great man, at any rate. the boy one meets in the street may one day be president, you know. then there's a sort of companionship about those names and monograms and quotations. the fellow that informs me that only suckers live here i'd like to meet. he was so blunt about it, so sure. he--er--" smiling, she had stepped to the door and, arms still akimbo, allowed her glance to travel from one design to another. she raised an arm and levelled a finger. "what do you think of that one?" she asked. "well," said oliver, "that's a rather well executed poison oak leaf. the hills are covered with the plant. i imagine that some wanderer not immune from the poison came into contact with it, and, though his eyes were swelled half shut and his fingers itched and tingled, his right hand had not lost its cunning. so he took out his trusty blade and carved a warning for all future pilgrims who chanced this way to beware of this tree that is in the midst of the garden, and to not touch it lest they--" "itch," jessamy gravely put in. "quite pretty and poetic," she supplemented. "but you are entirely wrong, mr. drew. that carving is, first of all, a copy of the brand of old man selden, and you'll find it on all his cows. all but the word 'beware,' of course, you understand. second, it represents the silly symbol of a gang that infests this country known as the poison oakers. oh, you've heard of them!" she had turned suddenly and surprised the look on his face. "it sounds very bloodthirsty," he laughed confusedly. "i'll tell you more, then, when i know you better," she said. "no, i'll tell you today," she added quickly. then before he could make a move she had closed the door to examine what might be carved on the inner side. "tell me now," said oliver quickly. "try this chair here by the window. i'm rather proud of this one. it's my first attempt at a morris ch--" "come here, please," she commanded, standing with her back to him. "don't act so like a boy," she reproved as he dutifully stepped up behind her. "anybody would know you are clumsily trying to detract my attention from--that." the brown finger was pointing straight at jessamy, my sweetheart. she turned and levelled her frank, unabashed eyes straight at his. "so that's why you hesitated about inviting me in," she stated, her lips twitching and dimples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks. "frankly, yes," he told her gravely. her glance did not leave him. "mr. tamroy told me he had mentioned me to you," she said. "so of course you knew, when you saw this carving, that i was the subject of the raving. and when you saw me you wished to spare me embarrassment. thank you. but you see i'm not at all embarrassed. i have never before seen this masterpiece in wood, and imagine it has been done since i was in the cabin last. let's see--i doubt if i've been inside for a year or more. i think perhaps mr. digger foss is the one who tried to make his emotions deathless by this work of art. 'jessamy, my sweetheart,' eh?" she threw back her glorious head and laughed till two tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. "poor digger!" she said soberly at last. "i suppose he does love me." "who wouldn't," thought oliver, but bit his lips instead of speaking. "you may leave that, mr. drew," she told him, "until you get ready to replace the old door with a new one. i would not have the irrefutable evidence of at least one conquest blotted out for worlds. now let's go out in that glorious sunlight, and i'll tell you about old man selden and the poison oakers." chapter v "and i'll help you!" what jessamy selden told oliver drew of the poison oakers was about the same as he had heard from damon tamroy. she used his sawbuck for a seat, and sat with one booted ankle resting on a knee, idly spinning the rowel of her spur as she talked. oliver listened without interruption until she finished and once more levelled that straightforward glance at him. "the cows have been down below on winter pasture," she added. "adam selden and the boys rode out yesterday to start the spring drive into the foothills. you'll awake some morning soon to find red cattle all about you, and they'll be here till august." "well," he said, "i don't know that i shall mind them. my fence is pretty fair, and with a little more repairing will turn them, i think." she twirled her rowel in silence for a time, her eyes fixed on it. then she said: "it isn't that, mr. drew. i may as well tell you right now what i came down here purposely to tell you. you're not wanted here. all of this land has been abandoned so long that adam selden and the gang have come to consider it their property--or at least free range." "but they'll respect my right of ownership." "i don't know--i don't know. i'm afraid they won't. they're a law unto themselves down in here. they'll try to run you out." "how?" "any way--every way. if nothing else occurs to them, they'll begin a studied system of persecution with the idea of making you so sick of your bargain that you'll pull stakes and hit the trail. that poor man dodd! mr. tamroy told me you happened into the saloon in time to see the shooting. wasn't it terrible! and how they persecuted him--fairly drove him into the rash act that cost him his life!" she lifted her glance again. "mr. tamroy tells me that you were shocked at me that day." "i guess i didn't fully understand the circumstances." "i did," she firmly declared, her lips setting in what would have been a grim smile but for the dimples that came with it. "i understood the situation," she went on. "digger foss had been waiting for just that chance. there's just enough indian and chinese blood in him to make him a fatalist. he's therefore deadly. has no fear of death. he's cruel, merciless. i knew when i saw henry dodd covering him with that gun that, if he didn't finish what he'd started, he was a dead man. he couldn't even have backed off gracefully, keeping digger covered, and got away alive. digger is so quick on the draw, and his aim is so deadly. he's a master gunman. even had dodd succeeded in getting away then, he would have been a marked man. he had thrown down on digger foss. digger would have got the drop on him next time they met and killed him as you would a coyote. so in my excitement i rushed in with my well meant warning, and--oh, it was horrible!" "and you meant actually for dodd to kill foss?" her black eyes dilated, and an angry flush blended with the tan on her cheeks. "it was one or the other of them," she told him coldly. "mr. dodd was an honest, plodding man--a good citizen. foss is a renegade. was i so very bloodthirsty in trying to make the best of a bad situation by choosing, on the spur of the moment, which man ought to live on? i'm not the fainting kind of woman, mr. drew. one must be practical, if he can, even over matters like that." "i'm not condemning," he said. "i'm only wondering that a woman could be so practical in such a situation." "digger foss hasn't seen me since then," she observed. "he's in jail, awaiting trial, at the county seat. he'll be acquitted, of course. i'm wondering what he'll have to say to me when he is free again." oliver said nothing to this. "i must be going," she declared, rising suddenly. "as i said, i came down to warn you to be on your guard against the poison oakers." he caught her pony and led it to her. she swung into the saddle, then slued toward him, leaned an elbow on the horn and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. once more that direct gaze of her frank black eyes looked him through and through. "well," she asked, "will the poison oakers run you off?" "oh, i think not," he laughed lightly. "they'll be ten against one, mr. drew." "there's law in the land." "yes, there's law," she mused. "but it's so easy for unscrupulous people to get around the law. they can subject you to no end of persecution, and you won't even be able to prove that one of them is behind it." she looked him over deliberately. "i'm glad you've come," she said. "you're an educated man, and blessed with a higher order of character than has been anybody else who stood to cross the poison oakers. somehow, i feel that you are destined to be their undoing. they must be corralled and their atrocities brought to an end. you must be the one to put the quietus on that gang. and i'll help you. good-bye!" she lifted the white mare into a lope, opened the gate, rode through and closed it without leaving the saddle, then, waving back at him, disappeared in the chaparral. chapter vi according to the records oliver drew had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between the old ivison place and the american river. he stood contemplating it, watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to work for him. far below him, down a precipitous pine-studded slope, the green american river raced toward the ocean. there had been a week of late rains, and good grass for the summer was assured. away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along, cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the drying lowlands. now and then he saw a horseman galloping along a mile distant. he heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft spring wind. the seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer pastures. he turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of hoofs. six horsemen were approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between clumps of the sparse chaparral. in the lead, straight and sturdy as some ancient oak, rode a tall man with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. he wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high-heeled boots and chaps. he rode a gaunt grey horse. his tapaderos flapped loosely against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed almost to scrape the ground. a holstered colt hung at the rider's side. silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors. those who followed him were younger men, plainly _vaqueros_. they lolled in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. but oliver's eyes were alone for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor paid any attention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an expedition into dangerous and unknown lands. undoubtedly this was old man selden and his four sons, together with other members of the poison oakers gang. they had left the cows to themselves and were making their way homeward after the drive. oliver's first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he should forego no chance of a strategic advantage. then he decided that it was not for him to begin manoeuvring, and stood boldly in full view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him. they did not. he heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of knowing that he was not riding alone. he slued about in his saddle. a hand pointed in oliver's direction. the old man reined in his grey horse and looked toward oliver and the bee tree. the other horsemen drew up around him. there was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in their saddles and galloped over the uneven land. they reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking clan they were. keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners. a quick glance oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their leader. adam selden was a powerful man. his nose was of the bourbon type, large and deeply pitted. his eyes were blue and strong and dominating. "howdy?" boomed a deep bass voice. oliver smiled. "how do you do?" he replied. then silence fell, while old adam selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco in his mouth and studying the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes. "i've found a bee tree," said oliver when the tensity grew almost unbearable. "i was just figuring on the best way to hive the little rascals." selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating exaggeration. "stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked. "well, i've been here over a month," oliver answered. "i own the old tabor ivison place, down there in the valley. my name is oliver drew, and i guess you're mr. selden." another long pause, then-- "yes, i'm selden. them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river bottom and over the hills. i been runnin' cows in here summers for a good many years. just so!" "i see," said oliver, not knowing what else to say. "three o' these men are my boys," selden drawled on. "the rest are friends o' ours. has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows 'round here?" "i'm familiar with it," oliver told him. "ain't scared o' poison oak, then?" "not at all. i'm immune." "it's a pesterin' plant. you'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and itchier than ever." "i'm quite familiar with its persistence," oliver gravely stated. "and still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?" "not in the least." the gang was grinning, but the chief of the poison oakers maintained a straight face. "ain't scared of it, then," he drawled on. "well, now, that's handy. i like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. got yer place fenced, i reckon?" "yes, i've repaired the fence." "that's right. that's always the best way. o' course the law says we got to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. whether that there's a good and just law or not i ain't prepared to say right now. but we got to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks' pasture. but it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not. pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his neighbours. but the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. o' course, though, you know that. now what're ye gonta do down there on the old ivison place?--if i ain't too bold in askin'." "have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. put a few stands of bees to work for me, if i can find enough swarms in the woods. i have a saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. i don't intend to do a great deal in the way of farming." "i'd think not," selden drawled. "land about here's good fer nothin' but grazin' a few months outa the year. man would be a fool to try and farm down where you're at. how ye gonta make a livin'?--if i'm not too bold in askin'." "i intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said oliver. silence greeted this. so far as their experience was concerned, oliver might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufacture of tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed partnership. "how long ye owned this forty?" old man selden asked. "only since my father's death, this year." "yer father, eh? who was yer father?" "peter drew, of the southern part of the state." "how long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?" "he owned it for some time, i understand," said oliver patiently. the grey head shook slowly from side to side. "i can show ye, down to the county seat, that nancy fleet--who was an ivison and sister o' the woman i married here about four year ago--owned that land up until the first o' the year, anyway. it was left to her by old tabor ivison when he died. that was fifteen year ago, and i've paid the taxes on it ever since for nancy fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. i paid the taxes last year. what 'a' ye got to say to that?" oliver drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. he could only stare at the gaunt old man. "but i have the deed!" he burst out at last. "and i've got last year's tax receipts," drawled adam selden. "ye better go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added, swinging his horse about. "then when ye've done that, i'd like a talk with ye. just so! just so!" he rode off without another word, the gang following. early next morning oliver was in the saddle. as poche picked his way out of the cañon oliver espied jessamy selden on her white mare, standing still in the county road. "good morning," said the girl. "you're late. i've been waiting for you ten minutes." oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly. "i thought you'd be riding out early this morning," she explained, "so i rode down to meet you. i feel as if a long ride in the saddle would benefit me today. do you mind if i travel with you to the county seat?" he had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand. "you like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "the answer to your question is, i do not mind if you travel with me to the county seat. but let me tell you--you'll have to travel. this is a horse that i'm riding." she turned up her nose at him. "i like to have a man talk that way to me," she said. "don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that." "i wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "you noticed that i let you mount unaided the other day. i might have walked ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off." "that's why i did it," she demurely confessed. "i'm rather proud of being able to take care of myself. and as for that wonderful horse of yours, he does look leggy and capable. but, then, white ann has a point or two herself. let's go!" their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side toward halfmoon flat. "well," oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know i've had an encounter with adam selden, and that he has told you he doubts if i am the rightful owner of the tabor ivison place." "yes, i overheard his conversation with hurlock last night," she told him. "so i thought i'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be worried and would hit the trail this morning." "i am worried," he said. "i can't imagine why your step-father made that statement." "just call him adam or old man selden when you're speaking of him to me," she prompted. "even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take away the bad taste. and you might at least _think_ of me as jessamy lomax. i will lie in the bed i made when i espoused the name of selden, for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that i have gone back to lomax again. my case is not altogether hopeless, however. you are witness that i have a fair chance of some day acquiring the name of foss, at any rate. so you are worried about the land tangle?" "what can it mean?" he puzzled. "this probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been recorded promptly," she ventured. "that won't affect your ownership. personally i know that aunt nancy fleet's name appears in the records down at the county seat as the owner of the property. she sold it to your father, doubtless, and the transfer never was recorded. where is your deed?" he slapped his breast. "see that you keep it there," she said significantly. "you say you know that your aunt nancy fleet is named as owner of the property in the county records?" she nodded. "then she has allowed adam selden to believe that she still owns it!" he cried. "and this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay the taxes for the right to run stock on the land." she nodded again. he wrinkled his brows. "it would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against adam selden by your aunt nancy and--" he paused. "and who?" "well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "not at all like dad. so i must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old adam. but what is the meaning of it, miss selden?" "i'm sure i am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "some day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, i'll take you to see aunt nancy. she lives up in calamity gap--about ten miles to the north of halfmoon flat. maybe she can and will explain." he regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though he could not say that this was intentional on her part. "by george, i believe _you_ can explain it!" he accused. "i?" "you heard me the first time." "did you learn that expression at the university of california or in france?" "i stick to my statement," he grumbled. "do so, by all means. just the same, i am not in a position to enlighten you. but i promise to take you to aunt nancy whenever you're ready to go. there's an indian reservation up near where she lives. you'll want to visit that. we can make quite a vacation of the trip. you'll see a riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration and elaborate workmanship. my! what a saddle and bridle you have! i've been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so busy with your land puzzle that i couldn't mention them. i've seen some pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. it's old, too. where did you get it?" "they were dad's," he told her. "he left them and poche to me at his death. i must tell you of something that happened when i first showed up in halfmoon flat in all my grandeur. do you know old dad sloan, the 'forty-niner?" she nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle. then oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in the silver _conchas_. she was strangely silent when he had finished. then she said musingly: "the lost mine of bolivio. certainly that sounds interesting. and dan smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. the days of old, the days of gold--the days of 'forty-nine! thought of them always thrills me. tell me more, mr. drew. i know there is much more to be told." "i'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of peter drew and his last message to his son. her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the message aloud. they were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at her. "oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried. "you're a man of mystery--a knight on a secret quest! oh, if i could only help you! will you let me try?" "i'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said. "then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "i have a plan for the first step. wait! i'll help you!" shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought the county recorder's office. oliver gave the legal description of his land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close together. to his vast surprise, oliver found that his deed had been recorded the second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of nancy fleet. "dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to jessamy. "they sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it over to me. adam selden hasn't seen it yet. say, this is growing mighty mysterious, miss selden." "delightfully so," she agreed. "now as you weren't expecting me to come along, have you enough money for lunch for two? if not, i have. we'd better eat and be starting back." chapter vii lilac spodumene once more oliver drew rode out of clinker creek cañon to find jessamy selden, straight and strong and dependable looking, waiting for him in her saddle. on this occasion he joined her by appointment. she looked especially fresh and contrasty today. her black hair and eyes and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling. this morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side. oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admiration. "how do you do it?" he laughed. "do what?" "make yourself so spectacular and--er--outstanding, without leaving any traces of art?" "am i spectacular?" "rather. different, anyway--to use a badly overworked expression. but what puzzles me is what makes you look like that. you seem perfectly normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. you're not beautiful, and you're too big both physically and mentally to be pretty. but i'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this section!" she regarded him soberly. "are you through?" she asked. "i've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her. "then we'd better be riding," she said. he swung poche to the side of white ann, and they moved off along the road, knee and knee. "you're not offended?" he asked. she threw back her head and laughed till oliver thought of meadow larks, and robins calling before a shower. "offended! you must think me some sort of freak. who ever heard of a woman being offended when a man admires her? i like it immensely, mr. oliver drew. and if you can beat that for square shooting, there's no truth in me. but if you'll analyse my 'difference' you'll find it's only because i'm big and strong and healthy, and try always to shoot straight from the shoulder and look folks straight in the eye. that's all. let's let 'em out!" they broke into a smart gallop, and continued it up and down pine-toothed hills till they clattered into halfmoon flat. curious eyes met them, old men stopped in their tracks and leaned on their canes to watch, and folks came to windows and doors as they loped through the village. "'whispering tongues can poison truth,'" jessamy quoted as they turned a corner and cantered up a hill toward a grove of pines on the outskirts of the town. "it seems odd that adam selden has not mentioned you to me. surely some one has seen us together who would tell some one else who would tell old man selden all about it. but not a cheep from him as yet." "have you any bosom friends in the clinker creek district?" he asked, not altogether irrelevantly. "no, none at all. but i'm friends with everybody, though i have nothing in common with any one. i don't consider myself superior to the natives here about, but, just the same, they don't interest me. i'm speaking of the women. i like most of the men. i guess i'm what they call a man's woman. i can't sit and talk about clothes and dances, and gossip, and what one did on one's vacation last summer. it all bores me stiff, so i don't pretend it doesn't. men, now--they can talk about horses and saddles and cows and cutting wood and prizefights and poker games and election--" "and women and fords," he interrupted. she laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in the foliage. they dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. jessamy tapped vigorously on the panels. again and again--and then there was heard a shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. presently the door opened, and old dad sloan bleared out at them from behind his flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers. "how do you do, mr. sloan!" cried jessamy almost at the top of her voice. a veined hand shook its way to form a cup behind the ancient's ear. "hey?" he squealed. jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again. "i say--how do you do!" the effort left her neck red but for a blue outstanding artery. "oh!" exclaimed dad sloan, with a look of relief. "why, howdy?" jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way. "we've come to make you a call," she announced. "i want you to meet a friend of mine; and we want to ask you some questions." the grey head nodded slowly up and down, more to indicate that its owner heard and understood than to signify acquiescence. but he tottered back and held the door wide open; and jessamy and oliver went into the cabin. dad sloan managed to live all alone in this sequestered little nook by reason of the county's generosity. he was old and feeble, and at times irritatingly childish and petulant. jessamy selden often brought him cakes, fried chicken, and the like; and, provided he was in the right mood, he would be more likely to be confidential with her than with anybody else in the country. but the girl's task was difficult. the old man shook hands listlessly with oliver at her bidding, but seemed entirely to have forgotten their previous meeting. they sat in the uncomfortable straight-backed, thong-bottom chairs while jessamy shrieked the conversation into the desired channel. the old eyes gathered a more intelligent look as she spoke of the lost mine of bolivio. pieced together, the fragments that fell from the bearded lips of old dad sloan made some such narrative as follows: bolivio had been a portuguese or a spaniard, or some "black furriner," who had been in the country in the memorable days of ' and afterward. his knowledge of some tongue based on the latin had made it easy for him to communicate with the pauba indians that inhabited the country, as some of them had learned spanish from the franciscan fathers down at the coast. bolivio mingled with the tribe, and finally became a squawman. one day he appeared at the clinker creek bar and exhibited a beautiful stone. a gold miner who was present had once followed mining in south africa, and knew something of diamonds. he examined bolivio's stone, and gave it such simple tests as were at his command, then advised the owner to send it to new york to find out if it was possessed of value. it required months in those days to communicate with the atlantic seaboard. bolivio's stone was started on its long journey around the horn. he hinted that there were more of the stones where he had found this one, and created the impression that his indian brethren had showed them to him. more they could not get out of him. nor did anybody try very hard to learn his secret, for no one imagined the find of much intrinsic value. bolivio was a saddler, and was skilled in the art of the silversmith. gold dust was plentiful in the country in that day, and the foreigner found ready buyers for his masterpieces in leather and precious metals. the finest equestrian outfit that he made was finally acquired from the indians by dan smeed, a miner who afterward turned highwayman, married an indian girl, became an outlaw, and finally disappeared altogether. in the _conchas_ with which the plaited bridle was adorned bolivio had set two large stones from his secret store, which he himself had crudely polished. one day, a month or more before word came from new york regarding the stone, bolivio was found dead in the forest. a knife had been plunged into his heart. the secret of the brilliant stones had died with him. then came the answer. the stone was said to be spodumene, of a very high class, and had a a lilac tint theretofore unknown. it was the finest of its kind ever to have been reported as found in the united states. the finder was offered a thousand dollars for the sample sent; one hundred dollars a pound was offered for all stones that would grade up to the sample. but bolivio was dead, and no one knew from whence the stone had come. efforts were made, of course, to find the source of this wealth. the indians were tried time and again, but not one word would they speak regarding the matter. the new quest was finally dropped; for those were the days of gold, gold, gold, and so frenzied were men and women to find it that other precious minerals were cast aside as worthless. none had time to seek for stones worth a hundred dollars a pound, with gold worth more than twice as much. so the lost mine of bolivio became only a memory. years later this same stone was discovered six hundred miles farther south. it is now on the market as kunzite, and a cut stone of one karat in weight sells for fifty dollars and more. the san diego county discovery was supposed to mark the introduction of the stone in the united states, for the lost mine of bolivio was all but forgotten. old dad sloan thumped out at jessamy's request and once again critically examined oliver's saddle and bridle and the brilliants in the _conchas_. "it's the same fine outfit bolivio made, and that afterwards belonged to dan smeed, outlaw, highwayman, and squawman," he pronounced. "they never was another outfit like it in this country." "tell us more about dan smeed!" screamed the girl. the patriarch shook his head. "bad egg; bad egg!" he said sonorously. "he married a squaw, and that's how come it he got the grandest saddle and bridle bolivio ever made. bolivio's squaw kep' it after bolivio was knifed. and by and by along come this dan smeed and his partner to this country. and when dan smeed married into the tribe he got the saddle and bridle and martingales somehow. that was later--years later. bolivio's been dead over seventy year." "have you ever heard the name peter drew?" oliver asked him. but the old eyes remained blank, and the grey head shook slowly from side to side. "i recollect clear as day what happened sixty to seventy year ago, but i can't recollect what i did last week or where i went," dad sloan said pathetically. "if i'd ever heard o' peter drew in the days o' forty-nine to seventy, i'd recollect it." "you mentioned dan smeed's partner," prompted jessamy. "can you recall his name?" "yes, dan smeed had a partner," mused dad sloan. "bad egg, dan smeed. squawman, highwayman, outlaw. disappeared with his fine saddle and bridle and martingales and the stones from the lost mine o' bolivio." "but his partner's name?" the girl persisted. the old mind seemed to be wandering once more. "bad eggs--both of 'em. bad eggs," was the only answer she could get. "well, we're progressing slowly," jessamy observed as they rode away. "our next step must be to visit the indians. i know a number of them. filipe maquaquish, for instance, and chupurosa are as old or older than old dad sloan. chupurosa's face is a pattern in crinkled leather. when we go to see aunt nancy fleet we'll visit the indian village. and that will be--when?" "tomorrow, if you say so," oliver replied. "i meant to irrigate my garden tomorrow, but it can wait a day." "by the way," she asked, "have you written that letter to mr. selden, telling him what we found out down at the county seat?" "i have it in my pocket," he told her. "give it to me," she ordered. "i'll hand it in at the post office, get them to stamp the postmark on it, and take it home with me when i go." "will you dare do that? won't the post-master scent a conspiracy against old man selden?" "let him scent!" said jessamy. "i'm dying to see selden's face when he reads that letter." they parted at the headwaters of clinker creek, with the understanding that she would meet him in the county road next morning for the ride to her aunt's and the indian reservation. chapter viii poison oak ranch the trail that meandered down clinker creek cañon extended at right angles to the one that led to the selden ranch. the latter climbed a baldpate hill; then, winding its narrow way through dense locked chaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down precipitously into the deep cañon of the american river. jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways and lifted white ann into her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill. for a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, rugged scar that marked the course of the river was visible. ragged and rocky and covered with trees and chaparral, the cañonside slanted down dizzily for over fifteen hundred feet. at the bottom the deep green river rushed pell-mell to the lower levels. a moment and the view was lost to the girl, as white ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swift descent. at last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and began clambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. soon the river was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cut through a seemingly impenetrable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita and scrub oak. around and about tributary cañons they wound their way, and at last reached the end of the steep climb. for a quarter of a mile now the trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a cañon that eventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountainside. just ahead lay poison oak ranch. beyond, the deep, dark forest extended in miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the sierra nevada range. while it was possible to reach poison oak ranch from this side of the river, the journey on shank's mare would have taken on something of the nature of an exploring expedition into unmapped lands. occasionally hunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side; but for the most part any one who fancied that he had business at poison oak ranch came over the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization. few entertained such a fancy, however, for poison oak ranch, secluded, hidden from sight, tucked away in the hills of nowhere, and difficult of access, was owned and controlled by a clannish family that had little in common with the world. there was a large log house that adam selden's father had built in the days of ' , in which the old man selden of today had first opened his eyes on life. there were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup, two of which were occupied by hurlock selden and winthrop selden and their families. the remaining two boys, moffat and bolar, lived in the big house with jessamy, her mother, and the wicked old man of the hills. there was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushed picturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. there were perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. little more in the way of agricultural land. the seldens merely made this place their home and headquarters--their cattle ranged the hills outside, and most of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away from home. selden owned a thousand acres over in the clinker creek country and a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. he moved his herds three times in a year--from the winter pastures to the clinker creek country for the spring grass, keeping them there till august, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at an altitude of six thousand feet; and from thence, in october, to winter range once more. the clinker creek range, however, was comprised of several thousand acres beside the thousand owned by selden. this represented lands long since deserted by their owners as useless for agricultural purposes, and upon which selden kept up the taxes, or appropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. oliver drew's forty had been a part of this until oliver's inopportune arrival. jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsaddled her mare. then she hurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comely woman of fifty-eight. mrs. selden had been an ivison--a sister of old tabor ivison, who had homesteaded oliver's forty acres thirty years before. as a girl she had married herman lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. he had done fairly well in the mercantile business in san francisco, and jessamy, the only child, was born to them. the girl had been raised to young womanhood and attended the state university. then her father had died, leaving his business in an involved condition; and in the end the widow and her daughter found there was little left for them. they returned to the scene of mrs. lomax's girlhood, where they tried without success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim, the widow had fallen heir. then to the surprise of every one--jessamy most of all--mrs. lomax consented to marry old adam selden, the father of four strapping sons and "the meanest man in the country." at the time jessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now. however, such an independent young woman as jessamy would not consent to suffer a great deal at the hands of a step-father. she stayed on with the family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living room and bedroom and went her own way entirely. it must end someday. old adam selden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live for ever. her mother would not divorce him. so jessamy stayed and waited, and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent. she was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, with its black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served as dining room and living room as well, when adam selden, bolar, and moffat rode in from the trail and corraled their horses. supper was ready as the three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily in basins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. then jessamy took oliver drew's letter from her bosom and propped it against old adam's coffee cup. selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table. mail for any selden was an unusual occurrence. "what's this here?" adam's thick fingers held the envelope before his eyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower. "mail," indifferently answered jessamy, setting a pan of steaming biscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table. "fer me?" "'adam selden, esquire,'" she quoted. "'esquire,' eh? who's she from?" "it's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from," said jessamy lightly. "in this instance, however, you will find a notation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'from oliver drew, halfmoon flat, california.'" "huh!" selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance on the girl. "d'he give it to ye?" "it is postmarked halfmoon flat," said jessamy, taking her seat beside bolar, who, indifferent to his father's difficulties, had already consumed three fluffy biscuits spread with butter and wild honey. "ye got her out o' the office, then?" the cold blue eyes were challenging. "oh, certainly, certainly!" jessamy chirruped impatiently. "one might imagine you'd never received a letter before." adam fingered it thoughtfully. "yes," he said deliberatingly at last, reverting to his customary drawl, "i got letters before now. but i was just wonderin' if this drew fella give thisun to you to give to me." jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference. "coffee, moffat?" she asked. "sure mike," said moffat. "did he?" selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which marked certain moods. "oh, dear!" jessamy complained good-naturedly. "what's the use? can't you see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, mr. selden?" selden contemplated them. "yes, i see 'em," he admitted; "i see 'em. but i thought, s' long's ye was with that young drew fella today, he might 'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you." "that being satisfactorily decided," chirped jessamy, "let us now open the missive and learn what mr. drew has to communicate." "heaven's sake, pap, open it and shut up!" growled moffat, his mouth full of potato. "i'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!" thundered selden. thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the light from a window flooded the single sheet which the envelope contained. he read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. his cold blue eyes widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted bourbon nose spread angrily. "moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "you, too, bolar." "yes, be sure to listen, bolar," laughed jessamy. "but if you don't wish to, go down into the cañon of the american." "'adam selden, esquire,'" selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's bantering. "'poison oak ranch, halfmoon flat, californy:' "'my dear mr. selden.' get that, moffat! 'my dear mr. selden!' say, who's that ike think he's writin' to? his gal? huh! 'my _dear_ mr. selden:' "'i rode to the county seat on wednesday, this week, and looked over the records in the office of the recorder of deeds. i found that you are entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on tuesday. the forty acres known as the old ivison place are recorded in my name, the date of the recording being january fifth, this year. it appears that nancy fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that the transfer was not placed on record until the date i have mentioned.' "'with kindest regards,' "'yours sincerely, oliver drew.'" selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "writ with a typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "and he's a liar by the clock!" jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made every one who heard her laugh. "he's crazy," complacently mumbled bolar, still at war on the biscuits. "jess'my"--selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his step-daughter--"what're ye laughin' at?" "at humanity's infinite variety," answered jessamy. "does that mean me?" "me, too, pete!" she rippled. "looky-here"--he leaned toward her--"there's some funny business goin' on 'round here. two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down on the old ivison place." "two times is right," she slangily agreed. "and ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the records. just so!" "your informer is accurate," taunted the girl. "what for?" "what for?" she levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "well, i like that, mr. selden! because i wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs." "ye wanted to, eh? ye _wanted_ to! did ye see the records?" "i did." "is this here letter a lie?" he spanked the table with it. "it is not." he rose from his chair and bent over her. "d'ye mean to tell me yer maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?" "exactly. it belongs to mr. oliver drew, according to the recorder's office. may i suggest that i am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?" "it's a lie!" roared selden. "now, just a moment," said jessamy coolly. "do i gather that you are calling me a liar, mr. selden? because if you are, i'll get a cattle whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. i'll probably get the worst of it, but--" "shut up!" bawled selden. "ye know what i mean, right enough! the whole dam' thing's a lie!" "tell it to the county recorder, then," jessamy advised serenely. "have another piece of steak, mother." "i'll ride right up to nancy fleet's tomorrow. i'll get to the bottom o' this business. and you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, jess'my!" "oh, i'll do that--gladly. that's easy." "just so! then keep her outa this fella drew's, too!" "that's another matter entirely," she told him. "and i may as well add right here, while we're on the subject, that i wish you to keep your nose out of _my_ affairs. there, now--we've ruined our digestions by quarrelling at meal-time. bolar hasn't, though--i'm glad somebody appreciates my biscuits." bolar grinned, and his face grew red. bolar was deeply in love with his step-sister, four years his senior; but a day in the saddle, with a sharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce permit the tender passion to interfere with a lover's appetite. old adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. he was a holy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; but ordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. he would not have hesitated to apply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son moffat, as he had threatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born of experience to refrain from defying him. but with his step-daughter it was different. for some inexplicable reason he "took more sass" from her than from any other person living. deep down in his scarred old heart, perhaps, there was hidden a deferential respect and fatherly admiration for this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune had placed him in daily contact. "please eat your supper, mr. selden," jessamy at last sincerely pleaded, when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes. dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table and fell to noisily. but he did not join in the conversation, which now became general. it was a custom in the house of selden for each diner to leave the table when he had finished eating--a custom antedating jessamy's advent in the family, which she never had been able to correct. bolar had long since bolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach would permit, and had hurried to a half-completed rawhide lariat. moffat soon followed him out. then jessamy's mother arose and left the room. this left together at the table the deliberate eater, jessamy, and the old man, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter. he too finished before the girl, having completed his supper in the same untalkative mood. now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back his chair and rose. "jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "i want to tell ye one thing. ye know that i shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip, whichever's handiest--and i don't shoot to scare." he waited. jessamy nodded. "i'll have to admit that," she said. "i think it's the thing i like most about you." he pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pitted nose. "i didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at length said bluntly. "oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers at him. "i like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way you sit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run--and the other thing i mentioned before." again he grew thoughtful. "well, that's _somethin'_," he finally chuckled. "ye like my way o' sayin' what i think, then. well, get this: i'm the boss o' this country, from red mountain to the gap. i been the boss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. so it's the boss o' the poison oak country that's talkin'. and he says this: that new fella drew that's made camp down on the old tabor ivison place can't make a livin' there, can't raise nothin', don't belong there. and if by some funny business, that i'm gonta look into right away, he's got a-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail." "why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "where do you think you are, mr. selden? in russia--germany? king selden second, czar of all the poison oak provinces! mr. drew, owning that land in his own right, must hit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!" "ye heard what i said, jess'my"--and he clanked out of the room. chapter ix nancy fleet's windfall jessamy selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom, in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two long, thick strands of cold-black hair. then in the cozy little sitting room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps. the sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond poison oak ranch. the night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; and with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door and ran to the corral. the family was at breakfast in the vast room. hurlock's and winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their respective houses. so no one was about to disturb or even see jessamy as she hastily threw the saddle on white ann, leaped into it, and rode away. when she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. at this reckless speed they swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainside along the serpentine trail. they forded the river, took the trail on the other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring mount forced the rider to rein in. now she ate her breakfast of cold baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered upward. at sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the headwaters of clinker creek. long before she reached it jessamy saw a bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of oliver drew. "let's go!" she cried merrily as white ann, convinced that some devilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side to side while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair. for answer oliver drew pressed his calves against poche's ribs, and the bay leaped to white ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. at a gallop they swung into the county road, poche producing a challenging metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to do that of which "angels could do no more." "good morning!" cried oliver. "what's the rush?" "old man selden is riding to aunt nancy's today," she shouted back. "good morning!" "oh! in that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. she's telling the world she can." jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare's smooth neck. white ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, for she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo rival. "there, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "we could leave that old flea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it. just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even chance; for i really believe the man wants to be fair." oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her in the saddle. the dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of it on her cheeks. her long black braids whipped about in the wind like streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. the picture she made was the most engrossing one he had ever looked on. they slowed to a walk after a mile of it. "well," said jessamy, "i delivered your letter." "yes? go on. that's a good start." "it created quite a scene. old adam simply won't--can't--believe that you own the old ivison place. so that's why he's fogging it up to aunt nancy's today. i think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be at the reservation by the time he reaches the house." "is he angry?" "ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he has?" her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and sunburned skin. "well?" "he says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave." "m'm-m! that's serious talk. in some places i've visited it would be called fighting talk." "number this place among them, mr. drew," she said soberly, turning her dark, serious eyes upon him. "but i didn't come up here to fight!" "neither did the president of the united states take his seat in washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed on his face. "oh, as to that," mused oliver after a thoughtful pause, "i guess i _can_ fight. they didn't send me back from france as entirely useless. but it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. look here, miss selden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--old man selden run cows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the clinker creek country, in short?" jessamy pursed her lips. "perhaps four thousand," she decided after thought. "uh-huh. and on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that represents grass land. the rest is timber and chaparral. now, fifteen acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. the addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. do you mean to tell me that adam selden would attempt to run a man out of the country for that?" she closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a childlike fashion that always amused him. it meant "just that!" he gave a short laugh of unbelief. "listen," she cautioned: "don't make the fatal mistake of taking this matter too lightly, mr. drew." "but heavens!" he cried. "a man who would attempt to dispossess another for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies in his cup! i've had a short interview with old man selden. corrupt he may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big scale. i couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate i talked with as a piker." jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "you've got him about right," she informed her companion. "one simply is obliged to think of him as big in many ways." oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down comfortably. "say," he said, "i don't get you at all." "don't get me?" she was not looking at him now. "no, i don't. one moment you said he would put the skids under me for the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. next moment you maintain that he is not a piker." "yes." oliver rolled a cigarette. not until it was alight did he say: "well, you haven't explained yet." she was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off sierras. for the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss for words. and had her direct gaze faltered? were her eyes evading his? and was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in the sky? she turned to him then--suddenly. there was in her eyes a look partly of amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame. "i can't answer you," she stated simply. "i blundered, that's all. opened my mouth and put my foot in it." "but can't you tell me how you did that even?" "i talk too much," was her explanation. "like poor old henry dodd, i went too far on dangerous ground." oliver tilted his stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his neck. "i pass," he said. "that reminds me," was her quick return, "i sat in at a dandy game of draw last night. there was--" "wh-_what_!" "and now i have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "and you'll have to admit that comes under the heading, 'some stunt.' i thought i saw a chance to brilliantly change the subject, but i see that i'm worse off than before. for now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked." he gave this thirty seconds of study. "i'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little redder. "i'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'i sat in at a dandy little game of draw'--just like that. but i'm sure i went too far when i showed surprise." "and what's your final opinion on the matter?" she was amused--not worried, not defiant. "well, i--i don't just know. i've never given such a matter a great deal of thought." "do so now, please." obediently he tried as they rode along. "one thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business." "oh, you haven't thought at all! keep on." a minute later he asked: "do you like to play poker?" "yes." "for--er--money?" "'for--er--money.' what d'ye suppose--crochet needles?" then he took up his studies once more. finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and straightened in the saddle. "settled at last!" she cried. "and the answer is...?" "the answer is, i don't give a whoop if you do." "you approve, then?" "of everything you do." "well, i don't approve of that," she told him. "i don't, and i do. but listen here: one of the few quotations that i think i spout accurately is 'when in rome do as the romans do.' i'm 'way off there in the hills. i'm a pretty lonely person, as i once before informed you. yet i'm a gregarious creature. we have no piano, few books--not even a phonograph. bolar selden squeezes a north-sea piano--in other words an accordion. of late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the arts; but if you could hear bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept pace with progress. he plays 'the cowboy's lament' and something about 'says the wee-do to the law-yer, o spare my only che-ild!' ugh! he gives me the jim-jams. "so the one and only indoor pastime of seldenvilla is draw poker. now, if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?" "i understand," he told her. "i think i'd take out a stack." "and besides," she added mischievously, "i won nine dollars and thirty cents last night." "that makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "but we've wandered far afield. why did you say that selden would try to run me off my toy ranch in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?" "i'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "please, i blundered--and i can't answer that question. but maybe you'll learn the answer to it today. we'll see. be patient." "but i'll not learn from you direct." "i'm afraid not." "i think i understand--partly," he said after another intermission. "it must be that there's another--a bigger--reason why he wants me out of clinker creek cañon." "you've guessed it. i may as well own up to that much. but i can't tell you more--now. don't ask me to." after this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the subject. so they talked of other things till their horses jogged into calamity gap. here was a town as picturesque as halfmoon flat, and wrapped in the same traditions. jessamy's aunt nancy fleet lived in a little shake-covered cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad tracks. it appeared that all of the ivison girls had been unfortunate in marrying short-lived men. nancy fleet was a widow, and two other sisters besides jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands. nancy fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and jessamy's black eyes. she greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three were seated in her stuffy little parlour. oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. mrs. fleet, after stating that she did so because he was oliver drew, readily made answer to his questions. yes, she had sold the old ivison place to a mr. peter drew something like fifteen years before. she had never met him till he called on her, and no one else at calamity gap had known anything about him. he told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep her word and might be trusted implicitly. this being so, he told her that he would relieve her of the old ivison place, if she would agree to keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her that secrecy was no longer necessary. for her consideration of his wishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a good price for the land. as there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave consent. for years she had been trying to dispose of the property for five hundred dollars. now peter drew fairly took her breath away by offering twenty-five hundred. he could well afford to pay this amount, he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in the matter of secrecy. she had accepted. the transfer of the property was made under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the money was promptly paid. then peter drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she had made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned the old ivison place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. she had been told to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it--to use it as her own. for several years peter drew had regularly forwarded her a bank draft to cover the taxes. then adam selden had offered to pay the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written peter drew to that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice. since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser of the land. she was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded, but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings. she took a motherly interest in oliver because of his father, whose generosity had greatly benefited her. in fact, she said, she couldn't for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money. "and whatever shall i say, dearie, when adam selden comes to me today?" she asked her niece. "i'm afraid of the man--just afraid of him." "pooh!" jessamy deprecated. "he's only a man. oliver drew's coming, and the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you free to tell all you know. so just tell old adam what you've told mr. drew, and say you know nothing more about it. but whatever else you say, don't cheep that we've been here, auntie." "well, i hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her callers out. "now," said jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the reservation by the time old adam arrives here. what do you think of your mystery by now, mr. drew?" "it grows deeper and deeper," oliver mused. chapter x jessamy's hummingbird a steep, tall mountain, heavily wooded, reared itself above the indian reservation. a creek tumbled over the boulders in the mountainside and raced through the village of huts; and the combined millions of all the irrigation and power companies in the west could not have bought a drop of its water until uncle sam's charges had finished with it and set it free again. it was a picturesque spot. huge liveoaks, centuries old, sprawled over the cabins. tiny gardens dotted the sunny land. horses and dogs were anything but scarce, and up the mountainside goats and burros browsed off the chaparral. wrinkled old squaws washed clothes at the creekside, or pounded last season's acorns into _bellota_--the native dish--in mortars hollowed in solid stone. some made earthen _ollas_ of red clay; some weaved baskets. over all hung that weird, indescribable odour which only indians or their much-handled belongings can produce. "this is peace," smiled oliver to jessamy, as their horses leaped the stream side by side and cantered toward the cluster of dark, squat huts. "what do they call this reservation?" "it is named after an age-old dweller in our midst whom, since you are a westerner, you must have often met." "who is that?" "mr. rattlesnake." "oh, certainly. i've met him on many occasions--mostly to his sorrow, i fancy. rattlesnake reservation, eh?" "well, that would be it in english. but in the pauba tongue mr. rattlesnake becomes showut poche-daka." "what's that!" oliver turned quickly in his saddle to find her dark wide eyes fixed on him intently. "say that again, please." "showut poche-daka," she repeated slowly. "m'm-m! strikes me as something of a coincidence--a part of that name." "showut is one word," she said, still watching him. "poche and daka are two words hyphenated." "and how do the english-speaking people spell the second word, poche?" he asked. "p-o-c-h-e," she spelled distinctly. "long o, accent on the first syllable." oliver reined in. "stop a second," he ordered crisply. "why, that's the way my horse's name is spelled. say, that's funny!" "is your trail growing plainer?" he looked at her earnestly. "look here," he said bluntly. "i distinctly remember telling you the other day that my horse's name is poche. didn't you connect it with the name of the reservation at the time?" "i did." he looked at her in silence. "you did, eh?" he remarked finally. "i don't even know what my horse's name means. dad bought him while i was away at college. i understood the horse was named that when dad got hold of him, and that he merely hadn't changed it. now, i won't say that dad told me as much outright, but i gathered that impression somehow. i knew it was an indian name, but had no idea of the meaning." "literally poche means bob-tailed--short-tailed. that's why it occurs in the title of our friend mr. rattlesnake. while your poche-horse is not bob-tailed, his tail is rather heavy and short, you'll admit. has nothing of the length and graceful sweep of white ann's tail, if you'll pardon me." "you can't lead me into joshing just now, young lady. answer this: why didn't you tell me, when i told you my _caballo's_ name, that you knew what it meant? most everybody asks me what it means when i tell 'em his name; but you did not even show surprise over the oddity of it--and i wondered. and before, when you spoke of this tribe of indians, you called them the paubas." "certainly i showed no surprise, for i am familiar with the word poche and have just proved that i know its meaning. and i'm not very clever at simulating an emotion that i don't feel. i didn't tell you, moreover, because i wanted you to find out for yourself. i thought you'd do so here. yes--and i deliberately called these people the paubas. they _are_ paubas--a branch of the pauba tribe." "i thought you were to help me," he grumbled. "you're adding to the mystery, it seems to me." "not at all. i'm showing you the trail. you must follow it yourself. knowing the country, i see bits here and there that tell me where to go to help you out. poche's name is one of them. keep your eyes and ears open while i'm steering you around." "all right," he agreed after a pause. "lead on!" "then we'll make a call on chupurosa hatchinguish," she proposed. "chupurosa means hummingbird, as you doubtless know, since it is spanish. and if my chupurosa isn't a bird and also a hummer, i never hope to see one." oliver's riding outfit created a sensation as the two entered the village. faces appeared in doorways. squat, dark men, their black-felt hats invariably two sizes too large, came from nowhere, it seemed, to gaze silently. dogs barked. women ceased their simple activities and chattered noisily to one another. jessamy reined in before a black low door presently, and left the saddle. oliver followed her. through a profusion of morning-glories the girl led the way to the door and knocked. from within came a guttural response, and, with a smile at her companion, she passed through the entrance. it was so dark within that for a little oliver, coming from the bright sunlight, could see almost nothing. then the light filtering in through the vines that covered the hut grew brighter. the floor was of earth, beaten brick-hard by the padding of tough bare feet. in the centre was a fireplace--little more than a circle of blackened stones--from which the smoke was sucked out through a hole in the roof, presumably after it had considerately asphyxiated the occupants of the dwelling. red earthenware and beautifully woven baskets represented the household utensils. there were a few old splint-bottom chairs, a pack-saddle hanging on the wall, a bed of green willow boughs in one corner. these simple items he noticed later, and one by one. for the time being his interested attention was demanded by the figure that sat humped over the fire, smoking a black clay pipe. chupurosa hatchinguish, headman of the showut poche-dakas and a prominent figure in the fiestas and yearly councils of the pauba tribes, was a treasure for anthropologists. years beyond the ken of most human beings had wrought their fabric in his face. it was cross-hatched, tattooed, pitted, knurled, and wrinkled till one was reminded of the surface of some strange, intricately veined leaf killed and mummified by the frost. from this crunched-leather frame two little jet-black eyes blazed out with the unquenched fires of youth and all the wisdom in the world. a black felt hat, set straight on his iron-grey hair and almost touching ears and eyebrows, faded-blue overalls, and a dingy flannel shirt completed his garb, as he wore nothing on his feet. "hello, my hummingbird!" jessamy cried merrily in the spanish tongue. chupurosa seemed not to be the stoic, "how-ugh!" sort of indian with which fiction has made the world familiar. all the tragedy and unsolvable mystery of his race was written in his face, but he could smile and laugh and talk, and seemed to enjoy life hugely. his leathery face now parted in a grin, and, though he did not rise, he extended a rawhide hand and made his callers welcome. then he waved them to seats. much as any other human being would do, he politely inquired after the girl's health and that of her family. asked as to his own, he shook his head and made a rheumatic grimace. "i've brought a friend to see you, chupurosa," said jessamy at last, as, for some reason or other, she had not yet exactly introduced oliver. chupurosa looked at the man inquiringly and waited. "this is oliver drew," said the girl in what oliver thought were unnatural, rather tense tones. he saw jessamy's lips part slightly after his name, and that she was watching the old man intently. chupurosa nodded in an exaggerated way, and extended a hand, though the two had already gone through the handshake formality. oliver arose and did his part again, then stood a bit awkwardly before their host. he heard a half-sigh escape the girl. "señor drew has not been in our country long," she informed the old man. "he comes from the southern part of the state--from san bernardino county." again the exaggerated nodding on the part of chupurosa. then there was a pause, which the girl at length broke-- "did you catch the name, chupurosa? _oliver drew_." chupurosa politely but haltingly repeated it, and grinned accommodatingly. jessamy tried again. "do you know a piece of land down in clinker creek cañon that is called the old ivison place, chupurosa?" his nod this time was thoughtful. "señor drew now owns that, and lives there," she added. both jessamy and oliver were watching him keenly. it seemed to oliver that there was the faintest suggestion of dilation of the eye-pupils as this last bit of information was imparted. still, it may have meant nothing. the indian crumbled natural-leaf with heel of hand and palm, and refilled his terrible pipe. "any friend of yours is welcome to this country and to my hospitality," he said. "señor drew rode all the way up here horseback," the girl pushed on. "you like good horses, chupurosa. señor drew has a fine one. his name is poche." for the fraction of a second the match that oliver had handed chupurosa stood stationary on its trip to the tobacco in his pipe. chupurosa nodded in his slow way again, and the match completed its mission and fell between the blackened stones. "and you like saddles and bridles, too, i know. you should see señor drew's equipment, chupurosa." several thoughtful puffs. then-- "is it here, señorita?" "yes," said the girl breathlessly. "will you go out and look at it?" this time the headman puffed for nearly a minute; then suddenly he rose with surprising briskness. "i will look at this horse called poche," he announced, and stalked out ahead of them. a number of indians, old and young, had gathered about the horses outside the little gate. they were silent but for a low, seemingly guarded word to one another now and then. every black eye there was fixed on the gorgeous saddle and bridle of poche in awe and admiration. then came chupurosa, tall, dignified as the distant mountain peaks, and they backed off instantly. at his heels were oliver and the girl, whose cheeks now glowed like sunset clouds and whose eyes spoke volumes. thrice in absolute silence the headman walked round the horse. completing the third trip, he stepped to poche's head and stood attentively looking at the left-hand _concha_ with its glistening stone. then chupurosa lifted his hands, slipped the chased-silver keeper that held the throatlatch in place, and let the throatlatch drop. both hands grasped the cheekstrap near the brow-band, and turned this part of the bridle inside out. oliver felt a slight trembling, it was all so weird, so portentous. he almost knew that the jet eyes were searching for the "b" chiselled into the silver on the inside of the _concha_, knew positively by the quick dilation of the pupils when they found it. at once the old man released the bridle and readjusted the throatlatch. he turned to them then, and silently motioned toward the hut. jessamy cast a triumphant glance at oliver as they followed him inside. to oliver's surprise he closed the door after them. then, though it was now so dark inside that oliver could scarce see at all, chupurosa stood directly before him and looked him up and down. he spoke now in the melodious spanish. "señor," he asked, "is there in the middle of your body, on the left side, the scar of a wound like a man's eye?" oliver caught his breath. "yes," he replied. "i brought it back from france. a bayonet wound." up and down went the iron-grey head of the sage. "i have never seen the weapon nor the sort of wound it makes," he informed oliver gravely. "take off your shirt." "oh, chupu-_ro_-sa!" screamed jessamy as she threw open the door and slammed it after her. chapter xi concerning springs and showut poche-daka it was evident to oliver drew that clinker creek was lowering fast, as damon tamroy had predicted that it would do. he feared that it would go entirely dry just when certain vegetables would need it most. again, also following tamroy's prophecy, the flow from his spring proved insufficient to keep all of his plantings alive, even though he had impounded the surplus in a small clay-lined reservoir. he stood with hands on hips today, frowning at the tinkling stream of water running from the rusty length of pipe into the reservoir. "there's just one thing to do," he remarked to it, "and that's to see if i can't increase your putter-putter. i want to write an article on making the most of a flow of spring water, anyway; and i guess i'll use you for a foundation." whereupon he secured pick and shovel and sledge and set about removing the box he had so carefully set in the ground to hold his domestic water. when the box was out he enlarged the hole, and, when the water had cleared, studied the flow. it seeped out from a fissure in the bedrock--or what he supposed was the bedrock--and it seemed a difficult matter to "get at it." however, he began digging above the point of egress in the resistant blue clay, and late that afternoon was down to bedrock again. and now when he had washed off the rock he discovered a strange thing. this was that the supposed bedrock was not bedrock at all, but a wall of large stones built by the hand of man. through a crevice in this wall the water seeped, and when he had gouged out the puttylike blue clay the flow increased fivefold. he sat down and puzzled over it, expecting the flow to return to normal after some tiny unseen reservoir had been drained of its surplus. but it did not lessen, and had not lessened when night came. at midnight, thinking about it in bed and unable to sleep, he arose, lighted a lantern, and went down to the spring. the water was flowing just the same as when he had left it. he was not surprised to find the work of human hands in and about his spring, but this wall of stones was highly irregular. it appeared that, instead of having been built to conserve the water, it was designed to dam up the flow entirely. the old flow was merely seepage through the wall. he was at it again early next morning, and soon had torn down the wall entirely and thrown out the stones. at least five times as much water was running still. he recalled that damon tamroy had said the spring had given more water in tabor ivison's day than now. there was but one answer to the puzzle. for some strange reason somebody since tabor ivison's day had seen fit to try to stop the flow from the spring altogether. but who would go to such pains to do this, and hide the results of his work, as these had been hidden? and, above all, why? it is useless to deny that oliver drew at once thought of the poison oakers. but what excuse could they produce for such an act? surely, with the creek dry and the american river several miles away, they would encourage the flow of water everywhere in the clinker creek country for their cattle to drink. it was beyond him then and he gave it up. he laid more pipe and covered it all to the land level again, and viewed with satisfaction the increased supply of water for the dry summer months to come. and it was not until a week later that jessamy selden unconsciously gave him an answer to the question. he was scrambling up the hill to the west of the cabin that day to another bee tree that he had discovered, when he heard her shrill shouting down below. he turned and saw her and the white mare before the cabin, and the girl was looking about for him. he returned her shout, and stood on a blackened stump in the chaparral, waving his hat above the foliage. "i get you!" she shrilled at last. "stay there! i'm coming up!" fifteen minutes later, panting, now on hands and knees, now crawling flat, she drew near to him. a bird can go through california "locked" chaparral if it will be content to hop from twig to twig, but the ponderous human animal must emulate nebuchadnezzar if he or she would penetrate its mysteries. "what a delightful route you chose for your morning crawl," she puffed, as at last she lay gasping at the foot of the stump on which he sat and laughed at her. oliver lighted a cigarette and inhaled indolently as he watched her lying there with heaving breast, her arms thrown wide. she did everything as naturally as does a child. she wore fringed leather chaps today, and remarked, when she sat up and dusted the trash from her hair, that she was glad she had done so since he had made her come crawling to his feet. "and that reminds me of something that i've decided to ask you," she added. "has it occurred to you that i am throwing myself at you?" she looked straight into his face as she put the naïve question to him. "why do you ask that?" he countered, eyes on the tip of his cigarette. "i'll tell you why when you've answered." "then of course not." "i suppose i _am_ a bit crude," she mused. "at least it must look that way to the natives here-about. i was fairly confident, though, that you wouldn't think me unmaidenly. i sought you out deliberately. i was lonely and wanted a friend. i had heard that you were a university man. you told mr. tamroy, you know. it's perfectly proper deliberately to try and make a friend of a person, isn't it?--if you think both of you may be benefited. and does it make a great deal of difference if the subject chances to be of the other sex?" "i'm more than satisfied, so far as i come in on the deal," oliver assured her. "i thank you, sir. and now i've been accused to my face of throwing myself at you--which expression means a lot and which you doubtless fully understand." "who is your accuser?" "the author of 'jessamy, my sweetheart.'" "digger foss, eh?" she closed both eyes tightly and bobbed her head up and down several times, then opened her eyes. "he's a free man again--tried and acquitted." "no!" "didn't i tell you how it would be?" he puffed his cigarette meditatively. "doesn't it strike you as strange that you and i were not subpoenaed as witnesses?" "i've been expecting that from you. no, sir--it doesn't. digger's counsel didn't want you and me as witnesses." "but the prosecuting attorney." "_he_ didn't want us either." "then there's corruption." "if i could think of a worse word than corruption i'd correct you, so i'll let that stand. digger foss is old man selden's right hand; and old man selden is pythias to the prosecuting attorney of this man's county." oliver's eyes widened. "elmer standard is the gentleman in question. what connection there can be between him and adam selden is too many for me; but selden goes to see him whenever he rides to the county seat. only the right witnesses were allowed to take the stand, you may be confident. i knew the halfbreed's acquittal was a foregone conclusion before the smoke from his gat had cleared." both were silent for a time, then she said: "elmer standard runs things down at the county seat. i've heard that he allows open gambling, and that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places." "but there are no saloons now." "indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "i didn't know. i never have frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. anyway, digger foss is as free as the day he was born; and henry dodd, the man he murdered, lies in the little cemetery in the pines near halfmoon flat. but there's another piece of news: adam selden has--" "pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with digger foss." "oh, that! well, i met him on the trail between clinker creek and the american yesterday. he accused me of being untrue to him while he was in jail." "yes?" "i admitted my guilt. never having had the slightest inclination to be true to him, i told him, it naturally followed that i was untrue to him--and wasn't it a glorious day? how on earth the boy ever got the idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is beyond me. i don't scold him, and i don't send him packing--nor do i give him the least encouragement. i simply treat him civilly when he approaches me on a commonplace matter, and ignore him when he tries to get funny. and he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. how can he be so stupid! i haven't been superior enough with him--but i hate to be superior, even to a halfbreed. and he's quarter chinaman. heavens, what am i coming to!" "how did the meeting end?" queried oliver. "well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. he attempted to kiss me, and i attempted to cut his face open with my quirt. both of us missed by about six inches, i'm thankful to say. and the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. by the way, i've never seen you pack a gun, mr. drew." he shrugged. "i used to down on the cow ranch in san bernardino county, but i think i grew up over in france." "you have one, of course." "yes--a 'forty-five." "can you handle a gun fairly well?" "i know which end to look into to see if it's loaded." "can you spin a dollar in air with your left hand, draw, and hit it before it strikes the ground?" "aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "i'm after another colony of bees. come on up and look at 'em." "sit still," she ordered. "can you do what i asked about?" "i don't know--i've never tried." "digger foss can," she claimed. "well, that's shooting." "it is. i'd strap that gun on if i were you and practice up a bit." "cartridges are too high-priced," he laughed. "what's the rest of the news?" "the store up at cliffbert, about fourteen miles from here and off the railroad, was broken into three days ago and robbed of cutlery, revolvers, and other things to the tune of several hundred dollars." "m'm-m! do they have any idea who did it?" "oh, yes. the poison oakers." "they know it?" "of course--everybody knows it. but it can't be proved. it's nothing new." "i didn't know the gang ever went to such a limit." "humph!" she sniffed significantly. "and the next piece of news is that sulphur spring has gone dry for the first time in many years. and here it's only may!" "where is sulphur spring?" "about a mile below your south line, in this cañon. i heard old man selden complaining about it last night, and thought i'd ride around that way this morning. it's as he said--entirely dry, so far as new water running into the basin is concerned." "well," said oliver, "my piece of news is just the opposite of that. my spring is running a stream five times as large as heretofore--" she straightened. "what caused that?" she demanded quickly. he explained in detail. "so!" she murmured. "so! i understand. listen: i have heard the menfolks at the ranch say that all these cañon springs are connected. that is, they all are outbreaks from one large vein that follows the cañon. if you shut off one, then, you may increase the flow of the next one below it. and if you open one up and increase its output, the next below it may go entirely dry. the flow from yours has been cut off in time gone by to increase the flow of sulphur spring. and now that you've taken away the obstruction, your spring gets all the water, while sulphur spring gets none." "i believe you're right," asserted oliver. "and do you think it might have been the poison oakers who closed my spring to increase the flow down there?" "undoubtedly." "but why? they were running cows on my land, too, before i came. wouldn't it be handier to have a good flow of water in both places?" "no doubt of that," she answered. "and i can't enlighten you, i'm sorry to say. all i know is that old man selden is hopping mad--angrier than the situation seems to call for, as springs are by no means scarce in clinker cañon." jessamy's disclosures had ended now, so they scrambled on up the hill toward the bee tree. the colony had settled in a dead hollow white-oak. the tree had been broken off close to the ground by high winds after the colony had taken up residence therein. the hole by which they made entrance to the hollow trunk, however, was left uppermost after the fall, and apparently the little zealots had not been seriously disturbed. anyway, here they were still winging their way to and from the prostrate tree, the sentries keeping watch at the entrance to their increasing store of honey. oliver had found the tree two weeks before, purely by accident. at that time the hole at which the workers entered had been unobstructed. now, though, tall weeds had grown up about the tree, making a screen before the hole and preventing the nectar-laden insects from entering readily. "this won't do at-all-at-all," he said to jessamy, as she took her seat on a limb of the bee tree. "there must be nothing to obstruct them in entering, for sometimes they drop with their loads when they have difficulty in winging directly in, and can't get up again." "uh-huh," she concurred. she had unlaid one of her black braids and was replaiting it again after the havoc wrought by the prickly bushes. oliver lighted his bee-smoker and sent several soft puffs into the hole to quiet the bees. then without gloves or veil, which the experienced beeman seldom uses, he laid hold of the tall weeds and began uprooting them. thus engaged, he kneeled down and reached under the tree trunk to get at the roots of certain obstinate plants; and in that instant he felt a sharp sting in the fleshy part of his wrist. "ouch! holy moses!" he croaked. "i didn't expect to find a bee under there!" "get stung?" "did i! mother of mike! i've been stung many times, but that lady must have been the grandmother of--why, i'm getting sick--dizzy!--" he came to a pause, swayed on his knees, and closed his eyes. then came that heart-chilling sound which, once heard, will never be forgotten, and will ever bring cold terror to mankind--the rattlebone _whir-r-r-r-r_ of the diamond-back rattlesnake. oliver caught himself, licked dry lips, and was gazing in horror at two bleeding, jagged incisions in his wrist. the girl, with a scream of comprehension, darted toward him. he balanced himself and smiled grimly as she grabbed his arm with shaking hands. "got me," he said, "the son-of-a-gun! and i'd have stuck my hand right back for another dose if he hadn't rattled." jessamy grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to force him to the ground. "sit down and keep quiet!" she ordered, sternly, her nerves now firm and steady, her face white and determined. "no, not that way!" she grasped him under the arms and with the strength of a young amazon slued him about as if he had been a sack of flour. deftly she bound his handkerchief about his arm, drawing it taut with all her strength. something found its way into his left hand. "drink that!" she commanded. "all of it. pour it down!" then her lips sought the flaming wound; and she clamped her white teeth in his flesh and began sucking out the poison. at intervals she raised her head for breath and to spit out the deadly fluid. "drink!" she would urge then. "and don't worry. not a chance in the world of your being any the worse after i get through with you." oliver obeyed her without question, taking great swallows from the flask of fiery liquor and closing his eyes after each. his senses swam and he felt weak and delirious, though he could not tell whether this last was because of the poison or the liquor he had consumed. at last jessamy leaned back and fumbled in a pocket of her chaps. she produced a tiny round box, from which she took a bottle of dry permanganate of potash and a small lancet. with the keen instrument she hacked a deep x in his arm, just over the wound. then she wet the red powder with saliva and worked a paste into the cuts with the lancet. this done, she sat back and regarded her patient complacently. "just take it easy," she counselled. "and, whatever you do, don't worry. you won't know you were bitten in an hour. sip that whisky now and then. it won't kill the poison, as some folks seem to believe, but it will make you light-hearted and you'll forget to worry. that's the part it plays in a case like this. now if i can trust you to keep quiet and serene, i'll seek revenge." he nodded weakly. she arose, and presently again came that sickening _whir-r-r-r-r-r_ miscalled a rattle, followed immediately by a vicious _thud-thud-thud_. "there, you horrid creature!" he heard in a low, triumphant tone. "you thought i was afraid of you, did you? bring total collapse on all your fictitious traditions and bite before you rattle, will you! _requiescat in pace_, mr. showut poche-daka!" half an hour afterward oliver drew was on his feet, but he staggered drunkenly. to this day he is not just sure whether he was intoxicated or raving from the effects of the snakebite. anyway, as jessamy took hold of him to steady him, his reason left him, and he swept her into his arms and kissed her lips time and again, though she struggled valiantly to free herself. ultimately she ducked under his arms and sprang away from him backward, her face crimson, her bosom heaving. "sit down again!" she ordered chokingly. "shame on you, to take advantage of me like that!" "won't sit down!" he babbled, reaching about for her blindly. "i love you an' i'm gonta have you!" "you're out of your head! sit down again! please, now." her tone changed to a soothing note. "you're--i'm afraid you're drunk." he was groping for her, staggering toward a threatening outcropping of rock. with a rapid leap she closed in on him unexpectedly, heaved desperately to the right and left, and threw him flat on his back. then she scrambled on top of his knees as he strove to rise again. "now, looky-here, mister," she warned, "you've gone just about far enough! in a second i'll get that bee-smoker and put you out of business. please--please, now, be good!" he seemed partially stunned by the fall, for he lay now without a move, eyes closed, his mind wandering dreamily. and thus he lay for half an hour longer, when he suddenly raised his head and looked at her, still propped up on his knees, with eyes that were sane. "golly!" he breathed. "golly is right," she agreed drolly. "were you drunk or crazy?" "both, i guess. i'm--mighty sorry." his face was red as fire. "do you wish to get up?" "if you please." he stood on his feet. he was still weak and pale and dizzy. "heavens! that liquor!" he panted. "what is it? where did you get it?" "at home. old adam gave me the flask over a year ago. it's only whisky. i always carry a flask for just such an emergency as this. and i never go a step out of the house in the summer without my snakebite kit. nobody ought to in the west." he shook his head. "that's not whisky," he said. "i'm not exactly a stranger to the taste of whisky. that's brimstone!" "i was told it was whisky," she replied. "i know nothing about whisky. i've never even tasted it." he held the flask to the sun, but it was leather-covered and no light shone through. he unscrewed the metal cap and poured some of the liquor into it. it was colourless as water. "moonshine!" he cried. "and i know now why the flow from my spring was cut off. a still calls for running water!" "you may be right," she said without excitement. "you will remember that i told you there is another reason besides selden's covetousness of your grass land why you are wanted out of the clinker creek country." chapter xii the poison oakers ride a red-headed, red-breasted male linnet sat on the topmost branch of the old, gnarled liveoak near oliver's window and tried to burst his throat to the accompaniment of oliver's typewriter. when the keys ceased their clicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more the dicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody. "well, i like to be accommodating," remarked oliver, leaning back from his machine, "but i can't accompany you all day; and it happens that i'm through right now." he surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaning of springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article completed, his mind was no longer engrossed by it. other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the soft spring air wondering about old chupurosa hatchinguish and his strange behaviour on seeing the gem-mounted _conchas_ stamped with the letter b. when oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar that a german bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by the ancient chief. oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in his inscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirt again. he had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at all until the young man had finished dressing. then he had stepped to the door and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest's presence in the hut was no longer necessary. as oliver passed out he had spoken: "when next the moon is full," he said, "the showut poche-dakas will observe the fiesta de santa maria de refugio, as taught them years ago by the padres who came from spain. then will the showut poche-dakas dance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by the wise men of their ancestors. ride here to the fiesta de santa maria de refugio on the first night that the moon is full. _adios, amigo!_" that was all; and oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight and found jessamy selden. the two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, but neither could throw any light on the matter. but the first night of the full moon was not far distant now, and oliver and the girl were awaiting it impatiently. oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gain an inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father for thirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this country to find out whether its answer was yes or no. oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. out in the liveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintively occasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. but oliver's thoughts were far from his work. that burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain was undoubtedly moonshine--and redistilled at that, no doubt. jessamy had told him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since old adam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea that the flask had not contained amber-coloured whisky. was this in reality the reason why the poison oakers wished him to be gone? had they been distilling moonshine whisky down at sulphur spring to supply the blind pigs controlled by the prosecuting attorney at the county seat? and had his inadvertent shutting off of sulphur spring's supply of water stopped their illicit activities? they had known, perhaps, that eventually he would discover that his own spring had been choked by some one and would rectify the condition. whereupon sulphur spring would cease to flow and automatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. oliver decided to look for sulphur spring at his earliest opportunity. his brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, when either the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back's fangs--or both--had deprived him of his senses. he remembered perfectly what he had said--what he had done. he had heard sometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. but had he been drunk, or rabid from the hypodermic injections of showut poche-daka? or, again--both? one thing he knew--that he thrilled yet at remembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again. had he told the truth? had he said that day what he would not have revealed for anything--at that time? his brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips. his teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. had he told the truth? he rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung to him to the years of his young manhood. he stalked to the cheap rectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in the flawed glass. blue eye into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked the question: "did i tell the truth when i said i loved her?" his eyes answered him. he knew that he had told the truth. then if this was true--and he knew it to be true--what of the halfbreed, digger foss? he remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reeling against the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindly for support--remembered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzle of whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra's head sways back and forth to the charmer's music--remembered the cruel insolence of the mongolic eyes, mere slits. he swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knothole in the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. he noted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. he hurled the pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled ' that lay there, wheeled, and fired at the knothole. there had been no appreciable pause between his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw no bullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away. he chuckled grimly. "i might get out my army medals for marksmanship and pin 'em on my breast for a target," he said. then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of the house. "ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?" it boomed. there was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. it was old man selden who had called to him. oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door, which always stood open these days, inviting the countless little lizards that his invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter and make themselves at home. the gaunt old boss of the clinker creek country stood, with chap-protected legs wide apart, on oliver's little porch. his broad-brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, and his cold blue eyes were piercing and direct, as always. in his hands he held the reins of his horse's bridle. back of the grey seven men lounged in their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. digger foss was not among the number. "how d'ye do, mr. selden," said oliver in cordial tones, thrusting forth a strong brown hand. selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that he had not noticed it. oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumps showed over the hinges of his jaws. he changed his tone immediately. "well, what can i do for you gentlemen?" he inquired brusquely. "we was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said selden. "so i dropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt." "i beg your pardon," oliver returned, "but you must have been dismounted when i fired. this being the case, you already had decided to call on me. so, once more, how can i be of service to you?" the grins of the men who rode with adam selden disappeared. there was no mistaking the businesslike hostility of oliver's attitude. "peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the rider whose knee pressed his. oliver looked straight at old man selden, and to him he spoke. "i am not peeved about anything," he said. "but when a man comes to my door, and i come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my inference is that the call isn't a friendly one. so if you have any business to transact with me, let's get it off our chests." oliver noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the quick, surprised looks that were flashed among the poison oakers. apparently they had met a tougher customer than they had expected. all this time the cold blue eyes of adam selden had been looking over the pitted bourbon nose at oliver. selden's tones were unruffled as he said: "thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot yerself." "i don't care to listen to subtle threats," oliver returned promptly. "poison oak does not trouble me at all--neither the vegetable variety nor the other variety. i'm never in favour of bandying words. if i have anything to say i try to say it in the best american-english at my command. so i'll make no pretence, mr. selden, that i have not heard you don't want me here in the cañon. and i'll add that i am here, on my own land, and intend to do my best to remain till i see fit to leave." selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the young man was not without an element of admiration. no anger showed in his voice as he said: "just so! just so! i wanted to tell ye that i been down to the recorder's office and up to see nancy fleet, my wife's sister. seems that you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; but i thought, so long's we was ridin' along this way, i'd drop off an' have a word with ye." "i'm waiting to hear it." "no use gettin' riled, now, because--" "if you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that i have." "just so!" selden drawled. "well, then, i'll accept her now--if i ain't too bold." "you will not," clicked oliver. "will you please state your business and ride on?" "friendly cuss, ain't he, dad?" remarked one of the selden boys--which one oliver did not know. "you close yer face!" admonished selden smoothly, in his deep bass. "well, mr. drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that's none o' my concern. and if ye got money to live on comin' from somewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. but when ye stop the run o' water from a spring that i'm dependin' on to water my critters in dry months, it _is_ my concern--an' that's why i dropped off for a word with ye." "how do you know i have done that?" oliver asked. "well, 'tain't likely that a spring like sulphur spring would go dry the last o' may. most o' these springs along here are fed from the same vein. you move in, and sulphur spring goes dry. so that's what i dropped off to talk to ye about. just so!" "i suppose," said oliver, "that the work i did on my spring has in reality stopped the flow of sulphur spring. but--" "ye do? what _makes_ ye suppose so?--if i ain't too bold in askin'." oliver's lips straightened. plainly selden suspected that jessamy had told him of the peculiarity of the cañon springs, and was trying to make him implicate her. but the old man was not the crafty intriguer he seemed to fancy himself to be. he already had said too much if he wished to make oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel. "why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what i did to clean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "but, as i was about to remark when you interrupted me, i can't see that that is any concern of mine. that's putting it rather bluntly, perhaps; but i am entirely within my rights in developing all the water that i can on my land, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me." "right there's the point," retorted selden. "i'm a pretty good friend o' the prosecutin' attorney down at the county seat. he tells me ye can't take my water away from me like that." "then i should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on the laws governing the development and disposition of water in this state," oliver promptly told him. "i wrote him," said selden, "an' i'll show ye the letter if ye'll invite me in." for the first time oliver hesitated. why did selden wish to enter the cabin? could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? it flashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside so that some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out the volume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increase it. this only added to his belief that the poison oakers were responsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. well, why not let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard? "certainly," he invited. "come in." and he stood back from the door. selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. at the same time he was reaching into his shirtfront for the letter. then an odd thing occurred. he was about to take the chair that oliver had pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridle which had come to stand for so much in oliver's life, hanging from a thong in one corner of the room. the old poison oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he was moved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils began dilating. but almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again. "i heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked. "said she was a hummer all 'round. that it there? mind if i look her over?" "not at all." oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to the big question and its answer. old man selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the martingales. his deep breathing was the only sound in the room. outside, oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of his spring was on. at last adam selden made a move. he changed his position so that his spacious back was turned toward oliver. quietly oliver leaned to one side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward the gem-mounted _concha_ on the left-hand side of the bridle--saw thumb and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out. again the room was soundless. then selden turned from the exhibit, and oliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the old man's face. "that's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and laid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table. the letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and was signed elmer standard. oliver quickly passed it back, remarking: "he's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. i have had occasion to look into the legal aspect of water rights in california quite thoroughly, and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject." but the chief of the poison oakers was scarce listening. in his blue eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his face. suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to oliver's surprise, a smile crossed his bearded lips. "just so! just so! i judge ye're right, mr. drew--i judge ye're right," he said almost genially. "anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to fuss over a matter like that. there's plenty water fer the cows, an' i oughtn't to butted in. but us ol'-timers, ye know, we--well, i guess we oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. i won't trouble ye again, mr. drew. an' i'll be ridin' now with the boys, i reckon. ye might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter--but i guess ye've already met jess'my. i've heard her mention ye. ride up some day--they'll be glad to see ye." and oliver drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than when he had first faced him on the porch. the poison oakers, with old man selden at their head, rode away up the cañon. oliver drew was throwing the saddle on poche's back two minutes after they had vanished in the trees. he mounted and galloped in the opposite direction, opening the wire "indian" gate when he reached the south line of his property. an hour later he was searching the obscure hills and cañons for sulphur spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it. it was hidden away in a little wooded cañon, with high hills all about, and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it. while cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond the heavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had been designed to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring. moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapid evaporating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course below the bushes. oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. cold water remained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had ceased entirely. he bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of the basin. almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece of three-quarter-inch iron pipe. then in the pool before his face there came a sudden _chug_, and a little geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. oliver drew back instinctively. his face blanched, and his muscles tightened. then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of a heavy-calibre rifle. chapter xiii shinplaster and creeds white ann and poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the ridge that upreared itself between clinker creek cañon and the american. occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn steers, each branded with the insignia of the poison oakers. once a deer crashed away through thick chaparral. young jackrabbits went leaping over the grassy knolls at their approach. down the timbered hillsides grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. next day would mark the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of june. jessamy selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. her hat lay over her saddle horn. her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear, after the constant fashion of the indian girls. so far oliver drew had not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did her hair. "what are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected question. "so we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?" "oh, no--not particularly. there's usually a smattering of method in my madness. you haven't answered." "seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question. if you could narrow down a bit--be more specific--" "well, then, do you believe in that?" she raised her arm sharply and pointed down the precipitous slopes to the green american rushing pell-mell down its rugged cañon. they had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of débris behind the craft in the middle of the river. "that dredge?" he asked. "what's it to do with religion?" "to me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "it makes me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny particles of gold in the earth and rocks. ugh! i detest the sight of the thing. the gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashing there in that filaree blossom! it will buy silk gowns, and any spider can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. it will build tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? bah, i hate the sight of the thing!" "gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her. "i suppose so," she sighed. "we've gotten to a point where gold is necessary. but, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as god intended us to be! i detest anything utilitarian. i hate orchards because they supplant the trees and chaparral that nature has planted. i hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they demand ruin rugged cañons and valleys. i hate railroads, because their hideous old trains go screeching through god's peaceful solitudes. i hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into god's chapels." "but they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he said. "and all of them are not irreverent." "oh, yes--i know. i'm selfish there. and i'm not at all practical. but i do hate 'em!" "and what _do_ you like in life?" he asked amusedly. "well, i have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing," she laughed. "but i'm only halfway approaching my subject. do you like missionaries?" "i think i've never eaten any," he told her gravely. but she would not laugh. "i don't like 'em," she claimed. "i don't believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to force--if necessary--the believers in other religions to trample under foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. all peoples, it seems to me, believe in a creator. that's enough. let 'em alone in their various creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion. are you with me there?" "i think so. only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for the zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to try and bend them to his way of thinking." "i respect all religions--all beliefs," she said. "but those who go preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other fellow's faith. and that's not christlike in the first place." he knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time disclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought this morning. "the showut poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly. "long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually pushed back up here. down there, though, they came under the influence of the old spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. they are sincere and devout. i have as much reverence for a bareheaded indian girl on her knees to the sun god as i have for a hooded nun counting her beads. they believe in a supreme being; that's enough for me. you'll be interested at the fiesta tomorrow night. i rode up there the other day. everything is in readiness. the _ramadas_ are all built, and the dance floor is up, and indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away." "will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked. "yes, i think so--that is, since i heard what old man selden had to say about you the day after he called. i'll tell you about that later. yes, all the whites attend the _fiestas_. the california indian is crude and not very picturesque, compared with other indians, but the _fiestas_ are fascinating. especially the dances. they defy interpretation; but they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of imagination. by the way, i bought you a present at halfmoon flat the other day." she unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her _chaparejos_, and handed him a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper. "am i to open it now or wait till christmas?" he asked. "now," she said. the paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster. "oh, i'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned a blank face to her. "tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. when one coat dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is exhausted." she threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes. "it's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "i had a bottle of the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. it seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a décolletté ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. it's almost invisible when it has dried on one's skin; and i thought it might be of benefit to you in the fire dance." "say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while i've barely got my feet wet. come across!" "well, i'm not positive," she told him, "but i'm strongly of the opinion that you're going to dance the fire dance at the fiesta de santa maria de refugio tomorrow night." "i? i dance the fire dance? oh, no, miss--you have the wrong number. i don't dance the fire dance at all." "i think you will tomorrow night, and i thought that liquid courtplaster might help protect your feet and legs. i put some on my second finger and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove." "yes?" "well, i took it off again. but, honestly, the finger that had none on at all felt a little hotter, i imagined. i'm sure it did, and i only had two coats on. i know you'll be glad you tried it, and the indians will never know it's there." "i'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked. "well," she said, "after what passed between you and chupurosa hatchinguish that day, i'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. and i know the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to membership. white men who have married indian women are about the only ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the showut poche-dakas; so in your case it is a distinct honour. "i have seen this fire dance. while a white person cannot accurately interpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your endeavour to ally yourself with the showut poche-dakas. "for instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs, what you have been taught--and, oh, everything that might be against the alliance. all this, i say, is represented by the fire. and in the fire dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your bare feet if you would become brother to the showut poche-dakas." "with my bare feet? stamp out these objections?" "yes--as represented by the fire." "you mean i must stamp out a _fire_ with my bare feet? _actually?_" "actually--literally--honest-to-goodnessly!" "good night!" cried oliver. "i'll cleave to my kith and kin." "and never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father for thirty years? nor whether the correct answer is yes or no?" "but, heavens, i don't put out a fire that way!" "it's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "you join the tribe, and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and hours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. then the one who is to be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe--the champion fire-dancer, in short--jump on what is left of the fire and stamp it out. of course there are objections to you from the view-point of the showut poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative of them. if the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objections are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary showut poche-daka. but if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet the ceremony is over, and you're it. and when the other indians see that you two indians"--her eyes twinkled--"are getting the better of the fire, they'll jump in and help you." "a very entertaining ceremony--for the grandstand," was oliver's dry opinion. "of course the indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on you there. hence this liquid courtplaster. it's worth a trial. honestly, i held my finger on the stove--oh, ever so long! a full second, i'd say." back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as, drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking laughter out over the hills and cañons. "i'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last. "i can do so openly now--since you've won the heart of adam selden. what do you think? he told me to invite you over sometime! but all this doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled colt i see on your hip today for the first time. explain both, please." "well," he said, "selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined poche's bridle and saw the b on the back of a _concha_." "ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips. "and then he grew nice as pie--and that's all there is to that." "and the six?" "well, i buckled it on this morning, thinking i might practice up a bit, as you advised." "so far so good. now amend it and tell the truth." "i went down to sulphur spring after the poison oakers left me, and as i was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and i got my eyebrows wet. as i don't like to have anybody but myself wet my eyebrows, i'm totin' a six. and i rather like the weight of it against my leg again. it reminds me!" "who shot at you?" he shrugged. "_at_ you, do you think?--or into the water to frighten you?" "whoever fired could not see me, but knew i was in the bushes about the spring. took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a touch of highlife, don't you think?" "i wonder if the bullet is still in the basin." "i never thought of that. i ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as nobody showed up, rode back home." she lifted white ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks. "we'll ride to sulphur spring and look for that bullet," she announced. "and be ambushed," he added, as poche followed white ann's lead. chapter xiv high power jessamy and oliver had wheeled their horses with such unexpected suddenness that the man who was trailing them was caught off his guard. he stood plainly revealed for a moment in the open; then he found his wits and plunged indiscriminately into the shielding chaparral. "oh-ho!" cried jessamy in a low tone. "the plot thickens! did you see him?" "i'm going after him," declared her companion. "stop!" she commanded, as he lifted poche for a leap toward the skulker's vanishing point. he reined in quickly. "why?" "what good will come of it? why try to nose him out? we may be ahead in the end if we play the game as they do. we have more chance of finding out what they're up to by leaving them alone, i'd say." "play the game, eh?" he repeated. "so there's a game being played. i didn't just know. thought all that's afoot was the big idea of chasing me over the hills and far away. and from selden's latest attitude, it looks as if that had been abandoned. game, eh?" "that's what i'd call it. quite evidently the man was spying on us." "did you recognize him?" "i can't make sure." "but you think you know him," he said with conviction. "yes. i imagined it was digger foss. but he got to cover pretty quickly." "his horse can't be far away. maybe we can locate him somewhere along the back trail. i'd know that rawboned roan." "so should i. let's send 'em along a little faster." they had by this time reached the opening in the chaparral into which their shadow had dodged. by common consent they passed it without looking to right or left. "he may imagine we didn't see him," whispered jessamy. "i hope he does." there was an open stretch ahead of them, and across it they galloped, the girl piercing the thickets on the right in search of a saddle horse, oliver sweeping the slopes that descended to the river. but neither saw a horse, and in the trail were no hoofprints not made by their own mounts. "he has been afoot from the start," decided jessamy. "i wish i knew whether or not it was digger foss." they wound their way down to sulphur spring presently, and came to a halt in the ravine below it. "now," said oliver, "who knows but that my sniper is not hidden up there in the hills?" "i'll look for that bullet," she purposed, and swung out of her saddle. "oh, no you won't!" his foot touched the ground with hers. "yes--listen! no one would shoot at me. but they might take another crack at you, even with me along to witness it. if they were hidden and could get away unseen, you know. but they'd not shoot at me." "how do you know?" "well, i'm one of them--after a fashion. they all like me--and at least one of them wants to gather me to his manly breast and fly with me." "but things are different since i came. you've taken sides with me. if any one looks for that slug, i'm the one that'll do it." he started toward the spring. "stop!" she ordered, and grasped his shirt-sleeves. "listen here: i'd bet a dollar against a saddle string that that was digger foss we saw up on the ridge." "well?" "he's afoot. he can't have had time to get down here and guard sulphur spring." "all right. well?" "and i know positively that adam selden and the boys are up north today after a bunch of drifters. so none of them can be here. that eliminates six of the poison oakers. there would be left only obed pence, ed buchanan, chuck allegan, and jay muenster--all privates, next to outsiders. none of them would shoot at me, and--" she came to a full stop and eyed him speculatively. "and i'm going to look for that bullet," she finished limpingly. oliver looked her over thoughtfully. "i can't say that i get what you're driving at at all," he observed. "but it seems to me that you're trying to convey that, with the seldens and digger foss eliminated, there is no danger." she closed her eyes and gave him several vigorous, exaggerated nods. "but aren't all of the poison oakers concerned in my speedy removal from this country?" "well--yes"--hesitatingly. "that's right. but the four will not molest me. i know. please let's not argue about what i _know_ is right!" his lips twitched amusedly. "but one of the four _might_ take a pot-shot at me. is that it?" again the series of nods, eyes closed. "you see," she said, "only the seldens and digger foss accuse me of being on your side. so if any one of the other four were to see me go to the spring he'd think i was merely after water, or something. but if you were to go, why--why, it might be different." saying which she unexpectedly darted away from him up the ravine, left the shelter of the trees, and walked boldly to the spring. she parted the bushes and disappeared from sight. oliver stole quickly to the edge of the cover and hid behind a tree, his colt unholstered and hanging in his hand. his eyes scoured the timbered hills on both sides of the spring, but not a movement did he see. he puzzled over jessamy's speech as he watched for evidences of a hostile demonstration. "it smacks of a counter-plot," he mused. "all of the poison oakers want me out of here, but only the seldens and the halfbreed are aware that jessamy is friendly with me. but these four _must_ know it--everybody in the country does by now. it would look as if old man selden and his chosen five are the only ones who suspect her of having an interest in me beyond pure friendship, then. that's it! she said there was another reason other than the grazing matter why old man selden wants me away. and that can't be moonshining, after all; for if pense and the others are likely to shoot me at the spring, they're in on that. but now apparently selden wants to appear friendly. i can't get it! jessamy's not playing just fair with me. she's keeping something back. she's too honest and straightforward to be a good dissembler; she's bungling all the way." she was returning swiftly down the ravine before he had reached the end of his conclusions. she held up something between dripping fingers as she entered the concealment of the trees. "it's perfect still," she announced. "i thought it wouldn't be flattened or bent, since it struck the water." oliver took the small, soft-pointed, steel-banded projectile from her hands and studied it. "m'm-m!" he muttered. "what's this? looks no larger than a twenty-two." she nodded. "so i'd say. a twenty-two high-power--wicked little pill." "and which of the poison oakers packs a twenty-two high-power rifle? do you know?" "it happens that i do. i've taken the pains to acquaint myself with the various guns of the poison oakers. most of them use twenty-five-thirty-fives. old man selden, bolar, and jay muenster use thirty-thirties. there's one twenty-two high-power savage in the gang, and it's a new one. they say it's a devilish weapon." "who owns it?" "digger foss." "then it was foss who shot?" "yes--and it's he who was following us today. you see, digger lives closer to this part of the country than any of the rest. he'd be the only one likely to come in afoot." "do you think he tried to lay me out?" she looked off through the trees, and her face was troubled. "i'm afraid he did," she replied in a strained, hushed key. "had you been in sight, we might determine that he had shot at the water before your face to put the fear of the poison oakers into your heart. but he couldn't see you, in there hidden by the dense growth. it was a fifty-fifty chance whether he got you or not. if he'd merely wished to bully you, he'd never taken the chance of killing you by firing into the growth." "i guess that's right," he said. "and now what's to be done? i'll never be able to forget the picture of henry dodd clutching at white ann's legs for support in his death struggle. the situation is graver than i thought. i expected to be bullied and tormented; but i didn't expect a deliberate attempt on my life." with an impetuous movement she threw her bare forearm horizontally against a tree trunk, and hid her eyes against it. "oh, i wish you hadn't come!" she half sobbed. "but you had to--you had to! and now you can't leave because that would be running away. and you're as good as dead if this side-winder gets the right chance at you. what _can_ we do!" oliver was silent in the face of her distress. what could he do indeed! all the chances were against him, with his enemies ready and willing to take any unfair advantage, while his manliness would not let him stoop to the use of such tactics. they probably would avoid an out-and-out quarrel, where the chances would be even for a quick draw and quick trigger work. they would ambush him, as the halfbreed had attempted to do. he believed now that only the density of the growth about sulphur spring had stood between him and death, for digger foss was accounted an expert shot. he gently pulled jessamy selden from the tree. "there, there!" he soothed. "let's not borrow trouble. they haven't got me yet. let's ride on. and i think you'd better give me a little more of your confidence. i feel that you're keeping me in the dark about some phases of the deal." she mounted in silence, and they turned up clinker creek toward oliver's cabin. "i'd never make a successful vamp, even if i were beautiful," she smiled at last. "i can't hide things. i give myself away. i'm always bungling. but i can play poker, just the same!" she added triumphantly. "don't try to hide things, then," he pleaded. "tell me all that's troubling you." she shook her head. "that's the greatest difficulty," she complained. "i shouldn't have let you know that i have a secret, but i bungled and let it out. and i must keep it. but just the same, i'm with you heart and soul. i'm on your side from start to finish, and i want you to believe it." "i do," he said simply. as they reached the cabin he asked: "did you feel the end of the pipe under the water in the spring?" she nodded. then with the promise to meet him next morning for their ride to the fiesta, she moved her mare slowly up the cañon and disappeared in the trees. chapter xv the fire dance the round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that oliver drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy pictured. the moon rode low in the heavens. the night was waning. tall pines and spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. away in the distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune. in a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost impenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings were clustered about a blazing fire. horses stamped in the corrals. now and then an indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the hill. white men and women and indian men and women stood about the fire in a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's edge. within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle of brown-skinned men and women. but one of this number was white, and in the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the skins of those who danced with him. for oliver drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and directly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him as the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young indian, likewise nearly nude. he it was who at the proper moment would dash upon the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet. side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. sweat streamed from their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and leaped at them incessantly. for two solid hours the dance had been in progress. now and then an old squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. then the rank would close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circle smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must touch each other always as they circled slowly. round about them hobbled chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red and yellow and black. in his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell, with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. in the shell, whose ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. the incessant rattling of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. it was the toy of childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of the hills and cañons, simple-minded and serene. slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled the fire, times without number. guttural grunts accompanied the constant thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. now and then they broke into chanting--a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel heathen rites. straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their feet. when their feet came down three inches had not been gained over the last stamping step. it required many long minutes for the entire circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and on till the brain of oliver drew swam and the fire in reality took on the aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush. occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands, growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. then the dance would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on. when would it end? there was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that blazed; and it seemed to oliver that the exorcism must continue to the end of time. at first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent, almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people. his simple instructions had been given him by chupurosa in the hut where he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. then he had been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. then the slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he must surely lose his reason. on his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and chupurosa had not observed it. coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling of being fortified. yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of the mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning feet. he had seen jessamy's face beyond the fire. she had smiled at him encouragingly. but now her face had blended with the other faces that danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the circle went slowly round and round. an old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. from beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged him out by the heels. the dance went on, and the dancers now were closer to the fire by the breadth of one human body. weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. coyotes answered with doleful ribaldry. a woman pitched forward on her face--a young woman. she lay quite still, breathing heavily. oliver stepped over her body as they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that he scarce could lift his feet so high. now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by the intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. two fell at once--one inward, the other back. up rose the chant as they were dragged away; fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the turtle shell. lower and lower rode the radiant moon. blacker and blacker grew the outlined woods. the coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. and still the passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in. the blaze was lower now. the pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and dripped blazing to the ground. but the heat was still intense, and the white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames. but into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism responsible for this ordeal. he was a man of destiny, he felt, though obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. something of the fierce, dogged nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. he was dying by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him, became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and, held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he stamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight forgotten. and now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dying enemy. but still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine. oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. his brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the fire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had brought about. and now the fire grew lower, lower. back of the ragged hills the moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. only the fire gleamed. then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. now the only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional heartrending grunt. on and on--round and round. the very air grew tense. dawn was at hand. its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. a glimmer of grey showed in the eastern sky. only fifteen of the showut poche-dakas plodded now about the failing fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. fifteen showut poche-dakas--and oliver drew! all were men, young men in life's full vigour. yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn. now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent assemblage in the hills. then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling. at once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arose till it drummed in oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep. out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. his hands were jerked high over his head. something stung his feet and legs, and he thought of the rattler on the hill. the chant rose to a riotous shouting. the air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and spiteful challenges. now oliver realized that his fingers were locked with those of the nude indian who had danced opposite him; that they two were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet. how long it lasted he never knew. life came back to his mistreated muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. then came a long, concerted shout. in rushed the showut poche-dakas to the fighters' aid. bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd of dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction. a long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming dawn and the distant mountain! and then a single voice lifted high in words which in english are these: "the evil fire god has been defeated. no barrier stands between the white man and the showut poche-dakas. from this hour to the end of time he who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spirit shall be brother to the showut poche-dakas!" then just before oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in english: "seven hours and twenty minutes--the longest fire dance in the history of the tribe!" and the new brother of the showut poche-dakas heard no more. chapter xvi a guest at the rancho then there was feasting and racing and dancing and much ado. dice clicked; cards sputtered; the pawn passed in the ancient _peon_ game. there was a barbecued steer, athletic contests, and competitions in markmanship. the fiesta de santa maria de refugio was to continue throughout the entire period of the full moon, and there must be diversion for every day and every night. oliver drew awoke the next day after the fire dance in the _ramada_ which had been assigned to him. he felt as if he had been passed through a stamp mill, so sore were his muscles and so burned and blistered were feet and legs. he had been carried to his bed of green willow boughs directly after the dance, where he had slept until nearly nightfall. then he had been awakened and given food. after eating he fell asleep once more, and slept all night, his head in the silver-mounted saddle that bolivio had made. he dragged himself from the shakedown and went and sat at an opening in the booth. the _ramada_ of the california indian is merely an arbourlike structure built of newly cut limbs of trees, their still unwithered leaves serving to screen the occupants from outside eyes. the birds were singing. up the steep mountainside back of the reservation the goats and burros of the showut poche-dakas browsed contentedly on buckthorn and manzanita bushes. there was the smell of flowers in the drowsy air, mingling strangely with that indescribable odour that permeates an indian village. it was noticeably quiet outside. doubtless the indians were enjoying an early-morning siesta after some grilling orgy of the night before. oliver groaned with the movements necessary to searching his pockets for cigarette materials. his groan was mimicked by a familiar voice in the doorway. jessamy selden entered. "i've been listening for a sound from you," she chirruped. "my, how you slept! all in?" "pretty nearly," he said. she came and sat beside him on a box. "are you badly burned?" "oh, no. i guess your courtplaster helped some. but i'm terribly sore. and, worst of all, i feel like an utter ass!" "why, how so?" he snorted indignantly. "i went nutty," he laughed shortly. "i have lost the supreme contempt which i have always had for people who go batty in any sort of fanatical demonstration, like that last night. i've seen supposedly intelligent white folks go absolutely wild at religious camp meetings in the south, and i always marvelled at their loss of control. now i guess i understand. hour after hour of what i went through the other night, with the chanting and wailing and the constant rattle of those confounded cherry stones, and the terrible heat, and men and women giving out all about me, and the perpetual thud-thud of bare feet--ugh! i wouldn't go through it again for ten thousand dollars." "i thought it best not to warn you of the severity of it beforehand," she announced complacently. "very few white men have ever danced the fire dance, and only one or two have held out to the end. of course failure to do so signifies that the powers working against the affiliation are too strong to be overcome. these men who failed, then, did not become brothers of the showut poche-dakas." "lucky devils!" "here, here!" she cried. "don't talk that way. you're glad, aren't you?" "i'm tickled half to death." "is it possible that you do not take this seriously, mr. drew?" "look here," he said: "why didn't you tell me more of what i might expect at this fool performance?" "i was afraid you might look at the matter much as you're looking at it now," she answered. "i knew you'd go through with it, though, if you once got started. i knew it to be a terrible ordeal, but i was confident that you would win." "i thank you, i'm sure. win what, though? the reputation of being a half-baked simpleton?" "do you imagine that the white people who saw you are ridiculing you?" "aren't they?" "absolutely nothing of the sort! you're the hero of the hour. people about here always attend the fiestas, and you'll be surprised to note the seriousness and lack of levity that they show in regard to the rites and ceremonies of the showut poche-dakas. it's an inheritance from the old days, i suppose, when the few white men who were here found it decidedly to their advantage to be friendly with the indians. they glory in your grit, and everybody is talking about you. you should have heard old man selden. 'there's a regular man,' he loudly informed every one after the dance. and folks about here listen to what old man selden says, for one reason or another." "but it was such an asinine proceeding!" "was it? i thought you respected the other fellow's beliefs and religious practices." "was that a religious dance?" "decidedly. all of their dances are religious at bottom. you were trying to overcome the evil spirit, represented by the fire, that stood between you and your union with the showut poche-dakas. you are one of the few who have weathered this ordeal and won. and now you're a recognized member of the tribe." "and is that an enviable distinction?" "what do _you_ think about that?" oliver was silent a time. "tell the truth," he said at last, "i've been thinking more of my sore muscles and scorched legs, and of the ridiculous figure i supposed i had cut the other night. i suppose, though, that when a hundred or more fellow creatures unanimously admit a rank outsider to the plane of brotherhood, one would be shallow minded indeed to look upon it too lightly." "exactly. just what i wanted to hear you say. and the more simple natured and trusting they are, the more it devolves upon you to treat their brotherhood with respect and reverence. you are now brother to the showut poche-dakas; and you'll be a wiser man before you're older by many days. in this little village you have always a refuge, no matter what the world outside may do to you. nothing that you could do against your own race can make you an utter outcast, for here are your brothers, always eager to shelter you. if you owned a cow and lost it, a word from you would send fifty mounted men scouring the hills till the cow had been found and restored to you. will the people of your own race do that? if the forest was burning throughout the country, rest assured your property would be made safe before your brothers turned their efforts to protecting the homes of other white men. is it trivial, my friend?" "no," said oliver shortly. "you have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "you are the first white man on record who has been adopted by the showut poche-dakas without first marrying an indian girl. and even then they must win out in the fire dance. if they fail, their brides must go away with them, ostracized from their people for ever." "how many white men have been honoured with membership?" he asked. "very few. old dad sloan was over and saw the dance. he always attends fiestas if some one will give him a ride. he said after the dance that he knew of only three white men before you who had won brotherhood, though he had seen a dozen or more try for it." "did he mention any names?" "yes," she said. "he mentioned old man selden, for one." "does he belong to the tribe?" cried oliver. "no, he fell down in the fire dance. he had married an indian woman, and after the dance he took his bride away with him. she died six months afterward--pining for her people, it was supposed." "and who else did he speak about?" "you remember the name of dan smeed, of course." "'outlaw, highwayman, squawman,'" quoted oliver, trying to imitate the old ' er's quavery tones. "yes," she said. "he conquered the fire and was admitted to full brotherhood." "and got gems for his bridle _conchas_," oliver added. jessamy nodded. "and in some mysterious manner paved the way for you to become adopted thirty years later." he turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "was dan smeed my father?" he asked abruptly. her eyes did not evade his, but a slow flush mounted to her cheeks. "i think we may safely assume that that is the case," she told him softly. oliver stared at the beaten ground under his feet. "outlaw--highwayman--squawman!" he muttered. quickly she rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "don't! don't!" she pleaded sympathetically. "don't think of that! wait!" "wait? wait for what?" "wait till the showut poche-dakas have taken you into full confidence. wait for my hummingbird to speak." oliver said nothing. she waited a little, then resumed her seat and said: "and the next man that old dad sloan mentioned as having tried the fire dance was--guess who?" "the mysterious bolivio." she nodded vigorously, both eyes closed. "he succeeded?" "he did." "and the third man to succeed before me?" "i forget the name. it is of no consequence so far as our mystery is concerned." "_your_ mystery, you mean," he laughed. "i'm beginning to believe you know all about it--all about me, about my father and his young-manhood days." "oh, no!" she quickly protested. "but you know more than i do. and you see fit to make mystery of it to my confusion." "silly! i'm doing nothing of the sort. i've positively told you all i can." "be careful, now! can, will, or may?" "don't pin me down. you know i'm a feeble dissembler." "you've told me all you _may_, then," he said with conviction. "have it that way if you choose. how about some breakfast?--and then your triumphal entry into the festivities?" "i hate to show myself--actually." "pooh! i'm disappointed in you. come on--i've ordered breakfast for us in the restaurant booth. red-hot chili dishes and _bellota_. it should be ready by now." the showut poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to oliver as he limped from the _ramada_ at jessamy's side. but he was congratulated by white men on every hand, among them mr. damon tamroy, the first friend he had made in the country. "i wish you could 'a' heard what old dad sloan had to say after the dance," was tamroy's greeting. "the dance got the old man started, and he opened up a little. selden wasn't about at the time, and dad said that once, years ago, selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire dance. there was two dances that night, old dad said. selden's partner, too, married an indian girl, and both of 'em danced. selden's partner won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but selden fell down." "did you get this partner's name?" asked oliver. "le's see--what was the name dad said?" "smeed?" asked oliver. "that's it. dave smeed. no--dan smeed. this smeed lived with the tribe afterwards, it seems, but selden and his girl beat it, accordin' to the rules, and--" "sh!" warned oliver. "here comes old man selden now." the old monarch of the hills strode straight up to them, rowels whirring, chaps whistling. "howdy, mr. drew--howdy!" he boomed. "howdy, tamroy." he extended a horny hand to each. "some dance, as they say--some dance," he went on admiringly, and there was almost a smile on his stern features. "the boys was bettin' on how it would come out. the odds was ag'in ye, mr. drew. but i told 'em ye'd hold out. i been through the mill myself. might as well own up, since everybody knows it now--and that i danced to a fare-you-well, but fell down hard. when ye gonta' pull yer freight, mr. drew?" "i thought of riding home today," said oliver. "i was just talkin' to jess'my," selden continued. "her and me concluded this here'd be a good time to invite ye over to get acquainted. can't ye ride to poison oak ranch with us just as well as ye can ride on home?" he tried to grin, but the effort seemed to cause pain. toward them oliver saw jessamy walking. he always had admired her long, confident stride, and he watched her throughout the brief space allowed him by courtesy to study his answer to her step-father. then he caught her eye. she began nodding vigorously. "i should have watered my garden before coming to the fiesta," he told the old man. "i'm afraid it will suffer if i don't get back to it directly. but--" "oh, she'll stand it another day. folks irrigate too much, anyway. ride home with us today and stay all night." "i thank you, i'm sure," said oliver. "yes, do come, mr. drew," put in jessamy as she reached the group. "just so!" added selden. and so it was arranged. the four stood in conversation. over the girl's shoulder oliver now saw digger foss and two of the men who had ridden with selden the day he called at the cabin. they were staring at their chief and jessamy. a glowering look was on the face of at least one of them, and that one was the halfbreed, digger foss. he stood with feet planted far apart, his fists on his hips--squat, his bullet head juked forward aggressively, his mongolic black eyes glittering. a sneer curled his lips. he nodded now and then as one or the other of his companions spoke to him, but he did not reply and did not remove his steadfast glance from the group of which oliver made one. "they's a hoss race comin' off in a little," selden was saying. "we'll stay for that, then throw on the saddles and cut the dust for the rancho." here foss, with a shrug of his wide, strong shoulders, turned away and disappeared in the crowd, his companions following at his heels. presently selden and tamroy left jessamy and oliver together. "what's the idea?" oliver asked her. "it's quite apparent that he wants to be friendly with you," she pointed out. "it's just as well, of course," said he. "but i can't fathom it. and at least one of the poison oakers doesn't approve. i just saw digger foss glowering at us from behind old man selden's back." jessamy elevated her dark eyebrows. "no, he wouldn't approve," she declared. "that's merely because of me, i guess. well, we can't help that. it's your part to play up to old man selden and find out what is the cause of his sudden change of heart toward you." "it's my riding outfit," he averred. "that, and the fact that i've danced the fire dance. i'm gradually picking up a thread here and there. by the way, you neglected to tell me this morning, when we were on the subject, that dan smeed's partner was none other than old man selden." she glanced at him quickly. "i see that mr. damon tamroy is in character today. he does love to talk, doesn't he?" "you knew it, then?" she hesitated. "yes--old dad sloan let it out last night," she admitted. "i think he would have told me as much the day you and i called on him if he hadn't thought it might hurt my feelings. i don't think it was his forgetfulness that made him trip over the subject that day." "but if he mentioned it in your presence after the fire dance, he must have forgotten that you are vitally interested." her long black lashes hid her eyes for an instant. "that's true," she admitted. oliver smiled grimly to himself. a lover would have small excuse for distrusting this girl, he thought, for deception was not in her. a little later he left her and sought out damon tamroy again. "just a question," he began: "you know i'm seeking information of a peculiar character in this country; so don't think me impertinent. you said that old man selden wasn't about when dad sloan spoke of him as having been the partner of dan smeed." tamroy nodded. "he'd gone to bed in one o' the _ramadas_," he said. "did jessamy selden overhear old dad sloan when he told that?" "no, she wasn't there either," replied tamroy. "i reckon she'd gone to bed too." "thank you," oliver returned. he knew now that jessamy selden had merely been repeating some one else's version of dad sloan's disclosures. he knew that she had been aware all along that dan smeed, his father, had been the partner of adam selden. had she known it, though, the day she questioned the patriarch? it had seemed that she was trying her utmost to make him mention the name of dan smeed's partner. perhaps she had felt safe in the belief that, out of consideration for her feelings, dad sloan would not couple her step-father's name with that of a "highwayman, outlaw, and squawman" who, he had said, was a "bad egg." oliver was beginning to believe that jessamy selden at that very moment knew the question that had puzzled peter drew for thirty years, and what the answer to it should be. he believed that jessamy had known just who he was, and why he had come into the clinker creek country, the day she rode down to make his acquaintance. it seemed that she had considered it a part of her life's work to seek him out. later, she had worried a little for fear he might think her bold in riding to his cabin as she had done. she had not been seeking his companionship because she liked him, then. there was some ulterior motive that was governing her actions. in him personally, perhaps, she had no interest whatever. there was some secret connected with old man selden, and it dated back to the days when selden and oliver drew's father were partners, and had both married indian girls. jessamy had stumbled on this, and when oliver came she had known the reason that brought him, and had made haste to ally herself with him in order to carry out whatever she had in mind. it was this that had kept her in such close touch with him--not friendship for oliver himself. oliver brooded. the thought hurt him. the damage had been done. he had learned all this too late. he loved her now, and wanted her more than he wanted anything else in life. she knew he loved her. she must know that he was not the sort to tell her what he had told her if he had not meant it, and to grasp her in his arms and kiss her, even under the strange condition in which the scene had occurred. not a word had passed between them regarding that episode since he had blushingly apologized for his behaviour. she had taken it quite serenely, as she seemed to take most things in life, and had displayed no confusion when next they met. "you look so funny," she remarked when he at last sought her out after the pony race. "is anything the matter?" "nothing at all," he told her. "i'm going for our _caballos_ now. selden and the boys are saddling up. i suppose we'll all ride together." a little later he shook the withered hand of chupurosa hatchinguish and bade him good-bye in spanish. the chief of the showut poche-dakas called him brother, and patted his back in a fatherly manner as he followed him to the door of his hovel. but he made no mention of a future meeting, and said nothing more than "brother" to indicate that a new relation existed between them. oliver led poche and white ann to jessamy, and they swung into the saddles and galloped to where old man selden, hurlock, and bolar were awaiting them in the dusty road. hours later the little party of five rode over the baldpate hill, then in single-file formation descended by the steep trail to the bed of the american river. a half-hour afterward they entered the cup in the mountainside, and oliver drew looked for the first time upon the headquarters of the poison oakers. the girl, selden, and oliver left their saddles at the door, and the boys rode on and led their horses to the corrals. oliver was conducted into the immense main room of the old log house, where he was presented by the girl to her mother. the afternoon was nearly gone, and the two women at once began preparing supper, while old man selden and his guest sat and smoked near a window flooded with the reflection of the sunset glow on fleecy clouds above the cañon. selden's talk was of cows and grazing conditions and allied topics. oliver drew, half listening and putting in a stray comment now and then, watched jessamy in a rôle which was new to him. she had put on a spotless red-checkered gingham dress that fitted perfectly, and revealed slim, rounded, womanly outlines which are the heritage of strength and perfect health. her black hair was coiled loosely on top of her head, and a large red rose looked as if nature had designed it to splash its vivid colour against that ebony background. with long, sure strides this girl of the mountains moved silently about from the great glossy range to the work table, washing crisp lettuce, deftly beheading snappy radishes, her slim fingers now white with dough and flour, or stirring with a large spoon in some steaming utensil over the fire. an extra fine dinner was in progress of preparation in honour of the seldens' guest; yet the girl worked serenely and swiftly, with not a false move, not a flutter of excitement, never gathering so much as a spot on her crisp, stiff dress, always sure of herself, master of her diversified tasks. was this the girl that an hour before he had seen so gracefully astride in a fifty-pound california saddle, her slim legs covered by scarred, fringed chaps, her black hair streaming to the bottom of her saddle skirts in two long, thick braids? there was a desperate tugging at the heart-strings of oliver drew. he knew now that if he failed to win this girl it were better for him had he not been born. and again and again she had sought him out for some obscure reason in no way connected with a desire for his companionship. he thought again of the episode on the hill after the rattlesnake bite, and he grew sick at heart at remembrance of the feel of those soft, firm lips. when they arose from the bounteous meal selden said to his guest: "it's still light outdoors. wanta look over the ranch a bit?" they two strolled out to the stables and talked horses and saddles. they looked perfunctorily over the green young fruit in the orchard, and selden showed oliver the new pipe line which now carried spring water into all three of the living houses. they killed time till late twilight, and as one by one the stars came out the old man led the way to a prostrate pine at the edge of a fern patch. on it they seated themselves. "they was little matter i wanted to talk to you about," said selden half apologetically. "le's have a smoke and see if we can't come to an understandin'. just so! just so!" chapter xvii the girl in red jessamy selden finished washing and drying the supper dishes. then she hurried to her room and slipped into a red-silk dress, by no means out of date, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps with large shell buckles. a few deft pats and her rich hair suited her, and the red rose glowed against the black distractingly. she spun round and round before the mirror of her plain little dresser, one set of knuckles at her waist, like a spanish dancer, her face trained over her shoulder at her reflection in the glass. there was a mischievous gleam in her jetty eyes as she reached the conclusion that she was all right. just a hint of heightened colour showed in her cheeks when she started for the living room. old man selden had not yet returned with the guest of the house. the trace of a pucker of disappointment came between her eyes, then she was serene again as she lighted coal-oil lamps and sat down with a book. she was alone in the great rough-walled room, like a gorgeous flower in a weather-beaten box. her mother was dressing--one dressed after dinner instead of _for_ dinner in the house of selden. bolar and moffat presumably had gone to sit and look at their saddles while daylight lasted, since coming night forbade them to mount and ride. minutes passed. jessamy stared at the open book in her hands, but had not read a word. why was old man selden keeping their guest out there in the night? a girlish pout which might have surprised oliver drew, had he seen it, puckered her lips. the girl looked down at her red-silk dress and the natty buckles on her french-heel pumps, and the pout grew more pronounced. she went out doors, but no sound came to her save the intimate night sounds of the wilderness. "_darn_ the luck!" she cried in exasperation, her serenity for once completely unavailing. five minutes later she stepped from the gorgeous dress with a sigh of resignation. she kicked off the pumps and pulled on her morocco-top riding boots. she donned shirt and riding skirt, and slipped out by her own door into the young night. cautiously she approached the stables and corrals, but found nobody. lights gleamed in the windows of hurlock's and winthrop's cabins, and from the latter came the doleful strains of bolar's accordion. she doubted if selden and oliver were in either of these houses. she walked up the hill toward the spring, and presently heard the bass boom of old man selden's voice. a little later, flat on the ground, she was wriggling her way through tall ferns toward two indistinct figures seated on a fallen pine. like an indian she crept on silently, till by and by she lay quite still, close enough to hear every word that passed between the men who sat in front of her. and her conscience seemed not to trouble her at all. it had been practicable to come to a pause at some little distance from the two, for their voices carried a long way through the tranquil wilderness night. behind her and up the hill the frogs were croaking at the spring. their horse-fiddling ceased abruptly, as if they had been suddenly disturbed, and it was not immediately continued. trained to read a meaning in nature's signs, she wondered at this; then presently she heard a stealthy step between her and the spring. lifting her head and shoulders above the fronded plants, she saw a dark, crouched shape approaching warily. some one had walked past the spring and disturbed the croaking choir. she ducked low and waited breathlessly, hoping that this second would-be eavesdropper, whoever he might be, would not come upon her engaged in a like pursuit. at the same time she was trying to hear what selden was saying to oliver drew. it seemed from old adam's slightly hesitating manner that he was as yet not well launched on the subject that had caused him to pilot oliver to this lonely spot. he said: "i reckon they told ye ye wouldn't be welcome down on the old ivison place. didn't some of 'em say, now, that a gang called the poison oakers might try to drive ye out?--if i'm not too bold in askin'." "yes," said the voice of oliver drew. "uh-huh! i thought as much. well, mr. drew, ye got to make allowances for ol'-timers in the hills. we get set in our ways, as the fella says; and i reckon we _don't_ like outsiders to come in any too well. "but anybody with any savvy oughta know its different in a case like yours. why, what little feed we'd get offen your little piece, if you wasn't there, wouldn't amount to the price of a saddle string. it was plumb loco for any one to tell ye we'd raise a rumpus 'bout ye bein' down there." "i thought about the same," observed oliver drew quietly. there came a distinct pause in the dialogue. once more jessamy straightened her arms and pushed head and shoulders above the ferns. the person who had disturbed the frogs was nowhere to be seen. he too, perhaps, had taken up a lizardlike progress through the ferns, and was now listening to all that was being said by oliver and selden. she flattened herself again, and held one hand behind her ear to catch every word. "yes, sir, plumb loco," old man selden reiterated. "and they ain't no reason on earth why you and us can't be the best o' friends. that's what we oughta be, seein' we're pretty near neighbours." "i'm sure i'm perfectly willing to be friendly, mr. selden." "course ye are. just so! an' so are we. and listen here, mr. drew: don't ye put too much stock in that there poison oaker racket." "i don't know that i understand that." "well," drawled selden, "they ain't any such thing as a poison oaker gang. that there's all hot air. it's true that obed pence and jay muenster and buchanan and allegan and foss run what cows they got with ourn, and they're pretty good friends o' my boys an' me. but as fer us bein' a gang--why, they's nothin' to it. nothin' to it a-tall! just because we use a poison-oak leaf for our brand--why, that's what got 'em to callin' us the poison oakers. and when anything mean is done in this country, why, they gotta hang it onto somebody--and as a lot of 'em don't like me and my friends, why, they hang it onto us and call us the poison oakers. now that there ain't right and just, is it, mr. drew?" "when you put it that way," oliver evaded, "i should say that it is not." "no, sir, it ain't--not a-tall! an' i'm glad ye understand and ain't got no hard feelin's." there was another long pause. fragrant tobacco smoke floated to jessamy's nostrils. "if i ain't too bold in askin', mr. drew--what was ol' damon tamroy fillin' yer ear with about me today?" "he was telling me how old dad sloan had spoken of your having once danced the fire dance." "uh-huh! just so! some o' my friends overheard old dad spoutin' about it after i'd hit the feathers. well, i don't reckon i care any. it's nothin' to try to hide. was that all tamroy had to say?" jessamy could imagine on oliver drew's lips the grave, half-whimsical smile that she had seen twitching them so often. she waited eagerly for his reply. "i think that the subject you mention is all that he talked to me about," it came at last. "just so! just so!" muttered selden. "but didn't he say as how others had danced the fire dance besides me and you?" "yes, he mentioned others." "just so! and who, now--if i ain't too bold in askin'." "let me see," said oliver after a pause. "some other man's name was mentioned. a short name, if i remember correctly." "uh-huh! plumb forget her, eh?" "it seems to me it was smeed, or something like that. yes--dan smeed." silence. again tobacco smoke was wafted over the ferns. "dan smeed, eh?" ruminated selden finally. "mr. drew, did ye ever hear that name before damon tamroy said it to ye?" another thoughtful intermission; then-- "yes, i had heard it before." "just so! just so! and if i ain't too bold in askin'--just where, mr. drew?" "why, i heard it first from old dad sloan himself. miss selden and i rode over to his cabin one morning, and we got him to talking of the days of 'forty-nine. he can be quite interesting when he doesn't wander." "uh-huh! and ye say ye heard the name dan smeed over to old dad sloan's fer the first time?" "yes, sir." "_the first time in yer life, mr. drew?_" "yes. i had never heard of it until then." a short, low snort from selden. jessamy knew it well. it signified: "i don't believe you!" said selden presently: "well, then, i'm gonta put another question to ye, mr. drew. i don't want ye to think i'm tryin' to butt in, as the fella says. but s'long's tamroy was talkin' about me, i reckon it's right an' just that i should be interested. now, what did tamroy tell ye old dad sloan had to say 'bout this here dan smeed and _me_?" "he said that you and dan smeed were one time partners." "oh! uh-huh! just so! partners, eh? and was that the first time ye ever heard that, mr. drew?" "yes, the first time," said oliver patiently. again that peculiar little snort of selden. "how ye gettin' along down to the old ivison place, mr. drew?" was selden's abrupt shift of the conversation. "oh, my garden is fine. and i have two colonies of bees storing up honey for me. besides, i've located another colony up in the hills, and will get them as soon as i can get around to it." "but ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!" "i suppose i should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed oliver; but his flight was lost on old man selden. "you forget, though," the speaker added, "that i am writing for farm journals. i've sold three little articles since i settled down there. i'll get along, if my luck holds out." "oh, yes--ye'll get along. i ain't worryin' 'bout that. i'll bet ye could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land 'tween here an' calamity gap." "i'll bet i couldn't!" oliver positively denied. old man selden chuckled craftily. "ye're pretty foxy, mr. drew--pretty foxy!" he had lowered his deep tones until jessamy could barely distinguish words. "yes, sir--_mighty_ foxy! a garden an' bees an' writin' for a story paper, eh? oh, ye'll get along. i'll tell a man ye'll get along!" "i really have no other source of revenue, mr. selden." "just so! i understand. well, mr. drew, maybe i been a mite too bold; but i'll step in another inch or two and say this: when ye need any help down there on the old ivison place, just send word to dan smeed's partner. d'ye understand?" "i thank you, i'm sure," oliver told him dryly. "but really i don't think i'll need any help. my garden is so small that--" "just so! still, ye never can tell when a foxy fella like you'll need help. and dan smeed's partner'll be always ready to help. just remember that." "help with what?" asked oliver testingly. "in watchin' the dead," was selden's surprising answer, spoken in a crafty half-whisper. "in watching the dead!" cried his listener. "why, i--" "le's go in to the womenfolks now," interrupted selden. "and keep thinkin' over this, mr. drew. always ready to help--d'ye savvy? and don't ye pay no attention to that there supposed gang that they call the poison oakers. they ain't no such gang. but if anybody does try to bother ye, tell me. get me? tell dan smeed's partner. he'll help ye watch the dead." "you're talking in riddles," oliver snorted. "i don't understand--" "oh, yes, ye do! ye savvy, all right. ye're foxy, mr. drew. i'll say no more just now. but when ye need my help...." their voices trailed off. once again the girl's supple body rose from the hips, and she searched the ferns on every side. for several minutes she lay quite still in the same position. then, perhaps fifty feet on her left, a head rose above the tall fronds, and then a body followed it. next instant a dark figure was hurrying back toward the spring. jessamy waited until sight and sound of it were no more, then rose and ran with all her might toward the house. she slipped in at her private door, hustled out of her clothes, and began donning her gorgeous red dress again. "so old man selden always shoots straight from the shoulder, eh?" she muttered. "piffle! when he wants to be he's a regular barkis-is-willin'!" in the midst of her dressing her mother tapped. "jessamy, where have you been?" she asked. "mr. selden and mr. drew are in the living room now. i've knocked twice, but you didn't answer." "i was outdoors," jessamy replied. "i'm dressing now. i'll be right out." and a minute or two later oliver drew gasped and his blue eyes grew wide as a silk-garbed figure, with a red rose in her raven hair, glided toward him. yea, even as the girl in red had planned that he should gasp! chapter xviii spies smith, the shaggy, mouse-coloured burro, lifted his voice in that sobbing wail of welcome which has caused his kind to be designated as desert canaries, as oliver rode into the pasture. smith's was a gregarious soul. to be left entirely alone was torture. his ears were twelve inches long, and the protuberances over his eyes were so craggy that oliver had hesitated between the names of smith and william cullen bryant. on the whole, though, "smith" had seemed more companionable. oliver loosed poche to console the lonesome heart of smith and went at the irrigating of his garden. when a stream of water was trickling along every hoed furrow he put on heavy hobnailed laced-boots and went into the hills in search of his third bee tree. it seems illogical to set down that one could live for nearly two months on forty acres of land without having explored every square foot of it. but oliver had not trod upon at least two thirds of his property. locked chaparral presents many difficulties. farmers detest it, and artists go wild over it. but farmers are obliged to sprawl flat and crawl through it occasionally, while artists sit on their stools at a distance from it that brings out all the alluring browns and yellows and greens and olives of which it is capable under the magic of the changing sunlight. oliver had seen bees darting like arrows from the flowers in the creekbed in a westerly direction, up over the thickest of the chaparral. up there somewhere was another colony of winged misers and their hoarded wealth of honey. honey was bringing a good price just then, and a merchant at halfmoon flat would buy it. so now the beeman climbed the hill and crawled into the chaparral in the direction the insects had flown. scattered here and there through the dense thicket were pines and spruce and black oak. in one of these trees the bees must have their home; and his task of finding it was not entirely a haphazard quest. when he crawled to an opening in the bushes he would climb into the crotch of one of them and locate the nearest tree. then, flattening himself once more, he would crawl to this tree and look for a hollow for the bees. finding none, he would locate another tree and crawl to it. thus wearisomely engaged he crawled into a depression three feet deep in the earth beneath him. this allowed him to sit erect for the first time in minutes, and he availed himself of the chance, industriously mopping his brow. now, oliver drew was not a miner, but he was a son of the outdoor west and knew at once that he was seated in an ancient prospect hole. about the excavation were piled the dirt and stones that had been shovelled out. he speculated over it. for all he knew, it might date back to the fascinating days of ' . a great forest of pines might have stood here then. or maybe the pines had been burned away, and a forest of gigantic oaks had followed the conifers, to rear themselves majestically above the pigmies that delved, oftimes impotently, for the glittering yellow treasure at their roots. or, again, the prospect hole might have been dug years later, after the oaks had disappeared and the chaparral had claimed the land. there was no way of telling, for every decade or so forest fires swept the country almost clean, and some new growth superseded the old in nature's endless cycle. fifty feet farther on he plopped into a second prospect hole, and a little beyond that he found a third. he noted now that in all cases no chaparral grew up through the muck that had been thrown out. this would seem to signify that the work had been done in recent years, while the bushes that now claimed the land still grew there. he found a fourth hole soon, and near it were manzanita stumps, the tops of which had been cut off with an ax. this settled it. while the soil might show evidences of the work of man for an interminable length of time, the roots of the lopped-off manzanitas would rot in a decade, perhaps, and freezing weather would loosen the stumps from their moorings. but this wood was still sound. the prospecting had been done not many years before. and who had been prospecting thus on patented land? when he had wormed his way to the crest of a hill he had passed about twenty of these shallow holes. now, at the top, the earth had been literally gophered. the workings here looked newer still; and presently he came upon evidence that proved work had been done not longer than a year before, for dry leaves still clung to the tops of manzanita bushes that had been chopped off and pitched to one side. it has been stated that he was not a miner. still, having been born and raised in a mining country, he knew something of the geological formations in which gold ordinarily is found. he was in a gold producing country now, yet the specimens that he picked up near the prospect holes proved that only a rank tenderfoot would have searched so persistently in this locality. he picked up a bit of white substance and gave it study. it resembled lithia. the water of his spring contained a trace of lithium salts, according to the analysis furnished him by the state agricultural college, to which he had mailed a sample. he pocketed the specimen for future reference. as he sat on the edge of this hole, with his feet in it, he heard a rustling in the bushes close at hand. at first he thought it might be caused by a jackrabbit; but soon it became certain that some heavier, larger body was making its way slowly through the chaparral. a coyote? a bobcat? a deer? he carried no gun today, and the swift thought of a mountain lion was a bit unpleasant. he quickly slid from his seat and stretched himself on the ground in the shallow excavation. oliver was an ardent student of nature, and he liked nothing better than secretly to watch some wild thing as it moved about it its customary routine, unconscious of the gaze of human eyes. once he had hidden in wild grapevines and watched a skunk searching for bugs along a creekbed, until suddenly the moist bank crumbled beneath him, and he fell, and--but what followed is what might be called an unsavory story. the crackling, scraping sounds drew nearer, but whatever was making them was not moving directly toward him. they ceased abruptly, and then he knew that the man or animal had reached the open space in the brush in which the prospect holes were situated. as the noises were not continued, he began raising himself slowly, until he was able to look over the edge of the hole. it was not a browsing deer nor a hunting coyote upon which he gazed. a squat, dark man, with chaps and spurs and stetson, was making his way across the open space to the continuation of the chaparral beyond it. his eyes were mere slits, black, mongolic. he was digger foss, the half-white, right-hand man of adam selden. the progress of the gunman was not stealthy, for undoubtedly he considered himself particularly safe from observation up here in the wilderness of chaparral. he slouched bow-leggedly across the break in the thicket, and dropped to hands and knees when he reached the edge of it. he disappeared in the chaparral. the general direction that he was pursuing was straight toward oliver's cabin. oliver lay quite still and listened to the renewed sounds of his progress through the prickly bushes. then once more they stopped suddenly. oliver knew that in the short space of time elapsed digger foss could not have crawled beyond the reach of his hearing. he had paused again. for perhaps five minutes he listened, but could hear no further sounds. then from not far distant there came the familiar clatter of a dry pine cone in the manzanita tops. a moment more and oliver was smiling grimly. for foss had suddenly appeared above the tops of the chaparral. he was climbing a giant digger pine, which only a short time before oliver had investigated as the possible home of the bees he was striving to find. there in plain sight the halfbreed was climbing like a bear from limb to limb, keeping the trunk of the tree between his chunky body and the cabin in the valley. presently he settled astride a horizontal bough on oliver's side, his back toward the watcher. he adjusted himself as comfortably as possible, and then there appeared in his hands a pair of binoculars. leaning around the tree trunk, screened by the digger pine's long, smoke-coloured needles, he focused the glasses on the cabin down below. it looked to oliver drew as if this were not the first time that the gunman had perched himself up there to watch proceedings in the cañon. there had been no hesitancy in his selection of a tree which stood in such a position that other trees would not obstruct his view from its branches, no studying over which limb he might occupy to the best advantage. vaguely oliver wondered how many times he had laboured and moved about down below, with the keen, black, chinese eyes fixed on him. it was not a comfortable feeling, by any means. now, though, his thoughts were taken up by the problem of getting away unobserved by the spyglass man. digger foss was not a hundred feet from where oliver lay and watched him. if he should turn for an instant he would see oliver there, flat on his face in the excavation, for the halfbreed's perch was twenty feet above the tops of the chaparral. oliver had decided to make a try at crawling on up the hill as noiselessly as possible, when new and far slighter sounds came to his ears. so slight they were indeed that, if he had not been close to the earth, he might not have detected them at all. but no bird or small animal could be responsible for them, for they were continuous and dragging. once again he hugged the ground while he watched and waited. the sounds came on--sounds that seemed to be the result of some one's dragging something carefully over the shattered leaves on the ground. and presently there hove into view another human being. he was an indian--a showut poche-daka. oliver remembered his swarthy face, his inscrutable eyes. he had been pointed out to him at the fiesta by jessamy as the champion trailer of all the paubas, of which the showut poche-daka tribe was a sort of branch. often, jessamy had said, this indian, who was known by the odd and laughable name of tommy my-ma, had been employed by the sheriff of the county in tracking down escaped prisoners or fleeing transgressors against the law. he wore no hat. he was barefooted. his only covering seemed to be a pair of faded-blue overalls and a colourless flannel shirt. neither did he carry any weapon, so far as oliver could see. his progress was now soundless as he came from the chaparral, flat on his belly, wriggling along like a lizard with surprising speed. his black, glittering eyes were unquestionably fixed with rapt intentness on the man aloft in the digger pine; and by reason of this alone he did not see oliver drew. his movements commenced to be extraordinary. he wriggled himself speedily over the unlittered earth and made no sound. there was a pile of dry brush at one edge of the clearing, the tops of the bushes that had been cut off to facilitate the sinking of the prospect holes. toward this tommy my-ma glided; and when he reached it he passed out of sight on the other side. then suddenly he reappeared again. instantly he lowered his head to the ground at the edge of the pile of brush; then swiftly the head and shoulders disappeared, the trunk and legs following. for a second oliver saw the bare brown feet, then they too went out of sight. oliver understood the disappearing act of tommy my-ma, he thought. the pile of brush covered another of the prospect holes, and into the hole the showut poche-daka had snaked himself. it seemed that he too had sought a hiding place often frequented. in there he perhaps could sit erect and, screened by the pile of brush, would be entirely hidden, while he himself could watch the spy in the branches of the digger pine. for that he was in turn spying on the man who was watching oliver's cabin oliver did not for a moment doubt. but why? that was another matter! he was quite aware of his own unprotected position; and with tommy my-ma now hidden in the brush scarce fifty feet away from him, he dared not get out of his hole and try to crawl away. the situation struck him as ridiculous in the extreme. foss trying to spy on him; tommy my-ma spying on foss--the object of all this intrigue, oliver himself, spying on both of them! and how long must it continue? the only sounds now were the soft moaning of the wind through the needles of the pines, and from afar, occasionally, the clear, cool call of a valley quail: "cut that out! cut that out!" the sun was hot on the resinous needles of the pines, and the smell of them filled the air. chapter xix contentions two horsemen met on the backbone of the ridge that separated clinker creek and the green american. obed pence was a tall individual with a small mouth, a great roman nose, close-set black eyes over which black brows met so that they formed a continuous line, and large, tangled front teeth. the man who met him in the trail--a boy who had just turned twenty-one--was sandy-haired, freckled, snub-nosed, and blue-eyed. his face was too boyish to show marked wickedness, but chuck allegan was not the least important member of the poison oaker gang. "howdy, pencie?" he drawled, crooking his leg about his saddle horn as his black horse stopped to rub noses with the bay that the other rode. "where you headin' for?" asked obed pence. "down toward lime rock. there's some cows o' mine and a bunch o' calves down there. that breechy old roan devil steered 'em up thataway. she's always wanderin' off with a bunch like that. come on down with me--i want to move 'em up with the rest o' the bunch. soil's thin down thataway, an' grass's already gettin' brown." "any o' mine in that bunch?" "i dunno. like's not. come on--you ain't got nothin' to do." "maybe i have and maybe i ain't," retorted pence half truculently. "what you doin', then?" "watchin' out for that fella drew." "who told you to? old man?" pence spat a stream of tobacco juice. "not a-tall," he replied. "i guess you ain't heard what's new." "i ain't heard nothin' new. spring it!" "foss is the one told me to keep my eye on drew. said for me to keep to this ridge over here and try to get a line on what he's up to if he come up this way. digger's over in the hills on the other side o' the cañon, watchin'. he's got glasses." "what's the good o' watchin' this guy? why don't we get in and fire 'im out o' the country, like we said we was goin' to do?" obed pence's irregular teeth twisted off another chew of tobacco. "that's the funny part of it," he observed. "digger's workin' alone, it seems. old man tells him not to bother drew at all. says he'll tend to 'im 'imself, when he gets 'round to it. first time i ever saw old man selden hang back on puttin' a bur under anybody's tail when he wanted to get rid of 'im. an' now he passes the word for nobody to bother drew till he says to. digger don't like it. he's sore on the old man." "what'd digger say?" "i just know mostly by the way he acts. there's somethin' funny goin' on. ever since that day we all rode down to drew's cabin and heard the shot inside, old man's been actin' funny. digger an' me was wonderin' what them two was talkin' about in the cabin, that made the old man change the way he done. why, say, he went down there to scare the ticks outa drew that day. and after that, you know, we had it all made up to turn cows in on drew's garden when he was away, an' let 'em get at his spring. then jay muenster was goin' to slip in sometime and put a live rattlesnake in drew's bed. and if all that didn't start 'im, we was gonta begin plunkin' at him from the chaparral, you know--just drop a few bullets at his feet when he was workin' in his garden. wasn't that right?" "sure was, pencie." "an' we rode down there to start things goin'," pence continued. "and when old man come outa the cabin he was bowin' and scrapin', and this and that and the other, like him and drew had been pals all their lives. there's somethin' funny. digger don't like it a-tall!" "does ed know anything?" asked chuck after a pause. "no, he don't," answered obed pence. "it was ed told old man 'bout digger takin' a crack at drew when he was monkeyin' 'round sulphur spring. and old man told ed to tell digger to cut it out, and that he was runnin' the gang and would tell anybody when he wanted 'em to throw down on drew." "i know." "and digger asks 'im when he sees 'im did he want drew monkeyin' about the spring and gettin' onto the pipe that took water to the still. and old man says to hell with the still; he was gonta cut out makin' booze, anyway." "cut it out?" "that's what he told digger foss." "hell, he makes more money sellin' monkey rum to standard than outa anything else! and it's always been safe. pro'bition didn't cut no ice with us--just give us ten times the profit!" pence shrugged his ridgy shoulders. "i'm just tellin' you how things are goin'. drew made us loose the sulphur spring water to run the still with, and old man didn't seem to give a whoop about it. drew finds the pipe, like as not, and that don't seem like it worried the boss. just says he'll cut out distillin'. why, he's layin' right down to this fella drew. drew's got old man buffaloed!" "not a-tall," disagreed chuck allegan. "you know better'n that, pencie. man don't live that c'n buffalo old man selden. he's double-crossin' us--that's what! there's somethin' behind all this. what's digger watchin' drew for? is that any way to run a man outa the country? i'm askin' you!" "that runnin'-out-o'-the-country business has got to be an old gag. le'me tell you somethin': i wasn't goin' to, but i will. digger said not to mention it. but listen! you know old man took drew home with 'im after the fiesta." chuck nodded his boyish head. "well, digger wasn't asleep at the switch. when it got dark he rides across the river and into the ranch to see if he c'n find out what's stirrin'. he ain't liked the way things 'a' been goin' since he got outa jail. course it's jess'my that's got his goat. drew's cuttin' 'im out; and since the day we rode into drew's digger thinks old man's ag'in 'im, an's helpin' drew get jess'my. "anyway, whatever's the reason, digger leaves his horse in the chaparral and sneaks in and sees 'em at supper. and he sticks 'round till supper's over and old man steers drew out to the corrals for a talk. they set down on that old felled pine in the ferns below the spring, and digger snakes up through the ferns and hears 'em talkin'." "what'd he say they said?" chuck asked eagerly. "didn't have any too much to say about it," pence replied. "just said old man and drew was nice as pie to each other; and old man told drew there wasn't any use him bein' scared o' the poison oakers, 'cause there wasn't no such outfit." "said there wasn't no such outfit?" "that's what i said!" "and digger wouldn't tell no more?" "no, he wouldn't. and i'll bet you there was a lot more to tell. i savvied digger wasn't springin' all he heard. but he don't like it." "maybe they was talkin' 'bout jess'my. then he wouldn't have nothin' to say, you can bet yer life!" "i got my doubts," pence ruminated. "no, there was somethin' else. i know that shifty little bullet eye o' digger's. he was keepin' somethin' back that he ought to told the rest of us. i don't like the way things are goin'. since this drew showed up, seems like we all got somethin' to keep from one another. old man's tryin' to double-cross the gang someway. foss is tryin' to get in on it, or else he's aimin' to double-cross us an' old man, too, all on his lonesome. an' we can't make any more booze 'cause o' drew; an' old man says, we sh'd worry! a hell of a mess! we're due for a big bust-up, i'm thinkin'. what's foss sneakin' about watchin' drew for? huh! answer me that? an' why'd he tell me to watch up here an' trail 'im if i saw 'im, without tellin' me why? i'm gettin' about sick o' the whole dam' deal! i ain't takin' orders from digger foss!" "me, too," agreed allegan. "and that fire dance--that's 'at gets me! funny about this guy drew, comin' here a stranger, an' dancin' the fire dance right away. somethin' funny, all right! most folks thought maybe he'd hooked up with a squaw, but it ain't that. gets _my_ goat! but how 'bout the selden boys?" "they ain't said a word. i reckon they're in with old man, whatever he's got on his chest. if we come to a split-up, that'll make old man and the four boys on one side, and me an' you an' ed buchanan and jay muenster on the other side. five to four." "but how 'bout digger? he's always been strong with old man selden. he'll stick with him." "maybe--maybe. he won't be with us, though. an' i'm doubtin' if he'll be with selden, either. he's out fer foss!" "fer jess'my, ye mean!" "'sall the same," shrugged obed pence. "le's ride down an' get a couple o' drinks, an' then i'll fog it down to lime rock with ye. t'hell with digger foss an' his orderin' me 'round!" they rode away in silence, winding their way down into clinker creek cañon when a mile or more below the forty acres of oliver drew. they dismounted at sulphur spring and pushed through the growth surrounding it. only a little water now remained in the clay-lined reservoir. the protruding end of the three-quarter-inch pipe was now plainly visible, eight inches above the surface of the tiny pool. "just think," obed pence observed: "that pipe's took water down the cañon for us for years; and s'long's the pool was full o' water nobody ever found the end of it here. at least they never let on they did. an' now comes this drew an' puts the kibosh on everything! i'll tell a man i'm gettin' sore about it, chuck. i want my booze, and i want my share o' what we could get out of it. i'm bettin' standard'll be wild when he learns old man won't distil any more." "can't," corrected chuck. "can't, eh? who's stoppin' 'im? drew, that's who, and nobody else! and he won't send drew over the hills talkin' to 'imself, like he's done to many a better man before 'im. i'm sore, i tell you. and i'm gonta find out what's doin', or know the reason why." "le's get clay an' cover the end o' the pipe," suggested chuck. "some deer hunter's likely to see it if we don't, now that the water's pretty near gone." they solemnly administered this rite in remembrance of dead days, and rode on down the cañon single-file. over three-quarters of a mile from the spring they left their horses in the creek bottom and clambered up a steep slope, slipping on the polished pine needles underfoot. near the summit the trees thinned, and heavy chaparral usurped the land. on hands and knees they plunged into it, and presently were crawling on their stomachs over an unmarked route. in the heart of the chaparral they came suddenly upon a circular opening made by the hand of man. here was a high ledge of schist, and under it a small cave. grass grew here, for the spot marked the other end of the pipe line from sulphur spring, and the water that had represented the spring's overflow had trickled out to cool the copper coil of the poison oakers' still, incidentally refreshing the barren land. the pipe line represented a great amount of toil and patience, but, as the pipe had been stolen from a railroad shipment, no great outlay of funds. clinker creek cañon dipped so steadily below sulphur spring that it had been possible to lay the pipe to this hidden spot in the heart of the chaparral, far up on the hillside, and still maintain a goodly fall for the flow of water. only by crawling flat on his face could one reach this secluded rendezvous; and in all the years that they had made molasses rum here the poison oakers had not been disturbed. not even a hunter would find it necessary to penetrate this fastness. men would have laughed if told that water was flowing up here on the dry, rocky eminence. before the cave's mouth was an adobe furnace for the fire, and over it the now dry end of the pipe hung uselessly. the still was removable, and was now in the cave, together with distilled stock on hand and kegs of molasses that had been packed into the cañon on burros' backs, then trundled laboriously up into the chaparral. chuck and obed entered the open cave and sat themselves down beside a barrel with a wooden spigot. they found glasses and wiped soil and cobwebs from them with their thumbs, and soon the water-coloured liquor flowed to the temporary gladdening of their hearts. but as it flowed again and again they began renewing their grievances, and shook their heads over "the good old days," and mouthed vague threats, and forgot all about lime rock and the breachy cow. in the midst of their maudlin conversation obed pence heard a sound, despite his rum-dulled sensibilities. "cut it out!" he husked. "somebody's beatin' it in here." he lay flat in the mouth of the cave and looked down the hillside under the chaparral. "old man and bolar," he announced. "le's get out an' beat it over the hill, and back down to our _caballos_--and they won't know we been here," chuck suggested. "huh! not me!" retorted pence. "they already seen our horses, i'll bet. anyway, i'm liquored up just right to tell old man how the war broke out. i'm glad he's comin'. i'm gonta know what's what right pronto!" chapter xx "wait!" for over an hour oliver drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of the shallow prospect hole, while foss remained astride the limb of the digger pine and tommy my-ma kept hidden under the pile of brush. there was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral, for, while digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell which way the brush-screened showut poche-daka was looking. at last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vast uneasiness. his position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin there was, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve the tedium of his watch. he squirmed incessantly for a time; and then apparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left the ranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeying to the ground. oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. if the halfbreed left his observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole, oliver would be discovered. if he decided to leave the thicket by crawling downhill, oliver would be safe from detection. it was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard the gunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of the cañon--the least difficult route by far. apparently he had not come mounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he would have left his horse. gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. still there was no movement in the pile of brush, so far as oliver's ears were able to detect. he dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hid him. minutes passed. quail called coolly from afar. still not the slightest sound from the brush pile. for half an hour longer oliver lay motionless and silent. had tommy my-ma slipped out noiselessly and followed foss? or was he for some obscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? at the end of this period oliver decided that the indian must have gone. anyway, he did not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall. so he elevated his nose to the land level and peered about cautiously. everything remained as he had seen it last. he rose to his feet, left the hole, and walked boldly to the brush pile. a swift examination of the ground showed that tommy my-ma had left his place of concealment, perhaps long since. there was a plainly marked trail through the shattered leaves that led in the same direction taken by the departing halfbreed. oliver studied the brush pile, and found that the facilities for hiding were as he had deduced. pine limbs had been laid across the hole like rafters, and the brush heaped on top of them. beneath was a space deep enough for a man to sit erect; and he might thrust his head up into the brush and peer out in all directions. loose brush concealed the entrance, and it had been replaced when the indian took his leave. what was the meaning of it all? foss, of course, had reason to hate him; but what could he gain by secretly watching him from cover? and why was the indian watching foss in turn? all indications pointed to the belief that foss had occupied his observation tree often, and that his shadow had as frequently trailed him and spied on him from a prearranged hiding place. what strange, mysterious intrigue had enveloped his life because of the unanswered question with which old peter drew had struggled for over thirty years? when would he face the question? would the answer be yes or no? would his college education prove a safeguard against his reading the answer wrong, as his poor, unlettered old father had hoped? and jessamy! would she figure in the answer? somehow he felt that hope and life and jessamy hung on whether his answer would be yes or no. his dead father's hand seemed to be weaving the warp and woof of his destiny. oliver gave up further search for the bees that day. by a circuitous route he returned to his irrigating of the garden. june days passed after this, and july days began. the poison oak had turned from green to brilliant red, and now was dark-green once more. the air was hot; the grass was sear and yellow; the creek was dry but for a deep pool abreast the cabin. but oliver did not worry much now about the creek, except for the loss of its low, comforting murmur and the greenness with which it had endowed its banks, because the enlarged flow from his spring was ample for his needs. no longer did linnets sit near his cabin window and sing to the accompaniment of his typewriter keys. their season of love was over; the young birds were feathered out and had left their nests. the wild canaries still were with him, and hovered about the rambling willow over the spring. eagles soared aloft in the clear, hot skies. lizards basked lazily about the cabin, and blinked up contentedly when he tickled their sides with a broomstraw, or dangled pre-swatted flies before their grinning lips. for a week now he had seen no member of the poison oaker gang. the cows bearing their brand were all about him, but gave him no trouble, and he thought it strange that he chanced to meet no one riding to look after them. he had not been bothered. whether digger foss spent his idle hours watching him from the branches of his lookout pine he did not know or care. he had not seen jessamy since the morning he left poison oak ranch, and all his worriment and discontent found vent in this. why had she not ridden down to him, as of old? had he offended her in any way? the thought was unbelievable, for he could recall not the slightest hint of any misunderstanding. he brooded and moped over it, and loved her more and more--realized, because of her absence, just how deeply he desired her. he experienced all the tortures of first love; and then one day he found his senses. then he laughed loud and long, and ran for poche, and threw the silver-mounted saddle on his back. she had come to him when he could not go to her. now her step-father had invited him to her home, and if he wished her companionship he must take the male's part and seek it. what an utter ass he had been indeed! it was one o'clock when poche bore him into the cup in the mountains that cradled poison oak ranch. at once the longed-for sight of her gladdened his heart once more, for she apparently had seen him coming and was walking from the house to meet him. how her sturdy, womanly figure thrilled his soul! black as night was the hair that was now coiled loosely on her head, in which a red rose blazed as when he had seen her last. the confident poise of her head, the warm tints of that strong column that was her neck, the brave carriage of her shoulders, her swinging stride, the long black lashes that seemed to be etched by an oriental artist--they set his heart to pounding until he felt faint; the yearning, hopeless void of love tormented him. and then with his senses awhirl he leaned from the saddle and felt her warm, soft hand in his, and gazed dizzily into the unsounded depths of the trout pools shaded by grapevines, to which his fancy had likened her eyes. his hand shook and his heart leaped, and his soul cried out for her; and all that he could say was: "how do you do, miss selden!" he saddled white ann, and over the hills they rode together. commonplaces passed between them until the wilderness enveloped them. then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to the river, she asked: "just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?" he reddened. "i'll tell you frankly," he said: "i was a fool. i was moping because you had not ridden to see me. you had come so often before. and i woke up only today. today for the first time i realized that, since old man selden has opened his door to me, it is my place to go to you." "of course," she said demurely. he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "some time ago," he told her, "i realized that you sought me out in the first place for a purpose." he paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guarded carefully. "yes?" she questioned. "yes," he went on. "i realized that. and also that you _continued_ to come because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditions made it necessary for you to look me up." "yes, i understand--" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly. "well, just that," he floundered. "and then selden changed his tactics, and i could go to you. so you--you didn't come to me any more." "fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repetition makes for clearness. well, you understand now--so let's forget it." "i want you to understand that it wasn't because i didn't wish to come. it was just thick-headedness." "so you have said. yes, i understand." the gaze of her black eyes was far away--far away over the deep, rugged cañon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mystic snow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earth earthy. under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell with the regularity of her perfect breathing. her man's hat lay over her saddle horn. like some reigning goddess of the wilderness she sat and overlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of her brow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings of the man until he suffered. "i can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of the reins brought poche close to white ann's side. "jessamy!" said the man huskily. "jessamy!" he could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam before his eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside. "jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, he spread his arms out toward her. the black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face to him. the colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, and her bosom rose and fell more rapidly. then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him, unafraid. but not for long this time. down drooped the black lashes till they seemed to have been drawn with pen and india ink on her smooth brown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to bound with expectation that was half of hope. her red lips moved. "wait!" she whispered. his arms fell to his sides. "you--you won't hear me!" "no--not now." "you know what i'm trying so hard to say. it means so much to me. it's hard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or break him for all time to come. he'd rather--he'd rather just hope on blindly, i guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels. must--must i say it--right out, jessamy?" "no, my friend, don't say it." "is there anything that stands between us?" "yes. but don't ask what." "then you don't love me!" her red lips quivered. "i said for you to wait," she told him softly. "why should i wait? for what? i know myself. i'm grown. i know that i--" "don't!" she interrupted. "wait!" and she leaned in the saddle and swung white ann away from him. "let's ride back home," she said. "you'll stay to supper? the moon will be bright for your ride home later. i'll make you a cherry pie!" chapter xxi "when we meet again!" it will be necessary to return to the day that chuck allegan and obed pence met on the ridge beyond the old ivison place, and rode together to the hiding place of the poison oakers' moonshine still. obed pence continued to lie prone in the mouth of the cave, while his close-set eyes angrily watched the progress of old man selden and his son bolar through the chaparral. as the continued crawling of the coming pair brought them nearer to the retreat obed pence withdrew his lank figure into the shadowy cave; and he and his companion endeavoured to appear innocent and unconcerned. then when old man selden and the boy reached the opening and stood erect, obed appeared at the mouth again and greeted them with a matter-of-fact: "hello, there!" "why, howdy, obed," returned adam selden. "didn't know ye was here. who's with ye?" "i reckon you see our horses down in clinker cañon," returned obed in trouble-hunting tones. "and you know every horse between red mountain an' the gap." "yea, me and bolar thought we saw a couple o' animals through the trees. but we hit the ground farther up the creekbed, and come in slonchways. thought maybe one o' the brutes was chuck's." obed pence snorted softly, but did not add more fuel to an argument along this line. "me an' the kid was packin' a sack o' salt on a burro down toward the river," adam observed, approaching the cave, "an' thought we'd belly up an' have a little smile. cows need salt. hello there, chuck!"--as the round, boyish face of allegan shone like a small moon from the dark interior. "hello, old man!" replied the youth. he was apprehensive over pence's glowering silence, and, to hide his feelings, quickly opened the spigot over a glass and passed the water-white drink to his chief. adam selden sat down with it, and bolar came into the cave and was also given a drink by chuck. "how early you gonta start the drive for the mountains this year, old man?" asked the self-appointed host, nervously filling glasses for himself and the glowering pence, who stood with arms folded napoleonlike across his breast, scowlingly regarding the newcomers. "well, grass's holdin' out _muy bueno_," said selden thoughtfully. "late rains done it. i don't think we'll have cause to move 'em any earlier than common. the filaree down in the river bottom is--" but here napoleon broke his moody silence. "i got somethin' to talk about outside o' grass," snapped obed pence. a tense stillness ensued, during which old man selden deliberately drained his glass and passed it back to chuck to be refilled. "well, obed," he drawled lazily, "got anything important to say, just say her." "oh, i'll say her!" cried pence, and tossed off his drink of burning liquor by way of fortification. "ain't been settin' here by that bar'l a mite too long, have ye, obed?--if i ain't too bold in askin'," was selden's remark, spoken in the tone which turneth away wrath. "no, i ain't been here too long," pence told his captain. "and i'm glad you've come, old man. i want to talk to you about this fella drew, and the way things 'a' been a-goin'." "shoot!" invited the old man's booming voice. obed came directly to the point. "well, why ain't we runnin' drew out?" old man selden balanced his glass on one peaked knee while he reached into a pocket of his _chaparejos_ for a plug of tobacco. he was deliberate as he replied: "well, obed, i was waitin' a spell 'count of a little matter that's on my mind just at present. i'd advise ye not to be worryin' about drew. i'll tend to him when it's the proper time." "yes, you will!" sniffed pence sarcastically. "but, allowin' that you will, i want my booze in the meantime." "there's the bar'l," said old man selden. "that ain't gonta last forever!" "just so! but time she gets low, we'll be makin' more ag'in. time drew's gone and we get water runnin' from sulphur spring ag'in." "and i'm wantin' my profit from what we could sell," pence added, unmollified. "i got no money, and won't have none till killin' time, 'less the still's runnin'. 'tain't worryin' you none. you got all you want without makin' monkey rum. but it ain't like that with me. why, we was makin' five gallon a day--at twenty-five bucks a gallon! and now nary a drop. i need the money." "well, obed, they's money all about ye," the old man boomed. "and they's things that can be turned into money layin' 'round loose everywhere." "and there's a county jail, too!" snapped pence. "and also federal prisons," adam added, nodding toward the still and the crude fermentation vats. "rats! pro'bition sneaks ain't got me scared! but bustin' into somebody's store's a different matter. and while we're talkin' about it, old man, i don't see as you're so keen for a little job like that as you was some months ago." "gettin' old, obed--gettin' old, as the fella says. squirt another shot into her, chuck." he passed his glass again. "i'll leave all that to you kids in future, i'm thinkin'." "but take your share, o' course," sneered pence. "oh, i reckon not, obed--i reckon not. i got enough to die on--that's all i need. just putter 'round with a few critters for my remainin' years, then turn up my toes peaceful-like. i'm gettin' old, obed--just so!" there was another prolonged, strained silence. pence emptied his glass twice while it lasted, and his dutch courage grew apace. "looky-here, old man," he said at last, "le's get down to tacks: you're double-crossin' us, an' we're dead onto it. for some reason you don't wanta drive drew outa clinker creek cañon. it's got somethin' to do with that fire dance. there's more in it for you if you leave drew alone than if you put a burr under his tail. that's all right so far's it goes. but you're tryin' to hog it. you're squeezin' the rest o' the poison oakers out--all but your four kids. ed and digger and chuck here and jey and me's left out in the cold. that's what! and we don't like it, and ain't gonta stand for it. if there's more profit in it to leave drew alone, leave 'im alone. but le's all get our share o' this big profit, like we always did." "couple o' more shots and ye'll be weepin' about her, pencie," dryly observed old adam. "never mind that! i c'n handle my booze. you come across." "i've known ye about thirteen year, obed," said adam in tones dangerously purring, "and i've never heard ye talk to me thataway before. i wouldn't now, if i was you." "and i've never seen you act like you're doin' in those thirteen years!" cried pence. "before now there wasn't no need to bawl you out. but you're turnin' crooked." adam rose and placed an enormous hand on obed's shoulder. "just so! just so!" he purred. "now, you ramble down an' get in yer saddle an' ride on home, pencie. ye've had enough liquor for today. an' when ye're sober we'll all talk about her. just so! that's best. go on now--yer blood's hot!" pence jerked his shoulder away and backed farther into the gloom of the cave. old man selden quickly moved so that his body was not silhouetted against the light streaming in at the mouth. "i don't want none o' yer dam' fatherly advice," growled pence. "i just want a square deal. if there's a reason why drew oughta be left alone i want to know it. and i want to know it now!" "just so! are ye really mad, now, pencie?" "i am mad!" "_and_ sober?" "yes, sober. shoot her out!" the eagle eyes of old man selden were fixed intently on the face showing from the gloom. every muscle was tense, every faculty alert. his beetling grey brows came down and hid his eyes from the younger man, but those cold blue eyes saw everything. "bein's ye're sober, obed," the old man drawled, "i'll be obliged to tell ye that no poison oaker ner any other man ever talked to me like you been doin' and got away with it. just so! and, bein's ye're sober, i'll say that my business is my own, an' i'll keep her to myself till i get ready to tell her. furthermore, i'm still runnin' the poison oakers, and what i say goes now same as a couple months ago. i know what's good for us boys better'n any o' the rest o' ye, and i'm doin' it." "you're a dam' liar!" shouted pence. old man selden's gun hand leaped to his hip. "come a-shootin', kid!" he bellowed. he whipped out his colt, shot from the hip. the roar of his big gun filled the cave. screened by the smoke of it, old man selden sprang nimbly to the deeper shadows. there he crouched, his cavernous eyes peering out through the dense, confined smoke like a lynx posing to spring upon a burrowing gopher. obed pence had not been slow. he too had leaped the instant the old man's hand dropped to his holster. he had ducked into deeper shadows still, and had not been hit. now he fired through the smoke wreaths in the direction he supposed the old man had darted. a report from adam's gun roared on the heels of his own, and rocks and earth rattled down a foot from his shoulder. the cave extended to right and to left of the opening. each of the fighters was hidden by the darkness of his particular end, and now the smoke of the three shots hung in a heavy blanket between them directly opposite the door. under cover of this chuck and bolar, sprawling flat, had wriggled frantically out of the cave. each from his own nook, the belligerents leaned cautiously forward, guns ready, breath held in, and tried to pierce the rack of smoke and the obscurity of the other's hiding place. it seemed to the younger men, gazing in, that the situation meant a deadlock. neither gunman could see the other, and, with no breath of air stirring in the cave, the smoke lay between them like a solid wall. five minutes passed without a sound inside. then bolar drew nearer to the cave and shouted in: "what you gonta do? neither o' you c'n see the other. you can't shoot. what you gonta do?" complete silence answered him. then he realized that neither his father nor obed pence would dare to speak lest the sound of his voice reveal his whereabouts and call forth a shot from the other end of the cave. "you got to give it up for now!" he shouted in again. "i'll count one-two-three; and when i say three, both o' ye throw yer guns in front o' the mouth. i'll ask if ye'll do this. both o' you answer at once. ready!... will you?" "yes," came the smothered replies of both men in the cave. "all right now. get ready! one ... two ... _three_!" at the word "three" two heavy-calibre colts clattered on the dirt floor before the entrance and lay not a foot apart, proving that there was a recognized code of honour among the poison oakers. bolar stooped and entered, gathering them in his hands. "all set," he announced. "come out an' begin all over ag'in." old man selden was the first to come out. pence quickly followed him. bolar had emptied both weapons of cartridges, and now he silently passed each his gun. "what'll it be, pencie?" asked old man selden, bending his fiery glance on his dark, slim enemy. "shall we draw when we meet ag'in, er forget it entirely--or see who c'n load an' shoot quickest right here an' now?" "it's up to you, old man." "forget it," advised bolar. "for now, anyway." "shall we go our ways now, an' draw when we come together ag'in?" it was old adam's question. "why can't you come across an' do the square thing now?" pence growled. "then ever'thing's settled." "just so! but y're answerin' my question with another'n. do we draw when we meet ag'in?" "you won't be square?" "i'll tell ye nothin'. ye called me a dam' liar, so you couldn't believe it if i had anything to say to ye." pence shrugged indifferently and turned away. "when we meet ag'in," he said lightly. "just so!" drawled old man selden. "just so!" chapter xxii the watchman of the dead oliver drew knew that the mona fiesta would be held by the showut poche-dakas when the july moon was full. the mona fiesta was the tribal "feast of the dead." it was purely an indian rite, unmixed with any ceremonies incident to the feast days of the catholic saints, as were most other celebrations. consequently, while the whites were not definitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited to attend. they often went out of curiosity, oliver had been told by jessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and went unnoticed by the worshippers. the underlying principle of the feast of the dead was ancestor worship, in which all of the pauba tribes were particularly devout. jessamy told oliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, but that, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was taking place. oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old chupurosa hatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. he was now a member of the tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-found brethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. the mystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with the showut poche-dakas. he was impatient to get in closer touch with the wrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head. and now another feast day was close at hand. in two more nights a full moon would shower its radiance over the land of the poison oakers. he had received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at the reservation for the mona fiesta. whites were excluded, he knew; but, then, he was now a brother of the showut poche-dakas, and he hoped against hope that he would be commanded to appear. but the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebration was at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come. he was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the night sounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round face over the hill and smiled at him. he was thinking half of jessamy, half of an article that he had planned to write. two fair-sized checks for previous work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to have visions of a future. in a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: "who? who? who--o-o-o?" in doleful tones. from a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughter of coyotes. a big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in the moonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. oliver rose and with his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his course immediately and seemed determined to enter the house willy-nilly. "but i don't want you in there," oliver protested boyishly. "i might step on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old cold back." he closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolved to await his chance for a strategic entrance. "all right," said oliver. "sit there! when i'm ready to go in i'll climb through a window. you are not going into that house!" he laughed at himself. his was a lonesome life when he was not with jessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that god has created, he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, so that toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food and had no fear of him. he sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink for blink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonely cañon. at first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognized the ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. then voices. and presently he knew that many horsemen were riding toward the cabin--a veritable cavalcade. he rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling of apprehension. as the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer and closer he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. he had been at a complete loss to interpret old man selden's later attitude toward him, and was wary of a trap. the sounds he heard could mean nothing to him except that the poison oakers were at last riding upon him to begin their raid. suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of a single galloping horse. silvery under the magic light of the moon, a white horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south. it carried a rider. now came a familiar "who-hoo!" and jessamy selden soon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door. "thank goodness, i'm in time!" she said. "i didn't know when they would start, and i waited too long." "what in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?" he demanded. "oh, that's nothing! i get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for a moonlight ride. i love it." "but--" "here they come! i wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you to pretend you were expecting them. you're--you're supposed to know." "i'm supposed to know what?" "about the mona fiesta. it's to be observed here on the old ivison place. it always is. and--and you're supposed to know it." "how explicit you aren't! well, what--" "sh! there they are! i can't explain now." oliver's thoughts were moving swiftly, and he did not put them aside even when he saw his gate being opened to a large company of horsemen. "i've got you," he said. "your little attempt at subterfuge has failed again. those are the showut poche-dakas coming?" she nodded in her slow, emphatic manner. "uh-huh! i see. and you might have told me many days ago that they would come. and if that isn't so, you could have got here much earlier tonight to warn me in time. but that would have given me an opportunity to question you, and this you didn't want. so you waited till they were almost upon me, then made a sheridan dash to warn me, when there would be no time to answer embarrassing questions. pretty clever, sister! but you see i'm dead on to your little game." her laugh was as near to a giggle as he had ever heard from her. "you're a master analyst," she praised. "i'll 'fess up. it's just as you say. you know my nature makes it necessary for me to dodge direct issues, where your mystery is concerned. but they're right on us--go out and meet 'em." "you'll wait?" "sure." the foremost riders of the long cavalcade were now abreast the cabin, and oliver drew stepped toward them as they halted their ponies. the strong light of the full moon was sufficient to reveal the wrinkled-leather skin of old chupurosa hatchinguish, who rode in the lead, sitting his blanketed horse as straight as a buck of twenty years. oliver reached him and held out a hand. "welcome to the hummingbird," he said in spanish. "greetings," returned the old man, solemnly taking the offered hand. "the july moon is in the full, brother, and i have brought the showut poche-dakas for the yearly mona fiesta to the spot where our fathers worshipped since a time when no man can remember." "thou art welcome," said oliver again, entirely lost as to just what was expected of him. chupurosa left the blanket which he used as a saddle. it was the signal for all to dismount, and like a troop of cavalry the showut poche-dakas left their horses. they tied them to fenceposts and trees out of respect for the landowner's rights in the matter of grass. "is all in readiness?" asked the ancient chief. "er--" oliver paused. a hand gripped his arm. "yes," jessamy's voice breathed in his ear. "all is in readiness," said oliver promptly. jessamy then stepped forward and offered her hand to chupurosa. "hello, my hummingbird!" she caroled mischievously in english. "the light of the moon takes nothing from the señorita's loveliness," said the old man gallantly. by this time the showut poche-dakas had formed a semicircle before the cabin. "let us proceed to the mona fiesta," said chupurosa. "let the son of dan smeed lead the way." over this strange new designation oliver was given no time for thought; for instantly jessamy laid a firm grip above his elbow and led him to the pasture gate. the showut poche-dakas followed at the heels of jessamy's mare. "don't worry," the girl whispered into oliver's ear. "nothing much will be required of you. just try to appear as if you know all about it, and had attended to the preliminaries yourself." "yes, yes," said oliver dazedly, his mind now in a whirl. she led him across the pasture in the direction from which she had ridden so unexpectedly to the cabin. they reached a little _arroyo_, and down it they turned to the creekbed. they crossed the watercourse and turned down it. presently they entered a cluster of pines and spruce trees, which was close to what oliver called the four pools. in succession, four deep depressions in the bedrock of the creekbed were ranged, and each held clear, cool water, fed by an undiscovered spring, though the creek proper was now entirely dry. in the bedrock about these pools oliver had previously noted several round holes the size of a half-bushel measure. these were _morteros_, he knew--the mortars in which the california indians pound acorns in the making of the dish _bellota_. he had often speculated on the probable antiquity of these _morteros_, and had dreamed of early-day scenes enacted there and about them. there was a circular open space in the midst of the tall, whispering trees. just above this spot, up the steep hillside, he had lain in the prospect hole and watched digger foss spying on the cabin down below, while tommy my-ma hid under the brush and spied on him. into the open space in the trees the fearless girl led the way, and there in the centre of it the moonlight streaming through the branches revealed a huge pile of brush and wood, arranged as if for a great fire. she pressed his arm, and they came to a halt. behind them the showut poche-dakas halted. to oliver's side stepped chupurosa, and spoke in the tongue of the paubas to a man at his right hand. this man stepped to the pile of brush and wood and fired it. as the flames leaped up and licked at the sun-dried fuel the indians closed in, and now the light of the fire showed oliver that there were women among their number. at the edge of the trees they formed a circle about the fire, then all of them save chupurosa squatted on the ground. and now the firelight brought something else to view. it was nothing more mysterious than a wooden drygoods box at the foot of one of the pines, and beside it stood a large red earthen _olla_. what these held oliver could not see. he was puzzling over the fact that these simple arrangements had been made on his land while he sat on his porch two hundred yards away and smoked, for he had passed this spot early that evening and it had been as usual then. the dark-skinned men and women squatted there silently about the fire, their serious black eyes blinking into it. there was something pathetic about it all. they were always so serious, so intent, so devout; and their poor, ragged clothes and bare feet were so evident. "join the circle," whispered jessamy. oliver obeyed. then jessamy stepped to chupurosa, who had been gazing at her silently. "good-night, my hummingbird," she said, and smiled at him. an answering smile lighted the withered features, and once more the old man took the girl's slim hand in his. he dropped it. she turned and vaulted into her saddle. the mare leaped away over the moonlit pasture. for a time the thudety-thud of her galloping hoofs floated back, and then came silence. amid a continuation of this stillness chupurosa stepped close to the fire, now leaping high, and stretched forth his brown, wrinkled hands. he threw back his head and began speaking softly, directing his voice aloft. not a word of what he said was known to oliver. gradually his voice rose, and his tones were guttural, growling. his body swayed from right to left, but he kept his withered hands outstretched. presently tears began trickling down his cheeks, but he continued his prayer, or address, or invocation, his tears unheeded. now one by one his silent listeners began to weep. they wept silently, and, but for their tears, oliver would not have realized their deep emotion. sometimes they rocked from side to side, but always they maintained silence and kept their tear-dimmed eyes focused on the speaker. abruptly chupurosa came to a full stop, backed from the fire, and squatted on the ground inside the circle. no applause, not a word, no sign of any nature followed the cessation of his harangue. now two young indians led forth an old, old man. each of them held one of his arms. he was stooped and trembly, and his feet dragged pitiably; and as he neared the fire oliver saw that he was totally blind. never before in his life had the white man seen age so plainly stamped on human countenance. oliver had thought chupurosa old, but he appeared as a man in the prime of life in comparison with this blind patriarch. his long hair was white as snow, and this in itself was a mark of antiquity seldom seen in the race. it was not until long afterward that oliver found out that this man was a notable among the pauba tribes, maquaquish by name--the oldest man among them, a seer, counsellor, and medicine man whose prophesies and prognostications were forceful in the regulation of a great portion of the paubas' lives. he was bareheaded, barefooted, and wore only blue overalls, a cloth girdle, and a coarse yellow shirt. when at a comfortable distance from the fire the trio came to a stop. the two conductors of the pathetic blind figure knelt promptly on one knee, one on each side of him. with their bent knees touching behind him, they gently lowered him until he found the seat which their sinewy thighs had made for him. there was a few moments' silence, and then he lifted his trembling hands and began to speak. oliver carried no watch, and would not have had the discourtesy to consult it if he had; but he believed that maquaquish spoke for two solid hours without pause. and all this time the two who upheld him on their knees and steadied him with their hands seemed not to move a muscle. and not a sound came from the audience beyond an occasional uncontrollable sob. maquaquish spoke in hushed tones that blended strangely with the night sounds of the forest. his physical attitude and his delivery were those of a story-teller rather than an orator or preacher; and his listeners hung on every word, their black bead eyes fixed constantly on his face. oliver drew was dreaming dreams. he would have given all that he had to be able to interpret what maquaquish was saying. what strange traditions was he recalling to their minds? what hidden chapters in the bygone history of this ancient race? never was congregation more wrapped up in a speaker's words. never were religious zealots more devout. strange thoughts filled the white man's mind. he was roused from his dreaming with a start. maquaquish had ceased speaking, and a low chanting sounded about the fire. it grew in volume as the blind man's escort led him back to his place in the circle. it grew louder, weirder still, as the two who had aided the seer stepped to the drygoods box and carried it between them past the fire. as they walked with it beyond the circle every indian rose to his feet and followed slowly. oliver did likewise, not knowing what else to do. on the brink of one of the pools the assemblage halted, the firelight playing over them. from the box its custodians removed bolts of cheap new calico cloth of many colours. two of these they unwound, and laid along the ground, leading away from the edge of the chosen pool. then the two slipped out of their clothes and stepped naked into the water to their waists, where each laid hold of an end of a strip of calico and stood motionless. to the edge of the moonlit pool stepped chupurosa. he extended his hands over the water and spoke a few sonorous words. as his hands came down the chanting broke out anew, and now the men in the water began gathering in the strips of calico, washing the cloth in the water as they reeled it to them. at last they finished. the chanting ceased. the two nude men carried the dripping cloth from the water in bundles. the assemblage filed back to the dying fire, all but the two who had washed the cloth. when the showut poche-dakas were once more squatting in a circle about the blaze, one of the two, now dressed, entered the circle with the red _olla_ filled with water from the pool. this was passed from hand to hand around the circle, and each one drank from it. when it came to oliver he solemnly acted his part, and passed the _olla_ to his left-hand neighbour. as the _olla_ finished its round, into the circle danced the two who had washed the cloth. in their arms they held bolts of dry cloth; and amid shouts and laughter they threw them into the air, while the feminine element of the tribe clutched up eagerly at them. when the last bolt of calico had been thrown and had been captured and claimed by some delighted squaw, the assemblage, talking and laughing in an everyday manner, left the four pools and started back to their horses. the mona fiesta was over. symbolically the clothes of the dead had been washed. the showut poche-dakas had drunk of the water that had cleansed them. and this was about all that oliver drew ever learned of the significance of the ceremony. at the cabin chupurosa waited on his horse until his tribesmen had all ridden through the gate. then he leaned over and spoke to oliver. "when a year has passed," he said, "and the same moon which we see tonight again looks down upon us, the showut poche-dakas will once more wash the clothes of the dead and drink of the water. i enjoin thee, watchman of the dead, to have all in readiness once more, as thou hadst tonight. _adios_, watchman of the dead!" and he rode off slowly through the moonlight. chapter xxiii the question the morning following the feast of the dead, oliver drew rode poche out of clinker creek cañon, driving smith ahead of them, on the way to halfmoon flat for supplies. over the hills above the american river he saw a white horse galloping toward him. this was to be a chance meeting with jessamy. he had an idea she would not be anxious to face him, after her attempted subterfuge of the night before; so he slipped from the saddle, captured smith, and led the two animals back into the woods. then he hurried to a tree on the outskirts and hid behind it. on galloped white ann, with the straight, sturdy figure in the saddle. as they came closer oliver knew by her face that jessamy had not seen him; and as they came abreast he stepped out quickly and shouted. jessamy turned red, reined in, and faced him, her lips twitching. "good morning, my star of destiny!" he said. a flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lips continued to twitch mischievously. "_buenos dias_, watchman of the dead!" she shot back at him. oliver's eyes widened. "got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? just so!--if you'll permit a seldenism. tit for tat, as the fella says! your move again." and then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her. "where are you going?" he asked. "ridin'." "you weren't headed for the old ivison place." "no, not this morning. i was not seeking you. but since i've met you, and the worst is over, i'll not avoid you." "help me pack a load of grub down the cañon; then i'll go 'ridin' with you." she nodded assent. "i thought so," she observed, as he led poche and smith from hiding. "i thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead of you," he made confession. "i might have done that," she told him as they herded smith into the road and followed him. they said nothing more about what had taken place the night before until the bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and smith was rolling his pack from side to side on the homeward trail. then oliver asked abruptly: "who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the _olla_ at the four pools yesterday?" "please, sir, i done it," she replied. "when?" "just before i rode to your cabin last evening." "uh-huh!" he grunted, and fell silent again. at the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload the packbags. then the shaggy smith was left to his own devices--much to his loudly voiced disapproval--and jessamy and oliver rode off into the hills. "which way?" he asked as they topped the ridge. "lime rock," she replied. tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparral patches and rocky cañons till they reached the old trail that led to lime rock. lime rock upreared itself on the lip of a thousand-foot precipice that overhung the river. it was three hundred feet in height, a gigantic white pencil pointing toward the sky. at its base was a small level space, large enough for a wagon and team to turn, but the remainder of the land about and above it was hillside, too steep for cows to climb. and from the edge of the level land the cañonside dropped straight downward, a mass of craggy rocks and ill-nourished growth. the trail that led to lime rock wound its way over a shelf four feet in width, hacked in the hillside. one false step on this trail and details of what must inevitably ensue would be hideous. oliver led the way when they reached the beginning of the trail. both poche and white ann were mountain bred animals, sure-footed and unconcerned over nature's threatening eccentricities. for a quarter of a mile the bay and the white threaded the narrow path, their riders silent. then they came to lime rock and the security of the level land about it. here oliver and jessamy sat their horses and gazed down the dizzy precipice at the rushing river, and up the steep, rocky wall on the other side. "do you know who owns the land on which our horses are standing?" jessamy finally asked. "i've never given it a thought," said oliver. "it belongs to damon tamroy." "that so? i didn't know he owned anything over this way." "yes, damon owns it. but i have an option on it." "you! have an option on it!" "yes, a year's option. it was rather an underhanded trick that i played on old damon, but he's not very angry about it. it's my first business venture. "you see, i learned through a letter from a girl friend in san francisco that a big cement company was thinking of invading this country. she wrote it merely as a bit of entertaining news, but i looked at it differently. "i knew where they'd begin their invasion. right here! that magnificent monument there is solid limestone, and the hills back of it are the same, though covered by a thin layer of soil. so i went to the owner of the land, damon tamroy, and got a year's option on it for twenty-five dollars--a hundred and sixty acres. "how damon laughed at me! i told him outright why i wanted to buy the land, if ever i could scrape enough together. he didn't consider it very valuable, and it may become mine any day this year that i can pungle up four hundred and seventy-five bucks more. when he quizzed me, i told him frankly that i was doing it in an effort to preserve lime rock for posterity, and he laughed louder than ever. "but he changed his tune when a representative of the cement company approached him with an offer of fifteen dollars an acre. he took his loss good-naturedly enough, but accused me of putting over a slick little business deal on him. i had done so, in a way, and admitted it; and ever since i've been talking myself blue in the face when i meet him, trying to convince him that it's not the money i'm after at all. "think of an old hog of a cement company coming in here and erecting a rumbling old plant, with the noon whistle deriding the reverential calm of this magnificent cañon, and their old drills and dynamite and things ripping lime rock from its throne! bah! i'm going to san francisco soon to get a job. i may decide to go this week. it will keep me hustling to put away four hundred and seventy-five dollars between now and the day my option expires." oliver sat looking gravely at the young idealist, suppressing his disappointment over the possibility of her early departure. "but we have to have cement," he pointed out. "do we? maybe so. but there's lots of limestone in the west. men don't need to search out such spots as this in which to get it. there are less picturesque places, which will yield enough cement material for all our needs. sometimes i think these big money-grabbers just love to ruin nature with their old picks and powder. you may agree with me or not--i don't care. i'm not utilitarian, and don't care who knows it. the world's against me in my big fight to keep the money hogs from robbing life of all its poetry; but it's a fight to the last ditch! i'll save lime rock, anyway, if i have to beg and borrow." "i don't know that i disagree with you at all," he told her softly. "money doesn't mean a great deal to me. i've shed no idle tears over my failure to inherit the money that i expected would be mine at dad's death. i hold no ill will toward dad. there's too much wampum in the world today. it won't buy much. the more people have the more they want. the so-called 'standard of living' continues to rise, and with it the ills of our civilization steadily increase. luxuries ruin health. automobiles make our muscles sluggish. moving pictures clog our thinking apparatus. telephones make us lazy. phonographs and piano-players reduce our appreciation of the technique of music, which can come only by study and practice. what flying machines will do to us remains to be seen, but they'll never carry us to heaven! "no, money means little enough to me. give me the big outdoors and a regular horse, a keen zest in life, and true appreciation of every creature and rock and tree and blade that god has created, and i'll struggle along." as he talked the colour had been mounting to her face. when he ceased she turned starry eyes upon him, her white teeth showing between slightly parted lips. "oliver drew," she said, "you have made me very happy. i--" a rush of blood throbbed suddenly at oliver's temples, and once again he swung his horse close to hers. "i'll try to make you happy always," he said low-voiced. "jessamy--" again he opened his arms for her, but as before she drew herself away from him. "don't! not--not now! wait--oliver!" "wait! always wait! why?" "i--i must tell you something first. i can tell you now--after--after last night." "then tell me quickly," he demanded. she rested both hands on her saddle horn and rose in her stirrups. for a long time her black eyes gazed down the precipice below them, while the wind whipped wisps of hair about her forehead. oliver waited, drunk with the thought of his nearness to her. "watchman of the dead!" she murmured at last. oliver started. "two years ago," she went on softly, "i met the second watchman of the dead. you are the third. the first was murdered in this forest. his name was bolivio, and he made silver-mounted saddles and hair-tasseled bridles." oliver scarce dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have come over her. she did not look at him. she continued to gaze into her beloved cañon and at her beloved hills beyond. "oh, where shall i begin!" she cried at last. "where is the beginning? a man would begin at the first, i suppose, but a woman just can't! but i won't be true to the feminine method and begin at the end. i won't be a copy-cat. i'll begin in the middle, anyway." a smile flickered across her red lips; but still she gazed away from him. "two years ago," she said, "i met the dearest man." oliver straightened, and lumps shuttled at the hinges of his jaws. "i was riding white ann on one of my lonely wanderings through the woods. i met him on the ridge above the old ivison place and the river. "after that i met him many times, in the forest and elsewhere; and the more i talked with him the more i liked him. he was my idea of a man." oliver, too, was now gazing into the cañon, but he saw neither crags nor trees nor rushing green river. "and he grew to like me," her low tones continued. "we talked on many subjects, but mostly of what we've been talking about today. "he was an idealist, this man. he was comparatively wealthy, but there are things in life that he placed above money and its accumulation. by and by he grew to like me more and more, and finally he told me point blank that i was his ideal woman; and then he grew confidential and told me all about himself--his past, present, and what he hoped for in the future. and in my hands he placed a trust. please god, i have tried to keep the faith!" she threw back her head and followed the flight of an eagle soaring serenely over lime rock. and with her eyes thus lifted she softly said: "that man was peter drew--your father." oliver's breast heaved, but he made no sound. once more her eyes were sweeping the abyss. "that's the middle," she said. "now i'll go back to the beginning and tell you what peter drew entrusted to my keeping. "thirty years ago peter drew, who then called himself dan smeed, was the partner of adam selden. they mined and hunted and trapped together throughout this country. "there were other activities, too, which i shall not mention. you understand. your father told me all about it, kept nothing back. remember that i said he was my idea of a man; and if in his youth he had been wild and--well, seemed criminally inclined--i found that easy to forget. certainly the manliness and sacrifice of his later years wiped out all this a thousand times. "well, to proceed: peter drew and adam selden married indian girls. peter drew won out in the fire dance and became a member of the showut poche-dakas. adam selden failed, and, according to the custom, took his wife from the tribe and lived with her elsewhere. six months afterward the wife of selden died. "peter drew, however, having become a recognized member of the tribe, was taken into their full confidence. according to their simple belief, he had conquered all obstacles that stood between him and this affiliation; therefore the gods had ordained that full trust should be placed in him. and with their beautiful faith and simplicity they did not question his honesty. so according to an old, old tradition of the tribe the white man was appointed watchman of the dead. "i know little of this story. all of the traditions of the showut poche-dakas are clouded, so far as our interpretation of them goes. but it appears, from what your father told me, that ages ago a white-skinned chief had been watchman of the dead. mercy knows where he came from, for, so far as history goes, the whites had not then invaded the country. but after him, whenever a white-skinned man conquered the evil spirits of the fire and became a member, he was appointed watchman of the dead. so in the natural order of things the honour came to peter drew. "up to this time the only other watchman of the dead remembered by even old maquaquish and chupurosa was the man called bolivio. holding this simple office, it seems that bolivio had stumbled upon the secret so jealously guarded by the showut poche-dakas. he tried to turn this secret information to his own advantage, and in so doing he broke faith with the tribe that had adopted him as a brother. found dead in the forest with a knife in his heart, is the abrupt climax of his tale of treachery. and so the tradition of the lost mine of bolivio had its birth. "centuries ago, no doubt, the showut poche-dakas discovered the spodumene gems which were responsible for the fiction concerning the lost mine of bolivio. they polished them crudely and worshipped them. spodumene gems always are found in pockets in the rock, and they are always hidden in wet clay in these pockets. solid stone will be all about them, with no trace of disintegrated matter, until a pocket is struck. therein will be found separate stones of varying sizes, always sealed in a natural vacuum, which in some way forever retains moisture in the clay. "this peculiarity appealed to the superstitious natures of the showut poche-dakas. it is their age-old custom to bury their dead in pockets hacked in cliffs of solid stones, sealing them with a cement of clay and pulverized granite. one can readily see how the discovery of these beautiful gems, sealed in pockets as they sealed their dead, might affect them. they determined that the glittering stones represented the bodies of their ancestors, and from that time on the lilac-tinted gems became something to be worshipped and guarded faithfully. "doubtless when bolivio was appointed watchman of the dead he was told this secret, and learned where the stones were to be found. he got some of them, and sent them east to find out whether they were valuable. he polished two, and placed them in bridle _conchas_. then before word came from new york the indians stabbed him for his deceit. "his elaborate equestrian outfit remained with the tribe, and your father acquired it when he became watchman of the dead. for some reason unknown to him, the stones were allowed to remain in the _conchas_; and he told me that he always imagined them to be a symbol of his office. anyway, you, oliver drew, are the watchman of the dead, and your right to own and use that gem-mounted bridle goes unchallenged by the showut poche-dakas." she paused reflectively. "all this your father told me," she presently continued. "he told me, too, that the secret place where the gems are to be found is on the old ivison place. it was unclaimed land then, and your father camped there with his indian wife, as was demanded of the watchman of the dead. before his time, bolivio had camped there. later, old man ivison homesteaded the place, knowing nothing of its strange history. he was a kindly old man, liked by everybody; and each year he allowed the indians to hold their mona fiesta at the four pools. though he had no idea why they held it in this exact spot each time--that up the slope above them was a hidden treasure that would have made the struggling homesteader rich for life. "then your father told me the worst part of it all. he and selden, it seems, had found out more of the story of bolivio than is to be unravelled today, with most of the old-timers dead and gone and the indians always closemouthed. anyway, they two found out about the secret gems and the significance of the fire dance. so they had planned deliberately to marry indian girls to further their knowledge of this matter. "it was understood between them that adam selden would intentionally fail to win out in the fire dance, and that peter drew, who was a hercules for endurance and strength, would win if he could, and thus become watchman of the dead and learn the whereabouts of the brilliants. this scheme they carried out, and peter drew took up residence with his brown-skinned bride on what is today the old ivison place. "then he redeemed himself by falling in love with his wife. in time he found out where the gem pockets were situated. but when selden came to him to see if he'd stumbled on to the secret, he put him off and said, 'not yet.' "from the date of the fiesta de santa maria de refugio until the night of the mona fiesta he remained undecided what to do. somehow or other, he told me, though he had been a highwayman and was then protected from the flimsy law of that day only by his indian brothers, he could not bring himself to break faith with them. "then came the night of the first mona fiesta since he became watchman of the dead; and that night temporarily decided him. "when he squatted in the circle about the fire and saw the rapt, tear-stained, brown faces of these people who had placed absolute faith in him, he fell under the spell of their simplicity, and swore that so long as he lived he would not betray their trust. "and he lived up to it, with his partner, adam selden importuning him daily to get the stones and skip the country. and finally to be rid of selden and the double game he was obliged to play, peter drew left with his wife one night and did not return for fifteen years. "and since then there has been no watchman of the dead until the night you defeated the evil spirits in the fire dance. "out in the world of white men peter drew settled down to ranching. his indian wife had died two years after he left this country. with her gone, and the new order of things all about him, he began to wonder if he had not been a fool. "up here in the lonesome hills was wealth untold, so far as he knew, and he renounced it for an ideal. to secure those gems he had only to show ingratitude to the showut poche-dakas, had only to break faith with a handful of ignorant, simple-minded indians. what did they and their ridiculous beliefs amount to in this great scheme of life as he now saw it? each day men on every hand were breaking faith to become wealthy, were trampling traditions and ideals underfoot to gain their golden ends. business was business--money was money! had he not been a fool? was he not still a fool--to renounce a fortune that was his for the taking? "he called himself an ignorant man. he told himself--and truly, too--that countless men whom he knew, who had read a thousand books to one merely opened by him--men of education, men of affairs--would laugh at him, and themselves would have wrested the treasure from its hiding place without a qualm of conscience. civilization was stalking on in its unconquerable march. should a handful of uncouth indians, a superstitious, dwindling tribe of near-savages, be permitted to handicap his part in this triumphal march? no--never! "but always, when he made ready to return to the scenes of his young manhood, there came before him the picture of brown, tear-stained faces about a fire, and of an old blind man speaking softly as if telling a story to eager children. highwayman peter drew had been, but never in his life had he broken faith with a friend. loyalty was the very backbone of my idealist, and he turned away from temptation and doggedly followed his plough. "for thirty years and more the question faced him. should he get the gems and be wealthy, and break faith with those who had entrusted him with the greatest thing in their lives--these people who had called him brother, whose last remnant of food or shelter was his for the asking? or should he remain an idealist, a poor man, but loyal to his trust? the answer was no or yes! "can't your imagination place you in his shoes? unlettered, not sure of himself, ashamed of what he doubtless termed his chicken-heartedness. don't you know that all of us are constantly ashamed of our secret ideals--ashamed of the best that is in us? we fear the ridicule of coarser minds, and hide what is godlike in our hearts. and on top of this, your father was ignorant, according to present day standards, and knew it. but for thirty years, oliver drew, he prospered while his idealism fought the battle against the lust for wealth. idealism won, but peter drew died not knowing whether he had been a wise man or a fool. he died a conqueror. give us more of such ignorance! "and he educated you, left you penniless, and placed his momentous question in your keeping. "fifteen years ago he bought the old ivison place, though the indians do not know it. adam selden has searched for the gems without result ever since peter drew left the country; and it was because of him that your father kept his purchase a secret. two years ago, while you were in france, peter drew came here, met me and liked me, and told me all that i have told you. "he knew that when you rode into this country with the saddle and bridle of bolivio that the showut poche-dakas would know who you were, and would take you in and make you watchman of the dead. peter drew wanted you to be penniless, as he had been when he first faced the question. he gave me money with which to help along the cause. so far i've only had to use it for liquid courtplaster, an _olla_, and a few bolts of calico. you were to learn nothing of the story from my lips. you were to face the question blindly, with no other influences about you save those that he had experienced. "i have done my best to carry out his wishes. you are the watchman of the dead. you own the land on which the treasure lies. you are brother of the showut poche-dakas. the treasure is yours almost for the lifting of a hand. you are almost penniless. "there's your question, oliver drew. say yes and the gems are yours. say no, and you have forty acres of almost worthless land, a saddle horse and outfit, and youth and health, and the lifetime office of watchman of the dead!" she ceased speaking. there were tears in her great black eyes as she looked at him levelly. "but--but--" oliver floundered. "i don't know where the gems are. selden has hunted them for thirty years, and has failed to find them. i've seen many evidences of his search. will the showut poche-dakas tell me where they are?" "your father thought that perhaps, after what has passed in connection with former watchmen of the dead, you might not be told the exact location. so he made provision for that." she reached in her bosom and handed him an envelope sealed with wax. on it he read in his father's hand: "map showing exact location of what is known as the lost mine of bolivio." "if you open it," she said, "your answer probably will be no, and you become owner of the gems. if you destroy it unopened, your answer is yes, and you are a poor man. yes or no, oliver drew? think over it tonight, and i'll meet you here tomorrow at noon." "what do _you_ want my answer to be?" he asked. "i have no right to express my wishes in the matter," she said. "and your answer is not to be told to me, you must remember, but to your father's lawyers." then she turned white ann into the narrow trail that led from lime rock. chapter xxiv in the deer path the morning following the trip to lime rock, oliver drew sat at his little home-made desk, his mind not on the work before him. tilted against the ink bottle stood the long, tough envelope that jessamy had given him, its black-wax seals still unbroken. he stared at it with unseeing eyes. after they had left lime rock, jessamy had given him a little more information on the subject which now loomed so big in his life. she thought, she had said, that for years the showut poche-dakas had suspected old man selden of knowing something of their secret. they could not have missed seeing the gophering that the old man had done on the hillside above the four pools. she knew positively that the indians had kept a watchful eye on him, and it could be for no other reason. the episode concerning oliver's bayonet wound had come as a complete surprise to her. it seemed now, she said, that peter drew had communicated with chupurosa not long before his death, and after oliver's return from france, and had told him to be prepared for the coming of his son and how to make sure that he was genuine. she had not known that peter drew had been in the poison oak country again, since he left after entrusting her with a hand in guiding oliver's future. she told of having overheard adam selden and oliver's conversation that night at poison oak ranch, and of the other eavesdropper who had stolen down from the spring. she was almost sure, she told him, that this man was digger foss; but whether or not foss knew of the treasure she could not determine. apparently, though, he suspected something of the kind, and had been looking out for his own interests that night. yes, it was the bridle and saddle and the gem-mounted _conchas_ that had changed selden's attitude toward oliver. the underlying reason for his wishing oliver off the old ivison place had been the fear that the search for the gems, which he had carried on intermittently for so long, would be interrupted. but to his gang he had pretended that it was sheer deviltry that caused him to contemplate driving the newcomer out. then a sight of the gem-mounted _conchas_ of his old partner, and the fact that oliver was at once taken into brotherhood by the showut poche-dakas changed his plans. oliver knew of the gems and had come to seek them. he either was dan smeed's son, or had been taken into dan smeed's confidence. oliver would become watchman of the dead. if he did not already know the location of the stones, he soon might learn it from the indians. his friendship must be cultivated by all means, so that selden might have the better chance of obtaining what he considered his rightful share of the treasure. oliver had then told jessamy of the prospect holes on the hillside, of digger foss's spying on the cabin, of tommy my-ma's strange actions, and of the lithia he had found. "yes, lithia is an indication of gems," she had told him. "and it would appear that digger knows of the treasure, after all. perhaps sometime selden confided in him in a careless moment, to enlist his aid in the search. they're pretty confidential. digger was watching your movements, to see if you had any definite idea of the location of the stones or were searching for them blindly. that's it! he knows! but still he's suspicious of old man selden. all of the poison oakers are now. they think he's double-crossing them some way, since he made friends with you. "as for tommy my-ma trailing digger, i'm not surprised. no doubt the showut poche-dakas are watching old man selden and his gang as respects their attitude toward the new watchman of the dead. if the poison oakers had tried actually to molest you, i have an idea they'd have found they'd bitten off a chunk. i think they would have had fifty showut poche-dakas on their backs before they had gone very far." all this passed through oliver's mind again and again this morning, as he sat there with pipe gone out and idle pencil in his fingers. what a romance that old father had woven about the life of his son! how skilfully and craftily he had planned so that oliver would be thrown on his own resources for an answer when he came face to face with the question! how cleverly jessamy had carried out the part entrusted to her, despite her aversion to intrigues and plottings! step by step she had led him on till at last the question confronted him, just as it had confronted his father before him. to gain possession of the gems would be a simple matter. they were on his land somewhere--were his by every right in law. he had but to invoke the protection of the keepers of the peace against the indians, break the seals of the long envelope, and dig in the place indicated by the map this envelope contained. but there was one thing which doubtless peter drew had not foreseen in his careful planning. he could not have known that his son was to fall desperately in love with the guiding star that he had appointed for him. and oliver drew knew in his heart that if he robbed the indians of these gems, which were to them only a symbol and had no meaning connected with worldly wealth, he would lose the girl. the only thing that stood between jessamy and him, he now believed, was her uncertainty of what his answer to the question would be. in her staunch heart she respected the belief of the showut poche-dakas, and to her the gems as a symbol were as worthy of her reverence as the sacred book of the christians. "i have as much reverence for a bareheaded indian girl on her knees to the sun god as for a hooded nun counting her beads," she had said. oliver stared at the inside of the cabin door, scarred and carved and full of bullet holes--at jessamy, my sweetheart. peter drew could not have foreseen this phase of the situation. in securing the gems oliver drew not only would lose his self-respect and make his father's thirty years of sacrifice a mockery, but he would lose the girl he loved. so oliver took small credit to himself when he rose from his desk at eleven o'clock, his mind made up. he placed the letter unopened in his shirt front, and went out and saddled poche. then he rode to the backbone and wormed his way along it toward lime rock. jessamy was there ahead of him, sitting erect on white ann's back, gazing upon the rugged objects of her daily adoration. "well," she said, "you've come," and her level eyes searched him through and through. "yes," he replied, riding to her side, "i've come; and my mind's made up." she raised her dark brows in an attempt to betoken a mild struggle between politeness and indifference; but the hand on her saddle horn trembled, and the red had gone out of her cheeks. "i must get out of here tomorrow," he said, "and go to los angeles. i've just about enough money to take me there and back; but i have the unbounded faith of an amateur in several farm articles now in editors' hands." she lowered black lashes over her eyes and nodded slowly up and down. "exactly," she said. "you must carry out peter drew's instructions to the letter." "but i can tell _you_ what my answer to dad's lawyers is going to be. i--" "don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "not a word to me. my responsibility ceased when i placed the envelope in your hands. i'm no longer concerned in the matter. that is--" she hesitated. "yes, go on." "until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added. "then, of course, i'll--i'll be sort of curious to know what your answer is." "then i'll come straight back to tell you," he promised. "and--why, what's the matter!" she had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was looking down the precipice. then before she could answer there came to oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the cañon. now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a thousand feet below them. then a second, and by and by another ringing report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall of the cañon. "merciful heavens!" cried jessamy. "it's old man selden! he's shot! look at him reel in his saddle! oh, horrors!... there he goes down on the ground!... but he's not killed! there--he's on his feet and shooting!" oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. now several puffs of white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like pigmies on pigmy horses. now and then a stream of flame spurted horizontally, and at once another answered it. then up barked the reports, followed by their mocking echoes. "it's come! it's come!" wailed jessamy. "obed pence, likely as not, has opened fire on old man selden, and the boys are after him. look--there's chuck and bolar and jay and winthrop--and, oh, most all of them! it's a general fight. oh, i knew it would come! i knew it! obed pence has been so nasty of late. they were all drunk last night. poor mother! oh, what shall we do, oliver? what can we do? we can't get down to them!" "and could do nothing if we did," he said tensely. down below six-shooters still popped, and the balls of smoke continued to grow in number over the willows. horsemen dashed madly about, shouting, firing. the two watchers learned later that obed pence, supported by muenster, allegan, and buchanan--all drunk for two days on the fiery monkey rum--had lain in wait for old man selden, and pence had ridden out and confronted him as he rode down the river trail, supposedly alone. but the selden boys for days had been hovering in the background, to see that their father got a square deal when he and obed pence next met. pence and adam selden had drawn simultaneously; but the hammer of the old man's colt had caught in the fringe of his chaps, and obed had shot him through the left lung. knowing their father to be a master gunman, his sons, who had not been close enough to witness the encounter, had jumped to the conclusion that pence had fired from ambush. they charged in accordingly, and opened fire on pence, killing him instantly. then pence's supporters had ridden forth in turn, and the general gun fight was on. "i can't sit here and see them murdering one another!" jessamy sobbed piteously. "they--they all may need killing, but--but i've lived with the old man and the boys, and--and--my mother!" the tears streamed down her cheeks as she made a trumpet of her hands and shouted down the precipice: "stop it! stop it at once, i say!" only the echoes of her piercing cry made answer, and she wrung her hands and beat her breast in anguish. "i'm going for help!" she cried abruptly. "they'll get behind trees pretty soon, and fight from cover. i'll ride to halfmoon flat for the constable and a posse to put a stop to this. can't--can't you ride up the trail and find a way down to them, oliver? old man selden maybe will listen to you. oh, maybe you can patch up peace between them!" "i'll try," said oliver grimly. she wheeled white ann and entered the narrow trail. oliver followed. recklessly she moved her mare at her rolling singlefoot along the dangerous trail, and eventually came out on the hillside. at once white ann leaped forward and sped over the hills, a streak of silver in the noonday sun. oliver loped poche to an obscure deer path that led down to the river, and as swiftly as possible began negotiating it. he had not progressed twenty yards when the chaparral before him suddenly parted, and digger foss confronted him, his wicked colt held waist-high and levelled. "stick 'em up!" he growled. "be quick!" thoroughly surprised, oliver reined in, and poche began to dance. mechanically oliver raised his hands above his head, then almost regretted that he had not tried to draw. but the picture of henry dodd reeling against the legs of jessamy's mare had been with him since his first day in the poison oakers' country. he knew that the halfbreed's aim was sure, and that his heart was a reservoir of venom. the first shock passed, his composure returned in a measure. there stood the halfbreed, spread-legged in the path. the lids of his mongolic eyes were lowered, and the beads of jet glittered wickedly from under them. he was drunk as a lord, oliver knew quite well from the augmented insolence of his cruel lips; but oliver knew that he might be all the more deadly, and that some drunken gunmen can shoot better than when sober. "what is this?--a holdup?" he asked, and bit his lip as he noted the tremble in his tones. "a holdup is right," said foss. "a holdup, an' a little business matter you and me's got to attend to." "well, let's get at it!" oliver snapped. "i'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," foss told him in a matter-of-fact tone. a cold chill ran along oliver's spine. should he make a dive for his gun? foss had every advantage, but-- foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his six-shooter ready. "down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you buttin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." foss had come to a stop, and was leering up at him. "you've made trouble ever since you come here. old man won't get rid o' you, but i'm goin' to today. but first, where's them gems?" "i can't tell you," said oliver. "you're a liar!" "thank you. you have the advantage of me, you know. slip your gun in the holster, and then call me a liar. i'll draw with you. my hands are up--you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your gun butt." "d'ye think you could draw with me?" "i know it. and before you. try it and see!" foss studied over this. "maybe--maybe!" he said. "i never did throw down on a man without givin' 'im a chance. but you got no chance with me, kid. they don't make 'em that can get the drop on digger foss!" "i'll take a chance," said oliver quietly. "we'll see about that later. but where's them stones?" "i don't know, i tell you." "what did you come up in this country for?" "on matters that concern me alone." "no doubt o' that--or so you think. but they're interestin' to me, too. what's in that letter jess'my handed you at lime rock yesterday?" "oh, you were sneaking about and saw that, were you! through your glasses, i suppose. well, i haven't opened it, and don't know what's in it. if i did i wouldn't tell you. my arms are growing a little tired. will you holster your gun and give me a chance before my arms play out?" "i will if you come across with what you know about the gems. you might as well. if i kill you, you won't be worryin' about gems. and if you croak me, why, what if you did tell me?--i'm dead, ain't i?" "there's sound logic in that," said oliver grimly. "i'll take you up. put your gun in its holster and drop your hands to your sides. then we'll draw, with your gun hand three feet nearer your gun than mine will be. come! i've got business down below." the halfbreed's eyes widened in unbelief. "d'ye really mean it, kid? you saw me shoot henry dodd--d'ye really wanta draw with me?" "i do." "but then you'll be dead, and i won't know nothin' about the gems. unless that letter tells?" "perhaps. you mustn't expect me to take _all_ the chances, you know." "does the letter tell?" "i haven't opened it, i say." foss studied in drunken seriousness. "and if you should happen to get me, why--why, where am i at again?" he puzzled. oliver laughed outright. "you're an amusing creature," he said. "i don't believe you're half the badman that you imagine you are." he believed nothing of the sort, but his arms were growing desperately weary and he must goad the drunken gunman into immediate action. "there's just one thing that's the matter with you," he gibed on, ready to descend to any speech that would cut the killer and break his deadly calm. "that's my getting your girl away from you! it's not the gems; it's that that hurts you. why, say, do you think she'd wipe her feet on you!" into the eyes of the halfbreed came a viperish light that almost stilled oliver's heartbeats. for an instant he feared that he had gone too far, that foss was about to shoot him down in cold blood. foss stood spread-legged in the path, as before, his face twisting with anger, the fingers of his left hand clinching and unclinching themselves. then oliver almost ceased to breathe as a silent, dark figure slipped wraithlike from the chaparral and began stealing toward the back of digger foss. "that settles it," said foss. "i'll kill you for that, gems or no gems! get ready! if you let down a hand while i'm puttin' up my gun i'll kill you like that!" he snapped the fingers of his left hand. "i'll stick by my bargain," oliver assured him, his glance struggling between foss and that silent figure slinking in his rear. what should he do? there was murder in the black eyes of the man who stole so stealthily upon the gunman's back. should he shout to foss? his sense of fair play cried out that he should. but foss might misinterpret the meaning of his upraised voice, and fire. should he-- "here goes! i'm puttin' up my gun. get ready, kid! when i--" there was a leap, a flash of steel in the sunlight, a scream of agonizing pain. oliver's gun was out and levelled; but foss was staggering from side to side, his arms limp before him, his head lopped forward as if he searched for something on the ground. he collapsed and lay there gasping hideously in the path, in a growing pool of blood. the chaparral opened and closed again; and then only oliver and the man in his death throes were remaining. even as bolivio had died, so died digger foss, in a path in the wilderness, with the knife of a showut poche-daka in his back. chapter xxv the answer two weeks had passed since the battle of the poison oakers. that organization was now no more. jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse to stop the fight had proved fruitless. only the constable and damon tamroy rode back with her with first aid packages, for halfmoon flat had voiced its indifference in a single sentence--"let 'em fight it out!" those whom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce. so the poison oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "finis" to the annals of their gang. old man selden died two days after the battle. winthrop was killed outright, and moffat was seriously wounded, but might recover. obed pence was dead; digger foss was dead. jay muenster was dead. thus half of their numbers were wiped out, and among them the controlling genius of the gang, old man selden. and without him those remaining, already split into two factions, were as a ship without a rudder. and all because of oliver drew! oliver stepped from the train at halfmoon flat this afternoon, two weeks after the fight. he had helped jessamy and her mother through the difficulties arising from the tragedy, had appeared as witness at the inquest, and had then hurried to los angeles with his sealed envelope. now, returning, he caught poche in a pasture close to the village and saddled him. it was one o'clock in the afternoon. he had lunched on the diner, so at once he lifted poche into his mile-devouring lope and headed straight for poison oak ranch. what changes had taken place since first he galloped along that road, barely four months before! few with whom he had come in contact were still pursuing the even tenor of their ways, as then. he thought of the fight and of the spectacular death of digger foss. at the inquest he had been unable to throw any light on the identity of the halfbreed's murderer. he was an indian--beyond this oliver could say no more. the coroner had quizzed him sharply. whereupon oliver had asked that official if he himself thought it likely that he could have looked into the muzzle of a colt revolver in the hands of digger foss, and at the same time make sure of the identity of a man stealing up behind him. the coroner had scratched his head. "i reckon i'd 'a' been tol'able int'rested in that gun o' digger's," was his confession. and oliver had told the truth. to this day he does not know who killed the gunman--but he knows that in all probability his own life was saved when it occurred, and that it was a showut poche-daka who struck the blow. at poison oak ranch he found jessamy awaiting him. he had sent her a wire the day before, telling her he was coming, and the hour he would arrive. they shook hands soberly, and after a short conversation with mrs. selden, oliver saddled white ann for jessamy and they rode away into the hills. they were for the most part silent as their horses jogged along manzanita-bordered trails. instinctively they avoided lime rock and its vicinity, and made toward the north, up over the hog-back hills, now sear and yellow, which climbed in interminable ranks to the snowy peaks. they came to a ledge that overlooked the river, and here they halted while the girl gazed down on scenes that never wearied her. they dismounted presently and seated themselves on two great grey stones. jessamy rested her round chin in her hand, and from under long lashes watched the green river winding about its serpentine curves below. the tragedy of death had left its mark on her face. there was a sober, half-pathetic droop to the red lips. the comradely black eyes were thoughtful. but the self-reliant poise of the sturdy shoulders still was hers, and the sense of strength that she exhaled was not impaired. her dress today was not rugged, as was ordinarily the case when she rode into the hills. she wore a black divided skirt, and a low-neck yellow-silk waist, trimmed with black, and a black-silk sailor's neckerchief. to further this effect a yellow rose nestled in her night-black hair. she looked like a gorgeous california oriole, so trim was her figure, so like that bird's were the contrast of colours she displayed. and her voice when she spoke, low and clear and throbbing melodiously, reminded him of the notes of this same sweet songster at nesting time. oliver sat looking at the profile of her face, with the wind-whipped hair about it. more fully than ever now he realized that she was everything in life to him. and today--now!--smilingly, unabashed. "well, jessamy," he began, "i have seen dad's lawyers." she turned her face toward him, but still rested her elbow on her knee, one cheek now cupped by her hand. "yes," she said softly. "tell me all about it." "and i gave them my answer to the question." for several moments her level glance searched his face, a little smile on her lips. "and what is your answer?" she asked. he rose and moved to the stone on which she sat, seating himself beside her. "don't you know what my answer is?" he asked softly. she continued to look at him fearlessly, smilingly, unabashed. "i think i know," she said. "but tell me." "my answer," he said, "is the same that dear old dad kept repeating for thirty years. i shall not enrich myself by sacrificing the confidence placed in me. i shall remain loyal to my simple trust. i am the watchman of the dead." her lips quivered and her eyes glowed warmly, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. oliver took from his shirt the envelope and showed her the black seals, still unbroken. then on a flat rock before them he made a tiny fire of grass and twigs, and placed the envelope on top of it. then he lighted a match. "the funeral pyre of my worldly fortune!" he apostrophized. "the lost mine of bolivio will be lost indeed when the map has burned." together they watched the tiny fire in silence, till the black wax sputtered and dripped down on the stone, and the eager flames crinkled the envelope and its contents and reduced them to ashes. "and now?" said oliver. "and now!" echoed jessamy. he slowly placed both arms about her and lifted her, unresisting, to her feet. he drew her close, brushed back her hair, and looked deep into eyes from which tears streamed unrestrained. then she threw her arms about his shoulders, and, with a glad laugh, half hysterical, she drew his head down and kissed him time and again. his hour had come. oliver drew had captured the star that had led him on and on--his star of destiny. warm were her lips and tremulous--glowing were her eyes for love of him. his pulse leaped madly as she gave herself to him in absolute surrender. "there's another matter," he said five minutes later, as she lay silent in his arms, with the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils. "old danforth, the head of the firm of attorneys that attended to dad's affairs, looked at me keenly from under shaggy brows when i gave my answer. "'so it's no, is it, young man?' he said. "'no it is,' i told him. "'in that case,' he said, 'you are to come with me.' "he took me to a bank and opened a safe-deposit box in the vaults. he showed me bonds totalling over a hundred thousand dollars, and cash that represented the interest coupons the firm had been clipping since dad died. "'here's the key,' he told me. 'if your answer had been yes, these bonds, too, would have gone to the church. for then you would have had the gems. your father didn't mean to leave you penniless. you would have been fairly well off, i imagine, whether your answer had been yes or no. your father wanted his question answered by a man of education, and i think he would be pleased at your decision.'" jessamy had straightened and twisted in his arms till her face was close to his. "peter drew never hinted at that to me!" she cried. "i--i suppose you'd have nothing but the old ivison place if you answered no. oh, my romantic old peter drew! god rest his soul! i'm so glad." "glad, eh?" he smiled whimsically at her, and she quickly interpreted his thoughts. "oh, but, oliver--you don't understand! it's not that you're wealthy, after all--but now you can give damon tamroy just what the cement company would have paid him for lime rock!" "lime rock shall be your wedding gift," he laughed. "oh, oliver! and--and when we're--married, you won't take me away from the poison oak country, will you, dear! i'll go anywhere you say--but these hills, and the river, and lime rock, and old dad sloan, and--my hummingbird--and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms in spring--and--oh, i love my country next to you, dear heart! and in my dreams i loved you even before you came riding to me in the silver-mounted saddle of bolivio, like a knight out of the past. this is my country--and if we must go, i'll pine for it--and maybe die like the indian bride. i want to stay here, oliver dear--with you--down on the dear old ivison place!" oliver tenderly kissed his star of destiny. "i have no other plans," he whispered into her ear. "my place is there.... i am the watchman of the dead!" the end domain material generously made available by the google books library project (http://books.google.com/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through the the google books library project. see http://books.google.com/books?id=aagdaaaamaaj&printsec=titlepage the city of numbered days by francis lynde illustrated by arthur e. becher charles scribner's sons new york copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published august, to my wife [illustration: "what would i do? a number of things." _page _] contents i. the heptaderm ii. j. wesley croesus iii. sands of pactolus iv. a fire of little sticks v. symptomatic vi. mirapolis vii. the speedway viii. table stakes ix. bedlam x. epochal xi. the feast of hurrahs xii. quicksands xiii. flood tide xiv. the abyss xv. the setting of the ebb xvi. the man on the bank xvii. the circean cup xviii. love's crucible xix. the sunset gun xx. the terror illustrations "what would i do? a number of things" _frontispiece_ brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!" brouillard got between the city of numbered days i the heptaderm it was not characteristic of brouillard--the brouillard grislow knew best--that he should suffer the purely technical talk of dams and reservoirs, bed-rock anchorages, and the latest word in concrete structural processes to languish and should drift into personal reminiscences over their first evening camp-fire in the niquoia. because the personalities were gratefully varying the monotonies, and also because he had a jocose respect for the unusual, grislow was careful not to discourage the drift. there had been a benumbing surfeit of the technical talk dating from the day and hour when the orders had come from washington giving brouillard his step up and directing him to advance with his squad of reclamation-service pioneers upon the new work in the western timanyonis. but, apart from this, the reminiscences had an experimental value. grislow's one unamiable leaning manifested itself in a zest for cleverly turning the hidden facets of the human polygon up to the light; and if the facets chose to turn themselves of their own accord, as in brouillard's case, why, so much the better. "as you were saying?" he prompted, stretching himself luxuriously upon the fragrant banking of freshly clipped spruce tips, with his feet to the blaze and his hands locked under his head. he felt that brouillard was merely responding to the subtle influences of time, place, and encompassments and took no shame for being an analytical rather than a sympathetic listener. the hundred-odd men of the pioneer party, relaxing after the day-long march over the mountains, were smoking, yarning, or playing cards around the dozen or more camp-fires. the evening, with a half-grown moon silvering the inverted bowl of a firmament which seemed to shut down, lid-like, upon the mountain rim of the high-walled valley, was witchingly enchanting; and, to add the final touch, there was comradely isolation, anson, griffith, and leshington, the three other members of the engineering staff, having gone to burn candles in the headquarters tent over blue-prints and field-notes. "i was saying that the present-day world slant is sanely skeptical--as it should be," brouillard went on at the end of the thoughtful pause. "being modern and reasonably sophisticated, we can smile at the signs and omens of the ages that had to get along without laboratories and testing plants. just the same, every man has his little atavistic streak, if you can hit upon it. for example, you may throw flip-flaps and call it rank superstition if you like, but i have never been able to get rid of the notion that birthdays are like the equinoxes--turning-points in the small, self-centred system which we call life." "poodle-dogs!" snorted the one whose attitude was both jocose and analytical, stuffing more of the spruce branches under his head to keep the pipe ashes from falling into his eyes. "i know; being my peculiar weakness instead of your own, it's tommy-rot to you," brouillard rejoined good-naturedly. "as i said a few minutes ago, i am only burbling to hear the sound of my own voice. but the bottoming fact remains. you give a screw twist to a child's mind, and if the mind of the man doesn't exhibit the same helical curve----" "suppose you climb down out of the high-browed altitudes and give it a plain, every-day name?" grumbled the staff authority on watersheds. "it's casting pearls before swine, but you're a pretty good sort of swine, grizzy. if you'll promise to keep your feet out of the trough, i'll tell you. away back in the porringer period, in which we are all like the pin-feathered dicky-birds, open-mouthed for anything anybody may drop into us, some one fed me with the number seven." "succulent morsel!" chuckled grislow. "did it agree with you?" brouillard sat back from the fire and clasped his hands over his bent knees. he was of a type rare enough to be noteworthy in a race which has drawn so heavily upon the anglo-saxon and teutonic stocks for its build and coloring: a well-knit figure of a man, rather under than over the normal stature, but bulging athletically in the loose-fitting khaki of the engineer; dark of skin, even where the sun had not burned its rich mahogany into the olive, and owning a face which, with the upcurled mustaches, the brooding black eyes, and the pure gallic outline of brow and jaw, might have served as a model for a vierge study of a fighting _franc-tireur_. "i don't remember how early in the game the thing began," he resumed, ignoring grislow's joking interruption, "but away back in the dimmest dawnings the number seven began to have a curious significance for me. from my earliest recollections things have been constantly associating themselves with seven or some multiple of it. you don't believe it, of course; but it is true." "which means that you have been sitting up and taking notice when the coincidences hit, and have forgotten the millions of times when they didn't," scoffed the listener. "probably," was the ready admission. "we all do that. but there is one set of 'coincidences,' as you call them, that can't be so easily turned down. back in the pin-feather time that i mentioned somebody handed me a fact--the discovery of the physiologists about the waste and replacement that goes on in the human organism, bringing around a complete cellular change about once in every seven years. are you asleep?" "not yet; go on," said the hydrographer. "it was a long time ago, and i was only a little tad; but i surrounded the idea and took it in literally, in the sense of a sudden and sort of magical change coming at the end of each seven-year period and bound to occur at those particular fixed times. the notion stuck to me like a cockle-bur, and sometimes i wonder if it isn't still sticking." "bugs!" ranted grislow, in good-natured ridicule, and brouillard laughed. "that is what i say to myself, murray, every time the fatal period rolls around. and yet----" "there isn't any 'and yet,'" cut in the scoffer derisively. "this is merely your night for being batty. 'fatal period'--suffering humanity!" "no, hold on: let me tell you, murray--i'd like to get it out of my system if i can. up to my seventh birthday i was a sickly child, puny and only about half alive. i recollect, as if it were only yesterday, how the neighbor women used to come in and condole with my mother, ignoring me, of course, as if i hadn't any ears. i can remember old aunt hetty parsons saying, time and again: 'no, mis' brouillard; you'll never raise that boy the longest day you live!'" "i'm waiting for the 'and yet,'" put in grislow, sitting up to relight his pipe with a blazing splinter from the fire. "it came--the change, i mean--when i was seven years old. that was the year of our removal to vincennes from the country village where i was born. since that time i haven't known what it means to be sick or even ailing." "bully old change!" applauded grislow. "is that all?" "no. what the second period spent on my body it took out of my mind. i grew stouter and stronger every year and became more and more the stupidest blockhead that ever thumbed a school-book. i simply couldn't learn, murray. my mother made excuses for me, as mothers will, but my father was in despair. he was an educated man, and i can imagine that my unconquerable doltishness went near to breaking his heart." "you are safely over that stage of it now, at all events," said the hydrographer in exaggerated sarcasm. "any man who can stare into the fire and think out fetching little imaginations like these you are handing me----" "sometimes i wish they were only imaginings, grizzy. but let me finish. i was fourteen to a day when i squeezed through the final grammar grade; think of it--fourteen years old and still with the women teachers! i found out afterward that i got my dubiously given passport to the high school chiefly because my father was one of the best-known and best-loved men in the old home town. perhaps it wasn't the magic seven that built me all over new that summer; perhaps it was only the change in schools and teachers. but from that year on, all the hard things were too easy. it was as if somebody or something had suddenly opened a closed door in my brain and let the daylight into all the dark corners at once." grislow sat up and finished for him. "yes; and since that time you have staved your way through the university, and butted into the reclamation service, and played skittles with every other man's chances of promotion until you have come out at the top of the heap in the construction division, all of which you're much too modest to brag about. but, say; we've skipped one of the seven-year flag-stations. what happened when you were twenty-one--or were you too busy just then chasing the elusive engineering degree to take notice?" brouillard was staring out over the loom of the dozen camp-fires--out and across the valley at the massive bulk of mount chigringo rising like a huge barrier dark to the sky-line save for a single pin-prick of yellow light fixing the position of a solitary miner's cabin half-way between the valley level and the summit. when he spoke again the hydrographer had been given time to shave another pipe charge of tobacco from his pocket plug and to fill and light the brier. "when i was twenty-one my father died, and"--he stopped short and then went on in a tone which was more than half apologetic--"i don't mind telling you, grislow; you're not the kind to pass it on where it would hurt. at twenty-one i was left with a back load that i am carrying to this good day; that i shall probably go on carrying through life." grislow walked around the fire, kicked two or three of the charred log ends into the blaze, and growled when the resulting smoke rose up to choke and blind him. "forget it, victor," he said in blunt retraction. "i thought it was merely a little splashing match and i didn't mean to back you out into deep water. i know something about the load business myself; i'm trying to put a couple of kid brothers through college, right now." "are you?" said brouillard half-absently; and then, as one who would not be selfishly indifferent: "that is fine. i wish i were going to have something as substantial as that to show for my wood sawing." "won't you?" "not in a thousand years, murray." "in less than a hundredth part of that time you'll be at the top of the reclamation-service pay-roll--won't that help out?" "no; not appreciably." grislow gave it up at that and went back to the original contention. "we're dodging the main issue," he said. "what is the active principle of your 'sevens'--or haven't you figured it out?" "change," was the prompt rejoinder; "always something different--radically different." "and what started you off into the memory woods, particularly, to-night?" "a small recurrence of the coincidences. it began with that hopelessly unreliable little clock that anson persists in carrying around with him wherever he goes. while you were up on the hill cutting your spruce tips anson pulled out and said he was going to unpack his camp kit. he went over to his tent and lighted up, and a few minutes afterward i heard the clock strike--seven. i looked at my watch and saw that it lacked a few minutes of eight, and the inference was that anson had set the clock wrong, as he commonly does. just as i was comfortably forgetting the significant reminder the clock went off again, striking slowly, as if the mechanism were nearly run down." "another seven?" queried grislow, growing interested in spite of a keen desire to lapse into ridicule again. "no; it struck four. i didn't imagine it, murray; i counted: one--two--three--four." "well?" was the bantering comment. "you couldn't conjure an omen out of that, could you? you say there was a light in the tent--i suppose anson was there tinkering with his little tin god of a timepiece. it's a habit of his." "that was the natural inference; but i was curious enough to go and look. when i lifted the flap the tent was empty. the clock was ticking away on anson's soap-box dressing-case, with a lighted candle beside it, and for a crazy half second i had a shock, murray--the minute-hand was pointing to four and the hour-hand to seven!" "still i don't see the miraculous significance," said the hydrographer. "don't you? it was only another of the coincidences, of course. while i stood staring at the clock anson came in with griffith's tool kit. 'i've got to tinker her again,' he said. 'she's got so she keeps pacific time with one hand and eastern with the other.' then i understood that he had been tinkering it and had merely gone over to griffith's tent for the tools." "well," said grislow again, "what of it? the clock struck seven, you say; but it also struck four." brouillard's smile tilted his curling mustaches to the sardonic angle. "the combination was what called the turn, grizzy. to-day happens to be my twenty-eighth birthday--the end of the fourth cycle of seven." "by george!" ejaculated the hydrographer in mock perturbation, sitting up so suddenly that he dropped his pipe into the ashes of the fire. "in that case, according to what seems to be the well-established custom, something is due to fall in right now!" "i have been looking for it all day," returned brouillard calmly, "which is considerably more ridiculous than anything else i have owned to, you will say. let it go at that. we'll talk about something real if you'd rather--that auxiliary reservoir supply from the apache basin, for example. were the field-notes in when you left washington?" and from the abrupt break, the technicalities came to their own again; were still holding the centre of the stage after the groups around the mess fires had melted away into the bunk shelters and tents, and the fires themselves had died down into chastened pools of incandescence edged each with its beach line of silvered ashes. it was murray grislow who finally rang the curtain call on the prolonged shop-talk. "say, man! do you know that it is after ten o'clock?" he demanded, holding the face of his watch down to the glow of the dying embers. "you may sit here all night, if you like, but it's me for the blankets and a few lines of 'tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy'--now, what in the name of a guilty conscience is _that_?" as it chanced, they were both facing toward the lower end of the valley when the quotation-breaking apparition flashed into view. in the deepest of the shadows at the mouth of the gorge, where the torrenting niquoia straightened itself momentarily before entering upon its plunging race through the mountain barrier, a beam of white light flickered unsteadily for a fraction of a second. then it became a luminous pencil to trace a zigzag line up the winding course of the river, across to the foot-hill spur where the camp of the reclamation-service vanguard was pitched, and so on around to the base of chigringo. for certain other seconds it remained quiescent, glowing balefully like the eye of some fabled monster searching for its prey. then it was gone. grislow's comment took the form of a half-startled exclamation. "by jove! wouldn't that give you a fit of the creepies?--this far from civilization and a dynamo?" "it wasn't an electric," returned brouillard thoughtfully, apparently taking grislow's suggestion literally. "it was an acetylene." "supposing it was--what's the difference? aren't we just as far from a carbide shop as we are from the dynamo? what are you calling it?" "your guess is as good as mine," was the half-absent reply. brouillard was still staring fixedly at the distant gulf of blackness where the mysterious light had appeared and disappeared. "then i'll make it and go to bed," said the hydrographer, rising and stretching his arms over his head. "if it had come a couple of hours ago we should have called it the 'spot-light,' turned on to mark the end of your fourth act and the beginning, auspicious or otherwise, of the fifth. maybe it is, anyway; maybe the property-man was asleep or drunk and forgot to turn it on at the spectacular instant. how will that do?" brouillard had got upon his feet and was buttoning his many-pocketed shooting-coat. "it will do to put you into the balaam saddle-beast class, grizzy," he said, almost morosely. then he added: "i'm going to take a little hike down yonder for investigative purposes. want to come along?" but the mapper of watersheds was yawning sleepily. "not on your tintype," he refused. "i'm going to 'cork it orf in me 'ammick.' wake me up when you come back and tell me what the fifth act is going to do to you. the more i think of it the more i'm convinced that it _was_ the spot-light, a little overdue, after all." and he turned away chuckling. it was only a short mile from the camp on the inward slopes of the eastern foot-hills to the mouth of the outlet gorge, across which brouillard could already see, in mental prevision, the great gray wall of the projected niquoia dam--his future work--curving majestically from the broken shoulder of chigringo to the opposing steeps of jack's mountain. the half-grown moon, tilting now toward the sky-line of the western barrier, was leaving the canyon portal in deepest gloom. as brouillard swung along he kept a watchful eye upon the gorge shadows, half expecting a return of the mysterious apparition. but when he finally reached the canyon portal and began to seek for the trail which roughly paralleled the left bank of the stream the mystery was still unexplained. from its upper portal in the valley's throat to the point where the river debouches among the low sand-hills of the buckskin desert the canyon of the niquoia measures little more than a mile as the bird flies, though its crookings through the barrier mountains fairly double the distance. beginning as a broken ravine at the valley outlet, the gorge narrows in its lower third to a cliff-walled raceway for the torrent, and the trail, leaving the bank of the stream, climbs the forested slope of a boundary spur to descend abruptly to the water's edge again at the desert gateway, where the niquoia, leaping joyously from the last of its many hamperings, becomes a placid river of the plain. picking his way judiciously because the trail was new to him, brouillard came in due time to the descending path among the spruces and scrub-pines leading to the western outlook upon the desert swales and sand-hills. at the canyon portal, where the forest thinned away and left him standing at the head of the final descending plunge in the trail, he found himself looking down upon the explanation of the curious apparition. none the less, what he saw was in itself rather inexplicable. in the first desert looping of the river a camp-fire of piñon knots was blazing cheerfully, and beside it, with a picnic hamper for a table, sat a supper party of three--two men and a woman--in enveloping dust-coats, and a third man in chauffeur leather serving the sitters. back of the group, and with its detachable search-light missing, stood a huge touring-car to account for the picnic hamper, the dust-coats, the man in leather, and, doubtless, for the apparitional eye which had appeared and disappeared at the mouth of the upper gorge. also it accounted, in a purely physical sense, for the presence of the picnickers, though the whim which had led them to cross the desolate buckskin desert for the dubious pleasure of making an all-night bivouac on its eastern edge was not so readily apparent. being himself a bedouin of the desert, brouillard's first impulse was hospitable. but when he remarked the ample proportions of the great touring-car and remembered the newness and rawness of his temporary camp he quickly decided that the young woman member of the party would probably fare better where she was. this being the case, the young engineer saw no reason why he should intrude upon the group at the cheerful camp-fire. on the contrary, he began speedily to find good and sufficient reasons why he should not. that the real restraining motive was a sudden attack of desert shyness he would not have admitted. but the fact remained. good red blood with its quickenings of courage and self-reliance, and a manful ability to do and dare, are the desert's gifts; but the penalty the desert exacts in return for them is evenly proportioned. four years in the reclamation service had made the good-looking young chief of construction a man-queller of quality. but each year of isolation had done something toward weakening the social ties. a loosened pebble turned the scale. when a bit of the coarse-grained sandstone of the trail rolled under brouillard's foot and went clattering down to plunge into the stream the man in chauffeur leather reached for the search-light lantern and directed its beam upon the canyon portal. but by that time brouillard had sought the shelter of the scrub-pines and was retracing his steps up the shoulder of the mountain. ii j. wesley croesus measured even by the rather exacting standards of the mining and cattle country, brouillard was not what the west calls "jumpy." four years of field-work, government or other, count for something; and the man who has proved powder-shy in any stage of his grapple with the land of short notice is customarily a dead man. in spite of his training, however, the young chief of construction, making an early morning exploration of the site for the new dam at the mouth of the outlet gorge while the rank and file of the pioneer force were building the permanent camp half-way between the foot-hills and the river, winced handsomely when the shock of a distance-muffled explosion trembled upon the crisp morning air, coming, as it seemed, from some point near the lower end of the canyon. the dull rumble of the explosion and the little start for which it was accountable were disconcerting in more ways than one. as an industry captain busy with the preliminaries of what promised to be one of the greatest of the modern salvages of the waste places, brouillard had been assuring himself that his work was large enough to fill all his horizons. but the detonating crash reminded him forcibly that the presence of the touring party was asserting itself as a disturbing element and that the incident of its discovery the night before had been dividing time pretty equally with his verification of the locating engineer's blue-print mappings and field-notes. this was the first thought, and it was pointedly irritating. but the rebound flung him quickly over into the field of the common humanities. the explosion was too heavy to figure as a gun-shot; and, besides, it was the closed season for game. therefore, it must have been an accident of some sort--possibly the blowing up of the automobile. brouillard had once seen the gasolene tank of a motor-car take fire and go up like a pyrotechnic set piece in a sham battle. between this and a hurried weighting of the sheaf of blue-prints with his field-glass preparatory to a first-aid dash down the outlet gorge, there was no appreciable interval. but the humane impulse doubled back upon itself tumultuously when he came to his outlook halting place of the night before. there had been no accident. the big touring-car, yellow with the dust of the buckskin, stood intact on the sand flat where it had been backed and turned and headed toward the desert. wading in the shallows of the river with a linen dust robe for a seine, the two younger men of the party were gathering the choicest of the dead mountain trout with which the eddy was thickly dotted. coming toward him on the upward trail and climbing laboriously to gain the easier path among the pines, were the two remaining members of the party--an elderly, pudgy, stockily built man with a gray face, stiff gray mustaches and sandy-gray eyes to match, and the young woman, booted, gauntleted, veiled, and bulked into shapelessness by her touring coat, and yet triumphing exuberantly over all of these handicaps in an ebullient excess of captivating beauty and attractiveness. being a fisherman of mark and a true sportsman, brouillard had a sudden rush of blood to the anger cells when he realized that the alarm which had brought him two hard-breathing miles out of his way had been the discharge of a stick of dynamite thrown into the niquoia for the fish-killing purpose. in his code the dynamiting of a stream figured as a high crime. but the two on the trail had come up, and his protest was forestalled by the elderly man with the gray face and the sandy-gray eyes, whose explosive "ha!" was as much a measure of his breathlessness as of his surprise. "i was just telling van bruce that his thundering fish cartridge would raise the neighbors," the trail climber went on with a stout man's chuckle. and then: "you're one of the reclamation engineers? great work the government is undertaking here--fine opportunity to demonstrate the lifting power of aggregated capital backed by science and energy and a whole heap of initiative. it's a high honor to be connected with it, and that's a fact. you _are_ connected with it, aren't you?" brouillard's nod was for the man, but his words were for the young woman whose beauty refused to be quenched by the touring handicaps. "yes, i am in charge of it," he said. "ha!" said the stout man, and this time the exclamation was purely approbative. "chief engineer, eh? that's fine, _fine_! you're young, and you've climbed pretty fast. but that's the way with you young men nowadays; you begin where we older fellows leave off. i'm glad we met you. my name is cortwright--j. wesley cortwright, of chicago. and yours is----?" brouillard named himself in one word. strangers usually found him bluntly unresponsive to anything like effusiveness, but he was finding it curiously difficult to resist the good-natured heartiness which seemed to exude from the talkative gentleman, overlaying him like the honeydew on the leaves in a droughty forest. if mr. j. wesley cortwright's surprise on hearing the brouillard surname was not genuine it was at least an excellent imitation. "well, well, well--you don't say! not of the brouillards of knox county, indiana?--but, of course, you must be. there is only the one family that i ever heard of, and it is mighty good, old _voyageur_ stock, too, dating 'way back to the revolutionary war, and further. i've bought hogs of the farmer brouillards hundreds of times when i was in the packing business, and i want to tell you that no finer animals ever came into the chicago market." "yes?" said brouillard, driving the word in edgewise. "i am sorry to say that i don't know many of the farmers. our branch of the family settled near vincennes, and my father was on the bench, when he wasn't in politics." "what? not judge antoine! why, my dear young man! do you know that i once had the pleasure of introducing your good father to my bankers in chicago? it was years ago, at a time when he was interested in floating a bond issue for some growing industry down on the wabash. and to think that away out here in this howling wilderness, a thousand miles from nowhere, as you might say, i should meet his son!" brouillard laughed and fell headlong into the pit of triteness. "the world isn't so very big when you come to surround it properly, mr. cortwright," he asserted. "that's a fact; and we're doing our level best nowadays to make and keep it little," buzzed the portly man cheerfully, with a wave of one pudgy arm toward the automobile. "it's about a hundred and twenty miles from this to el gato, on the grand canyon, isn't it, mr. brouillard? well, we did it in five hours yesterday afternoon, and we could have cut an hour out of that if rickert hadn't mistaken the way across the buckskin. not that it made any special difference. we expected to spend one night out and came prepared." brouillard admitted that the touring feat kept even pace with the quickening spirit of the age; but he did not add that the motive for the feat was not quite so apparent as it might be. this mystery, however, was immediately brushed aside by mr. cortwright, speaking in his character of universal ouster of mysteries. "you are wondering what fool notion chased us away out here in the desert when we had a comfortable hotel to stop at," he rattled on. "i'll tell you, mr. brouillard--in confidence. it was curiosity--raw, country curiosity. the papers and magazines have been full of this buckskin reclamation scheme, and we wanted to see the place where all the wonderful miracles were going to get themselves wrought out. have you got time to 'put us next'?" brouillard, as the son of the man who had been introduced to the chicago money gods in his hour of need, could scarcely do less than to take the time. the project, he explained, contemplated the building of a high dam across the upper end of the niquoia canyon and the converting of the inland valley above into a great storage reservoir. from this reservoir a series of distributing canals would lead the water out upon the arid lands of the buckskin and the miracle would be a fact accomplished. "sure, sure!" said the cheerful querist, feeling in the pockets of the automobile coat for a cigar. at the match-striking instant he remembered a thing neglected. "by george! you'll have to excuse me, mr. brouillard; i'm always forgetting the little social dewdabs. let me present you to my daughter genevieve. gene, shake hands with the son of my good old friend judge antoine brouillard, of vincennes." it was rather awkwardly done, and somehow brouillard could not help fancying that mr. cortwright could have done it better; that the roughly informal introduction was only one of the component parts of a studied brusquerie which mr. cortwright could put on and off at will, like a well-worn working coat. but when the unquenchable beauty stripped her gauntlet and gave him her hand, with a dazzling smile and a word of acknowledgment which was not borrowed from her father's effusive vocabulary, he straightway fell into another pit of triteness and his saving first impressions of mr. j. wesley cortwright's character began to fade. "i'm immensely interested," was miss cortwright's comment on the outlining of the reclamation project. "do you mean to say that real farms with green things growing on them can be made out of that frightful desert we drove over yesterday afternoon?" brouillard smiled and plunged fatuously. "oh, yes; the farms are already there. nature made them, you know; she merely forgot to arrange for their watering." he was going on to tell about the exhaustive experiments the department of agriculture experts had been making upon the buckskin soils when the gentleman whose name had once figured upon countless thousands of lard packages cut in. "do you know what i'm thinking about, mr. brouillard? i'm saying it over soft and slow to myself that no young man in this world ever had such a magnificent fighting chance as you have right here," he averred, the sandy-gray eyes growing suddenly alert and shrewd. "if you don't come out of this with money enough to buy in all those bonds your father was placing that time in chicago--but of course you will." "i'm afraid i don't quite understand what you mean, mr. cortwright," said brouillard, with some inner monitor warning him that it would be better not to understand. the portly gentleman became suddenly facetious. "hear him, gene," he chuckled, sharing the joke with his daughter; "he says he doesn't understand!" then to brouillard: "say, young man; you don't mean to tell me that your father's son needs a guardian, do you? you know exactly where these canals are going to run and all the choice spots they are going to irrigate; what's to prevent your getting in ahead of the rush and taking up a dozen or so of those prime quarter-sections--homesteads, town sites, and the like? lack of money? why, bless your soul, there are plenty of us who would fall all over ourselves running to back a proposition like that--any god's quantity of us who would fairly throw the working capital at you! for that matter, i don't know but i'd undertake to finance you alone." brouillard's first impulse sprang full-grown out of honest anger. that any man who had known his father should make such a proposal to that father's son was a bald insult to the father's memory. but the calmer second thought turned wrath into amused tolerance. the costly touring-car, the idle, time-killing jaunt in the desert, the dynamiting of the river for the sake of taking a few fish--all these were the indices of a point of view limited strictly by a successful market for hog products. why should he go out of his way to quarrel with it on high moral grounds? "you forget that i am first of all the government's hired man, mr. cortwright," he demurred. "my job of dam building will be fully big enough and strenuous enough to keep me busy. aside from that, i fancy the department heads would take it rather hard if we fellows in the field went plum picking." "let them!" retorted the potential backer of profitable side issues. "what's the odds if you go to it and bring back the money? i tell you, mr. brouillard, money--bunched money--is what talks. a good, healthy bank balance makes so much noise that you can't hear the knockers. if the washington crowd had your chance--but never mind, that's your business and none of mine, and you'll take it as it's meant, as a good-natured hint to your father's son. how far is it up to where you are going to build your dam?" brouillard gave the distance, and mr. cortwright measured the visible trail grades with a deprecatory eye. "do you think my daughter could walk it?" he asked. miss genevieve answered for herself: "of course i can walk it; can't i, mr. brouillard?" "i'll be glad to show you the way if you care to try," brouillard offered; and the tentative invitation was promptly accepted. the transfer of view-points from the lower end of the canyon to the upper was effected without incident, save at its beginning, when the father would have called down to the young man who had waded ashore and was drying himself before the camp-fire. "van bruce won't care to go," the daughter hastened to say; and brouillard, whose gift it was to be able to pick out and identify the human derelict at long range, understood perfectly well the reason for the young woman's hasty interruption. one result of the successfully marketed lard packages was very plainly evident in the dissipated face and hangdog attitude of the marketer's son. conversation flagged, even to the discouragement of a voluble money king, on the climb from the buckskin level to that of the reservoir valley. the trail was narrow, and brouillard unconsciously set a pace which was almost inhospitable for a stockily built man whose tendency was toward increasing waist measures. but when they reached the pine-tree of the anchored blue-prints at the upper portal, mr. cortwright recovered his breath sufficiently to gasp his appreciation of the prospect and its possibilities. "why, good goodness, mr. brouillard, it's practically all done for you!" he wheezed, taking in the level, mountain-enclosed valley with an appraisive eye-sweep. "van bruce and the chauffeur came up here last night, with one of the car lamps for a lantern, but of course they couldn't bring back any idea of the place. what will you do?--build your dam right here and take out your canal through the canyon? is that the plan?" brouillard nodded and went a little further into details, showing how the inward-arching barrier would be anchored into the two opposing mountain buttresses. "and the structure itself--how high is it to be?" "two hundred feet above the spillway apron foot." the lard millionaire twisted his short, fat neck and guessed the distance up the precipitous slopes of chigringo and jack's mountain. "that will be a whale of a chunk of masonry," he said. then, with business-like directness: "what will you build it of?--concrete?" "yes; concrete and steel." "then you are going to need portland cement--a whole world of it. where will you get it? and how will you get it here?" brouillard smiled inwardly at the pork packer's suddenly awakened interest in the technical ways and means. his four years in the desert had taken him out of touch with a money-making world, and this momentary contact with one of its successful devotees was illuminating. he had a growing conviction that the sordid atmosphere which appeared to be as the breath of life to mr. j. wesley cortwright would presently begin to make things taste coppery, but the inextinguishable charm of the veiled princess was a compensation. it was partly for the sake of seeing her with the veil abolished that he recovered the paper-weighting field-glass and gave it to her, showing her how to focus it upon the upper reaches of the valley. "we are in luck on the cement proposition," he told the eager money-maker. "we shall probably manufacture our own supply right here on the ground. there is plenty of limestone and an excellent shale in those hills just beyond our camp; and for burning fuel there is a fairly good vein of bituminous coal underlying that farther range at the head of the valley." "h'm," said the millionaire; "a cement plant, eh? there's money in that anywhere on the face of the globe, just now. and over here, where there is no transportation--gad! if you only had somebody to sell cement to, you could ask your own price. the materials have all been tested, i suppose?" "oh, yes; we've had experts in here for more than a year. the material is all right." "and your labor?" "on the dam, you mean? one advantage of concrete work is that it does not require any great proportion of skilled labor, the crushing, mixing, and placing all being done by machinery. we shall work all the indians we can get from the navajo reservation, forty-odd miles south of here; for the remainder we shall import men from the states, bringing them in over the timanyoni high line--the trail from quesado on the red butte western. at least, that is what we shall do for the present. later on, the railroad will probably build an extension up the barking dog and over war arrow pass." mr. cortwright's calculating eye roved once more over the attractive prospect. "fuel for your power plant?--wood i take it?" he surmised; and then: "oh, i forgot; you say you have coal." "yes; there is coal, of a sort; good enough for the cement kilns. but we sha'n't burn it for power. neither shall we burn the timber, which can be put to much better use in building and in false- and form-work. there are no finer lumber forests this side of the sierras. for power we shall utilize the river. there is another small canyon at the head of the valley where a temporary dam can be built which will deliver power enough to run anything--an entire manufacturing city, if we had one." mr. cortwright made a clucking noise with his tongue and blew his cheeks out like a swimmer gasping for breath. "julius cæsar!" he exploded. "you stand there and tell me calmly that the government has all these resources coopered up here in a barrel?--that nobody is going to get a chance to make any money out of them? it's a crime, mr. brouillard; that's just what it is--a crime!" "no; i didn't say that. the resources just happen to be here and we shall turn them to good account. but if there were any feasible transportation facilities i doubt if we should make use of these native raw materials. it is the policy of the department to go into the market like any other buyer where it can. but here there are no sellers, or, rather, no way in which the sellers can reach us." "no sellers and no chance for a man to get the thin edge of a wedge in anywhere," lamented the money-maker despairingly. then his eye lighted upon the graybeard dump of a solitary mine high up on the face of mount chigringo. "what's that up there?" he demanded. "it is a mine," said brouillard, showing miss cortwright how to adjust the field-glass for the shorter distance. "two men named massingale, father and son, are working it, i'm told." and then again to miss genevieve: "that is their cabin--on the trail a little to the right of the tunnel opening." "i see it quite plainly," she returned. "two people are just leaving it to ride down the path--a man and a woman, i think, though the woman--if it is a woman--is riding on a man's saddle." brouillard's eyebrows went up in a little arch of surprise. harding, the topographical engineer who had made all the preliminary surveys and had spent the better part of the former summer in the niquoia, had reported on the massingales, father and son, and his report had conveyed a hint of possible antagonism on the part of the mine owners to the government project. but there had been no mention of a woman. "the massingale mine, eh?" broke in the appraiser of values crisply. "they showed us some ore specimens from that property while we were stopping over in red butte. it's rich--good and plenty rich--if they have the quantity. and somebody told me they had the quantity, too; only it was too far from the railroad--couldn't jack-freight it profitably over the timanyonis." "in which case it is one of many," brouillard said, taking refuge in the generalities. but mr. cortwright was not to be so easily diverted from the pointed particulars--the particulars having to do with the pursuit of the market trail. "i'm beginning to get my feet on bottom, brouillard," he said, dropping the courtesy prefix and shoving his fat hands deep into the pockets of the dust-coat. "there's a business proposition here, and it looks mighty good to me. that was a mere nursery notion i gave you a while back--about picking up homesteads and town sites in the buckskin. the big thing is right here. i tell you, i can smell money in this valley of yours--scads of it." brouillard laughed. "it is only the fragrance of future reclamation-service appropriations," he suggested. "there will be a good bit of money spent here before the buckskin desert gets its maiden wetting." "i don't mean that at all," was the impatient rejoinder. "let me show you: you are going to have a population of some sort, if it's only the population that your big job will bring here. that's the basis. then you're going to need material by the train load, not the raw stuff, which you say is right here on the ground, but the manufactured article--cement, lumber, and steel. you can ship this material in over the range at prices that will be pretty nearly prohibitory, or, as you suggest, it can be manufactured right here on the spot." "the cement and the lumber can be produced here, but not the steel," brouillard corrected. "that's where you're off," snapped the millionaire. "there are fine ore beds in the hophras and a pretty good quality of coking coal. ten or twelve miles of a narrow-gauge railroad would dump the pig metal into the upper end of your valley, and there you are. with a small reduction plant you could tell the big steel people to go hang." brouillard admitted the postulate without prejudice to a keen and growing wonder. how did it happen that this chicago money king had taken the trouble to inform himself so accurately in regard to the natural resources of the niquoia region? had he not expressly declared that the object of the desert automobile trip was mere tourist curiosity? given a little time, the engineer would have cornered the inquiry, making it yield some sort of a reasonable answer; but mr. cortwright was galloping on again. "there you are, then, with the three prime requisites in raw material: cement stock, timber, and pig metal. fuel you've got, you say, and if it isn't good enough, your dummy railroad can supply you from the hophra mines. best of all, you've got power to burn--and that's the key to any manufacturing proposition. well and good. now, you know, and i know, that the government doesn't care to go into the manufacturing business when it can help it. isn't that so?" "unquestionably. but this is a case of can't-help-it," brouillard argued. "you couldn't begin to interest private capital in any of these industries you speak of." "why not?" was the curt demand. "because of their impermanence--their dependence upon a market which will quit definitely when the dam is completed. what you are suggesting predicates a good, busy little city in this valley, behind the dam--since there is no other feasible place for it--and it would be strictly a city of numbered days. when the dam is completed and the spillway gates are closed, the niqoyastcàdje and everything in it will go down under two hundred feet of water." "the--what?" queried miss cortwright, lowering the glass with which she had been following the progress of the two riders down the buckskin trail from the high-pitched mine on chigringo. "the niqoyastcàdje--'place-where-they-came-up,'" said brouillard, elucidating for her. "that is the navajo name for this valley. the indians have a legend that this is the spot where their tribal ancestors came up from the underworld. our map makers shortened it to 'niquoia' and the cow-men of the buckskin foot-hills have cut that to 'nick-wire.'" this bit of explanatory place lore was entirely lost upon mr. j. wesley cortwright. he was chewing the ends of his short mustaches and scowling thoughtfully out upon the possible site of the future industrial city of the plain. "say, brouillard," he cut in, "you get me the right to build that power dam, and give me the contracts for what material you'd rather buy than make, and i'll be switched if i don't take a shot at this drowning proposition myself. i tell you, it looks pretty good to me. what do you say?" "i'll say what i said a few minutes ago," laughed the young chief of construction--"that i'm only a hired man. you'll have to go a good few rounds higher up on the authority ladder to close a deal like that. i'm not sure it wouldn't require an act of congress." "well, by george, we might get even that if we have to," was the optimistic assertion. "you think about it." "i guess it isn't my think," said brouillard, still inclined to take the retired pork packer's suggestion as the mere ravings of a money-mad promoter. "as the government engineer in charge of this work, i couldn't afford to be identified even as a friendly intermediary in any such scheme as the one you are proposing." "of course, i suppose not," agreed the would-be promoter, sucking his under lip in a way ominously familiar to his antagonists in the wheat pit. then he glanced at his watch and changed the subject abruptly. "we'll have to be straggling back to the chug-wagon. much obliged to you, mr. brouillard. will you come down and see us off?" brouillard said "yes," for miss cortwright's sake, and took the field-glass she was returning to put it back upon the sheaf of blue-prints. she saw what he did with it and made instant acknowledgments. "it was good of you to neglect your work for us," she said, smiling level-eyed at him when he straightened up. he was frank enough to tell the truth--or part of it. "it was the dynamite that called me off. doesn't your brother know that it is illegal to shoot a trout stream?" she waited until her father was out of ear-shot on the gorge trail before she answered: "he ought to know that it is caddish and unsportsmanlike. i didn't know what he and rickert were doing or i should have stopped them." "in that event we shouldn't have met, and you would have missed your chance of seeing the niqoyastcàdje and the site of the city that isn't to be--the city of numbered days," he jested, adding, less lightly: "you wouldn't have missed very much." "no?" she countered with a bright return of the alluring smile which he had first seen through the filmy gauze of the automobile veil. "do you want me to say that i should have missed a great deal? you may consider it said if you wish." he made no reply to the bit of persiflage, and a little later felt the inward warmth of an upflash of resentment directed not at his companion but at himself for having been momentarily tempted to take the persiflage seriously. the temptation was another of the consequences of the four years of isolation which had cut him off from the world of women no less completely than from the world of money-getting. but it was rather humiliating, none the less. "what have i done to make you forget how to talk?" she wished to know, five minutes further on, when his silence was promising to outlast the canyon passage. "you? nothing at all," he hastened to say. then he took the first step in the fatal road of attempting to account for himself. "but i have forgotten, just the same. it has been years since i have had a chance to talk to a woman. do you wonder that i have lost the knack?" "how dreadful!" she laughed. and afterward, with a return to the half-serious mood which had threatened to reopen the door so lately slammed in the face of temptation: "perhaps we shall come back to niqo--niqoy--i simply _can't_ say it without sneezing--and then you might relearn some of the things you have forgotten. wouldn't that be delightful?" this time he chose to ignore utterly the voice of the inward monitor, which was assuring him coldly that young women of miss cortwright's world plane were constrained by the accepted rules of their kind to play the game in season and out of season, and his half-laughing reply was at once a defiance and a counter-challenge. "i dare you to come!" he said brazenly. "haven't you heard how the men of the desert camps kill each other for the chance to pick up a lady's handkerchief?" they were at the final descent in the trail, with the buckskin blanknesses showing hotly beyond the curtaining of pines, and there was space only for a flash of the beautiful eyes and a beckoning word. "in that case, i hope you know how to shoot straight, mr. brouillard," she said quizzically; and then they passed at a step from romance to the crude realities. the realities were basing themselves upon the advent of two new-comers, riding down the chigringo trail to the ford which had been the scene of the fish slaughtering; a sunburnt young man in goatskin "shaps," flannel shirt and a flapping stetson, and a girl whose face reminded brouillard of one of the madonnas, whose name and painter he strove vainly to recall. ten seconds farther along the horses of the pair were sniffing suspiciously at the automobile, and the young man under the flapping hat was telling van bruce cortwright what he thought of cartridge fishermen in general, and of this present cartridge fisherman in particular. "which the same, being translated into buckskin english, hollers like this," he concluded. "don't you tote any more fish ca'tridges into this here rese'vation; not no more, whatsoever. who says so? well, if anybody should ask, you might say it was tig smith, foreman o' the tri'-circ' outfit. no, i ain't no game warden, but what i say goes as she lays. _savez?_" the chauffeur was adjusting something under the upturned bonnet of the touring-car and thus hiding his grin. mr. cortwright, who had maintained his lead on the descent to the desert level, was trying to come between his sullen-faced son and the irate cattleman, money in hand. brouillard walked his companion down to the car and helped her to a seat in the tonneau. she repaid him with a nod and a smile, and when he saw that the crudities were not troubling her he stepped aside and unconsciously fell to comparing the two--the girl on horseback and his walking mate of the canyon passage. they had little enough in common, apart from their descent from eve, he decided--and the decision itself was subconscious. the millionaire's daughter was a warm blonde, beautiful, queenly, a finished product of civilization and high-priced culture; a woman of the world, standing but a single remove from the generation of quick money-getting and yet able to make the money take its proper place as a means to an end. and the girl on horseback? brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him. a rather slight figure, suggestive of the flexible strength of a silken cord; a face winsome rather than beautiful; coils and masses of copper-brown hair escaping under the jaunty cow-boy hat; eyes ... it was her eyes that made brouillard look the third time: they were blue, with a hint of violet in them; he made sure of this when she turned her head and met his gaze fearlessly and with a certain calm serenity that made him feel suddenly uncomfortable and half embarrassed. nevertheless, he would not look aside; and he caught himself wondering if her cow-boy lover--he had already jumped to the sentimental conclusion--had ever been able to look into those steadfast eyes and trifle with the truth. so far the young chief of construction had travelled on the road reflective while the fish-slaughtering matter was getting itself threshed out at the river's edge. when it was finally settled--not by the tender of money that mr. cortwright had made--the man smith and his pretty riding mate galloped through the ford and disappeared among the barren hills, and the chauffeur was at liberty to start the motor. "_au revoir_, mr. brouillard," said the princess, as the big car righted itself for the southward flight into the desert. then, when the wheels began to churn in the loose sand of the halting place, she leaned out to give him a woman's leave-taking. "if i were you i shouldn't fall in love with the calm-eyed goddess who rides like a man. mr. tri'-circ' smith might object, you know; and you haven't yet told me whether or not you can shoot straight." there was something almost heart-warming in the bit of parting badinage; something to make the young engineer feel figuratively for the knife with which he had resolutely cut around himself to the dividing of all hindrances, sentimental or other, on a certain wretched day years before when he had shouldered his life back-load. [illustration: brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him.] but the warmth might have given place to a disconcerting chill if he could have heard mr. j. wesley cortwright's remark to his seat companion, made when the canyon portal of the niquoia and the man climbing the path beside it were hazy mirage distortions in the backward distances. "he isn't going to be the dead easy mark i hoped to find in the son of the old bankrupt hair-splitter, genie, girl. but he'll come down and hook himself all right if the bait is well covered with his particular brand of sugar. don't you forget it." iii sands of pactolus if victor brouillard had been disposed to speculate curiously upon the possibilities suggested by mr. j. wesley cortwright on the occasion of the capitalist's brief visit to the niquoia, or had been tempted to dwell sentimentally upon the idyllic crossing of orbits--miss genevieve's and his own--on the desert's rim, there was little leisure for either indulgence during the strenuous early summer weeks which followed the cortwright invasion. popular belief to the contrary notwithstanding, it is not precisely true that all government undertakings are dilatory industrial imitations, designed, primarily, to promote the even-handed cutting of some appropriation pie, and, secondarily, to provide easy sinecures for placemen and political heelers. holding no brief for the government, one may still say without fear of contradiction that _laissez-faire_ has seldom been justly charged against the reclamation service. fairly confronting his problem, brouillard did not find himself hampered by departmental inertia. while he was rapidly organizing his force for the constructive attack, the equipment and preliminary material for the building of the great dam were piling up by the train load on the side-tracks at quesado; and at once the man- and beast-killing task of rushing the excavating outfit of machinery, teams, scrapers, rock-drilling installations, steam-shovels, and the like, over the war arrow trail was begun. during the weeks which followed, the same trail, and a little later that from the navajo reservation on the south, were strung with ant-like processions of laborers pouring into the shut-in valley at the foot of mount chigringo. almost as if by magic a populous camp of tents, shelter shacks, and indian tepees sprang up in the level bed-bottom of the future lake; camp-fires gave place to mess kitchens; the commissary became a busy department store stocked with everything that thrifty or thriftless labor might wish to purchase; and daily the great foundation scorings in the buttressing shoulders of jack's mountain and chigringo grew deeper and wider under the churning of the air-drills, the crashings of the dynamite, and the rattle and chug of the steam-shovels. magically, too, the life of the isolated working camp sprang into being. from the beginning its speech was a curious polyglot; the hissings and bubblings of the melting-pot out of which a new citizenry is poured. poles and slovaks, men from the slopes of the carpathians, the terraces of the apennines, and the passes of the balkans; scandinavians from the pineries of the north, and a colony of railroad-grading greeks, fresh from the building of a great transcontinental line; all these and more were spilled into the melting-pot, and a new babel resulted. only the indians held aloof. careful from the first for these wards of the nation, brouillard had made laws of draconian severity. the navajos were isolated upon a small reservation of their own on the jack's mountain side of the niquoia, a full half mile from the many-tongued camp in the open valley; and for the man caught "boot-legging" among the indians there were penalties swift and merciless. it was after the huge task of foundation digging was well under way and the work of constructing the small power dam in the upper canyon had been begun that the young chief of construction, busy with a thousand details, had his first forcible reminder of the continued existence of mr. j. wesley cortwright. it came in the form of a communication from washington, forwarded by special post-rider service from quesado, and it called a halt upon the up-river power project. in accordance with its settled policy, the reclamation service would refrain, in the niquoia as elsewhere, from entering into competition with private citizens; would do nothing to discourage the investment of private capital. a company had been formed to take over the power production and to establish a plant for the manufacture of cement, and brouillard was instructed to govern himself accordingly. for his information, the department letter-writer went on to say, it was to be understood that the company was duly organized under the provisions of an act of congress; that it had bound itself to furnish power and material at prices satisfactory to the service; and that the relations between it and the government field-staff on the ground were to be entirely friendly. "it's a graft--a pull-down with a profit in it for some bunch of money leeches a little higher up!" was the young chief's angry comment when he had given grislow the letter to read. "without knowing any more of the details than that letter gives, i'd be willing to bet a month's pay that this is the fine italian hand of mr. j. wesley cortwright!" grislow's eyebrows went up in doubtful interrogation. "ought i to know the gentleman?" he queried mildly. "i don't seem to recall the name." brouillard got up from his desk to go and stand at one of the little square windows of the log-built office quarters. for some reason which he had not taken the trouble to define, even to himself, he had carefully refrained from telling the hydrographer anything about the early morning meeting with the automobilists at the edge of the desert basin; of that and of the subsequent visit of two of them to the site of the dam. "no; you don't know him," he said, turning back to the worker at the mapping table. "it was his motor party that was camping at the buckskin ford the night we broke in here--the night when we saw the search-light." "and you met him? i thought you told me you merely went down and took a look--didn't butt in?" "i didn't--that night. but the next morning----" the hydrographer's smile was a jocose grimace. "i recollect now; you said that one of the motorists was a young woman." brouillard resented the implication irritably. "don't be an ass, murray," he snapped; and then he went on, with the frown of impatience still wrinkling between his eyes. "the young woman was the daughter. there was a cub of a son, and he fired a stick of dynamite in the river to kill a mess of trout. i heard the explosion and thought it might be the gasolene tank of the car." "naturally," said grislow guilelessly. "and, quite as naturally, you went down to see. i'm not sure that i shouldn't have done it myself." "of course you would," was the touchy retort. "when i got there and found out what had happened, i meant to make a second drop-out; but cortwright and his daughter were coming up the trail, and he hailed me. after that i couldn't do less than the decent thing. they wanted to see the valley, and i showed them the way in. cortwright is the multimillionaire pork packer of chicago, and he went up into the air like a lunatic over the money-making chances there were going to be in this job. i didn't pay much attention to his chortlings at the time. it didn't seem remotely credible that anybody with real money to invest would plant it in the bottom of the niquoia reservoir." "but now you think he is going to make his bluff good?" "that looks very much like it," said brouillard sourly, pointing to the letter from washington. "that scheme is going to change the whole face of nature for us up here, grislow. it will spell trouble right from the jump." "oh, i don't know," was the deprecatory rejoinder. "it will relieve us of a lot of side-issue industries--cut 'em out and bury 'em, so far as we are concerned." "that part of it is all right, of course; but it won't end there; not by a hundred miles. we've started in here to be a law to ourselves--as we've got to be to handle this mixed multitude of brigands and ditch diggers. but when this new company gets on the ground it will be different. there will be pull-hauling and scrapping and liquor selling, and we can't go in and straighten things out with a club as we do now. jobson says in that letter that the relations have got to be friendly! i'll bet anything you like that i'll have to go and read the riot act to those people before they've been twenty-four hours on their job!" grislow was trying the point of his mapping-pen on his thumb nail. "curious that this particular fly should drop into your pot of ointment on your birthday, wasn't it?" he remarked. "o suffering jehu!" gritted brouillard ragefully. "are you never going to forget that senseless bit of twaddle?" "you're not giving me a chance to forget it," said the map-maker soberly. "you told me that night that the seven-year characteristic was change; and you're a changed man, victor, if ever there was one. moreover, it began that very night--or the next morning." "oh, damn!" "certainly, if you wish it. but that is only another proof of what i am saying. it's getting on your nerves now. do you know what the men have named you? they call you 'hell's-fire.' that has come to be your word when you light into them for something they've done or haven't done. no longer ago than this morning you were swearing at griffith, as if you'd forgotten that the boy is only a year out of college and can't be supposed to know as much as leshington or anson. where is your sense of humor?" brouillard laughed, if only to prove that his sense of humor was still unimpaired. "they are a fearful lot of dubs, grizzy," he said, meaning the laborers; "the worst we've ever drawn, and that is saying a good deal. three drunken brawls last night, and a man killed in haley's place. and i can't keep liquor out of the camp to save my soul--not if i should sit up nights to invent new regulations. the navajos are the best of the bunch and we've managed to keep the fire from spreading over on their side of the niquoia, thus far. but if the whiskey ever gets hold in the tepees, we'll have orders to shoot chief nicagee's people back to their reservation in a holy minute." grislow nodded. "niqoyastcàdje--'place-where-they-came-up.' it will be 'place-where-they-go-down' if the tin-horns and boot-leggers get an inning." "we'll all go to the devil on a toboggan-slide and there is the order for it," declared the chief morosely, again indicating the letter from washington. "that means more human scum--a new town--an element that we can neither chase out nor control. cortwright and his associates, whoever they are, won't care a rotten hang. they'll be here to sweat money out of the job; to sweat it in any and every way that offers, and to do it quick. all of which is bad enough, you'd say, murray; but it isn't the worst of it. i've just run up against another thing that is threatening to raise merry hell in this valley." "i know," said the hydrographer slowly. "you've been having a _séance_ with steve massingale. leshington told me about it." "what did he tell you?" brouillard demanded half-angrily. "oh, nothing much; nothing to make you hot at him. he happened to be in the other room when massingale was here, and the door was open. he said he gathered the notion that the young sorehead was trying to bully you." "he was," was the brittle admission. "see here, grizzy." the thing to be seen was a small buckskin bag which, when opened, gave up a paper packet folded like a medicine powder. the paper contained a spoonful of dust and pellets of metal of a dull yellow lustre. the hydrographer drew a long breath and fingered the nuggets. "gold--placer gold!" he exclaimed, and brouillard nodded and went on to tell how he had come by the bag and its contents. "massingale had an axe to grind, of course. you may remember that harding talked loosely about the massingale opposition to the building of the dam. there was nothing in it. the opposition was purely personal and it was directed against harding himself, with amy massingale for the exciting cause." "that girl?--the elemental brute!" grislow broke in warmly. he knew the miner's daughter fairly well by this time and, in common with every other man on the staff, not excepting the staff's chief, would have fought for her in any cause. brouillard nodded. "i don't know what harding did, but smith, the triangle-circle foreman, tells me that steve was on the war-path; he told harding when he left, last summer, that if he ever came back to the niquoia, he'd come to stay--and stay dead." "i never did like harding's sex attitude any too well," was the hydrographer's definitive comment; and brouillard went back to the matter of the morning's _séance_ and its golden outcome. "that is only a little side issue. steve massingale came to me this morning with a proposal that was about as cold-blooded as a slap in the face. naturally, for good business reasons of their own, the massingales want to see the railroad built over war arrow pass and into the niquoia. in some way steve has found out that i stand in pretty well with president ford and the pacific southwestern people. his first break was to offer to incorporate the 'little susan' and to give me a block of the stock if i'd pull ford's leg on the extension proposition." "well?" queried grislow. "the railroad over war arrow pass would be the biggest thing that ever happened for our job here. if it did nothing else, it would make us independent of these boomers that are coming in to sell us material at their own prices." "exactly. but my hands are tied; and, besides, massingale's offer was a rank bribe. you can imagine what i told him--that i could neither accept stock in his mine nor say anything to influence the railroad people; that my position as chief engineer for the government cut me out both ways. then he began to bully and pulled the club on me." again grislow's smile was jocose. "you haven't been tumbling into the ditch with leshington and griffith and the rest of us and making love to the little sister, have you?" he jested. "don't be a fool if you can help it," was the curt rejoinder. "and don't give yourself leave to say things like that about amy massingale. she is too good and sweet and clean-hearted to be dragged into this mix-up, even by implication. do you get that, murray?" "oh, yes; it's only another way of saying that i'm one of the fools. go on with the stephen end of it." "well, when i turned him down, young massingale began to bluster and to say that i'd have to boost the railroad deal, whether i wanted to or not. i told him he couldn't prove it, and he said he would show me, if i'd take half an hour's walk up the valley with him. i humored him, more to get quit of him than for any other reason, and on the way past the camp he borrowed a frying-pan at one of the cook shacks. you know that long, narrow sand-bar in the river just below the mouth of the upper canyon?" grislow nodded. "that is where we went for the proof. massingale dipped up a panful of the bar sand, which he asked me to wash out for myself. i did it, and you have the results there in that paper. that bar is comparatively rich placer dirt." "good lord!" ejaculated the map-maker. "comparatively rich, you say?--and you washed this spoonful out of a single pan?" "keep your head," said brouillard coolly. "massingale explained that i had happened to make a ten-strike; that the bar wasn't any such bonanza as that first result would indicate. i proved that, too, by washing some more of it without getting any more than a few 'colors.' but the fact remains: it's placer ground." it was at this point that the larger aspect of the fact launched itself upon the hydrographer. "a gold strike!" he gasped. "and we--we're planning to drown it under two hundred feet of a lake!" brouillard's laugh was harsh. "don't let the fever get hold of you, grislow. don't forget that we are here to carry out the plans of the reclamation service--which are more far-reaching and of a good bit greater consequence than a dozen placer-mines. not that it didn't make me grab for hand-holds for a minute or two, mind you. i wasn't quite as cold about it as i'm asking you to be, and i guess massingale had calculated pretty carefully on the dramatic effect of his little shock. anyway, he drove the peg down good and hard. if i would jump in and pull every possible string to hurry the railroad over the range, and keep on pulling them, the secret of the placer bar would remain a secret. otherwise he, stephen massingale, would give it away, publish it, advertise it to the world. you know what that would mean for us, murray." "my lord! i should say so! we'd have boomtown-on-the-pike right now, with all the variations! every white man in the camp would chuck his job in the hollow half of a minute and go to gravel washing!" "that's it precisely," brouillard acquiesced gloomily. "massingale is a young tough, but he is shrewd enough, when he is sober. he had me dead to rights, and he knew it. 'you don't want any gold camp starting up here in the bottom of your reservoir,' he said; and i had to admit it." grislow had found a magnifying-glass in the drawer of the mapping table, and he was holding it in focus over the small collection of grain gold and nuggets. in the midst of the eager examination he looked up suddenly to say: "hold on a minute. why is steve proposing to give this thing away? why isn't he working the bar himself?" "he explained that phase of it, after a fashion--said that placer-mining was always more or less of a gamble and that they had a sure thing of it in the 'little susan.' of course, if the thing had to be given away, he and his father would avail themselves of their rights as discoverers and take their chance with the crowd for the sake of the ready money they might get out of it. otherwise they'd be content to let it alone and stick to their legitimate business, which is quartz-mining." "and to do that successfully they've got to have the railroad. say, victor, i'm beginning to acquire a great and growing respect for mr. stephen massingale. this field is too small for him; altogether too small. he ought to get a job with some of the malefactors of great wealth. how did you settle it finally?" "massingale was too shrewd to try to push me over the edge while there seemed to be a fairly good chance that i would walk over of my own accord. he told me to take a week or two and think about it. we dropped the matter by common consent after we left the bar in the quadjenàï bend, and on the way down the valley massingale pitched in a bit of information out of what seemed to be sheer good-will. it seems that he and his father have done a lot of test drilling up and down the side of chigringo at one time and another, and he told me that there is a bed of micaceous shale under our south anchorage, cautioning me not to let the excavation stop until we had gone through it." "well! that was pretty decent of him." "yes; and it shows that harding was lying when he said that the massingales were opposing the reclamation project. they are frankly in favor of it. irrigation in the buckskin means population; and population will bring the railroad, sooner or later. in the matter of hurrying the track-laying, massingale is only adopting modern business methods. he has a club and he is using it." grislow was biting the end of his penholder thoughtfully. "what are you going to do about it, victor?" he asked at length. "we can't stand for any more chaos than the gods have already doped out for us, can we?" brouillard took another long minute at the office window before he said: "what would you do if you were in my place, murray?" but at this the map-maker put up his hands as if to ward off a blow. "no, you don't!" he laughed. "i can at least refuse to be that kind of a fool. go and hunt you a professional conscience keeper; i went out of that business for keeps in my sophomore year. but i'll venture a small prophecy: we'll have the railroad--and you'll pull for it. and then, whether massingale tells or doesn't tell, the golden secret will leak out. and after that, the deluge." iv a fire of little sticks two days after the arrival of the letter from washington announcing the approaching invasion of private capital, brouillard, returning from a horseback trip into the buckskin, where anson and griffith were setting grade stakes for the canal diggers, found a visitor awaiting him in the camp headquarters office. one glance at the thick-bodied, heavy-faced man chewing an extinct cigar while he made himself comfortable in the only approach to a lounging chair that the office afforded was sufficient to awaken an alert antagonism. quick to found friendships or enmities upon the intuitive first impression, brouillard's acknowledgment was curt and business-brusque when the big man introduced himself without taking the trouble to get out of his chair. "my name is hosford and i represent the niquoia improvement company as its manager and resident engineer," said the lounger, shifting the dead cigar from one corner of his hard-bitted mouth to the other. "you're brillard, the government man, i take it?" "brouillard, if you please," was the crisp correction. and then with a careful effacement of the final saving trace of hospitality in tone or manner: "what can we do for you, mr. hosford?" "a good many things, first and last. i'm two or three days ahead of my outfit, and you can put me up somewhere until i get a camp of my own. you've got some sort of an engineers' mess, i take it?" "we have," said brouillard briefly. with anson and griffith absent on the field-work, there were two vacancies in the staff mess. moreover, the law of the desert prescribes that not even an enemy shall be refused bread and bed. "you'll make yourself at home with us, of course," he added, and he tried to say it without making it sound too much like a challenge. "all right; so much for that part of it," said the self-invited guest. "now for the business end of the deal--why don't you sit down?" brouillard planted himself behind his desk and began to fill his blackened office pipe, coldly refusing hosford's tender of a cigar. "you were speaking of the business matter," he suggested bluntly. "yes. i'd like to go over your plans for the power dam in the upper canyon. if they look good to me i'll adopt them." brouillard paused to light his pipe before he replied. "perhaps we'd better clear away the underbrush before we begin on the standing timber, mr. hosford," he said, when the tobacco was glowing militantly in the pipe bowl. "have you been given to understand that this office is in any sense a tail to your improvement company's kite?" "i haven't been 'given to understand' anything," was the gruff rejoinder. "our company has acquired certain rights in this valley, and i'm taking it for granted that you've had the situation doped out to you. it won't be worth your while to quarrel with us, mr. brouillard." "i am very far from wishing to quarrel with anybody," said brouillard, but his tone belied the words. "at the same time, if you think that we are going to do your engineering work, or any part of it, for you, you are pretty severely mistaken. our own job is fully big enough to keep us busy." "you're off," said the big man coolly. "somebody has bungled in giving you the dope. you want to keep your job, don't you?" "that is neither here nor there. what we are discussing at present is the department's attitude toward your enterprise. i shall be exceeding my instructions if i make that attitude friendly to the detriment of my own work." the new resident manager sat back in his chair and chewed his cigar reflectively, staring up at the log beaming of the office ceiling. when he began again he did not seem to think it worth while to shift his gaze from the abstractions. "you're just like all the other government men i've ever had to do business with, brouillard; pig-headed, obstinate, blind as bats to their own interests. i didn't especially want to begin by knocking you into line, but i guess it'll have to be done. in the first place, let me tell you that there are all kinds of big money behind this little sky-rocket of ours here in the niquoia: ten millions, twenty millions, thirty millions, if they're needed." brouillard shook his head. "i can't count beyond a hundred, mr. hosford." "all right; then i'll get you on the other side. suppose i should tell you that practically all of your bosses are in with us; what then?" "your stockholders' listings concern me even less than your capitalization. we are miles apart yet." again the representative of niquoia improvement took time to shift the extinct cigar. "i guess the best way to get you is to send a little wire to washington," he said reflectively. "how does that strike you?" "i haven't the slightest interest in what you may do or fail to do," said brouillard. "at the same time, as i have already said, i don't wish to quarrel with you or with your company." "ah! that touched you, didn't it?" "not in the sense you are imagining; no. send your wire if you like. you may have the use of the government telegraph. the office is in the second shack north of this." "still you say you don't want to scrap?" "certainly not. as you have intimated, we shall have to do business together as buyer and seller. i merely wished to make it plain that the reclamation service doesn't put its engineering department at the disposal of the niquoia improvement company." "but you have made the plans for this power plant, haven't you?" "yes; and they are the property of the department. if you want them, i'll turn them over to you upon a proper order from headquarters." "that's a little more like it. where did you say i'd find your wire office?" brouillard gave the information a second time, and as hosford went out, grislow came in and took his place at the mapping table. "glad you got back in time to save my life," he remarked pointedly, with a sly glance at his chief. "he's been ploughing furrows up and down my little potato patch all day." "humph! digging for information, i suppose?" grunted brouillard. "just that; and he's been getting it, too. not out of me, particularly, but out of everybody. also, he was willing to impart a little. we're in for the time of our lives, victor." "i know it," was the crabbed rejoinder. "you don't know the tenth part of it," asserted the hydrographer slowly. "it's a modest name, 'the niquoia improvement company,' but it is going to be like charity--covering a multitude of sins. do you know what that plank-faced organizer has got up his sleeve? he is going to build us a neat, up-to-date little city right here in the middle of our midst. if i hadn't made him believe that i was only a draughtsman, he would have had me out with a transit, running the lines for the streets." "a city?--in this reservoir bottom? i guess not. he was only stringing you to kill time, grizzy." "don't you fool yourself!" exclaimed the map-maker. "he's got the plans in his grip. we're going to be on a little reservation set apart for us by the grace of god and the kindness of these promoters. the remainder of the valley is laid off into cute little squares and streets, with everything named and numbered, ready to be listed in the brokers' offices. you may not be aware of it, but this palatial office building of ours fronts on chigringo avenue." "stuff!" said brouillard. "what has all this bubble blowing got to do with the building of a temporary power dam and the setting up of a couple of cement kilns?" grislow laid his pen aside and whirled around on his working-stool. "don't you make any easy-going mistake, victor," he said earnestly. "the cement and power proposition is only a side issue. these new people are going to take over the sawmills, open up quarries, build a stub railroad to the hophra mines, grade a practicable stage road over the range to quesado, and put on a fast-mule freight line to serve until the railroad builds in. wouldn't that set your teeth on edge?" "i can't believe it, murray. it's a leaf out of the book of bedlam! take a fair shot at it and see where the bullet lands: this entire crazy fake is built upon one solitary, lonesome fact--the fact that we're here, with a job on our hands big enough to create an active, present-moment market for labor and material. there is absolutely nothing else behind the bubble blowing; if we were not here the niquoia improvement company would never have been heard of!" grislow laughed. "your arguing that twice two makes four doesn't change the iridescent hue of the bubble," he volunteered. "if big money has seen a chance to skin somebody, the mere fact that the end of the world is due to come along down the pike some day isn't going to cut any obstructing figure. we'll all be buying and selling corner lots in hosford's new city before we're a month older. don't you believe it?" "i'll believe it when i see it," was brouillard's reply; and with this the matter rested for the moment. it was later in the day, an hour or so after the serving of the hearty supper in the engineers' mess tent, that brouillard was given to see another and still less tolerable side of his temporary guest. hosford had come into the office to plant himself solidly in the makeshift easy-chair for the smoking of a big, black, after-supper cigar. "i've been looking over your rules and regulations, brouillard," he began, after an interval of silence which brouillard had been careful not to break. "you're making a capital mistake in trying to transplant the old connecticut blue laws out here. your working-men ought to have the right to spend their money in any way that suits 'em." brouillard was pointedly occupying himself at his desk, but he looked up long enough to say: "whiskey, you mean?" "that and other things. they tell me that you don't allow any open gambling, or any women here outside of the families of the workmen." "we don't," was the short rejoinder. "that won't hold water after we get things fairly in motion." "it will have to hold water, so far as we are concerned, if i have to build a stockade around the camp," snapped brouillard. hosford's heavy face wrinkled itself in a mirthless smile. "you're nutty," he remarked. "when i find a man bearing down hard on all the little vices, it always makes me wonder what's the name of the corking big one he is trying to cover up." since there was obviously no peaceful reply to be made to this, brouillard bent lower over his work and said nothing. at every fresh step in the forced acquaintance the new-comer was painstakingly developing new antagonisms. sooner or later, brouillard knew, it would come to an open rupture, but he was hoping that the actual hostilities could be postponed until after hosford had worn out his temporary welcome as a guest in the engineers' mess. for a time the big man in the easy-chair smoked on in silence. then he began again: "say, brouillard, i saw one little girl to-day that didn't belong to your workmen's-family outfit, and she's a peach; came riding down the trail with her brother from that mine up on the south mountain--massingale's, isn't it? by jove! she fairly made my mouth water!" inasmuch as no man can read field-notes when the page has suddenly become a red blur, brouillard looked up. "you are my guest, in a way, mr. hosford; for that reason i can't very well tell you what i think of you." so much he was able to say quietly. then the control mechanism burned out in a flash of fiery rage and he cursed the guest fluently and comprehensively, winding up with a crude and savage threat of dissection and dismemberment if he should ever venture so much as to name miss massingale again in the threatener's hearing. hosford sat up slowly, and his big face turned darkly red. "well, i'll be damned!" he broke out. "so you're _that_ kind of a fire-eater, are you? lord, lord! i didn't suppose anything like that ever happened outside of the ten-cent shockers. wake up, man; this is the twentieth century we're living in. don't look at me that way!" but the wave of insane wrath was already subsiding, and brouillard, half ashamed of the momentary lapse into savagery, was once more scowling down at the pages of his note-book. further along, when the succeeding silence had been undisturbed for five full minutes, he began to realize that the hot brouillard temper, which he had heretofore been able to keep within prudent bounds, had latterly been growing more and more rebellious. he could no longer be sure of what he would say or do under sudden provocation. true, he argued, the provocation in the present instance had been sufficiently maddening; but there had been other upflashings of the murderous inner fire with less to excuse them. hosford finished his cigar, and when he tossed the butt out through the opened window, brouillard hoped he was going. but the promoter-manager made no move other than to take a fresh cigar from his pocket case and light it. brouillard worked on silently, ignoring the big figure in the easy-chair by the window, and striving to regain his lost equilibrium. to have shown hosford the weakness of the control barriers was bad enough, but to have pointed out the exact spot at which they were most easily assailable was worse. he thought it would be singular if hosford should not remember how and where to strike when the real conflict should begin, and he was properly humiliated by the reflection that he had rashly given the enemy an advantage. he was calling hosford "the enemy" now and making no ameliorating reservations. that the plans of the boomers would speedily breed chaos, and bring the blight of disorder and lawlessness upon the niquoia project and everything connected with it, he made no manner of doubt. how was he to hold a camp of several hundred men in decent subjection if the temptations and allurements of a boomers' city were to be brought in and set down within arm's reach of the work on the dam? it seemed blankly incredible that the department heads in washington should sanction such an invasion if they knew the full meaning of it. the "if" gave him an idea. what if the boomers were taking an unauthorized ell for their authorized inch? he had taken a telegraph pad from the desk stationery rack and was composing his message of inquiry when the door opened and quinlan, the operator, came in with a communication fresh from the washington wire. the message was an indirect reply to hosford's telegraphed appeal to the higher powers. brouillard read it, stuck it upon the file, and took a roll of blue-prints from the bottom drawer of his desk. "here are the drawings for your power installation, mr. hosford," he said, handing the roll to the man in the chair. and a little later he went out to smoke a pipe in the open air, leaving the message of inquiry unwritten. v symptomatic for some few minutes after the gray-bearded, absent-eyed old man who had been working at the mine forge had disappeared in the depths of the tunnel upon finishing his job of drill pointing, the two on the cabin porch made no attempt to resume the talk which had been broken by the blacksmithing. but when the rumbling thunder of the ore-car which the elder massingale was pushing ahead of him into the mine had died away in the subterranean distances brouillard began again. "i do get your point of view--sometimes," he said. "or perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that i have had it now and then in times past. civilization, or what stands for it, does have a way of shrinking into littleness, not to say cheapness, when one can get the proper perspective. and your life up here on chigringo has given you the needful detached point of view." the trouble shadows in the eyes of the young woman who was sitting in the fish-net hammock gave place to a smile of gentle derision. "do you call _that_ civilization?" she demanded, indicating the straggling new town spreading itself, map-like, in the valley below. "i suppose it is--one form of it. at least it is civilization in the making. everything has to have some sort of a beginning." miss massingale acquiesced in a little uptilt of her perfectly rounded chin. "just the same, you don't pretend to say that you are enjoying it," she said in manifest deprecation. "oh, i don't know. my work is down there, and a camp is a necessary factor in it. you'd say that the more civilized the surroundings become, the less need there would be for me to sit up nights to keep the lid on. that would be the reasonable conclusion, wouldn't it?" "if you were really trying to make the fact fit the theory--which you are not--it would be a sheer, self-centred eye-shutting to all the greater things that may be involved," she continued. "don't you ever get beyond that?" "i did at first. when i learned a few weeks ago that the boomers had taken hold of us in earnest and that we were due to acquire a real town with all the trimmings, i was righteously hot. apart from the added trouble a wide-open town would be likely to give us in maintaining order in the camp, it seemed so crudely unnecessary to start a pigeon-plucking match at this distance from wall street." "but now," she queried--"now, i suppose, you have become reconciled?" "i am growing more philosophical, let us say. there are just about so many pigeons to be plucked, anyway; they'd moult if they weren't plucked. and it may as well be done here as on the stock exchange, when you come to think of it." "i like you least when you talk that way," said the young woman in the hammock, with open-eyed frankness. "do you do it as other men do?--just to hear how it sounds?" brouillard, sitting on the top step of the porch, leaned his head against the porch post and laughed. "you know too much--a lot too much for a person of your tender years," he asserted. "which names one more of the charming collection of contradictions which your father or mother or somebody had the temerity to label 'amy,' sweetest and most seraphic of diminutives." "if you don't like my name--" she began, and then she went off at another tangent. "please tell me why i am a 'collection of contradictions.' tig never says anything like that to me." "'tig,'" said brouillard, "'tig' smith. speaking of names, i've often wondered how on earth our breezy friend of the tri'-circ' ever got such a handle as that." "it's his own name--or a part of it. his father was a country preacher back in tennessee, and i imagine he had the smith feeling that the surname wasn't very distinctive. so he named the poor boy tiglath-pileser. just the same, it is not to laugh," she went on in friendly loyalty. "tig can't help his name, and, anyway, he's the vastest possible improvement on those old assyrian gentlemen who were the first to wear it." brouillard's gaze went past the shapely little figure in the string hammock to lose itself in the far timanyoni distances. "you are a bundle of surprises," he said, letting the musing thought slip into speech. "what can you possibly know about the assyrians?" she made a funny little grimace at him. "it was 'contradictions' a moment ago and now it is 'surprises.' which reminds me, you haven't told me why i am a 'collection.'" "i think you know well enough," he retorted. "the first time i saw you--down at the nick-wire ford with tig, you remember--i tried to recall which madonna it is that has your mouth and eyes." "well, did you succeed in placing the lady?" "no. somehow, i haven't cared to since i've come to know you. you're different--always different, and then--oh, well, comparisons are such hopelessly inadequate things, anyway," he finished lamely. "you are not getting on very well with the 'contradictions,'" she demurred. "oh, i can catalogue them if you push me to it. one minute you are the madonna lady that i can't recall, calm, reposeful, truthful, and all that, you know--so truthful that those childlike eyes of yours would make a stuttering imbecile of the man who should come to you with a lie in his mouth." "and the next minute?" she prompted. "the next minute you are a witch, laughing at the man's little weaknesses, putting your finger on them as accurately as if you could read his soul, holding them up to your ridicule and--what's much worse--to his own. at such times your insight, or whatever you choose to call it, is enough to give a man a fit of 'seeing things.'" her laugh was like a school-girl's, light-hearted, ringing, deliciously unrestrained. "what a picture!" she commented. and then: "i can draw a better one of you, monsieur victor de brouillard." "do it," he dared. "it'll hurt your vanity." "i haven't any." "oh, but you have! don't you know that it is only the very vainest people who say that?" "never mind; go on and draw your picture." "even if it should give you another attack of the 'seeing things'?" "yes; i'll chance even that." "very well, then: once upon a time--it was a good while ago, i'm afraid--you were a very upright young man, and your uprightness made you just a little bit austere--for yourself, if not for others. at that time you were busy whittling out heroic little ideals and making idols of them; and i am quite sure you were spelling duty with a capital 'd' and that you would have been properly horrified if a sister of yours had permitted an unchaperoned acquaintance like--well, like ours." "go on," he said, neither affirming nor denying. "also, at that time you thought that a man's work in the world was the biggest thing that ever existed, the largest possible order that could be given, and the work and everything about it had to be transparently honest and openly aboveboard. you would cheerfully have died for a principle in those days, and you would have allowed the enemy to cut you up into cunning little inch cubes before you would have admitted that any pigeon was ever made to be plucked." he was smiling mirthlessly, with the black mustaches taking the sardonic upcurve. "then what happened?" "one of two things, or maybe both of them. you were pushed out into the life race with some sort of a handicap. i don't know what it was--or is. is that true?" "yes." "then i'll hazard the other guess. you discovered that there were women in the world and that there was something in you, or about you, that was sufficiently attractive to make them sit up and be nice to you. for some reason--perhaps it was the handicap--you thought you'd be safer in the unwomaned wilderness and so you came out here to the 'wild and woolly.' but even here you're not safe. there is a passable trail over war arrow pass and at a pinch an automobile can cross the buckskin." when she stopped he nodded gravely. "it is all true enough. you haven't added anything more than a graceful little touch here and there. who has been telling you all these things about me?" she clapped her hands in delighted self-applause. "you don't deny them?" "i wouldn't be so impolite." in the turning of a leaf her mood changed and the wide-open, fearless eyes were challenging him soberly. "you _can't_ deny them." he tried to break away from the level-eyed, accusing gaze--tried and found it impossible. "i asked you who has been gossiping about me; not grizzy?" "no, not murray grislow; it was the man you think you know best in all the world--who is also the one you probably know the least--yourself." "good heavens! am i really such a transparent egoist as all that?" "all men are egoists," she answered calmly. "in some the ego is sound and clear-eyed and strong; in others it is weak--in the same way that passion is weak; it will sacrifice all it has or hopes to have in some sudden fury of self-assertion." she sat up and put her hands to her hair, and he was free to look away, down upon the great ditch where the endless chain of concrete buckets linked itself to the overhead carrier like a string of mechanical insects, each with its pinch of material to add to the deep and wide-spread foundations of the dam. across the river a group of hidden sawmills sent their raucous song like the high-pitched shrilling of distant locusts to tremble upon the still air of the afternoon. in the middle distance the camp-town city, growing now by leaps and bounds, spread its roughly indicated streets over the valley level, the yellow shingled roofs of the new structures figuring as patches of vivid paint under the slanting rays of the sun. far away to the right the dark-green liftings of the quadjenàï hills cut across from mountain to river; at the foot of the ridge the tall chimney-stacks of the new cement plant were rising, and from the quarries beyond the plant the dull thunder of the blasts drifted up to the chigringo heights like a sign from the mysterious underworld of navajo legend. this was not brouillard's first visit to the cabin on the massingale claim by many. in the earliest stages of the valley activities smith, the buckskin cattleman, had been amy massingale's escort to the reclamation camp--"just a couple o' lookers," in smith's phrase--and the unconventional altitudes had done the rest. from that day forward the young woman had hospitably opened her door to brouillard and his assistants, and any member of the corps, from leshington the morose, who commonly came to sit in solemn silence on the porch step, to griffith, who had lost his youthful heart to miss massingale on his first visit, was welcome. of the five original members of the staff and the three later additions to it, in the persons of the paymaster, the cost-keeper, and young altwein, who had come in as grislow's field assistant, brouillard was the one who climbed oftenest up the mountain-side trail from the camp--a trail which was becoming by this time quite well defined. he knew he went oftener than any of the others, and yet he felt that he knew amy massingale less intimately and was far and away more hopelessly entangled than--well, than grislow, for example, whose visits to the mine cabin came next in the scale of frequency and whose ready wit and gentle cynicism were his passports in any company. for himself, brouillard had not been pointedly analytical as yet. from the moment when amy and smith had reined up at the door of his office shack and he had welcomed them both, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to fall under the spell of enchantment. he knew next to nothing of the young woman's life story; he had not cared to know. it had not occurred to him to wonder how the daughter of a man who drilled and shot the holes in his own mine should have the gifts and belongings--when she chose to display them--of a woman of a much wider world. it was enough for him that she was piquantly attractive in any character and that he found her marvellously stimulating and uplifting. on the days when the devil of moroseness and irritability possessed and maddened him he could climb to the cabin on high chigringo and find sanity. it was a keen joy to be with her, and up to the present this had sufficed. "egoism is merely another name for the expression of a vital need," he said, after the divagating pause, defining the word more for his own satisfaction than in self-defense. "you may put it in that way if you please," she returned gravely. "what is your need?" he stated it concisely. "money--a lot of it." "how singular!" she laughed. "i need money, too--a lot of it." "you?" "yes, i." "what would you do with it? buy corner lots in niqoyastcàdjeburg?" "no, indeed; i'd buy a farm in the blue-grass--two of them, maybe." "what an ambition for a girl! have you ever been in the blue-grass country?" she got out of the hammock and came to lean, with her hands behind her, against the opposite porch post. "that was meant to humiliate me, and i sha'n't forget it. you know well enough that i have never been east of the mississippi." "i didn't know it. you never tell me anything about yourself." again the mood shutter clicked and her smile was the calm mask of discerning wisdom. "persons with well-developed egos don't care to listen to folk-stories," she rejoined, evading the tentative invitation openly. "but tell me, what would you do with your pot of rainbow gold--if you should find it?" brouillard rose and straightened himself with his arms over his head like an athlete testing his muscles for the record-breaking event. "what would i do? a number of things. but first of all, i think, i'd buy the privilege of telling some woman that i love her." this time her laugh was frankly disparaging. "as if you could!" she said, with a lip curl that set his blood afire--"as if any woman worth while would care two pins for your wretched pot of gold!" "oh, i didn't mean it quite that way," he hastened to explain. "i said: 'buy the privilege.' if you knew the conditions you would understand me when i say that the money must come first." she was silent for so long a time that he looked at his watch and thought of going. but at the deciding instant she held him with a low-spoken question. "does it date back to the handicap? you needn't tell me if you don't want to." "it does. and there is no reason why i shouldn't tell you the simple fact. when my father died he left me a debt--a debt of honor; and it must be paid. until it is paid--but i am sure you understand." "quite fully," she responded quickly, and now there was no trace of levity in the sweetly serious tone. "is it much?--so much that you can't----" he nodded and sat down again on the porch step. "yes, it is big enough to go in a class by itself--in round numbers, a hundred thousand dollars." "horrors!" she gasped. "and you are carrying that millstone? must you carry it?" "if you knew the circumstances you would be the first to say that i must carry it, and go on carrying it to the end of the chapter." "but--but you'll _never_ be free!" "not on a government salary," he admitted. "as a matter of fact, it takes more than half of the salary to pay the premiums on--pshaw! i'm boring you shamelessly for the sake of proving up on my definition of the eternal ego. you ought not to have encouraged me. it's quite hopeless--the handicap business--unless some good angel should come along with a miracle or two. let's drop it." she was looking beyond him and her voice was quick with womanly sympathy when she said: "if you could drop it--but you can't. and it changes everything for you, distorts everything, colors your entire life. it's heart-breaking!" this was dangerous ground for him and he knew it. sympathy applied to a rankling wound may figure either as the healing oil or the maddening wine. it was the one thing he had hitherto avoided, resolutely, half-fearfully, as a good general going into battle marches around a kennel of sleeping dogs. but now the under-depths were stirring to a new awakening. in the ardor of young manhood he had taken up the vicarious burden dutifully, and at that time his renunciation of the things that other men strove for seemed the lightest of the many fetterings. but now love for a woman was threatening to make the renunciation too grievous to be borne. "how did you know?" he queried curiously. "it does change things; it has changed them fiercely in the past few weeks. we smile at the old fable of a man selling his soul for a ready-money consideration, but there are times when i'd sell anything i've got, save one, for a chance at the freedom that other men have--and don't value." "what is the one thing you wouldn't sell?" she questioned, and brouillard chose to discover a gently quickened interest in the clear-seeing eyes. "my love for the--for some woman. i'm saving that, you know. it is the only capital i'll have when the big debt is paid." "do you want me to be frivolous or serious?" she asked, looking down at him with the grimacing little smile that always reminded him of a caress. "a little while ago you said 'some woman,' and now you say it again, making it cautiously impersonal. that is nice of you--not to particularize; but i have been wondering whether she is or isn't worth the effort--and the reservation you make. because it is all in that, you know. you can do and be what you want to do and be if you only want to hard enough." he looked up quickly. "do you really believe that? what about a man's natural limitations?" "poof!" she said, blowing the word away as if it were a bit of thistle-down. "it is only the woman's limitations that count, not the man's. the only question is this: is the one only and incomparable she worth the effort? would you give a hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of being able to say to her: 'come, dear, let's go and get married'?" he was looking down, chiefly because he dared not look up, when he answered soberly: "she is worth it many times over; her price is above rubies. money, much or little, wouldn't be in it." "that is better--much better. now we may go on to the ways and means; they are all in the man, not in the things, 'not none whatsoever,' as tig would say. let me show you what i mean. three times within my recollection my father has been worth considerably more than you owe, and three time she has--well, it's gone. and now he is going to make good again when the railroad comes." brouillard got up, thrust his hands into the pockets of his working-coat, and faced about as if he had suddenly remembered that he was wasting the government's time. "i must be going back down the hill," he said. and then, without warning: "what if i should tell you that the railroad is not coming to the niquoia, amy?" to his utter amazement the blue eyes filled suddenly. but the owner of the eyes was winking the tears away and laughing before he could put the amazement into words. "you shouldn't hit out like that when one isn't looking; it's wicked," she protested. "besides, the railroad _is_ coming; it's got to come." "it is still undecided," he told her mechanically. "mr. ford is coming over with the engineers to have a conference on the ground with--with the cortwright people. i am expecting him any day." "the cortwright people want the road, don't they?" she asked. "yes, indeed; they are turning heaven and earth over to get it." "and the government?" "the department is holding entirely aloof, as it should. every one in the reclamation service knows that no good can possibly come of any effort to force the region ahead of its normal and natural development. and, besides, none of us here in the valley want to help blow the cortwright bubble any bigger than it has to be." "then you will advise against the building of the extension?" instead of answering her question he asked one of his own. "what does it mean to you--to you, personally, and apart from the money your father might make out of it, amy?" she hesitated a moment and then met the shrewd scrutiny of his gaze with open candor. "the money is only a means to an end--as yours will be. you know very well what i meant when i told you that three times we have been obliged to come back to the mountains to--to try again. i dreaded the coming of your camp; i dread a thousand times more the other changes that are coming--the temptations that a mushroom city will offer. this time father has promised me that when he can make his stake he will go back to kentucky and settle down; and he will keep his promise. more than that, stevie has promised me that he will go, too, if he can have a stock-farm and raise fine horses--his one healthy ambition. now you know it all." he reached up from the lower step where he was standing and took her hand. "yes; and i know more than that: i know that you are a mighty brave little girl and that your load is heavier than mine--worlds heavier. but you're going to win out; if not to-day or to-morrow, why, then, the day after. it's written in the book." she returned his hand-grip of encouragement impulsively and smiled down upon him through quick-springing tears. "you'll win out, too, victor, because it's in you to do it. i'm sure of it--i _know_ it. there is only one thing that scares me." "name it," he said. "i'm taking everything that comes to-day--from you." "you are a strong man; you have a reserve of strength that is greater than most men's full gift; you can cut and slash your way to the thing you really want, and nothing can stop you. but--you'll forgive me for being plain, won't you?--there is a little, just the least little, bit of desperation in the present point of view, and----" "say it," he commanded when she hesitated. "i hardly know how to say it. it's just a little shudder--inside, you know--as you might have when you see a railroad train rushing down the mountain and think what would happen if one single, inconsequent wheel should climb the rail. there were ideals in the beginning; you admitted it, didn't you? and they are not as distinct now as they used to be. you didn't say that, but i know.... stand them up again, victor; don't let them fall down in the dust or in the--in the mud. it's got to be clean money, you know; the money that is going to give you the chance to say: 'come, girl, let's go and get married.' you won't forget that, will you?" he relinquished the hand of encouragement because he dared not hold it any longer, and turned away to stare absently at the timbered tunnel mouth whence a faint clinking of hammer upon steel issued with monotonous regularity. "i wish you hadn't said that, amy--about the ideals." "why shouldn't i say it? i _had_ to say it." "i can't afford to play with too many fine distinctions. i have accepted the one great handicap. i may owe it to myself--and to some others--not to take on any more." "i don't know what you mean now," she said simply. "perhaps it is just as well that you don't. let's talk about something else; about the railroad. i told you that president ford is coming over to have a wrestle with the cortwright people, but i didn't tell you that he has already had his talk with mr. cortwright in person--in chicago. he hasn't decided; he won't decide until he has looked the ground over and had a chance to confer with me." she bridged all the gaps with swift intuition. "he means to give you the casting vote? he will build the extension if you advise it?" "it is something like that, i fancy; yes." "and you think--you feel----" "it is a matter of absolute indifference to me, officially. but in any event, ford would ask for nothing more than a friendly opinion." "then it will lie in your hand to make us rich or to keep us poor," she laughed. "be a good god-in-the-car, please, and your petitioners will ever pray." then, with an instant return to seriousness: "but you mustn't think of that--of course, you won't--with so many other and greater things to consider." "on the contrary, i shall think very pointedly of that; pointedly and regretfully--because your brother has made it practically impossible for me to help." "my brother?" with a little gasp. "yes. he offered to buy my vote with a block of 'little susan' stock. that wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't talked about it--told other people what he was going to do. but he did that, as well." he felt rather than saw that she had turned quickly to face the porch post, that she was hiding her face in the crooking of an arm. it melted him at once. "don't cry; i was a brute to say such a thing as that to you," he began, but she stopped him. "no," she denied bravely. "the truth may hurt--it _does_ hurt awfully; but it can't be brutal. and you are right. stevie _has_ made it impossible." an awkward little silence supervened and once more brouillard dragged his watch from its pocket. "i'm like the awkward country boy," he said with quizzical humor. "i really must go and i don't know how to break away." then he went back to the closed topic. "i guess the other thing was brutal, too--what i said about your brother's having made it impossible. other things being equal----" again she stopped him. "when mr. ford comes, you must forget what stevie said and what i have said. good-by." * * * * * an hour later, when the afternoon shadow of jack's mountain was lying all across the shut-in valley and pointing like the angle of a huge gnomon to the quadjenàï hills, brouillard was closeted in his log-built office quarters with a big, fair-faced man, whose rough tweeds and unbrushed, soft hat proclaimed him fresh from the dust-dry reaches of the quesado trail. "it is your own opinion that i want, victor," the fair-faced man was saying, "not the government engineer's. can we make the road pay if we bring it here? that is a question which you can answer better than any other living man. you are here on the ground and you've been here from the first." "you've had it out with cortwright?" brouillard asked. and then: "where is he now? in chicago?" "no. he is on his way to the niquoia, coming over in his car from el gato. says he made it that way once before and is willing to bet that it is easier than climbing war arrow. but never mind j. wesley. you are the man i came to see." "i can give you the facts," was the quiet rejoinder. "while the cortwright boom lasts there will be plenty of incoming business--and some outgoing. when the bubble bursts--as it will have to when the dam is completed, if it doesn't before--you'll quit until the buckskin fills up with settlers who can give you crops to move. that is the situation in a nutshell, all but one little item. there is a mine up on chigringo--massingale's--with a good few thousand tons of pay ore on the dump. where there is one mine there may be more, later on; and i don't suppose that even such crazy boomers as the cortwright crowd will care to put in a gold reduction plant. so you would have the ore to haul to the red butte smelters." a smile wrinkled at the corners of the big man's eyes. "you are dodging the issue, victor, and you know it," he objected. "what i want is your personal notion. if you were the executive committee of the pacific southwestern, would you, or would you not, build the extension? that's the point i'm trying to make." brouillard got up and went to the window. the gnomon shadow of jack's mountain had spread over the entire valley, and its southern limb had crept up chigringo until its sharply defined line was resting upon the massingale cabin. when he turned back to the man at the desk he was frowning thoughtfully, and his eyes were the eyes of one who sees only the clearly etched lines of a picture which obscures all outward and visual objects ... the picture he saw was of a sweet-faced young woman, laughing through her tears and saying: "besides, the railroad _is_ coming; it's _got_ to come." "if you put it that way," he said to the man who was waiting, "if you insist on pulling my private opinion out by the roots, you may have it. _i'd_ build the extension." vi mirapolis during the strenuous weeks when camp niquoia's straggling street was acquiring plank sidewalks and getting itself transformed into chigringo avenue, with a double row of false-fronted "emporiums" to supplant the shack shelters, monsieur poudrecaulx bongras, late of the san francisco tenderloin, opened the camp's first counter-grill. finding monsieur's name impossible in both halves of it, the camp grinned and rechristened him "poodles." later, discovering his dual gift of past mastership in potato frying and coffee making, the camp gave him vogue. out of the vogue sprang in swift succession a café with side-tables, a restaurant with private dining-rooms, and presently a commodious hotel, where the food was excellent, the appointments luxurious, and where jack--clothed and in his right mind and with money in his hand--was as good as his master. it was in one of bongras's private dining-rooms that mr. j. wesley cortwright was entertaining brouillard, with miss genevieve to make a harmonizing third at the circular table up to the removal of the cloth and the serving of the cigars and a second cold bottle. the little dinner had been a gustatory triumph; miss genevieve had added the charm of lightness at moments when her father threatened to let the money clink become painfully audible; and the cigars were gold-banded. nevertheless, when miss cortwright had gone up-stairs, and the waiter would have refilled his glass, brouillard shook his head. if the millionaire saw the refusal he was too wise to remark it. altogether, brouillard was finding his first impressions of mr. cortwright readjusting themselves with somewhat confusing rapidity. it was not that there was any change in the man. charactering the genial host like a bachelor of hospitality, he was still the frank, outspoken money-maker, hot upon the trail of the nimble dollar. yet there was a change of some kind. brouillard had marked it on the day, a fortnight earlier, when (after assuring himself morosely that he would not) he had gone down to the lower canyon portal to see the cortwright touring-car finish its second race across the desert from el gato. "of course, i was quite prepared to have you stand off and throw stones at our little cob house of a venture, brouillard," the host allowed at the lighting of the gold-banded cigars. "you're the government engineer and the builder of the big dam; it's only natural that your horizons should be filled with government-report pictures and half-tones of what's going to be when you get your dam done. but you can't build your dam in one day, or in two, and the interval is ours. i tell you, we're going to make mirapolis a buzz-hummer while the daylight lasts. don't you forget that." "'mirapolis'?" queried brouillard. "is that the new name?" cortwright laughed and nodded. "it's gene's name--'miracle city.' fits like the glove on a pretty girl's arm, doesn't it?" "it does. but the miracle is that there should be any money daring enough to invest itself in the niquoia." "there you go again, with your ingrained engineering ideas that to be profitable a scheme must necessarily have rock-bottom foundations and a time-defying superstructure," chuckled the host. "why, bless your workaday heart, brouillard, nothing is permanent in this shuffling, growing, progressive world of ours--absolutely nothing. some of the biggest and costliest buildings in new york and chicago are built on ground leases. our ground lease will merely be a little shorter in the factor of time." "so much shorter that the parallel won't hold," argued brouillard. "the parallel does hold; that is precisely the point. every ground-lease investment is a gamble. the investor simply bets that he can make the turn within the time limit." "yes; but a long term of years----" "there you are," cut in the financier. "now you've got it down to the hard-pan basis: long time, small profits and a slow return; short time, big profits and a quick return. you've eaten here before; what do you pay bongras for a reasonably good dinner?" brouillard laughed. "oh, poodles. he cinches us, all right; four or five times as much as it's worth--or would cost anywhere else." "that's it. he knows he has to make good on all these little luxuries he gives you--cash in every day, as you might say, and come out whole before you stop the creek and drown him. let me tell you something, brouillard; san francisco brags about being the cheapest city in the country; they'll tell you over there that you can buy more for your money than you can anywhere else on earth. well, mirapolis is going to take the trophy at the other end of the speedway. when we get in motion we're going to have alaska faded to a frazzle on prices--and you'll see everybody paying them joyfully." "and in the end somebody, or the final series of somebodies, will be left to hold the bag," finished brouillard. "that's a future. what is it the good book says? 'let us eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die.' that's philosophy, and it's good business, too. not that i'm admitting your pessimistic conclusions for a single minute; don't mistake me on that point. there needn't be any bag holders, brouillard. let me put it in a nutshell: we're building a cement plant, and we shall sell you the output--at a good, round price, i promise you, but still at a lower figure than you're paying for the imported article now, or than you will pay even after the railroad gets in. when our government orders are filled we can afford to wreck the plant for what it will bring as junk. we'll be out of it whole, with a nice little profit." "that is only one instance," objected the guest. "well, bongras, here, is one more," laughed the host. "he gets a piece of his investment back every time anybody looks over his _menu_ card. and our power plant is another. you made your little kick on that to washington--you thought the government ought to control its own power. that was all right, from your point of view, but we beat you to it. now the reclamation service gets all the power it needs at a nominal price, and we're going to sell enough more to make us all feel happy." "sell it? to whom?" mr. cortwright leaned back in his chair and the sandy-gray eyes seemed to be searching the inner recesses of the querying soul. "that's inside information, but i don't mind taking you in on it," he said between leisurely puffs at his cigar. "we've just concluded a few contracts: one with massingale--he's going to put in power drills, electric ore-cars, and a modern equipment generally and shove the development of the 'little susan'; one with a new mining syndicate which will begin operations at once on half a dozen prospects on jack's mountain; and one with a lumber combination that has just taken over the sawmills, and will install others, with a planing-mill and sash factory." brouillard nodded. the gray eyes were slowly hypnotizing him. "but that isn't all," continued the promoter. "we are about to reincorporate the power plant as the niquoia electric power, lighting, and traction company. within a fortnight we'll be lighting mirapolis, and within a month after the railroad gets in we'll be operating trolley-cars." the enthusiast paused to let the information sink in, also to note the effect upon the subject. the noting was apparently satisfactory, since he went on with the steady assurance of one who sees his way clearly. "that brings us down to business, brouillard. i don't mind admitting that i had an object in asking you to dine with me this evening. it's this: we feel that in the reorganization of the power company the government, which will always be the largest consumer, should be represented in some effective way; that its interests should be carefully safeguarded. it is not so easy as it might seem. we can't exactly make the government a stockholder." "no," said brouillard mechanically. the under-depths were stirring again, heaving as if from a mighty ground-swell that threatened a tidal wave of overturnings. "we discussed that phase of it in the directors' meeting this morning," continued the hypnotist smoothly, "and i made a suggestion which, as president of the company, i was immediately authorized to carry out. what we need, and what the government needs, is a man right here on the ground who will be absolutely loyal to the government's interests and who can be, at the same time, broad enough and honorable enough to be fair to us." brouillard roused himself by a palpable effort. "you have found your man, mr. cortwright?" a genial smile twinkled in the little gray eyes. "i didn't have very far to go. you see, i knew your father and i'm not afraid to trust his son. we are going to make you the government director, with full power to investigate and to act. and we're not going to be mean about it, either. the capital stock of the company is ten millions, with shares of a par value of one hundred dollars each, full paid and non-assessable. don't gasp; we'll cut a nice little melon on that capitalization every thirty days, or my name isn't cortwright." "but i have no money to invest," was the only form the younger man's protest took. "we don't need your money," cut in the financier with curt good nature. "what we do need is a consulting engineer, a man who, while he is one of us and identified with us, will see to it that we're not tempted to gouge our good uncle samuel. it will be no sinecure, i warn you. we're all pretty keen after the dollar, and you'll have to hold us down good and hard. of course, a director and a consulting officer must be a stockholder, but we'll take care of that." brouillard smoked in silence for a full minute before he said: "you know as well as i do, mr. cortwright, that it is an unwritten law of the service that a civilian employee of the government shall not engage in any other business." "no, i don't," was the blunt reply. "that rule may be good enough to apply to senators and representatives--and it ought to; outside jobs for them might influence legislation. but in your case it would not only be unjust to apply it; it would be absurd and contradictory. supposing your father had left you a hundred thousand dollars to invest instead of a debt of that amount--you see, i know what a load your keen sense of honor is making you carry--suppose you had this money to invest, would your position in the reclamation service compel you to lock it up in a safety vault?" "certainly not. but----" "very good. your objection to taking part in our project would be that a man can't be strictly impartial when he has a stake in the game; some men couldn't, mr. brouillard, but you can; you know you can, and i know it. otherwise you wouldn't be putting half of your salary and more into life-insurance premiums to secure a debt that isn't even constructively yours." "yes; but if the department should learn that i am a stockholder in a company from which it buys its power----" "there wouldn't be a word said--not one single word. they know you in washington, brouillard, better, perhaps, than you think they do. they know you would exact a square deal for the department even if it cost you personal money. but this is all academic. the practical facts are that you'll come in as consulting engineer and that you'll hold us strictly up to the mark on the government power contract. it's your duty and part of your job as chief of construction. and we'll leave the money consideration entirely out of it if you like. you'll get a stock-certificate, which you may keep or tear up and throw into the waste-basket, just as you please. if you keep it and want to realize on it at any time before you begin to put the finishing forms on the dam, i'll do this: i'll agree to market it for you at par. now let's quit and go and find gene. she'll think we've tippled ourselves under the table." "one moment," said brouillard. "you have a way of taking a man off his feet, mr. cortwright; a rather pleasant way i'm bound to admit. but in this thing which you are proposing there are issues involved which----" "you want time to think it over? take it, man; take all the time you need. there's no special hurry." brouillard felt that in accepting the condition he was potentially committing himself. it was a measure of the distance he had already travelled that he interposed a purely personal obstacle. "i couldn't serve as your engineer, mr. cortwright, not even in a consulting capacity. call it prejudice or anything you please, but i simply couldn't do business in an associate relation with your man hosford." cortwright had risen, and he took his guest confidentially by the buttonhole. "do you know, brouillard, hosford gets on my nerves, too? don't let that influence you. we'll let hosford go. we needed him at first to sort of knock things into shape; it takes a man of his calibre in the early stages of a project like ours, you know. but he has outlived his usefulness and we'll drop him. let's go up-stairs." it was quite late in the evening when brouillard, a little light-headed from an after-dinner hour of purely social wit-matching with miss genevieve, passed out through the café of the metropole on his way to his quarters. there were a few late diners at the tables, and bongras, smug and complacent in evening regalia, was waddling about among them like a glorified head waiter, his stiffly roached hair and napoleonic mustaches striving for a dignity and fierceness which was cruelly negatived by a round, full-fed face and an obese little body. "ze dinnare--she was h-all right, m'sieu' brouillard?" he inquired, holding the engineer for a moment at the street door. "as right as the price you're going to charge mr. cortwright for it," joked brouillard. "_sacré!_" swore the amiable one, spreading his hands, "if you could h-only know 'ow eet is cost to bring dose dinnare on dis place! two dollare de 'undred pounds dat mule-freightare is charge me for bringing dose chip-pest wine from quesado! sommtime ve get de railroad, _n'est-ce pas_, m'sieu' brouillard? den ve make dose dinnare moz risson-able." "yes, you will!" brouillard scoffed jocosely. "you'll be adding something then for the uniqueness--for the benefit of the tourists. it'll be a great ad, 'the hotel metropole, the delmonico's of the lake bottom. sit in and dine with us before the heavens open and the floods come.'" "i'll been wanting to h-ask you," whispered the frenchman with a quick-flung glance for the diners at the nearest of the tables, "doze flood--when she is coming, m'sieu' brouillard?" "when we get the dam completed." "you'll bet money h-on dat?--h-all de money you got?" "it's a sure thing, if that's what you're driving at. you can bet on it if you want to." "i make my bet on de price of de dinnare," smiled bongras. "_mais_, i like to know for sure." "why should you doubt it?" "_moi_, i don't doubt nottings; i make de grass to be cut w'ile de sun is shine. but i'll been hearing somebody say dat maybe-so dis town she grow so fas' and so beeg dat de gover'ment is not going drown her." "who said that?" "i don't know; it is _bruit_--what you call rumaire. you hear it h-on de avenue, in de café, h-anyw'eres you go." brouillard laughed again, this time with his hand on the door-latch. "don't lower your prices on the strength of any such rumor as that, poodles. the dam will be built, and the niquoia will be turned into a lake, with the hotel metropole comfortably anchored in the deepest part of it--that is, if it doesn't get gay enough to float." "dat's juz what i'll been thinking," smiled the little man, and he sped the parting guest with a bow that would have graced the antechamber of a _louis le grand_. out in the crisp night air, with the stars shining clear in the velvet sky and the vast bulks of the ramparting mountains to give solidity and definiteness to the scheme of things, brouillard was a little better able to get his feet upon the stable earth. but the major impulse was still levitant, almost exultant. when all was said, it was mr. cortwright's rose-colored view of the immediate future that persisted. "mirapolis!" it was certainly a name to conjure with; an inspiration on the part of the young woman who had chosen it. brouillard saw the projected streets pointing away into the four quarters of the night. it asked for little effort of the imagination to picture them as the streets of a city--lighted, paved, and busy with traffic. would the miracle be wrought? and if it should be, was there any possibility that in time the building of the great dam and the reclamation of the buckskin desert would become secondary in importance to the preservation of mirapolis? it seemed highly incredible; before the little dinner and the social evening brouillard would have said it was blankly impossible. but it is only fools and dead men who cannot admit a changing angle in the point of view. at first brouillard laid it to the champagne, forgetting that he had permitted but a single refilling of his glass. not then, nor for many days, did he suspect that it was his first deep draught of a far headier wine that sent the blood laughing through his veins as he strode down chigringo avenue to his darkened office quarters--the wine of the vintner whose name is graft. vii the speedway it was in the days after he had found on his desk a long envelope enclosing a certificate for a thousand shares of stock in the niquoia electric power, lighting, and traction company that brouillard began to lose his nickname of "hell's-fire" among his workmen, with the promise of attaining, in due time, to the more affectionate title of "the little big boss." at the envelope-opening moment, however, he was threatened with an attack of heart failure. that mr. cortwright and his fellow promoters should make a present of one hundred thousand dollars of the capital stock of the reorganized company to a mere government watch-dog who could presumably neither help nor hinder in the money-making plans of the close corporation, was scarcely believable. but a hastily sought interview with the company's president cleared the air of all the incredibilities. "why, my dear brouillard! what in sam hill do you take us for?" was the genial retort when the young engineer had made his deprecatory protest. "did you think we were going to cut the melon and hand you out a piece of the rind? not so, my dear boy; we are not built on any such narrow-gauge lines. but seriously, we're getting you at a bargain-counter price. one of the things we're up against is the building of another dam higher in the canyon for an auxiliary plant. in taking you in, we've retained the best dam builder in the country to tell us where and how to build it." "that won't go, mr. cortwright," laughed brouillard, finding the great man's humor pleasantly infectious. "you know you can hire engineers by the dozen at the usual rates." "all right, blot that out; say that i wanted to do the right thing by the son of good old judge antoine; just imagine, for the sake of argument, that i wanted to pose as the long-lost uncle of the fairy-stories to a fine young fellow who hasn't been able to draw a full breath since his father died. you can do it now, victor, my boy. any old time the trusteeship debt your father didn't really owe gets too heavy, you can unload on me and wipe it out. isn't it worth something to realize that?" "i guess it will be, if i am ever able to get down to the solid fact of realizing it. but i can't earn a hundred thousand dollars of the company's stock, mr. cortwright." "of course you can. that's what we are willing to pay for a good, reliable government brake. it's going to be your business to see to it that the reclamation service gets exactly what its contract calls for, kilowatt for kilowatt." "i'd do that, anyhow, as chief of construction on the dam." "you mean you would try to do it. as an officer of the power company, you can do it; as an official kicker on the outside, you couldn't feaze us a particle. what? you'd put us out of business? not much, you wouldn't; we'd play politics with you and get a man for your job who wouldn't kick." "well," said the inheritor of sudden wealth, still matching the promoter's mood, "you won't get me fired now, that's one comfort. when will you want my expert opinion on your auxiliary dam?" "on _our_ dam, you mean. oh, any time soon; say to-morrow or friday--or saturday if that hurries you too much. we sha'n't want to go to work on it before monday." being himself an exponent of the modern theory that the way to do things is to do them now, brouillard accepted the hurry order without comment. celerity, swiftness of accomplishment that was almost magical, had become the mirapolitan order of the day. plans conceived over-night leaped to their expositions in things done as if the determination to do them had been all that was necessary to their realization. "you shall have the report to-morrow," said the newly created consulting engineer, "but you can't go to work monday. the labor market is empty, and i'm taking it for granted that you're not going to stampede my shovellers and concrete men." "oh, no," conceded the city builder, "we sha'n't do that. you'll admit--in your capacity of government watch-dog--that we have played fair in that game. we have imported every workman we've needed, and we shall import more. that's one thing none of us can afford to do--bull the labor market. and it won't be necessary; we have a train load of italians and bulgarians on the way to quesado to-day, and they ought to be here by monday." "you are a wonder, mr. cortwright," was brouillard's tribute to the worker of modern miracles, and he went his way to ride to the upper end of the valley for the exploring purpose. on the monday, as president cortwright had so confidently predicted, the train load of laborers had marched in over the war arrow trail and the work on the auxiliary power dam was begun. on the tuesday a small army of linemen arrived to set the poles and to string the wires for the lighting of the town. on the wednesday there were fresh accessions to the army of builders, and the freighters on the quesado trail reported a steady stream of artisans pouring in to rush the city making. on the thursday the grading and paving of chigringo avenue was begun, and, true to his promise, mr. cortwright was leaving a right of way in the street for the future trolley tracks. and it was during this eventful week that the distant thunder of the dynamite brought the welcome tidings of the pushing of the railroad grade over the mountain barrier. also--but this was an item of minor importance--it was on the saturday of this week that the second tier of forms was erected on the great dam and the stripped first section of the massive gray foot-wall of concrete raised itself in mute but eloquent protest against the feverish activities of the miracle-workers. if the protest were a threat, it was far removed. many things might happen before the gray wall should rise high enough to cast its shadow, and the shadow of the coming end, over the miraculous city of the plain. it was brouillard himself who put this thought into words on the sunday when he and grislow were looking over the work of form raising and finding it good. "catching you, too, is it, victor?" queried the hydrographer, dropping easily into his attitude of affable cynicism. "i thought it would. but tell me, what are some of the things that may happen?" "it's easy to predict two of them: some people will make a pot of money and some will lose out." grislow nodded. "of course you don't take any stock in the rumor that the government will call a halt?" "you wouldn't suppose it could be possible." "no. yet the rumor persists. hosford hinted to me the other day that there might be a congressional investigation a little further along to determine whether the true _pro bono publico_ lay in the reclamation of a piece of yellow desert or in the preservation of an exceedingly promising and rapidly growing young city." "hosford is almost as good a boomer as mr. cortwright. everybody knows that." "yes. i guess mirapolis will have to grow a good bit more before congress can be made to take notice," was the hydrographer's dictum. "isn't that your notion?" brouillard was shaking his head slowly. "i don't pretend to have opinions any more, grizzy. i'm living from day to day. if the tail should get big enough to wag the dog----" they were in the middle of the high staging upon which the puddlers worked while filling the forms and grislow stopped short. "what's come over you, lately, victor? i won't say you're half-hearted, but you're certainly not the same driver you were a few weeks ago, before the men quit calling you 'hell's-fire.'" brouillard smiled grimly. "it's going to be a long job, grizzy. perhaps i saw that i couldn't hope to keep keyed up to concert pitch all the way through. call it that, anyway. i've promised to motor miss cortwright to the upper dam this afternoon, and it's time to go and do it." it was not until they were climbing down from the staging at the jack's mountain approach that grislow acquired the ultimate courage of his convictions. "going motoring, you said--with miss genevieve. that's another change. i'm beginning to believe in your seven-year hypothesis. you are no longer a woman-hater." "i never was one. there isn't any such thing." "you used to make believe there was and you posed that way last summer. think i don't remember how you were always ranting about the dignity of a man's work and quoting kipling at me? now you've taken to mixing and mingling like a social reformer." "well, what of it?" half-absently. "oh, nothing; only it's interesting from a purely academic point of view. i've been wondering how far you are responsible; how much you really do, yourself, and how much is done for you." brouillard's laugh was skeptical. "that's another leaf out of your psychological book, i suppose. it's rot." "is it so? but the fact remains." "what fact?" "the fact that your subconscious self has got hold of the pilot-wheel; that your reasoning self is asleep, or taking a vacation, or something of that sort." "oh, bally! there are times when you make me feel as if i had eaten too much dinner, grizzy! this is one of them. put it in words; get it out of your system." "it needs only three words: you are hypnotized." "that is what you say; it is up to you to prove it," scoffed brouillard. "i could easily prove it to the part of you that is off on a vacation. a month ago this city-building fake looked as crazy to you as it still does to those of us who haven't been invited to sit down and take a hand in mr. cortwright's little game. you hooted at it, preached a little about the gross immorality of it, swore a good bit about the effect it was going to have on our working force. it was a crazy object-lesson in modern greed, and all that." "well?" "now you seem to have gone over to the other side. you hobnob with cortwright and do office work for him. you know his fake is a fake; and yet i overheard you boosting it the other night in poodles's dining-room to a tableful of money maniacs as if cortwright were giving you a rake-off." brouillard stiffened himself with a jerk as he paced beside his accuser, but he kept his temper. "you're an old friend, grizzy, and a mighty good one--as i have had occasion to prove. it is your privilege to ease your mind. is that all?" "no. you are letting genevieve cortwright make a fool of you. if you were only half sane you'd see that she is a confirmed trophy hunter. why, she even gets down to young griffith--and uses him to dig out information about you. she----" "hold on, murray; there's a limit, and you'll bear with me if i say that you are working up to it now." brouillard's jaw was set and the lines between his eyes were deepening. "i don't know what you are driving at, but you'd better call it off. i can take care of myself." "if i thought you could--if i only thought you could," said grislow musingly. "but the indications all lean the other way. it would be all right if you wanted to marry her and she wanted you to; but you don't--and she doesn't. and, besides, there's amy; you owe her something, don't you?--or don't you? you needn't grit your teeth that way. you are only getting a part of what is coming to you. 'faithful are the wounds of a friend,' you know." "yes. and when the psalmist had admitted that, he immediately asked the lord not to let their precious balms break his head. you're all right, grizzy, but i'll pull through." then, with a determined wrenching aside of the subject: "are you going up on chigringo this afternoon?" "i thought i would--yes. what shall i tell miss massingale when she asks about you?" "you will probably tell her the first idiotic thing that comes into the back part of your head. and if you tell her anything pifflous about me i'll lay for you some dark night with a pick handle." grislow laughed reminiscently. "she won't ask," he said. "why not?" "because the last time she did it i told her your scalp was dangling at miss genevieve's belt." they had reached the door of the log-built quarters and brouillard spun the jester around with a shoulder grip that was only half playful. "if i believed you said any such thing as that i'd murder you!" he exploded. "perhaps you'll go and tell her that--you red-headed blastoderm!" "sure," said the blastoderm, and they went apart, each to his dunnage kit. viii table stakes there were a dozen business blocks under construction in mirapolis, with a proportional number of dwellings and suburban villas at various stages in the race toward completion, when it began to dawn upon the collective consciousness of a daily increasing citizenry that something was missing. garner, the real-estate plunger from kansas city, first gave the missing quantity its name. the distant thunder of the blasts heralding the approach of the railroad had ceased between two days. there was no panic; there was only the psychoplasmic moment for one. thus far there had been no waning of the fever of enthusiasm, no slackening of the furious pace in the race for growth, and, in a way, no lack of business. with money plentiful and credit unimpaired, with an army of workmen to spend its weekly wage, and a still larger army of government employees to pour a monthly flood into the strictly limited pool of circulation, traffic throve, and in token thereof the saloons and dance-halls never closed. up to the period of the silenced dynamite thunderings new industries were projected daily, and investors, tolled in over the high mountain trails or across the buckskin in dust-encrusted automobiles by methods best known to a gray-mustached adept in the art of promotion, thronged the lobby of the hotel metropole and bought and sold mirapolis "corners" or "insides" on a steadily ascending scale of prices. not yet had the time arrived for selling before sunset that which had been bought since sunrise. on the contrary, a strange mania for holding on, for permanency, seemed to have become epidemic. many of the working-men were securing homes on the instalment plan. a good few of the villas could boast parquetry floors and tiled bath-rooms. one coterie of chicagoans refused an advance of fifty per cent on a quarter square of business earth and the next day decided to build a six-storied office-building, with a ground-floor corner for the niquoia national bank, commodious suites for the city offices of the power company, the cement company, the lumber syndicate, and the water company, and an entire floor to be set apart for the government engineers and accountants. and it was quite in harmony with the spirit of the moment that the building should be planned with modern conveniences and that the chosen building material should be nothing less permanent than monolithic concrete. in harmony with the same spirit was the enterprise which cut great gashes across the shoulder of jack's mountain in the search for precious metal. here the newly incorporated buckskin gold mining and milling company had discarded the old and slow method of prospecting with pick and shovel, and power-driven machines ploughed deep furrows to bed-rock across and back until the face of the mountain was zigzagged and scarred like a veteran of many battles. in keeping, again, was the energy with which mr. cortwright and his municipal colleagues laid water-mains, strung electric wires, drove the paving contractors, and pushed the trolley-line to the stage at which it lacked only the rails and the cars awaiting shipment by the railroad. under other conditions it is conceivable that an impatient committee of construction would have had the rails freighted in across the desert, would have had the cars taken to pieces and shipped by mule-train express from quesado. but with the railroad grade already in sight on the bare shoulders of the hophra hills and the thunder-blasts playing the presto march of promise the committee could afford to wait. this was the situation on the day when garner, sharp-eared listener at the keyhole of opportunity, missing the dynamite rumblings, sent a cipher wire of inquiry to the east, got a "rush" reply, and began warily to unload his mirapolitan holdings. being a man of business, he ducked to cover first and talked afterward; but by the time his hint had grown to rumor size mr. cortwright had sent for brouillard. "pull up a chair and have a cigar," said the great man when brouillard had penetrated to the nerve-centre of the mirapolitan activities in the metropole suite and the two stenographers had been curtly dismissed. "have you heard the talk of the street? there is a rumor that the railroad grading has been stopped." brouillard, busy with the work of setting the third series of forms on his great wall, had heard nothing. "i've noticed that they haven't been blasting for two or three days. but that may mean nothing more than a delayed shipment of dynamite," was his rejoinder. "it looks bad--devilish bad." the promoter was planted heavily in his pivot-chair, and the sandy-gray eyes dwindled to pin-points. "three days ago the blasting stopped, and garner--you know him, the little kansas city shark across the street--got busy with the wire. the next thing we knew he was unloading, quietly and without making any fuss about it, but at prices that would have set us afire if he'd had enough stuff in his pack to amount to anything." brouillard tried to remember that he was the reclamation service construction chief, that the pricking of the mirapolitan bubble early or late concerned him not at all,--tried it and failed. "i am afraid you are right," he said thoughtfully. "we've had a good many applications from men hunting work in the past two days, more than would be accounted for by the usual drift from the railroad camps." "you saw president ford after i did; what did he say when he was over here?" "he said very little to me," replied brouillard guardedly. "from that little i gathered that the members of his executive committee were not unanimously in favor of building the extension." "well, we are up against it, that's all. read that," and the promoter handed a telegram across the desk. the wire was from chicago, was signed "ackerman," and was still damp from the receiving operator's copying-press. it read: "work on p. s-w.'s buckskin extension has been suspended for the present. reason assigned, shrinkage in securities and uncertainty of business outlook in niquoia." brouillard's first emotion was that of the engineer and the economist. "what a bunch of blanked fools!" he broke out. "they've spent a clean million as it stands, and they are figuring to leave it tied up and idle!" mr. cortwright's frown figured as a fleshly mask of irritability. "i'm not losing any sleep over the p. s-w. treasury. it's our own basket of eggs here that i'm worrying about. let it once get out that the railroad people don't believe in the future of mirapolis and we're done." brouillard's retort was the expression of an upflash of sanity. "mirapolis has no future; it has only an exceedingly precarious present." for a moment the sandy-gray eyes became inscrutable. then the mask of irritation slid aside, revealing the face which mr. j. wesley cortwright ordinarily presented to his world--the face of imperturbable good nature. "you're right, brouillard; mirapolis is only a good joke, after all. sometimes i get bamfoozled into the idea that it isn't--that it's the real thing. that's bad for the nerves. but about this railroad fizzle; i don't relish the notion of having our little joke sprung on us before we're ready to laugh, do you? what do you think?" brouillard shook himself as one who casts a burden. "it is not my turn to think, mr. cortwright." "oh, yes, it is; very pointedly. you're one of us, to a certain extent; and if you were not you would still be interested. a smash just now would hamper the reclamation service like the mischief; the entire works shut down; no cement, no lumber, no power; everything tied up in the courts until the last creditor quits taking appeals. oh, no, brouillard; you don't want to see the end of the world come before it's due." it was the consulting engineer of the power company rather than the reclamation service chief who rose and went to the window to look down upon the morning briskness of chigringo avenue. and it was the man who saw one hundred thousand dollars, the price of freedom, slipping away from him who turned after a minute or two of the absent street gazing and said: "what do you want me to do, mr. cortwright? i did put my shoulder to the wheel when ford was here. i told him if i were in his place i'd take the long chance and build the extension." "did you?--and before you had a stake in the game? that was a white man's boost, right! have another cigar. they're 'poodles's pride,' and they're not half bad when you get used to the near-havana filler. think you could manage to get ford on the wire and encourage him a little more?" "it isn't ford; it is the new york bankers. you can read that between the lines in your man ackerman's telegram." the stocky gentleman in the pivot-chair thrust out his jaw and tilted his freshly lighted cigar to the aggressive angle. "say, brouillard, we've got to throw a fresh piece of bait into the cage, something that will make the railroad crowd sit up and take notice. by george, if those gold hunters up on jack's mountain would only stumble across something big enough to advertise----" brouillard started as if the wishful musing had been a blow. like a hot wave from a furnace mouth it swept over him--the sudden realization that the means, the one all-powerful, earth-moving lever the promoter was so anxiously seeking, lay in his hands. "the buckskin people, yes," he said, making talk as the rifleman digs a pit to hold his own on the firing-line. "if they should happen to uncover a gold reef just now it would simplify matters immensely for mirapolis, wouldn't it? the railroad would come on, then, without a shadow of doubt. all the bankers in new york couldn't hold it back." now came mr. cortwright's turn to get up and walk the floor, and he took it, tramping solidly back and forth in the clear space behind the table-topped desk. it was not until he had extended the meditative stump-and-go to one of the windows that he stopped short and came out of the inventive trance with a jerk. "come here," he called curtly, with a quick finger crook for the engineer, and when brouillard joined him: "can you size up that little caucus over yonder?" the "caucus" was a knot of excited men blocking the sidewalk in front of garner's real-estate office on the opposite side of the street. the purpose of the excited ones was not difficult to divine. they were all trying to crowd into the kansas city man's place of business at once. "it looks like a run on a bank," said brouillard. "it is," was the crisp reply. "garner has beaten everybody else to the home plate, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut. he's been talking, and every man in that mob is a potential panic breeder. that thing has got to be nipped in the bud, right now!" "yes," brouillard agreed. he was still wrestling with his own besetment--the prompting which involved a deliberate plunge where up to the present crisis he had been merely wading in the shallows. a little thing stung him alive to the imperative call of the moment--the sight of amy massingale walking down the street with tig smith, the triangle-circle foreman. it was of the death of her hopes that he was thinking when he said coolly: "you have sized it up precisely, mr. cortwright; that is a panic in the making, and the bubble won't stand for very much pricking. give me a free hand with your check-book for a few minutes and i'll try to stop it." it spoke volumes for the millionaire promoter's quick discernment and decision that he asked no questions. "do it," he snapped. "i'll cover you for whatever it takes. don't wait; that crowd is getting bigger every minute." brouillard ran down-stairs and across the street. it was no part of his intention to stop and speak to amy massingale and the ranchman, but he did it, and even walked a little way with them before he turned back to elbow his way through the sidewalk throng and into garner's dingy little office. "you are selling mirapolis holdings short to-day, garner?" he asked when he had pushed through the crowd to the speculator's desk. and when garner laughed and said there were no takers he placed his order promptly. "you may bid in for me, at yesterday's prices, anything within the city limits--not options, you understand, but the real thing. bring your papers over to my office after banking hours and we'll close for whatever you've been able to pick up." he said it quietly, but there could be no privacy at such a time and in such a place. "what's that, mr. brouillard?" demanded one in the counter jam. "you're giving garner a blank card to buy for your account? say, that's plenty good enough for me. garner, cancel my order to sell, will you? when the chief engineer of the government water-works believes in mirapolis futures and bets his money on 'em, i'm not selling." the excitement was already dying down and the crowd was melting away from garner's sidewalk when brouillard rejoined mr. cortwright in the second-floor room across the street. "well, it's done," he announced shortly, adding: "it's only a stop-gap. to make the bluff good, you've got to have the railroad." "that's the talk," said the promoter, relighting the cigar which the few minutes of crucial suspense had extinguished. and then, without warning: "you're carrying something up your sleeve, brouillard. what is it?" "it is the one thing you need, mr. cortwright. if i could get my own consent to use it i could bring the railroad here in spite of those new yorkers who seem to have an attack of cold feet." mr. j. wesley cortwright's hesitation was so brief as to be almost imperceptible. "i suppose that is your way of saying that your share in the table stakes isn't big enough. all right; the game can't stop in the middle of a bet. how much is it going to cost us to stay in?" "the cost isn't precisely in the kind of figures that you understand best, mr. cortwright. and as to my share in the profits ... well, we needn't mince matters; you may remember that you were at some considerable pains to ascertain my price before you made the original bid--and the bid was accepted. you've just been given a proof that i'm trying to earn my money. no other man in mirapolis could have served your turn over there at garner's as i did a few minutes ago. you know that." "good lord, man, i'm not kicking! but we are all in the same boat. if the railroad work doesn't start up again within the next few days we are all due to go to pot. if you've got the odd ace up your sleeve and don't play it, you stand to lose out with the rest of us." the door was open into the anteroom where the stenographers' desks were, and brouillard was staring gloomily into the farther vacancies. "i wonder if you know how little i care?" he said half musingly. then, with sudden vehemence: "it is altogether a question of motive with me, mr. cortwright; of a motive which you couldn't understand in a thousand years. if that motive prevails, you get your railroad and a little longer lease of life. if it doesn't, mirapolis will go to the devil some few weeks or months ahead of its schedule--and i'll take my punishment with the remainder of the fools--and the knaves." he was on his feet and moving toward the door of exit when the promoter got his breath. "here, hold on, brouillard--for heaven's sake, don't go off and leave it up in the air that way!" he protested. but the corridor door had opened and closed and brouillard was gone. two hours later mirapolis the frenetic had a new thrill, a shock so electrifying that the rumor of the railroad's halting decision sank into insignificance and was forgotten. the suddenly evoked excitement focussed in a crowd besieging the window of the principal jewelry shop--focussed more definitely upon a square of white paper in the window in the centre of which was displayed a little heap of virgin gold in small nuggets and coarse grains. while the crowds in the street were still struggling and fighting to get near enough to read the labelling placard, the _daily spot-light_ came out with an extra which was all head-lines, the telegraph-wires to the east were buzzing, and the town had gone mad. the gold specimen--so said the placard and the news extra--had been washed from one of the bars in the niquoia. by three o'clock the madness had culminated in the complete stoppage of all work among the town builders and on the great dam as well, and gold-crazed mobs were frantically digging and panning on every bar in the river from the valley outlet to the power dam five miles away. ix bedlam it was between two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the day in which mirapolis went placer mad when word came to the reclamation-service headquarters that the power was cut off and that there were no longer men enough at the mixers and on the forms to keep the work going if the power should come on again. handley, the new fourth assistant, brought the news, dropping heavily into a chair and shoving his hat to the back of his head to mop his seamed and sun-browned face. "why the devil didn't you fellows turn out?" he demanded savagely of leshington, anson, and grislow, who were lounging in the office and very pointedly waiting for the lightning to strike. "gassman and i have done everything but commit cold-blooded murder to hold the men on the job. where's the boss?" nobody knew, and grislow, at least, was visibly disturbed at the question. it was anson who seemed to have the latest information about brouillard. "he came in about eleven o'clock, rummaged for a minute or two in that drawer you've got your foot on, grizzy, and then went out again. anybody seen him since?" there was a silence to answer the query, and the hydrographer righted his chair abruptly and closed the opened drawer he had been utilizing for a foot-rest. he had a long memory for trifles, and at the mention of the drawer a disquieting picture had flashed itself upon the mental screen. there were two figures in the picture, brouillard and himself, and brouillard was tossing the little buckskin sack of gold nuggets into the drawer, where it had lain undisturbed ever since--until now. moreover, grislow's news of brouillard, if he had seen fit to publish it, was later than anson's. at one o'clock, or thereabout, the chief had come into the mapping room for a glance at the letters on his desk. one of the letters--a note in a square envelope--he had thrust into his pocket before going out. "it looks as if the chief had gone with the crowd," said leshington when the silence had grown almost portentous, "though that wouldn't be like him. has anybody found out yet who touched off the gold-mounted sky-rocket?" grislow came out of his brown study with a start. "levy won't tell who gave him those nuggets to put in his window. i tried him. all he will say is that the man who left the sample is perfectly reliable and that he dictated the exact wording of the placard that did the business." "i saw harlan, of the _spot-light_, half an hour ago," cut in anson. "he's plumb raving crazy, like everybody else, but there is something faintly resembling method in his madness. he figures it that we government people are out of a job permanently; that with the discovery of these placers--or, rather, with the practically certain rediscovery of them by the mob--mirapolis will jump to the front rank as a gold camp, and the reclamation service will have to call a halt on the buckskin project." leshington's long, plain-song face grew wooden. "you say 'practically certain.' the question is: will they be rediscovered? bet any of you a box of poodles's flor de near havanas that it's some new kind of a flip-flap invented by j. wesley and his boomers. what do you say?" "good lord!" growled handley. "they didn't need any new stunts. they had the world by the ear, as it was." "that's all right," returned leshington; "maybe they didn't. i heard a thing or two over at bongras's last night that set me guessing. there was a piece of gossip coming up the pike about the railroad pulling out of the game, or, rather, that it had already pulled out." once more silence fell upon the group in the mapping room, and this time it was grislow who broke it. "i suppose harlan is getting ready to exploit the new sensation right?" he suggested, and anson nodded. "you can trust harlan for that. he's got the valley wire subsidized, and he is waiting for the first man to come in with the news of the sure thing and the location of it. when he gets the facts he'll touch off the fireworks, and the world will be invited to take a running jump for the new tonopah." then, with sudden anxiety: "i wish to goodness brouillard would turn up and get busy on his job. it's something hideous to be stranded this way in the thick of a storm!" "it's time somebody was getting busy," snarled handley. "there are a hundred tons of fresh concrete lying in the forms, just as they were dumped--with no puddlers--to say nothing of half as much more freezing to solid rock right now in the mixers and on the telphers." grislow got up and reached for his coat and hat. "i'm going out to hunt for the boss," he said, "and you fellows had better do the same. if this is one of cortwright's flip-flaps, and brouillard happened to be in the way, i wouldn't put it beyond j. wesley to work some kind of a disappearing racket on the human obstacle." the suggestion was carried out immediately by the three to whom it was made, but for a reason of his own the hydrographer contrived to be the last to leave the mapping room. when he found himself alone he returned hastily to the desk and pulled out the drawer of portents, rummaging in it until he was fully convinced that the little buckskin bag of nuggets was gone. then, instead of following the others, he took a field-glass from its case on the wall and went to the south window to focus it upon the massingale cabin, standing out clear-cut and distinct in the afternoon sunlight on its high, shelf-like bench. the powerful glass brought out two figures on the cabin porch, a woman and a man. the woman was standing and the man was sitting on the step. grislow lowered the glass and slid the telescoping sun tubes home with a snap. "good god!" he mused, "it's unbelievable! he deliberately turns this thing loose on us down here and then takes an afternoon off to go and make love to a girl! he's crazy; it's the seven-year devil he talks about. and nobody can help him; nobody--unless amy can. lord, lord!" x epochal at the other extremity of the trajectory of grislow's telltale field-glass brouillard was sunning himself luxuriously on the porch step at the massingale house and making up for lost time--counting all time lost when it spelled absence from the woman he loved. but miss massingale was in a charmingly frivolous frame of mind. "that is the fourth different excuse you have invented for cutting me out of your visiting list, not counting the repetitions," she gibed, when he had finally fallen back upon the time demands of his work to account for his late neglect of her. "if i wanted to be hateful i might insist that you haven't given the true reason yet." "perhaps i will give it before i go," he parried. "but just now i'd much rather talk about something else. tell me about yourself. what have you been doing all these days when i haven't been able to keep tab on you?" "flirting--flirting desperately with tig, with lord falkland, with mr. anson, and mr. grislow, and that nice boy of yours, herbert griffith, and with--no, _not_ with mr. leshington; he scares me--makes a face like a wooden image and says: 'little girl, you need a mother--or a husband; i haven't made up my mind which.' when he _does_ make up his mind i'm going to shriek and run away." "who is lord falkland?" demanded brouillard, ignoring the rank and file. "o-o-h! haven't you met him? he is tig's boss. he isn't a real lord; he is only a 'younger son.' but we call him lord falkland because he has no sense of humor and is always trying to explain. 'beg pawdon, my _deah_ miss massingale, but i'm _not_ lord falkland, don't y' know. the--er--title goes with the--er--entail. i'm only the honorable pawcy grammont penbawthy trevawnnion.'" her mimicry of the englishman was delicious, and brouillard laughed like a man without a care in the world. "where does the honorable all-the-rest keep himself?" he wished to know. "he stays out at the ranch in the buckskin with tig and the range-riders most of the time, i think. it's his ranch, you know, and he is immensely proud of it. he never tires of telling me about the cattle on a thousand hills, or the thousand cattle on one hill, i forget which it is." "and you flirt with this--this alphabetical monstrosity!" he protested reproachfully. "honestly, victor, i don't; that was only an amiable little figure of speech. you simply _can't_ flirt with a somebody who is almost as brilliant as a lump of cornish tin ore and, oh, ever so many times as dense." "exit lord falkland, who isn't lord falkland," said brouillard. "now tell me about the 'little susan'; is the blue-grass farm looming up comfortably on the eastern edge of things?" in a twinkling her frivolous mood vanished. "oh, we are prosperous, desperately prosperous. we have power drills, and electric ore-cars, and a crib, and a chute, and a hoist, and an aerial tramway down to the place where the railroad yard is going to be--all the improvements you can see and a lot more that you can't see. and our pay-roll--it fairly frightens me when i make it up on the saturdays." "i see," he nodded. "all going out and nothing coming in. but the money is all here, safely stacked up in the ore bins. you'll get it all out when the railroad comes." "that is another thing--a thing i haven't dared tell father and stevie. when i was in mirapolis this morning i heard that the railroad wasn't coming, after all; or, rather, tig had heard it and he told me. we were digging for facts when you met us on chigringo avenue--trying to find out if the rumor were true." "did you find out?" he asked. "not positively. that is why i left the note at your office begging you to come up if you could spare the time. i felt sure you would know." "it means a great deal to you, doesn't it?" he said evasively. "it means everything--a thousand times more now than it did before." his quick glance up into the suddenly sobered eyes of the girl standing on the step above him was a voiceless query and she answered it. "we had no working capital, as i think you must have known. once a month father or stevie would make up a few pack-saddle loads of the richest ore and freight them over the mountains to red butte. that was how we got along. but when you sent me word by tig that the railroad company had decided to build the extension, there was--there was--a chance----" "yes," he encouraged. "a chance that the day of little things was past and the day of big things was come. mr. cortwright and some of his associates had been trying to buy an interest in the 'little susan.' father let them in on some sort of a stock arrangement that i don't understand and then made himself personally responsible for a dreadful lot of borrowed money." "borrowed of mr. cortwright?" queried brouillard. "no; of the bank. neither stevie nor i knew about it until after it was done, and even then father wouldn't explain. he has been like a man out of his mind since mr. cortwright got hold of him--everything is rose-colored; we are going to be immensely rich the minute the railroad builds its track to the mine dump. the ore is growing richer every day--which is true--and the railroad will let us into the smelters with train loads of it. he is crazy to build more cribs and put on night shifts of miners. but you see how it all depends upon the railroad." "not so much upon the railroad now as upon some other things," said brouillard enigmatically. "you say your father has borrowed of the bank--is mr. cortwright mixed up in the loan in any way?" "yes; he arranged it in some way for father--i don't know just how. all i know is that father is responsible, and that if the railroad doesn't come he will lose everything." brouillard gave a low whistle. "i don't wonder that the quitting rumor made you nervous." "it was, and is, positively terrifying. father has taken one of the new houses in town and we are to move down next week in spite of all i can do or say. that means more expense and more temptations. i can't tell you how i hate and dread mirapolis. it isn't like any other place i have ever known; it is cynical, vicious, wicked!" "it is," he agreed soberly. "it couldn't well be otherwise. you tell a dozen men they've got a certain definite time to live, and the chances are that two or three of them will begin to prepare to get ready to be sorry for their sins. the other nine or ten will speed up and burn the candle right down into the socket. we shall see worse things in mirapolis before we see better. but i think i can lift one of your burdens. what you heard in town this morning is a fact: the railroad people have stopped work on the buckskin extension. don't faint--they are going to begin again right away." "oh!" she gasped. "are you sure? how _can_ you be sure?" "i've given the order," he said gravely. "an order they can't disregard. let's go back a bit and i'll explain. do you remember my telling you that your brother had tried to bribe me to use my influence with mr. ford?" "as if i should ever be able to forget it!" she protested. "well, that wasn't all that he did--he threatened me--took me to one of the bars in the niquoia, and let me prove for myself that it was tolerably rich placer ground. the threat was a curious one. if i'd say the right thing to president ford, well and good; if not, your brother would disarrange things for the government by giving away the secret of the gold placers. it was ingenious, and effective. to turn the valley into a placer camp would be to disorganize our working force, temporarily at least, and in the end it might even stop or definitely postpone the building of the dam." she was listening eagerly, but there was a nameless fear in the steadfast eyes--a shadow which he either missed or disregarded. "naturally, i saw, or thought i saw, a good reason why he should hesitate to carry out his threat," brouillard went on. "the placer find, with whatever profit might be got out of it, was his only so long as he kept the secret. but he covered that point at once; he said that the 'little susan'--with the railroad--was worth more to him and to your father than a chance at the placer-diggings. the ore dump with its known values was a sure thing, while the sluice mining was always a gamble." "and you--you believed all this?" she asked faintly. "i was compelled to believe it. he let me pan out the proof for myself; a heaping spoonful of nuggets and grain gold in a few panfuls of the sand. it pretty nearly turned my head, amy; would have turned it, i'm afraid, if steve hadn't explained that the bar, as a whole, wouldn't run as rich as the sample." "it is dreadful--dreadful!" she murmured. "you believed him, and for that reason you used your influence with mr. ford?" "no." "but you did advise mr. ford to build the extension?" "yes." "believing that it was for the best interests of the railroad to come here?" "no; doubting it very much, indeed." "then why did you do it? i _must_ know; it is my right to know." he got up and took her in his arms, and she suffered him. "a few days ago, little girl, i couldn't have told you. but now i can. i am a free man--or i can be whenever i choose to say the word. you ask me why i pulled for the railroad; i did it for love's sake." she was pushing him away, and the great horror in her eyes was unmistakable now. "oh!" she panted, "is love a thing to be cheapened like that--to be sinned for?" "why, amy, girl! what do you mean? i don't understand----" "that is it, victor; _you don't understand_. you deliberately sacrificed your convictions; you have admitted it. and you did it in the sacred name of love! and your freedom--how have you made a hundred thousand dollars in these few weeks? oh, victor, is it clean money?" he was abashed, confounded; and at the bottom of the tangle of conflicting emotions there was a dull glow of resentment. "the 'sacrifice,' as you call it, was made for you," he said, ignoring her question about the money. "i merely told mr. ford what i should do if the decision lay wholly with me. that is what he asked for--my personal opinion. and he got it." "yes; but when you gave it ... did you say: 'mr. ford, there is a girl up at the "little susan" mine on chigringo mountain who needs your railroad to help her out of her troubles. because i love the girl'----" "of course i didn't say any such suicidal thing as that! but it is too late to raise the question of culpability in the matter of giving ford what he asked for. i did it, as i say--for love of you, amy; and now i have done a much more serious thing--for the same good reason." "tell me," she said, with a quick catching of her breath. "your brother put a weapon in my hands, and i have used it. there was one sure way to make the railroad people get busy again. they couldn't sit still if all the world were trying to get to a new gold camp, to which they already have a line graded and nearly ready for the steel." "and you have----?" he nodded. "i had levy put the spoonful of nuggets in his window, with a placard stating that it was taken out of a bar in the niquoia. when i left the office to come up here the whole town was blocking the street in front of levy's." she had retreated to take her former position, leaning against the porch post, with her hands behind her, and she had grown suddenly calm. "you did this deliberately, victor, weighing all the consequences? mirapolis is already a city of frenzied knaves and dupes; did you realize that you were taking the chance of turning it into a wicked pandemonium? oh, i can't believe you did!" "don't look at me that way, amy," he pleaded. then he went on, with curious little pauses between the words: "perhaps i didn't think--didn't care; you wanted something--and i wanted to give it to you. that was all--as god hears me, it was all. there was another thing that might have weighed, but i didn't let it weigh; i stood to lose the money that will set me free--i could have lost it without wincing--i told cortwright so. you believe that, amy? it will break my heart if you don't believe it." she shook her head sadly. "you have thrown down another of the ideals, and this time it was mine. you don't understand, and i can't make you understand--that is the keen misery of it. if this ruthless thing you tried to do had succeeded, i should be the most wretched woman in the world." "if it had succeeded? it has succeeded. didn't i say just now that the town was crazy with excitement when i left to come up here?" the girl was shaking her head again. "god sometimes saves us in spite of ourselves," she said gravely. "the excitement will die out. there are no placers in the niquoia. the bars have been prospected again and again." "they have been?----" brouillard turned on his heel and choked back the sudden malediction that rose to his lips. she had called mirapolis a city of knaves and dupes; surely, he himself was the simplest of the dupes. "i see--after so long a time," he went on. "your brother merely 'salted' a few shovelfuls of sand for my especial benefit. great heavens, but i was an easy mark!" "don't!" she cried, and the tears in her voice cut him to the heart--"don't make it harder for me than it has to be. i have told you only what i've heard my father say, time and again: that there is no gold in the niquoia river. and you mustn't ask me to despise my brother. he fights his way to his ends without caring much for the consequences to others; but tell me--haven't you been doing the same thing?" "i have," he confessed stubbornly. "my love isn't measured by a fear of consequences--to myself or others." "that is the hopeless part of it," she returned drearily. "yet you condone in your brother what you condemn in me," he complained. "my brother is my brother; and you are--let me tell you something, victor: god helping me, i shall be no man's evil genius, and yours least of all. you broke down the barriers a few minutes ago and you know what is in my heart. but i can take it out of my heart if the man who put it there is not true to himself." brouillard was silent for a little space, and when he spoke again it was as one awaking from a troubled dream. "i know what you would do and say; you would take me by the hand and tell me to come up higher.... there was a time, amy, when you wouldn't have had to say it twice--a time when the best there was in me would have leaped to climb to any height you pointed to. the time is past, and i can't recall it, try as i may; there is a change; it goes back to that day when i first saw you--down at the lower ford in the desert's edge. i loved you then, though i wouldn't admit it even to myself. but that wasn't the change; it was something different. do you believe in freiborg's theory of the multiple personality? i saw his book in your hammock one day when i was up here." "no," she said quite definitely. "i am i, and i am always i. for the purposes of the comedy we call life, we play many parts, perhaps; but back of the part-playing there is always the same soul person, i think--and believe." "i know; that is common sense and sanity. and yet freiborg's speculations are most plausible. he merely carries the idea of the dual personality--the doctor jekyll and mr. hyde notion--a step farther along. you may remember how he compares the human being to a ship changing commanders at every port. one captain makes her a merchantman; another makes her a tramp; a third turns her into a slaver or a pirate; under a fourth she becomes a derelict." "that is a terribly dangerous theory, if you take it seriously," was her comment. "i don't want to take it seriously. but facts are stubborn things. i am not the same man i was a few years or even a few months ago. i have lost something; i have not the same promptings; things that i used to loathe no longer shock me. new and unsuspected pitfalls open for me every day. for example, i am not naturally hot-headed--or rather, i should say, i am quick-tempered but have always been able to control myself. yet in the past few months i have learned what it means to fly into a rage that fairly makes me see red. and there is no cause. nothing different has broken into my life save the best of all things--a great love. and you tell me that the love is unworthy." "no, i didn't say that; i only meant that you had misconceived it. love is the truest, finest thing we know. it can never be the tool of evil, much less the hand that guides the tool. given a free field, it always makes for the wider horizons, the higher planes of thought and action; it may even breathe new life into the benumbed conscience. i don't say that it can't be dragged down and trampled in the dust and the mire; it can be, and then there is nothing more pitiful in a world of misconceptions." again a silence came and sat between them; and, as before, it was the man who broke it. "you lead me to a conclusion that i refuse to accept, amy; that i am dominated by some influence which is stronger than love." "you are," she said simply. "what is it?" "environment." "that is the most humiliating thing you have said to-day. is a man a mere bit of driftwood, to be tossed about in the froth of any wave that happens to come along, as freiborg says he is?" "not always; perhaps not often. and never, i think, in the best part of him--the soul ego. yet there is a mighty power in the wave, in the mere drift. however much others may be deluded, i am sure you can see mirapolis in its true light. it is frankly, baldly, the money-making scheme of a few unscrupulous men. it has no future--it can have none. and because it is what it is, the very air you breathe down there is poisoned. the taint is in the blood. mr. cortwright and his fellow bandits call it the 'miracle city,' but the poor wretches on lower chigringo avenue laugh and call it gomorrah." "just at the present moment it is a city of fools--and i, the king of the fools, have made it so," said brouillard gloomily. from his seat on the porch step he was frowning down upon the outspread scene in the valley, where the triangular shadow of jack's mountain was creeping slowly across to the foot of chigringo. something in the measured eye-sweep brought him to his feet with a hasty exclamation: "good lord! the machinery has stopped! they've knocked off work on the dam!" "why not?" she said. "did you imagine that your workmen were any less human than other people?" "no, of course not; that is, i--but i haven't any time to go into that now. is your telephone line up here in operation?" "no, not yet." "then i must burn the wind getting down there. by jove! if those unspeakable idiots have gone off and left the concrete to freeze wherever it happens to be----" "one moment," she pleaded, while he was reaching for his hat. "this new madness will have spent itself by nightfall--it must. and yet i have the queerest shivery feeling, as if something dreadful were going to happen. can't you contrive to get word to me, some way--after it is all over? i wish you could." "i'll do it," he promised. "i'll come up after supper." "no, don't do that. you will be needed at the dam. there will be trouble, with a town full of disappointed gold-hunters, and liquor to be had. wait a minute." she ran into the house and came out with two little paper-covered cylinders with fuses projecting. "take these, they are bengal lights--some of the fireworks that tig bought in red butte for the fourth. light the blue one when you are ready to send me my message of cheer. i shall be watching for it." "and the other?" he asked. "it is a red light, the signal of war and tumults and danger. if you light it, i shall know----" he nodded, dropped the paper cylinders into his pocket, and a moment later was racing down the trail to take his place at the helm of the abandoned ship of the industries. there was need for a commander; for a cool head to bring order out of chaos, and for the rare faculty which is able to accomplish herculean tasks with whatever means lie at hand. brouillard descended upon his disheartened subordinates like a whirlwind of invincible energy, electrifying everybody into instant action. gassman was told off to bring the indians, who alone were loyally indifferent to the gold craze, down from the crushers. anson was despatched to impress the waiters and bell-boys from the metropole; leshington was sent to the shops and the bank to turn out the clerks; grislow and handley were ordered to take charge of the makeshift concrete handlers as fast as they materialized, squadding them and driving the work of wreck clearing for every man and minute they could command, with gassman and bender to act as foremen. for himself, brouillard reserved the most hazardous of the recruiting expedients. the lower avenue had already become a double rank of dives, saloons, and gambling dens; here, if anywhere in the craze-depopulated town, men might be found, and for once in their lives they should be shown how other men earned money. "shove it for every minute of daylight there is left," he ordered, snapping out his commands to his staff while he was filling the magazine of his winchester. "puddle what material there is in the forms, dump the telpher buckets where they stand, and clean out the mixers; that's the size of the job, and it's got to be done. jump to it, grizzy, you and handley, and we'll try to fill your gangs the best way we can. leshington, don't you take any refusal from the shopkeepers and the bank people; if they kick, you tell them that not another dollar of government money will be spent in this town--we'll run a free commissary first. anson, you make bongras turn out every man in his feeding place; he'll do it. griffith, you chase mr. cortwright, and don't quit till you find him. tell him from me that we've got to have every man he can give us, at whatever cost." "you'll be up on the stagings yourself, won't you?" asked grislow, struggling into his working-coat. "after a bit. i'm going down to the lower avenue to turn out the crooks and diamond wearers. it's time they were learning how to earn an honest dollar." "you'll get yourself killed up," grumbled leshington. "work is the one thing you won't get out of that crowd." "watch me," rasped the chief, and he was gone as soon as he had said it. strange things and strenuous happened in the lower end of the niquoia valley during the few hours of daylight that remained. first, climbing nervously to the puddlers' staging on the great dam, and led by near-napoleon poodles himself, came the metropole quota of waiters, scullions, cooks, and porters, willing but skilless. after them, and herded by leshington, came a dapper crew of office men and clerks to snatch up the puddling spades and to soil their clothes and blister their hands in emptying the concrete buckets. mr. cortwright's contribution came as a dropping fire; a handful of tree-cutters from the sawmills, a few men picked up here and there in the deserted town, an automobile load of power-company employees shot down from the generating plant at racing speed. last, but by no means least in numbers, came the human derelicts from the lower avenue; men in frock-coats; men in cow-boy jeans taking it as a huge joke; men with foreign faces and lowering brows and with strange oaths in their mouths; and behind the motley throng and marshalling it to a quickstep, brouillard and tig smith. it was hot work and heavy for the strangely assorted crew, and brouillard drove it to the limit, bribing, cajoling, or threatening, patrolling the long line of staging to encourage the awkward puddlers, or side-stepping swiftly to the mixers to bring back a detachment of skulkers at the rifle's muzzle. and by nightfall the thing was done, with the loss reduced to a minimum and the makeshift laborers dropping out in squads and groups, some laughing, some swearing, and all too weary and toil-worn to be dangerous. "give us a job if we come back to-morrow, mr. brouillard?" called out the king of the gamblers in passing; and the cry was taken up by others in grim jest. "thus endeth the first lesson," said grislow, when the engineering corps was reassembling at the headquarters preparatory to a descent upon the supper-table. but brouillard was dumb and haggard, and when he had hung rifle and cartridge-belt on their pegs behind his desk, he went out, leaving unbroken the silence which had greeted his entrance. "the boss is taking it pretty hard," said young griffith to no one in particular, and it was leshington who took him up savagely and invited him to hold his tongue. "the least said is the soonest mended--at a funeral," was the form the first assistant's rebuke took. "you take my advice and don't mess or meddle with the chief until he's had time to work this thing out of his system." brouillard was working it out in his own way, tramping the streets, hanging on the outskirts of arguing groups of newsmongers, or listening to the bonanza talk of the loungers in the metropole lobby. soon after dark the gold-seekers began to drop in, by twos and threes and in squads, all with the same story of disappointment. by nine o'clock the town was full of them, and since the liquor was flowing freely across many bars, the mutterings of disappointment soon swelled to a thunder roar of drunken rage, with the unknown exhibitor of the specimen nuggets for its object. from threats of vengeance upon the man who had hoaxed an entire town to a frenzied search for the man was but a step, and when brouillard finally left the metropole and crossed over to his office quarters, the mob was hunting riotously for the jeweller levy and promising to hang him--when found--to the nearest wire pole if he should not confess the name and standing of his gold-bug. the shouts of the mob were ringing in brouillard's ears when he strode dejectedly into the deserted map room, and the cries were rising with a new note and in fresher frenzies a little later when grislow came in. the hydrographer's blue eyes were hard and his voice had a tang of bitterness in it when he said: "well, you've done it. three men have just come in with a double handful of nuggets, and mirapolis makes its bow to the world at large as the newest and richest of the gold camps." brouillard had been humped over his desk, and he sprang up with a cry like that of a wounded animal. "it can't be; grizzy, i tell you it can't be! steve massingale planted that gold that i washed out--played me for a fool to get me to work for the railroad. i didn't know it until--until----" "until amy massingale told you about it this afternoon," cut in the map-maker shrewdly. "that's all right. the bar steve took you to was barren enough; they tell me that every cubic foot of it has been washed over in dish pans and skillets in the past few hours. but you know the big bend opposite the quadjenàï hills; the river has built that bend out of its own washings, and the bulletin over at the _spot-light_ office says that the entire peninsula is one huge bank of gold-bearing gravel." at the word brouillard staggered as from the impact of a bullet. then he crossed the room slowly, groping his way toward the peg where the coat he had worn in the afternoon was hanging. grislow saw him take something out of the pocket of the coat, and the next moment the door opened and closed and the hydrographer was left alone. having been planned before there was a city to be considered, the government buildings enclosed three sides of a small open square, facing toward the great dam. in the middle of this open space brouillard stopped, kicked up a little mound of earth, and stood the two paper cylinders on it, side by side. the tempered glow from the city electrics made a soft twilight in the little plaza; he could see the wrapper colors of the two signal-fires quite well. a sharp attack of indecision had prompted him to place both of them on the tiny mound. with the match in his hand, he was still undecided. amy massingale's words came back to him as he hesitated: "light the blue one when you are ready to send me my message of cheer...." on the lips of another woman the words might have taken a materialistic meaning; the miraculous gold discovery would bring the railroad, and the railroad would rescue the massingale mine and restore the massingale fortunes. he looked up at the dark bulk of chigringo, unrelieved even by the tiny fleck of lamplight which he had so often called his guiding star. "take me out of your mind and heart and say which you will have, little girl," he whispered, sending the words out into the void of night. but only the din and clamor of a city gone wild with enthusiasm came to answer him. somewhere on the avenue a band was playing; men were shouting themselves hoarse in excitement, and above the shouting came the staccato crackling of pistols and guns fired in air. he struck the match and stooped over the blue cylinder. "this is your message of cheer, whether you take it that way or not," he went on, whispering again to the silent void. but when the fuse of the blue light was fairly fizzing, he suddenly pinched it out and held the match to the other. * * * * * up on the high bench of the great mountain amy massingale was pacing to and fro on the puncheon-floored porch of the home cabin. her father had gone to bed, and somewhere down among the electric lights starring the valley her brother was mingling with the excited mobs whose shoutings and gun-firings floated up, distance-softened, on the still, thin air of the summer night. though there was no pause in the monotonous pacing back and forth, the girl's gaze never wandered far from a dark area in the western edge of the town--the semicircle cut into the dotting lights and marking the site of the government reservation. it was when a tiny stream of sparks shot up in the centre of the dark area that she stopped and held her breath. then, when a blinding flare followed to prick out the headquarters, the commissary, and the mess house, she sank in a despairing little heap on the floor, with her face hidden in her hands and the quick sobs shaking her like an ague chill. it was brouillard's signal, but it was not the signal of peace; it was the blood-red token of revolution and strife and turmoil. xi the feast of hurrahs mirapolis the marvellous was a hustling, roaring, wide-open mining-camp of twenty thousand souls by the time the railroad, straining every nerve and crowding three shifts into the twenty-four-hour day, pushed its rails along the foot-hill bench of chigringo, tossed up its temporary station buildings, and signalled its opening for business by running a mammoth excursion from the cities of the immediate east. busy as it was, the city took time to celebrate fittingly the event which linked it to the outer world. by proclamation mayor cortwright declared a holiday. there were lavish displays of bunting, an impromptu trades parade, speeches from the plaza band-stand, free lunches and free liquor--a day of boisterous, hilarious triumphings, with, incidentally, much buying and selling and many transfers of the precious "front foot" or choice "corner." yielding to pressure, which was no less imperative from below than from above, brouillard had consented to suspend work on the great dam during the day of triumphs, and the reclamation-service force, smaller now than at any time since the beginning of the undertaking, went to swell the crowds in chigringo avenue. of the engineering staff grislow alone held aloof. early in the morning he trudged away with rod and trout-basket for the upper waters of the niquoia and was seen no more. but the other members of the staff, following the example set by the chief, took part in the hilarities, serving on committees, conducting crowds of sightseers through the government reservation and up to the mixers and stagings, and otherwise identifying themselves so closely with the civic celebration as to give the impression, often commented upon by the visitors, that the building of the great dam figured only as another expression of the mirapolitan activities. for himself, brouillard vaguely envied grislow the solitudes of the upper niquoia. but mr. cortwright had been inexorable. it was right and fitting that the chief executive of the reclamation service should have a part in the rejoicings, and brouillard found himself discomfortingly emphasized as chairman of the civic reception committee. expostulation was useless. mr. cortwright insisted genially, and miss genevieve added her word. and there had been only grislow to smile cynically when the printed programmes appeared with the chief of the buckskin reclamation project down for an address on "modern city building." it was after his part of the speechmaking, and while the plaza crowds were still bellowing their approval of the modest forensic effort, that he went to sit beside miss cortwright in the temporary grand-stand, mopping his face and otherwise exhibiting the after effects of the unfamiliar strain. "i didn't know you could be so convincing," was miss genevieve's comment. "it was splendid! nobody will ever believe that you are going to go on building your dam and threatening to drown us, after this." "what did i say?" queried brouillard, having, at the moment, only the haziest possible idea of what he had said. "as if you didn't know!" she laughed. "you congratulated everybody: us mirapolitans upon our near-city, the miners on their gold output, the manufacturers on their display in the parade, the railroad on its energy and progressive spirit, and the visitors on their perspicuity and good sense in coming to see the latest of the seven wonders of the modern world. and the funny thing about it is that you didn't say a single word about the niquoia dam." "didn't i? that shows how completely your father has converted me, how helplessly i am carried along on the torrent of events." "but you are not," she said accusingly. "deep down in your inner consciousness you don't believe a little bit in mirapolis. you are only playing the game with the rest of us, mr. brouillard. sometimes i am puzzled to know why." brouillard's smile was rather grim. "your father would probably tell you that i have a stake in the game--as everybody else has." "not mr. grislow?" she said, laying her finger inerrantly upon the single exception. "no, not grizzy; i forgot him." "doesn't he want to make money?" she asked, with exactly the proper shade of disinterest. "no; yes, i guess he does, too. but he is--er--well, i suppose you might call him a man of one idea." "meaning that he is too uncompromisingly honest to be one of us? i think you are right." gorman, mr. cortwright's ablest trumpeter in the real-estate booming, was holding the plaza crowd spellbound with his enthusiastic periods, rising upon his toes and lifting his hands in angel gestures to high heaven in confirmation of his prophetic outlining of the mirapolitan future. in the middle distance, and backgrounding the buildings on the opposite side of the plaza, rose the false work of the great dam--a standing forest of sawed timbers, whose afternoon shadows were already pointing like a many-fingered fate toward the city of the plain. but, though the face of the speaker was toward the shadowing forest, his words ignored it. "the snow-capped timanyonis," "the mighty chigringo," and "the golden-veined slopes of jack's mountain" all came in for eulogistic mention; but the massive wall of concrete, with its bristling parapet of timbers, had no part in the orator's flamboyant descriptive. brouillard broke the spell of the grandiloquent rantings, and came back to what miss genevieve was saying. "yes, murray is stubbornly honest," he agreed; adding: "he is too good for this world, or rather for this little cross-section of pandemonium named mirapolis." "which, inasmuch as we are making mirapolis what it is, is more than can be said for most of us," laughed miss cortwright. then, with a purposeful changing of the subject: "where is miss massingale? as the original 'daughter of the niquoia' she ought to have a place on the band-stand." "she was with tig smith and lord falkland when the parade formed," rejoined the engineer. "i saw them on the balcony of the metropole." "since you are the chairman of the reception committee, i think you ought to go and find her," said miss genevieve pointedly, so pointedly that brouillard rose laughing and said: "thank you for telling me; whom shall i send to take my place here?" "oh, anybody--lord falkland will do. by the way, did you know that he _is_ lord falkland now? his elder brother died a few weeks ago." "no, i hadn't heard it. i should think he would want to go home." "he does. but he, too, has contracted mirapolitis. he has been investing any number of pounds sterling. if you find him send him to me. i want to see how the real, simon-pure american brand of oratory affects a british title." brouillard went, not altogether unwillingly. loving amy massingale with a passion which, however blind it might be on the side of the higher moralities, was still keen-sighted enough to assure him that every plunge he made in the mirapolitan whirlpool was sweeping him farther away from her; he found himself drifting irresistibly into the inner circle of attraction of which genevieve cortwright was the centre. whether miss cortwright's influence was for good or for evil, in his own case, or was entirely disinterested, he could never quite determine. there were times, like this present instant of blatant rejoicings, when she was brightly cynical, flinging a mocking jest at all things mirapolitan. but at other times he had a haunting conviction that she was at heart her father's open-eyed ally and abettor, taking up as she might the burden of filial loyalty thrown down by her brother van bruce, who, in his short summer of mirapolitan citizenship, had been illustrating all the various methods by which a spoiled son of fortune may go to the dogs. brouillard faced the impossible brother and the almost equally impossible father when he thought of genevieve cortwright. but latterly the barriers on that side had been crumbling more and more. once, and once only, had he mentioned the trusteeship debt to genevieve, and on that occasion she had laughed lightly at what she had called his strained sense of honor. the laugh had come at a critical moment. it was in the height of the madness following the discovery of the placers, in an hour when brouillard would have given his right hand to undo the love-prompted disloyalty to his service, that cortwright, whose finger was on everybody's pulse, had offered to buy in the thousand shares of power company's stock at par. brouillard had seen freedom in a stroke of the millionaire's pen; but it was a distinct downward step that by this time he was coming to look upon the payment of his father's honor debt as a hard necessity. he meant to pay it, but there was room for the grim determination that the payment should forever sever him from the handicapped past. he had transferred the stock, minus a single share to cover his official standing on the power company's board, to cortwright and had received the millionaire's check in payment. it was in the evening of the same eventful day, he remembered, that genevieve cortwright had laughed, and the letter, which was already written to the treasurer of a certain indianapolis trust company, was not mailed. instead of mailing it he had opened an account at the niquoia national, and the ninety-nine thousand nine hundred dollars had since grown by speculative accretions to the rounded first eighth of a million which all financiers agree in calling the stepping-stone to fortune. he had regarded this money--was still regarding it--as a loan; his lever with which to pry out something which he could really call his own. but more and more possession and use were dulling the keen edge of accountability and there were moments of insight when the grim irony of taking the price of honor to pay an honor debt forced itself upon him. at such moments he plunged more recklessly, in one of them taking stock in a gold-dredge company which was to wash nuggets by the wholesale out of the quadjenàï bend, in another buying yet other options in the newest suburb of mirapolis. what was to come of all this he would not suffer himself to inquire; but two results were thrusting themselves into the foreground. every added step in the way he had chosen was taking him farther from the ideals of an ennobling love and nearer to a possibility which precluded all ideals. notwithstanding grislow's characterization of her as a trophy hunter, genevieve cortwright was, after all, a woman, and as a woman she was to be won. with the naïve conceit of a man who has broken into the heart of one woman, brouillard admitted no insurmountable obstacles other than those which the hard condition of being himself madly in love with another woman might interpose; and there were times when, to the least worthy part of him, the possibility was alluring. miss cortwright's distinctive beauty, her keen and ready wit, the assurance that she would never press the ideals beyond the purely conventional limits; in the course of time these might happily smother the masterful passion which had thus far been only a blind force driving him to do evil that good might ensue. some such duel of motives was fighting itself to an indecisive conclusion in the young engineer's thoughts when he plunged into the sidewalk throngs in search of the englishman, and it was not until after he had found falkland and had delivered miss genevieve's summons that the duel paused and immediate and more disquieting impressions began to record themselves. with the waning of the day of celebrations the temper of the street throngs was changing. it is only the people of the latinized cities who can take the carnival spirit lightly; in other blood liberty grows to license and the thin veneer of civilized restraints quickly disappears. from early dawn the saloons and dives had been adding fuel to the flames, and light-heartedness and good-natured horse-play were giving way to sardonic humor and brutality. in the short faring through the crowded street from the plaza to the metropole corner brouillard saw and heard things to make his blood boil. women, those who were not a part of the unrestrained mob, were disappearing from the streets, and it was well for them if they could find shelter near at hand. twice before he reached bongras's café entrance the engineer shouldered his way to the rescue of some badgered nucleus of excursionists, and in each instance there were frightened women to be hurriedly spirited away to the nearest place of seclusion and safety. it was in front of bongras's that brouillard came upon the reverend hugh castner, the hot-hearted young zealot who had been flung into mirapolis on the crest of the tidal wave of mining excitement. though hosford--who had not been effaced, as mr. cortwright had promised he should be--and the men of his clique called the young missionary a meddlesome visionary, he stood in the stature of a man, and lower chigringo avenue loved him and swore by him; and sent for him now and then when some poor soul, hastily summoned, was to be eased off into eternity. when brouillard caught sight of him castner was looking out over the seething street caldron from his commanding height of six feet of athletic man stature, his strong face a mask of bitter humiliation and concern. "brouillard, this is simply hideous!" he exclaimed. "if this devils' carnival goes on until nightfall we shall have a revival of the old roman saturnalia at its worst!" then, with a swift blow at the heart of the matter: "you're the man i've been wanting to see; you are pretty close in with the cortwright junta--is it true that free whiskey has been dealt out to the crowd over the bar in the niquoia building?" brouillard said that he did not know, which was true, and that he could not believe it possible, which was not true. "the cortwright people are as anxious to have the celebration pass off peaceably as even you can be," he assured the young missionary, trying to buttress the thing which was not true. "when riot comes in at the door, business flies out at the window; and, after all, this feast of hurrahs is merely another bid for business." but castner was shaking his head. "i can't answer for mr. cortwright personally. he and handley and schermerhorn and a few of the others seem to stand for respectability of a sort. but, mr. brouillard, i want to tell you this: somebody in authority is grafting upon the vice of this community, not only to-day but all the time." "the community is certainly vicious enough to warrant any charge you can make," admitted brouillard. then he changed the topic abruptly. "have you seen miss massingale since noon?" "yes; i saw her with smith, the cattleman, at the other end of the avenue about an hour ago." "heavens!" gritted the engineer. "didn't smith know better than to take her down there at such a time as this?" the young missionary was frowning thoughtfully. "i think it was the other way about. her brother has been drinking again, and i took it for granted that she and smith were looking for him." brouillard buttoned his coat and pulled his soft hat over his eyes. "i'm going to look for her," he said. "will you come along?" castner nodded, and together they put their shoulders to the crowd. the slow progress northward was nearly a battle. the excursion trains returning to red butte and brewster were scheduled to leave early, and the stream of blatant, uproarious humanity was setting strongly toward the temporary railroad station. again and again the engineer and his companion had to intervene by word and blow to protect the helpless in the half-drunken, gibe-flinging crush, and in these sallies castner bore his part like a man, expostulating first and hitting out afterward in a fashion that left no doubt in the mind of his antagonist of the moment. so, struggling, they came finally to the open square of the plaza. here the speechmaking was concluded and the crowd was thinning a little. there was a clamorous demonstration of some sort going on around the band-stand, but they left it behind and pushed on into the less noisy but more dangerous region of the lower avenue. in one of the saloons, as they passed, a sudden crackling of pistol-shots began, and a mob of terrorized reclamation-service workmen poured into the street, sweeping all obstacles before it in a mad rush for safety. "it was little less than a crime to turn your laborers loose on the town on such an occasion as this," said castner, dealing out his words as frankly and openly as he did his blows. brouillard shrugged. "if i hadn't given them the day they would have taken it without leave. you'll have to pass the responsibility on to some one higher up." the militant one accepted the challenge promptly. "it lies ultimately at the door of those whose insatiate greed has built this new gomorrah in the shadow of your dam." he wheeled suddenly and flung a long arm toward the half-finished structure filling the gap between the western shoulders of chigringo and jack's mountain. "there stands the proof of god's wisdom in hiding the future from mankind, mr. brouillard. because a little section of humanity here behind that great wall knows the end of its hopes, and the manner and time of that end, it becomes demon-ridden, irreclaimable!" at another time the engineer might have felt the force of the tersely eloquent summing up of the accusation against the mirapolitan attitude. but now he was looking anxiously for amy massingale or her escort, or both of them. "surely smith wouldn't let her stay down here a minute longer than it took to get her away," he said impatiently as a pair of drunken cornishmen reeled out of haley's place and usurped the sidewalk. "where was it you saw them, castner?" "they were in front of 'pegleg john's', in the next block. miss massingale was waiting for smith, who was just coming out of pegleg's den shaking his head. i put two and two together and guessed they were looking for stephen." "if they went there miss amy had her reasons. let's try it," said brouillard, and he was half-way across the street when castner overtook him. there was a dance-hall next door to pegleg john's barrel-house and gambling rooms, and, though the daylight was still strong enough to make the electrics garishly unnecessary, the orgy was in full swing, the raucous clanging of a piano and the shuffle and stamp of many feet drowning the monotonous cries of the sidewalk "barker," who was inviting all and sundry to enter and join the dancers. castner would have stopped to question the "barker"--was, in fact, trying to make himself heard--when the sharp crash of a pistol-shot dominated the clamor of the piano and the stamping feet. brouillard made a quick dash for the open door of the neighboring barrel-house, and castner was so good a second that they burst in as one man. the dingy interior of pegleg john's, which was merely a barrel-lined vestibule leading to the gambling rooms beyond, staged a tragedy. a handsome young giant, out of whose face sudden agony had driven the brooding passion of intoxication, lay, loose-flung, on the sawdust-covered floor, with amy massingale kneeling in stricken, tearless misery beside him. almost within arm's-reach van bruce cortwright, the slayer, was wrestling stubbornly with tig smith and the fat-armed barkeeper, who were trying to disarm him, his heavy face a mask of irresponsible rage and his lips bubbling imprecations. "turn me loose," he gritted. "i'll fix him so he won't give the governor's snap away! he'll pipe the story of the coronida grant off to the papers?--not if i kill him till he's too dead to bury, i guess." castner ignored the wrestling three and dropped quickly on his knees beside stephen massingale, bracing the misery-stricken girl with the needed word of hope and directing her in low tones how to help him search for the wound. but brouillard hurled himself with an oath upon young cortwright, and it was he, and neither the cattleman nor the fat-armed barkeeper, who wrenched the weapon out of cortwright's grasp and with it menaced the babbling murderer into silence. xii quicksands a short week after the reclamation service headquarters had been moved from the log-built offices on the government reservation to the commodious and airy suite on the sixth floor of the niquoia building brouillard received the summons which he had been expecting ever since the night of rioting and lawlessness which had marked the close of the railroad celebration. "mr. cortwright would like to see you in his rooms at the metropole," was the message the office boy brought, and brouillard closed his desk with a snap and followed the boy to bongras's. the shrewd-eyed tyrant of mirapolis was in his shirt-sleeves, busily dictating to two stenographers alternately, when the engineer entered the third room of the series; but the work was suspended and the stenographers were sent away as soon as brouillard was announced. "well," was the millionaire's greeting, "you waited to be sent for, didn't you?" "why not?" said brouillard shortly. "i have my work to do and you have yours." "and the two jobs are at opposite ends of the string, you'd say. never mind; we can't afford to throw each other down, and just now you can tell me a few things that i want to know. how is young massingale getting along?" "as well as could be expected. carruthers--the doctor--says he is out of danger." "h'm. it has been handed in to me two or three times lately that the old man is out gunning for van bruce or for me. any truth in that?" "i think not. massingale is a kentuckian, and i fancy he is quite capable of potting either one or both of you for the attack on his son. but so far he has done nothing--has hardly left steve's bedside." mr. j. wesley cortwright flung himself back in his luxurious swing chair and clasped his pudgy hands over the top of his head where the reddish-gray hair was thinning reluctantly. "i've been putting it off to see which way the cat was going to jump," he admitted. "if young massingale is out of danger, it is time to get action. what was the quarrel about, between him and van bruce?" "why do you ask me?" queried brouillard. "because you are pretty thick with the massingales, and you probably know," was the blunt accounting for the question. "it occurs to me that your son would be a better source of information," said brouillard, still evading. "van bruce has told me all he remembers--which isn't much, owing to his own beastly condition at the time. he says young massingale was threatening something--something in connection with the coronida grant--and that he got the insane idea into his head that the only way to stop the threat was by killing massingale." the sandy-gray eyes of the millionaire promoter were shifting while he spoke, but brouillard fixed and held them before he said: "why should massingale threaten your son, mr. cortwright?" "i don't know," denied the promoter, and he said it without flinching a hair's-breadth. "then i can tell you," was the equally steady rejoinder. "some time ago you lent david massingale, through the bank, a pretty large sum of money for development expenses on the 'little susan,' taking a mortgage on everything in sight to cover the loan." "i did." "massingale's obligation was in short-time, bankable paper, which he expected to take up when the railroad should come in and give him a market for the ore which he has already taken out of the mine." "yes." "but when the railroad was an assured fact he learned that the red butte smelters wouldn't take his ore, giving some technical reason which he knew to be a mere excuse." mr. cortwright nodded. "so far you might be reading it out of a book." "in consequence of these successive happenings, david massingale finds himself in a fair way to become a broken man by the simplest of commercial processes. the bank holds his notes, which will presently have to be paid. if he can't pay, the bank comes back on you as his indorser, and you fall back on your mortgage and take the mine. isn't that about the size of it?" "it is exactly the size of it." brouillard laughed quietly. "and yet you said a moment ago that you didn't know why young massingale should threaten your son." "and i don't know yet," blustered the magnate. "is it my fault that massingale can't pay his debts?" the engineer had stopped laughing when he said definitely and decidedly: "it is." it was the promoter's turn to laugh. "what sort of a bug have you got in your cosmos this morning, brouillard? why, man, you're crazy!" brouillard rose and relighted his cigar. "if that is your last word, mr. cortwright, i may as well go back to my office. you don't need me." "oh, hold on; don't go off in a huff. you're too thin-skinned for any common kind of use. i was only trying you to see how far you'd carry it. let it stand. assume, for the sake of argument, that i _do_ want the 'little susan' and that i've got a good friend or two in the red butte smelters who will help me get it. now, then, does that stand the band-wagon upon its wheels again?" brouillard's black eyes were snapping, but his voice was quite steady when he said: "thank you; now we shall go on better. you want the 'little susan,' and massingale naturally thinks you're taking an unfair advantage of him to get it. quite as naturally he is going to make reprisals if he can. that brings us down to the mention of the coronida grant and stephen massingale's threat--which your son can't remember." "right-o," said mr. cortwright, still with predetermined geniality. "what was the threat?" "i don't know, but the guessing list is open to everybody. there was once a grant of many square miles of mountain and desert somewhere in this region made to one don estacio de montarriba coronida. like those of most of the great spanish land grants, the boundaries of this one were loosely described and----" mr. cortwright held up a fat hand. "i know what you're going to say. but we went into all that at washington before we ever invested a single dollar in this valley. as you may or may not know, the reclamation service bureau tried to choke us off. but when it came down to brass tacks, they lacked a witness. we may be in the bed of your proposed lake, but we're safely on coronida land." "so you say," said brouillard quietly, "and on the strength of that you have been guaranteeing titles." "oh, no," protested the millionaire. "we have merely referred purchasers to the record. there is a clause in every deed." "but you have caused it to be believed that your title was good, that the government's claim to the land will not hold." "it won't hold if we're on coronida land." "ah! just there is where massingale comes in, i imagine. he has spent twenty years or more in this region, and he knows every landmark in it. what if he should be able to put a lighted match to your pile of kindling, mr. cortwright?" the promoter pulled himself erect with a grip on either arm of the chair. "brouillard, do you know what you are talking about?" he demanded. "no; it is only a guess. but as matters stand--with your son indictable for an attempted murder ... if i were you, mr. cortwright, i believe i'd give david massingale a chance to pay those notes at the bank." "and let him blackmail me? not in a month of sundays, brouillard! let him sell his ore and pay the notes if he can. if he can't, i'll take the mine." "all right," said the visitor placably. "you asked, and i've answered. now let's come to something more vital to both of us. there is a pretty persistent rumor on the street that you and your associates succeeded in getting a resolution through both houses of congress at the last session, appointing a committee to investigate this coronida claim right here on the ground. nobody seems to have any definite details, and it possibly hasn't occurred to any one that congress hasn't been in session since mirapolis was born. but that doesn't matter. the committee is coming: you have engaged rooms for it here in bongras's. you are expecting the private-car special next week." "well?" said the magnate. "you're a pretty good kindergartner. but what of it?" "oh, nothing. only i think you might have taken me in on the little side play. what if i had gone about town contradicting the rumor?" "why should you? it's true. the congressional party will be here next week, and nobody has made any secret of it." "still, i might have been taken in," persisted brouillard suavely. "you'll surely want to give me my instructions a little beforehand, won't you? just think how easily things might get tangled. suppose i should say to somebody--to garner, for example--that the town was hugely mistaken; that no congressional committee had ever been appointed; that these gentlemen who are about to visit us are mere complaisant friends of yours, coming as your guests, on a junketing trip at your expense. wouldn't that be rather awkward?" the mayor of mirapolis brought his hands together, fist in palm, and for a flitting instant the young engineer saw in the face of the father the same expression that he had seen in the face of the son when van bruce cortwright was struggling for a second chance to kill a man. "damn you!" said the magnate savagely; "you always know too much! you're bargaining with me!" "well, you have bargained with me, first, last, and all the time," was the cool retort. "on each occasion i have had my price, and you have paid it. now you are going to pay it again. shall i go over to the _spot-light_ office and tell harlan what i know?" "you can't bluff me that way, brouillard, and you ought to sense it by this time. do you suppose i don't know how you are fixed?--that you've got money--money that you used to say you owed somebody else--tied up in mirapolis investments?" brouillard rose and buttoned his coat. "there is one weak link in your chain, mr. cortwright," he said evenly; "you don't know men. put on your coat and come over to harlan's office with me. it will take just about two minutes to satisfy you that i'm not bluffing." for a moment it appeared that the offer was to be accepted. but when he had one arm in a coat sleeve, brouillard's antagonist in the game of hardihood changed his tactics. "forget it," he growled morosely. "what do you want this time?" "i want you to send a wire to red butte telling the smelter people that you will be glad to have them handle the 'little susan' ore." "and if i do?" "if you do, two things otherwise due to happen adversely will go over to your side of the market. i'll agree to keep out of the way of the sham washington delegation, and i think i can promise that harlan won't make a scare-head of the facts concerning the coronida land titles." mr. cortwright thrust the other arm into the remaining coat sleeve and scowled. but the rebound to the norm of brusque good-nature came almost immediately. "you are improving wonderfully, brouillard, and that's no joke. i have a large respect for a man who can outbid me in my own corner. you ought to be in business--and you will be, some time. i'll send the wire, but i warn you in advance that i can't make the smelter people take massingale's ore if they don't want to. all i can do is to give the old man a free field." "that is all he will ask--all i'll ask, except one small personal favor: don't rub your masquerading washington delegation into me too hard. a fine quality of non-interference is about all you are buying from me, and----" the interruption came in the form of a tap at the door opening into the hotel corridor, and brouillard, at a sign from the master of the precincts, turned the knob. it was miss genevieve who entered, bringing the sweet breeziness and audacity of youth and beauty and health with her. "how fortunate!" she exclaimed, with the charming smile that accorded so perfectly with her fresh, early-morning radiance. and while the hand of greeting still lay in brouillard's: "i have just been up to your office, and they told me they hadn't the smallest idea where you could be found. are you going to be _very_ busy this afternoon?" brouillard gave the required denial, and she explained her quest of him. there was to be an auto party to the newly opened casino at the upper power dam. would he go, if he might have the post of honor behind the pilot-wheel of the new sixty-horse, seven-passenger flyer? _please!_ mr. cortwright leaned heavily upon his desk while the asking and answering went on, and the shrewd, gray eyes were busy. when his daughter went out and brouillard was about to follow her, the genial web spinner stopped him. "tell me one thing, brouillard: what is your stake in the massingale game? are you a silent partner in the 'little susan'?" "no." "then why are you so anxious to make old david a rich man at my expense? are you going to marry the girl?" the engineer did not resent the question as he would have resented it a few weeks earlier. instead he smiled and said: "a little while ago, mr. cortwright, i told you that you didn't know men; now i'll add that you don't know women." "i know gene," said the web spinner cryptically, and this was the word that brouillard took with him when he went back to his offices in the niquoia building. xiii flood tide public opinion, skilfully formed upon models fashioned in mayor cortwright's municipal laboratory, dealt handsomely with the little group of widely heralded visitors--the "congressional committee"--penetrating to the wonder city, not by special train, to be sure, but still with creditable circumstance in president ford's private car "nadia," attached to the regular express from brewster. for example, when it was whispered about, some days before the auspicious arrival, that the visiting lawmakers wished for no public demonstration of welcome, it was resolved, both in the city council and in the commercial club, that the wish should be rigidly respected. later, when there filtered out from the same secret source of information a hint to the effect that the committee of investigation, for the better forming of an unbiassed opinion, desired to be regarded merely as a body of representative citizens and the guests of mayor cortwright, and not as national legislators, this desire, too, was respected; and even harlan, itching to his finger-tips for something definite to print in the _spot-light_, denied himself the bare, journalistic, bread-and-butter necessity of interviewing the lawmakers. safeguarded, then, by the loyal incuriosity of an entire city, the visitors went about freely, were fêted, dined, banqueted, and entertained as distinguished citizens of the greater america; were personally conducted over the government work, and were autoed to the quadjenàï placers, to the upper valley, and to the canal diggers' camps in the buckskin, all without prejudice to the official incognito which it was understood they wished to preserve. hence, after the farewell banquet at the commercial club, at which even the toasts had ignored the official mission of mayor cortwright's guests, when the "nadia," reprovisioned and tastefully draped with the national colors, was coupled to the outgoing train in the chigringo yards, tingling curiosity still restrained itself, said nothing and did nothing until the train had stormed out on the beginning of its steep climb to war arrow pass. then the barriers went down. in less than half an hour after the departure of the visitors, the _spot-light_ office was besieged by eager tip hunters, and the metropole café and lobby were thronged and buzzing like the compartments of an anxious beehive. harlan stood the pressure at the newspaper office as long as he could. then he slipped out the back way and prevailed upon bongras to smuggle him up to mr. cortwright's rooms. here there was another anxious deputation in waiting, but harlan's card was honored at once. "news!" gasped the editor, when he had broken into the privacies. "they're about to mob us over at the office, and the town will go crazy if it can't be given at least a hint of what the committee's report is likely to be. i tell you, mr. cortwright, it's panic, or the biggest boom we ever dreamed of!" "sit down, harlan," said the great man calmly, pushing the open box of cigars across the desk to the editor; "sit down and get a fresh grip on your nerves. there will be no panic; of that you can be absolutely certain. but, on the other hand, we mustn't kick the fat into the fire when everything is going our way. naturally, i am under bonds to keep my mouth shut until after the committee has made its report. i can't even give you the hint you want. but i will say this--and you can put it in an interview if you like: i'm not refusing anything in the shape of mirapolis realty at ruling prices. that's all i can say at present." harlan was hustled out, as he had been hustled in, half dazed and wholly in despair. there was a light in brouillard's office on the sixth floor of the niquoia building, and thither he went, hoping against hope, for latterly the chief of the reclamation service had been more than usually reticent. "what do you know, brouillard?" was the form his demand took when, finding that the elevator had stopped, he had dragged himself up the five flights of stairs. "i'm up against it good and hard if i can't print something in to-morrow's paper." "go to cortwright," suggested the engineer. "he's your man." "just come from him, and i couldn't get a thing there except his admission that he is buying instead of selling." "well, what more do you want? haven't you any imagination?" "plenty of it, and, by gad, i'm going to use it unless you put it to sleep! tell me a few correlative things, brouillard, and i'll make a noise like going away. is it true that you've had orders from washington within the past few days to cut your force on the dam one half?" the engineer was playing with the paper-knife, absently marking little circles and ellipses on his desk blotter, and the ash on his cigar grew a full quarter of an inch before he replied: "not for publication, harlan, i'm sorry to say." "but you have the order?" "yes." "do you know the reason why it was given?" "i do." "is it a good reason?" "it is a very excellent reason, indeed." "does the order cover more than the work on the dam?" "yes; it extends to the canal diggers in the buckskin." "good. then i'll ask only one more question, and if you answer it at all i know you'll tell me the truth: are you, individually, buying or selling on the real estate exchange? take your time, brouillard, but, for god's sake, don't turn me down." brouillard did take time, plenty of it. over and over the point of the paper-knife traced the creased circles and ellipses, and the ash on the slowly burning cigar grew longer. harlan was a student of men, but his present excitement was against him. otherwise he could not have stared so long and so intently at brouillard's face without reading therein the record of the soul struggle his final question had evoked. and if he had read, he would have interpreted differently the quick flinging down of the paper-cutter, and the sudden hardening of the jaw muscles when brouillard spoke. "i'm buying, harlan; when i sell it is only to buy again." the newspaper man rose and held out his hand. "you're a man and a brother, brouillard, and i'm your friend for life. with only a fraction of your chance at inside information, i've stayed on the up-hill side, straight through, myself. and i'll tell you why. i've banked on you. i've said to myself that it was safe for me to wade around in the edges if you could plunge out in the sure-enough swimming-hole. i'm going to stay until you give me the high sign to crawl out on the bank. is that asking too much?" "no. if the time ever comes when i have anything to say, i'll say it to you. but don't lose sight of the 'if,' and don't lean too hard on me. i'm a mighty uncertain quantity these days, harlan, and that's the truest thing i've told you since you butted in. good-night." mirapolis awoke to a full sense of its opportunities on the morning following the departure of its distinguished guests. though the _spot-light_ was unable to say anything conclusively definite, harlan had made the most of what he had; and, trickling in from a dozen independent sources, as it seemed, came jubilant confirmation of the _spot-light's_ optimistic editorials. in such a crisis all men are liars. now that the visiting delegation was gone, there were scores of witnesses willing to testify that the honorable tom, dick, or harry had dropped the life-giving word; and though each fictionist knew that his own story was a fabrication, it was only human to believe that of the man with whom he exchanged the whispered confidence. to the lies and the exaggerations was presently added a most convincing truth. by ten o'clock it was the talk of the lobbies, the club, and the exchanges that the reclamation service was already abandoning the work on the great dam. one half of the workmen were to be discharged at once, and doubtless the other half would follow as soon as the orders could come from washington. appealed to by a mob of anxious inquirers, brouillard did not deny the fact of the discharges, and thereupon the city went mad in a furor of speculative excitement in comparison with which the orgy of the gold discoverers paled into insignificance. "curb" exchanges sprang into being in the metropole lobby, in the court of the niquoia building, and at a dozen street corners on the avenue. word went to the placers, and by noon the miners had left their sluice-boxes and were pouring into town to buy options at prices that would have staggered the wildest plunger otherwhere, or at any other time. brouillard closed his desk at one o'clock and went to fight his way through the street pandemonium to bongras's. at a table in the rear room he found david massingale, his long, white beard tucked into the closely buttoned miner's coat to be out of the way of the flying knife and fork, while he gave a lifelike imitation of a man begrudging every second of time wasted in stopping the hunger gap. brouillard took the opposite chair and was grimly amused at the length of time that elapsed before massingale realized his presence. "pity a man has to stop to eat on a day like this, isn't it, mr. massingale?" he laughed; and then: "i wouldn't hurry. there's another day coming; or if there isn't, we'll all be in the same boat. how is steve?" massingale nodded. "the boy's comin' along all right now; he allows to be out in another week 'r two." then the inevitable question: "they're sayin' on the street that you're lettin' out half o' your men--that so?" brouillard laughed again. "i've heard it so often that i've come to believe it myself," he admitted, adding: "yes, it's true." after which he asked a question of his own: "have you been doing something in real estate this morning, mr. massingale?" "all i could," mumbled the old man between mouthfuls. "but i cayn't do much. if it ain't one thing, it's another. 'bout as soon as i got that tangle with the red butte smelter straightened out, the railroad hit me." "how was that?" queried brouillard, with quickening interest coming alive at a bound. "same old song, no cars; try and get 'em to-morruh, and to-morruh it'll be next day, and next day it'll be the day after. looks like they don't _want_ to haul any freight _out_ o' here." "i see," said brouillard, and truly he saw much more than david massingale did. then: "no shipments means no money for you, and more delay; and delay happens to be the one thing you can't stand. when do those notes of yours fall due?" "huh?" said massingale. he was a close-mouthed man, by breeding and by habit, and he was quite sure he had never mentioned the "little susan" entanglement to the young engineer. brouillard became more explicit. "the notes covering your indebtedness to the bank for the money you've been putting into development work and improvements--i asked when they would become due." the old man's heavy white eyebrows bent themselves in a perplexed frown. "amy hadn't ort to talk so much," he objected. "business is business." brouillard's smile was a tacit denial of the implication. "you forget that there were several other parties to the transaction and that any man's business is every man's in this crazy town," he suggested. "but you haven't answered my question about the due date. i didn't ask it out of idle curiosity, i assure you." massingale was troubled, and his fine old face showed it plainly. "i ain't much of a man to holler when i've set the woods afire myself," he answered slowly. "but i don't know why i shouldn't yip a little to you if i feel like it. to-day is the last day on them notes, and i'd about made up my mind that i was goin' up the spout on a sure thing for the fourth time since i hit the mount'ins, when this here new excitement broke out." "go on," said brouillard. "i saw a chance--about a one-to-a-hundred shot. i'd been to see hardwick at the bank, and he gave me the ultimaytum good and cold; if i couldn't lift the paper, the bank'd have to go back on my indorser, john wes. i had a little over five thousand left out o' the borray, and i took it and broke for the real estate exchange. been there for three solid hours, turnin' my little stake over like a flapjack on a hot griddle; but it ain't any use, i cayn't turn it fast enough, 'r often enough, betwixt now and three o'clock." one of bongras's rear-room luxuries was a portable telephone for every group of tables. brouillard made a sign to the waiter, and the desk set was brought to him. if david massingale recognized the number asked for, he paid no attention; and, since a man may spend his life digging holes in the ground and still retain the instincts of a gentleman--if he happens to have been born with them--he was equally oblivious to the disjointed half of the telephone conversation he might have listened to. "hello! is that boyer--niquoia national?... this is brouillard. can you give me my present figure?... not more than that?... oh, yes; you say the hillman check is in; i had overlooked it. all right, thank you." when the waiter had removed the desk set, the engineer leaned toward his table companion: "mr. massingale, i'm going to ask you to tell me frankly what kind of a deal it was you made with cortwright and the bank people." "it was the biggest tom-fool razzle that any livin' live man out of a lunatic 'sylum ever went into," confessed the prisoner of fate. "i was to stock the 'susan' for half a million--oh, she's worth it, every dollar of it; you might say the ore's in sight for it right now"--this in deference to brouillard's brow-lifting of surprise. "they was to put in a hundred thousand cash, and i was to put in the mine and the ore on the dump, just as she stood." the engineer nodded and massingale went on. "i was to have two thirds of the stock and they was to have one third. the hundred thousand for development we'd get at the bank, on my notes, because i was president and the biggest stockholder, with john wes. as indorser. then, to protect the bank accordin' to law, they said, we'd put the whole bunch o' stock--mine and their'n--into escrow in the hands of judge williams. when the notes was paid, the judge'd hand the stock back to us." "just a moment," interrupted brouillard. "did you sign those notes personally, or as president of the new company?" "that's where they laid for me," said the old man shamefacedly. "we made the money turn before we _was_ a company--while we was waitin' for the charter." "of course," commented brouillard. "and they rushed you into it on the plea of saving time. but you say the stock was to be released when the notes were paid--what was to happen if they were not paid?" "right there is where john wes.'s ten-dollar-a-bottle sody-pop stuff we was soppin' up must 'a' foolished me plumb silly; i don't just rightly recollect _what_ the judge was to do with the stock if i fell down. i know it was talked all 'round robin hood's barn, up one side and down the other, and they made it look like i couldn't slip up if i tried to. and they made the borray at the bank look fair enough, too." "well, why wasn't it fair?" brouillard wanted to know. "why, sufferin' moses! don't you see? it hadn't ort to 've been needed. _they_ was to put in a hundred thousand, and they wasn't doin' it. it figgered out this-a-way in the talk: they said, what's the use o' takin' the money out o' one pocket and puttin' it into the other? let the bank carry the development loan and let the mine pay it. then we could even up when it come to the dividends." "so it amounts to this: you have given them a clean third of the 'susan' for the mere privilege of borrowing one hundred thousand dollars on your own paper. and if you don't pay, you lose the remaining two thirds as well." "that's about the way it stacks up to a sober man. looks like i needed a janitor to look after my upper story, don't it? and i reckon mebby i do." "one thing more," pressed the relentless querist. "did you really handle the hundred-thousand-dollar development fund yourself, mr. massingale?" "well, no; not exactly. ten thousand dollars of what they called a 'contingent fund' was put in my name; but the treasurer handled most of it--nachurly, we bein' a stock company." "who is your treasurer?" "feller with just one share o' stock--parker jackson." "humph! cortwright's private secretary. and he has spent ninety thousand dollars on the 'little susan' in sixty days? not much! what has your pay-roll been?" "'bout five hundred a week." "that is to say between three and four thousand dollars for the two months--call it five thousand. now, let's see--" brouillard took out his pencil and began to make figures on the back of the _menu_ card. he knew the equipment of the "little susan," and his specialty was the making of estimates. hence he was able to say, after a minute or two of figuring: "thirty thousand dollars will amply cover your new equipment: power drills, electric transfers, and the cheap telpherage plant. have you ever seen any vouchers for the money spent?" "no. had i ort to?" "well, rather--as president of the company." massingale tucked the long white beard still farther into the buttoned coat. "i been tellin' you i need a mule-driver to knock a little sense into me," he offered. "it's a bad business any way you attack it," said brouillard after a reflective pause. "what you have really got for yourself out of the deal is the ten-thousand-dollar deposit to your personal account, and nothing more; and they'll probably try to make you a debtor for that. taking that amount and a fair estimate of the company's expenditures to date--say thirty-five thousand in round numbers, which is fairly chargeable to the company's assets as a whole--they still owe you about fifty-five thousand of the original hundred thousand they were to put in. if there were time--but you say this is the last day?" "the last half o' the last day," massingale amended. "i was going to say, if there were time, this thing wouldn't stand the light of day for a minute, mr. massingale. they wouldn't go within a hundred miles of a court of law with it. can't you get an extension on the notes?--but of course you can't; that is just the one thing cortwright doesn't want you to have--more time." "no; you bet he don't." "that being the case, there is no help for it; you'll have to take your medicine and pay the notes. do that, take an iron-clad receipt from the bank--i'll write it out for you--and get the stock released. after that, we'll give them a whirl for the thirty-three and a third per cent they have practically stolen from you." the old man's face, remindful now of his daughter's, was a picture of dismayed incertitude. "i reckon you're forgettin' that i hain't got money enough to lift one edge o' them notes," he said gently. brouillard had found a piece of blank paper in his pocket and was rapidly writing the "iron-clad" receipt. "no, i hadn't forgotten. i have something over a hundred thousand dollars lying idle in the bank. you'll take it and pay the notes." it was a bolt out of a clear sky for the old man tottering on the brink of his fourth pit of disaster, and he evinced his emotion--and the tense strain of keyed-up nerves--by dropping his lifted coffee-cup with a crash into his plate. the little accident was helpful in its way,--it made a diversion,--and by the time the wreck was repaired speech was possible. "are you--are you _plumb_ sure you can spare it?" asked the debtor huskily. and then: "i cayn't seem to sort o' surround it--all in a bunch, that way. i knowed j. wesley had me down; knowed it in less 'n a week after he sprung his trap. he wanted the 'little sue,' wanted it worse 'n a little yaller dog ever wanted his supper. do you know why? i can tell you. after you get your dam done, and every dollar of the make-believe money this cussed town's built on has gone to the bottom o' the dead sea, the 'susan' will still be joggin' along, forty dollars to the ton. it's the only piece o' real money in this whole blamed free-for-all, and j. wes. knows it." brouillard looked at his watch. "when you're through we'll go around to the bank and fix it up. there's no hurry. i've got to ride down to the buckskin camps, but i don't care to start much before two." massingale nodded, but his appetite was gone, and speech with it, the one grateful outburst having apparently drained the well. but after they had made their way through the excited sidewalk exchanges to the bank, and brouillard had written his check, the old man suddenly found his voice again. "you say you're goin' down to the buckskin right away? how 'm i goin' to secure you for this?" "we can talk about that later on, after i come back. the thing to do now is to get those notes cancelled and that stock released before bank-closing time." still david massingale, with the miraculously sent bit of rescue paper in his hand, hesitated. "there's one other thing--and i've got to spit it out before it's everlastedly too late. see here, victor brouillard--amy likes you--thinks a heap of you; a plumb blind man could see that. but say, that little girl o' mine has just natchurly _got_ to have a free hand when it comes to pairin' up, and she won't never have if she finds out about this. you ain't allowin' to use it on her, victor?" brouillard laughed. "i'll make a hedging bet and break even with you, mr. massingale," he said. "that check is drawn to my order, and i have indorsed it. let me have it again and i'll get the cash for you. in that way only the two of us need know anything about the transaction; and if i promise to keep the secret from miss amy, you must promise to keep it from mr. j. wesley cortwright. will you saw it off with me that way?--until you've made the turn on the ore sales?" david massingale shook hands on it with more gratitude, colored this time with a hearty imprecation. "dad burn you, victor brouillard, you're a man--ever' single mill-run of you!" he burst out. but brouillard shook his head gravely. "no, mr. massingale, i'm the little yellow dog you mentioned a while back," he asserted, and then he went to get the money. the check cashed and the transfer of the money made, brouillard did not wait to see massingale astonish the niquoia national cashier. nor did he remark the curious change that came into the old man's face at the pocketing of the thick sheaf of bank-notes. but he added a word of comment and another of advice before leaving the bank. "the day fits us like a glove," was the comment. "with all the money that is changing hands in the street, hardwick won't wonder at your sudden raise or at my check." then he put in the word of warning: "i suppose you'll be dabbling a little in mirapolis options after you get this note business out of the way? it's all right--i'd probably do it myself if i didn't have to leave town. but just one word in your ear, mr. massingale: buy and _sell--don't hold_. that's all. good-by, and good luck to you." left alone in the small retiring room of the bank where the business had been transacted, david massingale took the sheaf of bank-notes from his pocket with trembling hands, fondling it as a miser might. the bills were in large denominations, and they were new and stiff. he thumbed the end of the thick packet as one runs the leaves of a book, and the flying succession of big figures seemed to dazzle him. there was an outer door to the customers' room giving upon the side street; it was the one through which brouillard had passed. twice the old man made as if he would turn toward the door of egress, and the light in his gray-blue eyes was the rekindling flame of a passion long denied. but in the end he thrust the tempting sheaf back into the inner pocket and went resolutely to the cashier's counter window. expecting to have to do with hardwick, the brusque and business-like cashier, massingale was jarred a little aside from his own predetermined attitude by finding schermerhorn, the president, sitting at the cashier's desk. but from the banker's first word the change seemed to be altogether for the better. "how are you, mr. massingale? glad to see you. how is the boy getting along? first rate, i hope?" massingale was looking from side to side, like a gray old hawk disappointed in its swoop. it would have been some satisfaction to buffet the exacting hardwick with the fistful of money. but with schermerhorn the note lifting would figure as a mere bit of routine. "i've come to take up them notes o' mine with john wes.'s name on 'em," massingale began, pulling out the thick sheaf of redemption money. "oh, yes; let me see; are they due to-day?" said the president, running over the note portfolio. massingale nodded. "h'm, yes, here they are. brought the cash, did you? the 'little susan' has begun to pan out, has it? i didn't know you had commenced shipping ore yet." "we haven't." david massingale made the admission and regretted it in one and the same breath. "you've borrowed to meet these notes?" queried the president, looking up quickly. "that won't do, mr. massingale; that won't do at all. we can't afford to lose an old customer that way. what's the matter with our money? doesn't it look good to you any more?" massingale stammered out something about cashier hardwick's peremptory demand of a few hours earlier, but he was not permitted to finish. "of course, that is all right from hardwick's point of view. he was merely looking out for the maturing paper. how much more time will you need to enable you to get returns from your shipments? sixty days? all right, you needn't make out new notes; i'll indorse the extension on the back of these, and i'll undertake to get cortwright's approval myself. no; not a word, mr. massingale. as long as you're borrowing, you must be loyal and borrow of us. good afternoon. come again when we can help you out." david massingale turned away, dazed and confused beyond the power of speech. when the mists of astoundment cleared he found himself in the street with the thick wad of bank-notes still in his pocket. suddenly, out of the limbo into which two years of laborious discipline and self-denial had pushed it stalked the demon of the ruling passion, mighty, overpowering, unconquerable. the familiar street sights danced before massingale's eyes, and there was a drumming in his ears like the fall of many waters. but above the clamor rose the insistent voice of the tempter, and the voice was at once a command and an entreaty, a gnawing hunger and a parching thirst. "by gash! i'd like to try that old system o' mine jest one more time!" he muttered. "all it takes is money enough to foller it up and _stay_. and i've _got_ the money. besides, didn't brouillard say i was to get an extension if i could?" he grabbed at his coat to be sure that the packet was still there, took two steps toward the bank, stopped, turned as if in the grasp of an invisible but irresistible captor, and moved away, like a man walking in his sleep, toward the lower avenue. it was the doorway of haley's place, the monte carlo of the niquoia, that finally halted him. here the struggle was so fierce that the bartender, who knew him, named it sickness and led the stricken one to a card-table in the public bar-room and fetched him a drink. a single swallow of whiskey turned the scale. massingale rose, tossed a coin to the bar, and passed quickly to the rear, where a pair of baize doors opened silently and engulfed him. xiv the abyss it was at early candle-lighting in the evening of the day of renewed and unbridled speculation in mirapolis "front feet" that brouillard, riding the piebald range pony on which he had been making an inspection round of the nearer buckskin ditchers' camps, topped the hill in the new, high-pitched road over the chigringo shoulder and looked down upon the valley electrics. the immediate return to mirapolis was no part of the plan he had struck out when he had closed his office in the niquoia building at one o'clock and had gone over to bongras's to fall into the chance encounter with david massingale. he had intended making a complete round of all the ditch camps, a ride which would have taken at least three days, and after parting from massingale at the bank he had left town at once, taking the new road which began on the bench of the railroad yard. but almost immediately a singular thing had happened. before he had gone a mile a strange reluctance had begun to beset him. at first it was merely a haunting feeling of loss, as if he had left something behind, forgetting when he should have remembered; a thing of sufficient importance to make him turn and ride back if he could only recall what it was. farther along the feeling became a vague premonition of impending disaster, growing with every added mile of the buckskin gallopings until, at overton's camp, a few miles short of the triangle-circle ranch headquarters, he had yielded and had set out for the return. if the curious premonition had been a drag on the outward journey it became a spur to quicken the eastward faring. even the piebald pony seemed to share the urgency, needing only a loose rein and an encouraging word. across the yellow sands of the desert, through the lower ford of the niquoia, and up the outlet gorge the willing little horse tossed the miles to the rear, and at the hill-topping moment, when the electric lights spread themselves in the valley foreground like stars set to illuminate the chess-board squares of the wonder city, a record gallop had been made from overton's. brouillard let the pony set its own pace on the down-hill lap to the finish, and it was fast enough to have jolted fresh road weariness into a less seasoned rider than the young engineer. most curiously, the premonition with its nagging urgency seemed to vanish completely as soon as the city's streets were under hoof. brouillard left the horse at the reservation stables, freshened himself at his rooms in the niquoia building, and went to the metropole to eat his dinner, all without any recurrence of the singular symptoms. further, when he found himself at a table with murray grislow as his _vis-à-vis_, and had invented a plausible excuse for his sudden return, he was able to enjoy his dinner with a healthy wayfarer's appetite and to talk over the events of the exciting day with the hydrographer with few or none of the abstracted mental digressions. afterward, however, the symptoms returned, manifesting themselves this time in the form of a vague and undefined restlessness. the buzzing throngs in the metropole café and lobby annoyed him, and even grislow's quiet sarcasm as applied to the day's bubble-blowing failed to clear the air. at the club there was the same atmosphere of unrest; an exacerbating overcharge of the suppressed activities impatiently waiting for another day of excitement and opportunity. corner lots and the astounding prices they had commanded filled the air in the lounge, the billiard room, and the buffet, and after a few minutes brouillard turned his back on the hubbub and sought the quiet of the darkened building on the opposite side of the street. he was alone in his office on the sixth floor and was trying, half absently, to submerge himself in a sea of desk-work when the disturbing over-thought suddenly climaxed in an occurrence bordering on the supernatural. as distinctly as if she were present and at his elbow, he heard, or seemed to hear, amy massingale say: "victor, you said you would come if i needed you: i need you now." without a moment's hesitation he got up and made ready to go out. skeptical to the derisive degree of other men's superstitions, it did not occur to him to doubt the reality of the mysterious summons, or to question in any way his own broad admission of the supernatural in the prompt obedience. the massingale town house was one of a row of stuccoed villas fronting on the main residence street, which beyond the city limits became the highroad to the quadjenàï bend and the upper valley. brouillard took a cab at the metropole, dismissed it at the villa gate, and walked briskly up the path to the house, which was dark save for one lighted room on the second floor--the room in which stephen massingale was recovering from the effects of van bruce cortwright's pistol-shot. amy massingale was on the porch--waiting for him, as he fully believed until her greeting sufficiently proved her surprise at seeing him. "you, victor?" she said, coming quickly to meet him. "murray grislow said you had gone down to the buckskin camps and wouldn't be back for two or three days!" "grizzy told the truth--as it stood a few hours ago," he admitted. "but i changed my mind and came back. how is steve this evening?" "he is quite comfortable, more comfortable than he has been at all since the wound began to heal. i have been reading him to sleep, and when the night nurse came i ran down to get a breath of fresh air in the open." "no, you didn't come down for that reason," brouillard amended gravely. "you came to meet me." "did i?" she asked. "what makes you think that?" "i don't think; i _know_. you called me, and i heard you and came at once." "how absurd!" she protested. "i knew, or thought i knew, that you were miles away, over in the buckskin; and how could i call you?" brouillard pulled out his watch and scanned its face by the light of the roadway electric. "it is exactly twenty minutes since i left my office. what were you doing twenty minutes ago?" "as if i could tell! i don't believe i have looked at a clock or a watch all evening. after stevie had his supper i read to him--one of the creepy kipling stories that he is so fond of. you would say that 'bimi' would be just about the last thing in the world to put anybody to sleep, wouldn't you? but stevie dropped off, and i think i must have lost myself for a minute or two, because the next thing i knew the nurse was in the room." "i know what happened," said brouillard, speaking as soberly as if he were stating a mathematical certainty. "you left that room up-stairs and came to me. i didn't see you, but i heard you as plainly as i can hear you now. you spoke to me and called me by name." "what did i say? can you remember the words?" "indeed i can. the room was perfectly still, and i was working at my desk. suddenly, and without any warning, i heard your voice saying: 'victor, you said you would come if i needed you: i need you now.'" she shook her head, laughing lightly. "you have been overwrought about something, or maybe you are just plain tired. i didn't say or even think anything like that; or if i did, it must have been the other i, or one of the others, that herr freiborg writes about--and i don't believe in. this i that you are talking to doesn't remember anything about it." "you are standing me off," he declared. "you are in trouble of some sort, and you are trying to hide it from me." "no, not exactly trouble; only a little worry." "all right, call it worry if you like and share it with me. what is it?" "i think you know without being told--or you will know when i say that to-day was the day when the big debt to the bank became due. i am afraid we have finally lost the 'little susan.' that is one of the worries and the other i've been trying to call silly. i don't know what has become of father--as if he weren't old enough to go and come without telling me every move he makes!" "your father isn't at home?" gasped brouillard. "no; he hasn't been here since nine o'clock this morning. murray grislow saw him going into the metropole about one o'clock, but nobody that i have been able to reach by 'phone seems to have seen him after that." "i can bring the record down to two o'clock," was the quick reply. "he ate with me at bongras's, and afterward i walked with him as far as the bank. and i can cure part of the first worry--all of it, in fact; he had the money to take up the cortwright notes, and when i left him he was on his way to hardwick's window to do it." "_he had the money?_ where did he get it?" brouillard put his back against a porch post, a change of position which kept the light of the street electric from shining squarely upon his face. "it has been another of the get-rich-quick days in mirapolis," he said evasively. "somebody told me that the corner opposite poodles's was bought and sold three times within a single hour and that each time the price was doubled." "and you are trying to tell me that father made a hundred thousand dollars just in those few hours by buying and selling mirapolis lots? you don't know him, victor. he is totally lacking the trading gift. he has often said that he couldn't stand on a street corner and sell twenty-dollar gold pieces at nineteen dollars apiece--nobody would buy of him." "nevertheless, i am telling you that he had the money to take up those notes," brouillard insisted. "i saw it in his hands." she left him abruptly and began to pace back and forth on the porch, with her hands behind her, an imitative trait unconsciously copying her father in his moments of stress. when she stopped she stood fairly in the beam of the street light. the violet eyes were misty, and in the low voice there was a note of deeper trouble. "you say you saw the money in father's hands; tell me, victor, did you see him pay it into the bank?" "why, no; not the final detail. but, as i say, when i left him he was on his way to hardwick's window." again she turned away, but this time it was to dart into the house. a minute later she had rejoined him, and the minute had sufficed for the donning of a coat and the pinning on of the quaint cow-boy riding-hat. "i must go and find him," she said with quiet resolution. "will you go with me, victor? perhaps that is why i--the subconscious i--called you a little while ago. let's not wait for the quadjenàï car. i'd rather walk, and we'll save time." they set out together, walking rapidly townward, and there was no word to go with the brisk footing. brouillard respected his companion's silence. that the thing unspeakable, or at least unspoken, was something more than a woman's undefined fears was obvious; but until she should see fit to tell him what it was, he would not question her. from the moment of outsetting the young woman's purpose seemed clearly defined. by the shortest way she indicated the course to the avenue, and at the metropole corner she turned unhesitatingly to the northward--toward the region of degradation. as was to be expected after the day of frantic speculation and quick money changing, the lower avenue was ablaze with light, the sidewalks were passes of peril, and the saloons and dives were reaping a rich harvest. luckily, brouillard was well known, and his position as chief of the great army of government workmen purchased something like immunity for himself and his companion. but more than once he was on the point of begging the young woman to turn back for her own sake. the quest ended unerringly at the door of haley's place, and when david massingale's daughter made as if she would go in, brouillard protested quickly. "no, amy," he said firmly. "you mustn't go in there. let me take you around to the metropole, and then i'll come back alone." "i have been in worse places," she returned in low tones. and then, with her voice breaking tremulously: "be my good friend just a little longer, victor!" he took her arm and walked her into the garishly lighted bar-room, bracing himself militantly for what might happen. but nothing happened. dissipation of the western variety seldom sinks below the level of a certain rude gallantry, quick to recognize the good and pure in womankind. instantly a hush fell upon the place. the quartets at the card-tables held their hands, and a group of men drinking at the bar put down their glasses. one, a tri'-circ' cow-boy with his back turned, let slip an oath, and in a single swift motion his nearest comrade garroted him with a hairy arm, strangling him to silence. [illustration: "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!"] as if guided by the same unerring instinct which had made her choose haley's out of a dozen similar hells, amy massingale led brouillard swiftly to the green baize doors at the rear of the bar-room. at her touch the swinging doors gave inward, and her goal was reached. three faro games, each with its inlaid table, its impassive dealer, its armed "lookout," and its ring of silent players, lay beyond the baize doors. at the nearest of the tables there was a stir, and the dealer stopped running the cards. somebody said, "let him get out," and then an old man, bearded, white-haired, wild-eyed, and haggard almost beyond recognition, pushed his chair away from the table and stumbled to his feet, his hands clutching the air like those of a swimmer sinking for the last time. with a low cry the girl darted across the intervening space to clasp the staggering old man in her arms and draw him away. brouillard stood aside as they came slowly toward the doors which he was holding open for them. he saw the distorted face-mask of a soul in torment and heard the mumbling repetition of the despairing words, "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!" and then he removed himself quickly beyond the range of the staring, unseeing eyes. for in the lightning flash of revealment he realized that once again the good he would have done had turned to hideous evil in the doing, and that this time the sword thrust of the blind-passion impulse had gone straight to the heart of love itself. xv the setting of the ebb contrary to the most sanguine expectations of the speculators--contrary, perhaps, even to those of mr. j. wesley cortwright--the upward surge in mirapolis values, following the visit of the "distinguished citizens," proved to be more than a tidal wave: it was a series of them. the time was fully ripe for the breaking down of the final barriers of prudence and common-place sanity. day after day the "curb" markets were reopened, with prices mounting skyward; and when the news of how fortunes could be made in a day in the miracle city of the niquoia got abroad in the press despatches there was a fresh influx of mad money hunters from the east, and the merry game of buying and selling that which, inferentially at least, had no legal existence, went on with ever-increasing activity and an utterly reckless disregard of values considered as a basis for future returns on the investment. now, if never before, the croaker was wrathfully shouted down and silenced. no one admitted, or seemed to admit, the possible impermanence of the city. so far from it, the boast was made openly that mirapolis had fairly out-stripped the reclamation service in the race for supremacy, and that among the first acts passed by congress on its reassembling would be one definitely annulling the buckskin desert project, or, at any rate, so much of it as might be threatening the existence of the great gold camp in the niquoia valley. to the observer, anxious or casual, there appeared to be reasonable grounds for the optimistic assertion. it was an indubitable fact that brouillard's force had been cut down, first to one half, and later to barely enough men to keep the crushers and mixers moving and to add fresh layers of concrete to the huge wall of sufficient quantities to prevent the material--in technical phrase--from "dying." true, in the new furor of buying and selling and booming it was not remarked that the discharged government employees uniformly disappeared from the city and the valley as soon as they were stricken from the time rolls. true, also, was the fact that brouillard said nothing for publication, and little otherwise, regarding the successive reductions in his working force. but in such periods of insanity it is only the favorable indications which are marked and emphasized. the work on the great dam was languishing visibly, as every one could see. the navajos had been sent home to their reservation, the tepees were gone, and two thirds of the camp shacks were empty. past these material facts, plainly to be seen and weighed and measured by any who would take the time to consider them, there was a strictly human argument which was even more significant. it was known to everybody in the frenzied marketplace that brouillard himself was, according to his means, one of the most reckless of the plungers, buying, borrowing, and buying again as if the future held no threat of a possible _débâcle_. it was an object-lesson for the timid. those who did not themselves know certainly argued that there must be a few who did know, and among these few the chief of the reclamation service must be in the very foremost rank. "you just keep your eye on brouillard and steer your own boat accordingly," was the way editor harlan put it to one of the timid ones. "he knows it all, backward and forward, and from the middle both ways; you can bet your final dollar on that. and you mustn't expect him to talk. in his position he can't talk; one of the things he is drawing his salary for is to keep his mouth shut. besides, what a man may say doesn't necessarily count for much. it is what he does." thus harlan, speaking, as it were, in his capacity of a public dispenser of the facts. but for himself he was admitting a growing curiosity about the disappearing workmen, and this curiosity broke ground one evening when he chanced to meet brouillard at the club. "somebody was telling me that you let out another batch of your buckskin ditch diggers to-day, brouillard," he began. and then, without any bush beating, the critical question was fired point-blank: "what becomes of all these fellows you are dropping? they don't stay in town or go to the mines--not one of them." "don't they?" said brouillard with discouraging brevity. "you know mighty well they don't. and they don't even drift out like other people; they go in bunches." "anything else remarkable up your sleeve?" was the careless query. "yes; conlan, the railroad ticket agent, started to tell me yesterday that they were going out on government transportation--that they didn't buy tickets like ordinary folks; started to tell me, i say, because he immediately took it back and fell all over himself trying to renege." "you are a born gossip, harlan, but i suppose you can't help it. did no one ever tell you that a part of the government contract with these laborers includes transportation back to civilization when they are discharged?" "no, not by a jugful!" retorted the newspaper man. "and you're not telling me so now. for some purpose of your own you are asking me to believe it without being told. i refuse. this is the closed season, and the fish are not biting." brouillard laughed easily. "you are trying mighty hard to make a mountain out of a mole-hill. you say the men clear out when they are discharged--isn't that about what you'd do if you were out of a job?" "not with such unfailing unanimity if there were several hundred of me. mirapolis isn't such an infernally good place to go away from--not yet." brouillard's smile matched the easy-going laugh which had been its forerunner. "you are a most persistent gadfly, harlan. if i tell you one small, trifling, and safely uninflammable fact, can i trust you not to turn it into a house afire in the columns of the _spot-light_?" "you know well enough you can!" was the eager protest. "when have i ever bleated when i should have kept still?" "well, then, the fact is this: the men leaving the niquoia are not discharged from the service. they are merely transferred to the escalante project, which the department is trying to push through to completion before the northern winter sets in and freezes the concrete in the mixers." "ah!" said harlan with a quick indrawing of his breath. "that brings on more talk--about a thousand miles of it, doesn't it?" "for example?" suggested the engineer. "to put it baldly, is the government really quitting on the niquoia project, or is it merely transferring its force from a job that can wait to one that can't wait?" brouillard smiled again. "you see," he said; "it is second nature for you pencil-pushers to try to make two facts grow where only one grew before. honestly, now, harlan, what do you think about it yourself? you don't need any kindergartner of a construction man to help you solve a little problem like that, do you?" "i'm doing a little sum in simple equations," was the thoughtful answer--"putting this bit of information which you have just given me against what i have been believing to be a pretty straight tip from washington." "what is your tip?" "it's this: that congress does really propose to interfere in behalf of mirapolis." "how can any one predict that when congress is not in session?" "the tip asserts that the string-pulling is all done. it will be a quiet bit of special legislation smuggled through, i suppose, like the bills for private relief. all it will need will be the recommendation and backing of a handful of western members and senators. nobody else is very vitally interested, outside of your own department, and there are always plenty of clubs at hand for killing off department opposition--threats of cutting down the appropriations and so on. properly engineered, the mirapolis bill will go through like a greased pig under a gate. you know it will." "you say nobody else is vitally interested--that's a mistake big enough to be called a crime," said brouillard with emphasis. "the reclamation of the buckskin desert is a matter of moment to the entire nation. its failure would be a public disaster." harlan laughed derisively. "you are talking through your hat now--the salaried government engineer's hat. let your topographers go out and find some other stream to dam up. let them hunt up some other desert to reclaim. the supply of arid lands isn't exhausted yet by a good bit." brouillard appeared to be silenced even if he were not fully convinced. after a time, however, he dropped in another query. "how straight is your tip, harlan?" "so straight that i'd print it in to-morrow's _spot-light_ if i wasn't afraid of queering the deal by being too previous. the necessary backing has been secured, and the bill is already prepared. if you don't believe it, ask your own big bosses in washington." "you are certain that your information didn't originate right here in mirapolis--in mr. cortwright's office, to locate it more exactly?" "it didn't; it came from a purely personal source and direct from washington." "and the source couldn't possibly have become contaminated by the cortwright germs?" harlan's smile was the face-wrinkling of seasoned wisdom. "you are pushing me too hard," he protested. "i know that there are wheels within wheels. you'd say it would be a foxy move to have the local newspaper in mirapolis get such a tip from a strictly unprejudiced source. i'll have to admit that myself." brouillard looked at his watch and reached for his hat. "it's all right, harlan," he said at the leave-taking. "believe as much as you like, but take my advice in just one small matter. don't buy mirapolis dirt to hold; buy it to sell--and sell the minute you see your profit. i told you i'd give you a pointer if i didn't forget; you've got it." for the better part of a fortnight the tidal waves of prosperity, as evinced by increasing speculative values, kept on rolling in, each one apparently a little higher than its immediate predecessor. then the flood began to subside, though so slowly that at first it was only by a careful comparison of the daily transfers that the recession could be measured. causes and consequences extraneous to the city itself contributed to the almost imperceptible reactionary tendency. for one, the buckskin mining and milling company reluctantly abandoned its pastime of ploughing barren furrows on jack's mountain, and a little later went into liquidation, as the phrase ran, though the eastern bondholders probably called it bankruptcy. about the same time the great cement plant, deprived of the government market by the slackening of the work on the dam, reduced its output to less than one fourth of its full capacity. most portentous of all, perhaps, was the rumor that the placers at quadjenàï were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. it was even whispered about that the two huge gold dredges recently installed were not paying the expenses of operating them. quite naturally, the pulse of the wonder city beat sensitive to all these depressive rumors and incidents, responding slowly at first but a little later in accelerated throbbings which could no longer be ignored by the most optimistic bidder at the "curb" exchanges. still there was no panic. as the activities in local sales fell off and the mirapolitans themselves were no longer crowding the curbs or standing in line at the real estate offices for their turn at the listings, the prudent ones, with mr. cortwright and his chosen associates far in advance of the field, were placing mirapolis holdings temptingly on view in distant markets; placing them and selling them with a blazonry of advertising worthy of the envy of those who have called themselves the suburb builders of greater new york. it was after this invasion of the distant market was fully in train that cortwright once more sent for brouillard, receiving the engineer this time in the newest offices of the power company, on the many-times-bought-and-sold corner opposite bongras's. "hello, brouillard!" said the magnate jocosely, indicating a chair and the never-absent open box of cigars in the same gesture. "you're getting to be as much of a stranger as a man might wish his worst enemy to be. gene says you are neglecting her shamefully, but she seems to be making a pretty good jack-at-a-pinch of the english lord." "you sent for me?" brouillard broke in tersely. more and more he was coming to acknowledge a dull rage when he heard the call of his master. "yes. what about the dam? is your work going to start up again? or is it going off for good?" brouillard bit his lip to keep back the exclamation of astoundment that the blunt inquiry threatened to evoke. to assume that mr. cortwright did not know all there was to be known was to credit the incredible. "i told you a good while ago that i was only the government's hired man," he replied. "you doubtless have much better information than any i can give you." "you can tell me what your orders are--that's what i want to know." the young chief of construction frowned first, then he laughed. "what has given you the impression that you own me, mr. cortwright? i have often wondered." "well, i might say that i have made you what you are, and----" "that's true; the truest thing you ever said," snapped brouillard. "and, i was going to add, i can unmake you just as easily. but i don't want to be savage with you. all i'm asking is a little information first, and a little judicious help afterward. what are your orders from the department?" brouillard got up and stood over the stocky man in the office chair, with the black eyes blazing. "mr. cortwright, i said a moment ago that you have made me what i am, and you have. i am infinitely a worse man than you are, because i know better and you don't. it is no excuse for me that i have had a motive which i haven't explained to you, because, as i once told you, you couldn't understand it in a thousand years. the evil has been done and the consequences, to you, to me, and to every one in this cursed valley are certain. facing them as i am obliged to face them, i am telling you--but what's the use? you can't make a tool of me any longer--that's all. you must cook your meat over your own fire. i'm out of it." "i can smash you," said the man in the chair, quite without heat. "no, you can't even do that," was the equally cool retort. "no man's fate is in another man's hands. if you choose to set in motion the machinery which will grind me to a small-sized villain of the county-jail variety, it is i myself who will furnish every foot-pound of the power that is applied." he was moving toward the door, but cortwright stopped him. "one more word before you go, brouillard. it is to be war between us from this on?" "i don't say that: it would be awkward for miss genevieve. let it be armed neutrality if you like. don't interfere with me and i won't interfere with you." "ah!" said the millionaire. "now you have brought it around to the point i was trying to reach. you don't want to have anything more to do with me, but you are not quite ready to cash in and pull out of the game. how much money have you got?" the cool impudence of the question brought a dull flush to the younger man's face, but he would give the enemy no advantage in the matter of superior self-control. "that is scarcely a fair question--even between armed neutrals," he objected. "why do you want to know?" "i'm asking because you have just proposed the non-interference policy, and i'd like to know how fairly you mean to live up to it. a little while back you interfered in a small business matter of mine very pointedly. what became of the one hundred thousand dollars you gave old david massingale?" "how do you know i gave him a hundred thousand dollars?" "that's dead easy," laughed the man in the pivot chair, once more the genial buccaneer. "you drew a check for that amount and cashed it, and a few minutes later massingale, whose account had been drawn down to nothing, bobs up at schermerhorn's window with exactly the same amount in loose cash. what did he do with it--gamble it?" "that is his own affair," brouillard countered briefly. "well, the future--next month's future--is my affair. if you've got money enough to interfere again--don't. you'll lose it, the same as you did before. and perhaps i sha'n't take the second interference as good-naturedly as i did the first." "is that all you have to say?" brouillard asked impatiently. "not quite. i don't believe you were altogether in earnest a minute ago when you expressed your desire to call it all off. you don't want the mirapolis well to go dry right now, not one bit more than i do." "i have been trying pretty hard to make you understand that it is a matter of utter indifference to me." "but you haven't succeeded very well; it isn't at all a matter of indifference to you," the magnate insisted persuasively. "as things are shaping themselves up at the present speaking, you stand to lose, not only the hundred thousand you squandered on old david, but all you've made besides. i keep in touch--it's my business to keep in touch. you've been buying bargains and you are holding them--for the simple reason that with the present slowing-down tendency in the saddle you can't sell and make any money." "well?" "i've got a proposition to make that ought to look good to you. what we need just now in this town is a little more activity--something doing. you can relieve the situation if you feel like it." "how?" "if i tell you, you mustn't go and use it against me. that would be a low-down welcher's trick. but you won't. see here, your bureau at washington is pretty well scared up over the prospect here. it is known in the capital that when congress convenes there is going to be a dead-open-and-shut fight to kill this buckskin reclamation project. very well; the way for you fellows to win out is to hurry--finish your dam and finish it quick, before congress or anybody else can get action." for a single instant brouillard was puzzled. then he began to understand. "go on," he said. "what i was going to suggest is this: you prod your people at washington with a hot wire; tell 'em now's the time to strike and strike hard. they'll see the point, and if you ask for an increase of a thousand men you'll get it. make it two thousand, just for the dramatic effect. we'll work right along with you and make things hum again. we'll start up the cement plant, and i don't know but what we might give the buckskin m. & m. folks a small hypodermic that would keep 'em alive while we are taking a few snapshot pictures of mirapolis on the jump again." "let me get it straight," said brouillard, putting his back against the door. "you fully believe you've got us down; that eventually, and before the water is turned on, congress will pass a bill killing the niquoia project. but in the meantime, to make things lively, you'd like to have the reclamation service go ahead and spend another million or so in wages that can be turned loose in mirapolis. is that it?" "you've surrounded it very neatly," laughed the promoter. "once, some little time ago, i might have felt the necessity of convincing your scruples, but you've cut away all that foolishness. it's a little tough on our good old uncle samuel, i'll admit, but it'll be only a pin-prick or so in comparison to the money that is thrown away every time congress passes an appropriation bill. and, putting it upon the dead practical basis, brouillard, it's your one and only salvation--personally, i mean. you've _got_ to unload or go broke, and you can't unload on a falling market. you think about it and then get quick action with the wire. there is no time to lose." brouillard was looking past cortwright and out through the plate-glass window which commanded a view of the great dam and its network of forms and stagings. "it is a gambler's bet and a rather desperate one," he said slowly. "you stand to win all or to lose all in making it, mr. cortwright. the town is balancing on the knife-edge of a panic at this moment. would it go up, or down, with a sudden resumption of work on the dam?" "the careless thinker would say that it would yell 'fire!' and go up into the air so far that it could never climb down," was the prompt reply. "but we'll have the medicine dropper handy. in the first place, everybody can afford to stay and boost while uncle sam is spending his million or so right here in the middle of things. nobody will want to pull out and leave that cow unmilked. in the second place, we've got a mighty good antidote to use in any sure-enough case of hydrophobia your quick dam building may start." "you could let it leak out that, in spite of all the hurrah and rush on the dam, congress is really going to interfere before we are ready to turn the water on," said brouillard musingly and as if it were only his thought slipping into unconscious speech. "precisely. we could make that prop hold if you were actually putting the top course on your wall and making preparations to drop the stop-gate in your spillway." "i see," was the rejoinder, and it was made in the same half-absent monotone. "but while we are still on the knife-blade edge ... a little push.... mr. cortwright, if there were one solitary righteous man left in mirapolis----" "there isn't," chuckled the promoter, turning back to his desk while the engineer was groping for the door-knob--"at least, nobody with that particular brand of righteousness backed by the needful inside information. you go ahead and do your part and we'll do the rest." xvi the man on the bank brouillard, walking out of mr. cortwright's new offices with his thoughts afar, wondered if it were by pure coincidence that he found castner apparently waiting for him on the sidewalk. "once more you are just the man i have been wanting to see," the young missionary began, promptly making use of the chance meeting. "may i break in with a bit of bad news?" "there is no such thing as good news in this god-forsaken valley, castner. what's your grief?" "there is trouble threatening for the cortwrights. stephen massingale is out and about again, and i was told this morning that he was filling himself up with bad whiskey and looking for the man who shot him." brouillard nodded unsympathetically. "you will find that there is always likely to be a second chapter in a book of that sort--if the first one isn't conclusive." "but there mustn't be this time," castner insisted warmly. "we must stop it; it is our business to stop it." "your business, maybe; it falls right in your line, doesn't it?" "no more in mine than in yours," was the quick retort. "am i my brother's keeper?" said the engineer pointlessly, catching step with the long-legged stride of the athletic young shepherd of souls. "not if you claim kinship with cain, who was the originator of that very badly outworn query," came the answer shot-like. then: "what has come over you lately, brouillard? you are a friend of the massingales; i've had good proof of that. why don't you care?" "great heavens, castner, i do care! but if you had a cut finger you wouldn't go to a man in hell to get it tied up, would you?" "you mean that i have brought my cut finger to you?" "yes, i meant that, and the rest of it, too. i'm no fit company for a decent man to-day, castner. you'd better edge off and leave me alone." castner did not take the blunt intimation. for the little distance intervening between the power company's new offices and the niquoia building he tramped beside the young engineer in silence. but at the entrance to the niquoia he would have gone his way if brouillard had not said abruptly: "i gave you fair warning; i'm not looking for a chance to play the good samaritan to anybody--not even to stephen massingale, much less van bruce cortwright. the reason is because i have a pretty decent back-load of my own to carry. come up to my rooms if you can spare a few minutes. i want to talk to a man who hasn't parted with his soul for a money equivalent--if there is such a man left in this bottomless pit of a town." castner accepted the implied challenge soberly, and together they ascended to brouillard's offices. once behind the closed door, brouillard struck out viciously. "you fellows claim to hold the keys of the conscience shop; suppose you open up and dole out a little of the precious commodity to me, castner. is it ever justifiable to do evil that good may come?" "no." there was no hesitation in the denial. brouillard's laugh was harshly derisive. "i thought you'd say that. no qualifications asked for, no judicial weighing of the pros and cons--the evil of the evil, or the goodness of the good--just a plain, bigoted 'no.'" castner ran a hand through his thick shock of dark hair and looked away from the scoffer. "extenuating circumstances--is that what you mean? there are no such things in the court of conscience--the enlightened conscience. right is right and wrong is wrong. there is no middle ground of accommodation between the two. you know that as well as i do, brouillard." "well, then, how about the choice between two evils? you'll admit that there are times----" castner was shaking his head. "that is a lying proverb. no man is ever compelled to make that choice. he only thinks he is." "that is all you know about it!" was the bitter retort. "what can you, or any man who sets himself apart as you do, know about the troubles and besetments of ordinary people? you sit on the bank of the river and see the water go by; what do you know about the agonies of the fellow who is fighting for breath and life out in the middle of the stream?" "that is a fallacy, too," was the calm reply. "i am a man as other men, brouillard. my coat makes no difference, as you have allowed at other times when we have been thrown together. moreover, nobody sits on the bank in these days. what are your two evils?" brouillard tilted back in his chair and pointedly ignored the direct question. "theories," he said half contemptuously. "and they never fit. see here, castner; suppose it was clearly your duty, as a man and a christian and to subserve some good end, to plant a thousand pounds of dynamite in the basement of this building and fire it. would you do it?" "the case isn't supposable." "there you are!" brouillard broke out impatiently. "i told you you were sitting on the bank. the case is not only supposable; it exists as an actual fact. and the building the man ought to blow to high heaven contains not only a number of measurably innocent people but one in particular for whose life and happiness the man would barter his immortal soul--if he has one." the young missionary left his chair and began to walk back and forth on his side of the office desk. "you want counsel and you are not willing to buy it with the coin of confidence," he said at length, adding: "it is just as well, perhaps. i doubt very much if i am the person to give it to you." "why do you doubt it? isn't it a part of your job?" "not always. i am not your conscience keeper, brouillard. don't misunderstand me. i may have lived a year or so longer than you have, but you have lived more--a great deal more. that fact might be set aside, but there is another: in the life of every man there is some one person who knows, who understands, whose word for that man is the one only fitting word of inspiration. that is what i mean when i say that i am not your conscience keeper. do i make it clear?" "granting your premises--yes. go on." "i will. we'll paste that leaf down and turn another. though i can't counsel you, i can still be your faithful accuser. you have committed a great sin, brouillard, and you are still committing it. if you haven't been the leader in the mad scramble for riches here in this abandoned city, you have been only a step behind the leaders. and you were the one man who should have been like cæsar's wife, the one whose example counted for most." brouillard got up and thrust out his hand across the desk. "you are a man, castner--and that is better than being a priest," he asserted soberly. "i'll take back all the spiteful things i've been saying. i'm down under the hoofs of the horses, and it's only human nature to want to pull somebody else down. you are one of the few men in mirapolis whose presence has been a blessing instead of a curse--who hasn't had a purely selfish greed to satisfy." again castner shook his head. "there hasn't been much that i could do. brouillard, it is simply dreadful--the hard, reckless, half-demoniac spirit of this place! there is nothing to appeal to; there is no room or time for anything but the mad money chase or the still madder dissipation in which the poor wretches seek to forget. i can only try here and there to drag some poor soul out of the fire at the last moment, and it makes me sick--sick at heart!" "you mustn't look at it that way," said brouillard, suddenly turning comforter. "you have been doing good work and a lot of it--more than any three ordinary men could stand up under. i haven't got beyond seeing and appreciating, castner; truly i have not. and i'll say this: if i had only half your courage... but it's no use, i'm in too deep. i can't see any farther ahead than a man born blind. there is one end for which i have been striving from the very first, and it is still unattained. i'm past help now. i have reached a point at which i'd pull the whole world down in ruins to see that end accomplished." the young missionary took another turn up and down the room and then came back to the desk for his hat. at the leave-taking he said the only helpful word he could think of. "go to your confessor, brouillard--your real confessor--and go all the more readily if that one happens to be a good woman--whom you love and trust. they often see more clearly than we do--the good women. try it; and let me help where a man can help." for a long hour after castner went away brouillard sat at his desk, fighting as those fight who see the cause lost, and who know they only make the ruin more complete by struggling on. cortwright's guess had found its mark. he was loaded to break with "front feet" and options and "corners." in the latest speculative period he had bought and mortgaged and bought again, plunging recklessly with the sole object of wringing another hundred thousand out of the drying sponge against the time when david massingale should need it. there seemed to be no other hope. it had become plainly evident after a little time that cortwright's extorted promise to lift the smelting embargo from the "little susan" ore had been kept only in the letter; that he had removed one obstacle only to interpose another. the new obstacle was in the transportation field. protests and beseechings, letters to traffic officials, and telegrams to railroad headquarters were of no avail. in spite of all that had been done, there was never an ore-car to come over the range at war arrow, and the side-track to the mine was as yet uncompleted. brouillard had seen little of massingale, but that little had shown him that the old miner was in despair. it was this hopeless situation which had made brouillard bend his back to a second lifting of the "little susan's" enormous burden. at first the undertaking seemed easily possible. but with the drying of the speculative sponge it became increasingly difficult. more and more he had been compelled to buy and hold, until now the bare attempt to unload would have started the panic which was only waiting for some hedging seller to fire the train. sitting in the silence of the sixth-floor office he saw that cortwright had shown him the one way out. beyond doubt, the resumption in full force of the work on the dam would galvanize new life into mirapolis, temporarily, at least. after that, a cautious selling campaign, conducted under cover through the brokers, might save the day for david massingale. but the cost--the heaping dishonor, the disloyalty of putting his service into the breach and wrecking and ruining to gain the one personal end.... the sweat stood out in great drops on his forehead when he finally drew a pad of telegraph blanks under his hand and began to write a message. painstakingly he composed it, referring often to the notes in his field-book, and printing the words neatly in his accurate, clearly defined handwriting. when it was finished he translated it laboriously into the department code. but after the copy was made and signed he did not ring at once for a messenger. instead, he put the two, the original and the cipher, under a paper-weight and sat glooming at them, as if they had been his own death-warrant--was still so sitting when a light tap at the door was followed by a soft swishing of silken skirts, a faint odor of crushed violets, and genevieve cortwright stood beside him. xvii the circean cup while one might count ten the silence of the upper room remained unbroken, and neither the man nor the woman spoke. it was not the first time by many that genevieve cortwright had come to stand beside the engineer's desk, holding him with smiling eyes and a charming audacity while she laid her commands upon him for the afternoon's motoring or the evening's bridge party or what other social diversion she might have in view. but now there was a difference. brouillard felt it instinctively--and in the momentary silence saw it in a certain hard brilliance of the beautiful eyes, in the curving of the ripe lips, half scornful, half pathetic, though the pathos may have been only a touch of self-pity born of the knowledge that the world of the luxury-lapped has so little to offer once the cold finger of satiety has been laid upon the throbbing pulse of fruition. "you have been quarrelling with father again," she said, with an abruptness that was altogether foreign to her habitual attitude toward him. "i have come to try to make peace. won't you ask me to sit down?" he recalled himself with a start from his abstracted study of the faultless contour of cheek and chin and rounded throat and placed a chair for her, apologizing for the momentary aberration and slipping easily from apology into explanation. "it was good of you to try to bring the wine and oil," he said. "but it was scarcely a quarrel; the king doesn't quarrel with his subjects." "now you are making impossible all the things i came to say," she protested, with a note of earnestness in her voice that he had rarely heard. "tell me what it was about." "i am afraid it wouldn't interest you in the least," he returned evasively. "i suppose you are punishing me now for the 'giddy butterfly' pose which you once said was mine. isn't there a possibility, just the least little shadow of a possibility, that i don't deserve to be punished?" he had sat down facing her and his thought was quite alien to the words when he tried again. "you wouldn't understand. it was merely a disagreement in a matter of--a matter of business." "perhaps i can understand more than you give me credit for," she countered, with an upflash of the captivating eyes. "perhaps i can be hurt where you have been thinking that the armor of frivolity, or ignorance, or indifference is the thickest." "no, you wouldn't be hurt," he denied, in sober finality. "how can you tell? can you read minds and hearts as you do your maps and drawings? must i be set down as hopelessly and irreclaimably frivolous just because i have chosen to laugh when possibly another woman might have cried?" "oh, no," he denied again. then he tried to meet her fairly on the new ground. "you mustn't accuse yourself. you are of your own world and you can't very well help being of it. besides, it is a pleasant world." "but an exceedingly shallow one, you would say. but why not, mr. brouillard? what do we get out of life more than the day's dole of--well, of whatever we care most for? i suppose one ought to be properly shocked at the big electric sign monsieur bongras has put up over the entrance to his café; 'let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.' he meant it as a cynical gibe at the expense of mirapolis, of course; but do you know it appeals to me--it makes me think." "i'm listening," said brouillard. "convert me if you can." "oh, i don't know how to say it, or perhaps even how to think it. but when i see monsieur bongras's cynical little fling i wonder if it isn't the real philosophy, after all. why should we be always looking forward and striving and trying foolishly to climb to some high plane where the air is sure to be so rare that we couldn't possibly breathe it?" brouillard's smile was a mere eye-lifting of grave reminiscence when he said: "some of us have quit looking forward--quit trying to climb--and that without even the poor hope of reaping the reward that poodles's quotation offers." miss cortwright left her chair and began to make an aimless circuit of the room, passing the blue-prints on the walls in slow review, and coming finally to the window looking out over the city and across to the gray, timber-crowned wall of the mighty structure spanning the gap between the niquoia's two sentinel mountains. "you haven't told me yet what your disagreement with father was about," she reminded him at length; and before he could speak: "you needn't, because i know. you have been getting in his way--financially, and he has been getting in your way--ethically. you are both in the wrong." "yes?" said brouillard, neither agreeing nor denying. "yes. father thinks too much of making money--a great deal too much; and you----" "well?" he prompted, when the pause threatened to become a break. "i am waiting to hear my indictment." "you puzzle me," she acknowledged frankly. "at first i thought you were going to be a thirsty money hunter like all the others. and--and i couldn't quite understand why you should be. now i know, or partly know. you had an object that was different from that of the others. you wanted to buy some one thing--not everything, as most people do. but there is something missing, and that is what puzzles me. i don't know what it is that you want to buy." "there have been two things," he broke in. "one of them you know, because i spoke of it to you long ago. the other----" "the other is connected in some way with the massingales; so much i have been able to gather from what father said." "since you know part, you may know all," he went on. "david massingale owes your father--technically, at least--one hundred thousand dollars, which he can't pay; which your father isn't going to let him pay, if he can help it. and if massingale doesn't pay he will lose his mine." "you interested yourself? would you mind telling me just why?" she asked. "that is one of the things you couldn't understand." she turned a calmly smiling face toward him. "oh, you are mistaken, greatly mistaken. i can understand it very well, indeed. you are in love with david massingale's daughter." once more he neither denied nor affirmed, and she had turned to face the window again when she went on in the same unmoved tone: "it was fine. i can appreciate such devotion even if i can't fully sympathize with it. everybody should be in love like that--once. every woman demands that kind of love--once. but afterward, you know--if one should be content to take the good the gods provide...." when she began again at the end of the eloquent little pause there was a new note in her voice, a note soothingly suggestive of swaying poppies in sunlit fields, of ease and peace and the ideal heights receding, of rose-strewn paths pleasant to the feet of the weary wayfarer. "why shouldn't we take to-day, the only day we can be sure of having, and use and enjoy it while it is ours? money?--there is money enough in the world, god knows; enough and to spare for anything that is worth the buying. i have money, if that is all--money of my own. and, if i should ask him, father would give me the 'little susan' outright, to do with it as i pleased." brouillard was leaning back in his chair studying her faultless profile as she talked, and the full meaning of what she was saying did not come to him at once. but when it did he sprang up and went to stand beside her. and all the honesty and manhood the evil days had spared went into what he said to her. "i was a coward a moment ago, miss genevieve, when you spoke of the motive which had prompted me to help david massingale. but you knew and you said the words for me. when you love as i do you will understand that there is an ecstasy in the very madness of it that is more precious than all the joys of a gold-mounted paradise without it. i must go on as i have begun." "you will marry her?" she asked softly. "there has never been any hope of that, i think; not from the very beginning. while i remained an honest man there was the insurmountable obstacle i once told you of--the honor debt my father left me. and when i became a thief and a grafter for love's sake i put myself out of the running, definitely and hopelessly." "has she told you so?" "not in so many words; there was no need. there can be no fellowship between light and darkness." miss cortwright's beautiful eyes mirrored well-bred incredulity, and there was the faintest possible suggestion of lenient scorn in her smile. "what a pedestal you have built for her!" she said. "has it never occurred to you that she may be just a woman--like other women? tell me, mr. brouillard, have you asked her to marry you?" "you know very well that i haven't." "then, if you value your peace of mind, don't. she would probably say 'yes' and you would be miserable forever after. ideals are exceedingly fragile things, you know. they are made to be looked up to, not handled." "possibly they are," he said, as one who would rather concede than dispute. the reaction was setting in, bringing a discomforting conviction that he had opened the door of an inner sanctuary to unsympathetic eyes. followed a little pause, which was threatening to become awkward when miss cortwright broke it and went back to the beginning of things. "i came to tender my good offices in the--the disagreement, as you call it, between you and father. can't you be complaisant for once, in a way, mr. brouillard?" brouillard's laugh came because it was summoned, but there was no mirth in it. "i have never been anything else but complaisant in the little set-tos with your father, miss genevieve. he has always carried too many guns for me. you may tell him that i am acting upon his suggestion, if you please--that the telegram to washington is written. he will understand." "and about this massingale affair--you will not interfere again?" brouillard's jaw muscles began to set in the fighting lines. "does he make that a command?" he asked. "oh, i fancy not; at least, i didn't hear him say anything like that. i am merely speaking as your friend. you will not be allowed to do as you wish to do. i know my father better than you do, mr. brouillard." "what he has done, and what he proposes to do, in massingale's affair, is little short of highway robbery, miss genevieve." "from your point of view, you mean. he will call it 'business' and cite you a thousand precedents in every-day life. but let it go. i've talked so much about business that i'm tired. let me see, what was the other thing i came up here for?--oh, yes, i remember now. we are making up a party to motor down to the tri'-circ' ranch for a cow-boy supper with lord falkland. there is a place in our car for you, and i know sophie schermerhorn would be delighted if you should call her up and tell her you are going." she had turned toward the door and he went to open it for her. "i am afraid i shall have to offer my regrets to you, and to miss schermerhorn as well, if she needs them," he said, with the proper outward show of disappointment. "is it business?" she laughed. "yes, it is business." "good-by, then. i'm sorry you have to work so hard. if miss massingale were only rich--but i forgot, the ideals would still be in the way. no, don't come to the elevator. i can at least do that much for myself, if i am a 'giddy butterfly.'" after she had gone brouillard went back to the window and stood with his hands behind him looking out at the great dam with its stagings and runways almost deserted. but when the westering sun was beginning to emphasize the staging timbers whose shadow fingers would presently be reaching out toward the city he went around to his chair and sat down to take the washington telegram from beneath its paper-weight. nothing vital, nothing in any manner changeful of the hard conditions, had happened since he had signed his name to the cipher at the end of the former struggle. notwithstanding, the struggle was instantly renewed, and once more he found himself battling hopelessly with the undertow in the tide-way of indecision. xviii love's crucible for half an hour after the motor-cars of the falkland supper party had rolled away from the side entrance of the hotel metropole, brouillard sat at his desk in the empty office with the momentous telegram before him, searching blindly for some alternative to the final act of treachery which would be consummated in the sending of the wire. since, by reason of cortwright's tamperings with the smelter people and the railroad, the "little susan" had become a locked treasure vault, the engineer, acting upon his own initiative, had tried the law. as soon as he had ascertained that david massingale had been given sixty days longer to live, solely because the buccaneers chose to take his mine rather than his money, brouillard had submitted the facts in the case to a trusted lawyer friend in the east. this hope had pulled in two like a frayed cord. massingale must pay the bank or lose all. until he had obtained possession of the promissory notes there would be no crevice in which to drive any legal wedge. and even then, unless some pressure could be brought to bear upon the grafters to make them disgorge, there was no chance of massingale's recovering more than his allotted two thirds of the stock; in other words, he would still stand committed to the agreement by which he had bound himself to make the grafters a present, in fee simple, of one third of his mine. brouillard had written one more letter to the lawyer. in it he had asked how david massingale could be unassailably reinstated in his rights as the sole owner of the "little susan." the answer had come promptly and it was explicit. "only by the repayment of such sums as had been actually expended in the reorganization and on the betterments--for the modernizing machinery and improvements--and the voluntary surrender, by the other parties to the agreement, of the stock in dispute," the lawyer had written; and brouillard had smiled at the thought of cortwright voluntarily surrendering anything which was once well within the grasp of his pudgy hands. failing to start the legal wedge, brouillard had dipped--also without consulting massingale--into the matter of land titles. the "little susan" was legally patented under the land laws, and massingale's title, if the mine were located upon government land, was without a flaw. but on a former reclamation project brouillard had been brought in contact with some of the curious title litigation growing out of the old spanish grants; and in at least one instance he had seen a government patent invalidated thereby. as a man in reasonably close touch with his superiors in washington, the chief of construction knew that there was a spanish-grant involvement which had at one time threatened to at least delay the niquoia project. how it had been settled finally he did not know; but after the legal failure he had written to a man--a college classmate of his own--in the bureau of land statistics, asking for data which would enable him to locate exactly the niquoia-touching boundaries of the great coronida grant. to this letter no reply had as yet been received. brouillard had cause to know with what slowness a simple matter of information can ooze out of a department bureau. the letter--which, after all, might contain nothing helpful--lingered on the way, and the crisis, the turning-point beyond which there could be no redemption in a revival of the speculative craze, had arrived. brouillard took up the draught of the washington telegram and read it over. he was cooler now, and he saw that it was only as it came from the hand of a traitor, who could and would deliberately wreck the train of events it might set in motion, that it became a betrayal. writing as the commanding officer in the field, he had restated the facts--facts doubtless well known in the department--the probability that congress would intervene and the hold the opposition was gaining by the suspension of the work on the dam. if the work could be pushed energetically and at once, there was a possibility that the opposition would become discouraged and voluntarily withdraw. would the department place the men and the means instantly at his disposal? "if i were the honest man i am supposed to be, that is precisely the message i ought to send," he mused reflectively. "it is only as the crooked devil in possession of me will drive me to nullify the effort and make it of no effect that it becomes a crime; that and the fact that i can never be sure that the cortwright gang hasn't the inside track and will not win out in spite of all efforts. that is the touchstone of the whole degrading business. i'm afraid cortwright has the inside track. if i could only get a little clear-sighted daylight on the damnable tangle!" obeying a sudden impulse, he thrust the two copies of the telegram under the paper-weight again, sprang up, put on his hat, and left the building. a few minutes later he was on the porch of the stuccoed villa in the quadjenàï road and was saying gravely to the young woman who had been reading in the hammock: "you are staying too closely at home. get your coat and hat and walk with me up to the 'little susan.' it will do you good." the afternoon was waning and the sun, dipping to the horizon, hung like a huge golden ball over the yellow immensities of the distant buckskin as they topped the final ascent in the steep trail and went to sit on the steps of the deserted home cabin at the mine. for a time neither spoke, and the stillness of the air contributed something to the high-mountain silence, which was almost oppressive. work had been stopped in the mine at the end of the previous week, massingale declaring, morosely, that until he knew whose ore he was digging he would dig no more. presumably there was a watchman, but if so he was invisible to the two on the cabin step, and the high view-point was theirs alone. "how did you know that i have been wanting to come up here once more before everything is changed?" said the girl at length, patting the roughly hewn log step as if it were a sentient thing to feel the caress. "i didn't know it," brouillard denied. "i only knew that i wanted to get out of gomorrah for a little while, to come up here with you and get the reek of the pit out of my nostrils." "i know," she rejoined, with the quick comprehension which never failed him. "it is good to be out of it, to be up here where we can look down upon it and see it in its true perspective--as a mere little impertinent blot on the landscape. it's only that, after all, victor. see how the great dam--your work--overshadows it." "that is one of the things i hoped i might be able to see if i came here with you," he returned slowly. "but i can't get your point of view, amy. i shall never be able to get it again." "you did have it once," she asserted. "or rather, you had a better one of your own. has gomorrah changed it?" "no, not gomorrah. i could shut the waste-gates and drown the place to-morrow for all that mirapolis, or anything in it, means to me. but something has changed the point of view for me past mending, since that first day when we sat here together and looked down upon the beginnings of the reclamation construction camp--before gomorrah was ever thought of." "i know," she said again. "but that dreadful city is responsible. it has robbed us all, victor; but you more than any, i'm afraid." "no," he objected. "mirapolis has been only a means to an end. the thing that has changed my point of view--my entire life--is love, as i have told you once before." "oh, no," she protested gently, rising to take her old place, with her back to the porch post and her hands behind her. and then, still more gently: "that is almost like sacrilege, victor, for love is sacred." "i can't help it. love has made a great scoundrel of me, amy; a criminal, if man's laws were as closely meshed as god's." "i can't believe that," she dissented loyally. "it is true. i have betrayed my trust. cortwright will make good in all of his despicable schemes. congress will intervene and the niquoia project will be abandoned." "no," she insisted. "take a good, deep breath of this pure, clean, high-mountain air and think again. mirapolis is dying, even now, though nobody dares admit it. but it is. tig smith hears everything, and he told father last night that the rumor about the quadjenàï placers is true. they are worked out, and already the men have begun to move up the river in search of new ground. tig said that in another week there wouldn't be a dozen sluice-boxes working." "i have known about the quadjenàï failure for the past two weeks," brouillard put in. "for at least that length of time the two steam dredges have been handling absolutely barren gravel, and the men in charge of them have had orders to go on dredging and say nothing. mirapolis is no longer a gold camp; but, nevertheless, it will boom again--long enough to let mr. j. wesley cortwright and his fellow buccaneers loot it and get away." "how can you know that?" she asked curiously. "i know it because i am going to bring it to pass." "you?" "yes, i. it is the final act in the play. and my part in this act is the judas part--as it has been in the others." she was looking down at him with wide-open eyes. "if any one else had said that of you ... but i can't believe it! i know you, victor; i think i must have known you in the other world--the one before this--and there we climbed the heights, in the clear sunlight, together." "there was one thing you didn't learn about me--in that other world you speak of," he said, falling in with her allegory. "you didn't discover that i could become a wretched cheat and a traitor for love of you. perhaps it wasn't necessary--there." "tell me," she begged briefly; and, since he was staring fixedly at the scored slopes of jack's mountain, he did not see that she caught her lip between her teeth to stop its trembling. "part of it you know: how i did what i could to bring the railroad, and how your brother's teaspoonful of nuggets was made to work a devil's miracle to hurry things along when the railroad work was stopped. but that wasn't the worst. as you know, i had a debt to pay before i could say: 'come, little girl, let's go and get married.' so i became a stockholder in cortwright's power company, knowing perfectly well when i consented that the hundred thousand dollars' worth of stock he gave me was a bribe--the price of my silence and non-interference with his greedy schemes." "but you didn't mean to keep it; you knew you _couldn't_ keep it!" she broke in; and now he did not need to look to know that her lips were trembling piteously. "i did keep it. and when the time was fully ripe i sold it back to cortwright, or, rather, i suppose, sold it through him to some one of his wretched gulls. i meant to pay my father's debt with the money. i had the letter written and ready to mail. then the tempter whispered that there was no hurry, that i might at least keep the money long enough to make it earn something for myself. also, it struck me that this same devil was laughing at the spectacle of a man so completely lost to a decent sense of the fitness of things as to be planning to pay an honor debt with graft money. and so i kept it for a while." she dropped quickly on the step beside him and a sympathetic hand crept into his. "you kept it until the unhappy day when you gave it to my father, and he--and he threw it away." she was crying softly, but his attempt to comfort her was almost mechanical. "don't cry about the money. it had the devil's thumb-prints on it, and he merely claimed his own and got it." then he went on as one determined to leave nothing untold. "cortwright had bought me, and i served him as only a man in my position could serve him. i became a promoter, a 'booster,' with the others. there have been times when a word from me would have pricked the bubble. i haven't said the word; i am not saying it now. if i should say it i'd lose at a single stroke all that i have been fighting for. and i am not a good loser, amy." for once the keen, apprehending perception failed. "i don't understand," she said, speaking as if she were groping in thick darkness. "i mean i don't understand the motive that could----" he turned to her in dumb astonishment. "i thought i had been making it plain as i went along. there has been but the one motive--a mad passion to give, give, never counting the cost. love, as it has come to me, seems to have neither conscience nor any scruples. nothing is too precious to be dragged to the sacrifice. you wanted something--you needed it--therefore it must be purchased for you. and the curious part of the besetment is that i have known all along that i was killing your love for me. if it wasn't quite dead before, it will die now--now that i have told you how i am flinging the last vestiges of uprightness and honor to the winds." "but how?" she queried. "you haven't told me." "you said a few minutes ago that mirapolis is dying. that is true; and it is dying a little too soon to suit the purposes of the cortwright gang. it must be revived, and i am to revive it by persuading the department to rush the work on the dam. you would say that this would only hasten the death of the city. but the plot provides for all the contingencies. mirapolis needs the money that would be spent here in the rushing of the government work. that was the real life-blood of the boom at first, and it could be made to serve again. am i making it plain?" she nodded in speechless disheartenment, and he went on: "with the dam completed before congress could intervene, mirapolis would, of course, be quite dead and ready for its funeral. but if the cortwright people industriously insist that the spending of another million or two of government money is only another plum for the city and its merchants and industries, that, notwithstanding the renewed activities, the work will still stop short of completion and the city will be saved by legislative enactment, the innocent sheep may be made to bleed again and the wolves will escape." she shuddered and drew a little apart from him on the log step. "but your part in this horrible plot, victor?" she asked. "it is as simple as it is despicable. in the first place, i am to set the situation before the department in such a light as to make it clearly a matter of public policy to take advantage of the present mirapolitan crisis by pushing the work vigorously to a conclusion. after thus turning on the spigot of plenty, i am expected to crowd the pay-rolls and at the same time to hold back on the actual progress of the work. that is all--except that i am to keep my mouth shut." "but you can't, you _can't_!" she cried. then, in a passionate outburst: "if you should do such a thing as that, it wouldn't kill my love--i can't say that any more; but it would kill me--i shouldn't want to live!" he looked around at her curiously, as if he were holding her at arm's length. "shall i do what you would have me do, amy? or shall i do what is best for you?" the opposing queries were as impersonal as the arm's-length gaze. "perhaps i might be able to patch up the ideals and stand them on their feet again--and you would pay the penalty all your life in poverty and privation, in hopes wrecked and ruined, and i with my hands tied. that is one horn of the dilemma, and the other is ... let me tell you, amy, it is worse than your worst fears. they will strip your father of the last thing he has on earth and bring him out in debt to them. there is one chance, and only one, so far as i can see. let me go on as i have begun and i can pull him out." the tears had burned out of the steadfast eyes which were resting, with the shining soul looking out through them, upon the crimsoning snow peaks of the distant timanyonis. "how little you know the real love!" she said slowly. "it neither weighs nor measures, nor needs to; it writes its own law in the heart, and that law can make no compromise with evil. it has but one requirement--the best good of the beloved. if the way to that end lies through sacrifice--if it asks for the life itself--so let it be. if you knew this, victor, you would know that i would gladly lose all--the mine, my father's chance of his reward for the years of toil, even my brother's better chance for reformation--and count myself happy in having found a love that was too great to do evil that good might come." he got up stiffly and helped her to her feet and together they stood looking down upon the city of the plain, lying now under the curved, sunset shadow cast by the mighty, inbending sweep of the great dam. "i don't know," he said after a time. "once, as i told you a few weeks ago, the best there was in me would have leaped up to climb the heights with you. but i've gone far since the going began. i am not sure that i could find my way back if i should try. let's go down. i mustn't keep you out on the mountain after dark. i haven't happened to meet her, but i suppose there is a mrs. grundy, even in gomorrah." she acquiesced in silence and they made the descent of the steep trail and walked across in the growing dusk from the foot of chigringo to the stuccoed villa in the suburb, misers of speech, since there were no deeper depths to which the spoken word could plunge. but at the villa steps brouillard took the girl in his arms and kissed her. "put me out of your mind and heart if you can," he said tenderly, repeating the words which he had once sent across the distances to her in another moment of despair, and before she could answer he was gone. * * * * * monsieur poudrecaulx bongras, rotund, smiling, and roached and waxed to a broad burlesque of second-empire fierceness, looked in vain among his dinner guests that evening for the chief of the reclamation service, and brouillard's absence held a small disappointment for the frenchman. rumor, the rumor which was never quiet and which could never be traced conclusively to its source, was again busy with exciting hints of a new era of prosperity about to dawn, and bongras had hoped to drop his own little plummet of inquiry into the reclamation service chief. the chance did not materialize. the lights in a certain upper office in the niquoia building were still turned on long after m. poudrecaulx had given up the hope of the deep-sea sounding for that night. some time after the lobby crowd had melted, and before the lower avenue had begun to order small-hour suppers of bongras, the two high windows in the niquoia building went dark and a few minutes later the man who had spent half the night tramping the floor or sitting with his head in his hands at the desk in the upper room came out of the street archway and walked briskly to the telegraph office across the plaza. "how is the line to-night, sanford--pretty clear?" he asked of the night manager, killing time while the sleepy night receiving clerk was making his third attempt to count the words in the closely written, two-page government cipher. "nothing doing; a little a. p. stuff drizzling in now and then," said the manager; adding: "but that's like the poor--always with us." "all right; there is no particular rush about this matter of mine, just so it is sure to be in the secretary's hands at the opening of business in the morning. but be careful that it goes straight--you'd better have it checked back before it is put on the through wire from denver." "sure, mr. brouillard. what you say in this little old shack goes as it lays. we'll look out and not bull your message. good-night." xix the sunset gun notwithstanding the preliminary rumors which bongras and many others had sought so anxiously to verify, the mirapolitan awakening to a realization that once more the tide had turned to bring new billows of prosperity tumbling into the valley of the niquoia came with a sudden and triumphant shock. the first of the quickening waves fell upon the government reservation. between sunrise and nightfall, on a day when the cloud of depression had grown black with panic threatenings, the apathy which had lately characterized the work on the great dam disappeared as if by magic. the city found its bill-boards posted with loud calls for labor; the idle mixers were put in commission; the quarries and crushers began to thunder again; and the stagings once more shook and trembled under the feet of a busy army of puddlers. while the revival was as yet only in the embryonic period, fresh labor began to come in gangs and in car loads and presently by special trains. swarming colonies of greeks, italians, and bulgarians were dumped upon the city through the gate of the railroad station, and once more chigringo avenue at night became a cheerful midway answering to the speech of all nations. change, revivification, reanimation instantly became the new order of the day; and again mirapolis flung itself joyously into the fray, reaping where it had not sown and sowing only where the quickest crop could be gathered. for now the dullest of the reapers saw that the government work was really the mirapolitan breath of life. neither the quickening of the city's industries nor the restarting of the gold dredges in the quadjenàï canals, the reopening of the real estate exchange nor the buckskin company's sudden resumption of the profitless prospecting on jack's mountain served to obscure the principal fact--that without the money the reclamation service was disbursing the new prosperity structure would collapse like a house of cards. this new and never-mentioned conviction wrought an eager change in men and in methods. credit vanished and spot cash was tacitly acknowledged to be the only way to do business in a live community. fortunes changed hands swiftly, as before, but now there was little bargaining and, with hot haste for the foreword, little time for it. to the western motto of "go to it and get the money" was added: "and don't come back without it." it was said with a laugh, but behind the laugh there was a menace. among the individual transformations wrought by the new conditions, the young chief of the reclamation service afforded the most striking example. from the morning when he had summarily cancelled the lease for the offices in the niquoia building and had returned his headquarters to the old log buildings on the government reservation and thence had issued his first series of orders for the resumption of full-force work on the dam and canals, those who had known him best discovered that they had not known him at all. even to grislow and the men of his staff he was curt, crisply mandatory, almost brutal. for one and all there was rarely anything beyond the shot-like sentence: "drive it, men; drive it; that's what you're here for--_drive it_!" the time he took to eat his hurried meals at bongras's could be measured in minutes, and what hours he gave to sleep no man knew, since he was the last to leave the headquarters at night and the first on the work in the morning. twice, after the renewed activities on the great wall had become a well-ordered race against time, and the concrete was pouring into the high forms in steady streams from the ranked batteries of mixers, mr. cortwright had sent for brouillard, and on each occasion the messenger had gone back with the brief word: "too busy during working hours." and when a third messenger came to inquire what mr. brouillard's working hours were, the equally blunt answer returned was: "all the time." in the face of such discouragements mr. cortwright was constrained to pocket his dignity as mayor, as the potentate of the exchanges, and as the unquestionable master of the surly young industry captain who refused to come when he was called, and to go in person. choosing the evening hour when he had been assured that he was likely to find brouillard alone and at work, he crossed the boundaries of the sacred reservation and made his way to the door of the log-built mapping room. "i came around to see what is eating you these days," was the pudgy tyrant's greeting for the young man sitting under the shaded desk lamp. "why don't you drop in once in a while and give me the run of things?" "i gave your clerk the reason," said brouillard laconically. "i'm too busy." "the devil you are!" snapped the great man, finding the only arm chair in the room and dropping heavily into it. "since when?" "since the first time you sent for me--and before." mr. cortwright recovered his working geniality only with a palpable effort. "see here, brouillard, you know you never make any money by being short with me. let's drop it and get down to business. what i wanted to say is that you are overdoing it; you are putting on too much steam. you've brought the boom, all right, but at the pace you're setting it won't last long enough. are you catching on?" "i'm listening," was the non-committal reply. "well, enough's enough, and too much of a good thing scalds the hog before you're ready to dress it and cut it up. it's all right for you to run men in here by the train load and scatter 'em out over your scaffolding--the more the merrier, and it's good for the town--but you needn't sweat the last shovelful of hurry out of them the way you're doing. it won't do to get your job finished too soon." "before congress convenes, you mean?" suggested brouillard. "that's just what i mean. string it out. make it last." brouillard sat back in his pivot chair and began to play with the paper-knife. "and if i don't choose to 'string it out'--if i even confess that i am straining every nerve to do this thing that you don't want me to do--what then, mr. cortwright?" the quiet retort jolted the stocky man in the arm chair as if it had been a blow. but he recovered quickly. "i've been looking for that," he said with a nervous twinkling of the little gray eyes. "you've no business being out of business, brouillard. if you'd quit puddling sand and cement and little rocks together and strike your gait right in ten years you'd be the richest man this side of the mountains. i'll be open-handed with you: this time you've got us where we can't wiggle. we've _got_ to have more time. how much is it going to cost us?" brouillard shook his head slowly. "odd as it may seem to you, i'm out of your market this time, mr. cortwright--quite out of it." "oh, no, you're not. you've got property to sell--a good bit of it. we can turn it for you at a figure that will----" "no; you are mistaken," was the quick reply. "i have no property in mirapolis. i am merely a squatter on government land, like every one else in the niquoia valley." "for heaven's sake!" the promoter burst out. "what's got into you? don't you go around trying to stand that corpse on its feet; it's a dead one, i tell you! the coronida titles are all right!" "there are no coronida titles. you have known it all along, and i know it--now. i have it straight from the bureau of land statistics, in a letter from a man who knows. the nearest boundary of the old spanish grant is latigo peak, ten miles south of chigringo. the department knows this and is prepared to prove it. and in the very beginning you and your associates were warned that you could not acquire homestead or other rights in the niquoia." "let it go!" snapped the gray-eyed king of the pack. "we've got to get out alive and we're going to get out alive. what's your price?" "i have answered that question once, but i'll make it a little plainer if you wish. it is beyond your reach; if you should turn your money-coining soul into cash you couldn't pay it this time, mr. cortwright." "that's guff--boy-talk--play-ranting! you want something--is it that damned massingale business again? i don't own the railroad, but if you think i do, i'll sign anything you want to write to the traffic people. let massingale sell his ore and get the money for it. he'll go gamble it as he did yours." brouillard looked up under the shaded electric globe and his handsome face wrinkled in a sour smile. "you are ready to let go, are you?" he said. "you are too late. mr. ford returned from europe a week ago, and i have a wire saying that to-night's through freight from brewster is chiefly made up of empty ore-cars for the 'little susan.'" the sandy-gray eyes blinked at this, but mr. cortwright was of those who die hard. "what i said still holds good. massingale or his son, or both of them, will gamble the money. and if they don't, we've got 'em tied up in a hard knot on the stock proposition." "i was coming to that," said brouillard quietly. "for a long time you have been telling me what i should do and i have done it. now i'll take my turn. you must notify your associates that the 'little susan' deal is off. there will be a called meeting of the directors here in this room to-morrow evening at eight o'clock, and----" "who calls it?" interrupted the tyrant. "the president." "president nothing!" was the snorted comment. "an old, drunken gambler who hasn't got sense enough to go in when it rains! say, brouillard, i'll cut that pie so there'll be enough to go around the table. just leave massingale out of it and make up your mind that you're going to sit in with us. we've bought the mine and paid for it. i've got the stock put away where it's safe. massingale can't touch a share of it, or vote it, either." brouillard shook his head. "you are stubbornly hard to convince, mr. cortwright, but i'll try one more time. you will come here to-morrow evening, with your confederates in the deal, prepared to take the money you have actually spent in betterments and prepared to release the stock. if you fail to do so you will get nothing. is that explicit enough?" "you're crazy!" shouted the promoter. "you talk as if there wasn't any law in this country!" "there isn't--for such men as you; you and your kind put yourselves above the law. but that is neither here nor there. you don't want to go into court with this conspiracy which you have cooked up to beat david massingale out of his property. it's the last thing on earth you want to do. so you'd better do the other thing--while you can." mr. cortwright sat back in his chair, and once more brouillard saw in the sandy-gray eyes the look which had been in the son's eyes when the derelict fought for freedom to finish killing stephen massingale. "it's a pretty dangerous thing to try to hold a man up unless you've got the drop on him, brouillard," he said significantly. "i've got you covered from my pocket; i've had you covered that way ever since you began to buck and rear on me a couple of months ago. one little wire word to washington fixes you for good and all. if i say the word, you'll stay on your job just as long as it will take another man to get here to supersede you." brouillard laughed. "the pocket drop is never very safe, mr. cortwright. you are likely to lose too much time feeling for the proper range. then, too, you can never be sure that you won't miss. also, your assumption that i'm taking an unarmed man's chance is wrong. i can kill you before you can pull the trigger of the pocket gun you speak of--kill you so dead that you won't need anything but a coroner's jury and a coffin. how long would it take you to get action in the washington matter, do you think?" "i've told you; you'd have just about a week longer to live, at the furthest." "i can better that," was the cool reply. "i have asked you to do a certain thing to-morrow night. if you don't do it, the _spot-light_ will print, on the following morning, that letter i spoke of--the letter from my friend in the bureau of land statistics. when that letter is printed everybody in mirapolis will know that you and your accomplices are plain swindlers, amenable to the criminal law, and from that moment there will never be another real-estate transfer in the niquoia valley." the promoter rose slowly out of his chair and stood leaning heavily with his fat hands, palms downward, on the flat-topped desk. his cheeks were puffed out and the bitten mustaches bristled like the whiskers of a gray old leader of the timber-wolves. "brouillard," he grated huskily, "does this mean that you're breaking with us, once for all?" "it means more than that; it means that i have reached a point at which i am ashamed to admit that there was ever anything to break." "then listen: you've helped this thing along as much as, or more than, anybody else in this town; and there are men right here in mirapolis--plenty of 'em--who will kill you like a rat in a hole if you go back on them as you are threatening to. don't you know that?" the younger man was balancing the paper-cutter across his finger. "that is the least of my worries," he answered, speaking slowly. "i am all sorts of a moral coward, i suppose; i've proved that often enough in the past few months, god knows. but i'm not the other kind, mr. cortwright." "then i'll take a hand!" snarled the tyrant at bay. "i'll spend a million dollars, if i have to, blacklisting you from one end of this country to the other! i'll fix it so you'll never build anything bigger than a hog-pen again as long as you live! i'll publish your record wherever there is a newspaper to print it!" he pounded on the desk with his fist--"i'll do it--money can do it! more than that, you'll never get a smell of that chigringo mine--you nor dave massingale!" brouillard tossed the paper-knife into a half-opened drawer and squared himself at the blotting-pad. "that is your challenge, is it?" he said curtly. "so be it. start your machinery. you will doubtless get me, not because you have money, but because for a time i was weak enough and wicked enough to climb down and stand on your level. but if you don't hurry, mr. cortwright, i'll get you first. are you going? one thing more--and it's a kindness; get your son out of town before this massingale matter comes up for adjustment. it will be safer." "is that all you have to say?" "pretty nearly all, except to tell you that your time is growing short, and you and those who are in with you had better begin to set your houses in order. if you'll come over here at eight o'clock to-morrow night prepared to do the square thing by david massingale, i'll withhold the publication of that letter which will stamp you and your associates as criminals before the law; but that is the only concession i shall make." "you've got to make at least one more!" stormed the outgoing magnate. "you don't have to set any dates or anything of that kind for your damned drowning act!" "in justice to a good many people who are measurably innocent, i shall have to do that very thing," returned the engineer firmly. "the notice will appear in to-morrow's _spot-light_." it was the final straw in the stocky promoter's crushing wrath burden. his fat face turned purple, and for a second or two he clawed the air, gasping for breath. brouillard sat back in his chair, waiting for the volcanic upheaval. but it did not come. when he had regained a measure of self-control, mr. cortwright turned slowly and went out without a word, stumbling over the threshold and slamming the door heavily as he disappeared. for a time after the promoter's wordless departure brouillard sat at his desk writing steadily. when the last of the memorandum sheets was filled he found his hat and street coat and left the office. ten minutes later he had penetrated to the dusty den on the second floor of the _spot-light_ office where harlan was grinding copy for his paper. brouillard took a chair at the desk end and laid the sheets of pencilled government paper under the editor's eyes. harlan's lean, fine-lined face was a study in changing emotions as he read. but at the end there was an aggrieved look in his eyes, mirroring the poignant regret of a newsman who has found a priceless story which he dares not use. "it's ripping," he sighed, "the biggest piece of fireworks a poor devil of a newspaper man ever had a chance to touch off. but, of course, i can't print it." "why 'of course'?" "for the same reason that a sane man doesn't peek down the muzzle of a loaded gun when he is monkeying with the trigger. i want to live a little while longer." brouillard looked relieved. "i thought, perhaps, it was on account of your investments," he said. "not at the present writing," amended harlan with a grin. "i got a case of cold feet when we had that little let-up a while back, and when the market opened i cleaned up and sent the sure-enough little round dollars home to ohio." "and still you won't print this?" "i'd like to; you don't know how much i'd like to. but they'd hang me and sack the shop. i shouldn't blame 'em. if what you have said here ever gets into cold type, it's good-by mirapolis. why, brouillard, the whole united states would rise up and tell us to get off the map. you've made us look like thirty cents trying to block the wheels of a million dollars--and that is about the real size of it, i guess." "then it is your opinion that if this were printed it would do the business?" "there isn't the slightest doubt about it." "thank you, harlan, that is what i wanted to find out--if i had made it strong enough. it'll be printed. i'll put it on the wires to the associated press. i was merely giving you the first hack at it." "gee--gosh! hold on a minute!" exclaimed the newsman, jumping up and snapping his fingers. "if i weren't such a dod-gasted coward! let me run in a few 'it is alleged's', and i'll chance it." "no; it goes as it lies. there are no allegations. it is merely a string of cold facts, as you very well know. print it if you like, and i'll see to it that they don't hang you or loot the office. i have two hundred of the safest men on my force under arms to-night, and we'll take care of you. i'm in this thing for blood, harlan, and when i get through, this little obstruction in the way of progress that cortwright and his crowd planned, and that you and i and a lot of other fools and knaves helped to build, will be cooling itself under two hundred feet of water." "good lord!" said the editor, still unable to compass the barbaric suddenness of it. then he ran his eye over the scratch sheets again. "does this formal notice that the waste-gates will be closed three weeks from to-morrow go as it stands?" he inquired. "it does. i have the department's authority. you know as well as i do that unless a fixed day is set there will be no move made. we are all trespassers here, and we've been warned off. that's all there is to it. and if we can't get our little belongings up into the hills in three weeks it's our loss; we had no business bringing them here." the editor looked up with the light of a new discovery in his eyes. "you say 'we' and 'our.' that reminds me; garner told me no longer ago than this afternoon that you are on record for something like a hundred thousand dollars' worth of choice mirapolis front feet. how about that?" brouillard's smile was quite heart-whole. "i've kept my salary in a separate pocket, harlan. besides that--well, i came here with nothing and i shall go away with nothing. the rest of it was all stage money." "say--by hen!" ejaculated the owner of the _spot-light_. then, smiting the desk: "you ought to let me print that. i'd run it in red head-lines across the top of the front page. but, of course, you won't.... well, here goes for the fireworks and a chance of a soaped rope." and he pushed the bell button for the copy boy. late as it was when he left the _spot-light_ office, brouillard waited on the corner for a quadjenàï car, and, catching one, he was presently whisked out to the ornate villa in the eastern suburb. there was a light in the hall and another in a room to the rear, and it was amy who answered his touch of the bell-push. "no, i can't stay," he said, when she asked him in. "but i had to come, if it was only for a minute. the deed is done. i've had my next-to-the-last round-up with mr. j. wesley cortwright, and to-morrow's _spot-light_ will fire the sunset gun for mirapolis. is your father here?" "no. he and stevie are up at the mine. i am looking for them on every car." "when they come, tell your father it's time to hike. are you all packed?" she nodded. "everything is ready." "all right. three of my teams will be here by midnight, at the latest. the drivers and helpers will be good men and you can trust them. don't let anything interfere with your getting safely up to the mountain to-night. there'll be warm times in gomorrah from this on and i want a free hand--which i shouldn't have with you here." "oh, i'm glad, glad!--and i'm just as scared as i can be!" she gasped with true feminine inconsistency. "they will single you out first; what if i am sending you to your death, victor! oh, please don't go and break my heart the other way across by getting killed!" he drew a deep breath and laughed. "you don't know how good it sounds to hear you say that--and say it in that way. i sha'n't be reckless. but i'm going to bring j. wesley and his crowd to book--they've got to go, and they've got to turn the 'little susan' loose." "they will never do that," she said sadly. "i'll make them; you wait and see." she looked up with the violet eyes kindling. "i told you once that you could do anything you wanted to--if you only wanted to hard enough. i believed it then; i believe it now." "no," he denied with a smile that was half sorrowful, "i can't make two hills without a valley between them. i've chased down the back track like a little man,--for love's sake, amy,--and i've burned all the bridges behind me as i ran; namely, the sham deeds to the pieces of reservoir bottom i'd been buying. but when it is all over i shall be just where i was when we began--exactly one hundred thousand dollars short of being able to say: 'come, girl, let's go and get married.'" "but father owes you a hundred thousand dollars," she said quickly. "not in a hundred thousand years, o most inconsistent of women! didn't we agree that that money was poisoned? it was the purchase price of an immortal soul, and i wouldn't touch it with a pair of tongs. that is why your father couldn't use it; it belonged to the devil and the devil wanted it back." "father won't take that view of it," she protested. "then you'll have to help me to bully him, that's all. but i must go and relieve grizzy, who is doing guard duty at the mixers.... tell your father--no, that isn't what i meant to say, it's this--" and his arms went suddenly across the hundred-thousand-dollar chasm. * * * * * a little deeper in the night, when he was tramping back through the sleeping town and up to the mixers on the high bench of jack's mountain, brouillard knew well enough that he was walking over a thin-crusted crater of volcanic possibilities. but to a man in the seventh heaven of love acknowledged without shame, and equally without shame returned,--nay, with the first passionate kiss of the love still tingling on his lips,--volcanic possibilities, or even the volcanoes themselves, figure lightly, indeed. xx the terror in the yellowstone national park there is an apparently bottomless pit which can be instantly transformed into a spouting, roaring vesuvius of boiling water by the simple expedient of dropping a bar of soap into it. the _spot-light_ went to press at three o'clock. by the earliest graying of dawn, and long before the sun had shown itself above the eastern timanyonis, brouillard's bar of soap was melting and the mirapolitan under-depths were beginning to heave. like wild-fire, the news spread from lip to lip and street to street, and by sunrise the geyser was retching and vomiting, belching débris of cries and maledictions, and pouring excited and riotous crowds into chigringo avenue. most naturally, the _spot-light_ office was the first point of attack, and harlan suffered loss, though it was inconsiderable. at the battering down of the doors the angry mob found itself confronting the young reclamation service chief and four members of his staff, all armed. brouillard spoke briefly and to the point. "i am the man who wrote that article you've been reading, and mr. harlan printed it as a matter of news. if you have anything to say to me you know where to find me. now, move on and let mr. harlan's property alone or somebody will get hurt." nobody stayed to press the argument at the moment. an early-morning mob is proverbially incoherent and incohesive; and, besides, loaded winchesters in the hands of five determined men are apt to have an eloquence which is more or less convincing. but with the opening of business the geyser spouted again. the exchanges were mobbed by eager sellers, each frenzied struggler hoping against hope that he might find some one simple enough to buy. at ten o'clock the bank closed--"temporarily," the placard notice said. but there were plenty to believe that it would never open again. by noon the trading panic had exhausted itself a little, though the lobby and café of the metropole were crowded, and anxious groups quickly formed around any nucleus of rumor or gossip in the streets. between one and two o'clock, while brouillard, leshington, and anson were hastily eating a luncheon sent over to the mapping room from bongras's, harlan drifted in. "spill your news," commanded leshington gruffly. "what's doing, and who's doing it?" "nobody, and nothing much," said harlan, answering the two queries as one. "the town is falling apart like a bunch of sand and the get-away has set in. two full trains went east this forenoon, and two more are scheduled for this afternoon if the railroad people can get the cars here." "'good-by, little girl, good-by,'" hummed grislow, entering in time to hear the report of the flight. but leshington was shaking his big head moodily. "laugh about it if you can, but it's no joke," he growled. "when the froth is blown away and the bubbles quit rising, there are going to be some mighty bitter settlings left in the bottom of the stein." "you're right, leshington," said harlan, gravely. "what we're seeing now is only the shocked surprise of it--as when a man says 'ouch!' before he realizes that the dog which has bitten him has a well-developed case of rabies. we'll come to the hydrophobic stage later on." by nightfall of this first day the editor's ominous prophecy seemed about to reach its fulfilment. the avenue was crowded again and the din and clamor was the roar of a mob infuriated. brouillard and leshington had just returned from posting a company of the workmen guard at the mixers and crushers, when grislow, who had been scouting on the avenue, came in. "harmless enough, yet," he reported. "it's only some more of the get-away that harlan was describing. just the same, it's something awful. people are fairly climbing over one another on the road up the hill to the station--with no possible hope of getting a train before some time to-morrow. teamsters are charging twenty-five dollars a load for moving stuff that won't find cars for a week, and they're scarce at the price." leshington, who was not normally a profane man, opened his mouth and said things. "if the cortwright crowd had one man in it with a single idea beyond saving his own miserable stake!" he stormed. "what are the spellbinders doing, grizzy?" the hydrographer grinned. "cortwright and a chosen few left this afternoon, hotfoot, for washington, to get the government to interfere. that's the story they'd like to have the people believe. but the fact is, they ran away from judge lynch." "yes; i think i see 'em coming back--not!" snorted the first assistant. then to brouillard: "that puts it up to us from this out. is there anything we can do?" brouillard shook his head. "i don't want to stop the retreat. i've heard from president ford. the entire western division will hustle the business of emptying the town, and the quicker it is done the sooner it will be over." for a tumultuous week the flight from the doomed city went on, and the overtaxed single-track railroad wrought miracles of transportation. not until the second week did the idea of material salvage take root, but, once started, it grew like jonah's gourd. hundreds of wrecking crews were formed. plants were emptied, and the machinery was shipped as it stood. houses and business blocks were gutted of everything that could be carried off and crowded into freight-cars. and, most wonderful of all, cars were found and furnished almost as fast as they could be loaded. but the second week was not without incidents of another sort. twice brouillard had been shot at--once in the dark as he was entering the mapping room, and again in broad day when he was crossing the avenue to bongras's. the second attempt was made by the broker garner, whom excitement or loss, or both, had driven crazy. the young engineer did nothing in either case save to see to it that garner was sent to his friends in kansas city. but when, two nights later, an attempt was made to dynamite the great dam, he covered the bill-boards with warning posters. outsiders found within the reclamation service picket-lines after dark would be held as intentional criminals and dealt with accordingly. "it begins to look a little better," said anson on the day in the third week when the army of government laborers began to strip the final forms from the top of the great wall which now united the two mountain shoulders and completely overshadowed and dominated the dismantled town. "if the avenue would only take its hunch and go, the agony would be over." but brouillard was dubious. the avenue, more particularly the lower avenue, constituted the dregs. bongras, whom brouillard had promised to indemnify, stayed; some of the shopkeepers stayed for the chance of squeezing the final trading dollar out of the government employees; the saloon-keepers stayed to a man, and the dives were still running full blast--chiefly now on the wages of the government force. "it will be worse before it is better," was the young chiefs prediction, and the foreboding verified itself that night. looting of a more or less brazen sort had been going on from the first, and by nine o'clock of the night of prediction a loosely organized mob of drink-maddened terrorists was drifting from street to street, and there were violence and incendiarism to follow. though the property destruction mattered little, the anarchy it was breeding had to be controlled. brouillard and leshington got out their reserve force and did what they could to restore some semblance of order. it was little enough; and by ten o'clock the amateur policing of the city had reduced itself to a double guarding of the dam and the machinery, and a cordoning of the metropole, the reclamation service buildings, and the _spot-light_ office. for harlan, the dash of sporting blood in his veins asserting itself, still stayed on and continued to issue his paper. "i said i wanted to be in at the death, and for a few minutes to-night i thought i was going to be," he told brouillard, when the engineer had posted his guards and had climbed the stair to the editorial office. then he asked a question: "when is this little hell-on-earth going to be finally extinguished, victor?" instead of answering, brouillard put a question of his own: "did you know that cortwright and schermerhorn and judge williams came back this evening, harlan?" "i did," said the newspaper man. "they are registered at the metropole as large as life. and miss genevieve and lord falkland and cortwright's ugly duckling of a son came with them. what's up?" "that is what i'd like to know. there's a bunch of strangers at the metropole, too, a sheriff's posse, poodles thinks; at least, there is a deputy from red butte with the crowd." harlan tilted back in his chair and scanned the ceiling reflectively. "this thing is getting on my nerve, old man. i wish we could clean the slate and all go home." "it is going to be cleaned. notices will be posted to-morrow warning everybody that the waste-gates will be closed promptly on the date advertised." "when is it? things have been revolving too rapidly to let me remember such a trivial item as a date." "it is the day after to-morrow, at noon." the owner of the _spot-light_ nodded. "let her go, gallagher. i've got everything on skids, even the presses. _au revoir_--or perhaps one should say, _au reservoir_." fresh shoutings and a crackling of pistols arose in the direction of the plaza, and brouillard got up and went to a window. the red glow of other house burnings loomed against the sombre background of jack's mountain. "senseless savages!" he muttered, and then went back to the editor. "i don't like this cortwright reappearance, harlan. i wish i knew what it means." "let's see," said the newsman thoughtfully; "what is there worth taking that they didn't take in the _sauve qui peut_? by jove--say! did old david massingale get out of j. wesley's clutches before the lightning struck?" "i wish i could say 'yes', and be sure of it," was the sober reply. "you knew about the thieving stock deal, or what you didn't know i told you. well, i had massingale, as president, call a meeting of directors--which never met. afterward, acting under legal advice, he went on working the mine, and he's been working it ever since, shipping a good bit of ore now and then, when he could squeeze it in between the get-away trains. of course, there is bound to be a future of some sort; but that is the present condition of affairs." "how about those notes in the bank? wasn't massingale personally involved in some way?" brouillard bounded out of his chair as if the question had been a point-blank pistol-shot. "great heavens!" he exclaimed. "to-day's the day! in the hustle i had forgotten it, and i'll bet old david has--if he hasn't simply ignored it. that accounts for the reunion at the metropole!" "don't worry," said harlan easily. "the bank has gone, vanished, shut up shop. at the end of the ends, i suppose, they can make david pay; but they can't very well cinch him for not meeting his notes on the dot." "massingale doesn't really owe them anything that he can't pay," brouillard asserted. "by wiring and writing and digging up figures, we found that the capitalizing stockholders, otherwise j. wesley cortwright, and possibly schermerhorn, have actually invested fifty-two thousand dollars, or, rather, that amount of massingale's loan has been expended in equipment and pay-rolls. three weeks ago the old man got the smelter superintendent over here from red butte, and arranged for an advance of fifty-two thousand dollars on the ore in stock, the money to be paid when the first train of ore-cars should be on the way in. it was paid promptly in new york exchange, and massingale indorsed the draft over to me to be used in the directors' meeting, which was never held." "well?" said the editor. brouillard took a pacing turn up the long, narrow room, and when he came back he said: "i guess i'm only half reformed, after all, harlan. i'd give a year or so out of my natural life if i had a grip on cortwright that would enable me to go across to bongras's and choke a little justice out of him." "go over and flash massingale's fifty-two thousand dollars at 'em. they'll turn loose. i'll bet a yellow cur worth fifteen cents that they're wishing there was a train out of this little section of sheol right now. hear that!" the crash of an explosion rattled the windows, and the red loom on the jack's mountain side of the town leaped up and became a momentary glare. the fell spirit of destruction, of objectless wreck and ruin, was abroad, and brouillard turned to the stairway door. "i'll have to be making the rounds again," he said. "the greeks and italians are too excitable to stand much of this. take care of yourself; i'll leave grif and a dozen of the trusties to look after the shop." when he reached the sidewalk the upper avenue was practically deserted. but in the eastern residence district, and well around to the north, new storm-centres were marked by the increasing number of fires. brouillard stopped and faced toward the distant and invisible timanyonis. a chill autumn breeze was sweeping down from the heights and the blockading wall of the great dam turned it into eddies and dust-pillared whirls dancing in the empty street. young griffith sauntered up with his winchester in the hollow of his arm. "anything new?" he asked. "no," said brouillard. "i was just thinking that a little wind would go a long way to-night, with these crazy house-burners loose on the town." then he turned and walked rapidly to the government headquarters, passed the sentry at the door of the mapping room; and out of the fire-proof vault where the drawings and blue-print duplicates were kept took a small tin despatch-box. he had opened the box and had transferred a slip of paper from it to the leather-covered pocket field book which served him for a wallet, when there was a stir at the door and castner hurried in, looking less the clergyman than the hard-working peace-officer. "more bedlam," he announced. "i want gassman or handley and twenty or thirty good men. the mob has gone from wrecking and burning to murdering. 'pegleg' john was beaten to death in front of his saloon a few minutes ago. it is working this way. there were three fires in the plaza as i came through." "see grislow at the commissary and tell him i sent you," said the chief. "i'd go with you, but i'm due at the metropole." "good. then miss amy got word to you? i was just about to deliver her message." "miss massingale? where is she, and what was the message?" demanded brouillard. "then you haven't heard? the 'little susan' is in the hands of a sheriff's posse, and david massingale is under arrest on some trumped-up charge--selling ore for his individual account, or something of that sort. miss amy didn't go into particulars, but she told me that she had heard the sheriff say it was a penitentiary offence." "but where is she now?" stormed brouillard. "over at the hotel. i supposed you knew; you said you were going there." brouillard snatched up the despatch-box and flung it into the fire-proof. while he was locking the door castner went in search of grislow, and when brouillard faced about, another man stood in the missionary's place by the mapping table. it was mr. j. wesley cortwright. the gray-faced promoter had lost something of his old-time jaunty assurance, and he was evidently well shaken and unnerved by the sights and sounds of the night of terror. the sandy-gray eyes advertised it as well as the fat hands, which would not keep still. "i didn't think i'd have to ask a favor of you again, brouillard, but needs must when the devil drives," he began, with an attempted assumption of the former manner. "we didn't know--the newspapers didn't tell us anything about this frightful state of affairs, and----" brouillard had suddenly lost his desire to hurry. "sit down, mr. cortwright," he said. "i was just coming over to see you--to congratulate you and mr. schermerhorn on your return to mirapolis. we have certainly missed the mayor, not to mention the president of the common council." "of course--yes," was the hurried rejoinder. "but that's all over. you said you'd get us, and you did. i don't bear malice. if you had given me one more day i'd have got you; the stuff that would have broken your neck with the washington people was all written and ready to put on the wires. but that's past and gone, and the next thing is something else. there is a lot of money and securities locked up in the niquoia bank vault. we've come to clean up, and we brought a few peace officers along from red butte for a guard. the miserable scoundrels are scared stiff; they won't stir out of the hotel. bongras tells me you've got your force organized and armed--can't you lend us fifty or a hundred huskies to keep the mob off while we open that bank vault?" brouillard's black eyes snapped, and the blood danced in his veins. the opportunity for which he would have bartered ormus treasure had come to him--was begging him to use it. "i certainly can," he admitted, answering the eager question and emphasizing the potentiality. "but will you? that's the point. we'll make it worth your while. for god's sake, don't say no, brouillard! there's pretty well up to a million in that vault, counting odds and ends and left-overs. schermerhorn oughtn't to have left it. i thought he had sense enough to stay and see it taken care of. but now----" "but now the mob is very likely to wreck the building and dynamite the vault, you were going to say. i think it is more than likely, mr. cortwright, and i wonder that it hasn't been done before this. it would have been done if the rioters had had any idea that you'd left anything worth taking. and it would probably wreck you and mr. schermerhorn if it should get hold of you; you've both been burned in effigy half a dozen times since you ran away." "oh, good lord!" shuddered the magnate. "make it two hundred of your men, and let's hurry. you won't turn us down on this, brouillard?" "no. it is no part of our duty to go and keep the mob off while you save your stealings, but we'll do it. and from the noise they are making down that way, i think you are wise in suggesting haste. but first there is a question of common justice to be settled. an hour ago, or such a matter, you sent a part of your sheriff's posse up to seize the 'little susan' and to arrest david massingale----" "it's--it's a lie!" stammered cortwright. "somebody has been trying to backcap me to you!" brouillard looked up, frowning. "you are a good bit older man than i am, mr. cortwright, and i sha'n't punch your head. but you'll know why i ought to when i tell you that my informant is miss amy massingale. what have you done with old david?" the man who had lost his knack of bluffing came down and stayed down. "he--he's over at the hotel," he stammered. "under guard?" "well--y-yes." brouillard pointed to the telephone on the wall. "go and call up your crowd and get it here. tell judge williams to bring the stock he is holding, and schermerhorn to bring the massingale notes, and your man jackson to bring the stock-book. we'll have that directors' meeting that was called, and wasn't held, three weeks ago." "oh, good heavens!" protested the millionaire, "put it off--for god's sake, put it off! it will be wasting time that may be worth a thousand dollars a minute!" "you are wasting some of the thousand-dollar minutes right now," was the cool reply, and the engineer turned to his desk and squared himself as if he were going to work on a bunch of foremen's reports. it was a crude little expedient, but it sufficed. cortwright tramped to the 'phone and cursed and swore at it until he had his man at the other end of the wire. the man was the lawyer, as it appeared, and cortwright abused him spitefully. "you've balled it--balled it beautifully!" he shouted. "come over here to brouillard's office and bring schermerhorn and the stock and the notes and jackson and the secretary's books and massingale and your infernal self! get a move, and get it quick! we stand to lose the whole loaf because you had to butt in and sweep up the crumbs first!" when the procession arrived, as it did in an incredibly short time, brouillard laid down the law. "we don't need these," he said curtly, indicating the two deputies who came to bring david massingale. and when they were gone: "now, gentlemen, get to work and do business, and the less time you waste the better chance there will be for your bank salvage. three requirements i make: you will turn over the stock, putting mr. massingale in possession of his mine, without encumbrance; you will cancel and surrender his notes to the bank; and you will give him a document, signed by all of you, acknowledging the payment in full of all claims, past or pending. while you are straightening things out, i'll ring up the yards and rally your guard." cortwright turned on the lawyer. "you hear what brouillard says; fix it, and do it suddenly." it was done almost before brouillard had made leshington, in charge at the yards, understand what was wanted. "now a note to your man at the mine to make him let go without putting us to the trouble of throwing him over the dump," said the engineer, when he had looked over the stock transfers, examined the cancelled notes, and read and witnessed the signatures on the receipt in full. cortwright nodded to the lawyer, and when williams began to write again the king of the promoters turned upon brouillard with a savage sneer. "once more you've had your price," he snarled bitterly. "you and the old man have bilked us out of what we spent on the mine. but we'll call it an even break if you'll hurry that gang of huskies." "we'll call it an even break when it is one," retorted brouillard; and after he had gathered up the papers he took the new york check from his pocketbook, indorsed it, and handed it to cortwright. "that is what was spent out of the hundred thousand dollars you had mr. massingale charged with, as nearly as we can ascertain. take it and take care of it; it's real money." he had turned again to the telephone to hurry leshington, had rung the call, and was chuckling grimly over the collapse of the four men at the end of the mapping table as they fingered the slip of money paper. suddenly it was borne in upon him that there was trouble of some sort at the door--there were curses, a blow, a mad rush; then.... it was stephen massingale who had fought his way past the door-guarding sentry and stood blinking at the group at the far end of the mapping board. "you're the houn' dog i'm lookin' for!" he raged, singling out cortwright when the dazzle of the electrics permitted him to see. "you'll rob an old man first, and then call him a thief and set the sheriff on him, will you----?" massingale's pistol was dropping to the firing level when brouillard flung away the telephone ear-piece and got between. afterward there was a crash like a collision of worlds, a whirling, dancing medley of colored lights fading to gray and then to darkness, and the engineer went down with the avenger of wrongs tightly locked in his arms. * * * * * after the period of darkness had passed and brouillard opened his eyes again upon the world of things as they are, he had a confused idea that he had overslept shamefully and that the indulgence had given him a bad headache. the next thought was that the headache was responsible for a set of singular hallucinations. his blanket bunk in the sleeping shack seemed to have transformed itself into a white bed with pillows and snowy sheets, and the bed was drawn up beside an open window through which he could look out, or seem to look out, upon a vast sea dimpling in the breeze and reflecting the sunshine so brightly that it made his headache a darting agony. when he turned his face to escape the blinding glare of the sun on the sea the hallucinations became soothingly comforting, not to say ecstatic. some one was sitting on the edge of the bed; a cool hand was laid on his forehead; and when he could again see straight he found himself looking up into a pair of violet eyes in which the tears were trembling. [illustration: brouillard got between.] "you are amy--and this is that other world you used to talk about, isn't it?" he asked feebly. the cool hand slipped from his forehead to his lips, as if to warn him that he must not talk, and he went through the motions of kissing it. when it was withdrawn he broke the silent prohibition promptly. "the way to keep me from talking is to do it all yourself; what happened to me last night?" she shook her head sorrowfully. "the 'last night' you mean was three weeks ago. stevie was trying to shoot mr. cortwright in your office and you got between them. do you remember that?" "perfectly," he said. "but it still seems as if it were only last night. where am i now?--not that it makes any difference, so long as i'm with you." "you are at home--our home; at the 'little susan.' mr. leshington had the men carry you up here, and mr. ford ran a special train all the way from denver with the doctors. stevie's bullet struck you in the head, and--and we all thought you were going to die." "i'm not," he asserted, in feebly desperate determination. "i'm going to live and get to work and earn a hundred thousand dollars, so i can say: 'come, little girl----'" again the restraining hand was laid upon his lips, and again he went through the motions of kissing it. "you _mustn't_ talk!" she insisted. "you said you'd let me." and when he made the sign of acquiescence, she went on: "at first the doctors wouldn't give us any hope at all; they said you might live, but you'd--you'd never--never remember--never have your reason again. but yesterday----" "please!" he pleaded. "that's more than enough about me. i want to know what happened." "that night, you mean? all the things that you had planned for. father got the mine back, and mr. leshington and the others got the riot quelled after about half of the city was burned." "but cortwright and schermerhorn--i promised them----" "mr. leshington carried out your promise and helped them get the money out of the bank vault before the mob sacked the niquoia building and dynamited it. but at the hotel they were arrested on the order of the bank examiner, and everything was taken away from them. we haven't heard yet what is going to be done with them." "and gomorrah?" he asked. she slipped an arm under his shoulders and raised him so he could look out upon the mountain-girt sea dimpling under the morning breeze. "there is where it was," she said soberly, "where it was, and is not, and never will be again, thank god! mr. leshington waited until everybody had escaped, and then he shut the waste-way gates." brouillard sank back upon the pillows of comfort and closed his eyes. "then it's all up to me and the hundred thousand," he whispered. "and i'll get it ... honestly, this time." the violet eyes were smiling when he looked into them again. "is she--the one incomparable she--worth it, victor?" "her price is above rubies, as i told you once a long time ago." "you wouldn't let pride--a false pride--stand in the way of her happiness?" "i haven't any; her love has made me very humble and--and good, amy, dear. don't laugh: it's the only word; i'm just hungering and thirsting after righteousness enough to be half-way worthy of her." "then i'll tell you something else that has happened. father and stevie have reorganized the 'little susan' mining company, dividing the stock into four equal parts--one for each of us. you must take your share, victor. it will break father's heart if you don't. he says you got it back for him after it was hopelessly lost, and that is true." he had closed his eyes again, and what he said seemed totally irrelevant. "'and after the man had climbed the fourth mountain through all its seven stages, he saw a bright light, and it blinded him so that he stumbled and fell, and a great darkness rose up to make the light seem far beyond his reach. then the light came near, and he saw that it was love, and that the darkness was in his own soul.' ... kiss me, amy, girl, and then go and tell your father that he is a simple-hearted old spendthrift, and i love him. and if you could wire castner, and tell him to bring a license along----" "o boy--foolish boy!" she said. "wait: when you are well and strong again...." but she did not make him wait for the first of the askings; and after a healing silence had fallen to show the needlessness of speech between those who have come through darkness into light, he fell asleep again, perhaps to dream that the quieting hand upon his forehead was the touch of love, angel of the bright and shining way, summoning him to rise up and go forward as a soul set free to meet the dawning day of fruition. the end * * * * * books by francis lynde published by charles scribner's sons the city of numbered days. illus. mo _net_ $ . the honorable senator sage-brush. mo _net_ $ . scientific sprague. illus. mo _net_ $ . the price. mo _net_ $ . the taming of red butte western. illus. mo _net_ $ . the king of arcadia. illus. mo _net_ $ . a romance in transit. mo _net_ . transcriber's notes : ( ) obvious misspellings, punctuation faults and misprints have been corrected. ( ) italic text is denoted by _underscores_ ( ) subscripts are denoted by an _underscore followed by the symbol in {braces} ( ) "par/share" = par value per share, in the table of share values [illustration: utah copper company's open pit mine, bingham, utah. this mountain is copper ore.] the business of mining a brief, non-technical exposition of the principles involved in the profitable operation of mines by arthur j. hoskin, m.e., consulting and general mining engineer; western editor, "mines and minerals"; formerly professor of mining, colorado school of mines; member, american institute of mining engineers; member, colorado scientific society _with full page illustrations and one chart_ [illustration: publisher's logo] philadelphia & london j. b. lippincott company copyright, , by j. b. lippincott company published july, printed by j. b. lippincott company at the washington square press philadelphia, u.s.a. contents chapter page introduction i. what is a mine? ii. what is mining? iii. the antiquity of mining iv. mining's place in commerce v. the finding of mines vi. mining claims vii. placering viii. open mining ix. considerations preceding the opening of mines x. mine openings xi. types of ore bodies xii. the questions of depth and grades of ore xiii. valuation of mining property xiv. the mine promoter xv. incorporation and capitalization xvi. mining investments xvii. mine equipments xviii. mine management xix. prices of metals xx. mine accounting xxi. investment in mining stocks xxii. the men of the future in mining xxiii. miscellaneous considerations capitalization and dividends of north american metal mines index illustrations page utah copper company's open pit mine, bingham, utah _frontispiece_ hackett mine and mill, joplin, mo. coal washing plant, pana, illinois universal mine, clinton, ind. kennedy mine, jackson, cal. a gilpin county, col., scene dredges of yuba consolidated goldfields, hammonton, cal. the snowstorm placer, fairplay, col. steam shovels and churn drills, copper flat, ely, nev. mill of the pittsburg-silver peak gold mining co., blair, nev. mills and shaft house of daly west mine, park city, utah shaft no. , tamarack mining co., calumet, mich. smeltery of the balaklala consolidated copper co., coram, cal. washoe reduction works of the anaconda copper mining co., anaconda, mont. mill of the roodepoort-united mines, transvaal, south africa spray shaft house of copper queen consolidated mining co., bisbee, ariz. diagram of metal market for one-third of a century florence mine and mill, goldfield, nev. the business of mining introduction there is probably no line of human activity that is not beset with malicious and ignorant intruders. the fact that any occupation or business is really legitimate seems often to stimulate the operations of these disreputable persons. mining does not escape the application of this postulate. for ages, the industry has afforded most fertile opportunities for the machinations of the unscrupulous and the erring. somehow, there weaves throughout the history of mining a sort of magnetism rendering us unduly susceptible to the allurements which are presented with every mining proposition. it is not, however, always intentional deceit that is perpetrated upon the unwary. often, mining failures result from actual ignorance of the business upon the part of those entrusted with its conduct, or if not from actual lack of knowledge, then from erroneous conceptions with the consequent misapplication of honest endeavor. a victim of such misplaced faith is perhaps more leniently inclined than is the person who has been duped by a "shark," but the effect upon the great industry is hurtful in either case. the purpose of this short monograph will be served if the author can feel assured that his readers will finish its perusal with the belief that mining may be followed as a business with just as much assurance of success as attaches to any one of the many lines of industrial activity. many persons who have sustained losses in mining ventures deserve no sympathy whatever, since they have not exercised even the simplest precautions. so long as men--or women--will take as fact the word of any untrained or inexperienced individual concerning investments, just so long will there be resultant financial losses, no matter what the line of business. because there have been elements of chance observed in the records of mining, this business appeals to the speculative side of our human natures, with the result that untold numbers of individuals have had ample reason to regret their ventures. but, as will be found in the text matter, mining can be relied upon with precisely as much assurance as can any other business. nothing of a technical or engineering sort has been attempted herein, the sole aim of the writer being to establish the reliability and the credit of the mining industry as a whole by pointing out the lines of conduct which should be followed by those who enter its precincts as business people. when investors of small or large means will put their money into mining projects with the same precautions that they would exercise in placing their cash in other enterprises, they will be rewarded with corresponding remuneration. in this firm conviction, then, this little work is dedicated to the intelligence of american laymen in mining matters. i what is a mine? before entering into a discussion of the economic features of the mining industry, it will be well to be sure that we understand, definitely, what is meant by mining. as one investigates the question, he is bound to run across varying shades of meaning for the words _mine_ and _mining_, and so we must pause long enough to define these words according to the best usages. a search through works on mining written at various periods reveals differing ideas that have prevailed among authors. less than a hundred years ago, it was said that a mine "consists of subterranean workings from which valuable minerals are extracted." one early writer said that a mine is one only when the operations are conducted in the absence of daylight. as time has created new fields for the industry, we find that ideas concerning the meaning of the word mine have necessarily altered, until now (according to the coal and metal miners' pocketbook), we may think of a mine as "any excavation made for the extraction of minerals." under this definition, we properly think of the rather unusual operations of marketing coal right from the surface of the earth, in eastern kansas, as mining. there is, in this case, no covering of earth above the workmen; neither are the operations necessarily carried on at night to avoid the illumination of the sun. so, also, placers are now correctly spoken of as mines, although but a few years ago there was drawn a strict line, eliminating such worked deposits from the category of mines. one may still run across a few men who are sticklers upon the point that a placer is not a mine. throughout the world, at the present time, there are many places where immense deposits of valuable minerals are being excavated from open pits by out-of-doors methods, and our common term for these places is mines. thus, in minnesota, in that wonderful lake superior country, that is famous as the world's greatest known producer of iron ore, tremendous tonnages are handled every year by the modern steam shovel, which works in natural light by day and by electric lamps at night. in utah and nevada we find similar operations conducted in the excavation of copper ores. in australia, the famous mount morgan mine is using open air methods in the mining of precious metal ore. but what about quarries from which are taken building stone, salt, kaolin or clay? are not such substances of the mineral kingdom? here we run across a hitch in the definition quoted above; for while we hear of "salt mines" (not "salted mines"), our parlance has not, as yet, warranted this term except for such excavations of salt as are carried on in subterranean deposits; and it is quite out of place to speak of stone or clay mines. evidently we must pass through another transition in our conceptions about mines, or we must permit quarries and pits to be included within our realm of mines. at the present time, the prevailing practice of the men best qualified in such matters is to designate as mines those workings from which only coal, metallic ores, or gems are extracted. hence, we should not speak of a slate, sulphur, mica, clay or phosphate mine. and yet, with all the above restriction in our nomenclature, we have not reached one very important consideration, one which we have been approaching for a number of years and which, of late, has been met and forcibly applied by the best men in the profession of mining engineering. an excavation that will produce coal, metals or gems is not necessarily a mine. the simple fact that a man can get some gold-bearing dirt from a hole in the ground does not mean that he has a mine. the occasional finding of a diamond on the sidewalks of a great city does not give anybody the impression that city sidewalks are diamond mines. there are many places in which small amounts of combustible coal can be scratched from its natural depository, but no company appears to think highly enough of these seams to install machinery and to carry on operations. in the eastern part of kentucky there are well-defined deposits of lead-bearing baryta, though, up to date, their development has not proved successful. in brazil there are known to be very rich areas of placer ground, and still the deposits are not worked. a friend of the writer discovered some very good gold-bearing gravels in alaska, but he was unable to mine. there is something besides the presence of valuable minerals and the ability to win them from their natural matrices that is essential to a mine. it is here, in our considerations of the mining industry, that we come into real economic notions for the first time. yes, according to the latest ideas, we are wrong in stating that any worked or workable mineral deposit is a mine, _if it does not contain possibilities of profitable working_. this is now the prime thought of every up-to-date mining manager or engineer. it is this notion that will distinguish a mine from a prospect. the prospect may become a mine by proving itself profitably workable: if it simply carries values which cannot be realized to advantage, then it must continue as a mere prospect. there are cases of properties which possess rich deposits and which are loosely called mines. these properties may be observed to be erratic in their productiveness, owing to the very pockety nature of the deposits; and the owners, although they do, indeed, strike occasional handsome bonanzas, expend all the profits of such finds--or even greater amounts--in searching for other pockets. is such work profitable? is it mining? the trouble with the cited placers of south america is that climatic, hygienic and political conditions have been antagonistic to successful working: the ground is rich, but it cannot be handled to make money. in the case of the alaska gravels, there was no available, though essential, water supply. the kentucky galena cannot be economically separated from the containing heavy spar. coal, which is sold at comparatively low figures per ton, must be handled at the mines in large quantities to pay, so that a thin seam or a scattered deposit is not suitable for mining. under these restrictions of our new definitions, we run across many interesting points. for instance, one may ask the question about the old abandoned hole in the ground which is occasionally found by prospectors, "is it a mine?" the answer can be simply another query as to whether the hole was abandoned because it contained no value, or because, containing value, it could not be profitably worked. as we think of mines nowadays, we can conceive several reasons why, before the advent of transportation lines and the invention of modern metallurgical processes and many forms of labor-saving machinery now so common in and about mines, many very rich deposits may have been necessarily forsaken by their discoverers. but such a property would, if now worked, probably prove highly profitable. we thus note that there exists some elasticity in the meaning of the word mine. an unprofitable project at one time may develop into a mine at a later period. many gold mines have become worthless propositions merely through changes in the ore that have rendered further work unremunerative. ii what is mining? having considered the accepted definition of a mine, let us now extend our reasoning a little and inquire just what is meant by mining. at first thought, one would say that mining is, in a broad sense, the art or practice of excavating, at a profit, the ores of metals, the beds of coal, the gravels of placers and the deposits containing precious stones. are we justified in letting this definition stand as it is? if we do not make any change, we must exclude all quarries, sand banks, clay pits, and the numerous sorts of works that are producing the non-metallic minerals of commerce. very well, since we find good usage will warrant us, we will do so. [illustration: hackett mine and mill, joplin, missouri.] still, there are other pertinent questions arising. does the practice of mining cover the treatment of the excavated products? here we run across a mooted point. the british and the american uses of the word mining seem to be a bit different in this regard. upon the rand, south africa, a territory dominated by englishmen, every mine is equipped with its own mill, and all notions of mining cover the inseparable idea of local ore treatment. here, in our country, there are many, many mines which have absolutely no means of treating their own products and the managers give no thought whatever to metallurgical or milling lines. there are, on the other hand, many companies that have erected private plants at their mines for the extraction of metallic contents from the ores. here it may, or it may not, happen that the operations of mining are considered as distinct from those of treatment. in some instances, as at the tonopah mining company's plants, there is separate superintendence of the milling and the mining; but in the joplin, missouri, zinc region one superintendent looks after the running of a mine and its omnipresent mill. there may be drawn a sharp distinction between what is really mining and what is the subsequent treatment of the ores for the extraction of values. the latter field is denoted _metallurgy_ when the operations are of such a nature as to actually recover or extract metallic products or metals. if the treatment process has for its object merely the rejection of some of the worthless materials in the original ore, thus causing a concentration of the valuable minerals, but without actually obtaining any metal, then the term _ore dressing_ is warranted. at some mines, there is maintained a practice of culling out, often by hand, a certain percentage of the obviously worthless ingredients of the ore before shipping the products to treatment plants. this is neither milling, metallurgy, nor ore dressing, but is more properly called _sorting_. it is one of the operations connected with mining. milling may be either ore dressing or metallurgy. in the operations of placering, there is a simultaneous _excavation_ of a deposit and an _extraction_ of the valuable contents. in this case, shall we call the process mining or metallurgy? if it is a gold placer, one may see the recovery of the metallic values. here, the usage of the majority of practical mining men will uphold us in always speaking of the work as mining. in its original significance and use, metallurgy involved the use of fire for the concentration and recovery of metals. with recent advances in chemistry, there have been numerous discoveries of wet or fireless methods for arriving at equivalent results, so that it is now perfectly proper to allow the word metallurgy to cover such processes as cyanidation, chlorination, electrolysis, and the host of new inventions that are continually appearing. the writer has consulted a number of authorities on mining lines to ascertain just what sort of a position to give to the practice of ore dressing. prof. robert h. richards, the head of the mining department in the massachusetts institute of technology, and the inventor of machines which have made him famous among mining men, says, "ore dressing is an essential part of mining. the whole object of ore dressing is to remove gangue before shipment and so save in freight and treatment charges." mr. a. g. charleton, the eminent english mining engineer and author of numerous books, in discussing this question, writes, "personally, i am of the opinion that ore dressing should be included in mining." one has but to look through the catalogues of most of the american and foreign mining schools to find that little or no line is drawn between the courses in mining and metallurgy, and almost universally the dressing of a mine's product is taken up as an inseparable part of mining. in a very few exceptions, the courses of study are so planned as to draw an imaginary line between mining and metallurgy, and in these instances, ore dressing is placed with metallurgy only for convenience in the use and arrangement of college laboratories. but, since it is a common practice for mining companies to install plants right at the mines for the purpose of diminishing the bulk of ore shipped and to thus save in freight and custom treatment charges, mine superintendents and even the common miners have become accustomed to thinking of such plants as but units of the "mining" plants. at bituminous and anthracite mines whose products contain objectionable amounts of impurities, it is a common practice to subject the output to a _washing_ to remove the deleterious substances before shipment to the market. [illustration: coal washing plant, pana, illinois.] in view, then, of these reasons, it is proper to decide that mining is a term broad enough to cover the operations of extracting coal and metallic ores from the ground and of preparing them for shipment or metallurgical treatment. coal is always coal, no matter in what thickness of deposit it is found. it may not be minable coal because in thin seams or because so intercalated with layers of slate or "bone," that the mine's mixture, or so-called "run of mine," is not salable. but with metallic ores, we run across an idea that is occupying the attention of many prominent geologists and mining men. what is ore? this is a question to which there have been many attempted answers. there has been an evolution of ideas, with a corresponding gradation of definition. to set a uniform standard of thought upon this point, officers of the united states geological survey, a few years ago, proposed the following definition. it must be conceded that this definition, while embodying many splendid features, is not altogether exempt from criticism; but in the absence of anything better, we shall not be very far in error if we use it: _ore_ is a _natural_ aggregation of one or more _minerals_ from which useful _metal_ may be _profitably_ extracted. there is, then, no such thing as "pay ore" or "non-pay ore," expressions still quite common among miners and prospectors of the uneducated types. prof. james f. kemp, probably america's best-posted writer upon the subject, in an attempt to formulate one acceptable and unchangeable meaning for the word ore, says, "in its technical sense, an ore is a metalliferous mineral or an aggregate of such minerals, more or less mixed with gangue, and capable of being won and treated at a profit. the test of _yielding the metal or metals at a profit_ seems to me, in the last analysis, the only feasible one to employ." this definition eliminates one of the weak points in the first definition, namely, that an ore must be an association of minerals: there are some common ores (as for example, magnetite) which are not associations, but single minerals. we now reach certain fundamental concepts which must be accepted by the mining man who desires to be recognized as abreast of modern ideas. following the publication of kemp's definition of ore, there was much comment--as was anticipated--with the result that there has been noted a vacancy in scientific matters and it has been thought proper to permit another definition for purely scientific uses. this other definition of ore will cover the materials or aggregates of minerals from which gem stones and other valuable, but not metallic, substances are recovered. let us recapitulate. an _ore_ must be an aggregate or association of natural minerals, or a single mineral, from which metal may be profitably recovered. _mines_ are excavations in the earth from which ore, coal or gems are taken. _mining_ is the art or practice of operating mines. throughout the subject, we see the inseparable idea of _profit_. the work of carrying on operations in a railroad tunnel is not mining; the driving of adits through barren rocks to reach ore bodies is not mining; the sinking of shafts through worthless "wash" or rocks with a view of opening avenues for the removal of ore is not mining. mining is carried on only when ore is being produced. the wildcat practice of erecting small, temporary plants and digging prospect holes can be condemned as not being real mining. [illustration: universal mine (bituminous), clinton, indiana.] there is usually little question about the validity of a coal mining proposition, since "the goods show for themselves." comparatively few cases of fraudulent ventures in coal properties are of record. the product of a coal mine is ready for market just as soon as it is loaded into railroad cars, the mining company receiving its pay, commonly, upon its own recorded weights. there is no freight to pay, no waiting for assays or analyses, and no settlements with mills or smelteries. there are not the allurements for getting rich quickly in coal mining that are so beguiling to the class of investors generally approached by the promoters of mines(?). this must not be construed as stating that nobody has ever been deceived in a coal mine proposition, for, indeed, there have been many failures; however, they have been due, chiefly, to auto-deception as to area, thickness or quality of the coal measures. iii the antiquity of mining. mining is believed to have been one of man's earliest occupations. in historical writings, many of which date back into antiquity, there are allusions, as well as direct statements, concerning the art and tasks of obtaining valuable metals from mother earth. we are told that the very ancient egyptians made common use of metals and that they possessed knowledge of certain metallurgical and metal-working processes (as for example, the tempering of copper) which we, of today, cannot claim. six thousand years ago egypt became a world power through her mining of copper in the sinai peninsula. iron implements found in the great gizeh pyramid are supposed to date back to , b.c. copper tools have been found in the ruins of ancient troy. in assyria, a very good steel saw, inches long, was taken from the ruins of nimrod. iron was utilized by the chinese some , years b.c. near delhi, india, there exists an iron pillar, feet long and weighing six tons, dating back to b.c. it is chiefly interesting in exhibiting an ancient knowledge of welding which is the envy of our modern iron workers. if we accept the hebrew scriptures, we must believe that mining was carried on in the time of tubalcain, spoken of in genesis. the old testament contains numerous verses referring to the mining of metals, the land of perfect abundance being paraphrased in deuteronomy thus: "where the stones are of iron and out of its hills are digged mines of brass." coal was mined and used in greece in b.c. it is quite probable that gold was the earliest metal to be worked. there are two good reasons for this assumption: first, gold was to be found in the native state or as nuggets, thus requiring no reduction process. second, the ores of gold are usually less refractory than are the ores of other metals. this is especially true of the oxidized ores such as would naturally be discovered by primitive man. these facts, together with the further properties of gold, _viz._, that its color is attractive, that it resists corrosion or tarnish, and that it is easily worked into ornaments or coin merely by hammering, make it highly probable that humans early made use of this yellow material. we read in job : , that "gold is refined;" and modern investigations tend to prove that the ophir of biblical reference is the southern portion of matabeleland or the rhodesia of present fame among mining regions. it is possible and quite probable that the great quantities of gold used in the building and furnishing of king solomon's temple came from the vicinity of the present city of johannesburg. the "golden fleece" of literature has been explained as a figure of speech for the skins of sheep which were laid in troughs to catch gold upon the principle of the riffle in a modern sluice-box. copper was perhaps the second metal to be worked by man. as a rule, it, also, is easily smelted from its ores; and, as above mentioned, we have relics that give evidence of wonderful skill in working this metal in times of remote antiquity. however, other metals are believed to have been mined, upon commercial scales, before the christian era. silver and lead were handled in large quantities from the mines of laurium, greece, in the sixth century b.c., and the same mines are being worked to this day, the principal values now being in the lead rather than, as formerly, in the white metal. the phoenicians, about b.c., invaded spain for gold, copper and mercury, and cornwall for tin and copper. the almaden quicksilver mines of spain have been operated, almost incessantly, since b.c., and in the th century, a.d., the wealth of europe's greatest family of financiers, the fügers, was based upon the operation of this remarkable deposit. del mar, in his _history of the precious metals_, says, "desire for the precious metals, rather than geographical researches or military conquest, is the principal motive which has led to the dominion of the earth by civilized races. gold has invariably invited commerce, invasion has followed commerce, and permanent occupation has completed the process. it is the history of the past as well as of the present. scipio went to africa, cæsar to gaul, columbus to america, cortez to mexico, pizarro to peru, clive to the conquest and hastings to plunder bengal." our own day has witnessed the subjugation of the boer. because of mexico's mineral wealth, many optimistic americans are beginning to prophesy the annexation of our sister republic. for gold, englishmen populated australia in , about the same time ( ) that we witnessed the rush to california gold fields. spaniards settled central and south american countries merely to gain the precious metals. it is mining which has been responsible for the population of the arid, southwestern portion of our own domain. in this, as in every other age of the world's development, we shall find that the mining industry lies at the heart of all commerce. it is well for the student of mining economics to fully appreciate this fact, for it will whet his interest in this great world industry. "truly, it has been a great seeking and finding. the story of mining may have been staled by commonplace, and the romance of it dulled, often enough, by greed; yet, in the main, it has linked the generations of earth as with a golden thread--and if not golden only, then there has been the red glint of copper or the white sheen of silver. mining districts may come and go, but mining remains."--(editorial, _engineering and mining journal_). iv mining's place in commerce. it is said that upon two of the world's commercial industries, every other form of activity depends. these two fundamental industries are agriculture and mining. statisticians prove the above statement and the further fact that these two dissimilar branches of civilization's business are so closely related as to be quite inter-dependent. strides are made by one of these industries only when advance is noted in the other. while it may not be possible to explain just why this is so, it is worth our attention to consider some brief figures that show this condition of affairs. the agitation conducted during the past few years, leading to the establishment of a bureau of mines in the department of the interior, attracted the thoughts of many students of economics who had not previously or seriously considered the industry of mining. the delivery of brilliant addresses showed that mining had been unjustly retarded. while agriculture has for years been fostered by the government and with remarkably satisfactory results, the great sister industry has been required, until recently, to struggle along without any governmental recognition in the matter of support. yet it has forged its way in unmistakable terms of progress and there was an insistent demand, among those men particularly interested in the welfare of mining, for the protection and the assistance which would and has now come through the establishment of a governmental department. various states have long recognized the importance of the mining industry by the establishment of departments. the canadian and mexican governments maintain very creditable departments of mines. it was but a question of time until the shortsightedness of our politicians (not our statesmen) was revealed, and the mining industry has now come under the auspices of a federal department. taking the world as a whole, it would be hard to conceive the sum total of annual mineral productions. the middle of the past century seems to have been a critical period in the mining industry of the earth. there was a great impetus given to mining by the greed for gold which caused the settlement of our western states and the australian states, as already mentioned. but there gradually followed the opening up of mining in many other and hitherto unpopulated and uncivilized portions of the globe. the search for gold was successful. prior to , the production of gold had not kept pace with the increase in population. soon, however, it began to take leaps, in almost geometrical ratios, until, by , the annual production of gold throughout the world was some , per cent. of the production for (as nearly as may be ascertained). the gold production was of a weight of about tons, in round figures. during , the world produced approximately $ , , (about tons) in new gold bullion. it is estimated that with a continuance of the remarkable progress, the next years will duplicate _the amount of gold now known in the world_. _this means that the amount of gold which has been accumulating from mining during the world's ages will be doubled during a fraction of our lifetime._ this is significant of the world's progress, in gold mining, at least. [illustration: kennedy mine, jackson, california.] it seems coincidental that the rush for gold in - should have been almost simultaneous with the remarkable development of our other mineral resources. all of our great discoveries of coal, oil, silver, iron, lead, copper, and zinc can be said to have followed closely upon the discovery of gold in california. it is not supposed that the discovery of iron in northern michigan in the early eighties had any connection with the "pike's-peak-or-bust" expeditions, nor that the opening and development of the vast coal beds of pennsylvania had any bearing on the discoveries of lead and zinc in the great mississippi valley. but, on the other hand, there can be traced a very intimate relation between the finding of gold, silver, copper, and lead in the rocky mountain states and the search for gold in california: the pioneers en route to the coast were the discoverers and settlers in colorado, wyoming, utah, and montana. figures are not available for arriving at such striking or reliable conclusions in regard to the world's production of metals other than gold, but there is no logical reason to doubt that such increases have been just as pronounced as in the case of the yellow metal. in fact, there are good grounds for assuming that the figures for silver, lead, iron, and zinc would show up even more spectacularly; while with coal, we know that we are now in the greatest period of the world's production. the united states leads the world in the production of the base metals, such as copper, iron, manganese, lead, and zinc, taken collectively or separately. our country stands second in the production of the precious metals, gold, platinum, and silver. we have the greatest variety of mineral products, as well as the greatest production of complex ores, or those carrying more than one valuable metal. we produce more copper than the rest of the world combined. although we stand in second place when considering the production of gold, we still possess the homestake mine in the black hills, famous as being the gold mine with the greatest tonnage in the world; and the camp bird mine, in the san juan district of colorado, famous the world over for its highest average value of gold ore. this great mine is now nearly exhausted and is about to close down after making a wonderful record. south africa produces the greatest amount of, and the purest, natural gold in the world. great britain has an insignificant production of both gold and copper, and still it is noteworthy that the english-speaking nations control the world's production of both these metals. british and american citizens own seven-eighths of the world's gold mines. england stands second in the consumption of copper, which, of course, is mainly imported. russia controls the world's output of platinum, with very little competition. in a similar manner, canada has the control of nickel production. mexico, although not commonly regarded as a gold mining country, is rapidly coming to the front and possesses the esperanza mine, said to be one of the most profitable gold mines in the world. to more emphatically show the importance of the mining industry, especially in our own country, the following facts are taken from census returns: agriculture produces annually about $ per capita; mining, $ , ; and manufacturing, which is dependent upon the others, $ . _the national banker_ has said: "statistics show that the combined dividends paid by the gold and silver mining companies of the united states are greater than the combined dividends paid by all of the banking institutions of the country; and the combined dividends paid by the copper mining companies of the united states exceed the combined dividends paid by all of our railroads." there is one thought that will always comfort any person who is engaged in furthering legitimate mining: wealth acquired from a mine is not wrested from any being but mother earth, and it is not, therefore, in the class with the much discussed "tainted money" that is said to be wrung from unfortunate human beings. the following tables are presented to give the reader ideas concerning the productions of gold and silver during recent years. among the interesting points that may be noted are the following: the gold production of the world took a sudden drop in , but it immediately resumed its upward climb. during the decade from to , this production increased over per cent. there is a remarkable similarity noticeable in the gold productions of the united states during the years and . without the notable increase in the gold output of the transvaal in , the world's total gold production for that year would have shown a decrease. the silver production of the united states remained practically unchanged during . gold production of the world for years $ , , $ , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , united states silver production (in fine ounces) alabama alaska , , arizona , , , , california , , , , colorado , , , , georgia idaho , , , , illinois , , michigan , , maryland ...... missouri , , montana , , , , nevada , , , , n. mexico , , , n. carolina , , oklahoma ...... , oregon , , pennsylvania , s. carolina ...... s. dakota , , tennessee , , texas , , utah , , , , virginia washington , , wyoming , , porto rico ...... philippines , , miscellaneous ...... , ---------- ---------- total , , , , united states gold production (in value) alabama $ , $ , alaska , , , , arizona , , , , california , , , , colorado , , , , georgia , , idaho , , , , illinois ------ , michigan ------ maryland ------ montana , , , , nevada , , , , new mexico , , n. carolina , , oklahoma ------ , oregon , , pennsylvania , , s. carolina , , s. dakota , , , , tennessee , , texas , utah , , , , virginia , washington , , wyoming , , porto rico , , philippines , , miscellaneous ------ , ----------- ----------- total $ , , $ , , gold production of the world transvaal $ , , $ , , united states including alaska , , , , australia , , , , russia , , , , mexico , , , , rhodesia , , , , india , , , , canada , , , , china , , , , japan, east indies, etc. , , , , west africa , , , , madagascar , , , , france , , , , central and south america , , , , other countries , , , , ------------ ------------ total $ , , $ , , v the finding of mines. mines are discovered in many ways. one hears much about prospecting, and since this is a practice which is rapidly changing from a mystical to a scientific basis, a few considerations will here be in order. persons who have lived in mining communities are familiar with two types of prospector, the roving and the settled. somehow, when we think of the former, there comes to mind a bearded, roughly clad man, usually accompanied by a "jack" and both packing the outfit consisting of a few tools, a pan, some blankets, a gun, and a supply of "grub." if we have in mind the other type of prospector, we imagine him as living an isolated life in a log cabin up in the hills, spending his daytime in putting in a few, short drill-holes and blasting down a ton or two of usually worthless rock in a "tunnel" or shallow shaft, confident that each succeeding shot will disclose a treasure. both of these types represent the utmost in optimism. these men endure many hardships and privations, they can have little converse with other humans, often they can see no provisions for the next day; in fact, they receive few of the benefits of modern civilization--if we except the food-preserving features. still, a typical, old-style prospector keeps on with absolute faith that fortune will smile tomorrow. we must reach the conclusion that these uneducated men are led on by subtle beliefs which, to a technically-trained man, seem like the rankest folly. they are diviners, dreamers. they are disappearing now and, a generation hence, there will be but memories of them. they are giving way to successors of a different type. the newer kind of prospector is well educated, and, perchance, he is rather youthful. his chances of success are many times those of the man he supplants. why? because he is taking advantage of the work that has been done by all former prospectors. he is guided by theories deduced from observations through ages, and he has the advice of the best contemporary men of experience in matters of geology as applied to mining. in other words, he is a scientific prospector. the prospector of today has a general understanding of mineralogy and geology; he must have knowledge of mining methods, so that he may know whether a deposit, once found, can be exploited at a profit; he must be ready to account for all discovered mineral bodies, and he must be capable of applying theories to actualities. there are so many metals and minerals sought for the markets of the world today that we see there are many fields of study and practice open to prospectors. it is not the purpose here to explain the details of scientific prospecting, for the study of this one subject would, in itself, fill a volume. the object of the above remarks is to draw to the attention of the economist the propriety (amounting almost to a necessity) of giving heed to the findings of the educated, trained searcher for mineral bodies, in preference to those of the illiterate man who has furnished themes for artists, narrators, and dramatists, because of his quaint characteristics. some writers have classified mineral discoveries into search, chance and adventitious. _search_ discoveries, being the rewards of earnest seeking, it is not surprising that, under the past guide of notions and mysticism, the percentage of such discoveries has been small. under the new order of things, with science as a guide, the percentage is growing and, in the future, this kind of discovery will undoubtedly strongly outnumber the others. _chance_ discoveries are those that are made purely without premeditation. they have been a dominant factor in the mineral development of the past. the discovery of _gold_ in california came about through the noticing of shiny, yellow flakes of metal in a ditch leading to a saw-mill. the great _iron_ mines of the mesabi range were found by the ore clinging to the roots of an overturned tree. the wallaroo _copper_ mine, the greatest in australia, was discovered by the green minerals brought to the surface in the excavations of a wombat. the famous sudbury _nickel-silver_ ore bodies were disclosed when making a railroad cut on the canadian pacific railroad. the reddington _quicksilver_ mine, in california, was similarly opened in a cut for a wagon road. the mining of _silver_ at catorce, mexico, followed the discovery of shining silver nuggets in the camp-fire of a native, who had camped right upon a rich outcrop. the kimberly _diamond_ mines are said to have been disclosed by the burrowings of an ichneumon, which fetched a brilliant stone to the sunlight. _adventitious_ finds are such as occasionally occur when, while really searching for, or actually mining, one metal, discovery is made of a different metal, or possibly the same metal is found in an entirely different kind of ore. the comstock lode of nevada was originally a _search_ gold discovery, the gold having been sought and found by two prospectors with ordinary gold pans. in their working to recover gold, a black mineral and a yellow sand were discarded from the pans and rockers. curiosity of one man resulted in the identification of these two minerals as ores of silver which henceforth were held as valuable as the native gold. the anaconda mine, at butte, montana, was located, and for some time worked as a silver proposition; but the values gradually changed with depth from silver to copper, until now silver is only a valuable by-product. the rich lead-silver ores of leadville were discovered as _adventitious_ to the operation of the rich gold placers in california gulch. a heavy, troublesome rock which accumulated in the sluices, much to the disgust of the miners, turned out to be cerussite, a fine ore of lead. this same district now produces in commercial amounts gold, silver, lead, iron, zinc, copper, and manganese. the treadwell mine on douglas island, alaska, was first worked as a placer and the values were found to extend downward into the underlying rock in a place which proved to be an immense deposit of eruptive, gold-bearing ore. as the old-fashioned, venturesome kind of prospecting has but recently been crowded off the scene by the better, scientific kind, let us not overlook the great discoveries that were made in the past before we had applied "organized common sense" to such a field of activity. those original prospectors were searchers, hunters. they had no guides, but they did accomplish a great deal, and their discoveries were rewards for diligence and hard labor which were, to a great extent, often misdirected. vi mining claims. the process of acquiring title to mining property may be viewed from a number of points. such property is real estate and, as such, it may be bought and sold or otherwise transferred exactly the same as farms or city lots. the united states has constructed an elaborate system for the disposal of its public lands to individuals, under various classifications, such as homestead, desert land, timber and stone, timber culture, coal, placer, and lode claims. different rules apply to the filing upon, improvement and patenting (acquiring deed from the government) of these various kinds of claims. the character of the lands in the public domain is decided by the surveyors who execute contracts from the general land office for subdividing or staking the country off into townships and sections, according to our american system. in the return of each surveyor's notes, he recommends the sale of the land according to his judgment as to its highest value. there has naturally been a good deal of erroneous conception upon these points, with the result that, often, land has been later shown to be entirely different in its character from the classification given to it by the contracting surveyor; for the qualifications of such a person are not always of a high grade, when it comes to geological questions. and yet, on the whole, the scheme has worked out well and much fraud against the government has been prevented by the rigid practice. the government prices for some of the various classes of land have been as follows: agricultural, $ . per acre; coal, $ per acre when the land was not closer to a railroad than miles, and $ per acre when it lay within this limit; placer, $ . per acre; lode, $ per acre. these have been the prices demanded for the land only; the payment of these amounts, in many cases, has constituted a small fraction of the expense of securing the original deeds from the federal government. coal lands may be located very much the same as a homestead, with the exception that residence upon the ground is not required, nor are improvements essential. in cases of dispute as to priority of location, the land office will recognize those claimants who have expended the greater amounts in improvements. one citizen may locate but one claim of acres. since april , , the government has been disposing of its public coal lands under a classification that takes note of many details. the kind, grade, thickness, and purity of coal; the number of workable seams; the depth; the features of local supply; transportation facilities; and the average prices at which similar private tracts are held, are among the items recognized in the classification. probably no two tracts will be sold at the same rate. in general, the new prices are higher than the flat prices that formerly prevailed and some pieces of land are now estimated as high as $ per acre. in every case of application to purchase coal land, hereafter, the area in question will undergo inspection by government experts and a price will then be assessed. this law is being severely opposed as being unreasonably severe, and its amendment may be looked for. placer lands were formerly permitted to be taken up in any shape, the boundary stakes being placed upon the ground in such a manner as to include only the desirable area, which is usually of an alluvial nature along some valley or gulch. this practice has been forbidden, however, and a locator is now obliged to take up his land in quadrilateral tracts conforming to the subdivisions of the so-called public survey. by this rule, it is permissible to file upon land which is laid off into lots of not less than / of a quarter section--or ten acres--and a claim may be composed of such lots as lie contiguously and which may thus be considered as one complete workable area. the claims are often of zigzag or l shapes, but the locator is enabled, at the extra expense of subdivision surveying, to avoid filing upon, and paying for, much ground that he feels is not desirable in a placer claim. the government does not survey public domain into smaller tracts than quarter sections of acres each, so that in the taking up of placers it often involves a great deal of expense to carry the subdivisions upon the ground into sufficient detail to ascertain the location of boundary corners. one person is entitled to as many placer claims as he desires. each claim of a single individual may contain not to exceed acres and, as said, it must be of one continuous area. associations of citizens to the number of eight may unite in the location of acres, which will then be held in equal and common interest by the several locators. the restraint placed upon greed in the matter of locations, either placer or lode, lies in certain expenses entailed in work or improvements upon the land before patent may be issued and the legal requirement of the performance of labor upon each claim amounting to $ per annum. also, it is required that _bona fide_ values be disclosed upon the ground. for each acres located under the placer laws of the united states, not less than $ worth of improvements must be made before the issuance of a patent. the legal (not the technical) definition of lode land covers all grounds containing deposits of ore in its natural and original place of deposit. under the laws, therefore, a citizen may file upon a tract of land to include a vein, lode, mass, chimney or any other form of ore body. the laws were framed at a time when miners were familiar only with the steep, tabular forms, synonymously termed veins or lodes in their nomenclature, and there were introduced features which time and progress in geological investigations have proved to be entirely unsuited to the needs of locators in many districts. our statutes provide that a lode claim may not exceed an area of , acres, this being the area of a parallelogram , feet long by feet wide. the intention is to permit a discoverer to lay off a "lode line" along the outcrop of his vein for a distance of , feet and, at each end, to measure off, at right angles, a distance of feet each way, merely as assurance that he covers the entire thickness of his lode. since the surface contours of rugged country will crook the outcrop of a dipping plane (such as we may imagine a vein to be) the laws were constructed to permit a claim being laid off with angles or bends in the boundaries so that the outcrop might be kept closely along the middle of the claim. the above dimensions and area are the maximum permissible under the federal laws. the government does not say that claims may not be less in extent, anywhere, nor does it prevent states, counties or even mining districts from making further limitations. in most of the western mining states and territories that have applied the mining law, the full maximum is allowed; but in colorado no claim is legal if it exceeds a width of feet, while in four counties of the same state claims have been restricted in width to feet. by legislative enactment, since september , , claims in all counties of colorado are permitted to be taken up feet in width. the citizens or miners of any new district, in any state or territory, may elect to limit claims to any size less than the maximum granted by the statutes and such a decision will be recognized by courts as binding upon all comers. this is an example of the rights of custom in establishing common law. in all shapes and widths of lode claims, there is now the rigid restriction that the two end-lines must be laid off exactly parallel. [illustration: a gilpin county, colorado, scene, showing the prize, gunnell, concrete, gold collar, and eureka mines.] the laws of our country contemplate the right of any locator of a vein to follow such vein down upon its dip, even if it extends beyond vertical planes passed through the side boundaries. the vertical planes through the end-lines, however, may not lawfully be penetrated in the extraction of ore bodies. the application of this doctrine of "extra-lateral rights" has led to innumerable controversies that have crippled many worthy mining enterprises. the inevitable habit of different veins to intersect, branch, unite, and in many other ways to cause complications, has served no purpose but to delay operations, cause legal warfare and embitter neighbors. so unjust have been courts' decisions in interpreting the lax laws that various mining districts have taken unto themselves the prerogative of deciding for themselves what is justice to all concerned; and we therefore find that many "camps" have unwritten laws under which claimants are restrained in their underground operations, to the ground contained between vertical planes _through all boundaries_, whether end or side. this is obviously the only fair plan, and it is hoped that, whenever the legislators at washington get time to give to the matter the attention it deserves, our nation will be favored with a revision of this and a number of other objectionable mining laws which have retarded the industry. ours is the only country having laws permitting extra-lateral rights and, upon this score, we are criticized by all foreigners. the canadian government appears to leave the framing of mining laws to the several provincial governments. ontario and quebec have very good and simple laws relative to mining claims. in some respects the laws of the two provinces are similar. for example, in each province a claim must be laid out as a subdivision of the usual public survey and is normally acres in extent. again, no prospecting or locating may be done except by persons holding so-called miners' licenses or miners' certificates, which cost $ to $ per year. no extra-lateral rights are recognized. in ontario, a patent may be applied for any time within - / years of the date of certificate of record, and the land is purchased outright by the payment of $ per acre. the patent thus obtained conveys no rights to timber or water on the property. in quebec, patents are never issued and mining claims are held by a sort of lease, as it were. a license to hold a mining claim costs a flat fee of $ , plus an extra fee of one dollar per acre. at times, arrangements are made for holding and working mining property upon a per cent royalty basis. the mexican laws permit the location of any number of claims by individuals. a locator is required to employ an expert (_perito_) to make a careful survey of his claims (_pertinencias_), which are taken up in rectangular form. measurements are according to the metric system, and the unit of area is the _hectara_, which is the area of a square with -meter ( -feet) sides, and is equivalent to . acres. the government's sale price for mineral ground is _pesos_ (about $ . ) per hectare, or approximately one dollar, united states money, per acre. the unit size of a claim is a hectare, and it thus comes about that the words _pertinencia_ and _hectara_ are used somewhat synonymously. under united states laws, the owner of agricultural land, if he has not committed perjury in perfecting his title, will hold all minerals which may be disclosed subsequently to the granting of his deed. the proof of false representations will rescind any such patent and the ground will revert to the government and be again open to location. in the surveying and laying off of mineral claims for patent purposes, the united states laws require the claimant to put the work into the hands of a mineral surveyor. such a surveyor may usually be engaged in any mining district and he will hold a commission from the department of the interior authorizing him to do this sort of work. he will have passed certain examinations as to his capabilities and he will have filed bonds in the sum of $ , for the faithful performance of his duties to both the government and his client. he receives no compensation from the government, and each claimant may make such terms with him as are equitable. he must hold no interest, directly or otherwise, in the property he surveys, nor is he permitted to file upon any mineral land. if he undertakes a case for a client his duties require him to survey the boundaries of every other mineral claim which may be contiguous to, or conflicting with, the one in question, and his maps must accurately show all such claims. his notes will contain sufficient data to accurately convey the exact location, the chief topographical features, the conflicts with all other locations, the position, and description of all mining improvements, and many other details which will be required in the final purchase of the land from the government. the surveyor's fee will vary from $ to possibly $ for a single claim, much depending upon the nature of the survey, whether simple or difficult, and upon local financial conditions and competition. after the filing of the mineral surveyor's notes and plats with the surveyor-general, critical examination of the documents is made, and if they are found to conform with all requirements, the case is "approved" and it may then pass to the local land office of the district. next begins a publication period of sixty days, during which opportunity is offered the public to enter objections to the issuance of a patent, either for reasons of conflict or because of fraud. if no such adverse proceedings are instituted, the patent will follow, in due time. the ultimate expense of securing a patent to a claim of, say, the maximum area will not be less than $ , and it may run as high as $ if in a region difficult to survey or if there are a good many conflicting surveys. a mineral surveyor is prohibited from acting as attorney for the claimant in presenting his claims before the land office, so an attorney's fee must be added to the above rough estimates. as a matter of fact, although the surveyor does not nominally appear as the attorney, in many a case it is he who makes out all of the documents to be then signed by an attorney in fact. the laws are faulty in this respect. the lawyer recognizes this fact and he asks the surveyor to make out the many legal forms; for who is so fully cognizant of the property and the desires of the claimant as the surveyor who has become intimately acquainted with the premises, its workings, its desirable features and everything concerned with the adjustment of conflicts? it is to be expected that he could best protect the claimant's interests, and it is wrong to retire him at this very critical time prescribed by a foolish law. the fee of an additional man in the case is an unjust burden upon the client. land office officials have recognized this fact. they know that the best documents reaching their offices are those prepared by mineral surveyors. vii placering. different writers hold the following slightly different definitions of a placer: one says, "a placer is a surface _accumulation_ of minerals in the wash of streams and seas," while another writes that a placer is "a _place_ where surface depositions _are washed_ for valuable minerals, such as gold, tin, tungsten, gems, etc." one definition conveys no notion of the operations of mining, but is merely geological, while the other involves the thought of the recovery of values. no matter how or where found, placers were all originally of surface deposition. they are now found in gulches, cañons, valleys, ocean and lake beaches, glacial drifts, and sometimes beneath eruptive flows. such placers as occupy the courses of streams are spoken of as gulch, valley, bar, and bench placers. the meanings of the first three names are obvious. by a bench placer is understood a deposit that was originally the bed of a stream, but which, in the course of time, has been cut down, or through, in such a manner as to leave a shelf or bench of the "wash" hanging up some distance above the present base of the gulch or valley. when such deposits that have been covered by lava flows are disclosed and worked, they go by the name of "buried placers." they are, by no means, uncommon, and typical "drift mines" of this sort are operated in california and new zealand. they present the novelty of working alluvial deposits under cover of solid rocks, and they thus conform to one of the early definitions of a mine, as previously given. since the workings of such subterranean placers are generally confined to an approximately horizontal zone, the mine passages, to a certain degree, resemble those of a coal mine. placer deposits, being of a secondary nature, the materials are not in the place nor form of the original components. the gravels and sands, together with the valuable contents, probably originally existed in some solid forms such as rocks or massive minerals. the primary structures, in the course of ages and by atmospheric agencies, have been disintegrated and carried by gravity and flowing water to lower levels. the finer the decomposed material, the further it has been transported. if the original rocks carried gold, the flakes of the metal, being of high specific gravity, would tend to settle to the bottom of the channels and to be carried shorter distances than would the lighter, non-metallic particles. the finer the gold, the more evenly will it be distributed in the bed of gravel. likewise, placers near the heads of gulches, as a rule, carry coarser gold than those farther down stream. the valuable materials found in placers must, of necessity, be those that possess the property of resisting corrosion and disintegration. the minerals and metals are, therefore, of a very permanent character. every find of "values" in a placer is unquestioned evidence that somewhere, above the present deposit, there originally existed primary depositions containing the valuable metals or minerals. the trail can frequently be traced back to them. these so-called "mother lodes" are not necessarily rich. in the case of gold, for instance, these original deposits of ore may not carry the metal in coarse enough particles to be visible and yet the placers may contain nuggets. there are numerous theories proposed to account for this observed phenomenon, but we will not discuss them here. the fact remains that nuggets have been actually produced artificially in flowing water under conditions similar to nature's. the methods of prospecting and working placer ground have undergone many improvements, but there are still many men practicing the primitive ways of a generation ago. the use of devices of simple construction and for operation by muscular effort is still familiar in many regions; and there are good miners who cling to such practice in the belief that it is the cheapest and truest way in which to ascertain the values of wash deposits. also, there are many placers of limited areas and irregular shapes that cannot be well handled in any other manner. with a "pan," a man can wash, in ten hours, not over one cubic yard of dirt; and to accomplish this amount of washing the ground must be very loose and favorable. an ordinary ten-hour day's work is about pans. this is equivalent to about one-half of a cubic yard, which is the unit of volume in all placering operations. one may thus readily arrive at the cost of carrying on operations in this way. a cubic yard of ordinary placer dirt is the equivalent of less than two tons. a _batea_ is the mexican equivalent for the american iron gold pan. it is a sort of broad, conical, wooden bowl and its capacity is not equal to the pan. a "rocker" or "cradle" is a trough on rockers somewhat like the old-fashioned child's cradle. in using it, a stream of water is caused to flow into the device which has been nearly filled with gravel and the miner gives it a rocking motion that causes the contents to classify or stratify according to the laws of specific gravity. the valuable particles, being the heaviest, will settle to the bottom, whence they may be subsequently removed. a "long tom" is an inclined, narrow box set stationary with a constant stream of water entering at the upper end. gravel is also shoveled into the device at the same point. the process is more continuous than the preceding ones, the values accumulating at the bottom of the lower end, while the upper layers of gravel are carefully removed by skimming with shovels. the work will keep two men busy and the capacity is correspondingly greater. with a long tom, two men will ordinarily handle about five or six cubic yards in ten hours. whenever deposits of a broad area, with considerable and uniform depth, are thought to be valuable, it has become a practice to prove their value by "prospect drilling." this is a mechanical method and one form of apparatus employed is of the churn-drill type common throughout oil and coal regions. with these portable machines, holes are put down to bed-rock at intervals across the ground. as they are sunk, the holes are cased with iron pipes, the drillings are carefully saved and washed, and the values are estimated for each foot of descent. from the summation and averages obtained from all the holes, a very fair knowledge of the ground's worth can be obtained. intensive placering is now the order of things and the marvelous increase in the use of dredges attests the success which these "gold ships" have attained. it is very interesting to watch the operations of these huge boats loaded with ponderous machines, especially when they are installed in inland regions or up in high mountain gulches. yet numbers of them are thus in steady use. wherever suitable beds with a tolerably uniform size of boulders and gravel are found, dams are built to retain the flows of streams until ponds are created of sufficient size to contain and float the barges. [illustration: dredges of yuba consolidated goldfields, hammonton, california.] continual improvements are being made in the construction of these mammoth machines with a view to economy in operations that will result from greater capacities. all costs of placering are reckoned per cubic yard washed. costs have been rapidly dropping during the past decade until now some companies, with extensive operations, are handling dirt at not to exceed three cents per cubic yard for excavating, washing, wasting the refuse, maintenance, repairs, labor, taxes, interest on investment, and the depreciation of equipment. such figures will hold good only under very favorable natural conditions of ground and climate such as prevail in california; they have not been attained in the frigid regions of alaska nor in the torrid south american interior. in view of the wonderful improvements brought forth by mechanical engineers, it is improper to deny that the future will bring still further reductions in placer costs. on the contrary, the signs are good for material reductions. dredges are very costly in their installation. they are usually designed to handle so many thousands of cubic yards per day. it has been stated, as a fair but rough rule, that "bucket" dredges will average, in initial cost, one dollar for every cubic yard the boats will handle per month. thus, if a dredge of this type is built to treat fifty or seventy thousand cubic yards in a month, working steadily, the costs will be respectively $ , or $ , . other types of dredges, known as the "dipper" and the "suction," will cost less than the bucket type, but have not gained general usage. "hydraulicking" is extensively practiced. this term signifies the working of placer deposits by water which is conducted through flumes and pipe-lines and, by means of nozzles called "giants" or "monitors," is directed, in huge jets, against the banks of gravel. these banks or walls are thus torn down and, by the same water, the loosened, disintegrated materials are caused to flow into and through long, wooden, box-like troughs known as "sluices." the floors of these sluices are paved with ribs, cleats or other obstructions termed "riffles" whose function it is to retard and collect the heavy particles which may, later, during the process of cleaning up, be removed as the valuable product. the word "sluicing" is frequently used quite synonymously with hydraulicking. costs of this latter sort of placering are considerably higher than those of dredging; but there are many deposits not adapted to dredging operations that may be nicely worked by sluicing, so that there will always be a field for this scheme. average costs are difficult to obtain since it happens that most of the companies now operating hydraulically are secretive in their accounts. more labor is entailed, more time is required, greater delay is occasioned in cleaning up, and the amount of water used is much greater. where water is abundant, this last item need not be considered. it is well to remember that even a very large dredge, while requiring a continual and large flow of water through its devices, can still operate with just the water in which it floats, this water being pumped and used repeatedly; whereas, in the case of hydraulic mining, the water may be used but once and, consequently, there must be a large supply and at a good head or pressure. but, in spite of these disparaging points, we find instances in which, under peculiarly favorable conditions, hydraulicking has been carried on at very low figures. e. b. wilson says: "the yield of the gravel at north bloomfield was . cents per cubic yard; the cost of mining, . cents per cubic yard. the yield per cubic yard of gravel at la grange was . cents, the cost of mining, cents. the costs of mining at these two mines would analyze about as follows: labor, per cent; supplies, per cent; water, per cent; office, per cent. ground carrying but . cents per cubic yard has been worked at a profit at the first mine. with such a small margin to work on, it is evident that skill and executive ability must be provided from the pipemen up." it is claimed that an idaho mine was worked profitably with less than two cents value in the dirt, but this is to be regarded with some doubt. [illustration: the snowstorm placer, fairplay, colorado. a typical hydraulic mine.] there are large deposits in the arid portions of the globe where water for working is not obtainable. to meet such conditions, numerous inventions continue to be placed upon the market. these devices are all planned in such a way as to use very little or no water. if water is required at all, the machines are expected to use it repeatedly. the machines are built to effect the segregation of the precious contents gravitationally, electrostatically, pneumatically, and by amalgamation with mercury. it is too early to say how successful such devices will prove in commercial operations. because some of them have not "made good" does not mean that genius will not yet cope with the situation; and we look into the future to see large operations efficiently and economically conducted by dry placer machinery. there are now no authentic figures obtainable upon this question of dry placering costs. viii open mining. some mention has been already made of open mining. the greatest development of this sort of mining has come about since the application of the modern steam shovel to the excavation of ore. this practice was an american innovation and it is being adopted throughout the world wherever natural conditions will warrant. within the past few years, immense bodies of iron ore have been discovered in northern minnesota and the adoption of these immense, mechanically operated shovels has worked such economies in the mining of this kind of ore that entirely new cost figures have been established and tonnages are being produced which, a few years ago, would have seemed unbelievable. there are about a dozen mines of this "open pit" type that have each produced over a million tons of ore per year in a season that must cease with the close of navigation on the great lakes. one mine has shipped over three million tons a season. at the utah copper company's mine in bingham cañon, utah, a great deposit of low grade, copper-bearing eruptive rock is being handled upon a steep mountain-side by this same scheme. this ore averages a little less than two per cent. in copper, but so economical is the handling of it in such vast amounts that a neat profit is made above all mining, transportation and milling charges. when the red metal sells at thirteen cents per pound, the gross value of this ore is about $ . per ton. this mine has maintained an output of ten thousand tons or more per day over long periods. a famous gold mine in queensland, australia--the mount morgan--is also being worked by steam shovel methods. the deposit is here in the form of a small mountain and the operations are gradually razing this landmark to the level of the surrounding plains. the mining of low-grade _gold_ ores by open-pit methods has taken hold in america, and an example of the practice may be found at the wasp no. mine in the black hills. according to published accounts of the operations of this company, all of the costs of mining and treating the ore amount to only $ . per ton. the ore body is a bed of quartzite lying nearly flat, and averaging in the neighborhood of only $ . per ton in gold, the only mineral of value. the recovery of this metal is at the rate of between and per cent. efficiency, or about $ from each ton. the net profit is therefore close to one dollar per ton. this very modern scheme of mining has been made possible through the recent advances made in the cyanidation of ore, and it is going to pave the way for many more such mining plants. [illustration: steam shovels and churn drills, copper flat, ely, nevada.] the nevada consolidated copper company has conducted vast mining operations "in the open" at ely, nevada, by the use of -ton shovels having a capacity of two and one-half cubic yards per dip. one shovel has handled as high as , cubic yards (the equivalent of about , tons) in nine hours; but this must be recognized as an exceptional run, and cannot be taken as an average. the ore has a thickness of about feet and covers many acres. as in the majority of such properties, there is here a large amount of "overburden" to be removed and disposed of before the ore can be excavated. this process of uncovering the ore body by the removal of the overburden is called "stripping." the cost per ton of ore mined is said to average cents. in an open mine there must be maintained a system of continually changing tracks placed upon grades (sometimes rather steep) and with sharp curves. with multiple switches, numbers of small locomotives are kept busy pulling and pushing up and down the tracks with their strings of loaded cars and replacing the "loads" with "empties." when such operations are upon a mountain-side, a very beautiful panoramic view may be had from the opposite side of the gulch. generally, the ore material is disintegrated to some extent. in some cases, it will actually crumble down before the advance of a steam shovel. in other mines, it is necessary to drill large holes which are loaded and blasted. it is becoming more and more important for the active mining man to post himself upon the methods and economies of this latter-day mining practice. the development of this open or surface mining has introduced entirely new economic ideas. with no costs for timbering of mine passages, for ventilation, or for hoisting, and with a very material decrease in manual labor per ton mined, immense masses of rocks are now really ore, although a few years ago they were nothing but lean, country rock. in consequence of the success attained by the pioneers in this kind of mining, there has been created a demand for properties possessing large deposits of low grade ore that is workable on this intensive scale. copper properties have been holding a prominent place recently and stockbrokers carry regular lists of "porphyries," this nickname having been coined to cover the companies operating in the low grade porphyry ores of the western united states. not all of these porphyry companies will use surface mining methods. some companies in the globe district of arizona have started extensive underground schemes for mining large tonnages very cheaply by "caving" methods. ix considerations preceding the opening of mines. the word "exploitation" is used by many mining men and engineers to signify a plan of so opening up ore deposits as to render the contents removable. the same persons use the word "mining" to mean the operations involved in the actual extraction of the ore exploited. it is sometimes difficult to draw any line between the meanings of these two words for, as handled by different men, with varying shades of intention, they are sometimes synonymous. thus, if exploiting an underground mine, which carries ore right from the surface, means developing the mine in such a way as to provide for a large, steady production, it is difficult to see why the ore taken out in this process cannot be said to be "mined." by "dead work" is usually meant that work of opening up a mine which will put or keep it in a producing condition but which does not supply any remuneration in the shape of ore (or coal). again, as used by some men, there is little distinction between this work and exploitation. there may, however, be lines reasonably drawn between these three terms, and therefore the following definitions are proposed: _dead work_ is such work as is necessary to develop an ore body, but it does not produce any ore. it may be prosecuted for drainage or ventilation purposes or for creating passage-ways for men and products. _exploitation_ is also work performed in opening up or developing a property, but it does not contemplate the value of the extracted materials which may, or may not, be of any commercial importance. indeed, much ore might be extracted during work which was carried on merely to define extents or boundaries of ore bodies. in this last supposition, the original sense of exploration is brought out and this should serve to fix the definition clearly in mind. _mining_ may be restricted to mean the methods and work involved in the profitable production of the mine's ore (or coal). the term would not be used to cover operations of shaft-sinking, tunneling, and the like, unless such work be in the valuable materials. mining may be said to begin whenever there is produced an output upon which there is some profit. exploitation may be in valuable ground. if so, we may say that mining is in progress during the exploitation. the driving of levels or drifts in an ore body--or of entries in a bed of coal--produces the valuable products of the mine, and we may, therefore, consider that mining is taking place. the driving of a crosscut through barren rock to reach an ore body is dead work; but the driving of a drift or level in a vein is either exploitation or mining. dead work produces _no_ ore. exploitation may, or may not, produce ore. mining must produce ore. throughout all of the above and the following discussion of this chapter, the reader should bear in mind the point that the word "coal" may be substituted for the word "ore" without altering the substance of the definitions or the conclusions. before a mine is opened up, the economist-manager will consider many items. in the first place, care must be exercised in the _examination of the title_ to the property. a mineral property may have passed through the most complicated kind of transfers of fractional interests in the title, just as is true with ordinary real estate. the abstract must be traced back clear to the issuance of patent from the government, and then on back to the original location. with an undeveloped property (a prospect), this precaution is essential to estop any possible pretensions to ownership, by outside parties, in case the ground subsequently turns out to be exceptionally valuable. it has often been the case that no obstructions from any adverse claimants have been met until owners have, in good faith and at great expense, developed splendid mines. then suits for possession or partial ownership have been instituted, sometimes with marked success for the plaintiffs. there are persons who make it a special line of business to examine titles to mining property, and it is economy for the average manager to employ such experienced men to attend to these matters. _topographical considerations_ will hold a place in the study preceding the opening of a new mine. the nature of the surface of the property and the surrounding country will largely influence in the selection of the proper site for the mine's mouth. neglect upon this point has been a common cause of failure in mining operations. a mine opening must be away from all dangers of snow-slides, rock-slides, cloud-bursts and deluges from overflowing streams or breaking dams. it may make a difference in the mine's ventilation as to which direction the prevailing winds blow and therefore upon which side of a hill the mouth be opened. _transportation_ facilities must be given due thought. if means are not already at hand, one must inquire into the feasibility of constructing some form of carrier; and here, again, will enter the question of the surface's contour. if a railroad is out of question, possibly an aerial tramway may be constructed. these modern conveyances stop at no obstacles of surface configuration and are dependent only upon the necessity of having the point of delivery lower in altitude than the point of loading at the mine. with some of the modern improvements in these installations, mine products are being transported up-hill as well as down-hill through the application of power. in mining regions, it is generally the case that the mines, themselves, are above the settlements in which are the railroads or treatment plants, so that the mine products will transport readily by the natural force of gravity. _climate_ holds an important place in the economics of mining. the working of very rich pieces of ground may prove a losing proposition in some portions of the world where the climatic conditions are such as to render operations possible during only a very small portion of the year. extremes of heat or cold, malaria or other pestilential obstacles, long rainy seasons with floods, and the hostility of native humans, beasts or insects have accounted for the abandonment of seemingly attractive mining projects. the question of _labor_ must be given due thought. it is true that the best miners on earth are americans. we do not deny that many of our miners are of foreign birth, but the fact remains that they perform better and more intelligent service than do their fellow countrymen who have not been adopted into our country. our men are in demand in the mining development of foreign countries. an american mine manager will always experience dissatisfaction while endeavoring to get, from natives in foreign parts, the same efficiency that he is accustomed to receive from the miners "at home." he may be paying a good deal less per capita for such labor, but he finds he is actually paying more per ton of output. even within a single country, there are notable differences in the worth of labor. the natives of some of the mexican states are far preferable to those of other states. within the united states, there may be discerned material differences between the efficiencies of the citizens of various sections, when it comes to mining. one cannot procure as competent miners in some of the agricultural states as in the typical mining states. this is but to be expected. for instance, there are deposits of lead ore in the "moonshine" regions of kentucky which have never been successfully worked, and the real cause of failure, in the writer's belief, lies in the inability of superintendents to obtain real miners either in that region or from the outside. the residents will never become miners; outsiders will not enter for work under existing sociological conditions. the question of _unionism_ is sometimes held by managers as a deciding one when debating the opening of a mine. while there are those who will broadly denounce such organizations, there may be found other and just as successful mine operators who declare that the effects of union control over their miners are beneficial to their companies' interests. probably the greatest objection to unionism raised by operators is that they resent the dictation that accompanies the inauguration of union rules in their mines. the owners and managers prefer to run their own business to suit themselves. some managers are so imbued with this conviction of their own rights that they will refuse to open up mines or, if they are operating, they will close down their mines before they will submit to the demands made upon them by the union officials. on the other hand, there are mine managers who prefer the presence of some central, labor-controlling body; for they believe that the men who belong to such a large federation or organization will, and do, have less complaint to make and therefore work more freely than is the case with the independent laborers. the argument is that these union men are satisfied because they feel that their interests are being looked after with a sort of attention that they, individually, could not give. this is not a place to discuss the crimes that have been laid at the doors of both the labor organizations and the mine owners' associations. it is safe to assume that wrong has probably been done by both sides. but it is furthermore right to believe that most of the crimes were not authorized, nor recognized, by the officers or the majority of members of either side. individual members must not be taken as averages of the membership in any kind of civil, social or political organization. it seems entirely wrong that _politics_ should enter into the considerations of a mine manager whose operations are apparently so apart from affairs of state; but the fact remains that there are places where mining operations cannot be carried on without the good will of certain officials of the state or national governments. it is not advisable to enter into any compromising terms to gain privileges for carrying on any legitimate business for there are other, better ways, generally, of attaining the justice that is deserved. one must not omit to investigate the _sources of supply_ for all the needs of a mine and its camp. there are many kinds of materials needed to keep a mine going. fuel, machinery, timber, water, food for men and beasts, lumber, and all household furnishings and necessities must come from some markets or natural sources. it behooves the cautious manager to see that all these things may be had in ample amount and at figures which will not prove annihilating to his business. in utah, there are mines which have all their timbers framed in and shipped from the forests of oregon, the sawing and framing being done before shipment to save on freight. the fir of oregon is shipped to distant australia for mining purposes. the arid camps of nevada get their supplies of timber from the sister state, california. the michigan mines are fortunate in being in a lumber region. colorado's metal mines are more favored in the matter of timbers than are the coal mines of the same state. most of the coal mines are upon the barren plains, while the metal mines are chiefly in the wooded mountains. [illustration: mill of the pittsburg-silver peak gold mining co., blair, nevada.] water may be too scarce for the needs of a mine or its community. there may not be sufficient to supply boilers or a mill, or for the domestic purposes of the workers. on the other hand, water may be so abundant in the mine workings as to prove a deterrent factor in profitable operation. with shaft mines, having deep workings and low grades of ore, if water must be delivered mechanically, the costs for such drainage are frequently prohibitive of mining. some mines, in arid regions, have been fortunate in striking such flows of underground water that it has been possible to operate mills right at the mines. in this way, the cost of water hoisting has been more than compensated in the milling benefits which, in turn, have decreased freights and treatment charges. _machinery_ is usually purchased at centres of mining supplies and manufactures. san francisco, los angeles, salt lake city, denver and chicago are the principal _rendezvous_ in the west for mining men in need of machinery. mexico city is, similarly, the outfitting point for the mines of southern mexico. the united states holds the supremacy of the world in the matter of equipping mines and mills, large orders of american-made mining machinery being shipped to even the antipodes. the nearer a property is to a depot of supplies, the less is bound to be the cost of getting goods onto the ground. it is this last item--the delivery of goods--that must be recognized as a very pertinent, and sometimes a critical, factor upon the cost side of mining accounts. mines that are remote or in rugged countries are frequently dependent upon animal transportation. in some cases, machinery going to the mines must be so built that it may be taken apart into small portions suitable for loading upon the backs of horses or burros, or even, in the andes, upon the frail llamas. operations, if planned to be conducted for a long term of years and therefore warranting the installation of large and expensive plants, should be based upon the holding of extensive ore-bearing ground. here enters the notion of the _shape and size of a mining property_. with some kinds of mining ground, the best form for the holdings would probably be a compact, approximately equilateral tract, covering a reasonably large acreage. this would be the case with ores that occur in sedimentary beds, for instance, where it is advisable to have the mining plant centrally located so as to work expeditiously the entire area. this would apply to a region like the cripple creek district, which contains innumerable veins running in all directions but displaying no outcrops. in other instances, the most desirable shape might be long, narrow strips so laid off as to contain the strikes of persistent lodes or veins, as those of the wonderful comstock lode region. it is not acreage that counts here so much as lineal extent. in the transvaal, land is held in rectangular blocks. the first owners of the ground took it up for agricultural purposes. this same statement is also true of the mining properties in the joplin district of missouri and kansas. in the case of the south african properties, every company has definite boundaries to which operations may be planned. hence it is possible for the management to so plant any mine as to operate it at a given rate for a predetermined life of the enterprise. the work is planned to maintain a certain output that will exhaust the ore bodies in just so many years, and all the equipment may thus be purchased with the forecast that it will serve its purpose and perform its economic share within the prescribed time. this notion will be more readily understood when we consider the various types of ore bodies. with properties wherein there is no possible way of predicting the number, size, and worth of discoverable ore bodies, the life is wholly problematical and it is therefore difficult for a manager to decide how much he should expend in the initial equipment. x mine openings. in every new mining project, there is much to be considered concerning the expediency of opening up through shafts, inclines or adits. more attention has lately been given to this subject than formerly. there are very good reasons for the selection of any one of these kinds of mine openings. the words shaft, incline, and tunnel have been handled with careless meanings by mining men. it is time that some definitions be accepted so that everybody will use these terms with the same meanings. a shaft has loosely been any steep opening sunk through the ground. an incline--sometimes spoken of also as an incline shaft--has been taken to mean an opening resembling a shaft, but not very steep and not approaching verticality. right here, there has been too much latitude of speech and it has entailed the necessity of many awkward explanations. by a tunnel has been intended any (approximately) horizontal passageway driven from the natural surface. objection to this use of the word rests in the strict definition of a tunnel, which states that it must have both ends open to the natural surface of the earth, as for example, an irrigation or a railroad tunnel. a level passageway which has but one end open to daylight is not properly spoken of as a tunnel. in mining practice, practically every horizontal opening of this nature is open at only one end, and it is an adit rather than a tunnel. if the precaution of speaking of it as a "mining tunnel" is observed, very well, for this may be taken to be an expression synonymous with adit. the latter term is, however, shorter and more correct. for the sake of a uniform usage, the following definitions are proposed. their use will conform with the usages of those well-informed persons who adhere to correct speech. a _shaft_ is a truly vertical mine passage which may, or may not, be sunk in or along an ore or a coal body. an _incline_ is any mine passage which occupies a sloping position and which may, or may not, maintain a uniform inclination throughout its length. it may be sunk along, or in, a pitching vein or seam and it may thus conform to the irregularities of the dip of such body. it is neither horizontal nor vertical. such an inclined passage following a seam of coal is known as a _slope_. it sometimes happens, especially in coal mining, that a sloping passageway is driven through barren rock either to get at known bodies by the shortest means or to establish uniform grades for tracks. in a strict sense, these are not inclines or slopes, for they do not even approximately follow, nor parallel, bodies of value. the miner's term for such an opening is _rock slope_. an _adit_ or _mining tunnel_ is a horizontal opening driven from the surface. if it be driven along an ore body, as a vein, it is properly called a _vein adit_; if it is driven _across_ barren country to intercept presumed or known bodies, it is spoken of as a _crosscut adit_. all adits must be given a small amount of grade for drainage necessities. before getting underground we should consider what is required in the way of opening our mine; what is positively known about our body of coal or ore; and what conditions are liable to confront us later on. we must consider the type of ore body; character of material to be extracted; average thickness and hardness of the body; desired tonnage; power facilities; probable surface and underground drainage to be maintained; and dozens of other things which only the experienced man will think of and appreciate. the right kind of a manager will know that he cannot afford to overlook such points. every case involves different contingencies, and therefore extreme forethought must be given to the subject before deciding upon any particular kind of an opening into the ground for mining purposes. this remark does not apply to such openings as prospect drill-holes, openings which are not for mining purposes, but for exploitation. assuming that sufficient data are known concerning the property to warrant the expenditures incident to the making of a mine, the question remains as to the best way of proceeding. it is a well-established fact that it is much cheaper to drive an adit than to sink a shaft of equal transporting capacity. it is also cheaper to drive an adit than to sink an incline. if the topography is such that an adit can be driven into or beneath an ore body and thus expose it from a low elevation, the temptation is strong and along lines of good practice to do so. if the country is quite flat or nearly so, or, if the surface is such that, while rough, an adit of reasonable length cannot be driven to tap the valuable mineral and handle it economically, then it is good practice to decide upon a shaft mine. an adit will not only be cheaper, foot for foot, than a shaft or incline, but, if given the proper, slight grade, it will afford a natural drainage outlet for all subsequent workings above its level. the cost of pumping, as already suggested, may be a considerable item and it may be a deciding factor in favor of an adit when this form of opening is possible. furthermore, an adit will obviate the installation and use of hoisting machinery, and thus there may be maintained a greater efficiency in the operating expense of the mine than would be possible with a shaft. again, it is a simpler and cheaper matter to maintain a mining tunnel in working shape than it is a shaft, particularly in bad ground. by the settling or "working" of the ground, a shaft may be thrown perhaps but slightly out of alignment and annoying interferences will be experienced in hoisting, especially when rapid and uninterrupted hoisting is necessary to maintain the desired output. while the same amount of disturbance does take place in an adit, it is an easy matter to readjust track grades while continuing regular haulage operations. the timbers, in the case of either a shaft or an adit, will require occasional renewal, but the expense of such repairs is less in adits than in shafts or inclines, while the delay to other operations of mining, in the case of the adit, will be inappreciable. topography has been referred to above, but it must be again briefly mentioned. there are some places in which ore bodies extend to, or exist at, such depths that adits could not be projected to get beneath enough of the ore to warrant their construction. an adit mine is not a practicable thing in a flat country like nevada or the rand, but in the rough country of the san juan it is the customary kind of a mine. in the very early days of comstock lode mining, shafts were sunk by each of the hundreds of companies. before a great while, the advantages that would accrue from having a deep "tunnel" became evident, and the famous sutro tunnel, with its historic, checkered career, was driven. although it loomed up like a gigantic undertaking for that period, the immense prospective or future value of it could not be denied. the following relative advantages of the several types of mine mouths are in addition to those already given and are worth consideration: with an incline, the value of a tabular deposit is determined as work progresses; the course and dip of the body will be known at all depths along the incline; the body may be explored from the incline in both directions, simultaneously, with a resulting doubling of the development and production; all, or nearly all, the material removed is "vein stuff" and its value may repay the sinking expenses; there is no losing of the ore body unless a geological fault is met. with a shaft, more rapid hoisting is possible than with an incline; the timbering labor is less than in the case of an incline, but greater than in the case of an adit; with ground containing ore bodies in irregular masses and at no uniform intervals, vertically or horizontally, stations and levels may be started wherever desirable; the crosscuts which are usually necessary to reach the bodies may disclose otherwise unknown bodies. [illustration: mills and shaft house of daly west mine, park city, utah.] with a vein adit, the vein is prospected as work advances; the ore removed may pay its own way, as it were; the drainage is automatic; ore is transportable from the mine by haulage rather than by hoisting; the ore in place is above the level and will handle itself to the outgoing passage by gravity. with a crosscut adit, in addition to the last three advantages noted for the vein adit, there is bound to be exploration of the ground upon at least one side of the known body; there will generally be easier haulage because of the straighter track, since an adit driven along a vein will conform to the geological irregularities and the track is bound to be more or less crooked. without counting upon the doubtful success of the numerous propositions in tunneling machines, but judging only from past experiences, we may say that a shaft will cost about three times as much as a "tunnel" of equal transporting capacity. if the ground is wet, the discrepancy in first costs becomes much larger. in a remote region, with difficult transportation of machinery and fuel, it may be better to drive and use a long adit rather than a shallow shaft. an adit will transport more product than will a shaft of equal dimensions. an adit may be driven to intercept a shaft and to serve as a sort of artificial surface, as it were, and thus save expenses in pumping and in hoisting up to the original collar of the shaft at the surface of the ground. no matter how crooked an incline may be, it is possible to hoist ore in conveyances known as skips, although the hoisting may be necessarily somewhat slow. these same conveyances are useful for lowering and hoisting men, and the parody, "men go down to the mine in skips," here finds its significance. the usual hoisting conveyances used in shafts are known as cages. they usually produce less friction than do incline skips. a skip in an incline must travel upon a track, while a cage, somewhat resembling a passenger elevator, has no wheels, but slides upon guides. however, an incline skip, because of the inclination of the passage, does not exert the same dead weight upon the cable and hoisting engine and hence these parts of the equipment may be made correspondingly lighter. skips for shafts are similar to cages in their lack of wheels. complete estimates of probable future requirements should be made before a shaft is sunk. when it becomes necessary to enlarge a single-compartment shaft to one with two compartments, the expense has been found to exceed one-half the original cost of sinking; while, to convert a one-compartment shaft into a three-compartment shaft costs fully three-fourths of the original sinking expense. approximately the same ratios of cost will hold in the case of enlarging inclines. character of ore sometimes influences the selection of the kind of passageway. some high grade, brittle ores must not be dumped nor handled repeatedly, since values are lost in the "fines." iron and copper ores will not probably be injured by any amount of dumping. coal should be handled as few times as possible. in view of this fact, other things being equal, adopt that system that will injure the ore or coal the least. as a rule, workmen are safer in tunnels than in shafts, since there is little danger from objects falling any great distance. tiny bits of rock have been known to kill men in shafts. on the other hand, there is less liability of injury from falls of large rocks in shafts than in adits. roof falls are a very prolific source of mine accidents. the workmen of neighboring mines will often be able to give much valuable information as to the proper procedure in opening a new property. for instance, water levels, amounts and kinds of gases that may be expected, the nature of the wall rocks, and other pertinent points may be learned by interviewing the men who are employed in adjacent mines. still better information may be obtained by personal visits to the underground workings of the nearby mines. in this connection, one must not permit himself to be unduly influenced by the prejudices or hobbies of the neighboring operators or their employés if there is reason to suppose that such notions are contrary to good practice. due consideration must always be given to the selection of some method of opening up what might be supposed will never amount to a great mine, so that, should subsequent disclosures exceed expectations, enlargement of the scale of operations can be advantageously effected. always bear in mind that legitimate mining is just as much a commercial enterprise as is any other kind of business. the utmost concern for financial showings must be constantly borne in mind. select a scale of operations consistent with the known--not the hoped-for--bodies of coal or ore; but have a certain feature of elasticity about the plans that may take care of future increase in business if found desirable. do not "over-plant." never plant, at all, _prematurely_. it is better to postpone the installation of the equipment until some specific facts are available. many companies have met defeat in the exhaustion of capital through the purchase and installation of elaborate plants which were never warranted. after a mine is once opened and preparations have all been perfected to operate upon a certain scale of output, it is quite essential that exploitation and production be maintained without material fluctuations, if the greatest economy is to be attained. exploitation, _i.e._, development work, must be kept well in advance of actual mining operations to assure plenty of working space for the extraction of the normal output. xi types of ore bodies. it has been necessary, a number of times in this discussion, heretofore, to make mention of kinds of ore bodies. it is well, at this time, to get some fixed ideas concerning the leading types of bodies of minerals which are extracted as ores. because of the laxity in type differentiation which has prevailed among miners and writers, the same geologists who have framed definitions of ore, have also defined the various types of ore bodies. the definitions, having been accepted by the leading mining geologists and engineers of the present day, it is well for us to fall into line and to agree with the authorities in such matters. a _vein_ is a _single, ore-bearing fissure_, generally, though not necessarily, with at least one well-defined wall. when we run across a tabular-shaped deposit of ore that looks as though it may have been put into a pre-existing fissure or chasm, the chances are that it is a vein. but a vein must not be confounded with a dike. a dike is a filling that has been injected, while molten or fluid, into an open passageway or rupture across rocks, or into an opening which it created for itself. a little examination of the material should tell, to even the novice, whether or not the substance is of plutonic origin. the filling of a vein is not eruptive, at all. veins have been filled from circulating aqueous solutions, by slow depositions, that have occupied very long periods. a vein may be any thickness, since a fissure may have been opened to any width. hence, a vein may be as thin as a sheet of paper, or it may be a hundred feet across. however, it is true that some wide veins have resulted by a sort of enlargement from original thin seams. very few of the notable wide veins of the world are believed to have been created by the filling up of chasms originally as wide as the present ore bodies. but, in all cases of real veins, there were original fissures, fractures or crevices which acted as channels for circulating solutions that contained the materials which were left to make the vein matter. a _lode_ is an _assemblage of veins_ so closely spaced that the ground between the veins becomes, in places, ore-bearing, and the entire width of the aggregation becomes an ore body. a zone of sheeted rocks like schist or slate, if sufficiently mineralized to warrant mining, would be a lode. sometimes, in certain districts, the earth's crust has been subjected to many approximately parallel, closely-spaced fractures, and by the subsequent filling of these cracks, with the accompanying corrosion of the walls and their replacement by ore, extraction of the entire mass of rocks across a considerable distance will be found to yield a profit. any such body is a lode. in the cripple creek district, the ground is criss-crossed in every direction by tiny fissures which have resulted from the contraction of the country rock, just as a bed of mud is fissured in the process of drying up after a rain. wherever these fissures are found in aggregates that are closely spaced and in which a majority of the cracks have a general trend so that the whole assemblage can be readily worked as one mass, this whole body of fractured rock may be found worth mining and it will then constitute a lode. it may be mentioned here that the so-called ore of this district is not really ore according to the accepted definition. the true ore, the filling of these innumerable, tiny cracks, really constitutes but about five per cent. of the material that is shipped as ore, but which is principally the "country rock" broken down with the small volume of ore. in _legal_ phraseology, the word lode has come to include all sorts of ore bodies. when the word is thus used, in a legal sense, it should not be confused with the strictly technical meaning. it has been the fashion for prospectors to dilate upon the fact that they have located "true fissure veins." this expression, formerly on the tongues of most mining men in districts possessing veins at all, is now obsolete and hence should be placed in the discard. there can be no such thing as an "untrue" vein nor an "untrue" fissure. neither can there be any vein without a fissure. therefore, if there is any vein, it must be a real or true vein. accordingly, the verbiage is to be discouraged. the intention of a miner, in using this pet phrase, has been to convey the impression that his vein extended downward, indefinitely; there having arisen a notion that some veins are rather superficial and liable to "peter out" at slight depths, while others--the kind he invariably has located--persist both in size and value to extreme depths. there are districts in which are found short fissures, generally confined to certain horizons in sedimentary rocks, such as the limestones of the great mississippi valley, from which are mined lead and zinc ores. these are called "gash veins." these are always readily recognized and there is not the slightest excuse for confusing them with the fissures which are common to other kinds of rock formations. a _bed_ or _blanket vein_ is the term applied to any nearly flat deposit conforming to the bedding. such a body of ore must be in a sedimentary series of rocks. coal bodies are all of this type. many bodies of iron ore are also of this type. a _chimney_ is an ore body which has not the tabular form of a vein but is rudely elliptical in outline, horizontally, and with a very considerable vertical extent. a _stock_ is a similar body but it is of still greater irregularity of boundary. these bodies are usually the filling of extinct volcanoes or geysers, and therefore they are presumed to extend to very great depths. the diamond mines of kimberly, africa, are of this type and the ore is a sort of hardened geyserite or mud in which are enclosed the precious gems. in custer county, colorado, the ore body of the bassick mine is a conglomerate of rounded boulders of all sizes cemented together, somewhat like concrete, by the materials which really carry the values. this mass occupies an ancient volcanic neck or throat of a geyser, probably the latter. the main portion of the cripple creek district is the crater of a great prehistoric volcano. it might be called a great chimney, but custom seems to limit the use of the word chimney to a smaller body such as might be included in a single mining property. a _mass_ is a deposit whose irregularity of shape is so great that it cannot be recognized as belonging to any of the types already mentioned. masses conform to no rules as to shape or size. they are usually the result of a chemical dissolving of the original barren rocks with a simultaneous or subsequent substitution of valuable materials. there are many instances of ores that have been deposited, molecule by molecule, replacing equal volumes of the previous rock, much upon the order of the petrifaction of wood. again, there are immense masses which are believed to have accumulated in caves already dissolved out of the containing rocks. while recent geological study of the districts in which such ore bodies abound have disclosed numerous facts about their occurrence, there still remains much conjecture concerning their origins, and we may still believe that they do not conform to any rules as to regularity or size. the ore bodies of leadville are of this type, and they may be described by the homely similes that they are as like and as unlike, and their occurrences are about as regular, as potatoes in a hill. the potato-tops give the farmer a suggestion as to where to dig. so, also, do certain geological relations guide the miner. and yet a shaft may be sunk hundreds of feet down among masses and not happen to penetrate a single one. there are numerous recognized types of ore body not enumerated here; but it is sufficient for the average layman in mining matters to understand these few distinct types and to believe that all other types are rarities, and are, as a general thing, but intermediate forms of those defined. [illustration: shaft no. , tamarack mining company, calumet, michigan.] [illustration: smeltery of the balaklala consolidated copper co., coram, california.] xii the questions of depth and grades of ore. the prevailing belief of a few years ago that ore bodies always improve with depth has been discredited. not a single mining geologist will longer maintain such a notion. the evidence of many thousands of mines has refuted this older belief and it has been proven that quite the opposite view is the correct one concerning changes of value with depth. values, instead of getting better, do actually, in the majority of cases, grow poorer as depth is gained. president c. r. van hise, of the university of wisconsin, was among the early expounders of the newer theories to account for this fact. the writer heard him state, years ago, before a scientific gathering (which, at that time, was not quite ready to agree with him), that if he were given his choice, he would much prefer to own the upper thousand feet of the earth's crust than all the rest of the globe. in this remark, he was referring only to mineral values, of course. this belief that the best values are to be found not far from the surface has since become popular, for it is based upon proven facts. it is not claimed that values are never mined below an elevation that is a thousand feet from the surface. there are many mines, and great ones, too, that are operating at depths greatly exceeding this distance; but in these same mines there will be found valid reasons for not applying the general statement to their particular cases. for instance, the great copper mines of the keweenaw peninsula are productive at depths of a mile or more from the surface; but we believe that here the ore must have been originally deposited at, or near, the surface, that it was then overlain with rock strata; and subsequently steeply tilted by earth movements which carried some of the ore bodies down to the depths where they are now found. the "reefs" or bankets of the rand are so termed because these ore bodies were undoubtedly ancient coast beaches or sea placers. the gravel, sand, and gold particles were cemented together into a conglomerate, then covered with many later sedimentaries, and finally the continent of africa was so raised or altered in some manner as to bring these gold deposits into their present inland and tilted positions. in veins or lodes, it is not supposed that ore-making minerals could have been precipitated from solutions travelling either upward or downward and obeying chemical laws if the depth were sufficient to furnish great temperature or high rock and hydrostatic pressures. therefore minerals which were deposited from aqueous solutions rising from depths, for example, must have retained their dissolved condition until they ascended to horizons in which both pressure and temperature were low enough to permit the precipitation and crystallization that create ores. contrarily, descending solutions must have given off their contents before reaching the deep zones of heat and pressure, or not at all. it is a quite common phenomenon to observe that the richest _gold_ ore in a mine is found close to the surface, if not actually at "grass roots." the explanation is simple. the gold, being the most stable of the aggregate of minerals composing the original ore, has the better resisted the corrosive attacks of atmospheric agencies and has remained nearly intact, while its associated minerals have been dissolved or altered and carried away. the same amount of gold remaining with a diminished quantity of the worthless, non-metallic minerals--the "gangue"--inevitably renders the ore richer per unit of weight (such as a ton), although per unit of volume the value remains constant, or nearly so, so far as the gold is concerned. but with other kinds of ore, as, for example, copper, the best grades are found, not close to the surface but some two hundred or more feet down. the explanation is that the minerals of copper are considerably more soluble than the ordinary gangues and therefore the weathering and oxidation that takes place in the upper horizons of ore bodies will dissolve out the cupriferous compounds and thus deplete the superficial ore. but, by the flowing of the copper solutions to a lower zone, there occur certain reactions that reprecipitate the salts of copper upon compounds of the metal already formed and we have instances of the phenomenon known as "secondary enrichment." [illustration: concentrator division, washoe reduction works of the anaconda copper mining co., anaconda, montana. largest copper works in the world.] it was this very process that effected the changes in the character of the ore in the famous anaconda mine, previously mentioned (page ). the locator's discovery was upon an outcrop rich in silver. probably the original compounds of the vein were of both silver and copper. the silver was more stable against dissolution than was the copper, with the result that the base metal was removed more rapidly and completely than was the precious metal. the upper portion of the vein was therefore left rich in silver, and low in copper. but, as depth of mining increased, there was found a gradual diminution of the silver content with a simultaneous increase in the copper. the mines of butte have become known as copper mines, and the wonderful records they have made are ample testimony to the fact that the change in the prevailing metallic values has not wrought serious havoc in the mining industry of the district. regarding the probability of veins persisting to great depths, there is this thought suggested by j. e. spurr: "owing to the pressure exerted by gravity, it is doubtless more difficult for a fissure to stay open in depth than near the surface. the tendency is to press the sides together. at a certain depth, it is probably the case that the pressure and the plasticity resulting from this, together with the increase in heat, makes it impossible for fissures, fractures or any openings to exist." there are still many persons who are reluctant to let go of the cherished notion about the improvement of ores with depth. but there is no economy in deceiving one's self, and the wise thing to do is to accept the truths as they are daily proven. it may be worth while to again refer to the wonderful camp bird mine. this mine was discovered in its true worth years after it had been abandoned by early prospectors because it lacked showy, base-metal minerals. however, since its true merit has been recognized, it has maintained large and remarkably rich annual outputs. as values were beginning to show a material decrease, about five years ago, an experienced mining engineer of recognized standing was engaged to give advice concerning the future exploitation of the property. after exhaustive investigation of the ground, and in the face of adverse opinions, he recommended the discontinuance of further development in depth. at the same time, however, he advised the exploitation of the ground laterally or along the strike of the very persistent vein. his advice was followed and the company's stockholders had reason to be advocates of the new theory; for a very reasonable amount of horizontal development work opened up vast stores of rich gold ore. and yet, notwithstanding this disquieting feature that seems to apply to mining, there is comfort to be found in the consideration of the exceptional cases. every man may hope that when he locates a new mine he is taking possession of a property that will have as extensive ore bodies as those that have been proven to exist in the lead-silver mines of laurium, greece, the quicksilver mines of spain, or the copper and tin mines of cornwall. these mines are in lodes which have persisted and have been mineralized to comparatively great depths, so that their bottoms have not been reached. there is a modern idea that has taken root in the minds of mining men of the last generation to the effect that the mines with rich ore are not necessarily the ones with big profits. there are many men looking for investments in mines whose contents are of low grade but in large bodies readily worked. if a mine with rich ore can be found and the ore abounds in such liberal amounts as to warrant the inauguration of a company with the essential working equipment, such a proposition will naturally not be turned down. however, the faith of some men is placed in those mines that may be operated upon very large scales for long periods even if the profit per ton be very small. with a large plant, the unit of expense, _i.e._, the cost of mining per ton, is less than with a small mine. with the assurance of regular outputs of ore of a reasonably uniform grade, the milling equipment can be planned to handle a mine's product to the greatest advantage. the alaska-treadwell mine, on douglas island, is an instance of a splendid property that has been continuously operated for about a third of a century. the ore is low grade in gold but immense dividends have been declared because the ore body, a tremendous mass of eruptive rock, has lain in such a position that the owners found it possible to excavate the stuff, to a great extent, by open-pit methods, although not by using steam shovels. the ore is treated in a vast mill contiguous to the mine. the homestake, another gold mine, has an ore body quite dissimilar geologically from, but of dimensions approximating those of, the treadwell. it is a great body of mineralized, crushed shales, standing steeply in the shape of a lode and carrying about $ . per ton. it has been followed down considerably over one thousand feet and although the grade has dropped somewhat with depth, there are known to still be millions of tons in reserve. according to estimates, the mine has enough positive ore in reserve to keep the mill running at the rate of , tons per day for several years even if no more ore were to be opened up. this ore nets but cents per ton above all mining and milling expenses; but a little arithmetic will show that this mine is worth twice as much as the mine that is producing, with more or less regularity, an average daily output of, say, forty tons of high grade ore upon which there is a net gain of $ per ton, a figure that is rather high for the average of so-called "high grade" mines. we must, therefore, decide that it is always wise to think twice before condemning a mine because its grade of product is low. it is only recently and by virtue of marked improvements in metallurgical processes that many bodies of mineral have become "ore." hence it is but natural that many of the older miners fail to grasp the possibilities that lie in such deposits. what is the line of value separating a low grade from a high grade of precious metal ore? there is no uniform practice along this line. one will notice that ores are nowadays spoken of as high grade that, before the practice of mining these described meagre deposits, were reckoned as low grade. this fact is due to two reasons, viz., the cheapening of metallurgical operations, and the greater respect that is entertained for ores of low metallic content. the esperanza mine, in mexico, is called a high-grade gold mine. its ore has averaged about $ per ton and the profit therefrom about $ . the oroya-brownhill mine, in western australia, has had ore that carried a value of about $ per ton and from it a profit of about $ per ton was made. in the cripple creek district, ores that run above $ per ton are considered high grade. this means that the average rich ore shipments of the district have a gold content of about - / ounces per ton. the expenses of mining, freight, and treatment will probably total close to one-half the gross value, or about $ per ton. when one speaks of $ or $ ore as rich or high grade, it is not to be inferred that there is no ore in the shipments which is not worth a great deal more than this amount per ton. such lots of ore will, no doubt, contain a great many chunks that would assay many times the average value. such selected materials would not, however, be samples; they would be what are called "specimens." the specimen has its place in mine economic discussions because it furnishes the basis of operations for the ubiquitous "high grader" with which nearly every new and rich mining camp must contend. some writers claim that the high grader is a product of modern conditions; but we find that he has existed for such a long time that he was given mention by the scotch historian and scientist andrew ure, who wrote of the precautions that were exercised in working the graphite mines of england, a century ago, to prevent the pilfering of even this comparatively low-grade material. even the ignorant african natives of today cannot be trusted to wear clothing while working in the diamond mines. no, the cause of high grading is the innate greed of human beings and it has existed from prehistoric time and among all peoples. in this discussion as to grades of ore, the question may arise as to what might be reasonably considered the most attractive kind of a mining proposition. this is too knotty a query to be answered in a few words. there are so many different phases that must be given due weight. every mine is a problem in itself. the minnesota mines afford the best examples of profitable iron mining. under the classification of underground, tabular deposits such as veins or lodes, no matter in what metals their values are found, mr. t. a. rickard believes that the ideal mine would be one carrying ore worth $ per ton, in a body five feet thick, with costs not exceeding $ per ton, and so mined as to keep one million tons continually in reserve. according to these restrictions, he thinks the robinson mine, of johannesburg, will about fill the bill as an ideal _gold_ mine. it has a deposit of about the right thickness to avoid excessive timbering expense and this ore body is in such a vast, continuous sheet that its superintendent can depend upon maintaining a systematic development that will assure a constant supply of ore to the immense mill for ten or twelve years in advance. this same ore averages about fourteen pennyweights (approximately $ ) per ton and upon this there is assured a profit of over five dollars per ton. xiii valuation of mining property. whenever a piece of mining property is to change hands, it is the proper procedure to employ an expert engineer to investigate the ground and the improvements and so arrive at some estimate concerning its intrinsic value. nobody is infallible and it is a trite saying that "nobody can see into a mine farther than the last drill hole." but there is a great difference in the reliabilities of reports made by trained and by untrained men. a self-styled "expert" of the type which is so abundant in every new mining centre and about cities frequented by mining investors will probably not be able to comprehend anything beyond his vision; but the mining geologist and engineer--the man who has devoted the better part of his life to study and experience along these lines--will be able to reach conclusions upon which much reliance may be placed. this fact has come to be recognized by the men who exercise business judgment in their mining investments. the sampling of mines has been studied and improved upon by succeeding engineers, until one may say that it is conducted along strictly scientific lines. the old method of taking a sample of a mine by scratching ore from the sides of a shaft from top to bottom and letting the collected material at the bottom represent a fair average of the ore body, has been relegated to its proper place in the evolution of mine valuation. without entering into a description of the methods now employed by the best examiners of mines, let it be said that every scientific precaution is taken to obtain representative portions of the ore bodies, at such intervals as seem best in each particular case; that measurements and assays are made for each and every sample taken and not for the aggregate of all the samples; that no opportunity is allowed unscrupulous persons to vitiate results in any manner; that a professional engineer will not hold nor acquire, in any way, an interest in any proposition which he examines; and that the report of a reputable engineer is equally acceptable to the seller and to the purchaser, no matter for whom the work is done. much discussion has prevailed as to the best means of estimating the amount and the value of ore in unbroken reserves. associated with these beneficial disputes, there has been a further controversy as to the correct classification for reserves of unbroken ore. it is now conceded among mining men and engineers to be improper to longer make use of the meaningless but tongue-worn expression "ore in sight" as signifying any known or unknown volumes of ore in the ground. the only ore in sight is that which has been hoisted or which has been broken and stored underground. well-known engineers have proposed the following expressions: to denote the contents of ore bodies which have been exposed on four sides, we may say _ore blocked out_, _positive ore_ or _ore developed_; for bodies exposed upon three sides, it is considered correct to describe the contents as _ore partly blocked_; for such bodies as are proved upon two sides only, the terms _ore faces_, _ore developing_ or _probable ore_ are appropriate; while in speaking of all ore that may be expected or suspected, but which is beyond the last exposures, we may use the expressions _ore expectant_ and _possible ore_. when it comes to the question of placing a value upon an undeveloped property--one in which there is little, or no, development work or exploitation--it takes more than the ability of the common "expert" of the curbstone variety to arrive at any dependable figures. without any exposures, except those that may have been produced by nature, and perhaps with no guidance from facts that might be obtainable were there adjoining mines, one might suppose that the whole matter would resolve itself into mysticism. right here is where the trained man best shows his ability. the greatest error of the usual investor in mining schemes is to rely upon either no report at all or upon a worthless one furnished by an impostor. _in no sort of a mining proposition is a reliable report so essential as when one is contemplating the purchase of a "prospect."_ successful engineers, whose predictions concerning such properties have come true, are sometimes complimented (?) by being accused of possessing intuition or prophetic vision. call this ability what we will, we must admit that _education and training_ give certain qualifications that will enable a man to arrive at conclusions which, in the majority of cases, will be found to wear. xiv the mine promoter. with the thought that has justly been given to the place occupied (or that should be occupied) in the world's financial and economic affairs by legitimate mining, there has developed a well-founded stigma upon the operations of a class of persons who have styled themselves by what was formerly considered a worthy title, that of "promoters." since men have found that it is as possible to go into a mining deal with the same chances for success as attach to any other line of investment; since it has been proved that real, worthy mining property does not require the exertions of many middlemen to obtain capital for its development; and since it has usually turned out that these "promoters" have handed the hot end of deals to their investors, it is not to be wondered that some sort of a brand would attach itself to the men who are not in the business to benefit the industry of mining in the least, but really for the selfish gains which they can pocket at the expense of the industry. these men are legion. the mails are laden with their seductive letters and "literature." brokerage firms are numbered among these leeches on legitimate mining. charlatans appear almost daily upon mining scenes. the men who engage in these deplorable practices are not from any one walk in life: they spring up from various branches of our social structure. the general public has learned that a very prominent boston magnate will not scruple to promote a mining property even though it lacks the merit essential in attracting the conservative capitalist. thousands of people of small means throughout the united states and canada have been recipients of nicely worded and familiarly-addressed letters signed by the son of a famous american author. this son, himself a writer of some repute, presumed to speak to his "friends" concerning a mining property which he promoted and into which he was glad to allow them to get with him "on the ground floor." he frankly stated that he was not offering such privileges to the big capitalists. he inwardly knew that such men do not require holdings in the cobalt or any other region. through the splendid work carried on by the government postal authorities many of these frauds have been exposed and the perpetrators brought to justice. in january, , the above-mentioned author, together with a number of his ilk, were brought before the federal grand jury, and found guilty. it is not the men of great capital who are induced, as a rule, into the deals of the "promoter." it is usually the common people, the persons of small means who have saved up a little spare money from which they hope to realize competencies for rainy days--a class of beings inexperienced in investments--who become the dupes of the promoter. there have been notable exceptions to the statement that capitalists do not yield to the seductions of these men, but recurrences are liable to be few. the great business man is fortified by experience against forms of treachery and he is, therefore, not so susceptible to the allurements of any "promotion," be it mining or otherwise. if one investigates these advertised mining "promotions," he will often find that the money paid in by the small investors purchases a very small portion only of the capitalization. the men who conceived the scheme of "promoting" a concern have carefully arranged to hold a majority of the stock, so that should there, by any chance, prove to be a mine, they are the ones who will reap the greatest benefits. further, it often transpires that the contributions of cash that purchase the small interests do not perform the function of development for which the stock was ostensibly put upon the market. perhaps somebody has a desire to get rich quickly. the operations of such frauds are so obscured and so complex to the average individual that sufficient evidence can seldom be procured to prove any violation of law. a witty newspaper paragrapher once remarked that out in nevada the old adage "death loves a shining mark" was changed to "death loves a mining shark." it would seem, however, that if death were to love the person bearing the odious, well-understood title of "shark" enough to claim him early, the business of mining would be materially benefited. the post-office officials of the united states are to be commended for their efforts at curbing the despicable operations of these fakirs. occasionally the papers come out with the news that a firm's offices have been raided and their business stopped. these news items fall as awakeners upon the hundreds of gullible, middle-class persons all over the country who are known to actually force their cash remittances upon these fraudulent operators, much upon the plan of a department store's supposed bargain sale. in spite of the "bad name" that has been attached to the persons engaged in starting up enterprises, there is a real need for more activity in the matter of inaugurating real, legitimate mining enterprises. persons who devote their brains and energies in the direction of furthering worthy mining propositions do really "promote" the interests of such companies. what shall such persons be called if not "promoters"? there does not seem to be any other word that expresses the occupation of such persons. the real solution of this dilemma in which the honest men engaged in such work find themselves placed is to denounce, forcefully, the charlatan as being not a real promoter but a gross misrepresentation of one. let us, therefore, remove the odium from this title and give our approbation to those persons who are earnestly endeavoring, by honest means, to place mining enterprises upon strictly business-like footings. the mining industry needs promotion and promoters. xv incorporation and capitalization. let us consider the legitimate financing of a new or a reorganized, worthy, mining proposition. it is the universal custom to own and work a mine under the laws that govern a corporation and, for this reason, the mining man of the day is familiar with the practices of incorporating. it is something of a question at the start to decide what is a fair price to fix upon a property as a whole--that is, to decide what the capitalization should be. there is no rule to be followed in this matter. some organizers will decide to capitalize at what is expected will be the value of the property after some time. other men will stick to the idea that it is the proper thing to capitalize for what the property will invoice at the time. the higher the capital stock, the greater number of shares there are for sale, usually. with a conservative capitalization, there may be fewer shares for sale, but each share is worth correspondingly more and the chances are much better for an advance in the price per share whenever the mine becomes productive. there are investors who will carefully investigate this feature and will shun any mining stock which has any appearance of over-capitalization. it would be well if all investors were to follow this precaution. but what about the price at which to capitalize a prospect? by a prospect we here mean a property that has been favorably reported upon as worthy of development but in which, up to date, there is little, if any, showing of values or reserves. the engineer's report has recommended the property as containing the possibilities of a mine. how much is it worth? can he or can anybody even roughly estimate the sum? an engineer frequently does fix the sale-purchase price of a property, but it is not so usual for him to decide upon a valuation for capitalization. a very good guess may be made, perhaps, if there are similar and neighboring properties which have been developed. assuming a prospect that has been reliably reported to the owners as possessing the earmarks of a mine and as warranting expenditures for exploitation, upon what basis should a company be capitalized? if the owners of the property have capital, the chances are that they will not care to share their holdings with other parties. but very frequently worthy "prospects" are held by men of no means, and in order to develop their mines the owners feel the necessity of coöperation with parties who can furnish working funds. in every such instance, there will arise this debate as to the proper basis of capitalization. there is no human means of arriving at a _close_ valuation of any prospect, so it becomes a matter of pure judgment as to future probabilities and the possibility of placing the stock at the most advantageous price. a company will, therefore, be stocked for some round number of shares, say , , upon which some empirical par valuation, say $ , is placed per share. this is not to be understood as stating nor assuming that the property has a present valuation equalling the par of the entire capitalization. who would assert that any mere prospect ever had such a value as $ , ? no, it is not the intention of the organizers to claim that the ground is worth the par valuation; but some start must be made and so, in the absence of something precise, round numbers are made to do service. stock is then offered at figures much below the par valuation and in such quantities as will maintain sufficient capital in the treasury of the new concern to get the property's exploitation under way and to so sustain it as to make the prospect grow into a mine. if shares are offered at cents, it does not mean that a prospect is worth even that valuation. it does mean (we are considering now only the operations of honest concerns) that the men who are managing affairs believe that the sale of so many shares at ten cents each will furnish adequate means for the development and equipment of the mine. therefore, there is a _prospective_ valuation placed upon all such enterprises. is an investment in such a company to be considered as gambling? if there have been sound assurances from reliable examiners concerning the likelihood of the ground carrying the essentials of a mine and the only uncertain element is the ultimate magnitude of the mine, then we might say that the investment is not a gamble at all, since there is no chance to lose. the purchase of such stock is a very sane investment and there is no telling what the returns may reach. when incorporating a new company, it has become the fashion for the owners of the ground to exchange their titles for certain specified fractional interests in the company. this is effected usually by going through the formality of having the owners sell their holdings outright for the entire issue of the capital stock. then, according to prearranged agreements, these owners donate to the treasury of the company a portion of this capital stock to be henceforth termed "treasury stock." the first step makes the capital stock "fully paid for," since it has been accepted in full payment for the property. the second step supplies the company with the necessary means for raising funds to develop. there can be no reasonable objection to this practice. but there is much criticism of the usual apportionment of the owners' and the treasury stock. it is agreed that the incorporators are, as a rule, greedy in this respect, since they generally issue more than per cent. (and frequently per cent.) of the capital stock to themselves and expect to float the project to success upon the money derivable from the sale of the balance or treasury stock. is a mere prospect, even under the best natural conditions, plus the effort incidental to the organization of a mining company, worth one-half or more of a producing mine? during an extended experience in the business of converting discoveries into patented claims and prospects into mines, the writer has found that _there is never an owner who is willing to sell a developed mine for twice the price he had set upon the original prospect_. the valuation of his holdings goes up by greater multiples than mere doubling or even trebling and it is a rare thing to find a man willing to sell out a proved mine at less than ten times the prevailing valuation that would have been placed upon the same piece of property before its development. hence, there is no propriety in the act of self-appropriating half the capital stock by the organizers. investors should be wary about taking interests in companies which have been so organized. if an owner believes that a mine is worth ten times as much as a prospect, let him be consistent and offer his undeveloped property for a tithe of the capital stock in the anticipated mine. if he has a worthy piece of ground, he will reap the same benefits as the holders of the stock who place their cash against his title to a tract of virgin territory. if he will not thus act fairly, it indicates either a questionable piece of property or an avidity undesirable in a partner. it is accordingly advisable to shun offerings in such concerns. another matter to be considered here is that of overloading a fairly good mining enterprise with so much capital investment that the property cannot be made to pay proper dividends and fair interest on the capital. many worthy, though perhaps small, mining concerns have made failures through a disregard for this economic feature. the proper adjustment of this matter is a serious thing and it should not be passed over lightly. investors should look into this phase of mining thoroughly. xvi mining investments. one should be able to establish, in his mind, a distinction between the value of investments in operating mines and in prospective mines; and he should likewise be competent to fix some difference in his attitude when purchasing the stocks in these dissimilar projects. one should invest in an established mine with the same business precautions that would guide him in buying an interest in a mercantile establishment. it is possible to obtain, through competent engineers, the approximate present valuation and the probable life of any mine and thus to arrive at conservative figures that will govern one's investments. but, when debating the purchase of stock in a prospect, a man should learn all the available facts concerning the geology and the organizers and should then decide, in his own way, whether he cares to make the purchase. even the prospects offering the finest inducements have been known to disappoint, just as some less promising prospects have occasionally exceeded expectations. [illustration: mill of the roodepoort-united mines, transvaal, south africa.] so, while there are certain safeguards to investments, there should also be accepted the uncertainties which must accompany the placing of faith in unseen things. the same general rules for business success will attend both commercial and mining enterprises. any incorporation must be handled according to recognized, successful methods, no matter what its scope or activity. in most lines of business, there is a likelihood of growth with longevity, there being no reason to limit the life of the usual mercantile business. with advancing years, a manufacturing company, for instance, with good management, will establish a reputation and will gradually increase its business and its stock in trade. but with a mine, the business is one which is most successful only when actually depleting the assets at the most rapid rate. with some kinds of mines such as coal, placer, iron or the "reef" gold mines of the rand, the life can be very accurately forecast and all activities may be planned for specified periods. in some kinds of mining ground--as for instance, the irregular masses of leadville or the crooked and uncertain veins of tonopah--there can be no predictions that will reliably or even approximately decide the probable life of the mining activities of any company. the duration of mines of this second class is wholly problematical. a few years ago, there was much discussion of this subject and one writer, who had collected statistics over an extended period and covering various kinds of mines, arrived at the conclusion that the average life of a mine is about eleven years. j. p. wallace, in his work, _ore deposits for the practical miner_, in discussing this point says, "the average mine, if continuously worked, seldom lasts longer than three to five years. a mine is valuable not for what it has produced, but for what it is capable of producing." this opinion cannot be borne out by facts, for the brevity he ascribes to the average mine is altogether unreasonable and his statement is pessimistic. the cases of mines which have petered out in three or five years are exceptionally few. it must be that the experiences of this author have been in "pockety" districts, for he could not have lived in any of the worthy mining camps of the world very long and have come away with any such notion. to take care of this intrinsic feature of mining, and to place propositions fairly before the public, there should be attention given to the matter of recovering the invested capital before the expiration of activities through the exhaustion of mining assets, the ore bodies. this practice, known as "amortization," is being given more and more consideration as people come to realize this peculiarity of mining. some companies are now so organized and managed that there is a guaranteed refund, at stated periods, or whenever profits have accrued, of fractions of the invested capital with accumulated interest thereon. these funds are calculated to continue over the number of years which it is presumed the mines will live so that upon the cessation of mining, the owners of the stocks will have been completely reimbursed with their original outlay in addition to the dividends that have resulted from the success of the enterprise. it is here that the problem of the life of a mine enters into economics, and it is important that it be given its due share of study. amortization is not of american origin and it has not been adopted in this country to the extent which it is bound to be in the future. one means of providing against an extinction of a mining company's activity with the exhaustion of the ore bodies in the mines is to provide new mining territory to which operations may be transferred at the proper time. this plan has been very successfully carried out by a number of large mining companies. when a mining company has been maintaining its identity for a considerable period, it has reached a very desirable stage of economy in the make-up of its various lists of officials, superintendents and engineers. all this efficiency can be very readily transferred to the operation of virgin mining property. often much of the equipment of a mine can be moved and used again. when a mine is known to be nearing its finish, there is a hesitancy on the part of the owners in replenishing the equipment and sometimes the mining is kept up through the use of worn-out, inefficient apparatus when, were the owners expecting to continue mining, they would purchase and install the new equipment when it is needed. one company in the san juan region of colorado prepared for the contingency by purchasing neighboring property to which it moved its operations. another large company bought a large piece of mining property in mexico, although its initial operations were in colorado. placer mining companies frequently dismantle, move and re-erect dredges. xvii mine equipments. there is a constant tendency toward the adoption of machinery for the performance of every mining act which, formerly, was done by manual or animal labor. there are good reasons for this tendency. good, trained labor is scarce; wages are slowly but gradually rising; ores of lower grade must be mined, and the tonnages must be correspondingly greater. the increased economy in production can be brought about by the adoption of devices that will supplant, and even excel, muscular effort. a machine can now be installed and can be operated by a single man to perform the work formerly done by many men. there have been machines invented to entirely, or partially, perform every operation in and around mines, and one might imagine an ideal mine in which all such machines were installed. but even there, we should have to grant the presence of some few men, for it would not be possible to keep all the machines working without human, intelligent control. in such a mine, it might be possible to maintain a large production with very few laborers or overseers. fewer men means less wages, less labor trouble, fewer fatalities, and less time occupied in handling men into and out of the workings. in some ways, copper mines are ahead of gold mines in their equipment. coal mines have adopted car loaders which as yet and without any very good reasons metal mines have not. plants for mines must utilize the same sources of power as are used by any other plants. steam and water have been the usual forms, but electricity is gaining in favor in places where it can be cheaply obtained. at a coal mine, we naturally expect to see all the power generated through the combustion of coal under boilers. at metal mines--which are frequently remote from sources of coal supply--we run across the use of expensive coal for all power purposes. when it is possible to obtain a sufficient supply and head, water is adopted to furnish the required power for operation. at mines, with water sufficient to produce a part only of the needed power, we may see both steam and water power utilized. in the cases of some mines which are distant from sources of both coal and water supply, power is generated at points where stores of natural energy are available for use and the power is transmitted (usually as electricity, sometimes as compressed air) over long distances to the mines. some mines cannot be economically operated without the treatment of the ores upon, or close to, the mining property. with certain sorts of low-grade ore, or with those kinds of ores that may be concentrated before shipment, provision should be early made for the erection of appropriately designed mills. we say the subject should be considered early, but we do not advocate the premature erection of any mill. the hills of the western mining states are dotted with monuments to men's error in this particular. here and there (not in our own country alone, but throughout the mining world) one may run across an abandoned mine plant, a complete mill, a smeltery, a railroad or an aerial tramway, all prematurely provided for outputs which failed to materialize. there are men still trying to succeed in the mining business while thinking it is essential in mining that a complete plant be the first thing given attention. upon the showing in a ten-foot hole, such men will induce capital to take interests enough to provide the wherewithal for purchasing and installing an equipment capable of handling and treating the output of a big mine. this is a grievous mistake that comes about through misconceptions. it is often true that ores of the kind these mines are expected to produce should be treated upon the ground. but it is also true, and far more essential, that there be enough ore to supply the treatment works. it is rank folly then to spend the money needed to make a mine upon a plant to handle the product. money should be spent, first, in exploitation and proving the value of a property. if the proof is forthcoming, it is then time enough to erect the plant. meanwhile, during the development stages of a mine, the proper amount of experimentation can be conducted to ascertain the correct process for treating the ore. if ores are produced in abundance, they may be shipped for treatment in custom works until such time as the company's own plant is ready; or the ores may be stocked up for emergency mill supply at future times when it may be compulsory to curtail the mine production because of accidents or other unforeseen causes. one who considers these matters from an economic standpoint will recognize that there must exist some proper ratio of mine output to treatment capacity. just what this relationship is constitutes a serious problem for each particular mine and there cannot be stated any ironclad rules that may be applied to all cases. in the first place, we believe _a mine will be operated at its greatest economy when it is making its largest and most regular output_. this being the case, we must agree that the plant and mill must be capable of taking care of this maximum output. it would then seem axiomatic that the equipment must be calculated according to the mine's capabilities. but, in the youth of a mine, how are we to know what its mature capacity will be? here comes the rub. very nice discussions along this line have been indulged in by british and american representative mining men. when speaking of operations that are typical of some foreign mining districts and especially those that possess ore-bodies whose extents are readily calculated, no clever prophecy is required to ascertain the proper amount of equipment. but there are many regions, especially in our own country, where nobody can predict, with any degree of accuracy, how extensive will prove to be the natural reserves of any mine. it is in such places as these that hard study and careful guessing are needed, and we are inclined to agree with george j. bancroft when he says, "to my mind, there is more credit due to those who take up the hard propositions and make them pay than to those who exploit bonanzas along purely scientific lines. the first usually require energy, sagacity, perseverance and, very often, daring; while the others need chiefly cool calculation." it is a safe practice, throughout the world, whenever there is no absolute means of reaching figures of a mine's ultimate production, to erect the treatment installations in units. by a "unit" is here meant the outfit of machinery and the other equipment which will handle a specified round number of tons per day. in some districts, a unit will be for the treatment of tons; in other districts this number may run up to tons. in the plans provisions are made for additions, from time to time, as mining development warrants. very much the same scheme should be followed in the erection of the plant for carrying on the operations, which are strictly those of obtaining the ore from the earth. that is, mining equipment, as well as the milling equipment, should be on a flexible plan so as to be readily adapted to an increased scale of operation. there must be space provided for harmonious additions to the initial plant whenever such extra parts are required. [illustration: spray shaft house of copper queen consolidated mining co., bisbee, arizona.] xviii mine management. no matter how splendid a company's holdings may be naturally, there cannot be expected any profits from the workings of the deposits if there be not a sound business management. h. c. hoover, the prominent mining engineer and mine manager, says, "good mine management is based upon three elements: first, sound engineering; second, proper coördination and efficiency of every human unit; third, economy in the purchase and consumption of supplies." and he goes on to emphasize the fact that "no complete manual will ever be published upon 'how to become a good mine manager.'" in view of this damper upon good intentions one might possess, and granting that the subject is one that cannot be taught (except along very general lines possibly), no attempt will be made to enter into arguments concerning this important subject of mine management. good administrative ability can be improved by cultivation just as can an individual of the vegetable kingdom; but there must first be the existent, innate ability. no man should attempt such a hard proposition as the management of a mine, with its varied phases of activity, unless he has found himself possessing the fundamentals that go to assure success in managerial positions. furthermore, he should not think, because he has been successful in running a clothing business or any other mercantile line, that he is certain to succeed in running a mine. the duties of directors and president are pretty much the same in all sorts of incorporations. but, while there are many mining companies--and successful ones, too--that hold upon their directorates men who probably never saw a mine prior to their present ventures, it may still be stated that it is obviously advisable to select for such places men who have knowledge and sound ideas concerning the industry of mining. to be sure, if they are ignorant along mining lines, they can, and often do, place the blame for their shortcomings upon their manager, their consulting engineer, or their superintendent. but this is not an auspicious state of affairs and it were well for stockholders to see to it that they elect to the directorate men who are cognizant of mining economics. the well-organized mining concerns of today maintain their engineering staffs just as completely as do other great technical businesses. the engineer is a very important man in mining affairs. his duties are probably more varied than those that appertain to any other sort of engineering. his operations will extend into the realms of the mechanical, the civil, the chemical, the metallurgical, the hydraulic, and the electrical engineers. he must be posted along the latest conceptions in geology, mineralogy, and physics. besides he should be an accurate and rapid mathematician and draftsman. the manager finds in the engineer his most helpful and trusted aid. often the engineer performs many of the functions usually attaching to the office of manager and, in the absence of the latter person, he may attend to all of the management. as stated above, the qualities that make a good manager are inherent; hence, to a certain extent, we may hold the deduction that good mining engineers, also, must possess innate qualities. yet there may be pointed out this distinction between the make-up of a good man for manager and that of a good mining engineer: one, as said, cannot learn his business except through his own experience, while the other can receive vast benefit by _study_ of a theoretical nature and by _practice_. lately, there is much said about the _consulting_ mining engineer. his field of usefulness is broad. he can be asked to add his opinions and recommendations to those of the regular engineer, at any time; he can be used at times when the duties are too much for the resident engineer; he can be called upon to substitute; he need not live near the property, but may visit it periodically. thus, while his retention is deemed remunerative, his services are available at a fractional part of what he would demand if he were employed exclusively by the company. under ordinary working conditions, it should be considered just as essential for a mine to take an occasional inventory as it is for a mercantile establishment. in truth, there is far more need in mining operations of the knowledge thus derived than in any other business. in mining, as already suggested, the business is one of selling off the stock in trade without replenishing it. the opening of more reserves of ore is not bringing more goods into the stock, but it may be likened to simply unpacking more goods in the storehouse. no new reserve can be added--they can simply be found and unpacked, as it were. this finding entails the greatest amount of concern, and upon its successful practice depends the life of the mine. the presumption is strong that many mines have been abandoned while they really contained possibilities; but lack of knowledge of things geological, or perhaps failures to explore, permitted the operators to remain ignorant of the splendid assets that were available. proof of this error has been found in many mines that have been subsequently re-opened. the work of sizing up the quantity and the value of available ore is known as sampling. it is not well to limit the practice of sampling to the times only when a sale is contemplated. reports based upon careful sampling should be issued frequently. some companies employ men whose sole occupation is the daily sampling of every working face. the assay results obtained from the collected samples inform the superintendent just "how the stuff is holding up" throughout the mine and he governs his work accordingly. at longer intervals, the engineer should go into the work more thoroughly by not only taking very careful, scientific samples (not the usual "grab" samples taken by the daily sampler) but also by making careful memoranda of the physical appearances of the ore with its thickness and all geological data that will tend to throw light upon the permanency of each body. the engineer's monthly report will then be a substantial guide to the manager and the directors. managers, too, are expected to make periodical reports--monthly, quarterly, or annually--to the directors who, in turn, issue reports to the stockholders. the reports of managers and directors are not usually technical in their nature, although sometimes it is the practice of a manager to attach the engineer's report to his own for the perusal of such readers as may desire to dip into the technical affairs of the operations. usually, the directors' reports are of a simple, financial nature, stating the conditions of affairs in plain business language to the persons whose cash has been invested in the enterprise. it may happen that, for some reason, a special report is desired by the directors who may be contemplating some consolidation or other financial move and both the manager and the engineer will be required to furnish detailed statements concerning their respective branches. if a sale is planned, it may be that not only the company's engineer, but very probably another engineer engaged by the contemplative purchaser, will make examinations. they may work together or separately, as best suits them mutually, but it is upon the reports issued by them that the satisfactory price for the exchange of title is based. xix prices of metals. there is only one product of mines that has a constant market value, viz., gold. the precious metals, gold, silver, and platinum, are sold by the troy ounce: the base metals are all handled and dealt with on avoirdupois weights. copper, lead, zinc, tin, and nickel are quoted in cents per pound avoirdupois. iron and manganese are curiously sold by mines to smelting companies on the ton of ore basis. since gold has been found in every known rock of every geologic age and is of world-wide distribution; since it possesses physical properties that long ago placed it at the head of the list of desirable metals; and further, since it does not occur in very condensed amounts, generally; this metal was selected as the standard of value by which the worth of every other commodity in the world is fixed. it must therefore be possessed of a fixed market value, and one never looks for quotations on pure gold. the price of pure gold is set at $ . . this very peculiar value is known as the "mint value," and is the price which the government of the united states pays for all of its coinage gold. among miners, as a rule, the price is thought of as $ per ounce, and this is probably because this is more nearly the actual return the miner has been accustomed to obtain from companies who have bought and treated his ores. most all the gold produced in the world is associated with other metals, such as silver, copper, or platinum, so that the bullion recovered in milling or smelting will usually contain the gold alloyed with such other metals and the gold is said to be not "fine," or pure. the fineness of gold in the metallic state is expressed in two ways. jewelers have the carat system, while mints use the decimal system in expressing such degrees of purity. pure gold is -carat fine. an alloy of parts gold and part copper would be considered as -carat gold. in the decimal system, pure gold is called , fine, and the various degrees of purity are then expressed in their true proportional amounts. thus the same alloy as cited above would be called fine gold. silver has a fluctuating market value although attempts have been made, at times, to establish its value at some fixed ratio to the value of gold. in fact, a reader may occasionally run across statistics of silver production in which it appears as though there were a fixed value for the metal, but this will be found to be due to the use of what is known as the "coinage value," which is $ . . this figure will be recognized as our old acquaintance, " to ," _i.e._, this price for silver being one-sixteenth of the fixed price for gold. there is actually no such fixation, and prices for silver are established every business day of the year in the great metal markets of the world, london and new york. platinum has been increasing in market value during recent years and the quotations have ranged up so high that it is now more than twice as valuable as gold. the reasons for this high price are that the production of the metal is limited, whereas the uses for the metal have been increasing. the greatest production of this metal is in the ural mountains of russia, and the output from this region is handled by a few concerns who virtually possess a monopoly. these companies are able to maintain the production practically constant and to cause the market price to fluctuate. tin is found in commercial amounts in but very few regions. there is but one mineral mined as an ore of tin, viz., cassiterite, the oxide, which is per cent tin. tin is found in both veins and placers and the great bulk of the metal is now being derived from the latter type of bodies in the malay peninsula and the straits of the east indies. formerly, cornwall produced the world's supply, from veins. although the united states consumes per cent to per cent of the world's production, the country does not produce per cent of this production. since the main source of our tin is british territory, the markets are controlled by london, and quotations are issued daily from that center. such quotations are given in units of english money per long ton ( pounds) of metal. however, prices are also quoted at new york, daily, in cents per pound, and there is a real difference in value between the two quotations to take care of freights and duty. for instance, on a certain date, quotations were £ s, and c. the average price during in new york was . cents. the chief supply of nickel now comes from the canadian districts of cobalt and sudbury, where this metal occurs accompanying rich silver deposits. the metal is sold by the pound avoirdupois and prices in january, , ranged from c. to c. tungsten is a metal which has been finding more and more uses of late years, but the production has remained quite limited. three-quarters of the world's total production in came from a small district in boulder county. colorado. the quotations on this metal are given in dollars per ton of concentrated ore, and the price is for a certain percentage of wo_{ }, the oxide of wolfram (tungsten). the schedule of prices announced in april, , for boulder county ores and concentrates provides as follows, a unit being understood to mean per cent or pounds per ton: for material assaying per cent wo_{ }, $ . per unit; for per cent wo_{ }, $ . per unit; for per cent and more, $ . per unit. ore containing, say, per cent of the tungsten radical is thus salable at $ per ton, the mineral itself thus bringing a price of - / cents per pound. although copper is used and sold in very large lots commercially, it continues to be quoted upon the pound basis. the united states produces about per cent of the whole amount mined in the world and the prices are made in new york daily. the amount of copper mined in this country in was , , , pounds and the price varied between . cents and . cents. there are always at least two quotations every day on copper, one being on "lake" and another on "electrolytic". by these terms are meant, respectively, copper produced in the lake superior region and the copper from other mines. the lake superior copper is the purest in the world and it always sells for a fraction of a cent per pound more than the other coppers which are refined by electrolysis. metallic iron is reduced from a number of different ores, but by far the bulk of pig-iron is made from the oxides and carbonates of iron. such ores, in the united states, are obtained principally in minnesota, michigan, wisconsin, and alabama. as already stated, the quotations on iron are based upon the ores rather than the pig-iron, and there are two types of such ore recognized. if the ore is suitable for the making of bessemer steel, it is given a certain quotation per ton, while if it cannot be used for such a purpose, it is given a non-bessemer rating and is used for casting. the greatest iron-mining region in the world is in the lake superior country. here are a number of districts that are known as "ranges." in some of these ranges mining is by underground methods, while in others the excavation is entirely in the open by the use of great steam shovels. the outputs of these ranges go by rail and water to the great smelting points along the great lakes and at pittsburg. the metallic zinc on the market is known as spelter. all quotations on this metal are given in two systems, the "pounds sterling per long ton" and the "cents per pound." the average prices during were respectively, £ . and . c. the american quotations are frequently given in the unit of dollars per hundredweight. this offers no confusion, whatever, for under this nomenclature, the average price for would be stated as $ . . in the zinc-mining regions of the mississippi valley, the producers of ore have a practice of putting the mines' products through their own mills at the mines and making concentrates of the zinc mineral, which is usually blende or "jack," and this concentrated stuff is then sold to smelting companies at the daily quotations per ton of per cent ore. during the average price paid in the joplin district was $ . . since this amount bought , pounds of metallic zinc, it is evident that the miner received only about . cents per pound for his metal, the discrepancy between this sum and the new york quotation being consumed in costs of smelting and shipment and in profits to the middlemen. lead is sold upon a plan exactly similar to zinc. it has the same various quotations. for example, the prices in london, new york, and joplin averaged, respectively, £ . , . c., and $ . . quicksilver is sold by the "flask" of pounds. the price ranges in the neighborhood of $ to $ . there are numerous other metals, but the more common ones are given above. below is given a graphical exhibit of the course of the prices of lead, spelter, standard (electrolytic) and lake copper, pig-iron, and tin for a number of years. a study of this chart is interesting in noting the waves or fluctuations that have covered periods of years. this chart is reproduced from _the engineering and mining journal_. [illustration: diagram of metal market for one-third of a century] xx mine accounting. while there has been a great deal of attention given to the matter of keeping systematic mine accounts, both in the main offices and those at the works, there still is a lack of uniformity in practice. in the bookkeeping of manufacturing and mercantile institutions, uniform practices or systems have become a feature. but there have been good reasons for the absence of similar methods in mine offices. there will be found to exist some uniformity in the accounting as practised by the mines of a particular district which are operating under similar conditions; but when one considers that the mines of various districts have quite dissimilar conditions throughout almost every phase of the business, it is not surprising that different methods must be employed in the keeping of their accounts. it is unavoidable. mines extracting different metals or different kinds of coal will find it necessary to keep quite unlike records. mines with their own mills will likewise require a different system of accounting from those that ship their products to custom works. open and underground mines will need quite different styles of accounts. so, it is not possible to recommend any one method of mine accounting. the best way to become posted upon this subject is to investigate the schemes, the blank forms and the books of some of the established, successful companies here and there about the world. in this way, ideas will be collected, and it will be possible for the investigator to evolve his own schemes for recording the accounts of his company. it has come to be recognized as contributing to economy to maintain systems of accounts that will enter into minutiæ concerning every branch of the business. just how far this can be carried without creating office expenses that will exceed the benefits to be derived from the detailed information remains a question to be decided by each manager. there are companies with accounts so perfected that it is possible to quickly ascertain, to a fraction of a cent, what the expenditures of any day have been for any particular part of the operations, as for instance, the haulage per ton underground, or the fuse employed in the blasting of a particular stope. such details are highly useful since they prevent leaks in the costs; but it is a problem to decide to what extent it is economy to carry them. these data also furnish the superintendent information concerning the efficiency of his many laborers and the machinery. labor-saving inventions, such as the printed blank form, and the loose leaf, are put to excellent use in mining offices. there are strong companies operating great mining plants whose records are open to the perusal of any individual, be he stockholder or not. in the office of such a company, a person may turn to the accounts and see for himself how much it costs to maintain each and all of the operations and he can learn the size and the value of all shipments of products of any sort--ore, concentrates, coal, matte, or bullion. again, there are those companies that are so secretive about everything connected with their work that even the government is unable to learn any particulars, except at very great trouble. the portland gold mining company, operating a great property at victor, in the cripple creek district, is an instance of the first sort, while the united verde mine, at jerome, arizona, may be taken to represent the second sort. both of these mines have made splendid records. it cannot be seen wherein the second mine is required to maintain secrecy, for there is no danger of litigation from neighboring property holders, the one company controlling, practically, the mining in its neighborhood. the presumption is that the owners hold their business to be nobody's else and they have a right to keep their affairs secret if they desire. on the other hand, the portland is surrounded by good mines which profit by knowing the details of operating costs and incomes of their neighbor; but it is found to cost no more to be open and above board than to keep things under guard. the colorado fuel and iron company will not divulge any particulars concerning its mining movements; but there are other just as great mining companies that will explain every detail. the clark copper companies, of butte, montana, did not permit much information to escape their offices, while the neighboring amalgamated companies gave particulars freely. the question of secrecy should be considered, and if there is no very good excuse for maintaining a privacy it should not be instituted. the trend of all modern thought is along the line of publicity in all our dealings. the only persons who have a reasonable right to be secretive are those who have something they do not care to share or divulge to their fellow-men. law breakers, tax dodgers, and trespassers, could be put into one class; persons doing research work which it is premature to publish are a more respectable class; manufacturers with strong competition in the sales markets are in a measure excusable; even a mine which is producing some material in the sale of which it attempts to maintain a monopoly might be excusable. but it is hard to see what excuse or benefit there is for a coal or a copper mining company to prevent a knowledge of its affairs, if the business is being conducted along strictly legitimate lines. xxi investment in mining stocks. as a feature of investment in mining stocks, there has always been a more or less open lure. generally much larger returns are promised or are expected than in other kinds of investments. there may be absolutely no intention on the part of the seller to create this impression; but there does, somehow, exist in the memories of people accounts of wonderful fortunes that have been made in mining. there is an amount of uncertainty about any mine or prospect that appeals to the speculative proclivities in humans and it is hard for most persons to resist the notion that greater or richer bodies of ore may, at any time, be discovered in their particular mining properties. concerning the average stock purchaser, then, we may conclude that it is speculation rather than true investment that he is seeking. the writer hopes that, even in the short preceding discussions, the reader will have come to agree with him and to understand that safe investments are as possible in mining as in any other business. it would be a great benefit to this great industry of mining were the public taught to take interests--that is, financial interests--in mining concerns with the same precautions and with the same sound business sense that accompany the purchases of interests in other enterprises. writing along this line of thought, mr. p. a. leonard has this to say in _the mining world_: "one very general difficulty seems to be that the man unacquainted with mines who is asked to invest either expects an unreasonable return for his money, or he blindly closes his eyes and takes what he calls a 'flyer,' expecting little more from it than he would if he bought margins on 'change or bet on a horse race." about the first thing that the promoters of a new mining company do is to issue a neat, attractive prospectus. it is a bait, no matter how reliable these men may be nor how worthy the property they desire to work. many of these documents are written in absolutely good faith and every representation is intended to be accurate. there are occasionally offered for sale stocks in mining properties that warrant the fullest confidence of the promoters and the investors. however, careful perusal of a great many of these pamphlets has led the writer to the conclusion that at least per cent. of them are unreliable from the fact that they either wilfully misrepresent or because they grossly exaggerate the probabilities of success beyond all reason. exaggeration is a habit with some people and it is used many times with no real criminal intent or even consciousness upon the part of the offender. but its effect is just as baneful when innocently inflicted as when it is used in a premeditated manner. good, worthy mining property does not need to be hawked, usually. there have been periods of financial unrest when it has seemed quite impossible for honest men to dispose of interests in what were unquestionably reliable mining enterprises. at such times, there has been nothing to gain by any amount of teasing the public, and any attempts at forceful disposal of interests in the concerns have but served to kill any small remnants of confidence that the public may have possessed. prospectuses are usually prepared for the reading of small investors who may feel inclined to risk a few dollars or, in other words, to speculate upon the representations contained in the seductive pamphlets. there are a few "don'ts" which it would be well for any person inclined to invest in mining stocks to read, consider, and follow. for instance, never invest in any new stock whose company _guarantees_ specific dividends. profits in mining, except in rare cases, cannot be so accurately foretold as to warrant such a guarantee. we should remember that the success of any mine depends upon many, very many, contingencies and that some of them are invisible and are among nature's secrets. again, avoid placing any confidence in those companies that are simultaneously selling treasury stock and declaring dividends. this is a very common practice of the numerous "get-rich-quick" concerns which uncle sam has been routing the past few years. such crooked practice is difficult to eradicate, although severe penalties are awarded the transgressors. the success which has been met in the operation of the _great_ mining companies of the world can, in the majority of cases, be traced to the common sense which was exercised in the business management. the _business of mining is legitimate_. if mining is one of the basic industries of the world, how could the operation of a real mine be anything but a legitimate business? the mere fact that there have been neat opportunities for, and the practice of, fraud in the growth of this tremendous industry does not by any means, argue that the whole thing is founded upon unstable premises. what is needed is a presentation of the industry in its legitimate aspect before all kinds of investors and this can be done properly and effectively only by the rank and file of men interested in mining. these men should place themselves boldly on record as combating all sorts of deals that smack of fraud, and they should do their utmost to discourage all delusions that may exist in the mind of the public with reference to the supposed lure offered by mining. there have been too many causes of failure in mining for even a partial enumeration of them. there have been many errors in getting started, both on the part of the organizers and the investors. there have been many mistakes in management. many blunders have been evidenced in the operation of mines which made very good starts. all of these failures are attributable to something outside of the mine's intrinsic worth; they are mistakes due to inexperience or misconception. such shortcomings should not be tolerated in the make-up of a mine's managerial staff. perhaps one of the most common mistakes of mine managers is to submit to a condition of nepotism that is often furthered by directors or stockholders. no responsible position around a mine should be filled by a novice. just because a director has two or three sons needing situations does not make it incumbent upon a superintendent or a manager to jeopardize his reputation by employing these young men. percy williams, a veteran mining man, advised "don't take your son or nephew or your clerk out of your store or business house and send him to arizona or colorado to run things for you at the mine. sell out first. if you are a director in a mining company, do not force the manager or superintendent to find a job for all your unsuccessful friends and relatives. let him hire his own men. don't convert your mine into an asylum for ne'er-do-wells." as already stated, there is protection obtainable by every investor in mining. one may always secure, at reasonable cost, the services of competent engineers whose business consists in sizing up the worth of mining property. if the services of these men were more generally appreciated and secured, there would be a great diminution in the number of disappointments following investments in mining. an eastern man of means complained to the writer about the way in which he had been "stung" in various mining investments. a little catechizing brought forth the facts that he knew absolutely nothing about mining in general and that, worse still, he had never investigated--that is, in a business-like manner--any of the propositions which had absorbed his ready money. receiving no sympathy during the recital of his troubles but, instead, the assurance that he "got what was coming to him," he was prepared to sit up, take notice, and listen to a severe roasting which opened his eyes about mining matters. now, this man has proved successful in other lines of business. he is a prominent lawyer and banker in his own city and has numerous, scattered, money-making interests. but he was content to go into mining without the investigation which it is certain he would have given to any other sort of an investment. the time should come when there would not be such a prevalent "slaughter of the innocents" in mining investments. people must learn to curb their gullibility in such affairs. but this has proved almost impossible. just as it is in the nature of some persons to gamble, and it takes something more than misfortune at gaming to wean them from the vice, so it is with a certain class of men who can not overcome the temptations of dabbling in mining. such men will not desist even when they have suffered several delusions, and will continue to "send their good money after their bad," absolutely defiant of the well-meant advice of friends who are often in position to judge of the merits of any contemplated investment. probably every mining engineer of any extended experience can tell of instances in which he has endeavored to discourage clients from investment in unworthy mining enterprises but in which the gambling instinct of the clients has overridden the sound advice. during the early days of the wonderful cripple creek district, all sorts of wildcat tricks were successfully practiced upon the "tenderfeet" and the "down-east suckers." in one case, stock was readily unloaded upon the representation that a person could stand in the door of the cabin on the property and "look right into the shaft-house of the independence mine." this statement was not untrue, although grossly misleading; for while it was actually quite possible by the use of a telescope to span the intervening three or four miles, visually, the prospect lacked the propinquity to the famous mine that was the bait implied by the statement in the prospectus. this is but one of many ingenious tricks that were played. did the outcome of this one fraud cure the victims of irrational mining investment? railroads, too, have, in the past, added their troubles to the mining men. recent laws have, however, to a great extent, mitigated the annoyances and unjust practices that the common carrying companies have been in the habit of committing. it is now obligatory upon a railroad company to treat all shippers without favor or discrimination, so that the difficulties formerly experienced by one mining company in getting enough ore cars to transport its shipments while its rival company could have cars in abundance, is now almost a thing of the past. it takes time to right all wrongs of this sort. it is a slow matter to get laws framed, passed through the necessary legislation, and made effective. but the outlook is favorable, along this line. the leasing system has exercised an influence upon the mining activity of many districts. by this system is meant the custom of renting or letting the whole, or fractional parts, of a mining property to miners who enter upon and work the premises, extract the ores, and pay to the owners a specified percentage of the receipts from the marketing of the ore. this practice has frequently been the only successful way of operating some mines. it has, at times, been the manner of operating practically every mine in certain districts. in districts carrying pockets of very rich ore, "high grading" has been discouraged in this way, for the "leasers" (incorrect, though common, word for lessees) do their own mining and there is much less object in stealing. in other instances of mines which have been operated by the owning companies until they were past a profitable stage, it has been proved possible to prolong the life of operations very materially by leasing the property to miners, who always work with more diligence and economy for themselves than they ever do when working under "day's pay." this feature of leasing has been quite a factor in the lives of some of the mines of the cripple creek district. until the recent drainage of the district through the roosevelt tunnel, there were numerous small--and even some large--properties that had worked all the ore bodies previously known to exist above the water level of the district, and had been obliged to shut down because of the heavy pumping expenses. company operation did not longer pay. but the plain "leaser" and his partner could go into such old workings and they could prospect and find ore bodies that had escaped the observation of the superintendents. the expenses incurred in leasing are low. it is true that lessees will not probably take as good care of mine workings and equipment as will "company men," and often a property may be seriously crippled through the lack of sufficient timbering after having been in the hands of a set of lessees for some time. but, on the whole, there has probably been more benefit than loss through the letting of leases. when, a few years ago, the plans of the national forestry service were put into effect, there was great complaint recorded concerning the rulings that were made against various miners. some very well authenticated cases of wrongs were cited. however, it is now believed by all fair-minded men that there has been no intention, on the part of the officials of the forest service, to interfere with any legitimate mining enterprise. there was a well-founded object, viz., to put a stop to dishonest practices in obtaining title to timber lands by the misrepresentation of mineral finds. the general land office passed a rule authorizing foresters and assistant foresters to make inspections of all mining claims within their reserves and to report to the secretary of the interior. the idea embodied in this rule was that these men, being agents of the government and upon the ground, are able to investigate the facts concerning every mining claim and its claimant and so to run across any evidences of fraud that might be attempted in the securing of title. trouble immediately arose because the foresters were not all experienced miners and prospectors and so were not thoroughly qualified to pass judgment upon the merits of mineral lands. this weakness has been admitted by the officers of the service but the excuse has been offered that there was an immediate need for a great many foresters and it was not possible to secure men trained in both forestry and mining at such short notice. "just as soon as conditions became better understood, and money was available to allow the service to hire men whose judgment in mining matters could not be gainsaid, such men were employed," says paul g. reddington, recently forester for the rocky mountain regions. it is true that much fraud has been prevented in the practice of taking up government lands and it is also quite true that the forest service is endeavoring to uplift the mining industry in the western portions of the united states. mining is bound to become a still stronger factor in civilization as metallurgical processes multiply and there are discovered means of more economically extracting the valuable contents of ores. minerals which are not now ores--according to the accepted, scientific definition, because the values cannot be recovered at a profit--will, at some future period, become ores. it is not safe to make any close predictions along this line, for such marked reductions in treatment costs have been going on during the last few years that mining men are entertaining great expectations. inventions for improvement in metallurgical lines are being placed upon the market so frequently that it is difficult for even the professional metallurgist to keep posted. this being true, it is clear that the layman cannot expect to keep abreast of the metallurgical advance. at the same time, it is well for everybody to be slightly conversant with the wonderful advances being made in the reduction and dressing of ores. conspicuous in this field are the improvements that have been effected in cyanidation, electrolytic amalgamation and extraction, and flotation. these processes are applicable to the lower grades of ore. among the very recent successes in the treatment of very low-grade gold ores are the operations conducted in the new mills of the portland gold mining company, stratton's independence, and the ajax gold mining company, all in the cripple creek district. all of these mills are now treating old mine dumps, the contents of which were considered as absolutely waste matter at the time it was excavated. this stuff is now ore and its treatment is making fine profits. there is still a demand for cheaper methods of reducing ores of zinc. there are vast quantities of stuff that contains very good percentages of zinc, but the material cannot be mined and treated at a profit under existing conditions. with the invention of something radically new in the metallurgy of this metal, there will be opened an entirely different aspect in the zinc-mining regions. the leadville district possesses great reserves of this material that is being held until it may become "ore." [illustration: florence mine and mill, goldfield, nevada.] xxii the men of the future in mining. the mining of the future will probably be largely in the hands of young men. to arrive at any conclusions concerning the probabilities of success, therefore, we are obliged to recognize the dual conditions. in other words, there is to be an interdependence between men and mining. up to this point in our discussion, we have dwelt upon the probabilities as viewed from the standpoints of natural resources and of human capability. in a certain degree, we have already covered the ground of this present chapter; and yet there are some points that must be given special consideration. what is the true status of metal mining? alarmists would have us believe that civilization is rapidly exhausting the world's reserves of available metals. conservative investigation, however, repudiates such notions. the best that can be claimed for the reliability of such disconcerting statements is that they may apply in _some_ districts, to _some_ grades of _some_ kinds of desirable mineral matter. it may be true that the early miners have removed the "cream" from nature's deposits in some districts, in the sense that they have skimmed off, as it were, the rich surface portions. but this does not signify the exhaustion of deeper ore bodies, nor does it mean that the pioneers were the only capable prospectors. why should we have any reason to deny the ability of present or future generations to find just as good mineral deposits as did our predecessors? persons in some of the older of the western mining states--as for instance, colorado or california--are apt to carry a misconception along this line. they can see a number of idle "camps" that are mere relics of former thriving mining communities and they are liable to jump to the conclusion that the day of mining at such places is past, forever. however, as we look at the subject in a more rational light, we shall see that there is no more authority for such an assumption than there is for one to the effect that a farm in the wintertime is a worthless proposition simply because, temporarily, it is not producing its customary summer yield. just as nature brings about changing conditions for the farmer, so will economic forces establish varying degrees of attractiveness to the miner. it is unfair to judge one of the pioneer mining districts by its activity at the present time, if the productiveness happens to be small. let us look for the reasons of the apparent decline. the chances are that the inactivity will be shown to be due, not to an exhaustion of ore bodies, but to some needed changes in mining or metallurgical methods. very likely, under a readjustment of our notions about that particular district there will appear to be as great latent possibilities as ever cheered the earlier operators. the prospects may appear to be even better than this, and the future may appear to extend greater opportunities than were ever manifested in the past. investigation may disclose great bodies of ore that could not be seriously considered in the earlier working of the region. in fact, speaking technically, the stuff in question was not ore at the time of previous operations, for it could not then be made to yield a profit. and yet, by introducing some changes in equipment or methods of working or treatment, there may be possibilities of making a great deal of money from an abandoned property; and the chances are good that this same profit may be won at a much more rapid rate than was ever before possible and that therefore the economic conditions are enhanced. for we must not lose sight of the fact that the greatest profits in mining usually accrue from the most rapid exhaustion of the ore bodies. a mine, or even a whole district, may have been deserted because of failure on the part of original miners to recognize the value of certain minerals. the recent revival of activity that has been noted in leadville mining circles is but an instance in point. in this district, miners have given a delayed recognition to some important minerals of zinc, and the indications are that leadville has entered upon another of its eras of mining activity. but, it is not necessary to restrict our thoughts to the old mining regions, for if we can observe how easy it has been to overlook valuable deposits in a country that has been subjected to severe mining work, for years and years, what must we conclude concerning the possibilities of the many and vast undeveloped areas in remote portions of the globe? it would seem that there is indeed very small cause for alarm about the exhaustion of the earth's metals. no, it can be shown that mining, which is one of the very fundamental industries of the world and the one upon which every other form of commercialism rests, will be carried on with a continual increase in magnitude just as long as man exists. as the richer and more easily mined ore reserves of nature are exhausted, improved and cheaper methods of mining, transportation, and treatment will be introduced and at a pace that will equalize this exhaustion. we, of the present generation, see the eminently successful handling of copper ores of grades so low that they were not given passing consideration ten years ago. the outlook would appear to be that the improvements in methods and costs will not only keep abreast of needs in such matters, but the probabilities are that they will take a very marked lead, with the result of a continually increasing scope to the mining industry. let us then entertain optimistic views about the _future of mining_. now, as to the future of the young man who engages in mining there is just as much to be said as there is concerning the career of a young man in any other line of business. this word "business" is used advisedly, for the day is past when any person has a right to say that mining is anything but strictly legitimate business. we look to the young men of the present and future to correct all of the shortcomings that have hindered the establishment of mining upon its deserved plane of stability in the minds of the general public. young blood will take a lead in the dissemination of the correct thoughts about mining. the successful man in mining will be, as heretofore, the one with the right qualifications in his make-up. is a college education an essential prerequisite to success in mining? no, the writer is not one to declare that young men cannot succeed in the business without college training. however, there can be no avoidance of the proposition that the chances of the college-trained man are better than are those of the man who has not had the benefits of such a career. a man may be said to engage in mining in three different ways. thus, he may operate mining property; or he may perform any of the manifold lines of mining engineering; or he may be an investor in mining property or mining stocks. to prove a success when enrolled in either of the first two classes, there is no denying the advantages of technical, mining education. the successful investor likewise will do well to make a consistent study of mining economics, and the more attention he gives to the many phases of approved modern mining, the greater will be his ultimate achievement, financially. just as education along usual school branches is of immeasurable benefit to any man of business, so is it to the mining man. and in just as great ratio is the possession of innate business ability. education and natural ability are the two elements that will count in the future of any young man in mining. space might be devoted to the discussion of the possibilities of young men in the field of research work along scientific lines that would add materially to the economy and scope of mining. such a career offers inducements looking to the achievement of honor as well as fortune. the field for such service is ready. xxiii miscellaneous considerations. there are regions producing ores that are too refractory for the simple treatments that might be given by company plants located at the mines. there are districts that have many small gold and silver mines with ores that do not yield to simple milling processes and which must therefore be shipped to custom smelteries. even were the ores amenable to milling of some sort, it is often the case that the mines are not of sufficient magnitude to warrant the maintenance of their own treatment plants. under proper trade and commercial conditions, there is no impropriety in shipping ore to a custom plant or in selling it outright to a company owning such a plant. but, contemporaneously with much of the mining in the west, there has been such a monopoly on ore treatment that great injustice has been wrought to the shippers of small lots of ore. not only has this accusation been true of smelting concerns but also of milling companies. once in a while representatives of such corporations will arise and attempt to refute these statements, but the evidence is overwhelmingly against them, and their arguments of being benefactors of the miner fall flat. by consolidation of companies and the elimination of competition, arrogant methods and unreasonable charges have been put into force; and the managers of mines have been obliged to accept whatever rates the monopolists saw fit to charge for treatment and whatever arbitrary prices they cared to pay for the metallic contents of the shipped ores. very gross extortion has been practised and even yet there are many mining camps which are so absolutely under the control of these concerns that properties which should pay well, under just and favorable conditions, are forced to remain idle. these conditions could not be expected to prevail forever, and the time is now at hand when the extortionate smelting and milling trusts are meeting with pronounced opposition and a greatly diminished business. the state of utah has demonstrated the ability of ore producers to bring the oppressors to time and the mine owners of that state are in a much more favored position right now than are the miners of colorado, for instance, who really have been the greater sufferers. the utah mining men have benefited by the sad experiences of the miners of the sister state. in colorado, the american smelting and refining co. has been a domineering factor in the mining industry for years, and the decrease of mining in colorado has been contemporaneous with the oppression of this great corporation. the real cheating that has been practised by the ore-buying and ore-treating companies is well understood by all mining men who have been within their clutches. it seems to be a fact that every tyrant eventually proves his own undoing. in the case of the oppressive smelter trust, the greed resulted in an immense income for the time being; but as mines were obliged to close down because of the unjust charges imposed for handling the ores, the quantities of ore handled continued to diminish. during the past few years when mining has been so unusually dull in many of the western mining camps, it has been very difficult for the smelting company to secure enough ore to keep running, and the present outlook is not encouraging. statistics will show that the production of the metals is not really so low as the decrease in tonnages would seem to indicate, and the discrepancy is accounted for in the fact that very many mining companies have installed their own plants for either actually recovering their metals or for reducing their bulk of ores by concentration before shipping to the custom treatment plants. thus the smelting company may still be turning out a large amount of metallic lead, for example, but it is smelted from concentrates instead of from crude ore and the tonnage, the principal basis for estimating smelting charges, is very much less than was formerly handled in obtaining the same amount of the same sort of product. the investigations started by the oppressed ones in their efforts to evade the oppressor have led to wonderful results, and it is no longer necessary for the miner to depend upon the smelter. some similar sharp practice against the mining fraternity was attempted and for a short time successfully carried on by what was termed, in colorado, the milling trust. this concern handled the ores from cripple creek, principally. the larger mining companies soon began the erection of their individual plants and the practice has been extending until it is now common for cripple creek mines to own and operate their own reduction works, much on the order of the practice in the transvaal country. as a final word in this discussion, the author wishes to reiterate his belief in the legitimacy of investment in mines and mining stocks. when mining is placed upon sound business principles and every detail of the work is carried on with strict attention to sound economy, there can be few failures. this means that business judgment and expert advice must be used from the very start--in other words, that no false starts must be permitted. then, after getting under way in a worthy enterprise, the successful mine operator will exercise just as close scrutiny of every operation, method, and employee as do the men who conduct other successful lines of business. this little work has been prepared primarily for the perusal of men and women who are not personally acquainted with details of mining, but who entertain notions of becoming financially interested. it is hoped that the simple descriptions of some of the elementary details will prove of use to a great many persons. capitalization and dividends of north american metal mines. =============================================================================== company | state or | metals | capitali- | par/ |dividends to | country | produced | zation |share|jan. , -----------------------+----------+------------+-----------+------+------------ alaska-mexican |alaska |gold | $ , , | $ | $ , , alaska-treadwell |alaska |gold | , , | | , , amalgamated |montana |copper | , , | | , , anaconda |montana |copper | , , | | , , arizona |arizona |copper | , , | . | , , baltic |michigan |copper | , , | | , , boston & montana cons. |montana |copper | , , | | , , bullion-beck & champion|utah |silver, gold| , , | | , , bunker hill & sullivan |idaho |silver, lead| , , | | , , butte coalition |montana |copper | , , | | , , calumet & arizona |arizona |copper | , , | | , , calumet & hecla |michigan |copper | , , | | , , camp bird |colorado |gold | , , | | , , centennial-eureka |utah |gold, silver| , , | | , , champion |michigan |copper | , , | | , , colorado |utah |silver, lead| , | . | , , copper range con. |michigan |copper | , , | | , , crown reserve |ontario |silver | , , | | , , daly |utah |gold, lead, | , , | | , , | | silver | | | daly-west |utah |gold, lead, | , , | | , , | | silver | | | delamar |idaho |gold, silver| , | | , , doe run |missouri |lead | , , | | , , elkton con. |colorado |gold | , , | | , , el oro |mexico |gold, silver| , , | | , , esperanza |mexico |silver, gold| , , | | , , federal |idaho |silver, lead| , , | | , , gemini-keystone |utah |gold, silver| , | | , , goldfield con. |nevada |gold, silver| , , | | , , granby con. |b. c. |copper,gold,| , , | | , , | | silver | | | greene con. |mexico |copper | , , | | , , guggenheim exploration |mexico |all metals | , , | | , , hecla |idaho |silver, lead| , | . | , , hercules |idaho |silver, lead| , , | | , , homestake |s. dakota |gold | , , | | , , hond. rosario |c. a. |gold | , , | | , , horn silver |utah |silver | , , | | , , iron silver |colorado |all metals | , , | | , , kerr lake |ontario |silver | , , | | , , la rose con |ontario |silver | , , | $ | , , mammoth |utah |gold,silver,| , , | | , , | | copper | | | mohawk |michigan |copper | , , | | , , mountain |california|copper | , , | | , , naica |mexico |silver, lead| , | | , , nevada con |nevada |copper | , , | | , , nipissing |ontario |silver | , , | | , , north butte |montana |copper,gold,| , , | | , , | | silver | | | north star |california|gold | , , | | , , ontario |utah |silver, lead| , , | | , , osceola |michigan |copper | , , | | , , panuco |mexico |gold, silver| , , | | , , parrot |montana |copper | , , | | , , penoles |mexico |silver, gold| , , | | , , phelps, dodge & co |u. s. |copper | , , | | , , plumas, eureka |california|gold | , , | | , , portland |colorado |gold | , , | | , , la rose con |ontario |silver | $ , , | $ | $ , , mammoth |utah |gold,silver,| , , | | , , | | copper | | | mohawk |michigan |copper | , , | | , , mountain |california|copper | , , | | , , naica |mexico |silver, lead| , | | , , nevada con |nevada |copper | , , | | , , nipissing |ontario |silver | , , | | , , north butte |montana |copper,gold,| , , | | , , | | silver | | | north star |california|gold | , , | | , , ontario |utah |silver, lead| , , | | , , osceola |michigan |copper | , , | | , , panuco |mexico |gold, silver| , , | | , , parrot |montana |copper | , , | | , , penoles |mexico |silver, gold| , , | | , , phelps, dodge & co |u. s. |copper | , , | | , , plumas, eureka |california|gold | , , | | , , portland |colorado |gold | , , | | , , quincy |michigan |copper | , , | | , , richmond |nevada |gold, silver| , , | | , , | | lead | | | san rafael |mexico |gold, silver| , | | , , sta. gertrudis |mexico |gold, silver| , , | | , , sta. maria del paz |mexico |gold, silver| , | . | , , st. joseph |missouri |lead | , , | | , , silver king coalition |utah |silver | , , | | , , smuggler |colorado |silver,lead,| , , | | , , | | zinc | | | standard con |california|gold, silver| , , | | , , stratton's ind |colorado |gold | , , | | , , strong |colorado |gold | , , | | , , tamarack |michigan |copper | , , | | , , tennessee |tennessee |copper | , , | | , , tomboy |colorado |gold, silver| , , | | , , tonopah |nevada |gold, silver| , , | | , , united |montana |copper | , , | | , , united verde |arizona |copper | , , | | , , utah copper |utah |copper | , , | | , , utah con |utah |copper | , , | | , , vindicator con |colorado |gold | , , | | , , wolverine |michigan |copper | , , | | , , -----------------------+----------+------------+-----------+------+------------ index accidents, adit, advantages of, , , , adit, defined, ajax mine, alaska, , , , amortization, anaconda mine, , arizona, australia, , bancroft, geo., bankets, bassick mine, batea, bingham cañon dist., black hills, , blanket vein, brazil placers, , buried placers, butte district, , cages, california mining, , , , , camp bird mine, , canadian mining claims, , capitalization, , charleton, a. g., chimneys, churn drilling, climatic influences, coal mining, , coal washing, colorado fuel & iron co., colorado lode claims, comstock lode, , , concentration, , consulting engineer, copper mining, , , copper, price of, cornwall, , cost of patenting claims, cradle, cripple creek district, , , , , , , , crosscuts, custom treatment, dead work, dikes, directors' functions, dividends of n. amer. mines, dry placers, egypt, ely district, esperanza mine, examination of mines, , exploitation, , extralateral rights, failures in mining, gash veins, gangue, giants, gold, price of, gold production, to golden fleece, explained, grab samples, greece, mining in, , high-grading, , homestake mine, , hoover, h. c., hydraulicking, , inclines, , incorporation, iron ore prices, joplin district, , kansas coal mining, kemp, jas. f., kentucky lead mining, , keweenaw peninsula, kimberly diamond mines, , , labor considerations, , lead, prices of, leadville, , , , , leasing, leonard, p. a., life of a mine, , lode defined, , , long tom, low-grade mining, , machinery, , management, mass, defined, metallurgy, mexico, , , mexican mining claims, milling, mine accounts, mine, definition of, , , mine promotion, , , , mine reports, miner's licenses and certificates, miner's pan, mine sampling, , mine timbers, mining, defined, , mining engineer's functions, , mining plants, , , , , minnesota iron ranges, , , , monitors, mount morgan mine, , nevada cons. copper co., , new zealand, nickel mining, , nickel, price of, ore defined, , ore deposition, ore dressing, , ore in sight, ore reserves, oroya-brownhill mine, open pit mining, ophir, location, _pertinencia_, placer dredging, , placer defined, placering, platinum mining, platinum, price of, political considerations, porphyry mines, portland mine, , prospecting, prospects, prospect drilling, prospectuses, , quicksilver mining, quicksilver, price of, reddington mine, reddington, p. g., reefs, richard, r. h., rickard, t. a., riffles, robinson mine, rocker, roosevelt tunnel, san juan region, , , secondary enrichment, secrecy in operations, shafts, , , silver, price of, silver production, skips, slope, defined, sluices, , sorting, south africa, , , , , spain, spurr, j. e., steam shovelling, , stock, defined, stratton's independence mine, , stripping, sudbury district, supplies, mine, , surveyor-general offices, sutro tunnel, tin, price of, title to property, tonopah district, , topographical considerations, , transportation considerations, , transvaal, , treadwell mine, , treasury stock, treatment monopolies, , tungsten, price of, tunnel, defined, unionism, united verde mine, u. s. bureau of mines, u. s. coal claims, , u. s. forestry service, u. s. lode claims, , u. s. mineral output, to u. s. mineral surveyors, , u. s. placer claims, u. s. postal dept., , utah copper co., , van hise, c. r., vein, defined, wallace, j. p., wallaroo mine, wasp no. mine, wildcatting, , williams, percy, zinc, price of, frank merriwell's backers * * * * * excellent books of generous length the new medal library _issued every week._ :: _price, cents_ this is a line of books for boys that is of peculiar excellence. there is not a title in it that would not readily sell big if published in cloth-bound edition at $ . . one of the best features about these books is that they are all of the highest moral tone, containing nothing that could be objectionable to the most particular parents. next in importance, comes interest, with which every one of these books fairly teems. no more vigorous or better literature for boys has ever been published. new titles by high-priced authors are constantly being added, making it more and more impossible for any publisher to imitate this line. all titles always in print to the public:--these books are sold by news dealers everywhere. if your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to the price per copy to cover postage. --frank merriwell's school days by burt l. standish --frank merriwell's chums by burt l. standish --frank merriwell's foes by burt l. standish --frank merriwell's trip west by burt l. standish --frank merriwell down south by burt l. standish --frank merriwell's bravery by burt l. standish --frank merriwell's 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oliver optic --the young railroader's long run by stanley norris --frank merriwell's victories by burt l. standish --jack brown, the hero by herbert strang --breaking away by oliver optic --frank merriwell's iron nerve by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot, the athlete by maxwell stevens --tom temple's career by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell in kentucky by burt l. standish --the young railroader's comrade by stanley norris --jack harkaway among the brigands bracebridge hemyng --frank merriwell's power by burt l. standish --seek and find by oliver optic --dan, the newsboy by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell's shrewdness by burt l. standish --young tom burnaby by herbert strang --the young railroader's promotion by stanley norris --frank merriwell's setback by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's crack nine by maxwell stevens --freaks of fortune by oliver optic --frank merriwell's search by burt l. standish --the train-boy by horatio alger, jr. --jack harkaway's return by bracebridge hemyng --frank merriwell's club by burt l. standish --the young railroader's chance by stanley norris --make or break by oliver optic --frank merriwell's trust by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot trapped by maxwell stevens --the errand-boy by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell's false friend by burt l. standish --the young railroader's luck by stanley norris --down the river by oliver optic --frank merriwell's strong arm by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's rival by maxwell stevens --the rockspur nine by burt l. standish --frank merriwell as coach by burt l. standish --paul prescott's charge by horatio alger, jr. --through by daylight by oliver optic --frank merriwell's brother by burt l. standish --the young railroader's challenge by stanley norris --the young inventor by g. manville fenn --frank merriwell's marvel by burt l. standish --lightning express by oliver optic --the telegraph boy by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell's support by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot in camp by maxwell stevens --the young railroader's hard task by stanley norris --dick merriwell at fardale by burt l. standish --on time by oliver optic --the young miner by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's glory by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's canoe trip by maxwell stevens --the young railroader's sealed orders by stanley norris --dick merriwell's promise by burt l. standish --switch off by oliver optic --tom thatcher's fortune by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's rescue by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's iron arm by maxwell stevens --the young railroader's ally by stanley norris --dick merriwell's narrow escape by burt l. standish --brake up by oliver optic --tom turner's legacy by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's racket by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's hoodoo by maxwell stevens --the go-ahead boys by gale richards --dick merriwell's revenge by burt l. standish --the young railroader's mascot by stanley norris --bear and forbear by oliver optic --dick merriwell's ruse by burt l. standish --ben bruce by horatio alger, jr. --jack lightfoot's decision by maxwell stevens --dick merriwell's delivery by burt l. standish --the young railroader's contest by stanley norris --the go-ahead boys' legacy by gale richards --dick merriwell's wonders by burt l. standish --bernard brook's adventures by horatio alger, jr. --jack lightfoot's gun club by maxwell stevens --frank merriwell's honor by burt l. standish --gascoyne, the sandal wood trader by r. m. ballantyne --paul hassard's peril by matt royal --dick merriwell's diamond by burt l. standish --phil, the showman by stanley norris --a debt of honor by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell's winners by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's blind by maxwell stevens --marooned by w. clark russell --dick merriwell's dash by burt l. standish --phil's rivals by stanley norris --mark manning's mission by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's ability by burt l. standish --jack lightfoot's capture by maxwell stevens --a captain at fifteen by jules verne --dick merriwell's trap by burt l. standish --phil's pluck by stanley norris --the wreck of the _grosvenor_ by w. clark russell --dick merriwell's defense by burt l. standish --charlie codman's cruise by horatio alger, jr. --jack lightfoot's head work by maxwell stevens --dick merriwell's model by burt l. standish --phil's triumph by stanley norris --a two years' vacation by jules verne --dick merriwell's mystery by burt l. standish --the young explorer by horatio alger, jr. --jack lightfoot's wisdom by maxwell stevens --frank merriwell's backers by burt l. standish --ted strong, cowboy by edward c. taylor --from circus to fortune by stanley norris --dick merriwell's back-stop by burt l. standish --sink or swim by horatio alger, jr. --for the right by roy franklin --dick merriwell's western mission by burt l. standish --among the cattlemen by edward c. taylor --a legacy of peril by william murray graydon --frank merriwell's rescue by burt l. standish --the young musician by horatio alger, jr. --"a gentleman born" by stanley norris --frank merriwell's encounter by burt l. standish --black mountain ranch by edward c. taylor --the boy conjurer by victor st. clair --dick merriwell's marked money by burt l. standish --work and win by horatio alger, jr. --fighting for fortune by roy franklin --frank merriwell's nomads by burt l. standish --with rifle and lasso by edward c. taylor --for his friend's honor by stanley norris --dick merriwell on the gridiron by burt l. standish --the backwoods boy by horatio alger, jr. --the young range riders by st. george rathborne --dick merriwell's disguise by burt l. standish --lost in the desert by edward c. taylor --building himself up by oliver optic --dick merriwell's test by burt l. standish --adrift in midair by ensign clarke fitch --true to his trust by stanley norris --frank merriwell's trump card by burt l. standish --lyon hart's heroism by oliver optic --fighting the rustlers by edward c. taylor --frank merriwell's strategy by burt l. standish --digging for gold by horatio alger, jr. --wyoming by edward s. ellis --frank merriwell's triumph by burt l. standish --louis chiswick's mission by oliver optic --facing the music by stanley norris --dick merriwell's grit by burt l. standish --stemming the tide by roy franklin --adrift in the city by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's assurance by burt l. standish --royal tarr's pluck by oliver optic --holding the fort by ensign clarke fitch --dick merriwell's long slide by burt l. standish --two ways of becoming a hunter by harry castlemon --the rival miners by edward c. taylor --frank merriwell's rough deal by burt l. standish --the professor's son by oliver optic --frank hunter's peril by horatio alger, jr. --dick merriwell's threat by burt l. standish --fin and feather by wallace kincaid --storm mountain by edward s. ellis --dick merriwell's persistence by burt l. standish --striving for his own by oliver optic --winning by courage by roy franklin --dick merriwell's day by burt l. standish --robert coverdale's struggle by horatio alger, jr. --the west point boys by col. j. thomas weldon --frank merriwell's peril by burt l. standish --the last of the herd by edward c. taylor --making a man of himself by oliver optic --dick merriwell's downfall by burt l. standish --winning against odds by roy franklin --the camp in the foothills by harry castlemon --frank merriwell's pursuit by burt l. standish --the naval academy boys commander luther g. brownell --every inch a boy by oliver optic --dick merriwell abroad by burt l. standish --on a mountain trail by edward c. taylor --the plebes' challenge by col. j. thomas weldon --frank merriwell in the rockies by burt l. standish --lester's luck by horatio alger, jr. --his own helper by oliver optic --dick merriwell's pranks by burt l. standish --bound to get there by roy franklin --an annapolis tangle by commander luther g. brownell --frank merriwell's pride by burt l. standish --across the prairie by edward c. taylor --honest kit dunstable by oliver optic --frank merriwell's challengers by burt l. standish --the runaway cadet by col. j. thomas weldon --jack harkaway around the world bracebridge hemyng --frank merriwell's endurance by burt l. standish --out for big game by edward c. taylor --the young pilot by oliver optic --dick merriwell's cleverness by burt l. standish --oscar in africa by harry castlemon --rupert's ambition by horatio alger, jr. --frank merriwell's marriage by burt l. standish --the pride of annapolis by com. luther g. brownell --the cruise of the "dandy" by oliver optic --dick merriwell, the wizard by burt l. standish --captain nemo's challenge by edward c. taylor --the cabin in the clearing by edward s. ellis --dick merriwell's stroke by burt l. standish --frank and fearless by horatio alger, jr. --three young silver kings by oliver optic --dick merriwell's return by burt l. standish --his own master by roy franklin --an annapolis adventure by com. luther g. brownell --dick merriwell's resource by burt l. standish --ted strong's close call by edward c. taylor * * * * * look for the s. & s. imprint for fifteen years the s. & s. novel has held first place in the estimation of readers who want, first of all, good, clean, interesting fiction and _then_ a sufficient number of "_words_" to make them feel that the book is worth what they paid for it--if not more. mere "_words_" do not make a story, nor should a colored cover and heavy paper deceive the reading public into thinking that an imitation of the s. & s. novel is as good as the original. unscrupulous publishers are now trying to defraud the reading public. taking certain of the s. & s. novels, which are not protected by copyright, they change the titles and authors' names, and sell books at fifteen cents, the authentic editions of which may be had in the s. & s. edition for ten cents! hence, a word of caution to our readers: _look for the s. & s. imprint_ it is a guarantee of quality and protects you send a c. stamp for our complete catalogue street & smith, publishers new york * * * * * "alger" what a pleasant sound the name of horatio alger, jr., has to boys who read clean, wholesome stories of adventure! his name on a book means that it is a "good one"; that the money invested in it is well invested. street & smith publish the most complete list of his works in their famous s. & s. novels--it contains nearly all of them. if you want your boys to read helpful books, buy the "algers" in the medal and new medal libraries. price, c. and c. per copy at all newsdealers if sent by mail, add four cents per copy to cover postage. complete catalogue upon request. street & smith, publishers, new york * * * * * frank merriwell's backers or the pride of his friends by burt l. standish author of _the celebrated "merriwell stories"_ published exclusively in the medal library, in paper-covered edition [illustration] street & smith, publishers - seventh ave., new york city copyright, by street & smith frank merriwell's backers all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian. contents i--in the trap ii--in the hands of cimarron bill iii--into the night iv--in the old hut v--pinto pede receives his lesson vi--injun joe to the rescue vii--merriwell and big monte viii--the death-shot ix--frank makes a decision x--merriwell's method xi--smoke signals and a decoy xii--lost in the mountains xiii--frank's escape xiv--mysterious pablo xv--merry's discovery xvi--frank detects treachery xvii--the war-whoop of old eli xviii--a strange funeral xix--new arrivals in holbrook xx--mrs. arlington has a visitor xxi--seen from the window xxii--a sensation in town xxiii--boxer creates a stir xxiv--boxer to the rescue xxv--unto death! xxvi--the coming of crowfoot xxvii--arrested in holbrook xxviii--bill hikes out xxix--old joe takes a drink xxx--frank in sunk hole xxxi--the dance in sunk hole xxxii--dead or living xxxiii--the return to holbrook frank merriwell's backers. chapter i. in the trap. millions of bright stars shone serenely through the clear arizona night, shedding their soft white light on the great arid plains and the mysterious mesas and mighty mountains. throughout the night frank merriwell lay ensconced behind some sheltering rocks in a deep ravine, where he had been trapped by the ruffians in the employ of the mining trust, who were determined to wrest from him the precious papers they believed to be in his possession. old joe crowfoot, the aged indian friend of merriwell, who had been snared with him, had, shortly after nightfall, taken the precious oilskin package, containing the papers, and crept forth on his stomach, like a snake, from amid the rocks. joe had promised to take the papers to the nearest registry post-office, in case he escaped, and send them, according to directions, to richard merriwell, frank's brother, at fardale. frank had written a letter to dick, and had securely tied up and directed the package. he trusted the aged redskin, who declared that he might find a method of escaping from the trap, yet could not take the white youth with him. he had made certain that joe understood the matter of registering the package, in case he should reach the post-office with it in his possession. merriwell had become satisfied that this was the best course to pursue. it was plain that he was in a very bad trap, and he knew those ruffians could soon starve him out. there was no water or food for himself or his horse. a day of thirst behind those rocks must surely do for him. if joe carried out the plan successfully, the papers would be placed beyond the reach of the ruffians, even though frank fell into their hands. and it was the papers they had been engaged to secure. were they to kill him, dick would have the precious papers and be able to continue the battle for his rights. merry watched old joe wiggle silently away, wondering that the indian could slip along in that manner with so very little effort. the old redskin lay flat on the ground and took advantage of every little cover he could find, and soon he vanished amid the rocks and passed into the shadows, after which merry saw him no more. down the ravine a great mass of rocks and earth had been blown down by a mighty blast and blocked the passage. up the ravine armed and murderous men were waiting and watching, ready to shoot down the youth they had trapped. there were also armed ruffians on the barrier to the southeast. they had trailed merry with the persistence of bloodhounds. a full hour passed. the men above were making merry in a boisterous way. one of them began to sing. he had a musical voice, which rang out clearly on the soft night air. strangely enough he sang "nearer my god to thee." could they be watching closely? it did not seem so. frank rigged his coat on the barrel of his rifle. on the muzzle of the weapon he placed his hat. then, he lifted coat and hat above the rocks. crack! ping! the ringing report of a rifle and the singing of a bullet. the hat and coat dropped. in the coat merriwell found a bullet-hole. that settled it. there was no longer a doubt but that the desperadoes were watching like wolves. yet old joe had been able to slip forth from the protection of those rocks and creep away. more than ever merriwell admired the skill of the indian. thinking that the old fellow had instructed dick in the craft which he knew so well, frank believed such knowledge had not been acquired in vain. some time dick might find it very valuable to him. there was a hoarse burst of laughter from the watching ruffians. "oh, merriwell!" called a voice. "well," sang back frank, "what do you want?" "stick that thing up again. we'd like a leetle target practise." "you'll have to provide your own target," merry retorted. "oh, we reckons not! we'll stand you up fer one sooner or later," was the assurance. still they had not discovered old joe. it seemed marvelous. the night passed on. another hour was gone when there came a sudden commotion far up the ravine, as if on the further outskirts of the ruffians. there were hoarse shouts, angry oaths, the rattle of shots, and then the clatter of iron-shod hoofs. the ring and echo of those clattering hoofs receded into the night, coming back clear and distinct at first, but growing fainter and fainter. frank merriwell laughed and lay still until the sound of the galloping horse had died out in the distance. "old joe is on his way to the post-office," muttered merry. "he took a fancy to acquire one of their horses in order to make better time." the ruffians were filled with more or less consternation. they continued to wrangle angrily. at last, one cried: "oh, merriwell!" frank lay perfectly still and made no answer. "oh, merriwell!" peering forth from amid his rocky barrier, yet crouching where the shadows hid him, frank cocked his rifle and pushed it forward for use. there was a time of silence, during which he fancied the men were consulting in whispers. finally his keen eyes saw something move into the dim white light above some boulders. he laughed a little in a suppressed way and sent a bullet through the moving object. "put it up again!" he called cheerfully. "i don't mind a little target practise myself." he knew the thing had been thrust up there to draw his fire and settle the question if he still remained in the trap. but he had shown those ruffians that he could shoot as accurately as the best of them. after this he heard the men talking. he knew they were bewildered by what had happened. they could not believe it possible that a human being had crept forth from the snare. it seemed to them that the person who had seized their horse and ridden away had come upon them from the rear and was in no way connected with merriwell. after a time they were silent. they were satisfied that the trap held fast. then frank found a comfortable place where he was perfectly hidden and coolly went to sleep, with his hand on his cocked rifle. merriwell needed sleep, and he did not hesitate to take it. it spoke well for his nerves that he could sleep under such circumstances. it may seem that it did not speak so well for his judgment. still he knew that he would awaken at any sound of an alarming nature, and he believed those men would rest content, satisfied that they had him caged where there was no possibility that he could give them the slip. after an hour or more, he awoke and demonstrated the fact that he was still behind the rocks by exchanging a challenge with the watching ruffians. then he slept again. and so the night passed on. frank was wide-awake with the coming of dawn. he saw the stars pale and die in the sky. he saw the gentle gray of morning and the flush of sunrise. far up the ravine rose the smoke of a camp-fire, telling where the ruffians were preparing breakfast. "oh, merriwell!" "hello, yourself!" "are you hungry?" "no, thank you. i have plenty to eat." "are you thirsty?" "not in the least. i have my canteen." "that'll be empty right soon. how would you like some steamin' hot coffee?" "it wouldn't go bad. send some in." "we'll exchange a pot of coffee for sartin papers you has with yer." "you're very kind!" laughed merry derisively. "it's a right good offer. we're goin' to have them papers anyhow, an' you may not even git coffee fer them." "you're due for the greatest disappointment of your lives, gentlemen," declared frank. "if you're looking this way for papers, you're barking up the wrong tree." "oh, you can't fool us!" was the answer. "we know you've got 'em, and we'll have 'em." "ever gamble?" asked frank. "oh, we sometimes take a chance." "i'll go you my horse and outfit against that of any one in your party that you don't get the papers." "done! it's a sure thing as far as we're consarned. we has yer foul, an' we'll stay right yere till we starves ye out." "too bad to waste your valuable time so foolishly. but, say!" "say it." "i see no particular reason why my horse here should go hungry and thirsty." "not the least. bring the pore critter right out." "beg pardon if i seem a trifle lazy, but it's too much bother. however, i'll send him out, and i'll look to you to see that he's properly cared for." without exposing himself, frank managed to get the horse out from the niche in the wall where he had been placed, headed the animal through a break in the rocky barrier and sent him off, with a sharp crack of the hand. the horse galloped up the ravine, finally saw human beings, stopped, snorted, seemed about to turn back, but finally kept on and disappeared. then frank settled down to wait, being resolved to give old joe plenty of time. the day grew hot in the ravine, where there was little air. the sun beat down with great fierceness from the unclouded sky. those mountains seemed bare and baked. little wonder that their repelling fastnesses had presented little attraction for the prospector. little wonder it had often been reported that they contained no gold. but frank merriwell's "queen mystery" mine lay in that range, and it had developed so richly that the great consolidated mining association of america was straining every nerve to get possession of it--to wrest it from its rightful owner. so frank baked in the sun, taking care to keep well hidden, for he knew those men would gladly end the affair by filling him full of lead, if they were given the opportunity. once or twice he caught glimpses of them. several times they challenged him. he was prompt to answer every challenge, and he did not wish to shoot any of them. he had fully decided on the course he would pursue; but he was determined to give joe crowfoot plenty of time to perform his part of the program. frank smiled in grim irony over his position. he took it philosophically, satisfied that that was the best he could do. he did not worry, for worry would do him no good. he was given plenty of time to reflect on the course pursued by the syndicate, and it made him wonder that such high-handed things could take place in the united states. it seemed rather remarkable that the head of the mighty syndicate, d. roscoe arlington, was the father of chester arlington, dick merriwell's bitterest enemy at fardale. frank had encountered mr. arlington. he had found him blunt, grim, obstinate, somewhat coarse, yet apparently not brutal. being a clever reader of human nature, which many are not who pride themselves that they are, frank had become satisfied that there were many men in the world who were far worse than d. roscoe arlington, yet were considered models of virtue and justice. arlington was not a hypocrite. he was bluntly and openly himself. he had set out as a poor boy to make a fortune, and now it seemed possible that he might become the richest man in america. comfortable riches had first been the object for which he strived; but when his scheming poured wealth upon him, he set the mark higher. he determined to be one of the very rich men of the united states. that goal he had now arrived at; but the mark had been lifted again, and now he was determined to become the richest. arlington had not ordered those ruffians to take the papers from frank. still he was back of it all. he had turned the matter over into the hands of unscrupulous lieutenants, instructing them to employ any means within their power to obtain possession of the queen mystery and san pablo mines. those lieutenants were directing the operations of the ruffians. it is quite probable that arlington did not wish to know the method employed by his lieutenants. all he desired was the result. frank had also met mrs. arlington, and he had seen in her a haughty, domineering, icy woman, ready to do anything to gain her ends. she was proud and high-headed, although she had once been a poor girl. she looked down in scorn and contempt on all poor people. but merry had not forgotten june arlington, who had a truly high-bred face of great attractiveness, and who was vivacious yet reserved, proud yet considerate, high-spirited yet kind. he had not forgotten the girl, and ever he thought of her with feelings of kindness, for with her own hands she had restored to him the precious papers when they had been stolen from him, by agents of the trust, assisted by her mother. he knew dick admired june, and he did not wonder at it, for about june arlington there was such fascination as few girls possess. still merry could not help wondering if june would one day develop into a woman like her mother. such a result did not seem possible. midday passed, and the afternoon waned, yet without any diminishing of the scorching heat in the ravine. frank's water was gone, and he began to feel the torments of thirst. he had counted the time as it passed. finally he was satisfied that crowfoot had accomplished the task he had set out to perform. the papers were mailed. probably they were already on their way to dick merriwell at fardale. "well," muttered frank, "i think i'll go out and look these ruffians over now." chapter ii. in the hands of cimarron bill. a shout quickly brought an answer. "gentlemen," said frank, "i'm for a parley. what say you?" "we're willing. parley away." "if you were to get those papers i suppose you would feel yourselves perfectly well satisfied?" "i reckon you've hit it good an' fair." "such being the case, if i come forth with hands up and empty, i take it you won't take the trouble to shoot me up any?" "none at all," was the assurance promptly given. "if you comes out like that, you has our promise not to do any shooting whatever." "and how about the gentlemen below?" "they'll do no shootin' unless you goes that way." "is this all on the square?" "you bet! bring out that old redskin with ye, an' let him keep his hands up, too." "i think you've made a mistake, gentlemen; there is no redskin with me. i am quite alone." "we knows better! ye can't play any tricks on us!" "i am willing to convince you. just keep your fingers off your triggers. watch me as close as you like. i'm coming!" having said this, he left his rifle lying on the ground and rose to his feet with his hands held open above his head. it must be confessed that he did not do this without some doubt concerning the result, for he knew those ruffians were very treacherous; but somehow he was satisfied that they had been instructed to obtain the papers, if possible, without killing him, and that belief led him to run the risk that he now faced. he was ready to drop instantly if they fired as he arose into view. a moment he stood quite still, and then, as no shot rang out, he stepped through amid the boulders and walked boldly up the ravine. in this manner, frank walked straight into the midst of a party of nine thoroughbred frontier desperadoes, who were waiting for him, with their weapons in their hands. the leader was a thin, dark-faced, fierce-looking man, who covered merry with a revolver. "i rather 'lowed you'd come to it," he said, in satisfaction. "but i told ye to bring that old injun along." "and i told you there was no indian with me. i spoke the truth." "say, youngster, did you ever hear of cimarron bill?" frank looked the fellow over with his calm eyes. he saw a cruel, straight slit of a mouth, a thin black mustache, with traces of gray, and sharp, cruel eyes, set altogether too near together. he had heard of cimarron bill as the most dangerous "man-killer" in all the southwest. "yes," he said quietly, "i have heard of him." "well, you're lookin' at him. i'm cimarron bill. the butts of my guns have seventeen notches in 'em. you may make the eighteenth." merriwell knew what the ruffian meant, yet he showed no signs of fear. "i have heard," he said, "that cimarron bill has never yet shot a man in cold blood or one who was unarmed." "i opine that's right, young man; but this case is a leetle different. it's not healthy to irk me up under any conditions, and so i advise you to go slow." frank smiled. "i have no desire or intention of irking you up, sir," he said. "i am giving you straight goods. there is no indian with me." "there was last night." "yes." "well, i don't opine he's melted into the air or sunk into the ground, an' tharfore he has to be yander behind them rocks." "i give you my word, sir, that he is not there, and has not been there since last night." the ruffians had gathered about and were listening to this talk. picturesque scoundrels they were, armed to the teeth and looking fit for any job of bloodshed or murder. they glared at the cool youth standing so quietly in their midst; but he seemed perfectly at his ease. "sam," said the leader, turning to one of them, "go out yander to them thar rocks an' look round for that redskin." sam, a squat, red-headed desperado, seemed to hesitate. "what ef the injun is waitin' thar to shoot me up some as i comes amblin' along?" he asked. "go!" said cimarron bill, in a tone cold as ice. "if the injun shoots you, we'll riddle this here young gent with bullets." "which won't do me good none whatever," muttered sam; but he knew better than to disobey or hesitate longer, and so, dropping his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, he stepped out and advanced toward the spot where merriwell had been ensconced behind the boulders. the brutal band watched and waited. cimarron bill surveyed the face of frank merriwell, more than half-expecting the youth would call for sam to come back, knowing the fate that would befall him in case the indian began to shoot. but sam walked straight up to the boulders, clambered onto them, and looked over into the hiding-place that had served frank so well. "derned ef thar's ary livin' critter hyer!" he shouted back. "make sure," called the leader, in that metallic voice of his, which was so hard on the nerves. "don't make no mistake." sam sprang down behind the boulders. they saw his head moving about, but, very soon, he clambered back over them and came walking rapidly away. "the varmint is sartin gone," he averred. immediately cimarron bill thrust his cocked revolver against frank merriwell's temple. "tell us where the injun is!" he commanded. "speak quick and straight, or i'll blow the top of your head off!" "i am unable to tell you just where he is at present," said frank, with that perfect coolness that so astonished the desperadoes. "he left me last night." "left you?" "yes." "how? we had this side guarded, an' ther boys below kept close watch." "all the same, i think joe crowfoot passed you. how he did it i do not know. he told me he could." the leader of the ruffians looked as if he was not yet willing to believe such a thing had happened; but there no longer seemed much chance for doubt. "then it must have been that red whelp who stole one of our hosses!" he said. "i think it was," nodded merry. "something like two hours after he left me i heard a commotion this way, followed by some shooting and the sound of a galloping horse, which died out in the distance." some of the men began to swear, but bill silenced them with one swift look from his evil eyes. "well, that sure is the limit!" he observed, trying to hide some of his disgust. "we didn't opine a kitten could sneak past us without being seen an' shot up." "a kitten might not," said frank. "but old joe crowfoot should be compared with a serpent. he has all the wisdom and craft of one. i depended on him, and he did not fail me." "where has he gone? state it--state it almighty sudden!" "if he followed instructions, he has gone to holbrook." "for what?" "to send a message for me to my brother." "a message? what sort of a message?" "a letter and some papers." "papers?" said cimarron bill, in a low, threatening tone. "what papers?" "certain papers referring to the queen mystery and san pablo mines, which i own." a look of disappointed rage contorted the cruel face of the murderous ruffian. the lips were pressed together until they appeared to make one straight line no wider than the thin blade of a knife. the eyelids closed to narrow slits, while that dark face turned to a bluish tinge. many times had frank merriwell stood in deadly peril of his life; but, looking at that man then, he well knew that never had his danger been greater. still, if he regretted his act in walking forth and surrendering himself into the hands of such a creature he effectually concealed it. he betrayed not a whit of trepidation or alarm, which was a masterly display of nerve. the ruffians began to murmur fiercely, like the growling of so many wolves. perhaps it was to this outbreak that merry owed his life, for the leader suddenly bade them be silent, and the sounds ceased. "so you sent those papers off by that old redskin, did you?" asked bill. "i did." "and you have the nerve to come out here and tell me that! if you had known me better, you would have stayed, and choked and starved, or even shot yourself behind those rocks, before doing such a thing!" merriwell made no retort, for he felt that too many words would be indiscreet. this man was capable of any atrocity, and another straw might break the camel's back. "mr. merriwell," said the ruffian, "i came here for them papers, and i'm goin' to have them!" "you may take my life," said merry; "but that will not give you the papers. in fact, it will utterly defeat the object of those men who have employed you to obtain them." "how do you figger that out? with you out of the way, they'll have less trouble in takin' your mines." "on the contrary, if i am murdered, the fact will react against them. i have written a full account of the facts concerning my position and fight with the syndicate to my brother, to be used in case anything serious happens to me. with that, and with the papers i have sent him, i fancy he can so arouse public indignation against the syndicate that the men who are pushing this thing will be glad enough to pull in their horns and quit the battle. so you can see that by killing me you will defeat the object of the syndicate and disgust it with your method of procedure." frank spoke those words convincingly, and certain it is that he made an impression on cimarron bill. the other ruffians, however, who failed to reason clearly, were fierce enough to shoot the captive where he stood. bill stood still and looked the young man over, beginning to realize that he was dealing with a youth of more than ordinary courage, resource and sagacity. his respect for merriwell was beginning to develop amazingly. frank could read the man well enough to feel that the danger-point had been successfully passed, and he breathed more freely, although there was no outward change in his manner. "i'm not yet satisfied that you're not lying to me," said the chief of the ruffians; whereupon he ordered his satellites to search the captive. the closest search, which was supervised by bill, failed to bring to light the package of coveted papers. bill seemed to pass a few moments in thought. then he said: "we'll all go over yander and have a look round among the boulders." with frank in their midst, they proceeded to the spot where he had successfully held them off. as they went forward, they called to the men down the ravine, and soon those ruffians came hastening to join them. "have ye got the papers?" demanded one called big monte, a strapping ruffian, who was the leader of the party. when he learned what had happened the giant swore in angry disappointment. "however did you all happen to let the injun slip ye that way?" he demanded scornfully. bill looked him over. "i opines you're not castin' reflections any whatever?" he said, in a deadly manner. big monte looked large enough to eat the thin, dark-faced chap, but he hastened to disclaim any intention of "casting reflections," whereupon bill gave him no further heed. the chief set them to searching amid the boulders, overseeing it all and taking care that no possible place of concealment was neglected. but all this search came to nothing, and the baffled wretches were finally forced to confess that they were outwitted. but merriwell was a captive in their hands, and in their disappointment they might be led to revenging themselves upon him. chapter iii. into the night. cimarron bill was a man who disliked being outwitted and outdone, especially by a youth of frank merriwell's years, and he was one who was not at all likely to let such a thing pass without seeking to recover and accomplish his object by some method, failing in which, he was almost certain to take summary and tragic vengeance on the one who had baffled him. merriwell knew well enough in what peril he stood, and yet he maintained his manner of composure. bill spoke to two of the ruffians, of whom big monte was one, and sam, the red-headed rascal, the other. "you two take charge of this here altogether too smarty young gent," said the leader of the desperadoes, "and look out for him a heap close. don't let him come none of his slick tricks on you, for you will be held responsible for him, and i opines you know what that means." "oh, we'll take care of him!" said sam significantly, as he fingered the butt of a pistol. "all i wants is a right good chance to do that!" bill fixed the red-head with a look of his narrow black eyes. "at the same time," said he, "permit me to suggest that you lets no special harm come to him, as i reckons him valuable property just about now, and i may need him a whole lot later. if anything unnecessary happens to the young gent, you'll deal with me for it!" it must be confessed that merry felt somewhat safer in the hands of those ruffians after that, for he began to perceive that, for some reason, bill wished to preserve him for the time being without harm. apparently the captive gave little heed to these words, but in truth he missed nothing. as the others drew aside with bill, big monte took a picket rope, observing: "i allows, sam, that we'd better be keerful, jest as the boss suggests, fer it ain't a whole lot healthy to have anything happen contrarywise to his wishes. such bein' the case, i propose we tie up this here young gent some, so he'll not bring trouble on hisself an' us by tryin' to lope out." sam looked disappointed. "i was a-thinkin'," he said, "that i'd like to see him try to lope; but sense the boss has put it so plain, i kind of changes my mind, an' i thinks your propersition is kirect. go ahead, monte, while i keeps him kivered with my shootin'-iron." frank made no objection as big monte tied his hands behind him. he knew it was quite useless, and so he submitted with a meekness that was rather deceptive, for it seemed to indicate that he was quite awed by his situation and the men who had taken him captive. "i judges that will do," said the big man, having bound the rope about merry's wrists until it was uncomfortable in its tightness. "he's good an' fast now." merriwell sat down on a rock, while the two ruffians flung themselves on the ground in the shadow of the wall and waited the end of the consultation between the chief and the remainder of the band. bill was talking to his ruffians in his low, quiet way, and they were listening. frank wondered what was passing, but they were too far away for him to hear. at last, one of the men, who had but one arm, started off from the others, hurrying toward the horses. bill had thrust something into this man's hand, seeming to give him a final admonition. five minutes later the one-armed man, mounted on the very best horse he could find, rode away at good speed. even then merry did not conceive that it was the desperate purpose of one-hand hank to follow those papers all the way to fardale, if necessary, in the attempt to gain possession of them. he fancied that hank meant to try to find the indian, with the hope that the papers still remained in old joe's possession. bill came back and stood looking merriwell over. several of the men had departed toward the spot where the horses were kept. "i reckons you thinks yerself some slick, kid!" he said, with cold contempt. "you'll git all over that before you're through dealin' with cimarron bill. i'm sartin to take the conceit out of ye a whole lot." to which merry vouchsafed no retort. "bring him along," said the chief, to sam and monte. "we're goin' to pull up stakes and hike." so frank was marched up to the horses, among which was his own animal, which had been captured by the ruffians. "if you don't mind, gentlemen," said merry, "it would give me considerable satisfaction to imbibe a little water." "you'll choke plumb to death afore ye ever gits a drap from me," averred sam. whereupon bill looked at the red-head sharply, saying: "sam, give him a drink from your canteen." and sam did so. "thanks," said merry easily. "it was the desire for water that led me to saunter out from my place among the rocks earlier than i intended. i feel much better now." his saddle had been brought along, and, when it was strapped upon his horse, he was tossed into it by big monte and another. the rest of the band had prepared to move, with the exception of those who had come from down the ravine and one fellow who seemed to have taken the place of the departed fellow with one arm. these men had horses beyond the rocky barrier that had been blown down to prevent merriwell from escaping in that direction, and it was necessary for them to return and pursue another course, as the horses could not be brought over that barrier. there was little delay when everything was ready. bill took the lead, and those who were to follow did so, the captive in their midst; his horse led by one of them. the others had turned back. the sun was descending peacefully behind the barren mountains, and night was spreading her sable pinions over the land. there was gold in the western sky. the heat yet seemed unabated, save in the valleys and gorges; but later it would become unpleasantly cool. in silence those men rode onward, with their dark, cruel-faced leader at their head. the hoofs of the horses clinked and rang, bestirring the echoes; and, when the gloom of night had stolen upward from the gulches, there came an occasional spark like a firefly when the iron of a hoof struck a flinty rock. so night came on, and still they went forward. frank wondered what their destination could be; but he saw they were taking a course that must bring them nearer the queen mystery mine. he wasted no words in seeking to engage any of them in conversation. all the while, however, his thoughts were busy. he wondered much if he could come safely through this perilous mischance and how it was to be accomplished. for frank had not given up, and he had confidence that somehow he would find a way, or one would be opened to him. chapter iv. in the old hut. in a valley amid the hills that lay at the base of the barren mountains stood an old hut. who had built it there? it seemed that it had, beyond doubt, been erected by some prospector. what fate had befallen the builder no man knew. the hut remained, weather-worn and falling to pieces. the coming of another day found frank merriwell a captive in that hut, closely guarded. the ruffians had stopped there, for in the vicinity could be found wood and water, and feed for the horses. some time during the night they had been joined by big monte and the others who had turned back to secure the horses beyond the barrier in the ravine. in the morning the men lay about in the vicinity of the hut. two fires had been built, and breakfast was preparing. inside the hut an armed man kept guard over the captive. at intervals the guard was changed, but always a man was near with a pistol ready to shoot merry down if he offered to make a break for freedom. but frank seemed strangely contented. after the ride through the night, he asked for a blanket to make himself comfortable, suggested in a pleasant way that it would be agreeable to have the cords about his wrists loosened a little, as they were chafing him and his wrists were swollen, and, when the ropes were entirely removed, then lay down on the blanket and went calmly to sleep. merry slept until one of the men brought him some breakfast. this fellow kicked him to awaken him, whereupon frank looked up and observed: "gently, partner--gently! you don't have to kick in a rib in order to get my eyes open." "ef it wasn't fer ther boss," said the fellow, "i'd take a heap o' satisfaction in kickin' ev'ry dern rib outer ye!" "then i am thankful for the boss." "hush! mebbe ye thinks so now; but wait till he gits round ter deal with ye. i opines he'll disterb ye some." "well, don't lead me into worriment before it is necessary," entreated frank, with a smile. "as long as i'm comfortable, i see no reason to disturb myself over what may happen--for there is always a chance that it may not happen." "waal, not in this case. ye've robbed us outer a clean two hundred dollars apiece by sendin' off them papers." "only that? why, you seem to be cheap men! i should fancy it would take at least five hundred each to hire men to go out to commit robbery and murder." "thar ain't no robbery about it." "now, you don't tell me? perhaps you are right, but the object was robbery, all right enough." "nary robbery! ther papers belongs to ther gents what wants to git 'em an' what engaged bill to do the job." "possibly i might convince you to the contrary if i had time; but just now i will admit that i'm remarkably hungry. put down the feed right here on the floor, and i'll turn to directly." as the man stooped to put down the stuff, as directed, he brought his head quite close to frank's lips. in the fellow's ear merry whispered: "i'll make it one thousand dollars in your fist if you find a way to help me out of this scrape." the man started a little, gave frank a look, then glanced toward the armed guard, who had heard nothing. merry touched a finger to his lips, thus enjoining silence. "ha!" he exclaimed. "thank bill for me! this coffee smells most satisfactory. it will serve finely to wash down the hard bread and beef. to a healthy appetite, like mine, this will be a feast fit for an epicurean." the ruffian looked at him in apparent wonderment. "fer a cool galoot, you sure are the limit!" he exclaimed. then he went out. frank wondered if his proposal to the fellow would bear fruit. he knew well enough that these men stood in great awe of cimarron bill; but would the greed of this one overcome his fears of the chief and lead him to attempt to set frank at liberty? that was a serious question. having eaten heartily, merry once more made himself comfortable and slept. when next he was awakened, cimarron bill himself was sitting near, smoking a spanish cigarette. "good morning," said frank. "it's a long distance past morning," said the leader of the ruffians. "you've slept away the whole morning. you seem to be takin' it a heap easy and comfortable like." "just bottling up a little sleep in case of need," said merry, sitting up and placing his back against the wall. "there's no telling when i may have to keep awake a whole lot, you know." "instead of keeping awake," said bill, in a sinister manner, "you're a heap more likely to fall asleep some of these yere times an' never wake up." "in that case, it will be of no consequence, so i am not losing anything by sleeping while i may." the man surveyed merry long and intently, as if trying to probe the nature of this cool youth. at last, he turned to the sentinel and dismissed him. the sentinel went out, closing the door. bill lighted a fresh cigarette. "young man," he said, "i want to inform you right yere and now that it will do you no good whatever to try to bribe any of my men." "possibly not," said frank noncommittally. "you bet your life it won't!" said bill emphatically. "thar ain't one of them but what knows me, an', knowin' me, thar ain't one what would dare play me crooked. savvy?" "it's quite plain." "it's straight goods, merriwell. a while ago you offered one of 'em a thousan' dollars if he would find a way to get you out of this." "correct," admitted merry immediately. "and had he accepted the offer and accomplished the job, i should have congratulated myself on getting off very cheap." he had seen at once that it was useless to try deception or denial with bill, and so he spoke frankly. "that's right," nodded bill. "a thousan' would be small money fer such a job; but it ain't no use, for none of them will take the job at that or five times as much. 'cause why? 'cause they knows me, cimarron bill, right well. they know i'd sure settle up with 'em if they done any crooked work. they have seen the notches in my guns. some of 'em has seen me shoot." "well, my dear sir," smiled merry, "i don't presume you fancied i would remain here like a man in a trance without trying to get away in some fashion?" "i hardly opined that would be your style. but i has to warn ye that you has about one chance in fourteen million of gettin' off with a hull hide. i keep a guard inside and outside, besides another over the hosses. i don't want to shoot ye--now--but it sure will be done if you breaks an' runs fer it." "of course i'd have to take chances on that." "don't! but your offer to jake has set me thinkin'. somehow i kinder take to your style." "thanks!" laughed merriwell. "you has a heap of nerve for a youngster." "thanks again!" "and i opine we'd make a pretty strong team together. such bein' the case, i has a propersition to make to ye, whereby, in case you accepts, you gits outer this scrape in a hurry an' none the worse for wear." "let it drive," said frank. "i'm listening." "like 'most ev'rybody," said bill, "i'm out fer the dust. that's what brought me up against you. i opined you'd be easy meat. i've sorter changed my mind. you look an' talk like a tenderfoot, but i take it that you has your eye-teeth cut, an' this yere ain't the first time you've seen arizona." "i have been in arizona before. i have likewise been in various parts of the west." "i knowed it," nodded bill. "i likewise opine you has a whole lot of fight in ye." "well, i rather enjoy the strenuous life." "but you're certain up against a right powerful combination in this yere gang what means to have your mines." "without doubt." "you needs assistance to hold them there mines. such bein' the case, suppose we strikes a partnership, you an' i, an' stan's by each other. you'll find me a right handy partner when it comes to fightin', an' i kin back ye up with a gang what will wade through gore fer me. under them circumstances, i reckons we kin give this yere minin' trust a run fer its money." "your offer is very interesting, not to say fascinating," confessed frank. "but there is something behind it. come out with the whole matter." "there's nothing to come out with, save that i'm to be taken in a half-partner in your mines." "only that?" smiled merry scornfully. bill did not like the manner in which the youth spoke those two words. "i 'lows," he said, "that you'll be gettin' off a heap cheap at that. if you fails to accept, it's almost certain your friends never hears of you no more. you'll be planted somewhere yereabouts. arter that, the minin' trust will have easy goin'." "well," said merry, "i presume you will give me time to think this matter over?" "certainly. i gives ye till to-morrer mornin'." "all right." again bill lighted a fresh cigarette. "but, without 'pearin' to press ye too hard, which might cause ye onpleasant rememberances in the futer, i hints that i'll be a heap riled up if you fails to accept my offer." then bill called the guard and sauntered out. frank had no thought of permitting the desperado to force him into such a partnership, but he believed that it would be well to appear to take time to consider it. that afternoon, toward nightfall, he was permitted to go outside in the open air, with two armed guards watching over him. frank inhaled the open air with a sense of gratitude, for the hut had become stuffy and oppressive. he looked around, noting the surroundings, without betraying any great interest in the location. he saw that all about the hills rose to enclose the valley, but conjectured that the party had entered from the south or southeast. by this time the men were interested in him, and they looked him over curiously. four of them were playing cards, and merry sat down on the ground where he could watch the game. "you don't want to be makin' no remarks about what keerds ye sees in anybody's hand, young man," growled one of them, whose cards merry could see. frank smiled. "i'm not quite that fresh," he said. "i have played the game occasionally myself. if i had a chance to sit in, i might give you some points." they laughed derisively at that, for the idea that this smooth-faced youth could give them points at poker seemed preposterous. "why, ef you got inter this game we'd skin the eye-teeth outer ye!" declared one. "you'd be easy pluckin'," said another. "it would be a shame to rob ye," sneered a third. "but seein's you ain't got no dust we won't have that pleasure." "if it's dust that bars me," said merry, "i might have enough to last a hand or two. i see you're playing five dollars limit, with a two bits edge." "why, you're plumb skinned dry!" said big monte. "you ain't got no stuff." whereupon frank displayed a little thin wad of bank-bills, amounting to about twenty-five dollars in all. they were astounded, for no money had been found on him when he was searched for the papers. "how is this?" growled monte. "whar did ye keep it hid?" "that's my business," said merry. "if you're anxious to teach me this game let me in." they made a place for him, assuring him that he would "last quick." now merry was a most adept poker-player, although he let the game entirely alone, not believing in gambling. he was also a clever magician, and he could do tricks with cards to astonish far more astute men than these ruffians. it was pinto pede's deal, and the mexican handled the cards in a slick manner. without pretending to watch him, merry really kept a close eye on the fellow's movements. pede looked his cards over carelessly. big monte chipped a dollar, the next man raised him a dollar, and it was up to frank, who immediately raised five. monte laughed hoarsely. "throwin' yer money away right off, eh?" he said. the man after frank dropped out. pinto pede raised five dollars. the fellow whose edge it was dropped his cards, but monte came in, as did the next man and frank. "how men' card?" asked the mexican. "i'll take two," said monte. "better draw to the strength o' yer hand," advised the next man. "gimme three." pede looked inquiringly at merry. "one card," said frank. pede frowned and looked annoyed. he had stacked the cards, and everything had worked perfectly up to merriwell, who had been given three jacks on the deal, and whom the mexican had expected would draw two. "you take da two card!" exclaimed pede. "yo' no fool anybod' with da side card." "i'll take one!" said frank grimly. "if i choose to hold a side card to threes that is my business. perhaps i have two pairs." the mexican had betrayed his trick by his anger at merry's style of drawing. writhing with anger, he tossed frank one card. "i tak' two," he said. merry leaned forward and watched the mexican's fingers so closely that pede was given no chance to perform any crooked work, if he had contemplated it. "now we're off," said frank. "go ahead and do your betting." then he glanced at his cards. he had held up a five spot with his three jacks. to his satisfaction, he found pede had given him another five spot. merry had conceived that it was the mexican's plan to give him threes and then to fill his hand with a small pair, but to take a pair himself, having on the deal secured threes of a higher denomination than those in merry's hand. for that very reason, frank had decided to draw one card, instead of two, thinking to defeat pede's object in securing a full. by a strange chance, frank had held up a five spot, while all the time pede had been intending to give him a pair of fives. this being the case, the youth secured his full hand just the same, but without the knowledge of the dealer. at the same time, he spoiled pede's draw, for the pair the mexican had counted on getting had been divided, he getting instead one of the fives intended for merriwell. this left pede with three queens, a five, and a nine. but the mexican believed that merriwell had secured only threes, as he did not dream for an instant that the side card held up with the three jacks could be a five spot. in case frank had three jacks only, pede's three queens were "good." the betting began. monte started it with a dollar. the next man had failed to improve his hand, and he fell out. frank raised five. pede shoved in six dollars, and added another five. "i tak' dis pot," he said. monte looked his cards over. then he looked at pede. he knew the mexican. "you oughter be shot!" he said. and he threw his cards down, turning to frank. "you ain't got a ghost of a show agin' that greaser, youngster," he averred. "well, as long as my money lasts i'll stay with him," smiled merry. he did. having thrust the last of his money into the pot, he finally called. pede spread out his three queens, smiling with crafty triumph. "you no fool me," he said. "my t'ree bigger dan your t'ree. i tak' da mon'." "wait a minute," said merry. "i happen to have more than threes here." and he displayed his full hand, coolly raking the money over to his side of the blanket. chapter v. pinto pede receives his lesson. pinto pede was the most disgusted mexican in all arizona. at the same time he was thoroughly thunderstruck. that merriwell had secured the pair of fives with his three jacks for all of his style of drawing seemed like legerdemain. big monte gave a shout of surprise, that was not entirely unmingled with delight. "waal, say!" he roared; "that's the furst time i ever seen pede done up on his own deal by a tenderfoot! haw! haw! haw!" as the game continued frank soon demonstrated that he was quite capable of holding his own with those men. on his deal he simply played "hob" with them. in less than thirty minutes he had won over a hundred and fifty dollars. cimarron bill had sauntered up and was standing near, his arms folded, silently watching the progress of the game. "gentlemen," said frank finally, "you're too easy for me. just to show you how easy you are, i'll deal a hand around and then tell you what you have." "not if you lets me cut," declared monte. merry had gathered the cards and was shuffling them. "you may cut," he said. he put the cards down on the blanket, and monte divided them into two parts, after which he watched frank to see that he picked them up right. merry picked them up with one hand, doing so swiftly. he picked them up all right, but he cleverly made the pass, which restored the cards to their original positions, as they were before monte had cut. then he dealt. when they picked up their cards, he began at the left and called off the cards each man held, going around the entire circle. monte threw his down, with a cry of amazement. "an' this yere is what we takes for an easy mark!" he exclaimed. "he cheat!" grated pinto pede. "dat how he win all da mon'." "i don't want your money," said merry. "i find it too easy to make money off such chaps as you. you talk about tenderfeet, but the east is full of tenderfeet who could skin you fellows to death. if you ran into a new york bunco man he'd have your boots off your feet in less than thirty minutes. in fact, gentlemen, you need to get your eye-teeth filed." he was laughing at them, as they plainly saw. this made pinto pede furious, and, with a cry of rage, the mexican snatched out a knife, flung himself forward on his knees, clutched the captive's throat and seemed about to finish him. quick as a flash, merriwell had seized pede's wrist, which he gave a twist that made the bones crack and brought a yell from the yellow-faced fellow's lips. the knife dropped. merry tossed it over his shoulder, and then flung pede backward, groaning over his wrenched arm. "the only safe way to play such tricks on me," said the undisturbed captive, "is to catch me when i'm asleep." then cimarron bill spoke, and they saw he had a pistol in his hand. "it sure is a good thing for pede that the gent stopped his play just as he did, for if pede had done any cuttin' i'd sartin shot him up a whole lot. i has told you boys that mr. merriwell is to be kept safe an' unharmed until i gits ready to finish with him, an' when i says a thing like that, i generally has a way o' meanin' it. if pede had used his knife, i'd a-let daylight through him instanter." now they all knew bill spoke the truth, and so pede was doubly humiliated. "he was a trifle hasty," said merriwell coolly. "i was about to explain that i never keep money won at cards, as i do not believe in gambling. i sat in this game to illustrate to you fellows that it doesn't always pay to get puffed up and look contemptuously on a tenderfoot. having made the lesson plain, i will withdraw my own money, which will leave the amount i have won. you may divide it equally among you and go on with your game." this frank did exactly as he said, taking himself out of the game. there would have been a quarrel over the division of the money had not bill interfered. possibly frank was counting on that quarrel, for a fight among the men might have given him an opportunity to escape. however, if such was his plan, it miscarried, for bill acted as judge and saw that the matter was settled without further dispute or bloodshed. merry turned away, his hands in his pockets, seeming to take no further interest in the gambling ruffians. they looked after his fine, supple, manly figure, and big monte said: "gents, he shore is a hummer! i admits it now. he's put up a heap different from any tenderfoot i ever struck afore. we knows he kin shoot, fer didn't he perforate sam's coat back yander in the raveen when sam h'isted it on his rifle. we know he kin play keerds, fer didn't he jest demonstrate it to our complete satisfaction. we know he has a heap of nerve, fer he sure has showed it all the way through. an' i'm bettin' he's goin' ter make it a right hot fight afore the galoots what are arter his mines gits what they wants." "you forgits he's dealin' with bill," said one of the others; "an' bill shore has the keerds stacked on him." "that's all right," said monte; "but you got ter do somethin' more than stack the keerds on that young chap. didn't pede do that, an' didn't he beat pede a-plenty at his own game? that showed me that you never kin tell when you has frank merriwell beat fer fair." frank had known all the time that bill was watching. he had played the game more for the benefit of the chief of the rascals than any one else. at the same time, it had served to pass away a little time and had been a diversion for the moment. the guards also were near, watching every move closely. frank had satisfied himself that there was no chance of making a break to escape without throwing his life away, and so he seemed to return to the hut with perfect content. indeed, his nonchalance and apparent lack of fretfulness and dissatisfaction over his misfortune was most amazing to the rough men. merry ate supper heartily. there was a clay fireplace in the hut, and, the night coming on cool, a fire was built there. merry lolled before the fire on the hard-packed earth, which served as a floor to the hut. bill came in, sat down on the ground, and rolled a cigarette. "well," he finally said, "how do you find yourself to-night?" "oh, comfortable," carelessly answered frank. "smoke?" "never do." "drink?" "out of my line." "still you can shoot and play poker! i certain admits you're a queer one!" after a little silence, bill again dismissed the guard. then he said: "i'm in a leetle hurry to know what your answer is to that there propersition i made ye. i sw'ar, partner, i sure reckons we'd make a hot pair. i takes to you!" "you're very complimentary!" "i'm givin' it to ye straight. you're my style. now, i wants ye ter know that i kin be of great service to ye, so i reckons it was well enough to tell ye what has been done. you sent them papers to your brother in the east. well, i has sent one of my best men a-chasin' the papers, an' he'll be sure to get 'em if it kin be did. if he succeeds, you'll be plumb out in the cold. howsomever, in case we rigs up a partnership, it won't be nohow so bad, fer my man he brings me the papers, an' that fixes it all right. savvy?" "that is the way you look at it." "sure. you may have thought you was a-givin' me too much to let me have a half-share in your mines; but when you reckons that you gits your liberty, my friendship, and you has your papers saved, which same otherwise would go to the minin' trust, i opine you'll come to see that you're not makin' such a powerful bad trade after all." "but it is not at all certain that you'll get possession of those papers. in fact, everything is against such a thing happening." "is that so?" "it is." "how do ye make it out?" "my brother knows his business, and he will take care of the papers." "how did you send them?" "registered mail." "so i opined. now you knows it takes things registered a heap sight longer to travel than it takes other mail." "well?" "such bein' the case, one-hand hank is powerful sartin to git thar ahead o' the letter." "he may." "in which case he watches the post-office close. when he sees your kid brother take out the package, he follers the boy, taps him on the kebeza, knocks him stiff, takes the papers and ambles. see how easy it is to be did?" "it is easy enough to talk about it; but my brother is pretty shrewd, and one-hand hank will have the time of his life getting those papers." "you don't know hank. he's perfectly familiar with the east, an' that was why he was sent. one time he escaped from sing sing. that was when he had two good arms. he's a mighty bad man, an' he'll eat up that brother of yours but he'll have the papers." "i give you my assurance that dick will sit hard on hank's stomach. i am not greatly worried, for all of what you have told me." bill frowned. "all right," he said. "i did have some intentions of usin' persuasive measures on ye, such as puttin' your feet to the fire, or things like that; but i holds them things off to the last finish, as i opine a partnership brought about that there way would be onpleasant to us both." "rather," laughed frank. "still," said bill; "i may have to be rather harsh, which certain would grieve me up a lot with such a fine young fellow as you are. i hopes you don't bring me none to that. thar's no chance fer you to give me the slip. i've taken mighty good keer of that p'int. it will save ye a great amount of trouble if you decides to-night that we becomes pards. i'll jest walk out with ye an' interduce ye to ther boys as equal with me, an' ev'rything will be lovely. i don't reckon you'd be fool enough to go back on any sech arrangement you made, fer cimarron bill ain't the man to be throwed down in such a way." "there is no need of even suggesting a threat," said merry. "if i enter into such a partnership with you, you can be sure i'll stand by it." bill urged him to make the agreement at once, but still merry declined. "time is right precious," said the leader of the ruffians. "perhaps i'll give you an answer to-morrow." and that was all bill could get out of him then. so the chief fell to talking of other things, and they chatted agreeably for some time. when the ruffian was ready to retire, he called the guard. then he bade frank good night and went out. merry slept with the same amazing peacefulness. but some time in the night he started wide-awake, seeming to feel near him the presence of some one. the fire had died out, save for a few glowing coals on the hearth. the sentinel sat rigid in his corner. merry could not tell if he slept or not. outside the cabin something seemed to brush lightly against the wall. this gentle sound was not repeated. after listening a long time, frank fell asleep once more. in the morning he found a black feather where it had fallen to the ground after being thrust through a crack in the wall. at sight of the feather he started. then he hastened to pick it up and conceal it. for that feather told him that old joe crowfoot was near. it promised escape from the hands of the ruffians, and caused merry to suddenly cease planning himself and trust things wholly to crowfoot. he knew old joe would find an opportunity to try to aid him to escape. that morning frank was asked by bill to come out and take breakfast with the rest of the men, an invitation which he willingly accepted, as he was beginning to thirst for the open air. it was a glorious morning, just as all mornings in that land of eternal sunshine seem to be glorious. the elevation was sufficient to give the air a pleasant coolness. the sun shone down brightly. the horses fed in the valley. the men were lazing about, as usual. never had merry seemed so perfectly at his ease as he was on this morning. he was in a jovial mood. some of the men attempted to chaff him. "you're right peert fer a tenderfoot," said red sam. "but the effeet east is ruther slow as compared with the west, you knows." "i'm sure i don't know," smiled frank, sipping his coffee. "in what way is the east behind the west?" "waal, when it comes to fast trains, we lays away over the east out yere." "i have my doubts." "waal, you see it's this a-way," said sam, winking at some of his companions, "the trains out yere don't hev to stop ev'ry few miles, an' so, havin' once got started, they kin keep increasin' an' a-pilin' on speed till they literally tears along. now, thar's the overland express. why, i was a-ridin' on that train oncet when she was jest running at comfortable speed, and the telygraft-poles beside the track seemed as nigh together as teeth in a fine-tooth comb." "that's speedy," confessed frank. "you bate. but it warn't northin' to what she did later. a hot box, or somethin', kind o' delayed us, an' we hed to make up lost time. sir, it's a fact that arter she got on full head the telygraft-poles looked presactly like a solid fence along beside the track!" "but you see," said frank, "you confess that your trains out here have to take time to get up such high speed. that is where they are behind the trains in the east." "how?" demanded sam contemptuously. "why, having to stop often, the eastern trains make it a practise to start quick and at high speed. they don't have to pump away for fifteen or twenty miles in order to get to going at a comfortable rate of speed. instead of that they start right off at full speed. now there is a train runs between new york and washington. i got aboard at the station in jersey city. my girl had come along to see me off. i opened the car window and leaned out to kiss her good-by, and, so help me, i kissed a colored woman in philadelphia!" there was a moment of silence, and then big monte gave a roar of delighted laughter. this was the kind of humor he could appreciate, and the fact that red sam had been doubly outdone by the tenderfoot gave him great joy. the others laughed, also, and their respect for their captive rose several notches. cimarron bill thoroughly appreciated merry's cleverness in getting ahead of red sam. "that youngster'd make the greatest pard a man could tie to!" thought bill. after breakfast merry coolly sauntered about the hut. he was followed everywhere by the two guards, but he gave them no heed whatever. he looked for some further sign of old joe, but saw nothing. merry wondered how the redskin would go to work to accomplish what he meant to attempt. bill let frank alone until after dinner. then he sat down with merry, they being by themselves, and again broached the subject that seemed uppermost in his mind. "see here," said frank, "i offered one of your men a thousand dollars to get me out of this. the same offer stands good with you." the dark face of cimarron bill flushed and he looked deadly. "mebbe you don't know you're insultin' me a heap!" he said. "such bein' the probable case, i resents it none. the minin' trust has promised me five thousan' when i turns them papers over." "which you will never do." "which i'll sure do if you gits foolish an' refuses to tie up with me." "well," said frank, "i'm not bidding against the mining trust. i have refused to recognize that organization." "then you refuses my proposal?" said bill, in that cold, dangerous voice of his. "not that. i want until to-morrow morning to think it over. just till to-morrow." "you'll give me my answer to-morrer mornin'?" "yes." "then it's settled that you has that much more time. i won't ask ye no more about it until to-morrer morning; an' then you must sure give an answer. i knows what that answer will certain be if you has the level head i thinks." chapter vi. injun joe to the rescue. along in the middle of the night frank awoke. again he was overcome by that strange feeling that some person was near him. then he felt a touch, light as a feather, and saw at his side a dark figure. the starlight came in at the small, square window. a hand grasped frank's wrist and gave it a gentle pull. there was not even a whisper. merry knew what was wanted. without making a sound, he crept across the ground to the wall, where a timber had been removed from the lower portion, making an opening large enough for a man to slip through. some one passed noiselessly through this opening ahead of him. frank followed as silently as he could. outside he found at his side the one who had entered the cabin in that manner. this person lay flat on the ground and moved away with amazing deftness and silence. frank could not follow as easily, but he wormed along as best he could. in that manner they finally passed to the shelter of some scrubby bushes. there frank found a dark form sitting on the ground. "heap all right," whispered a voice. "you no make a row when joe him come. joe he know you be ready if you find feather." it was crowfoot, the faithful old redskin. "all right now. make um no noise. foller joe," continued the indian. the old fellow did not hurry. he took his time to crawl along on hands and knees until they were far from the hut. at last he arose, and frank followed his example. they bent low and went on like two dark shadows. "can we get out of the valley all right?" asked merry. "one man him guard this way to go out," said joe. "how do we pass him?" "joe know. leave it to him." the valley narrowed at last. they slipped along between rocky walls. joe's feet made absolutely no sound. "stop here," advised the redskin. "joe him come back in minute." so frank stopped and waited. the minute was long. indeed, it became ten minutes at least. but the old fellow returned, saying: "all right. coast clear." "what's that?" exclaimed frank, as they nearly stumbled over a dark figure, as they were hurrying on again. "him guard," said joe. "guard? what's the matter with him?" "him sleep." merry shuddered a bit, for he fancied he knew the sort of sleep meant by the old fellow. cimarron bill would receive his answer in the morning. it would be a great surprise to him, and would please him not at all. more than two miles had been traversed when they came, in a deep gully, upon old joe's horse. "no keep him so near," said the indian. "bring him here to have him ready to-night. you ride." frank did not fancy the idea of riding, but the old fellow insisted, and merry finally mounted. so they passed through the silent night, joe leading for a time. "did you get the package off all right?" merry asked. "him go," said joe. "no worry." "joe, i don't know how i can repay you; but anything i have in this world is yours. you want to remember that. take what you want that belongs to me." "joe him not need much. he soon go off to the long hunt." frank thought of the time when this old redskin had been his bitter enemy, when joe had seemed treacherous and deadly as a rattlesnake, and smiled somewhat over the transformation. he had won the confidence of the indian, who was now as faithful as he had once been dangerous. "did you see anything of the one-armed man who was with my pursuers?" asked merry. "no see him after leave you." "he was sent away to follow you." "no see him. he no bother me." frank was thoroughly well satisfied with the work of the faithful redskin. they took turns at riding throughout the night. three hours after dawn they came into a large, wooded valley amid the mountains. as they approached this valley they heard afar a rumbling, jarring sound that brought a smile to the face of frank merriwell. "the stamps are in operation," he said. riding up the valley, through which flowed a stream of water, they saw reared against the bold face of a high mountain, looking like ant-mounds, some buildings, four or five in number. in the side of the mountain opened the black mouth of a shaft. "hurrah!" merry cried, waving his hat over his head. "there, joe, is the queen mystery, and it is in full blast!" the queen mystery mine was located a long distance from the nearest railroad, but merriwell had been to the expense and trouble of having the very latest machinery brought there and set up. he had in his employ jim tracy, as a foreman, said to be thoroughly capable and reliable. only about fifty men were employed in the mine at that time; but merry contemplated increasing the force extensively. there was talk of a branch railroad being constructed to pass within ten or fifteen miles of the queen mystery. were the mine to fall into the hands of the mining trust, without doubt that railroad would be constructed, and it would run direct to camp mystery and onward. the influence of the great railroad magnate would easily bring about the running of the railroad to suit his fancy. the mining trust had been completely baffled in its first efforts to get the best of merriwell. frank was welcomed at the mine, where he made himself comfortable. old joe disappeared within six hours after arriving there. he vanished without saying a word to merry about his intentions. two days later he reappeared, frank finding him sitting, in the morning, with his back against one of the buildings, his red blanket pulled about him, serenely smoking. "hello, joe!" cried merry. "so you're back?" "ugh!" grunted joe, as he continued to smoke. "what's your report, joe?" "bad men heap gone." "cimarron bill and his gang?" "joe mean um." "they have gone?" "git out. they go heap quick after strong heart he git away." "well, that looks as if bill had given up the fight, but it seems hardly possible." "no can tell," said the old fellow. "may come 'gain with great lot many more bad men." frank sat down and talked with the old redskin for some time. then joe was given a square meal, and he ate heartily. merry had some business to look after in the mine, and he departed, at last, with the idea that he would find joe and have another talk with him after the business was done. but when merry came to look again for the indian, joe had disappeared once more in his usual mysterious fashion. merry was not at all satisfied that cimarron bill had given up the struggle. in any event, he was confident that the syndicate had not given up, and experience had taught him that the organization would resort to any desperate means to accomplish its purpose. so merriwell, having seen that all things were going well at the mine, set out the following day for holbrook, in which place he mailed a letter to dick, informing him of his fortune in escaping from the ruffians. in holbrook merry purchased a supply of rifles and cartridges, also small arms. this stock he had boxed and contracted with a man to deliver everything with the least possible delay at the queen mystery mine. having attended to this matter, merry rested over night and set out with the first hint of coming day for the mine. through the hottest part of the day he rested in a ravine where there was some shade. then he traveled again until after nightfall. the following forenoon found him in a part of the mountains that seemed familiar. he had diverged somewhat from the regular trail between holbrook and the mine. riding through a narrow pass, he came into a valley that was somewhat wooded and had a decidedly familiar aspect. five minutes later he drew rein, uttering an exclamation of surprise. before him, at a distance, stood an old hut. it required no second glance to show merriwell that it was the very hut where he had been held a captive by cimarron bill and his gang. frank looked around keenly, but the valley seemed desolate, and apparently he and his horse were the only living creatures within its confines. "the very place!" said merry. "i wonder how bill liked my answer to his proposition. he must have been decidedly surprised when he found me missing in the morning." he rode forward toward the hut, having a fancy to look around the place. as he drew nearer, suddenly his horse plunged forward and fell, while a shot rang out. merry had seen a puff of smoke come from the window of the hut. he managed to jerk his feet from the stirrups and drop to the ground behind the body of the horse, where he lay quite still. the animal had been shot through the brain, and it did not even kick after falling. chapter vii. merriwell and big monte. as he lay behind his stricken horse, merriwell pulled his rifle around and got it ready for use. peering over the body of the animal, he watched the hut. the sun, which was dropping toward the west, was still decidedly uncomfortable. it blazed upon him with a feeling like the heat from a bake-oven. frank knew his peril. he knew better than to lift his head high and give his hidden foe another chance at him. he could not jump up and rush for cover, as cover lay too far away. only one thing could he do, and that was to remain quietly there and watch and wait. after a time it is likely the man who had fired the shot began to believe merriwell seriously hurt. frank caught a glimpse of him within the hut. "he's coming out!" merry decided. he was mistaken. time dragged on and the sun dipped lower toward the mountain-peaks; but still no person issued from the old hut. the situation was anything but comfortable. "confound him!" muttered frank. "who is he, and what does he mean?" even as he asked the question, he again saw the man moving beyond the window. frank thrust the rifle across the horse, resting it on the animal's body. then he got into a position where he could take good aim, and then waited again. the sun was touching the mountain-tops when beyond the window merry saw the head of a man. then the clear report of his rifle rang through the valley. the puff of smoke from the muzzle blotted out the window for a moment. when it floated away the window was empty. "did i reach him?" thought frank anxiously. he felt that he had not missed, and still he could not be sure. he did not venture to rise from behind the horse. in case he had missed, he might fall before a second bullet from the hut. the sun went down behind the mountains, flinging a hundred golden and crimson banners into the sky. finally these began to fade, and a few stars peeped forth palely. "if somebody's watching for me there," thought merry, "it's going to be dangerous to move, at best." but something told him his lead had not gone astray. as the light faded still more he arose quickly, rifle in hand, and started on a run for the hut. as he ran he felt that it was far from impossible that another shot might bring sudden death to him. still he did not hesitate, and, running steadily, he came up to the hut. the door swung open before his hand. he looked in. it was not so dark as to hide a black figure that lay sprawled on the dirt floor. frank shuddered a little, and felt like turning away at once. "he brought it on himself!" he whispered. "it was my life or his. but i'm sorry i had to do it." then he entered the hut. striking a match, he bent over the prostrate figure. the reflected light, coming from his hollowed hands, showed him a familiar face. "big monte!" he cried, starting back and dropping the match. it was in truth the big man who had been one of cimarron bill's paid satellites. he found the man's wrist and felt for his pulse. "good lord!" merry cried. big monte's pulse flickered beneath his fingers. the ruffian still lived. frank knew where there was some wood, and this he soon had piled in a little heap in the open fireplace. he applied a match, and soon a blaze sprang up. by the growing light of the fire he examined monte's wound. "creased him as fine as can be!" he muttered. "maybe there is a chance for him, after all." it may be explained that by "creased" frank meant that the bullet had passed along the man's skull, cutting his scalp, yet had not penetrated the bone. this had rendered big monte unconscious. merry removed the fellow's revolvers and knife and stood his rifle in a far corner. then he brought some water in his drinking-cup and set about the effort of restoring the wretch to consciousness, which did not prove such a hard task as he had anticipated. after a little monte's eyes opened and he lay staring at the youth. he seemed bewildered, and it was plain he could not readily collect his scattered wits. "well, monte," said frank coolly, "that was a pretty close call for you. i came near shooting off the top of your head, which i would have been justified in doing. all the same, i'm glad i failed." the big man continued to stare at frank. already merry had bound up the ruffian's wound. "ho!" came hoarsely from monte's lips. "back! back to the depths! you are dead!" "if i am dead," said frank, "i'm just about the liveliest dead man you ever saw." a strange smile came to the lips of the wounded man. "if you are not yet dead," he said, "i opines you soon will be a heap." "never count chickens before they are hatched, monte." "when you come back you'll find your mine in the hands of the syndicate. bill will have it." "that's interesting! how will bill get it?" "he will take it while you are away. he has gathered a right good gang, and he's a-goin' to jump the mine to-night." "monte," said frank, "you interest me extensively. how does it happen you are not with the gang?" "i am one of the watchers. i watch to see that you do not get back. i reckons i have done my part o' the job, for i shot you dead a while ago." the big ruffian was not in his right mind, but already he had said enough to stir frank merriwell's blood. so cimarron bill had been watching his movements from some place of cover, and had hastened to gather his ruffians the moment frank left the mine. without doubt bill had counted on frank remaining away longer. however, this night he was to strike, with his gang. the mine was to be seized. "i must be there!" muttered merriwell. fortunately big monte had a horse hidden not far from the cabin, and frank was able to find the animal. the wounded ruffian was raving at intervals. he seemed quite deranged. "i can't leave him like this," thought merry. "he might wander off into the mountains and perish." still he disliked to be encumbered with the wretch. some would have deserted the wounded man without delay and ridden with all haste to reach the mine. it must be confessed that such a thought passed through the head of frank merriwell. "no!" murmured frank. "he's a human being. it is my duty to do what i can to save him." so it came about that two men rode monte's big horse away from that valley. one of them muttered, and laughed, and talked wildly. "riding with the dead!" he said. "we're on the road to purgatory! ha! ha! ha! whip up the horse! gallop on!" it was a strange ride through the starlight night. the clicking clatter of the horse's hoofs aroused the big man at intervals, and he laughed and shouted. "i'm dead!" he finally declared. "i am a dead man! two dead men are riding together! and we're on the road to the burnin' pit! but it's getting a heap cold! i'm beginnin' to freeze. the fire will be good an' hot!" "shut up!" said merry. "we're getting near the queen mystery. you may get shot up some more if you keep your jaw wagging." as they came nearer to the valley, merry slackened the pace of the foam-flecked horse. fortunately the animal had been big and strong, for once frank had seemed to have little mercy on the beast he bestrode. monte continued to talk. he had grown so weak that merry was compelled to partly support him. "look here," frank said, in a commanding way, "you are not to say another word until i give you permission. do you understand that?" "yes." "then close up. not another word from you." monte closed up, obeying like a child. they were entering the valley. suddenly there came a challenge. "hold up, thar! who goes yander?" not a word from merriwell's lips, but he drove the spurs to the horse, clutched big monte tighter, and they shot forward into the valley. instantly sounded a shot, followed by several more. bullets whistled past them. frank felt monte give a great start and lurch sideways, but he held the man steady. there were cries of rage from the men who had fired the shots. not a word did frank speak, but he held straight on toward the head of the valley and camp mystery. as he approached he saw lights gleaming ahead, seeming to indicate that the sound of shooting had come up the valley and aroused the miners. he was challenged, but gave an answer that caused the men to welcome him with a shout. it was crowfoot who seized the lather-white horse by the bit, but it was another who caught big monte as the ruffian plunged from the saddle on being released from frank's arms. "i 'lows he'd got it good an' plenty," said the man who caught monte. "ef he ain't dead a'ready, he'll be so right soon." "take him inside somewhere," directed frank. "every man who can find a weapon wants to get ready to fight. we're going to have a gang of ruffians down on us here, and we'll have to fight to hold this mine." "we're all ready, mr. merriwell," said jim tracy, the foreman. "joe crowfoot came and warned us what was doin'. i opine them galoots must 'a' bin shootin' at you some down yander?" "that's right," said frank. "i had to ride through them, and they banged away at me to their satisfaction. i was lucky to come out with a whole skin." "which the other gent didn't. who is he?" "big monte." "what? not that galoot? why, he's one o' the wust devils unhung in arizona!" the men began to murmur. "big monte!" cried another. "why i has a score to settle with that thar varmint! he shot my partner, luke brandt." "an' i has a score to settle with him, too!" declared another. "he stole a hoss off me!" many others claimed grievances against monte, and suddenly there was a rush toward the room into which the wounded man had been conveyed. somehow frank merriwell was ahead of them all. as they came crowding in at the door, merry stood beside the blanket on which the wounded ruffian was stretched. "hold on, men!" he called quietly. "monte is dying!" "what do we keer fer that!" cried one. "all the more reason fer us to hurry an' swing the varmint afore he crokes!" "let him die in peace." "that's escapin' what's his due." frank lifted one hand. "there is one above who will judge him," he said. "it is not for us to do that." but those men did not fancy the idea of being robbed of their vengeance. big monte was helpless in their hands, and they were for swinging him before he could escape them by giving up the ghost. "mr. merriwell, sir," said one, "we respects you all right, an' we don't like to run contrarywise to anything you says here; but in this yere case we has to, most unfortunate. it is our sollum duty to hang this onery hoss-thief, an' that is what we proposes to do. arter that we'll be ready ter fight fer you an' your mine as long as it's necessary." "that's right!" shouted others, as they again crowded forward. "let us have him! we'll make it right short work! then we'll be ready fer his pards!" some of them flourished weapons. they were an ugly-looking crew. quick as a flash frank merriwell whipped out a pair of revolvers and leveled them at the crowd. "gentlemen," he said, "i have just one thing to observe: if you don't, one and all, get out of here instanter and leave monte to shuffle off in peace i shall open on you! if i open on you, i shall reduce you so that cimarron bill and his crowd will have no trouble whatever in taking this mine." they did not doubt but he meant it, remarkable though it seemed. if they attempted to seize monte, merriwell would begin shooting. it was astonishing that he should choose to defend this ruffian that had been one of his worst enemies. as the men were hesitating, old joe crowfoot suddenly appeared. "com'ron bill he come!" said the indian. "there be a heap fight in a minute! come quick!" "come on!" cried jim tracy. and the men rushed forth to meet and repulse cimarron bill and his gang. chapter viii. the death-shot. frank was about to follow, when big monte clutched weakly at his foot. "pard," said the ruffian, "i may never git another chanct to say it. you're the white stuff! they'd shore hanged me a whole lot but for you. now i has a chanct to die comfortable an' respectable like. thankee, frank merriwell." "don't mention it!" said frank. "die as comfortably as you can. i have to go out to help the boys shoot a few of your pards." "i ain't got northin' agin' them," said monte; "but i wishes ye luck. they're in the wrong, an' you're right." at this moment the sound of shooting outside startled merry, and, without another word, he rushed forth, leaving monte lying there. cimarron bill had counted on capturing the mine by strategy and meeting with very little resistance. when frank had returned and ridden into the valley bill knew that it would not do to delay longer, and he had led his men in swift pursuit. but old joe crowfoot, faithful as ever, had prepared the miners for the attack; so it came about that the ruffians were met with a volley of lead that dismayed and demoralized them. this was not the kind of work they relished. thus it happened that frank merriwell came hurrying forth, only to find the enemy already repulsed and retreating in disorder. the starlight showed two men and a horse stretched on the ground, while another horse was hobbling about. at a distance down the valley the mine-seizers were fleeing. "they git heap hot time!" said old joe, in frank's ear. "what?" cried merry. "have they quit it as quick as this?" "it looks that way, sir," said jim tracy. "and i didn't get into the game." "you was too busy defending big monte. i hopes you pardons me, sir, but i thinks that was a mistake." "you have a right to think whatever you like, but i object to your freedom in expressing yourself." this was plain enough, and it told tracy that frank would not tolerate any criticism from him. "it's your own game," muttered tracy, turning away. "i see you have dropped two of those chaps." "yes." revolver in hand, frank walked out toward the spot where the two figures lay. he was followed by crowfoot and several others. the first man was stone-dead. the next proved to be the mexican, pinto pede, who was sorely wounded. "that cursed greaser!" growled one of the men. "give me lief to finish him, mr. merriwell!" he placed the muzzle of a pistol against pede's head. frank knew that a word from him would send the mexican into eternity. "none of that!" he said sternly and commandingly. "pick the fellow up and take him in yonder. he may not be shot up too bad to recover." but they drew back. "sir," said tracy, "i don't opine thar is a man here but what thinks hisself too good to be after handlin' the onery greaser." "and you would let him remain here to die?" "i reckons that's correct." in another moment merry had stooped and lifted the slender body of pinto pede in his arms. with long strides, he bore the mexican toward the building in which big monte lay. the miners looked on in amazement. "waal, he's the limit!" said jim tracy, in disgust. crowfoot followed frank, who took pede into the room and placed him beside big monte. the redskin stopped at the door, where he stood on guard. "well, pede," said frank, "we'll examine and see just how hard you're hit." the mexican was shot in the side. at first it seemed that the wound might be fatal, but, examining with the skill of an amateur surgeon, frank made a discovery. "she struck a rib, pede," he said. "she followed around and came out here. why, you're not in such a bad way! you may pull through this thing all right. you'd be almost sure to if you had the right sort of treatment." the mexican said nothing, but certain it is that he was bewildered when he found merry dressing the wound. this frank did with such skill as he possessed, making the fellow comfortable. big monte had watched all this, and he spoke for the first time when the job was done. "i reckon," he said, "that they don't raise galoots like you ev'rywhere. why, it shore was up to you to finish the two o' us! why you didn't do it is something i don't understand none at all. an' you keeps them gents from takin' me out an' swingin' me. you shore air plenty diffrunt from any one i ever meets up with afore!" old joe crowfoot had been watching everything. the indian understood frank not at all, but whatever "strong heart" did joe was ready to stand by. "don't worry over it," laughed merry. "i owe you something, monte." "i fail to see what." "why, you warned me that bill and the others meant to jump the mine to-night." "did i?" "sure thing." "i don't remember. but i tried ter shoot ye. bill said you was ter be shot ef you comes a-hustlin' back afore he gits around to doin' his part o' the job." "you got the worst of it in that little piece of shooting, so we'll call that even." "if you says even, i'm more'n willin'." "now," said frank, "i'm going out with the men to watch for a second attack from bill. i have to leave you, and some of the boys may take a fancy to hang you, after all. that bein' the case, i don't want to leave you so you won't have a show. here, take this gun. with it you may be able to defend yourself until i can reach you. but don't shoot any one if you can help it, for after that i don't believe even i could save you." so he placed a revolver in the hand of big monte and went out, leaving the wounded ruffians together. when frank was gone the two wounded wretches lay quite still for some time. finally pinto pede stirred and looked at big monte. "how you get shot?" he asked. "the gent who jest went out done a part o' the job," said monte, in reply. "heem--he shoot you?" "yes." "ha! you lik' da chance to shoot heem?" "waal, i had it, but i missed him. he fooled me a whole lot, fer he jest kept still behind his hoss, what i had salted, an' then he got in at me with his own bit o' lead." "that mak' you hate heem! now you want to keel heem?" "oh, i don't know! i don't opine i'm so mighty eager." "beel says he gif one thousan' dol' to man who shoot frank mer'well." "that's a good lot." "beel he do it." "no doubt o' that, i reckons." "mebbe you an' i haf the chance." "waal, not fer me! i quits! when a chap keeps my neck from bein' stretched arter all i has done ter him--waal, that settles it! i opines i has a leetle humanity left in me. an' he thought i was dyin', too. i kinder thought so then, but i'm managin' ter pull along. mebbe i'll come through." the face of pinto pede showed that he was thinking black thoughts. "gif me da chance!" he finally said. "you no haf to do eet. gif me da chance. i do eet, an' we divvy da mon'. ha?" "don't count me into your deviltry." "no count you?" "no." "what matter? you no too good. i see you shoot man in back." "mebbe you did; but he hadn't kept me from bein' lynched." "bah! why he do eet? you fool! he want to turn you ofer to law." "mebbe you're right; i don't know." "you safe yourself if you help keel him." "looker hyer, pede, i'm a low-down onery skunk; but i reckon thar's a limit even fer me. i've struck it. this hyer frank merriwell made me ashamed a' myself fer the fust time in a right long time. i know i'm too onery to reform an' ever be anything decent, even if i don't shuffle off with these two wounds. all the same, i ain't the snake ter turn an' soak pisen inter merriwell, an' you hear me. others may do it, but not big monte." "bah! all right! you not get half! yes; you keep steel, you get eet." "what are you driving at?" "wait. mebbe you see. all you haf to do is keep steel." "waal, i'm great at keepin' still," said monte. it was not far from morning when merriwell re-entered that room. pinto pede seemed to be sleeping, but big monte was wide-awake. "hello!" exclaimed frank. "so you're still on these shores. i didn't know but you had sailed out." "pard, i opine mebbe i may git well enough to be hanged, after all," grinned the big ruffian. "possibly you may," said frank. "and the chances are you would be if i were to leave you alone long enough. i heard some of the boys talking. they contemplate taking you out and doing things to you after i'm asleep. but they did not reckon that i would come here to sleep, where they cannot get their hands on you without disturbing me." "that was right kind of you," said monte. "how's bill?" "i think that bill has had his fill for the present. indications are that he has left the valley with his whole force, and we are not looking for further trouble from him in some time to come." "bill shore found hisself up against the real thing," said monte. frank placed a blanket near the door, wrapped himself in it, and was soon sleeping soundly. big monte seemed to fall asleep after a time. finally the mexican lifted his head and listened. he looked at monte, and then at frank. seeming to satisfy himself, he gently dropped aside his blanket and began creeping across the floor, making his way toward merriwell. he moved with the silence of a serpent. now, it happened that big monte was not asleep, although he had seemed to be. the mexican had not crept half the distance to frank when the big man turned slightly, lifted his head, and watched. as the creeping wretch drew nearer to the sleeping youth the hand of big monte was gently thrust out from the folds of his blanket. pede reached frank, and then arose to his knees. suddenly he lifted above his head a deadly knife, which he meant to plunge into the breast of the unconscious sleeper. at that instant a spout of fire leaped from something in the hand which big monte had thrust from beneath the blanket, and with the crashing report of the revolver pede fell forward across the body of his intended victim, shot through the brain! frank was on his feet in an instant. "what does this mean?" he cried, astounded, stirring the body of the mexican with his foot. "you gave me a gun," said big monte, "so that i might defend myself. it came in handy when i saw pede gittin' keerless with his knife an' goin' fer to cut you up." "was that it?" exclaimed frank. "why, he was going to stab me! and you saved my life by shooting him!" "which mebbe makes us some nearer square than we was," said monte, "as you saved my life a leetle time ago." chapter ix. frank makes a decision. frank leaned against the door-jamb of his cabin and looked out into the sunny valley. to his ears came the roar of the stamp-mills of the mine, which was in full blast. before him lay the mine-buildings about the mouth of the tunnel, from which rich ore was being brought to be fed to the greedy stamps. it was now something like ten days since the ruffians under cimarron bill tried to carry the mine by assault. frank had remained watchful and alert, well knowing the nature of cimarron bill and believing he would not be content to abandon the effort thus easily. still the second attack, which he had so fully expected, had not come. he was wondering now if the ruffians had given it up. or had they been instructed by the trust to turn their attention to the san pablo mine? if the latter was the case, frank felt that they would find the san pablo prepared. he had taken pains before hastening to the queen mystery to fortify his mine in mexico, leaving it in charge of a man whom he fully trusted. nevertheless, frank felt that it would be far better were he able to personally watch both mines at the same time. just now he was meditating on the advisability of leaving the queen mystery and journeying southward to the san pablo. as he thought this matter over, something seemed to whisper in his ear that such an action on his part was anticipated by the enemy, who were waiting for him to make the move. then, while he was away, they would again descend on the queen mystery. again the old indian, crowfoot, had disappeared, after his usual manner, without telling frank whither he was going. merry knew he might be in the vicinity, or he might be hundreds of miles away. still, joe had a remarkable faculty of turning up just when he was most needed. merry turned back into the little cabin, leaving the door open. he had been feeling of his chin as he stood in the doorway, and now he thought: "a shave will clean me up. great scott! but i'm getting a beard! this shaving is becoming a regular nuisance." indeed, frank was getting a beard. every day it seemed to grow heavier and thicker, and he found it necessary to shave frequently to maintain that clean appearance in which he so greatly delighted. frank could wear old clothes, he could rough it with joy, he minded neither wind nor weather, but personal cleanliness he always maintained when such a thing was in any manner possible. to him a slovenly person was offensive. he pitied the man or boy who did not know the pleasure of being clean, and he knew it was possible for any one to be clean, no matter what his occupation, provided he could obtain a cake of soap and sufficient water. so frank was shaving every day when possible. he now turned back into the cabin and brought out his shaving-set. on the wall directly opposite the open door hung a small square mirror, with a narrow shelf below it. here merry made preparations for his shaving. over a heater-lamp he prepared his water, whistling the air of the boola song. this tune made him think of his old friends of yale, some of whom he had not heard from for some time. a year had not yet passed since he had gathered them and taken his baseball-team into the mad river region to play baseball. in that brief space of time many things had occurred which made it evident that never again could they all be together for sport. the days of mere sport were past and over; the days of serious business had come. frank thought, with a sense of sadness, of old eli. before him rose a vision of the campus buildings, in his ears sounded the laughter and songs, and he saw the line of fellows hanging on the fence, smoking their pipes and chaffing good-naturedly. with some men it is a sad thing that they cannot look back with any great degree of pleasure on their boyhood and youth. they remember that other boys seemed to have fine times, while they did not. later, other youths chummed together and were hail-fellow-well-met, while they seemed set aloof from these jolly associates. with frank this was not so. he remembered his boyhood with emotions of the greatest pleasure, from the time of his early home life to his bidding farewell to fardale. beyond that even unto this day the joy of life made him feel that it was a million fold worth living. there are thousands who confess that they would not be willing to go back and live their lives over. had the question been put to frank merriwell he would have said that nothing could give him greater pleasure. when the water was hot, frank carefully applied his razor to the strop and made it sharp enough for his purpose. then he arranged everything needed on the little shelf beneath the mirror. now, it is impossible to say what thing it was that led him to remove his revolver from the holster and place it on the shelf with the other things, but something caused him to do so. then he applied the lather to his face, and was about to use the razor, when he suddenly saw something in the mirror that led him to move with amazing quickness. behind him, at the open door, was a man with a rifle. this man, a bearded ruffian, had crept up to the door with the weapon held ready for use. but for the fact that the interior of the cabin seemed somewhat gloomy to the eyes of the man, accustomed as they were to the bright glare of the sun outside, he might have been too swift for frank. another thing added to frank's fortune, and it was that he had drawn his revolver and placed the weapon on the little shelf in front of him. for this reason it was not necessary for him to reach toward the holster at his hip, an action which must have hurried the ruffian to the attempted accomplishment of his murderous design. for merriwell had no doubt of the fellow's intention. he saw murder in the man's eyes and pose. the rifle was half-lifted. in another moment frank merriwell would have been shot in the back in a most dastardly manner. he snatched the revolver from the little shelf and fired over his shoulder without turning his head, securing such aim as was possible by the aid of the mirror into which he was looking. frank had learned to shoot in this manner, and he could do so as skilfully as many of the expert marksmen who gave exhibitions of fancy shooting throughout the country. his bullet struck the hand of the man, smashing some of the ruffian's fingers and causing him to drop the rifle. merry wheeled and strode to the door, his smoking revolver in his hand, a terrible look in his eyes. the wretch was astounded by what had happened. blood was streaming from his wounded hand. he saw merriwell confront him with the ready pistol. "you treacherous cur!" said frank indignantly. "i think i'll finish you!" he seemed about to shoot the man down, whereupon the ruffian dropped on his knees, begging for mercy. "don't--don't shoot!" he gasped, holding up his bleeding hand, "don't kill me!" "why shouldn't i? you meant to kill me." "no, no--i swear----" "don't lie! your soul may start on its long trail in a moment! don't lie when you may be on the brink of eternity!" these stern words frightened the fellow more than ever. "oh, i'm telling you the truth--i sw'ar i am!" he hastened to say. "you crept up to this door all ready to fill me full of lead." "no, no! nothing of the sort! i was not looking for you! it--it was some one else! i swear it by my honor!" a bitter smile curled the lips of the young man. "honor!" he said--"your honor! never mind. how much were you to receive for killing me?" "it was not you; it was another man." "what other?" "tracy." "my foreman?" "yes." "you were looking for him?" "yes." "why?" "him and me have had a fallin' out, and he cussed me. he threatened to shoot me, too." "what was the matter?" "oh, he didn't like the way i done my work. it's true; ask him. i swore i'd fix him." "well, what brought you here to my cabin to shoot the foreman?" "i thought i saw him coming this way." frank pressed his lips together and looked the man over. somehow he believed the ruffian was lying, in spite of all these protests. "see here, anson," he said, "you were hired by the mining trust, or by some of its tools, to shoot me, and you tried to earn your money. don't deny it, for you can't fool me. just own up to the truth and it will be better for you. tell me who made the deal with you and how much you were to receive. if you come out honestly and confess all, i'll spare you. your hand is bleeding pretty bad, and it should be attended to at once. i'll see to that, but upon condition that you confess." still the ruffian continued to protest, insisting that it was tracy he was looking for. in the midst of this he suddenly stopped, seeming to be badly frightened. "oh, lord!" he choked. "here comes tracy! don't tell him! i can't defend myself! don't tell him, or he'll sure shoot me up and finish me!" jim tracy was coming with long strides. he saw frank and the wretch with the bleeding hand. "whatever is this?" he demanded. "i heard the shooting. what has this yaller dog been up to?" "i shot him," said frank quietly. "he came walking into my door in a careless manner with his rifle in his hand, and i shot him in a hurry. he was foolish; he should have been more careful. it's dangerous to walk in on me that way, even with the most peaceable intentions." there was a strange look on tracy's face. "so that's how it happened?" he exclaimed, in a harsh voice. "well, it's pretty certain that hop anson needs to have his worthless neck stretched, and all i ask is permission to attend to the job. i'll dispose of him very quickly." "i told you, mr. merriwell!" muttered the wounded man. "you have had some trouble with him, have you, tracy?" asked frank. "confound his hide! yes, i have. he has no business here at this time. his place is discharging the rock as it comes out. the fact that he's here counts against him. turn him over to me." "instead of that," said frank, thrusting his revolver into his holster, "i think i'll take care of him. come in here, anson." tracy seemed astonished and disgusted. "what are you going to do?" he asked. "i'm going to see if i can't dress that hand and keep him from bleeding to death," was merriwell's answer. "well, by thunder!" muttered the foreman. chapter x. merriwell's method. it was not easy for such men to understand frank merriwell. hop anson was as much astonished as was jim tracy. he entered the cabin at frank's command, and merriwell proceeded to wash and examine the wound. "you'll have to lose two fingers and part of another one," said merriwell. "i can do the job for you right here, if you say so. or i'll patch them up, stop the bleeding, and let you get to a regular saw-bones." "you go ahead," said anson. so frank opened a trunk which sat behind a curtain in one corner of the room, bringing out a case, which, on being opened, revealed a complete set of surgical instruments. these he spread out on the rough table, and soon he was ready to operate on hop anson's mangled hand. jim tracy, his hands on his hips and his feet rather wide apart, stood looking on in silence. frank spent the greater part of an hour about his task, impressing tracy as an assistant, and when he had finished two of the ruffian's fingers and a part of the third were gone, but the amputation and dressing had been done in a manner that was anything but bungling. frank had been as careful as possible to preserve cleanliness about his work. "well, you're certain a wonder!" exclaimed tracy admiringly. "but you makes a big mistake in wastin' so much trouble on a dog like this." anson did not retort, save with a sullen flash of his treacherous eyes in the direction of the foreman. "permit me to know my business, tracy," said merry shortly. "you may go now, anson." "what? you're not going to let him go where he likes?" "yes." so hop anson walked out of the cabin, picked up his rifle, and disappeared. "i don't want to criticise you, mr. merriwell," said the foreman. "you know i am devoted to your interests. but i feel confident that you will be very sorry you treated that man in such a decent way and then let him off. he's a snake. i still believe he crept up to the door to shoot you in the back." "perhaps he did," nodded frank, cleansing his instruments with the utmost coolness. "if so, he got the worst of it." "but would you let him off like that if you knew it was so?" "no. he swore it was not. i had no proof, so i let him go." "you're altogether too easy with your enemies," asserted tracy. "just you turn them over to me. i'll take care of them, and they'll never bother you again, be right sure of that." "i'll think about it," smiled frank, returning the instruments to the case. "you came mighty near being killed by that greaser because you were easy with him." "and my life was saved by big monte because i had been easy with him. that balances things, i fancy. in fact, for me, it more than balances things. i'd rather let a dozen bad men escape punishment than strike one who is innocent." "but neither big monte nor pinto pede was innocent." "and pinto pede provided a subject with which to start a graveyard here. big monte seemed repentant. pede would have knifed me, but monte shot him just as he was ready to strike." "well, where's big monte now?" "i don't know," confessed frank. "he skipped out." "sure thing. he took a walk the first chance he got." "and it's certain he's gone back to his pals. when they strike at you ag'in, if they do, monte will be with 'em." "all right. perhaps he has an idea he'll be fighting fair that way." "and he may kill you yet." "possibly." "well," said tracy, "i must admit that i don't understand you none whatever! hop anson left his work, got a rifle and came sneakin' up to your door. you shoots him in the hand, then doctors him and lets him go. that's right peculiar. but i have him to deal with somewhat, and i propose to deal. if you hear before night that hop has hopped the divide don't be any surprised." tracy seemed about to depart. "look here," said frank, "before you go, i have some things to say. unless hop anson gives you good and sufficient cause, you are not to lift your hand against him. i don't want any shooting to get started here at the mine. i want these men to dwell together peaceably. the first shooting is likely to lead to other work in the same line." "you're too much against such things," said tracy; "and still i notice you don't hesitate any whatever to use a gun at times." "when forced to it; never at any other time. i am decidedly against it. it would be dead easy to start an affair here that would lead to disturbances that might get the men to quarreling. that would put the men in condition to revolt, and an assault upon the mine would find us weakened. i trust you, tracy, to be careful about this matter. much depends on you. you have proved satisfactory in every way." "thankee," said the foreman, somewhat awkwardly. "i've tried to do my best, sir." "that is all i ask of any man. that is all any man can do. you should understand why i wish no disturbance. but, at the same time, let me warn you to watch hop anson closely--for your own benefit. if you have to do any shooting, well and good." "i think i understand," said tracy, as he walked out. at the door he paused and half-turned, as if to say something more. already frank was facing the little mirror on the wall, ready to resume his shaving. he stood exactly as he had stood when he shot at anson, and his revolver lay on the shelf beneath the mirror. tracy went on. chapter xi. smoke signals and a decoy. frank grew restless. on the day following the shooting of anson he called tracy and said: "tracy, i want you to keep your eyes open and be on your guard while i am away." "are you going away, sir?" asked the foreman. "yes." "for a long time?" "that is uncertain. i may return by night, and i may not be back for several days." the foreman looked as if he wished to ask where frank thought of going, but held himself in check. "i wish to satisfy myself if any of my enemies are in this vicinity," said merriwell. "i leave things in your hands here, and i believe i can trust you." "you can, sir, fully." merry attended to the saddling of his horse. when he rode forth from the mine he was well armed and prepared for almost anything. behind him the roar of the ore-crushers died out, and he passed into the silence of the mountains. not an hour had passed when he was somewhat surprised to see before him from an elevated point a big, ball-like cloud of dark smoke rising into the sky. "that's odd," was his immediate decision. he stopped his horse and watched the smoke as it ascended and grew thinner. it was followed by another ball of smoke as he watched, and after this came still another. then frank turned in the saddle, looking in various directions. some miles behind him three distinct and separate clouds of smoke seemed to be mounting into the sky from another high elevation. "if those are not smoke signals," said frank, "i'm a chump! in that case, it's likely i'll have indians to deal with if i keep on. perhaps i'd better turn back." for something told him that he was the object of those signals, and this was an indian method of communication. he sat still for some time, watching the smoke fade in the upper air, which it did slowly. at last, however, it was gone, and the clear atmosphere held no black signal of danger. frank's curiosity was aroused. he longed to know the meaning of those signals. having looked to his weapons, he rode on slowly, keenly on the alert. coming through a narrow gorge into a valley that looked barren enough, he suddenly snatched forth a revolver and cried: "halt, there! stop, or----why, it's a woman!" for he had seen a figure hastily seeking concealment amid some boulders. at sound of his voice the figure straightened up and turned toward him. then he was more amazed than ever, for he saw a dark-faced mexican girl, wearing a short skirt and having about her neck a scarlet handkerchief. her head was bare, and her dark hair fell over her shoulders. she looked like a frightened fawn. no wonder he was astonished to behold such a vision in that desolate part of the mountains. she seemed trembling, yet eager, and she started to advance toward him. "oh, señor!" she said, in a voice that was full of soft music, "eet mus' be you are good man! eet mus' be you are not bad an' weeked. you would not hurt gonchita?" "not on your life!" exclaimed merry, at once putting up his revolver. at which she came running and panting up to him, all in a flutter of excitement. "oh, _madre de dios_! i am so much happeeness! i have de great fear when you i do see. oh, you weel come to heem? you weel do for heem de saveeng?" the girl was rather pretty, and she was not more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. she was tanned to a dark brown, but had white teeth, which were strangely pointed and sharp. "who do you mean?" "my fadare. _ay-de mi_! he ees hurt! de bad men shoot heem. they rob heem! he find de gold. he breeng me with heem here to de mountain, all alone. he theenk some time he be vera reech. he have de reech mine. then de bad men come. they shoot heem. they take hees gold. he come creep back to me. what can i to do? _ay-de mi_!" "your father--some bad men have shot him?" said merry. "_si, si, señor_!" "it must have been cimarron bill's gang," thought merry. the girl was greatly excited, but he continued to question her, until he understood her quite well. "is he far from here?" he asked. "no, not de very far. you come to heem? mebbe you do for heem some good. weel you come?" she had her brown hands clasped and was looking most beseechingly into frank's face. "of course i'll come," he said. "you shall show me the way. my horse will carry us both." he assisted her to mount behind him, and told her to cling about his waist. frank continued to question gonchita, who sometimes became almost unintelligible in her excitement and distress. they passed through the valley and turned into a rocky gorge. frank asked if it was much farther. "we be almost to heem now," assured gonchita. almost as the words left her lips the heads of four or five men appeared above some boulders just ahead, and as many rifles were leveled straight at frank's heart, while a well-known, triumphant voice shouted: "i've got you dead to rights, merriwell! if you tries tricks you gits soaked good and plenty!" at the same moment the girl threw her arms about frank's body, pinning his arms to his sides, so that he could make no move to draw a weapon. merry knew on the instant that he had been trapped. he realized that he had been decoyed into the snare by the mexican girl. he might have struggled and broken her hold, but he realized the folly of such an attempt. "be vera steel, señor!" hissed the voice of gonchita in his ear. "eet be bet-are." "you have betrayed me," said frank reproachfully. "i did not think it of you. and i was ready to do you a service." he said no more to her. out from the rocks stepped cimarron bill. "so we meet again, my gay young galoot," said the chief of the ruffians. "an' i reckon you'll not slip me so easy this time. that old injun o' yours is food fer buzzards, an' so he won't give ye no assistance whatever." "old joe----" muttered merry, in dismay. "oh, we finished him!" declared bill. "that's why you ain't seen him fer some time. set stiddy, now, an' don't make no ruction. "gonchita, toss down his guns." the mexican girl obeyed, slipping to the ground with a laugh when she had disarmed frank. the ruffians now came out from the shelter of the rocks and gathered about the youth, grinning at him in a most provoking manner. he recognized several of the same fellows who had once before acted as guard over him. red sam was there, and nodded to him. "you're a right slick poker-player," said the sandy rascal; "but we 'lowed a girl'd fool ye easy. goncheeter done it, too." frank nodded. "she did," he confessed. "i was taken off my guard. but you want to look out for indians." "why for?" merry then told them of the smoke signals, whereupon they grinned at one another knowingly. "that'll be all right," said bill. "them signals told us when you was comin', an' which way." "then you were doing the signaling?" "some o' the boys." frank was then ordered down and searched. he appeared utterly fearless. he observed that gonchita was watching him closely, a strange look in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, showing her milky, pointed teeth. when the men were satisfied that no weapon remained in the possession of their captive, two or three of them drew aside to consult, while the others guarded frank. cimarron bill patted gonchita's cheek with his hand. "well done, leetle gal!" he said. "you fooled him powerful slick." she smiled into bill's eyes, but in another moment, the chief, having turned away, she was watching frank again. the result of the consultation led to the placing of merry on his own horse, and he was guarded by the armed men who escorted him along the gorge until they came to a place where two men were watching a number of waiting horses. then there was mounting and riding away, with frank in the midst of his triumphant enemies. gonchita rode with them, having a wiry little pony that seemed able to cope with any of the other horses. frank was not a little disgusted because he had been decoyed into the trap, but he did his best to hide his feelings. it was some hours later that they halted to rest until the heat of the day should pass. a fire was built, and a meal prepared, gonchita taking active part in this work. frank sat near and watched all that was passing. he had not been bound, and his manner was that of one free amid the scoundrels by whom he was surrounded. it was gonchita who found an opportunity to whisper in his ear: "be vera careful! dey mean to shoot you eef you try de escape." he did not start or betray any emotion whatever. it hardly seemed that he had heard her whispered words. later, however, he gave her a look which conveyed to her the assurance that he had not failed to understand. as she worked about the fire she called upon him to replenish it with more fuel, which he did. he was putting wood on the fire when she again whispered to him: "i weel drop by you a peestol. tak' eet; you may need eet." he made no retort, but watched for her to keep her promise, which she afterward found opportunity to do. merry was lying carelessly on the ground when the weapon, a tiny revolver, was dropped at his side. immediately he rolled over upon his stomach, in a lazy fashion, hiding the weapon, and shortly after he succeeded in slipping it into his pocket. frank wondered how this strange girl happened to be with those ruffians. it seemed a most remarkable and mysterious thing. he also wondered why she had been led to give him the pistol. having led him into the trap, she had suddenly changed so that she now seemed to wish him to escape without harm. the truth was that his coolness and nerve, together with his handsome, manly appearance, had quite won gonchita's heart. she was a changeable creature, and had quickly come to regret leading this handsome youth into such a snare. when the food was prepared all partook heartily. two of the men, a big fellow with an evil face, called brazos tom, and a thick-shouldered brute hailed as mike redeye, had been drinking freely from a flask. brazos tom was given to chaffing the others in a manner that some of them did not appreciate, and this inclination grew upon him with the working of the liquor. redeye was a sullen, silent fellow, and frank regarded him as a very dangerous man. once or twice cimarron bill gave tom a look, and, at last, the big fellow seemed to quiet down. after the meal, while the men were yet resting, bill had his horse saddled for some reason, and rode away, having left the men in charge of red sam. as soon as the chief was gone, brazos tom brought forth his flask, which was now nearly emptied. "gents," he said, "while we is waitin' we'll finish this an' try a hand at poker. wot d'yer say?" "oh, blazes!" growled one. "you an' mike has purt' near finished that. thar ain't enough left fer a drap apiece if we pass it around." "drink up your stuff," said red sam. "it's poor firewater, anyhow. i'm fer the poker. does you come inter this yere game, young gent, same as ye did oncet before?" this question was addressed to frank, but merry already "smelled a mouse," and so it did not need the warning look from gonchita and the slight shake of her head to deter him. "excuse me," he said. "i have no money." "waal, fish some out o' the linin' o' your clothes, same as you did afore," advised sam. "but i have none in the lining of my clothes." "i begs yer pardon, but we knows a heap sight better. don't try no monkey business with us, younker! you was good enough ter git inter a game oncet before an' try ter show us up, so we gives ye another chanct, an' ye'd better accept it in a hurry." "i hardly think i have a friend here who will be willing to lend me money," smiled merry. "unless somebody does so, i cannot play. that being the case, i reckon i'll keep out of it." sam laid a hand on the butt of his revolver. "you can't play none of that with us!" he declared fiercely. "we knows how you found the money afore, an' you'll find it ag'in. come, be lively." frank looked the man over. "you could get blood from a turnip easier than money from me," he declared. then, as red sam seemed about to draw his weapon, gonchita chipped in, crying: "don't do it, sam! i have you cover' weez my peestol! i weel shoot!" the men were astonished, for gonchita had drawn a pistol and had it pointed at the head of red sam, while in her dark eyes there was a deadly gleam. "what in blazes is the matter with you?" snarled red sam, looking at her over his shoulder. "you hear what gonchita say," she purred, a flush in her brown cheeks. "she mena de busineeze." frank could not help admiring her then, for she presented a very pretty picture. reluctantly sam thrust back his weapon into his holster. "oh, all right!" he laughed coarsely. "i see you're stuck up a heap on the feller." "you not to shoot heem while i am around." "whoop!" roared brazos tom, in apparent delight. "thar's a gal fer ye! i shore admires her style!" then, being in a position to do so, he sprang on gonchita, caught her in his strong arms so she could not defend herself, and gave her a bearlike hug and a kiss. the next instant something like a hard piece of iron struck tom behind the ear and he measured his length on the ground. frank merriwell had reached his feet at a bound, and hit the giant a blow that knocked him down in a twinkling. through all this gonchita had held fast to her drawn revolver, and now she had it ready for use, so that, when those ruffians placed hands on their weapons, she again warned them. at the same time she flung herself between them and frank, so that he was partly protected as he stood over brazos tom, who lay prone and dazed. "take hees peestols!" she palpitated. and frank followed this piece of advice, relieving the fallen ruffian of his revolvers, so that tom's hand reached vainly for one of the weapons as he began to recover. "eef you make de fight," said the girl to the ruffians, "we now gif you eet all you want." never before had they seen her in such a mood, and they were astounded. but they knew she could shoot, for they had seen her display her marksmanship. "you little fool!" grated sam. "are you goin' to help that galoot try to git erway?" "no, i do not dat; but i see he ees not hurt till beel he come back." then she commanded frank to throw down the pistol he had taken from tom, which merry did, knowing there was no chance for him to escape then without a shooting affray, in which he was almost certain to be wounded. immediately on this act of frank's the ruffians seemed to abandon any desire to draw and shoot at him. but brazos tom rose in a great rage, almost frothing at the mouth. "ten thousan' tarantulas!" he howled. "let me git my paws on him!" he made a rush for frank, who seemed to stand still to meet him, but stepped aside just as the ruffian tried to fold him in his arms. then the big wretch was somehow caught about the body, lifted into the air, and sent crashing to the ground, striking on his head and shoulders. the young athlete from yale handled brazos tom with such ease that every witness was astounded. the big fellow lay where he fell, stunned and finished. gonchita looked at frank with a light of the most intense admiration in her dark eyes. "how you do eet so easee?" she asked. "that's nothing, with a bungler like him to meet," said merry quietly. the ruffians said nothing, but exchanged meaning glances. they had been foiled for the time being by the girl and by the cleverness of their captive. chapter xii. lost in the mountains. four persons were lost in the mountains. three of them were young men who were scarcely more than youths. all were mounted on broncos. one was a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked chap, who had an odd manner of talking, and who emphasized his words with little gestures and flirts of his hand that were very peculiar. another was dark and silent, with a face that was decidedly handsome, although it denoted a person given more or less to brooding and morbid thoughts. the third youth was long and lank and talked with a nasal drawl and a manner of speech that proclaimed him a down-easter. these three were respectively jack ready, bart hodge, and ephraim gallup, all friends and former companions of frank merriwell. the fourth one of the party was a red-nosed bummer, known as whisky jim, whom they had picked up to guide them from the little railroad-town to frank merriwell's mine. jim had averred that he knew "every squar' foot o' arizony frum the grand cañon to the mexican line," and they had trusted in his promise to lead them, with the smallest possible delay, to the queen mystery mine. jim would not acknowledge that he was lost. they had provided him with the bronco he bestrode and promised him good pay when they should come to the mine. he had collected enough in advance to "outfit" with a liberal supply of whisky, and had managed to keep beautifully loaded ever since they rode out to the southwest. their horses were wearied and reluctant, while they were sun-scorched and covered with dust. "by gum!" groaned gallup. "i'm purty near pegged! this is too much fer me. i wish i was to hum on the farm!" "prithee say not so!" cried ready. "you give unto me that feeling of sadness known to those who are homesick. ah, me! to endure thus to have my beautiful complexion destroyed by this horrid sun! and behold my lily-white hands! are they not spectacles to make the gods sigh with regret! permit me to squeeze out a few salt teardrops." hodge was saying nothing. "'sall ri', boysh," assured the useless guide thickly. "jesht you wait an' shee. whazzer mazzer with you? i know m' bushiness. who shays i dunno m' bushiness?" he was able to sit perfectly straight in the saddle, although he was disgustingly intoxicated. "i say you don't know your business, you old fool!" said hodge, breaking out at last. "it would serve you right if we were to leave you here in the mountains. a great guide you are! you'd die if we left you! you'd never find your way out." jim looked astonished. this was the first time bart had broken forth thus plainly. "you don't mean it?" he gurgled. "you bet your life i meant it! i'm in for leaving you to get back to town the best way you can." "oh, don't do that!" exclaimed jim, sobered somewhat by his alarm. "someshin' might happen t' you, boysh." "let's leave him," nodded jack ready, amused by the consternation of the old fellow. "derned ef we don't!" cried gallup. upon which the "guide" became greatly alarmed, begging them for the love of goodness not to leave him there in the mountains to die alone. "but you're a guide," said hodge. "you would be able to get out all right." "boysh," said the old toper, "i got a 'fession to make." "what is it?" "i ain't been in the guidin' bushiness for shome time. i'm a leetle rusty; jest a bit out o' practish. that's whazzer mazzer." "why didn't you say so in the first place? what made you lie to us?" "boysh, i needed the moneysh. hones' injun, i needed the moneysh bad. been a long time shince i've had all the whisky i could hold. great treat f' me." bart was disgusted, but jack ready was inclined to look at the affair in a humorous light. "i'd like to know the meaning of those smoke clouds we saw," said hodge. "they looked mighty queer to me." they consulted together, finally deciding to halt in a shadowy valley and wait for the declining of the sun, which would bring cooler air. they confessed to one another that they were lost, and all felt that the situation was serious. it was not at all strange that hodge was very angry with the worthless old toper who had led them into this predicament. "we may never get out of these mountains," he said. "or, if we do, we may perish in the desert. i tell you, fellows, we're in a bad scrape!" "dear me!" sighed ready. "and i anticipated great pleasure in surprising merry to-day. alas and alack! such is life. i know this dreadful sunshine will spoil my complexion!" gallup looked dolefully at the horses, which were feeding on the buffalo-grass of the valley. "we're a pack of darn fools!" he observed. "we'd oughter sent word to frankie that we was comin', an' then he'd bin on hand to meet us." the "guide" had stretched himself in the shadow of some boulders and fallen fast asleep. "i suppose i'm to blame for this thing, fellows," said bart grimly. "it was my scheme to take merry by surprise." "waal, i ruther guess all the rest of us was reddy enough ter agree to it," put in gallup. "we're jest ez much to blame as you be." they talked the situation over for a while. finally bart rose and strolled off by himself, gallup calling after him to look out and not go so far that he could not find his way back. hodge was gone almost an hour. his friends were growing alarmed, when he came racing back to them, his face flushed with excitement and his eyes flashing. "come, fellows!" he cried, his voice thrilling them. "i've got something to show you! we're wanted mighty bad by a friend of ours who is in trouble!" they were on their feet. "who in thutteration be you talkin' abaout?" asked gallup. "perchance you mean frank?" said ready. "you bet your life!" said bart. "make sure your rifles are in working order! leave the horses right where they're picketed. leave jim with them. he'll look after them, if he awakes." for whisky jim continued to sleep soundly through all this. so they seized their weapons and prepared to follow bart. as they ran, bart made a brief explanation. he had climbed to a point from whence he looked down into a grassy valley, and there he discovered some horses and men. the horses were feeding, and the men were reclining in the shade, with the exception of one or two. while bart looked he recognized one of the men, and also saw a girl. at first he thought he must be deceived, but soon he was satisfied that the one he recognized was the comrade he had traveled thousands of miles to join, bringing with him ready and gallup. as he watched, he saw the encounter between merry and brazos tom, and that was enough to satisfy hodge that his friend was in serious trouble. then he hastened back to get jack and ephraim. when bart again reached the point where he could look into that valley he was astonished to discover that another struggle was taking place down there. frank was engaged in a knife-duel with red sam, having been forced into it. and red sam meant to kill him. the watching ruffians were gathered around, while gonchita, a pistol in her hand, was watching to see that the youth had fair play. without doubt, the sandy ruffian had expected to find merriwell easy, and finish him quickly in an engagement of this sort. but frank merriwell had been instructed in knife-play by a clever expert, and he soon amazed red sam and the other ruffians by meeting the fellow's assault, catching his blade, parrying thrust after thrust, leaping, dodging, turning, charging, retreating, and making such a wonderful contest of it that the spectators were electrified. it was frank's knife that drew first blood. he slit the ruffian's sleeve at the shoulder and cut the man slightly. gonchita's dark eyes gleamed. more than ever she marveled at this wonderful youth, who seemed more than a match for any single ruffian of bill's band. "he is a wonder!" she told herself. "oh, he is grand! they meant to kill him. if he beats red sam they shall not kill him." sam swore when he felt the knife clip his shoulder. "i'll have your heart's blood!" he snarled. frank smiled into his face in a manner that enraptured the watching girl. "you are welcome to it--if you can get it! but look out for yourself!" then he began a whirlwindlike assault upon sam, whom he soon bewildered by his movements. he played about the man like a leaping panther. once sam struck hard at frank's breast, and merry leaped away barely in time, for the keen knife slit the front of his shirt, exposing the clean white skin beneath. but again and again frank cut the big ruffian slightly, so that soon sam was bleeding from almost a dozen wounds and slowly growing weaker in spite of his efforts to brace up. the knives sometimes flashed together. the men stood and stared into each other's eyes. then they leaped and dodged and struck and struck again. little did frank dream of the friends who were watching him from above. bart hodge was thrilled into silence by the spectacle. he knelt, with his rifle ready for instant use, panting as the battle for life continued. "great gosh all hemlock!" gurgled ephraim gallup, his eyes bulging. "did you ever see anything like that in all your natteral born days? dern my squash ef i ever did!" "it is beautiful!" said jack ready. "frank is doing almost as well as i could do myself! i'll have to compliment him on his clever work." twice bart hodge had the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, but lowered it without firing. "he's gittin' the best of the red-headed feller!" panted gallup. "of course!" nodded ready. "did you look for anything else to happen?" "them men don't like it much of enny." "they do not seem greatly pleased." "i bet they all go fer him if he does the red-head up." "in which case," chirped jack, "it will be our duty to insert a few lead pills into them." bart was not talking. he believed frank in constant danger of a most deadly sort, and he was watching every move of the ruffians, ready to balk any attempt at treachery. as sam weakened frank pressed him harder. the fellow believed merry meant to kill him, if possible. at length merriwell caught sam's blade with his own, gave it a sudden twist, and the fellow's knife was sent spinning through the air, to fall to the ground at a distance. at that moment one of the ruffians suddenly flung up a hand that held a revolver, meaning to shoot frank through the head. before he could fire, however, he pitched forward on his face. down from the heights above came the clear report of the rifle in the hands of bartley hodge. bart had saved the life of his old friend. chapter xiii. frank's escape. as the ruffian pitched forward on his face, gonchita uttered a cry. the attention of the men was turned toward the point from which the unexpected shot had come. the mexican girl caught hold of merry, thrust a pistol into his hand, and hissed: "back--back there! quick! it's your chance! you take eet!" frank did not hesitate. with the pistol in his hand, he went leaping toward the point of cover indicated. he was behind the rocks before the desperadoes realized what had taken place. they turned, uttering exclamations of anger and dismay. "steady, you chaps!" rang out frank's clear voice. "keep your distance! if you don't----" but now the three young fellows above began shooting into the valley, and their whistling bullets sent the ruffians scudding to cover. gonchita disdained to fly. she walked deliberately to the shelter of the rocks near frank. "i geet horse for you," she said. "you take eet an' ride. eet ees your chance. mebbe them your friend?" frank had caught barely a glimpse of the three fellows, and he was not at all sure that his eyes had not deceived him. "perhaps they are my friends," he said. "they must be." "you ready to go?" "yes." she ran out and pulled the picket pin of one of the horses. this animal she brought up close to the point where frank crouched. "take heem queek!" she panted. "you haf de chance! down de vallee. mebbe you git 'way." frank hesitated. he knew the danger of such an attempt. he no longer doubted the friendliness of gonchita, although the remarkable change in her was most astonishing. but the firing from above continued, and the ruffians were forced to again take to their heels and seek still safer shelter farther up the valley. that was merry's opportunity, and he seized it. in a twinkling, while the rascals were in confusion, he leaped upon the bare back of the horse, headed the animal down the valley, and was off. a yell came down from above; but frank, bending low, did not answer it. two or three bullets were sent after him. he was untouched, however. gonchita had armed him with two pistols, neither of which he had used. one he held gripped in his hand as the horse carried him tearing down the valley, and thus he came full upon cimarron bill, who was returning to his satellites. bill was astounded. he had drawn a pistol, and he fired at the rider who was stooping low along the neck of the horse. the animal tossed its head and took the bullet in his brain. even as the horse fell, frank fired in return. he flung himself from the animal, striking on his feet. bill's horse reared high in the air, striking with its forward feet. the rider leaned forward and fired from beneath the creature's neck as it stood on its hind legs, but the movements of the animal prevented him from accuracy. merry's second shot struck the hind leg of bill's horse, and the creature came down in such a manner that its rider was pitched off, striking upon his head and shoulders. frank did not fire again, for bill lay in a heap on the ground. the horse struggled up, being caught by merry. frank looked to the beast's wound, fearing to find its leg broken. this, however, was not the case, although the bullet had made a rather ugly little wound. in another moment frank was in bill's saddle, and away he went on the back of the chief's horse, leaving the stunned rascal where he had fallen. "an exchange of horses," he half-laughed. "you may have my dead one in place of your wounded one. if you do not like the bargain, captain bill, blame yourself." he was in no great fear of pursuit, but he longed to know just what friends had come to his rescue at such an opportune moment. how was he to reach them? when he felt that he was safe, he drew up bill's splendid horse, dismounted and examined the bleeding wound. it was far less serious than he had feared, and he proceeded to dress it, tearing his handkerchief into strips to tie about the creature's leg. having attended to his horse, merry remounted and sought to find a means of approaching the spot from which his unknown friends had fired into the valley at such an opportune moment. he was thus employed when he came upon a most disreputable-looking old bummer, who had in his possession four horses. this man was startled by the appearance of merriwell and acted very strangely. frank rode slowly forward, ready for whatever might take place. however, he was recognized by the man, who uttered a shout of astonishment. the man with the horses was whisky jim, who had awakened to find his companions gone. he greeted merriwell with protestations of delight. "i knew i wash a guide!" he said. "who shed i washn't guide? i shed i'd bring 'em to frank merriwell, an' i done it. but whazzer mazzer? where zey gone? i dunno." barely had merry started to question the old toper when hodge, ready, and gallup appeared, hurrying forward. when they saw merriwell they gave a cheer of delight, and, one minute later, they were shaking hands with him. "what does this mean?" asked frank, when he could recover enough to ask anything. "it means," said bart, "that we are here to back you up in your fight against the mining trust. you can depend on us to stand by you. after getting your letter, in which you wrote all about the hot time you were having fighting the trust, i hastened to get hold of ready and gallup and light out for this part of our great and glorious country. here we are, though we're dead in luck to find you, for this drunken duffer managed to lose us here in the mountains." "and you were the ones who chipped in just at the right time after my little encounter with red sam? fellows, you have given me the surprise of my life! it's great to see you again! i ran into those gents, or was led into a trap by a very singular girl, and it looked as if i was in a bad box. the girl, however, seemed to change her mind after getting me into the scrape, and she wanted to get me out. i owe her a lot. but there is no telling when cimarron bill and his gang may come hiking this way after me, so i propose that we light out for the queen mystery, where we can talk things over at our leisure." they were ready enough to follow his lead. jim tracy sat with his feet elevated upon frank merriwell's table, smoking his pipe and talking to hop anson, who was on the opposite side of the table when the door opened and frank stepped in, followed by his friends, with whisky jim staggering along in the rear. tracy's boots came down from the table with a thud, and he jumped up, uttering an exclamation and looking astounded. "well, may i be derned!" he said, staring at frank. now merriwell was not at all pleased to find the foreman making free in his cabin in such a manner. "what's the matter, tracy?" he asked sharply, glancing from jim's face to that of anson, who seemed no less confounded. "you seem disturbed." "i allow i didn't expect ye back so soon," mumbled the foreman, who could not recover his composure at once. "but i told you i might be back in a few hours, or i might not return for many days." "i know, but----" "but what?" "oh, nothing!" "it's plain you were making yourself quite at home here. what were you doing with anson?" "jest givin' him a piece o' my mind," answered tracy promptly. "i reckon he knows now purty well what i think of him." now to merry, it had seemed on his appearance that these two men were engaged in a confidential chat. "well, couldn't you find some other place to talk to him?" frank asked. "i brought him here so the rest of the boys wouldn't hear us," explained tracy. "i opined they might take a right strong dislike to him in case they found out what happened this mornin'." "you have not told them?" "no." "well, your consideration for anson seems very strange, considering the talk you made to-day at an earlier hour." "i'm jest follerin' your orders," protested the foreman, not at all pleased by merry's manner. "very well. you may retire, tracy. boys, make yourselves at home." as tracy and anson were going out, the eyes of the latter encountered those of whisky jim, who was surveying him closely in a drunken manner. "who are you lookin' at?" muttered anson. "sheems to me," said jim thickly, "i'm a-lookin' at a gent what had shome deeficulty down tucson way 'bout takin' a hoss what b'longed to nozzer man." "you're a liar, you drunken dog!" grated anson, as he hastened from the cabin. "do you know that man?" asked merry, of jim. "sh!" hissed the toper, with a cautioning gesture. "i don't want 't gener'lly know i ever shaw him before. he'sh a hosh-thief. he'd shteal anything, he would. i never 'nowledge him ash 'quaintance of mine." "do you know the other man, my foreman?" "sheems to look ruzer nacheral," said jim; "but can't 'zactly plashe him. all shame, if he keeps comp'ny wish that hosh-thief, you look out f' him." frank celebrated his safe return to the mine in company with his friends by preparing a rather elaborate spread, and all gathered about the table to enjoy it and chat about old times and the present fight merry was making against the mining trust. "waal, dinged if this ain't scrumpshus!" cried ephraim gallup. "i'm feelin' a hanged sight better than i was when we was lost out in the maountains this arternoon." "fellows," said merry, "you have given me the surprise of my life. i never dreamed of seeing you at such a time. and bart's shot saved my life. i know it! i owe him everything!" there was a glow of satisfaction in the dark eyes of hodge. "you owe me nothing," he said earnestly. "whatever i am i owe it to you. do you think i am a fellow to forget? that is why i am here. i felt that this was the time for me to prove my loyalty. when i explained it to ephraim and jack they were eager to come with me to back you in your fight. if you need them, you can have any of the old gang. they'll come to a man." "thus far," said merry, "i have been able to balk every move of the enemy. they have employed ruffians who hesitate at nothing. you saw the fellow with the bandaged hand who was here with my foreman? well, it was this very morning, while i was shaving at that glass, that he crept up to that open door and tried to shoot me in the back. i fired first, and he has lost a few fingers." "dear me!" said ready. "i'm so frightened! what if somebody should take a fancy to shoot me full of holes! it might damage me beyond repair!" "gol ding it!" chuckled gallup. "you must be havin' enough to keep you alfired busy around here. but what is that chap a-doin' of stayin' here?" frank explained fully about hop anson, adding that he had partly believed anson's statement that it was the foreman for whom he was looking. "but since coming back here unexpectedly," said merry, "and finding them together in such a friendly fashion, i am inclined to think differently. tracy pretended to have a powerful feeling against anson. something leads me to believe now that tracy will bear watching." they sat up until a late hour talking over old times and other matters that interested them all. when they slept they took pains to make sure that the door and windows were secured. whisky jim slept outside in another building. chapter xiv. mysterious pablo. the following morning, while frank and his friends were at breakfast, there came the sounds of a struggle outside the cabin, followed by a knock on the door. merry drew a revolver and laid it in his lap. "come in," he called. the door was flung open, and tracy entered, dragging by the collar a small mexican lad, who held back and betrayed every evidence of terror. "found him skulking about, mr. merriwell," said the foreman. "don't know whar he come from. just brought him yere fer you to deal with." the boy seemed badly frightened. "let him go, tracy," said frank. the boy hesitated when released, seeming on the point of running, but pausing to look appealingly at merry. he was not a bad-looking little chap, although he was rather dirty and unkempt. he had wondrous dark eyes, big and full of interrogation. "well, my boy, what do you want?" asked merry, in a kindly way. the boy shook his head. "i want notheenk de señor can gif," he answered, in a low tone. "how came you around here?" "i hunt for my seestar." "your sister?" "_si, señor_." "where is she?" "that i cannot tell, señor. she be take away by de bad man. he haf fool her, i t'ink." "what bad man do you mean?" "seester call heem beel." "bill?" "dat ees hees name." "bill what?" the boy shook his head once more. "i know eet not," he said. "he half manee man like heem who do what he say. he get my seester to go wif heem." "what is your sister's name?" "eet ees gonchita." frank jumped. "gonchita?" he cried. "dat ees eet," nodded the boy. "mebbe you do know her?" "i think i have seen her," said merry. "by jove! so this fellow bill led her to run away with him, did he, the scoundrel? and you are searching for him. what will you do if you find him?" "i cannot tell, but i want my seestar to come 'way an' leaf heem. he ees bad man." "that's right. what's your name?" "pablo." "well, pablo, my boy, i hope you find your sister all right and get her away from bill, but you have a big job on your hands. come here and have some breakfast. are you hungry?" "oh, vera hungree, señor!" "you shall have all you can eat. it's all right, tracy. you may go. i'll take care of the kid." "i wish to report, sir," said tracy, "that hop anson is missing." "what's that? anson--he's gone?" "skipped out last night, sir. he was not to be found this morning. i thought he'd do it, sir." "well, let him go. i don't think he'll do much harm." "if you had listened to me, i'd fixed him so he'd never done any further harm." "all right, tracy--all right. i'll see you later." tracy left the room. "look out for that man, frank," said hodge, in an ominous manner. "he is not to be trusted at all." "all right," said merry. "we'll not discuss him--now." which remark was made with a meaning look toward the mexican lad. pablo was given a place at the table and a steaming cup of coffee placed before him. corn bread and bacon, with some canned stuff, made up the breakfast, and the boy ate almost ravenously of everything given him. but he kept his hat pulled low over his eyes all the while. after breakfast frank sought to question pablo further, succeeding in drawing from the boy that both his father and mother were dead, and that he had lived in holbrook with his sister, where she had seen bill, who seemed to fascinate her. at least she had run away with the man, and, arming himself with a knife and pistol, pablo had followed to rescue or avenge her. chance had led him to the valley in which the queen mystery mine was located. it was rather a pathetic little story, and merry was somewhat stirred by it. "what could you do if you should find bill?" he asked. a grim look came to pablo's soiled yet attractive face. "i haf my peestol," he said. "but bill is a very bad man, and he would have a pistol, too." "i do my best. i am not skeert of beel." "well, as i happen to know something of bill, i tell you now, pablo, that it will be better for you if you never meet him." "but my seestar--my seestar! i mus' find her." frank was tempted to tell the boy what he knew about gonchita, but decided not to do so, believing it would be to no purpose. so pablo remained in the valley for the time, seeming in no hurry to continue the search for his sister. he wandered about the mine and the buildings, peering curiously at everything with his big eyes, listening to the talk of the men, and seeming to have a great curiosity. all this was observed by bart hodge, who watched the lad as closely as possible. that afternoon bart said to frank: "merry, that greaser boy acts queer. have you noticed it?" "how do you mean?" "why, he told a story about being in a dreadful hurry to find his sister, but he hangs around here." "i suppose the little chap doesn't know where to look for the girl." "but he's such an inquisitive little rascal. he goes slipping around everywhere, looking at everything, and listening to the talk of the men. he acts to me like a spy." "it's his way. mexicans have a sneaking way about them, you know." "well, it may be his way, but i wouldn't trust him." "i don't propose to trust him," said frank, with a laugh. "i am not given to trusting greasers. it is probable that he will go away to-morrow and we'll never see anything more of him." "perhaps so." "i expect to find him gone in the morning," said merry. but in the morning pablo was found sleeping just outside frank's door when merry opened it. he lay there, his old hat pulled down over his ears, curled up like a dog; but he started wide-awake and sat up, staring at merriwell with his big black eyes. "what the dickens you doing here?" asked frank, annoyed. "i tak' de sleep," grinned pablo faintly. "well, couldn't you find any other place? have you been there all night?" "oh, i haf no odar place. thees good for pablo." "well, it may be all right for you; but it seems deuced uncomfortable to me. when are you going to look for bill and your sister?" "_manana_." "to-morrow?" "_si, señor_." frank could not refrain from smiling at this characteristic answer. with the spaniards everything is to be done to-morrow, and the lazy mexican, having adopted the language of the spaniard, has also adopted his motto. when frank turned back he found hodge washing. "i told you," said bart. "the fellow acts to me like a spy. it wouldn't surprise me to find out that he had been sent here by bill. this story about his sister may be faked up." "but i know gonchita is with the ruffians." "that's all right. that makes it all the easier to deceive you. that made the boy's story seem all the more probable. just you watch him close and see if he doesn't act the spy." "all right," laughed merry. "but let's have breakfast without worrying about him." it was necessary to drag ready out. "oh, me! oh, my!" sighed jack dolefully. "methinks i have bestridden something that hath galled me extensively. i am likewise weary and sore in every limb and joint." gallup had stood the riding much better, but even he was lame. after breakfast frank went out and found pablo curled in the sunshine around the corner of the hut. and not more than four feet from the mexican lad was a rattlesnake. the crack of the pistol in frank's hand caused pablo to start up with a jump. he stared in astonishment at merry, who stood over him, holding the smoking pistol. then he looked and saw the headless snake stretched on the ground. "oh, _madre de dios_!" he cried. "you shoot de snake! mebbe you save me from de snake!" "perhaps so," nodded frank, with a slight smile. "you had better be careful, for snakes are not all the dangerous things you will find on the ground." pablo made a spring and caught frank's hand. "to me you are so veree goode!" he said, kissing merry's hand in a manner that surprised frank somewhat. then he saw the pistol with which the snake had been shot. "_carrambo_!" he cried, in astonishment. "where you geet eet? de peestol. eet do belong to my seestar." for merry had shot the snake with the pistol given him by gonchita. "how you haf eet?" asked pablo, with great eagerness. "where you geet eet?" frank was fairly cornered. as a result, he sat down there and told the mexican boy of his capture by cimarron bill's gang and of gonchita. "then she be steel alife?" exclaimed pablo. "beel haf not keeled her!" "he had not then." "but she help you to geet away?" "yes." "then mebbe beel be veree angry weeth her--mebbe he keel her! eef he do that----" "if he does he ought to be hanged! pablo, bill is sure to be hanged or shot before long, anyhow." "but he tell gonchita he mak' veree much monee. he say big men what can buy the law pay him much monee." "i know what he means, pablo. a lot of men have banded together to rob me of my mines, this one here and another in mexico. they expected to do so with ease at first, but made a fizzle of it. they thought to take the mines from me by law; but now they know they cannot do that, and they have hired bill and his ruffians to seize it. those men are the ones who are paying bill for his work. he expects they will protect him when it is done. he is looking for a pardon for all past offenses." "but you weel not let him beat you?" "not if i can help it. he has failed thus far. he attacked the mine with his ruffians and was repulsed." "de nex' time he do eet deeferent. he come een when you do not expect. mebbe he geet somebody to gef de mine up to them." "nobody here," said merry, with a laugh. "i can trust my men." "you theenk so." "oh, i'm sure of it." "one try to shoot you not long 'go." "yes. how did you learn of that?" "pablo have de ear. he hear something." "what did you hear?" "dat man be paid to try de shoot." "look here, how do you know?" "oh, i hear some of de men talk. they all say they pritee sure of eet. how you like my seestar?" the boy asked the question with such suddenness that frank was a bit startled. "i am sorry for her, pablo. i'm sorry bill has her in his hands." "oh, beel he say he marree her; but i know he lie. mebbe she know eet now. beel want her to help heem. you theenk she veree bad girl?" this question was put almost pathetically, pablo again grasping frank's hand and gazing wistfully into merry's eyes. "no; i do not think she is very bad." "she do noteeng to make you theenk so?" "well, she fooled me somewhat at first by telling me a story about her wounded father. she had such an innocent way that i swallowed the yarn. that was how i fell into bill's hands. i accompanied her to go, as i supposed, to her wounded father. she decoyed me into a trap." "but afterward--afterward?" eagerly asked the boy. "she seemed to change in a most remarkable manner, and helped me out of it. but for her, i fancy i'd surely been disposed of by those ruffians." "then you see she be not so veree bad. when she first see you mebbe she never seen you before. mebbe she haf promeesed to beel that she take you eento trap. aftare she see you she be soree, and she want you to geet away." "i think that was about the way things happened, pablo." "i am glad you do not theenk she ees so veree bad girl. what you do eef i breeng her here?" "what would i do?" "_si señor_; how you like eet?" pablo was watching frank's face closely. "why, i would do my best for her," said merry. "i should feel it my duty after what she did for me." "you would not be veree angree?" "no." "nor veree please'?" "why, for your sake i would be pleased." "but you never care for your own sake at all? you never want to see my seestar again?" "i should be glad to see her and thank her." "dat ees all?" "and to do her any other favor in my power. i am not ungrateful enough to forget what she did for me." "dat ees all?" "what more do you want?" demanded merry, in surprise. "notheeng," murmured pablo regretfully, as he turned and walked away. chapter xv. merry's discovery. the actions of tracy seemed strangely suspicious to merry, who undertook to watch the man, only to find that pablo seemed to be watching him still more closely. thus it happened that merry followed the foreman up the valley and saw him meet another man at a point removed beyond view of the mine. the man tracy met was none other than hop anson, readily recognized at a distance by his bandaged hand. "something doing!" muttered frank, as he crouched behind the rocks and watched the two. "tracy wanted to lynch anson. now they meet like this, apparently by appointment. my foreman is playing some sort of a double game." this point was settled in frank's mind. he longed to be near enough to hear what was passing between the two, but could not reach such a position without exposing himself. the men were suspicious that they might be watched. they did not remain there long. but frank distinctly saw anson give tracy something, which the latter placed in his pocket. then the foreman turned back, and hop anson vanished in the opposite direction. frank was tempted to step out and confront the foreman, demanding to know what it meant, but he chose to remain quiet and seek the truth in another manner. so he let tracy pass. but when the foreman had disappeared merry sprang up and went racing after hop anson, hoping to run the rascal down. he came out where he could see far along a broad gorge, and there, riding into the distance, mounted on a good horse, was anson. frank knew the folly of trying further pursuit, so he stood still and watched the vanishing figure. "i'd like to know just what it was that hop anson gave tracy," he said, aloud. immediately, within less than twenty feet from him, pablo, the mexican boy, arose into view. "i teel you what eet was," he said. "eet was monee." frank was startled by this sudden appearance of the boy. "what are you doing here?" he asked sharply. "oh, i watch de tracy man," returned the lad craftily. "i see something." "were you near enough to hear their talk?" "just a leetle beet." "ha! what was it? what did you hear?" "de man with hurt hand he geef oder man monee. oder man take eet. say eet not enough. must have two times more as much before he do something man with hurt hand want heem to do. man with hurt hand mad. eet do no goode. oder man say breeng as much more twice over to heem at same place same time to-morrow." it is needless to say that this revelation was intensely interesting to merriwell. "why, hop anson has no money!" exclaimed frank. "where did he get it? it must have come from bill. in that case, an attempt is being made to bribe my foreman. i have a traitor in the mine, and he means to deliver me into the hands of the enemy." "tracy man he say to man with hurt hand that pablo, the brother of gonchita, ees here." "so tracy told anson that?" "_si, señor_." "well, i think i need a new foreman--and need him bad! it is about time for mr. tracy to get out!" "you wait and watch, you ketch heem." it was arranged that pablo should return in advance to the mine, in order that they might not be seen coming in together. so the mexican boy strolled back with assumed carelessness. but it happened that jim tracy was watching, and he saw pablo, whereupon he hastened to meet the boy. "where have you been?" harshly demanded the foreman. pablo looked surprised. "i go to tak' de walk," he said. "you little liar!" snarled tracy. "you have been playing the spy! i know what you have been doing!" "de spyee--how you mean?" the mexican lad seemed very innocent. "i've seen you sneaking around. why are you hanging around here, anyhow? why don't you get out?" "dat none of your busineeze," returned the lad saucily. "you little runt!" growled tracy, catching the boy by the shoulder. "do you dare talk to me that way?" "you beeg rufeen!" cried pablo. "you hurt! let of me a-go!" then he kicked the foreman on the shins. immediately, with a roar of rage, tracy struck pablo with his fist, knocking the boy down. pablo was armed with a pistol, and this weapon he snatched out when he scrambled to his feet. but tracy was on hand to clutch him and wrest the weapon from his grasp. "you little devil!" grated the man. "i'll cut your throat on the spot!" there was a terrible look in his eyes as he whipped out a knife and lifted it. "drop that!" crack!--the report of a revolver emphasized the command, and the bullet struck the knife and tore it from the hand of the aroused ruffian. frank merriwell had arrived just in time to save pablo, who was bent helplessly backward over tracy's knee, the hand of the wretch being at his throat. tracy shook his benumbed and quivering hand, releasing the boy and looking at frank resentfully. "oh, you're not badly hurt!" said merry, as he strode up. "my lead struck the knife blade, not your hand. and i seemed to be barely in time, too." "oh, i wasn't going to hurt the kid!" declared tracy harshly. "i was going to teach him a lesson, that was all. i wanted to frighten him a little." "well, your behavior looked remarkably bloodthirsty. you seemed on the point of drawing the knife across his throat. that was enough for me. you may go, tracy, but you are to let pablo alone in the future." "if he insults me----" "report to me; i'll make him apologize. go." tracy seemed to wish to linger to argue over the matter, but the look in merriwell's eyes forbade it, and he picked up the knife and slouched sullenly away. "i hope he did not hurt you much," said frank, lifting pablo's hat to see the bruise made by the ruffian's fist. with a cry, the boy grasped his hat and pulled it down upon his head. but frank had made a most surprising discovery, and it was enough to give merry something to meditate over. he decided that the boy must be closely watched, and he longed for the presence of old joe crowfoot, than whom no one was more fitted to such a task. but the outlaws had averred that old joe was "food for buzzards," and the protracted absence of the redskin led merry to fear that he had looked into the indian's beady eyes for the last time. frank spoke to no one of his discovery. as far as possible, he kept his eyes on pablo, as if he believed the boy meditated treachery of some sort. frank's friends wandered about the place and investigated the mine, watching operations. the calm of the valley was most deceptive, and both ready and gallup declared they could not conceive any possible danger lurking near. hodge, however, professed to feel a warning in the very peacefulness, which he declared was the calm before a storm. jim tracy sulked. his treatment by frank was altogether displeasing to him, and he felt that he had been humiliated, which caused him to register a secret vow of vengeance. pablo was generally found lingering about frank's cabin or somewhere near merry. "he knows a good thing when he sees it," said ready sagely, "and he means to stick to it. he doesn't seem in any great hurry about rushing to the rescue of his 'seestar.'" frank smiled in a knowing manner, observing: "perhaps he has reasons to know that his sister is in no great peril at present, and he is satisfied to stay here." "he's a gol dern lazy little beggar!" said gallup. "an' he oughter hev to wash his face once in a while." the evening was cool and agreeable. the sun dropped peacefully behind the mountains and the shadows gathered deeply in the gorges and cañons. the roar of the stamps sank to silence, and peace lay like a prayer on the valley. frank and his friends sat about the cabin door and chatted of old times. sometimes they sang little snatches of the old songs. and as the darkness deepened a slender, boyish figure lay on his stomach and wiggled cautiously nearer and nearer, taking the utmost pains not to be seen. this eavesdropper was pablo, and he evinced the greatest interest in all they were saying; but it was when frank spoke or sang that he listened with the utmost attention, keeping perfectly still. thus it was that the boy heard hodge say: "merriwell, i'm half-inclined to believe that dirty little mexican rascal is a fakir. i suspect him." "of what?" asked frank. "of being a spy. he told a slick tale, but i've had time to think it over, and somehow it seems too thin. why shouldn't bill send him here to play the spy?" "my dear bart," said merry, with a laugh, "what would be bill's object? what could the boy do?" "he might get a chance to put a knife in your back, old man." "i'll chance it. i do not believe pablo that bad. i'll trust him." "well, i wouldn't trust any greaser." "i hate you, señor hodge!" whispered the listening boy, to himself. "i hate you; but i lofe frank merriwell!" the miners gathered near their quarters. as far as possible, frank had secured miners who were not mexicans, but there were a few mexicans among them. among the men were some who were hard characters when they were drinking, and merry had taken particular pains to make rules and regulations to keep liquor away from them. the morning after the encounter between pablo and jim, the foreman, frank arose and flung open the door of his cabin, but immediately made the discovery that a sheet of paper was pinned to the door with a knife. "hello!" he exclaimed. "here's something interesting!" gallup came slouching forward, followed by ready. "what, ho!" cried jack, as his eyes fell on the knife and the paper. "methinks i see something! hist! that is what the tragic actor said when he appeared upon the stage. he crept in and looked around, after which he said, 'hist!' and he was hissed." "by gum!" cried ephraim. "there's writin' written on it! what does it say?" this is what they read written sprawlingly on the sheet of paper that was pinned to the door by the knife: "frank merriwell: you are hearby giv notis that you are to send away the boy pablo instanter. he promised to come to his sister, and he has not come. you are warned not to keep him. bill." frank looked at the notice and laughed. "well," he said, "that is rather interesting. so bill wants the boy? why doesn't he come and take him?" hodge came and read the notice, a deep frown on his darkly handsome face. "what do you make of it, merry?" he asked. "give us your opinion." "nerve." "shall we give up the boy?" now bart had not favored pablo, but at this juncture he grimly declared: "i'm against it." "good!" nodded merry. "let bill come and take him! if the boy's story is true, it would not be a healthy thing for him to fall into bill's hands." just as he spoke these words jim tracy came around the corner and appeared on the scene. he halted, appearing surprised, and stared at the knife and the notice. "whatever is it?" he asked. "something left there during the night," said merry. "read it." tracy looked it over. "well, bill sure wants the greaser kid," he said, "an' i reckon you'd best give the youngster up." "why do you reckon that?" "cimarron bill is a heap dangerous." "he may be," said merry; "but he has failed thus far to get ahead of me. i don't like his notice, if this came from him. but i thought you took pains to have the place guarded at night, tracy?" "so i does, sir." "then how did bill or any of his gang manage to creep up here and pin this to my door?" "that i can't say, sir." "i think i'll look after things to-night," said frank grimly. "if we're getting careless around here bill may walk in some night and seize the mine before we know a thing of what's going to happen." he jerked the knife from the door, took the paper and placed it in his pocket, after which he indicated that he was ready to speak with the foreman, who had some matter of business to discuss. when tracy departed frank sat down and meditated, for he had noticed something peculiar and remarkable. there were ink-stains upon the thumb and two of the fingers of jim tracy's right hand. chapter xvi. frank detects treachery. needless to say frank did not send pablo away. he did not tell the boy of the warning found on the door. instead, he called the mexican lad and said: "pablo, i want you to watch tracy closely for me. will you?" "señor frank can be sure i weel," said the boy. "if possible, i want you to get some of tracy's handwriting and bring it to me." "eet i will do, señor." "but look out for him. he's dangerous. don't let him catch you playing the spy." "i tak' de great care 'bout that." before noon the mexican boy came hurrying to merry, his big dark eyes glowing. he caught hold of frank's hand and gave it an excited pressure. "i haf eet!" he said. "what is it you have?" "some of hees writeeng. he do eet in de mine offeese when he think no one watch heem. i see heem through window. he put eet in lettare, stick eet up, put in pocket, then drop um. i know; i watch; i pick eet up. here eet ees!" he thrust into merry's hand a soiled, sealed and undirected envelope. "eet ees inside," said pablo, all aquiver. "come in here," said frank, leading the way into the cabin. bart and jack were watching ephraim gallup at a distance from the cabin, the yankee youth being engaged in a brave attempt to ride a small, bucking bronco. when they were inside the cabin, frank closed and fastened the door. making a hasty examination of the envelope, he quickly lighted a small alcohol-lamp beneath a tiny brass tea-kettle, which he partly filled with water. in a very few moments steam was pouring from the nozle of the kettle. holding the envelope in this, merry quickly steamed open the flap, taking from it a sheet of paper. pablo's eyes seemed to grow larger than ever as he watched. frank unfolded the paper and read: "i have decided to except terms, and to-night will be the time for you to come down on the mine. the whisky will be yoused to get the men drunk, jest as you perposed, and i'll hev them all filled up by ten o'clock. wate tell you hear three shots right togather, then charge and you'll take the mine, havin' only merywel and his tenderfeet backers to fight, and them i will hav fastened into their cabin. j." merry whistled over this, showing no small amount of surprise. "ees de writin' what you expec'?" asked pablo anxiously. "it's somewhat more than i expected," said frank. "by jove! there will be doings here to-night." he quickly decided on the course he would pursue. carefully drying the flap of the envelope, he placed some fresh mucilage on it, thrust the message into it, and resealed it carefully. "see here, pablo," he said quickly, "if you can do it, i want you to take this and drop it just where you found it, so that tracy will be pretty sure to recover it. i do not wish him to know that it has been picked up. do your best. if you can't do it, come and tell me." "i do eet," assured pablo, as he took the envelope, concealed it beneath his jacket, and slipped from the cabin. frank had been given something to think about. "so tracy has turned traitor," he meditated. "he has decided to betray the mine into the hands of cimarron bill's gang. it was his writing on the notice pinned on the door, not bill's. that notice was a fake, and it made him angry because it didn't work out as he planned. bill got at him through hop anson, who must have been in bill's employ all along. well, to-night is the time i give those ruffians their final setback. another repulse will discourage them. they would have descended on the place while i was in their power if they had fancied there was any chance that i might escape with my life." pretty soon he walked out, with his hands in his pockets, and joined his friends, laughing heartily over gallup's trials, and seeming undisturbed by any worry. later he entered the mine and found that tracy was not about. nor could he discover anything of pablo. the afternoon was far spent when the mexican boy suddenly appeared before frank. "hello, pablo!" said merry. "what's the word?" "i followe heem," whispered pablo excitedly. "i haf drop de letter where he find eet when he look for eet. then he find time to go 'way. i followe. i see heem take letter to place in rocks long distance down vallee. he hide eet there. pablo let heem go; stay watch letter. he haf hoss hid some piece off. he geet to hoss, geet on heem, ride off." "that's all?" "dhat ees all." "well, you have done well, pablo," said merry. "i'll not forget it." pablo again grasped frank's hand, which he kissed. "you freen' to pablo," he said. "you goode to heem. he not forget." "tell no one what you have seen and done." "you look out for beel." "you may be sure i'll do that, pablo. when bill comes here, he'll receive a warm reception." that night after supper, as the miners sat about the long table in the low, open room, smoking their pipes and cigarettes and enjoying the grateful coolness of the evening, jim tracy, the foreman, came into the room and cried: "well, boys, you've been working right hard to open up this yere old mine, an' i appreciates it, if the young man what owns the property don't. it's a long distance to town, an' ye can't all git off together to have a leetle blow, so i has brought ye some good whisky, and i perposes that you all takes a drink on me." saying which, he produced two big quart bottles and held them above his head, so the lamplight fell upon them. instantly two shots sounded through the place, and the bottles were smashed in the foreman's hands by a pair of bullets, the glass flying and the liquor spattering over him. in through the doorway at the opposite end of the room stepped frank merriwell, a pistol in each hand. "keep your hands up and empty, jim tracy!" he said, in a commanding tone. "it will be unhealthy for you if you lower them!" behind frank were bart, jack, and ephraim, with pablo hovering like a shadow still farther in the rear. tracy was astounded. "what in blazes does this mean!" he snarled, but he kept his hands up, as frank had ordered. "it means that i am onto your game to drug these boys and betray us all. steady! if you try to get a weapon i shall drop you! you know i can shoot a little. just tie him up, fellows." "with the greatest pleasure," chirped jack ready, as he waltzed lightly forward, accompanied by hodge and gallup. in spite of the protests of tracy, they bound him hand and foot, so that he could barely wiggle. the miners had been amazed, but they believed merry when he told them of tracy's plot to betray the mine. "he would have drugged you all," said frank. "then, when bill's gang charged on the mine, it's likely many of you would have been killed. but what did he care about that. now we'll fool cimarron bill and teach him a lesson." he explained his plan to them, and they readily agreed. so it happened that, a little later, the miners began to sing and shout and pretend to be riotously merry. this they kept up until it seemed as if they were engaged in a fearful carousal. then the noises began to die out and grow less. it was past ten o'clock when dead silence seemed to rest on the camp. frank merriwell stepped to the door, lifted his hand and fired three shots into the air. five minutes later the sound of galloping horses coming up the valley was distinctly heard. "here they come!" breathed frank. "all ready for them!" right up to the mine-buildings charged the horsemen. they were dismounting when frank's challenge rang out sharp and clear: "hold, cimarron bill! stop where you are! stop, or we fire!" the outlaws uttered a yell and charged, firing the first shots. then merry gave the command, and the armed and waiting miners fired on the raiders. it was a withering volley, and must have astounded the ruffians. bill, however, had come this time determined to succeed, and he called on his men to break down the doors. as they were hammering at the front doors, frank led some of the men out by the back way and charged round the buildings. the encounter that took place was brief and sanguine. the miners were encouraged by hodge, ready, and gallup, who fought with savage fury, and the raiders began to waver. suddenly a tall figure came rushing into the thick of the fight and confronted frank. it was tracy, who had been released from his bonds by a sympathetic miner. "yah!" he snarled, having heard merry's voice and recognized him. "so it's you! i've found you! take that!" he pitched forward a revolver and fired pointblank at frank. at that very instant, with a cry, pablo, the mexican boy, leaped in front of merry. struck by the bullet intended for frank, the little fellow tossed up his arms and fell backward into merriwell's clasp. at the same instant somebody shot jim tracy through the brain. as merriwell lowered the death-stricken boy, the raiders, completely baffled, gave over the attack and took to flight, leaving half their number behind, stretched upon the ground. "are you hurt--badly?" asked frank, as one of the boy's arms dropped limply over his neck and seemed to cling there. for a moment there was no answer. then came the faintly whispered words: "i--theenk--i--am--keeled--señor merriwell." "oh, no, gonchita!" said frank earnestly; "not as bad as that! it cannot be!" "you know me," was the surprised whisper. "how you know i am gonchita?" "oh, i discovered it the other day--i found you had your hair tied up beneath your hat. here, men--somebody bring a light! be lively about it!" "all right, sir," said one of the men. "have one directly." "no use, señor merriwell," came weakly from the lips of the disguised girl. "i shall be dead in a minute. _ay-de mi_! poor gonchita! you theenk she ees veree bad girl? beel he say he weel marree her. he get me to fool you, señor. then you are so veree brave! señor frank, i theenk you are de han'someest, de braveest man i evere know. i run away from beel. i wear de boyee's clothes an' come here. dat ees all. now i haf to die." "perhaps not, gonchita," said merry, with infinite pity for the unfortunate girl. "we'll see what can be done for you." she managed to press one of his hands to her lips. "so goode--so han'some!" she whispered. "good-by, señor! eet ees ovare." then one of the men came out with a lighted lantern; but before the light fell on the face of the wounded girl frank knew he was holding a corpse in his arms. * * * * * among the dead was found hop anson. jim tracy lay where he had fallen immediately after the shot which ended the life of poor gonchita. such of the ruffians who were wounded were cared for as well as possible. the dead were buried there in the valley. cimarron bill's band was completely broken up. on his next visit to town merry had a marble slab cut for the grave of the mexican girl, which was located at a distance from those of the outlaws. on the slab were chiseled these words: "poor gonchita!" chapter xvii. the war-whoop of old eli. the afternoon sun lay scorching hot upon the arid plain. heat waves moved in the air like the billows of a phantom sea. to the west were barren mountain-peaks and the nearer foot-hills; to the east the unbroken plain lay level to the horizon. behind the body of his dead horse lay a sorely wounded man, with his dog crouching close at his side. the dog's dry tongue lolled from the animal's mouth; at times the poor creature whined and sought to lick the hand of its master; anon he growled fiercely, the hair bristling on his neck, and started up in a savage manner. "down, boxer, down!" the man would order, in a voice ever growing weaker. "you can't help. the red devils will get you with a bullet. down, sir!" at which the dog would sink back, whine again and draw his filelike tongue along the hand or cheek of his master. "heavens!" muttered the man. "for a swallow of water. i'd give the last ounce in the saddle-bags if i could finish one or two more of those murderous curs before i cash in!" his almost nerveless hands grasped the barrel of his rifle, and he looked away toward the spot where six horsemen had drawn up in a little cluster just beyond bullet-reach. they were indians, mounted on tough ponies, and some of them armed with modern weapons. two or three carried lances, on which the glaring sun glinted. they had hunted him down; they had killed the horse beneath him and wounded him unto death. the bullet was through his body, and the sands of life were ebbing fast. he had reached the end of his trail, and the red fiends out there on the baking plain knew they had only to wait a while and then ride forward unmolested and strip off his scalp. yet, being far from their reservation, the savages were impatient at the delay. their hearts were vengeful within them, for in the chase he had slain two of their number. one of them, an impetuous young buck, was for making haste in finishing the paleface. he motioned toward the declining sun and suggested that the wounded man might try to crawl away with the coming of darkness. besides, they had far to go, and it was a waste of time to wait for the paleface to die. likely he was so far gone that he could not shoot to defend himself, and there would be little trouble in getting near enough to despatch him. the impetuous spirit of this savage prevailed, and soon the redskins began riding around and around man and horse and dog, spreading out into a circle with great gaps and slowly closing in, now and then uttering a challenging yell. as they closed in they flung themselves over upon the sides of their ponies opposite the wounded man, so that their horses seemed riderless. occasionally a shot was fired from beneath the neck of a racing pony. the dying man gathered himself a little and watched them. a puff of white smoke leaped out before a pony and was quickly left behind to dissolve and fade in the heated air. a bullet threw up a bit of dust within three feet of the white man. the dog bristled and growled. another bullet clipped a stalk from a cactus plant five feet away. "they're within shooting distance," whispered the doomed wretch. "wonder if i've got nerve enough to drop a pony." he rested his rifle on the body of the dead horse and waited. out on the plain the racing ponies began to swim in a haze. he could see them indistinctly, and he brushed a hand across his eyes. "i'm going fast, boxer," he muttered to the dog. "my sight is failing! i'm burning inside! and i know you're choking yourself, poor dog! it's a hard way to pipe out." the dog whined sympathetically and pressed closer. a bullet whistled past the head of the man. he tightened his grip on his rifle, sought to take aim, and finally fired. his bullet went wide of the target he sought, and a yell of derision floated to his ears through the hot air. "no use!" he muttered huskily. "i'm done for! it's the finish! they can close right in and wipe me out!" the savages seemed to know it, and they were drawing nearer. of a sudden out from the depths of a long barranca, a mighty fissure in the plain, produced in former ages by a convulsion of nature, or marking the course of a river--out from one end that rose to the surface of the plain not far from the circling savages, came a horse and rider. as the rider rose into view he began shooting with a magazine rifle, and his first bullet caused a redskin to lose his hold and tumble end over end in the dirt, while the pony galloped on. the following indian stooped and seemed to catch up his wounded comrade as he swept past. the lone horseman rode straight at them in a reckless manner, working his repeater. a pony was wounded, another plunged forward into the dirt. in another moment the redskins wheeled and were in full flight, astounded and demoralized by the attack, two of the horses carrying double, while another left drops of blood upon the ground. the daring paleface uttered a strange war-whoop of triumph: "brekekek co-ax, co-ax, yale!" never before had those indians heard such a singular cry from the lips of a white man. it seemed to fill them with a mad desire to get away, to flee at top speed. it struck terror into their hearts, as many a time the same slogan has struck fear to the hearts of those battling against old eli on some athletic field. they urged their ponies forward, and away they went, scurrying into the distance, with bullets singing around them. the man behind the dead horse lifted himself and strained his bedimmed eyes, seeing the youthful rider shoot past in pursuit of the savages. the dog rose, planting his forefeet on the horse's body, and barked madly. when he was satisfied that the indians were in full retreat, with little thought of turning or offering resistance, frank merriwell, for it was he who had dashed out of the barranca, drew up and turned about, galloping back toward the man he had dared so much to save. but he had come too late. as merry rode near the dying man had fallen back beside his dead horse. over him stood the dog, covered with dust, its eyes glaring redly, its teeth disclosed, ready to defend the body of its master. as frank drew up the dog snarled fiercely. merry saw at a glance that the situation of the dog's master was serious in the extreme. he dismounted and stepped forward, leaving his horse, knowing well the animal would stand. as he approached the dog grew fiercer of aspect, and he saw the creature meant to leap straight at his throat. "good dog!" he said, stopping. "fine dog! come, sir--come! ah-ha, fine fellow!" but all his attempts to win the confidence of the dog were failures. "the man is dying," he muttered. "perhaps i might save him if i could get to him now. must i shoot that dog? i hate to do it, for the creature seems very intelligent." at this moment the man stirred a little and seemed to realize what was happening. he lifted his head a little and saw the dismounted horseman and the threatening dog. "down, boxer; down, sir!" he commanded. "be quiet!" his voice rose scarcely above a whisper, but the dog reluctantly obeyed, still keeping his eyes on frank, who now stepped up at once. "you're badly wounded, sir," he said. "let me see if i can do anything for you." "give me water--for the love of heaven, water!" was the harshly whispered imploration. in a twinkling frank sprang to his horse and brought back a canteen that was well filled. this he held to the lips of the wretched man, while the crouching dog watched every move with his red eyes. that water, warm though it was, brought back a little life to the sinking man. "god bless you!" he murmured gratefully. the dog whined. "can't you give boxer a little?" asked the dog's master. "he's suffering as much as i am." frank quickly removed from his saddle-bags a deep tin plate, on which some of the water was poured, and this the dog greedily licked up, wagging his tail in thankfulness. "poor old boxer!" sighed the doomed man. "now, sir," said the youth, "let me examine your wound and find out what i can do for you." "no use," was the declaration. "i'm done for. it's through the lung, and i've bled enough to finish two men. the blood is all out of me." but the young man insisted on looking and did what he could to check the flow of blood. the doomed man shook his head a little. "no use," he repeated. "i'm going now--i feel it. but you have done all you could for old bens, and you won't lose nothing by it. what's your name?" "frank merriwell." "well, pard merriwell, you sure went for those red devils right hot. i allowed at first that you must have four or five friends with ye." "i'm alone." "and it was great grit for you to charge the red skunks that way. however did you happen to do it?" "i saw what was going on from the high land to the west with the aid of a powerful glass. i knew they had a white man trapped here. i struck the barranca and managed to get down into it, so i was able to ride close without being seen and charge up from this end, where it rises to the level of the plain. that is all." "it was nerve, young man, and plenty of it! my name is benson clark. i'm a miner. been over in the mazatzals. struck it rich, young pard--struck it rich. there was no one but me and old boxer, my dog. i took out a heap of dust, and i opine i located a quartz claim that certainly is worth a hundred thousand dollars, or i'm away off. been a miner all my life. grub-staked it from the canadian line to mexico. have managed to live, but this is my first strike. no one staked me this time, so it's all mine. but see, pard, what black luck and those red devils have done for me! i'm finished, and i'll never live to enjoy a dollar of my wealth. pretty tough, eh?" "pretty tough," admitted frank merriwell; "but brace up. who can tell----" "i can. bens clark is at the end of his trail. young man, i want you to see me properly planted. you'll find enough in the saddle-bags here and in the belt around my waist to pay you for your trouble." "i want no pay, sir." "well, i reckon you may as well have it, as i have neither kith nor kin in the wide world, and most of my friends have cashed in ahead of me, so i'm left all alone--me and boxer." the dying man lifted his hand with a great effort and caressed the dog. the animal whined and snuggled nearer, fixing his eyes on his master's face with an expression of devotion and anxiety that was quite touching to see. "good old boxer!" sighed the man, with deep feeling. "you'll miss me, boy, and you're the only one in all the wide world. what will become of you, boxer?" again the dog whined a little, touching the bloodless cheek of the man with its tongue. "i'll do what i can for your dog, sir," said frank merriwell. "what do you mean? will you take boxer and care for him?" "yes, sir." "do it! you'll never be sorry. you'll find him the most faithful, devoted, and intelligent of dumb animals. truly, he knows almost as much as a man--more than lots of men. it's a shame he can't talk! he knows what i say to him almost always. i've almost fancied he might be taught to talk; but that's ridiculous, i know. take him, frank merriwell, treat him well, and you'll never regret it." the dog seemed listening. he looked from one to the other in a peculiar manner, and then, as if realizing what had passed and that he was soon to part with his master forever, he uttered a whining howl that was doleful and pathetic. "poor old boxer--good boy!" said benson clark. "i've got to go, boy." the dog crept close, and the dying man weakly folded the animal in his arms. frank merriwell turned away. the sunlight was so bright and strong on the plain that it seemed to cause him to brush a hand over his eyes. he stood looking far off for some moments, but was given a start by hearing a weak call from the man. "i'm going!" breathed clark huskily. "here--in my pocket here you will find a rude chart that may lead you to my rich mines in the mazatzals. feel in my pocket for the leather case. that's it. take it--keep it. it's yours. the mines are yours--if you can find them. boxer is yours. be good to him. poor old boxer!" he closed his eyes and lay so still that frank fancied the end had come. but it was not yet. after a little he slowly opened his eyes and looked at merry. immediately frank knelt beside him, with uncovered head. the dying man then looked at the dog. "boxer," he said faintly, "i'm going off on my long trail, and we'll never meet up again this side of the happy hunting-grounds. good-by, old dog! this is your new master. stick to him like glue, old boy. fight for him--die for him, if you have to. i opine you understand what i mean." a strange sound came from the throat of the dog--a sound that was almost like a human sob. if ever a dog sobbed that one did. agony and sorrow was depicted in his attitude and the look in its red eyes. the miner took the dog's paw and placed it in frank merriwell's hand, his body lying between them. "i make you pards," said benson clark. then he whispered to frank: "can't you pray? i've clean forgot all the prayers i ever knew. but i feel that i need a prayer said for me now, for i'm going up before the judgment bar. pray, partner--pray to the great judge that he will be easy with me." so frank merriwell prayed, and that prayer fell upon the heart of the dying man with such soothing balm that all fear and dread left him, and he passed into the great unknown with a peaceful smile on his weather-worn face. chapter xviii. a strange funeral. frank found the saddle-bags and the belt about the dead man's waist heavy with gold. it took him some time to make preparations for transporting the precious stuff, and it was no easy task for him to quiet his horse and induce the animal to stand while he lifted the corpse and placed it where it could be tied securely on the horse's back. he had no thought of leaving the body of benson clark to be devoured by wolves and vultures. the sun was resting close down to the blue tops of the western mountains when everything was ready to start. the dog had watched every move with eyes full of singular intelligence, but made no move or sound until merry was ready to go. then frank turned more water from the canteen, after taking a few swallows himself, placing it before boxer in the tin plate. the dog licked it up. "good boxer!" said merry, patting the beast's head. "i'm your master now, my boy. your other master is dead. he has told you to stick to me. did you understand?" the dog made some strange swallowing and mumbling sounds in its throat, as if trying to talk back in words. "by jove!" said merry, gazing at the creature with great interest. "you are a knowing fellow, and you actually try to talk. your master fancied you might be taught to talk." again those strange swallowings and mumblings issued from the dog's throat, and the creature wagged its tail a little. "we'll go now," said frank. "it's a good distance to the mine, and we have something to do before we can set out in earnest." so they started off, frank leading the horse bearing the ghastly burden, while the dog walked behind with hanging head, the perfect picture of sorrow. a strange funeral procession it was, making its way toward the setting sun and the hazy mountains. the dead horse was left behind, while far in the sky wheeled two black specks, buzzards waiting for the feast. the indians had long vanished from the face of the plain, yet frank knew their nature, and he was not at all sure he had seen the last of them. the sun vanished behind the mountains and the blue night lay soft and soothing on the hot plain when the funeral procession came into the foot-hills. it was not frank's intention to carry the dead man farther than was needful, and, therefore, he kept his eyes about him for some place to bestow the body where it might rest safe from prowling beasts. this place he found at last, and, with the aid of a flat stone, and with his bare hands, he scooped a shallow grave. into this the body was fitted. over the man's face frank spread his own handkerchief. then he besprinkled the dry earth lightly over the body at first, afterward using the flat rock to scrape and shovel more upon it, ending with covering it heavily with such stones as he could find, knowing well with what skill the ravening beasts of the desert could use their claw-armed paws. for a time the dog sat and watched everything. when his late master was placed in the grave he whined and cried softly; but when the body was covered he lay down beside the grave in silence, and there was in his posture something so heartbroken that frank was moved to a great pity. "poor old boxer!" he murmured. "it is the end to which all living things must come, each in its own time. but it is the law of nature, and it is not so bad, after all. blessed is he who goes to his last deep sleep without fear, feeling that he has done his best and is willing to trust everything in the hands of him who sees and knows all. the fear of death and what may follow is such as should trouble alone the coward or the wicked wretch. boxer, your master seemed to pass without fear, and something tells me it is not so bad with him. his case is in the hands of the great judge, and we may rest sure that he will be done no wrong." was there ever such a strange funeral oration! a youth with bared head and solemn face, speaking above a grave, and a silent, grief-stricken dog as the only mourner and attendant! the still arizona night all around, with no sound of humming insect, no stir of foliage, no whisper of moving breeze, the dome of heaven above, studded with millions of clear stars! the dog did not move or lift its head, but frank saw the starshine glint upon his eyes, which were wide open and fastened upon the speaker. when the work was completed frank knelt for a moment beside that grave, praying softly, yet with an earnestness that bespoke his faith that his words were heard. it was over. his horse was at a little distance. he went and brought the animal up and adjusted the saddle. the dead man's belt, stuffed to bursting and wondrous heavy, he had fastened about his own waist. "come, boxer," he said, again stooping to pat the head of the dog. "we must go. bid farewell to your master's grave. it's not likely you may ever again come beside it." the dog stirred. he sat up and lifted his muzzle toward the stars. from his throat came a low note that rose and swelled to the most doleful sound imaginable. with his blood chill in his body, frank listened while the dog sang a requiem above that grave. tears started from merry's eyes, and never while life was his could he forget that sound and that sight. never chanted words of mass had more of sorrow! no human tongue could speak greater grief. at last the sound died away into silence, and the dog stood on all fours, with hanging head and tail, his muzzle kissing some of the rough stones heaped on that grave. how long he might have remained in that attitude cannot be said; but soon frank spoke again and called him to follow. at the word he turned, and his manner denoted he was ready. merry swung into the saddle and started, looking over his shoulder. in dead silence, the dog followed. and so they passed into the still night. chapter xix. new arrivals in holbrook. the town of holbrook had been greatly stirred. it had not yet settled into its accustomed grooves. the proprietor of the best hotel in town had received a consignment of fine furniture, carpets, draperies, wallpaper and pictures, and he had set about renovating and decorating several of the largest rooms in his house, having for that purpose a number of workmen imported from some eastern point. it was said that the rooms had been rearranged to connect with each other in a suite, and that when they were completed, and furnished, and decorated they were dazzlingly magnificent, nothing like them ever before having been seen in the place. the good citizens of holbrook wondered and were amazed at all this; but they did not know that not one dollar had been expended by the proprietor of the hotel. all this work had been done without expense of his to accommodate some guests who came in due time and took possession of those rooms. the california special had dropped four persons in holbrook, who regretfully left the comfort of a palace car and looked about them with some show of dismay on the cluttered streets and crude buildings of the southwestern town. holbrook was even better in general appearance than many western towns, but, contrasted with clean, orderly, handsome eastern villages, it was offensive to the eyes of the proud lady who was aided from the steps of the car and descended to the station platform with the air of a queen. she turned up her aristocratic nose a little on glancing around. this woman was dressed in the height of fashion, although somewhat too heavily for the country she now found herself in; but there was about her an air of display that betokened a lack of correct taste, which is ever pronounced in those who seek to attract attention and produce astonishment and awe. she had gray hair and a cold, unattractive face. still there was about her face something that plainly denoted she had been in her girlhood very attractive. she was followed by a girl who was so pretty and so modest in appearance that the rough men who beheld her gasped with astonishment. never in the history of the town had such a pretty girl placed her foot within its limits. she had a graceful figure, fine complexion, cupid-bow mouth, flushed cheeks, large brown eyes and hair in which there was a hint of red-gold, in spite of its darkness. a colored maid followed them. from another car descended a thin, wiry, nervous man, who had a great blue beak of a nose, and who hastened to join the trio, speaking to them. the hotel proprietor had at the station the finest carriage he could find, and this whisked them away to the hotel as soon as they had entered it, leaving the loungers about the station wondering, while the train went diminishing into the distance, flinging its trail of black smoke against the blue of the arizona sky. at the hotel the lady and her daughter occupied two of the finest rooms, the colored maid another, less expensively furnished, and the man with the blue nose was given the fourth. holbrook wondered what it meant. the lady ordered a meal to be served in her rooms. the report went forth at once, and again holbrook stood agog. the hotel register was watched. finally the man with the restless eyes and blue beak entered the office and wrote nervously in the register. barely was he gone when a dozen persons were packed about the desk, seeking to look over one another's shoulders to see what had been written. "whatever is it, hank?" asked one. "you sure kin read writin'. whatever do you make o' it?" "'mrs. d. roscoe arlington,' the fust name," said the one called hank. "then comes 'miss arlington,' arter which is 'mr. eliot dodge,' an' lastly i sees 'hannah jackson.'" "which last must be the nigger woman," said one of the rough men. "i allows so," nodded hank. "an' it 'pears to me that name o' arlington is some familiar. i somehow thinks i has heard it." "why, to be course you has!" said another of the men. "d. roscoe arlington, did you say? who hasn't heerd that name? he's one o' them big guns what has so much money he can't count it to save his gizzard. ev-rybody has heerd o' d. roscoe arlington. if he keeps on gittin' rich the way he has the past three years or so, old morgan won't be in the game. why, this arlington may now be the richest man in this country, if ev'rything were rightly known about him. he owns railroads, an' mines, an' ships, an' manufacturin' plants, an' nobody knows what all." "that sartin explains a whole lot the fixin' up that has been a-doin' around this ranch," said a little man with a thirsty-looking mouth. "they was a-preparin' fer the wife o' this mighty rich gent." "but say!" exclaimed a young fellow with a wicked face, "ain't she got a slick-lookin' gal with her, what?" some of them laughed and slapped him on the back. "go on, pete!" cried one chap. "you're a gay one with greaser gals, but you won't be able to make a wide trail with that yar young lady, so don't be lookin' that way." "wonder whatever could 'a' brought such people here," speculated a man with tobacco juice on his chin. "they must mean to stay a while, else they'd never had them rooms fixed up the way they are." a ruffianly-looking man with a full beard broke into a low laugh. "why, ain't none o' you heard about the fight what's bein' made to git holt o' a certain mine not so very fur from yere?" he asked. "i mean the mine owned by a young chap what calls himself frank merriwell. you oughter know somethin' about that." "why, 'pears to me," observed the fellow with tobacco juice on his chin--"'pears to me i did hear that thar was trouble over a mine somewhar down in the mogollons, an' that cimarron bill had been sent to take it." "he was sent," said the full-bearded man. "then i 'lows he took it, fer bill's sure to do any job he tackles." "he ain't took it none. frank merriwell is still a-holdin' the mine, an' bill has had his troubles, leavin' a good part o' his backers stiff arter the ruction." "say you so? waal, this merriwell sure must be a hot fighter. but bill will down him in the end, an' you kin bet your last simoleon on that." to which the man with the full beard said nothing. "all this don't explain any to me jest why this lady an' her party is hyer," said the one with the thirsty mouth. "it ain't noways likely she's lookin' arter cimarron bill none," said another. "whoever is a-takin' my name in vain?" demanded a voice that made them all start and turn toward the door. "it's cimarron bill hisself!" gasped one, in a whisper. and the entire crowd seemed awe-stricken and afraid. chapter xx. mrs. arlington has a visitor. the black maid stood over the little table at which mother and daughter sat taking tea. "sugar, jackson," said the lady wearily. the maid lifted the sugar-bowl, but, finding no tongs, was compelled to use a spoon. "why don't you use the tongs, jackson?" asked the woman. "dar am no tongs, ma'am," answered the maid. "no tongs? no tongs?" exclaimed mrs. arlington, in astonished surprise. "and i directed that everything should be prepared here--that we should have every convenience of a first-class hotel. dear me! why, i've found nothing right! the hardship of spending some days in such a place will prostrate me. i know it will!" "but why have you come here, mother?" asked june arlington, in a voice that denoted culture and a refined nature. "i cannot understand it. you told me in the first place that you were going to mexico. then i heard you urging father to come here. when he said it was not possible, you seemed to get angry, and you declared that you would come here yourself. but why should you come because he could not? that i wonder at." "he would not!" exclaimed mrs. arlington, sipping her tea. "it was his duty. never mind the particulars, june; you may know some time, but not now." "and i did not wish to come here, mother. you knew that." "my daughter, i have decided that it is necessary to keep you with me. i determined on that after your surprising behavior the last time you went to fardale. you deceived me, june! i cannot forget that." the words were spoken with cold severity. june flushed a little. "it was for chester's good, as i explained to you," she said somewhat warmly. "he has never thanked me for it, yet it is i who have kept him in fardale academy. had i not entreated dick merriwell to be easy with him, chester must have been compelled to leave or be expelled before this." "i cannot believe that, june. but, were it true, it is no excuse for your action. i want no favors from either of the merriwells. i will accept nothing from them! dick merriwell is my boy's enemy, and he shall know what it is to have an arlington for a foe. i have determined on that. i repeat that i'll accept nothing from him." "once----" june stopped short. she had been on the verge of telling her mother that once that lady had accepted something from dick merriwell--her life! for, as mrs. arlington slipped on the icy platform of the railway-station at fardale and was falling beneath the wheels of a moving train, dick had grasped and held her till the cars passed and she was safe. but june had seen her mother turn blue with anger at mention of this affair, so she checked herself now, not wishing to arouse the lady. tea was finished in silence, mother and daughter being occupied with their thoughts. the maid moved softly about the table. they had just finished when there came a tap on the door. "see who it is, jackson," directed mrs. arlington. the man with the blue beak was at the door. "i must speak with mrs. arlington," he said, and entered, hat in hand. "what is it, mr. dodge?" asked the lady, frowning coldly and plainly annoyed. eliot dodge paused and looked at june significantly. "oh, is it a private matter?" asked the lady. flushing a bit, june arose at once and withdrew, from the room. "william lamson has arrived in town, and demands to see you," said dodge, when june had disappeared, the maid having likewise withdrawn. "that man?" said mrs. arlington, with a little start and a slight shiver. "i have brought you to do the business with him. you are a regular attorney of the c. m. a. of a., and you have my instructions." "so i told him." "well?" "he refused pointblank to do any business whatever with me." "he did." "yes. i talked to him pretty straight until--ahem!--until i could say no more." "you could say no more?" "no, madam; it was impossible." "why impossible?" "he had drawn and cocked a revolver and pointed it at me. he told me to shut up and take word from him to you at once or he would shoot me." "what a dreadful creature!" "he is, indeed, madam; he's a typical ruffian of the worst sort." "and, therefore, the very man to accomplish the work," said she, with growing interest. "but i dislike very much to have dealings with such a fellow." "i thoroughly understand that, madam." "you might attend to the matter fully as well." "that is true, mrs. arlington." "you told him so?" "i did." "and still----" "and still he drew a gun on me. he is bound to see you. he says he will, and i am sure he is a man to make his word good. really i don't know how you are going to get out of it." "then i shall not try," said the lady, composing herself. "you mean----" "i'll see him." "here?" "yes." "now?" "send him up at once. i may as well have it over." eliot dodge hesitated. "i shall be in my room," he said. "if you need me----" "i understand. go bring this man to my door." dodge departed, and mrs. arlington waited. when there came a knock on the door she coldly said: "come in!" cimarron bill entered the room! mrs. arlington had not called her servant to let this man in. she glanced toward the door of the room into which her daughter had retired, and the look on her face was one of apprehension. cimarron bill was a wicked man, as his every aspect betokened, and this woman could not think without shame that june should have any knowledge of her dealings with such a creature. so she arose hastily, which was quite unlike her, and crossed the floor to close the door, a strange thing, considering that she seldom did a thing that another could do for her. when june was thus shut out, the woman recrossed the floor to likewise close the door of the room into which the colored maid had retired. all the while cimarron bill, hat in hand, stood watching her closely with his evil eyes. for him it must have been a most exceedingly strange thing to come thus into the presence of a woman whose husband was known far and wide as a money king, a woman whose every wish that wealth could serve was sure to be granted almost as quickly as expressed. when she had closed the doors she turned about and faced him, surveying him from head to feet with her cold and penetrating eyes. he looked back at her with a sort of boldness, for this man was not one to be in the least downcast in the presence of a human being of whatever degree. mrs. arlington motioned toward a chair. "will you sit down, sir?" she invited. "thank you, madam," said bill, casting aside the rough manner of speech that he sometimes assumed and now using very decent english. "i don't care if i do." whereupon he placed his hat upon the table and sat upon a chair, with a certain pantherish undulation of his body, as if his muscles flowed beneath his skin. "mr. dodge saw you," said the woman, remaining standing. "i directed him to inform you that he was my accredited agent and prepared to transact any business with you. i thought it better for him to attend to this affair." "and i, madam, if you will excuse me, thought it best that we should come face to face and have our dealings thus. that is why i declined to do any business whatever with the gent with the blue nose." "i did not suppose it would be necessary for me to go so far into this matter until i was informed of your failure to take possession of the property that rightfully belongs to the consolidated mining association of america. i must say, sir, that i am very much displeased over your failure." "and you can be no more so than am i myself," returned bill, civilly enough, yet with a sort of boldness that did not please her, as she was accustomed to much deference and respect. "but you must know it is difficult, even in this country, to find men who are eager to put on themselves the brand of outlaws, and i acknowledge that my force was not sufficient. the young dog is a stiff fighter, and that i had not counted on, him being a tenderfoot to a certain degree--though," he added, as if on second thought, "he's not so very tender, after all." "you were told to collect an army, if necessary. mr. dodge informs me that you were directed to get together a force sufficient to make failure out of the question. yet you were repulsed and beaten off when you went to seize the mine." "twice," said bill grimly. "and the second time a full half of my men were dropped cold or hurt so bad that they were put out of the fight. it was not just my fault that i failed then, for the treachery of a mexican girl betrayed my plans to merriwell, so he was ready with a trap when i expected to take him by surprise. that is how it came about, madam. i had his foreman bribed and should have walked into possession of the mine with little or no trouble but for the girl i mention. it was a bad piece of business." "bad!" she exclaimed, nodding a little. "it was very unfortunate!" "a word that scarce expresses it, madam. the rest of my men, the curs, with one or two exceptions, weakened and gave it up as a bad job. and then, on top of that, i was informed that the syndicate had grown disinclined to press the matter further in such a manner, fearing to get itself into serious trouble." "that's it!" said the woman sharply. "but i have taken hold of this matter. the syndicate seems willing to obtain the mine by some other and slower method. i am not. i cannot brook delay! i have a reason why i wish the taking of the mine with the smallest possible delay, and it makes no difference to me how the work is accomplished. that is why i am here on the scene of action. i shall remain here until i triumph! if you are able to accomplish the work, well and good. if you are not, then another man must be found for it." cimarron bill smiled in a most evil manner. "madam," he said, "i think you will have trouble to find in all this country another man so well prepared to accomplish the task." "yet you confess that you have failed twice." he shrugged his shoulders. "for which reason," he averred, "i am all the more dangerous. there is an old saying that the third time never fails. i am ready for the third trial." "i am glad to hear you speak this way. what will you do?" "gather a stronger force and lay my plans so there can be no failure." "it is well." "but that will take much money, madam. you have it at your command. it is almost certain that all of us, to the last man, will bear the brand of outlaws. we may be hunted. it may be necessary for me to hasten into mexico and lose myself there for a time. i must have money in abundance for myself. as for the men who take part with me, they will all demand high prices. when it is over and the mine is delivered into the possession of the syndicate, i shall not trouble about any one save myself. the men who are with me may look out for themselves." this was said in a most cold-blooded manner, speaking plainly the real character of the wretch. "i care nothing about that," said the woman. "fix that matter as you choose. how much money will you require?" "let me see," said bill, as if meditating. "it will take, i am sure, at least fifty men. they may be got at various prices, some more, some less; but there will be the bringing of them together and other expenses. i should say that they must cost at least two hundred dollars each, which makes a pretty little sum of ten thousand dollars." "then it will cost ten thousand dollars?" said mrs. arlington quickly. "i'll draw the sum from my own private account." "wait a bit, madam," said the chief of desperadoes. "i have reckoned for the men, but that does not include myself. i have said that i must be well paid. i value myself quite as much as fifty common men, and that is another ten thousand, or twenty thousand dollars in all, for which sum i am ready to undertake the job. i'll add, also, that i guarantee it shall not fail this time." it seemed that such a sum must have staggered the woman. indeed, her face went a trifle pale, but her lips were pressed together, and she coldly said: "it is a bargain! you shall have the money, but not until you have accomplished the work. understand that, not until the work is done!" chapter xxi. seen from the window. never before had there been such a bargain between such a man and such a woman. it was the strangest compact on record. and no wonder mrs. arlington had closed the doors that her daughter and her maid should not hear! had june known all she must have turned with loathing and horror from the woman. had d. roscoe arlington known he must have been shocked and heart-torn beyond measure. had he known he must have wondered if this woman had matured from the sweet country girl who once declared with blushes and hanging head that love in a cottage with him was all the happiness she asked. had he known he might have remembered the soft moonlight night in june when beneath the fragrant lilacs they plighted their troth, and surely his gold-hardened heart would have melted with anguish over the frightful change. in truth, mrs. arlington had become deranged, as it were, on one point. her son was her idol. she had petted, and flattered, and spoiled him. she had sent him off to school at fardale with the conviction that he was certain to rise superior to all other boys there. and from him she had come to learn that he had not risen, but had been imposed upon, defeated, baffled, and held down by another lad who was the recognized leader in the school. into the ears of his astonished and angry mother chester arlington had poured his tale of woe, and it had filled her soul with intense hatred for this other boy by the name of merriwell who had dared think himself better than her chester. she had gone to fardale to set things about as they should be, and had failed. that seemed to fill her with such bitterness that she was quite robbed of sober judgment and reason. when mrs. arlington learned that the mining syndicate had claims to the mines belonging to frank and dick merriwell, she was aroused. when she came to understand that the taking of those mines by the syndicate would leave the merriwell brothers almost penniless and would be the signal for dick merriwell to leave fardale, she determined that the thing should be brought about at any cost of money, or time, or trouble to herself. and it was in pursuit of this determination that the wife of d. roscoe arlington had come to arizona and placed herself face to face with a ruffian like cimarron bill, with whom she now struck a bargain that was most astounding. was the woman in her right mind? it made little difference to bill if she were sane or not, as long as he obtained possession of that money. but when he asked for it in advance she smiled upon him coldly, almost scornfully. "you were paid money by the syndicate, and you pledged them to accomplish a task at which you failed. this time there will be no money forthcoming until the work is done." in return the man smiled back at her, and he said: "that settles it! i'm not a fool. when the work is done i may find myself on the run for mexico, with the law reaching for me. in such a case i'll have no time to collect. cash in advance is my motto. you'll bargain with me, or you'll fail, in everything. you cannot get another man to fill my boots in the whole country. and if you were to throw me down and give the job over into the hands of another gent, i'd speak one word to him that would be enough." "what do you mean?" she asked, wondering and angry. "what word?" "the word 'stop,'" said bill. "when cimarron bill says 'stop,' you can bet they stop. they know what it means if they don't. if you don't think so, count the notches on my guns." "you mean that you would turn against me?" "not exactly, madam; i mean that i have no idea of letting any other gent get my job. i do this piece of work--or no one does it. i rather admire the sand of this merriwell, though i'd slit his throat, just the same, for the price. if there was no object in being against him, i'd surely be for him; and it seems that you ought to know better than to put cimarron bill in the ranks of the enemy." "it's a threat!" cried the woman. "not so; it's a business statement, begging your pardon, madam. i don't propose that any gent shall jump my claim." "how can i be sure you'll not play me false? how can i know you'll not take the money and do nothing?" "the syndicate paid me in advance, as you know. i did my best to earn the money. it was not my fault that i failed. in this case, if you pay the sum i have named, i swear to you i'll know no rest until i have succeeded. if i cannot succeed in one way, i will in another." "what do you mean by that?" "i'll capture or kill frank merriwell himself." "if you could do that!" said the woman, with great eagerness. "he is the great stumbling-block." "that's right. with him out of the way, taking the mine would be easy." "is there no way this can be done before you try to seize the mine?" "he keeps pretty close to it. if he could be caught by himself. i have had my hands upon him twice, and he has slipped me both times. next time he will not!" "next time----" "an accident will happen to him," assured bill, with deadly meaning. "that will be the simplest method." "you are right!" she said, in a whisper. "if that could happen----" "would you pay the money?" "i would. understand, i make no bargain with you for such a thing, but that mine must be torn from him somehow. i have with me some money." cimarron bill understood her well, and he nodded. "madam," he said, "give me a little time and i'll find a way to see to it." at this moment there was a commotion in the street, the sound of fighting dogs, shouts of men, and the clatter of horses' hoofs. bill rose quickly and strode to the window, looking down into the street. a handsome irish setter had been attacked by two mongrel dogs, and he was giving those dogs the surprise of their lives. he had one by the neck in a moment, and the mongrel was shaken like a rat. when the setter let go the mongrel took to his heels, howling with pain and terror. then the setter turned on the other dog and a battle that was fierce enough for a few moments ensued, which ended again in the complete triumph of the setter. two young men had ridden into town behind the setter, and they had drawn up to witness the result of the fight. a crowd had quickly gathered, and the triumphant setter was loudly applauded. at sight of one of the two horsemen cimarron bill burst forth with an exclamation of excitement. "look!" he said, pointing from the open window. "see--see that fellow on the dark horse!" mrs. arlington was near the window. "the one with the small mustache?" she asked. "yes, that's the one." "i see him." "well, that's frank merriwell!" said bill. cimarron bill was right. frank merriwell and bart hodge had ridden into holbrook, and with them had come boxer, the dog. boxer had been attacked by the mongrel curs, and he showed his mettle by quickly putting them to flight. as bill gazed down from that window the evil light in his eyes deepened. "remember our bargain!" he said in such a terrible voice that the woman at his side shuddered. then she saw him bring forth a revolver, and, knowing what he meant to do, she uttered a little scream and ran back into another part of the room, unwilling to witness the dark deed. quickly kneeling, bill rested his elbow on the window-ledge and took aim, meaning to send a bullet through the heart of the rightful owner of the queen mystery mine. the commotion in the street and her mother's cry had brought june arlington into that room. june saw the man with the revolver, and her eyes fell on the horseman below. she recognized frank merriwell, for all that he was bronzed and changed, and had a small mustache. with a sudden scream, the girl flung herself on bill and spoiled his aim, so that when the revolver spouted smoke the bullet flew wide of the mark intended. bill uttered a savage snarl, wheeling about. "you wretch!" panted the girl, who was now pale as snow. "you murderer!" the man was dazzled by her beauty. immediately he moved back from the window, bowing low. "beg your pardon, miss," he said. "he sure is an enemy of mine, and out here we shoots on sight. but mebbe he is your friend, in which case i lets up and gives him another show." in that moment of excitement he had fallen into the frontier manner of speaking. she looked at him with unspeakable horror in her eyes. "what are you doing here?" she panted. "you--you--murderer! mother--this man--why is he here?" but mrs. arlington, usually cold as ice and perfectly self-possessed, had quite lost her nerve. she sank into a chair, seeming on the verge of fainting, while she gave bill a look that, ruffian though he was, he understood as an appeal to be left alone with june. nor was he loath about getting out of that room. his pistol had been discharged from the window, and, though the bullet had found no human target, men might come in haste to ask unpleasant questions. "i begs your pardon, madam," he said, hurriedly picking up his hat. "i thinks i'll call again and finish this yere bit o' business. just now i has another matter to attend to." then he hastened out. june had flown to her mother. "tell me--tell me, mother, what it means!" she implored. "my smelling-salts," faintly breathed the woman. "my heart, june! i--i'm afraid!" now, june knew well that the one great fear of her mother's life was sudden death from a heart trouble that came upon her at times, and so the girl hastened to bring out the bottle of salts and hold it beneath the pale lady's nose till she was somewhat recovered, though still resting limp on her chair and breathing heavily. "what does it mean, mother?" asked the girl again. "i do not understand these strange things. i do not understand why such a wicked-looking man should be here in this room and about to shoot down in cold blood a young man in the street. he would have shot him from this very window had not i spoiled his aim." mrs. arlington turned her eyes toward her daughter's face, but looked away quickly, still trembling. "did you know him at whom the man was about to shoot?" she weakly asked. "yes, i knew him, or i am much mistaken. it was frank merriwell. i saw him at the hotel in fardale the day i returned to him those papers. you recollect, mother?" "yes, i remember it all too well, and it was the giving back to him of those papers that has made no end of trouble for us all. but for that foolish act of yours, june, he would not still be holding the mines that are rightfully the property of the c. m. a. of a." "if those mines do not belong to him, how is it that he can hold them?" "he has possession, and he holds it with armed men." "but the law----" "the law is slow, and, without those papers, it is not very sure. it is your folly, girl," declared the woman reproachfully, "that has made no end of trouble. it is your folly that brought frank merriwell near to his end a few moments ago, though you it was who saved him then." "mother, you speak in riddles! how can that be? i gave him back what was his. and have you forgotten that it was his brother, dick, who kept you from slipping beneath the car-wheels, where you must have been maimed or killed?" at this mrs. arlington sat up, and something like anger took from her her great pallor. "no," said she, "nor have i forgotten that it was dick merriwell who brought upon my son all his trouble at fardale! dick merriwell has been his blight there! dick merriwell is his enemy. he has tried to set himself over my boy, and no one shall do that!" june knew how useless it was to talk of this matter with her mother, who refused to listen to reason, and so she did not try to press it further; but she again asked who was the man who had tried to shoot from the window. "he was a miner," said mrs. arlington. "and what business had he here in this room?" "that is nothing to you, girl. forget that you saw him here." "a thing easier said than done, mother. i saw his face and his eyes, and i know he is a wicked man and one to be greatly feared. why should you have dealings with such a wretch?" "you ask too many needless questions, june. look out and tell me if you still see anything of--of--frank merriwell." but when june looked from the window frank merriwell was not to be seen on the street, which had again resumed its usual aspect. "i must have a spell of quiet to restore my nerves, june," said mrs. arlington, when the girl had told her. "leave me. call jackson. i think i will lie down." so the colored maid was called, and june lingered to make sure there was nothing she could do for her mother, who coldly bade her go. in her own room june found herself filled with tempestuous thoughts and vain speculations. she was bewildered by it all, and there was much that she could not understand, for her mother had told her little or nothing of what had brought them to that arizona town. she was wise enough to know full well that the lady had not come there in search of health, and surely it could not be pleasure she expected in such a place, which left but one thing to suppose--it was business. but what sort of business could she have there? and why should she meet and do business with a murderous wretch like the man who had tried to shoot frank merriwell from the open window? knowing there was little danger of interruption, june found pen, ink, and paper and sat herself down to write a letter. she thought at first that she would make it very brief, and she found it exceedingly hard to begin; but when she had begun it, it ran on and on until she had written many pages. sometimes she laughed over it, and sometimes she blushed; once her chin quivered and tears seemed to fill her splendid eyes. when it was all finished she read it over, her cheeks glowing, and at the end she kissed the paper, at which the blush swept down to her very neck, and in great confusion she folded it all hastily and put it into an envelope, which she hurriedly sealed. although she was not aware of it, she had spent nearly two hours over the letter. on the envelope she wrote a name and address, and then, finding her hat, she slipped out to mail it. chapter xxii. a sensation in town. frank's little "scout," as he called it, on which expedition he had driven the redskins from the wounded miner, had convinced him that cimarron bill and his gang had withdrawn from the vicinity of the queen mystery mine. so it came about that merry and bart hodge started for holbrook, bringing with them the gold frank had found in the saddle-bags and belt of the dead miner. boxer would not be left behind. since the death of his former master the dog kept close to frank, for whom he seemed to have formed an affection quite as deep as that he had entertained for benson clark. frank and bart came, dust covered and wearied, into holbrook. boxer's engagement with the mongrel curs, who set upon him, was an incident to enliven their advent in town, and it demonstrated the mettle of the setter. the shot that came from the window of the hotel was somewhat surprising; but, as the bullet failed to pass anywhere near either bart or merry, they did not fancy it was intended for them. still frank dropped a hand toward the pistol swinging at his hip, thinking the lead might be intended for boxer. a puff of smoke was dissolving before the open window, but cimarron bill had vanished, nor did he again appear there. neither frank nor bart had seen him. so they were not greatly alarmed, and they laughed over the manner in which boxer had put his assailants to flight, merriment which was joined in by many of the spectators who had gathered to witness the fight. "good boy, boxer!" said merry. "you did that up slickly." at which the setter turned toward frank and showed his teeth in a grin, and something followed that caused several of the bystanders to gasp and stagger or stand dazed and astounded. when frank and bart rode on two or three of those men hurried into schlitzenheimer's saloon, where one of them banged the bar with his clenched fist, and shouted: "by thunder! that's the first time i ever heard a dog talk! was i dreaming?" "none whatever, pard!" declared another, mopping sweat from his face. "i heard it plain enough. for the love of goodness, fritz, give me a snifter of tanglefoot! i need something to brace my nerves after that!" "vot id vos you peen sayin'?" asked the fat dutchman behind the bar. "vot vos dot voolishness apoudt der talkings uf a tog?" "no foolishness," declared the sweating individual, as whisky and glasses were placed on the bar. "i'll swear to it. the dog that came in with those young gents an' whipped two other dogs in short order sartin made an observation in good, clean united states, or i'm the biggest liar on two legs." "say, benchy!" said the dutchman scornfully, "i pelief you vos readiness to haf anoder attack py dose delerium triangles, ain'd id! uf you vill undertook my advice, you vill off svear alretty soon und safe yourseluf from der snakes some droubles." "this is my first drink to-day," asserted benchy, as he poured with shaking hand; "and i'd not take this if i didn't need it a whole lot to steady my nerves arter hearin' a dog talk." "it's on the level, fritz," assured the man who had banged the bar with his fist. "i heard it myself. the young fellow with the mustache says to the dog arter the dog had licked t'other dogs, says he, 'good boy, boxer; you done that up slick.' then the dog turns about and grins up at him and winks, and he opens his mouth, and i hope i may be struck dead where i stand this minute if he didn't answer and say, 'oh, that was no trick at all, frank; those low-bred curs haven't any sand.' i heard it, fritz, and i'll swear to it with my last breath!" "you vos craziness!" said the dutchman. "oh, you vos drying some jokes on me to play alretty." but now several of the others asserted that they also had heard the dog speak, and that the animal had uttered the very words quoted by the man called spikes. "id peen a put-up jobs!" shouted schlitzenheimer angrily. "uf vor a greadt vool you tookit me, you vos not so much uf a jackass as i look to peen! id vos nod bossible a tog vor to speech, und i vill bate zwi t'ousan' tollar it on!" "but i heard him!" declared benchy. "i'm another!" averred spikes. "we all heard him!" cried the others at the bar. "you got vrom my blace uf pusiness out britty queek!" ordered the dutchman, in a great rage. "i vill not had so many plame liars aroundt! und dond you back come some more alretty undil you vos readiness apology to make vor me drying to vool!" "look here, fritz," said benchy, leaning on the bar, "i'll bet you ten dollars coin of the realm that the dog can talk! if i had been alone in hearing the beast, i might have thought myself fooled; but all these other gents heard him, and so there is no mistake. do you take me?" "den tollars haf nod seen you in a month," declared schlitzenheimer disdainfully. "howeffer, uf you prings pack by you dot tog und he vill speech my saloon in, i vill gif you den tollars my own moneys out uf, and all der drink you can a whole veek vor. now, you tookit my advice und shut upness or make goot britty queek." "i'll do it!" cried benchy, and he hastened forth. frank and bart had proceeded directly to the bank, where their dust was weighed and taken on deposit. this done, they left and sought a square meal in the very hotel where mrs. arlington and june were stopping. fortunately the presence of his guests, who paid extravagantly well, had caused the proprietor to have on hand an unusual stock of cooked food, and he was able to see that the young men from the mines were provided for in a manner that surprised and pleased them not a little. although he took good care to keep out of sight, cimarron bill knew frank merriwell was in the hotel. at the bar of the place bill found a rough, bewhiskered fellow, whom he drew aside. "bob," said bill, in a whisper, "are you ready to tackle a tough proposition?" "for the needful, bill," was the quiet answer of the man, who, in spite of his rough appearance, was known by his mild manner of speech as gentle bob. "what is it?" "you know the young tenderfoot gent what i have been stacking up against--the one what i spoke to you about?" "i reckon." "well, he is now eatin' in the dinin'-room." "sho!" said bob, in placid surprise. "fact," assured bill. "him an' one of his pards is thar. they came inter town together a short time ago. now, i could pick a quarrel with them, and i allows i could shoot 'em both; but it would be knowed agin' me that i had been tryin' to jump their claim, which sartin' would rouse feelin's. in your case, as you were nohow consarned in the raid on the mine, it would be different, an' i 'lows you might find a way o' doin' the job easy an' slick. you kin plead self-defense, an' i promise you there will be plenty o' money to defend ye." "it's the money fer the job i'm a-thinkin' of first, bill," said bob. "a good clean thousan' dollars if you shoots the young gent with the mustache," whispered bill. "do you mean it?" asked bob, looking at him hard. "where does it come from?" "that i allow is none of your business. you has my word that you gets it. and i opine the word o' cimarron bill is knowed to be good." "as his bond," said gentle bob, taking out a brace of pistols and looking them over. "i takes the job, bill; and there sartin will be a funeral in these parts to-morrer." chapter xxiii. boxer creates a stir. when frank and bart came out of the hotel, with boxer at their heels, they found a group of men on the steps engaged in earnest discussion. immediately, on sight of the two young men and the dog, the babel of voices fell to a hush and the men all squared about and stared. but merry immediately noticed that it was not at bart or himself that they were staring, but at boxer. the dog seemed to observe this, likewise, for he stopped short, with one paw uplifted, surveyed the men, and frank, who was a clever ventriloquist, made the animal apparently say: "say, frank, what do you suppose the ginnies are gawking at?" "mother av moses!" cried an irishman in the group. "oi swear be all the saints the baste did spake!" "yah! yah!" chattered a pig-tailed chinaman by the name of sing lee, who ran a laundry in town. "dogee talkee allee samee likee chinyman." "go on, you rat-eater!" contemptuously exclaimed the dog. "if i couldn't talk better than you i'd go drown myself!" needless to say this brought the excitement of the crowd to a high pitch. benchy and spikes were on hand, and now the former appealed to frank. "is that your dog?" he asked. "well, i lay claim to him," smiled merry. "he--he--can he talk?" "didn't you hear him?" "yes, but----" "well, what better evidence do you want than your own ears?" "that's enough; but schlitzenheimer called me names and said i was trying to put up a joke on him because i told him i heard the dog talk." "who's schlitzenheimer?" "he runs the saloon down the street right in front of which your dog whipped those other dogs what jumped on him. he's a black-headed dutchman. come on down and show him the dog." "come on!" cried others. merry didn't mind the lark, but he now turned to the dog, with a very serious expression on his face, saying: "how about it, boxer? i believe you told me you hold an antipathy against dutchmen. will you go down to schlitzenheimer's with me?" the dog seemed to hesitate, and then he answered: "oh, i don't care; go ahead. i'm not stuck on dutchmen, but i'll teach this one a lesson." "all right," said merry. "come on." benchy triumphantly led the way, being followed by frank and bart and the dog, with the crowd at the heels of them. the irishman was protesting his wonderment, while the chinaman chattered excitedly. within the hotel a man had been watching and listening. he was a bewhiskered ruffian, and he strode forth and followed the crowd to the dutchman's saloon. cimarron bill watched his tool depart, smiling darkly and muttering to himself: "good-by, bob! you're going up against a hard proposition in frank merriwell, and it's not likely you'll call to collect that little sum of money from me. all the same, i hope you get in a shot, for you shoot straight, and you may make a round sum for my pocket, as i'll compel the old lady to lay down the cash. i'll be able to scare her into it by threatening to tell the whole story and bring her into the game as an accomplice. that will yank her around to her feet in short order, i opine." for all of bill's reputation as a "killer," he was willing to let this piece of work over to the attention of another. so gentle bob followed merriwell, an evil purpose in his black heart, nor knew that his employer believed and half-hoped he might be going to his own end. benchy burst into the saloon, uttering a cry of triumph. "here comes the dog!" he said. "now i have you, you old duffer! you'll find out he can talk." schlitzenheimer stared at the door, through which the crowd followed frank, and bart, and the dog. "vos dot der tog?" he said. "do you take me for a monkey, you lobster-faced frankfurter?" saucily demanded the dog. "hey?" squawked the saloon-keeper, turning purple. "vot id vos? dit i hear correctness?" "be careful, boxer," said frank reprovingly. "don't be so free with your lip. you may offend the gentleman." "gentleman!" exclaimed the setter, in a tone of profound contempt. "do you call that sourkraut-barrel a gentleman? i'm surprised at you, frank!" at this there was a burst of laughter, and schlitzenheimer turned as red as he had been pale a moment before. "vot vor did dot tog vanted to insult me?" he exclaimed indignantly. "i dit not someding to him do!" "boxer, i'm surprised!" cried frank. "you will get me into trouble with your careless language. i insist that you apologize immediately to the gentleman. i insist, sir!" "oh, very well," said the dog; "if you insist, i'll apologize. i was joking, anyway." "and i add my own apology, mr. schlitzenheimer," said merry. "i hope this will be sufficient?" "oh, yah, dot peen all righdt," said the dutchman at once. "but py dunder! der tickens id does peat to heard a tog dalking!" "it's a good one on you, fritz!" cried benchy triumphantly. "remember your agreement! you're stuck!" "vale, i will stood py dot agreements," said the saloon-keeper, rather reluctantly, "efen if in pusiness id does preak me up. und i vill sdant treat der crowdt vor. sdep up, eferpody, und your trink name." "that's the talk!" cried the dog. "you're not such a bad fellow, schlitzy." schlitzenheimer leaned on the bar with both hands and looked over at boxer. "vot will you haf yourseluf?" he asked. "excuse me," said the setter; "i'm on the water-wagon. go ahead, gentlemen, and don't mind me." so they lined up in front of the bar, expressing their amazement over the accomplishment of the dog and burdening merriwell with questions, all of which frank cheerfully answered or skilfully evaded. boxer had been lifted and placed on one end of the bar, where he immediately sat, surveying the line of men with his clear, intelligent eyes. "hello, mike!" he called to the irishman. "when did you leave the old dart?" "it's goin' on three year now," answered the son of the old sod civilly; "and me name's not moike--it's pat." the dog seemed to wink shrewdly. "it's all the same," he declared; "mike or pat makes no difference, as long as your last name is murphy." "but me last name's not murphy at all, at all--it's o'grady, av yez plaze." "thanks," snickered the dog. "i have it down pat now. it's a way i have of finding out a man's name when no one takes the trouble to introduce him. drink hearty, pat; the whisky'll add to the beautiful tint of your nose." "begorra! it's a divvil the crayther is!" muttered pat, nudging his nearest neighbor. "ah, there, chink!" called the setter, seeming to get his eye on the chinaman, who was staring open-mouthed. "how's the washee-washee business?" "oh, velly good, velly good!" answered the celestial hurriedly, backing off a little, his face yellowish white. "vele," said schlitzenheimer, holding up a glass of beer; "here vos goot health to der smardest tog vot effer vos." "drink hearty," said boxer; and, with the exception of frank and bart, all swallowed their drinks. not wishing anything to drink, and still desiring to join in so that the saloon-keeper might not be offended, frank and bart had taken cigars, which they slipped into their pockets. "dot tog peen der vonder der vorld uf," said schlitzenheimer, gazing admiringly at boxer. "vot vill you soldt him vor?" "there's not enough money in arizona to buy him from me," answered frank at once. "you know a good thing when you see it," chuckled the dog. "vos there anything exception talk vot he can do?" asked fritz. "lots of things," answered merry. "he can play cards." "beenuckle?" asked the dutchman. "you bet! he's a dabster at pinocle." "easy, merry!" cautioned the setter, in a whisper. "if you want to skin the old bologna-sausage out of his shekels, don't puff me up. i can't beat him at his own game." "vale, i pet den tollars you can't dot do!" cried schlitzenheimer. "i nefer vould acknowledgment dot a tog could peat me!" frank sternly turned on boxer. "what do you mean by getting me into such a scrape?" he demanded, shaking his finger at the setter. "you know i never gamble, and i will not bet on a game of cards. if you make any more such foolish talk, i'll not let you play at all." the dog hung his head and looked quite ashamed. "beg pardon," he whined softly. "i was joking again!" "i'll blay der fun uf him vor," said schlitzenheimer. "id vill peen a creat jokes to said i had a came uf beenuckle blayed mit a tog. come on." he hurried out from behind the bar. "begorra! oi'd loike to take a hand in this!" cried pat o'grady, as a square table was drawn out and the cards produced. "it's a shlick game av peenockle oi play." "but three-handed----" said frank. "be afther makin' the fourth yesilf." "i have to hold the cards for boxer, he having no hands of his own," explained merry. then it was that gentle bob stepped forward, saying, in a very quiet voice and polite manner, that he would be pleased to enter the game. now, with the exception of frank and bart, all knew that bob was a very bad man to offend, and so they were willing enough that he should play, and it was soon arranged. frank was keen enough to see in what manner the ruffianly looking fellow with the quiet voice was regarded, and, as he was not in holbrook in search of a quarrel, he raised no dissent. however, he gave hodge a look that bart understood, and the silent youth nodded. from that moment bart watched gentle bob closely. the crowd drew about the table, eager to witness a game of cards in which a dog took part. merry sat on a short bench, with boxer at his side. the cards were cut, and the deal fell to schlitzenheimer. "be careful, dutchy," advised boxer. "we're watching you, and you'd better not try any slick tricks." "eferything on der lefel shall pe," assured the saloon-keeper, pulling at his long pipe. o'grady was likewise smoking, and his pipe contrasted ludicrously with that of schlitzenheimer. when the cards were dealt, it fell the dog's turn to meld first. frank spread out the cards and held them in front of boxer's nose. "i will meld one hundred aces," said the dog. "put 'em down, frank." merry did so. "sixty queens," called boxer, and merry spread them out. "lally ka lolly loka!" chattered sing lee, or something like that; whereupon boxer seemed to fix the chinaman with a scornful stare, and observed: "you ought to take something for that. it must be painful." "gleatee sklot!" gasped the celestial. "dogee hab a debbil!" and he backed away. "that's right," said boxer. "i like you a long distance off, the longer the distance the better i like you." "pay attention to the game," said frank. "are you going to meld anything else?" "forty trumps, twenty spades, and twenty hearts," said boxer. "dunder!" muttered schlitzenheimer, and his hands trembled so that he dropped some of the cards. "get a basket," snickered the dog; and the crowd laughed loudly at the saloon-keeper's expense. when all the melding was finished they prepared to play. "i'll lead the ace of trumps," said boxer. frank ran the cards over. "it's here," he said. "but i didn't see it." "what's the matter with your eyes?" snapped the dog. "didn't i meld one hundred aces? you ought to learn something about this game!" "i seldom play cards," said merry apologetically. "well, you want to keep your eyes open!" exclaimed boxer sharply. "these chaps may try to skin us." at this gentle bob looked up and said: "i do not mind a little faking none whatever, but i sure objects to being called a skin, either by a dog or his master, so i opine it will be best for somebody to apologize." and, as he made this remark, he suddenly whipped forth a pistol, with which he covered both frank and the dog, but held the weapon more in merry's direction. cimarron bill's tool had found the opportunity he sought, and he meant to make the most of it. merry saw in the fellow's eyes the full extent of his evil purpose. "if the apology is not forthcoming instanter," murmured the ruffian, "i shall puncture the wonderful talking dog with a bullet!" now, it seemed that bob had frank at a great disadvantage, but at this point bart hodge shoved the muzzle of a pistol against the fellow's ear and harshly commanded: "put up that gun--instanter! if you don't i'll blow the whole top of your head off!" but bart had made a miscalculation, for gentle bob had not come alone to the saloon, having noted well that frank merriwell had a friend. he had picked up a chap of his own sort, and now this fellow had a gun at bart's head. "you're the one who'll lose the ruff o' his head!" he said. "you put up your gun!" gentle bob still sat pistol in hand, but boxer had taken advantage of an opportunity to drop down from the bench to the floor. of a sudden there came a wild yell from bob, who kicked out with his feet and flung himself backward, his pistol being discharged straight up at the ceiling. boxer had seized him by the leg beneath the table. instantly there was a fearful uproar in the saloon. the action of the dog had disconcerted the plans of every one. hodge ducked and whirled, catching the ruffian at his back a fearful blow on the solar plexus that drove him slam against the bar, and he went down and "out." merry went across the table in a leap at gentle bob, from whom he tore the revolver that the fellow was trying to use on boxer. "let up, boy," said frank to the dog. "i'll attend to his case." boxer seemed reluctant to let go, but he did so at the second command. merriwell pinned bob down and deftly disarmed him, removing every weapon, which he passed over to schlitzenheimer. "take care of these tools, sir," he said, "until i leave town. it will save this fellow's life--perhaps." "und dot vill peen a pity!" muttered the saloon-keeper, who had no love for the ruffian, but held him in great awe. having disarmed bob, merry rose and commanded him to get up. the fellow rose immediately and sprang at frank, trying to strike him. boxer would have mingled in, but bart held him in check, saying: "keep out of it. frank can attend to that case now without any of your aid." hodge was not mistaken, as merriwell quickly demonstrated. he avoided the blows of the ruffian and quickly knocked him down. bob rose, only to be struck in the eye and sent to the floor again. four times this happened, and then merry picked the wretch up, carried him bodily to the door, and kicked him into the street, observing: "if you come back here or bother me again, i'll send you to the hospital for a month!" and the dog barked with great satisfaction. chapter xxiv. boxer to the rescue. the second ruffian was ejected, and frank and the talking dog were regarded with unbounded admiration by every one present. "i neffer haf seen shentle pob done upness pefore," remarked schlitzenheimer. "he vos a pad man." "you bettee!" put in sing lee, who crept forth from behind a barrel, where he had taken refuge during the encounter. "him velly bad. him shootee, stabbee, killee." "an' so he will," nodded pat o'grady, seeming quite concerned. "it's me opinion he wur lookin' fer throuble whin he came here." "well, he found it," smiled merry. "that's what!" said boxer, wagging his tail and looking up at frank knowingly. "but he tasted disagreeable. you don't suppose it will make me sick, do you?" frank stooped and patted the dog's head. "i hope not," he laughed. "you got hold of his leg just in time, old boy." "oh, i didn't dally when i saw him throw his gun out," said boxer, winking rapidly with both eyes. "i allowed he was going to begin shooting directly." "uf you vould tookit my device," said schlitzenheimer, "you couldt out uf dis town get a hurriness indo." "thot's roight," nodded o'grady. "it's moighty dangerous to remain after this, oi know." "pob vill got vor heemseluf another gun, und he vill look vor you on der sdreet," declared the saloon-keeper. "well, he may find us, eh, boxer?" smiled frank. "sure thing," said the dog. "and i reckon you can shoot as quick and as straight as he can." schlitzenheimer shook his head and averred that bob was the greatest pistol-shot known in those parts, which, however, did not seem to alarm frank merriwell in the least. suddenly there came a scream from the street, the voice being that of a girl, and the sound indicating that she was in great fear and distress. frank sprang to the open door, boxer barking at his heels, and hodge was not slow in following. the cry had issued from the lips of june arlington, who was then on her way to the post-office to mail the letter she had written, not wishing her mother to see it. june had arrived in the vicinity of the saloon as gentle bob was turning away. she noted that the man's face was cut and bruised and one eye was swollen. his appearance led her to look at him with something like sympathy, when, of a sudden, he turned on her, smiling evilly, and seized her arm. "derned ef you ain't a right peert gal!" said the fellow insolently. "gimme a kiss, sweetness." then june screamed and tried to break away, striking at him with her clenched fist. she was frightened and angry. "stop yer squarmin'!" snarled the fellow, who had thought to kiss her quickly before she could make much resistance, and then hasten along, it being his intention to boast of what he had done. but june would not stop. she saw a tall, athletic young man come bounding through an open doorway into the street, followed closely by a dog and another young man. her eyes recognized the one in advance, and she cried out: "mr. merriwell, help--help, quick!" with a growl of rage, gentle bob released her and turned. as he did so, the dog, terrible in his fury, shot past frank, and made a great spring through the air straight at bob's throat. bob threw up his arm, and the teeth of the dog fastened on it. the force of the creature's leap hurled the ruffian backward. the man went down in the dust, and boxer was at him with all the fury of a mad animal. he would have torn the wretch to pieces right before their eyes, but frank fearlessly grasped the dog and pulled him away, at the same time crying commandingly to him. "keep him off!" palpitated bob, now filled with a great terror for the fierce animal. "don't let him touch me ag'in! he's near bit me to pieces now!" "you got just what you deserved, and no more, you miserable creature!" said frank indignantly. then he turned and asked june what bob had been doing. "oh, he grasped me, and he tried to kiss me!" "did he!" grated merry, very white. "then i should have let boxer finish him!" "no, no!" gasped june. "no, no!" exclaimed bob. "on your knees!" cried frank, in ringing tones--"on your knees and apologize to the young lady! if you don't do it, so help me, i'll let boxer get at you again!" bob did not hesitate. ruffian and desperado though he was reputed to be, he cast himself on his knees before june and humbly begged her pardon, all the while watching boxer, who glared back at him and licked his chops. "get up and go, you pitiful coward!" said frank. "keep out of my sight while i'm in town, and be careful not to try any dirty tricks. if you hurt me, boxer will eat you up; if you hurt boxer, i'll have your life! go!" the wretch lost not a moment in getting away. frank stooped and picked up the letter june had dropped. he was restoring it to her when his eye caught the address upon it, and he stared in astonishment. "mr. richard merriwell, "fardale." that was the name and address he read. then he looked closely at june and recognized her. "miss arlington?" he exclaimed, his hat in his hand; "is it possible?" the color was coming back into her cheeks. "mr. merriwell," she said, "let me thank you for coming so quickly to my assistance." "it was boxer who got there first. but i'm amazed to see you here--here in arizona." "i don't doubt it." "what brings you to this place?" "i came with my mother." "your--your mother?" he said, still further astonished. "and your father--he is here, also?" "no, sir." "he is coming?" "no, sir, i believe not." merry had thought at once that there might be a very good reason why d. roscoe arlington should come to holbrook to learn just how well the hired ruffians of the syndicate had performed their tasks, but the presence there of mrs. arlington and june, without d. roscoe, rather bewildered him. june looked back toward the hotel windows, thinking it must be that her mother had heard her cry and would be looking forth; but was relieved to see nothing of the lady. "you were on your way to mail this letter?" said frank, divining her destination. "yes." "may i accompany you, to make sure you are not molested further?" she accepted his escort. bart had lingered near, and frank presented him. "an old school and college chum, miss arlington," he said, "and one of my closest friends." bart lifted his hat and bowed, smiling a bit on the pretty girl. in his way, which was dark and silent, he was almost every bit as handsome as frank himself, and it is no cause of wonderment that june could not wholly repress the flash of admiration that came into her splendid eyes. on his part, bart was quite smitten with her, and he stood watching frank walk away at her side, boxer following, smiling without envy, yet thinking his friend fortunate to have the company of such a charming girl for even a brief time in that part of the country. frank found himself somewhat embarrassed, not a little to his surprise, as he walked down the street with june. the girl was the daughter of the man who was doing his best to bring upon merriwell complete ruin--or seemed to be doing his best to that end, for frank could not know that all his trouble at the queen mystery had not risen directly from d. roscoe arlington. much less did he suspect that any great part of it came without mr. arlington's knowledge and through the vengeful malice of mrs. arlington. it was not agreeable to speak of this matter with june, and still in his heart merry was more than eager to know what had brought the girl to holbrook. he had not forgotten that it was the hand of june that had restored to him the precious papers relating to the mines when those papers had been stolen from him in fardale, a service for which he remained grateful. further than this, frank had learned that dick had a deep interest in june--so deep, indeed, that the boy himself did not quite suspect its measure. merry had been able to read his brother, and his good sense told him beyond question that never would dick hold his hand from the person of his most persistent enemy simply because that enemy's sister thus entreated him, unless there was back of it all a feeling of affection for the sister that was of no small magnitude. that june cared something for dick, merry more than half-suspected, and the sight of the name on the letter she now carried in her hand seemed very good evidence that this was not false fancy on his part, for did she not care for the lad far away in fardale, then why should she write to him? it was june herself who relieved frank's embarrassment by earnestly turning to him and beginning speech. "mr. merriwell," she said, with such a sober face that he was greatly surprised, "i have wanted to see you since you came into town." "then you knew i had entered town?" "i saw you; and i have wanted to speak with you to warn you." "to warn me?" said frank. "of what?" "of your great danger, for you are in danger here. you have in this town a man who would kill you." "i think we lately parted from such a man," smiled merry. "but he is not the one." "is there another?" "oh, yes! i saw him! perhaps i saved your life." at this frank gave a great start of surprise and asked her how that could be, upon which she told him how cimarron bill had shot at him from the window, and how she had spoiled the aim of the would-be murderer. she held back the fact that the man had fired from one of the windows of her mother's rooms, and that her mother had shortly before been in consultation with him. still frank was keen enough to see that she was hiding something, and he had the good discernment to come close to guessing the truth. "miss arlington," he said, "it seems that i owe you my life. i heard the shot, but i could not be sure it was fired at me. if i mistake not, the man who fired it has a deadly aim, and i could not have escaped but for your quickness in spoiling his sight. i owe you a great deal more than i can ever repay." june knew something of the truth, and she was aware that her father was concerned in a movement the accomplishment of which meant ruin to both frank and dick; therefore this acknowledgment by frank of his indebtedness to her caused her to flush with shame. "it is i who owe you a great deal!" she exclaimed. "see what you have just done--saved me from a ruffian! but your brother--dick--he did more. he saved me once from the fangs of furious dogs, at another time from being killed in a runaway, and that is not all. it is i who owe you much more than i can ever repay. my brother"--she choked a little--"my brother is dick's enemy, yet, for a promise to me, dick has been easy with him and has not forced him in disgrace from fardale. oh, mr. merriwell!" she suddenly exclaimed, feeling her utter inability to express herself, "it seems to me that never before was a girl placed in such a position as i find myself in! what can i do?" "you can do nothing, miss june," he said gently. "you are not to blame for anything that may happen, and i shall not forget that. i am very sorry for you, as i fancy you must be far from comfortable." at this her pride returned, and she straightened, thinking she could not acknowledge to him that her people were in the wrong. "you know there is always two sides to any question," she said, "and there may be as much of right on one side as the other. i presume my father has every reason to think himself right." now, june knew that it was her mother who hated dick and frank with undying intensity, while her father cared very little about either of the merriwells, save that he had been led to wonder immoderately at the success of frank in fighting the syndicate; but she wished to avoid the shame of confessing that her mother had such a vengeful nature and could enter with vindictiveness into an affair that might well be left to men. frank had no desire to hurt her feelings. he understood her pride and sensitiveness, and he said: "it is very likely you are correct about that. at any rate, we will not argue it. it is no matter for us to speak of, as what we might say would not change the situation in the least. still, if i should become satisfied that your father had the right in this thing, even though it stripped me of my last dollar and made me a beggar, i would surrender to him immediately." she did not doubt him then, and she saw that the character of frank merriwell was one to be admired, his one concern being for perfect and complete justice, even though by justice he might be the sufferer. inwardly she was struck with the conviction that her father seldom made inquiry into the justice of any project he wished to carry through, his one concern being to accomplish his ends by any method whatever, so long as it did not involve him in difficulties of a nature too serious. "mr. merriwell," she said quickly, "you must leave holbrook just as soon as you can!" "why?" "the man who tried to shoot you is here--the man with the wicked face and evil eyes." "i am not given to running away from one man." "it's not that. he is an assassin! see how he tried to kill you without giving you a show! you don't know what moment he may try it again. if he were to meet you face to face it would be different. you cannot defend yourself from attacks in the dark. you have no show." "well, there is some truth in that," smiled merry. "he will attack you that way again. i know it! he will strike at you from behind." "possibly." "you must go! you must leave holbrook before dark!" "i hardly fancy it," muttered frank, frowning. "i do not like the notion. it leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth to think of running away from cimarron bill." for, although june had not mentioned the ruffian by name, not knowing it herself, her description of him had satisfied frank that it could be no other than the baffled scoundrel who had twice attempted to seize the queen mystery mine. "but you will go?" she urged. "i'll think of it." they had reached the post-office and were now standing in front of the building. bart hodge was sauntering slowly in their direction on the opposite side of the street, having kept within easy pistol-shot of frank all the while. frank's words did not satisfy june. he saw she was in distress. "if you will not go for your own sake," she said, "please do for mine." he looked astonished. "for your sake?" he said. "why, i had not an idea in the world that it could be of so much concern to you. i'm afraid i do not understand why it should be. now, if dick----" she stopped him with a gesture, her face flushing very warm. "don't!" she entreated, in a low voice. "at least, you are his own brother! but it is for my sake more than yours. i cannot explain. do not embarrass me! but promise me you will go--for my sake!" having a quick perception, frank suddenly fancied he caught an inkling of the truth. in that moment he saw mrs. arlington dealing with cimarron bill. it was a conjecture, but it struck him hard as the truth. this, then, was the reason why june wished him to flee from holbrook. she feared that her mother somehow would become involved in the murder in case cimarron bill should carry into execution his dastardly purpose. of course, it was not possible for him to be sure he had struck upon the truth. "it is hard for me to refuse a girl when she corners me like this," he smiled. "you'll go?" persisted june. "if you insist." "oh, thank you--thank you! i shall not breathe easy until i know you are well out of this dreadful place." "and i shall not breathe easy as long as i know you remain here, where you may become subject to such insults as to-day happened. it is no place for you at the present time. holbrook is well enough in its way; but you are too pretty to walk its streets without an escort. western gentlemen are gentlemen in every sense of the word, and no man can hold the honor of a lady more sacred; but western ruffians are dangerous, and it seems there are several of the latter class in this place." "i must remain while mother stays here; i must stay with her." the letter was dropped in the post-office, and june urged frank to depart at once; but he insisted on escorting her back to the hotel. boxer kept close to their heels, seeming to listen to their conversation at times; but, strange though it may appear, he made no attempt to take part in it, nor did he speak as much as one word during all the time that he seemed neglected by his master. frank made a sign to bart, who crossed the street and joined them. "i have decided to leave town right away," said merry. "have the horses saddled and prepared. we'll start as soon as i have escorted miss arlington back to the hotel." hodge looked surprised. "the horses are in no condition, frank," he said. "you know they are in sore need of a good rest." "i know it, bart; but i have a reason for this. we'll go. get them ready, please." "all right," said bart, as he turned away to carry out instructions. chapter xxv. unto death! the sun was down in the west and night was gathering over the face of the world when frank and bart rode forth from holbrook, setting their faces to the southwest. boxer trotted behind them. they were not molested, although frank remained in constant expectation of an attack until they were fairly clear of the place and had it a long rifle-shot at their backs. the blue night grew upon the distant plain, and the stars were coming forth over their heads as they rode down into the distance, the beating hoofs of the ponies making rhythm on the baked ground. the first cool breath of night touched their heated cheeks with grateful kisses. "how did you happen to do it, frank?" asked bart. "i found out a thing or two," merry answered. "cimarron bill is in town, and he was watching his chance to get another shot at me." "another?" exclaimed bart; upon which merry explained how bill had fired at him already. "it was rather dangerous to stay there, and i couldn't resist when a pretty girl took enough interest in me to urge me to get away," frank laughed. "we had some sport with our talking dog, and now----" "you can't mean to ride far?" "remember the hut we passed on the way into town? it's not very far. we'll stop there to-night." "good!" said bart; and they rode on. coming to the deserted hut, they stopped there. the horses were cared for, and frank and bart entered the hut with their blankets, where they prepared to sleep until toward morning, planning to rise before daybreak and get an early start, so that some distance could be covered ere the sun rose. both of the young men were weary, and they lost little time in drawing their blankets about them and rolling on the floor. boxer curled in a corner and went to sleep. the door of the hut was left open to admit the cool night air. frank fell asleep at once, and bart was not slow in following his example. they were awakened in the middle of the night by a snarl, a cry, a struggle, and a fall. both sat up, grasping their weapons. the moon was up, and by its light, which streamed in at the wide-open door, a man and a dog were seen struggling on the floor. the dog was boxer, who had leaped at the throat of the man as he came slipping in at the open door. "great scott!" exclaimed hodge. "what's the meaning of this?" "one of my friends has arrived," said frank. "boxer has him." the struggle was fierce and terrible. the dog seemed to have the man by the throat. before either merry or hodge could interfere the moonlight glinted on something bright in the hand of the man, who struck and struck again. not a sound came from the dog. but the bright thing in the man's hand grew suddenly dark. "heavens!" gasped frank, leaping forward. "he has a knife!" then a terrible sound came from the throat of the man, and he lifted his arm no more. the thing in his hand, dark and dripping, fell to the floor of the hut. a moment later the man rolled into the shadow, and then boxer was seen dragging himself away, while the man lay still. "boxer! boxer!" cried frank, bending over the dog. "are you hurt, boy? merciful goodness! he ripped your whole side open with that knife!" hodge struck a light and bent over the man who lay in the shadow. when the match burned out in his fingers he dropped it and stepped out to join merriwell, who had picked up the dog and carried the creature into the open air. bart found merry sitting on the ground, with the dog in his arms. boxer had been cut in a terrible manner, and was bleeding in a way that plainly told his end was near. "oh, the wretch!" choked merry, in a husky voice. "oh, the wretch who did this! he ought to be hanged!" "no need of hanging for him," said hodge. "he'll be beyond that in less than three minutes." "you mean----" "he's pretty near dead now. boxer's teeth found his jugular vein." "who was it, bart?" "the fellow who made the row in schlitzenheimer's saloon." "gentle bob?" "yes." "one of cimarron bill's hired tools, or i am mistaken! he followed us here and tried to creep in on us with that knife, meaning to finish the job at which he failed in town. boxer saved us. good old boxer! poor old boxer!" the dog whined a little on hearing this name from frank's lip's, and feebly wagged his tail. the moonlight showed his eyes turned toward merry's face. "is it so bad there's no show for him?" asked hodge, in genuine distress. "no show!" sobbed frank. "he's finished, bart! it's a shame! the most knowing dog in the whole world! and he has to die like this, killed by a human being that is more of a beast than he!" "it's a shame!" said bart. the dog licked frank's hand. merry bowed his head, and tears started from his eyes. "poor boxer!" he choked. "boxer, we have to part here. you're going to another country, where i must follow in time. it's all up with you. you may find your first master over there; but he'll never love you more than i have. good-by, boxer!" the dog uttered a whine. and so his life ended in frank's arms, with the moonlight falling on them and the stillness of the arizona night all around. hodge entered the hut, only to come forth, bringing the blankets and looking very sick. "for heaven's sake, let's get away from here!" he exclaimed. "the man in there?" "dead!" said bart. "the place is gory! i'm faint from it!" boxer's body was wrapped in a blanket, and they mounted and rode away, frank carrying the dead dog in his arms to find a burial place where there could be no chance that his body should be exhumed by any prowling thing of the desert. chapter xxvi. the coming of crowfoot. rap! rap! rap! "wait a minute!" called frank. "no need to knock the door down!" he flung the door of his cabin wide open, standing on the threshold. it was early dawn in mystery valley. sunrise was beginning to gild the barren peaks of the mogollons. the new day had come to its birth in a splendid glow, and the world smiled refreshed after the cooling sleep of the departed night. frank was just risen and not yet fully dressed, but about his waist was his cartridge-belt, and his pistol swung ready in the holster at his hip. he had no use for the weapon, however. outside the door stood old joe crowfoot, his blanket drawn about his shoulders. those keen eyes gazed on merry with an expression of friendly greeting. with a shout of surprise and joy, frank clasped the old redskin in his arms in the most affectionate manner. "old joe crowfoot, as i live!" he cried, showing unusual excitement and delight. "why, you old reprobate, here you come popping back from the grave after i've been mourning you as dead! what do you mean by it, you villain?" "ugh!" grunted old joe, something like a merry twinkle in those beady eyes. "strong heart him think crowfoot dead, eh?" "hang me if i didn't!" "crowfoot him heap tough; no die easy," declared the indian. "i should say not! why, you tricky scoundrel, they told me you were done for." "who tell so?" "some of cimarron bill's delectable gang. they averred they had disposed of you for good and all." "waugh! no let such cheap carrion kill me!" said joe. "they mebbe think some they do it. joe he fool um heap lot." "but where have you been?" "oh, all away round," was the answer, with a wide sweep of the arm. "joe him scout--him find out how land lay. do a little biz." "do business? what sort of business?" "catch the sucker some." "catch the sucker? what's that?" the redskin flung open his dirty red blanket and tapped a fat belt about his waist, which gave back a musical clink. "play the game of poke'," he exclaimed. "make heap plenty mon'." "you've been gambling again?" "strong heart him guess," nodded joe, with something like a sly smile. "you villain! and i'll wager you got away with your ill-gotten spoils." "heap do so," said joe. "have some firewater. find one, two, three, four crooked paleface follow to kill and rob. let firewater 'lone till fool crooked palefaces so um no follow some more. then go safe place drink firewater a heap." "you've been drunk, too!" cried merry. "mebbe so," admitted the indian. "white man firewater heap good while um last; heap bad when um gone. make um feel much glad at first, then much sorry little time after." frank laughed heartily at the queer manner of the old indian as he said this. "i suppose that's about right," he said. "i've never tried it to find out." "strong heart him no try firewater?" exclaimed joe, in surprise. "crowfoot him think all paleface drink the firewater." "well, here is one who doesn't. i've seen too much trouble come from the stuff." "ugh! strong heart him got heap more sense than anybody joe ever see," asserted the indian admiringly. "once git taste of firewater, always be heap fool and drink him some. many times old joe he say no drink some more. head all swell, middle all sick, mouth all dry, taste nasty a lot, bone ache--then him say no more the firewater. mebbe he go 'long some time, but bimeby he take it some more. white man make firewater. bad! bad! bad! no firewater made, nobody drink it." from inside the cabin a voice called. "what, ho! methinks thou hast found a philosopher, merry! bring the sage in that i may survey him with my heavenly blue eyes." "yes, dew!" drawled another voice. "i want to set my eyes onter him, by gum!" merry led the old indian into the cabin. "here he is," merry laughed. "crowfoot, these are some of my friends, whom you met last summer. you remember them. they played ball with me in the mad river country." "ugh!" grunted the redskin. "heap remember!" bart hodge stepped forward, his hand outstretched to the indian. "i am glad to see you again, crowfoot," he said. "me same," said joe, shaking bart's hand. "you heap good to ketch hard ball when strong heart him make it go fast like a bullet and man with stick he--whish!--strike at it so, no hit it at all." they all laughed at the indian's manner of describing bart's skill at catching. "consarned if it ain't a sight fer sore eyes to see ye, mr. crowfoot!" said ephraim gallup, as he froze to the redskin's hand and shook it warmly. "yeou was the best mascot a baseball-team ever hed." "how! how!" said the old fellow. "nose talk him stand way out far, ketch ball when it come there. how! how!" "nose talk!" laughed frank. "well, that's one on you, gallup!" jack ready was smiling blandly. he gave his hand a little flirt in salute, and stepped forward with an odd movement. "gaze on my classic features, joseph crowfoot, esquire," he invited. "see if you can recollect what i did in the game." "sure remember," nodded crowfoot. "talk-talk a heap, no do much else." then the joke was on jack, and even bart hodge was forced to smile, while gallup gave ready a resounding smack on the shoulder with his open hand. "bless my punkins!" snickered the vermonter. "that's a thunderin' good one on you, jack!" ready looked sad. "alas!" he sighed. "is it thus i am to be defamed! and by a copper-colored aborigine! the thought is gall to my sensitive soul! i shall peek and pine over it! for days to come no sweet smile shall adorn my beautiful features!" joe looked puzzled. "no say something bad," he declared. "when red cheek him talk-talk a heap lot other man that throw ball he got a lot mixed, no make good pitch. red cheek him help win game a heap." jack's face cleared at once. "crowfoot, you have poured soothing balm on my wounded heart!" he cried. "i'm glad to know that i do amount to something, for, so help me! of late i have begun to wonder what i was made for!" "sit down, joe," invited frank. "we're going to have breakfast in a short time, and you are to eat with us." "ugh!" said the indian, disdaining a chair and sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. "joe him do so. him a heap empty. mebbe after him eat him tell strong heart something much good to hear." when breakfast was over the old indian lighted his rank pipe and smoked contentedly, still sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall. through the open door came the sounds of work at the mine. frank was not yet running the mine day and night, with shifts of men, but it was his intention to do so later. smoke was rising from the high pipe of the stamp-mill, and soon the stamps began to rumble and roar, awaking the echoes of the valley. the sound was a pleasant one in merriwell's ears. "this running a mine in arizona is a snap," said jack ready, as he elevated his feet to the top of the table, in which the breakfast-dishes and remnants of the meal remained. "the hardest part of it seems to be washing the dishes. it's gallup's turn this morning." "not by a thuttering sight!" exclaimed ephraim. "yeou can't shoulder that onter me! you've gotter wash the dishes to-day. i done it yisterday." "is it possible!" cried jack. "why, i thought it was day before yesterday, or, perchance, the day before that. alas, how time flies--tempus fugit!" "now, don't go to springin' any latin on us!" growled gallup. "you never learned enough latin to hurt ye, an' ye don't want to try to show off." "behold how the green-eyed monster turneth a friend into a critic!" said jack. "you can attend to the dishes later," said frank. "just now i am anxious to hear the good news crowfoot said he might have to tell. what is it, joe?" "some time little while 'go, few days, you be in holbrook?" questioned the indian, pulling away at his pipe. "yes, i was there--hodge and myself." "joe him been there since." "and you bring good news from that place?" "heap good to strong heart. in holbrook him find white woman who hate him a lot, eh? white woman she is the squaw of man who make for strong heart big trouble 'bout mine." "you mean mrs. arlington?" "ugh! mebbe that her name." "that is it. she is in holbrook, or was a few days ago." "she hate strong heart a heap." "i reckon she does," nodded frank, wondering how the old redskin found out so much. "she come to get bad men to take mine." "possibly that is right." "joe him know it. she make much business with cim'run bill." "that i suspected, although i did not find it out for a certainty while in holbrook." "it so." "go on." "she give bill heap much mon' to buy bad men to take from strong heart the mine." "is that so?" "waugh! joe him find out. joe he play sharp; he listen." "crowfoot, you're as good as a detective." "no know 'bout that. find out white squaw she hate strong heart, then try to find out more. now squaw she heap sorry she come to holbrook." "she is sorry?" "heap so." "why?" "she have papoose girl with her--young squaw." "her daughter june." "ugh! now she no have young squaw." "what's that? what do you mean by that. what has become of june?" "you tell," said joe, with a strange gesture. "she gone. old squaw tear hair, tear run from her eye, she make a loud weep. ha! now you hear good news, strong heart! now you know your enemy have the great sorrow! that make your heart much glad!" but frank was on his feet now, his face rather pale and a look of excitement in his eyes. "see here, crowfoot," he said, "do you mean to tell me that june arlington has disappeared and that her mother does not know what has become of her?" joe nodded. "laugh!" he said. "laugh, strong heart!" but frank did not laugh; instead, to the wonderment of the indian, he betrayed both consternation and dismay. "are you sure of this, joe?" he demanded. "how long had the girl been missing when you left holbrook?" "the sun had slept once." "by which you mean that one night had passed?" "ugh!" "then this is serious, indeed! something most unfortunate has happened, or june arlington would not be missing overnight. boys, prepare at once to start for holbrook! get ready to mount and ride as fast as horseflesh can carry us; we'll start at the earliest moment possible!" crowfoot arose, a look of wonderment in his dark eyes. he reached out and grasped frank's arm. "what would strong heart do?" he asked. "i'm going to holbrook hotfoot," was the answer. "i'm going to find out, if possible, what has happened to june arlington, and i shall do my best to return her to her mother, if she has not already returned when i reach there." the redskin's hand dropped from merriwell's arm and the old fellow stared at the white man in uncomprehending amazement. "why so?" he asked. "paleface squaw she hate you, she is your enemy. now she have something to think a heap of, and no time to make trouble for strong heart. he should have a great happiness that it is so. why does he hurry to the bad white squaw? is it to laugh at her? is it to see her weep and cry?" "no, crowfoot; it is to find out, if possible, what has happened to the girl, just as i said a moment ago, and to return her to her mother." the indian shook his head. "waugh! no understand!" he declared. "strong heart him much strange." "joe, will you go with us? you shall have a good horse. i may need your aid. will you go?" "joe him go. no understand; him go, all same." "then hustle, fellows!" cried frank. "we'll be off soon!" he rushed from the cabin. chapter xxvii. arrested in holbrook. another morning was dawning when five weary horses bore five persons into the town of holbrook. the animals had been pushed to the utmost, and the riders showed signs of deep fatigue. the dust of the desert lay white upon men and beasts. at the head of the party rode frank merriwell, showing of them all the least weariness, his lips pressed together with an expression of grim determination. bart, jack, and ephraim were behind, with old joe bringing up the rear. straight to the hotel they went, where frank learned immediately that mrs. arlington was still there, and he also found out that she was very ill, having been completely prostrated by the vanishing of june, who was still missing. when frank asked to see the woman he was told that the doctor attending her had said no one was to see her without his permission. "then i must see that doctor in a hurry," merry declared. "where can i find him?" he was directed and hastened to the home of the doctor, who proved to be a red-faced, pompous little fellow. "impossible to see the lady," declared the doctor. "she has heart trouble, and it might prove fatal. i cannot permit it." "see here, doctor," said frank, "i have ridden a right good distance to see her, having heard of the disappearance of her daughter june. i have come to see what i can do about tracing the missing girl and restoring her to her mother. to start the work right, i should have an interview with the lady." "hum! hum!" coughed the doctor. "i don't know about it." he shook his head, but merriwell caught his eye and continued to talk earnestly until the man gradually ceased his opposition. "i'm afraid it's not just the wisest thing," he said. "but still it is anxiety over her daughter that has brought her to this pitiful condition. if you can do anything to relieve that anxiety, it may be better than medicine. but you must take care not to excite her more than possible." this frank readily promised, and they set out for the hotel. having ascended to the rooms occupied by mrs. arlington and those she had brought with her, the doctor entered first, being admitted by the faithful colored maid. in a few moments he came out and said: "i forgot to ask your name, but mrs. arlington says she will see you. come in." frank followed the doctor into the room. mrs. arlington, partly dressed, was reclining on a couch, propped up amid cushions. she was very pale and showed signs of great worriment and grief. the moment her eyes rested on frank, who came forward, hat in hand, she gave a great cry and started up. the doctor hurried to her side, cautioning her against becoming excited, but she appeared to heed him not in the least. "you?" she cried, pointing at frank. "you have dared to come here?" merry bowed. "i know of no reason why i should not come here," he said. "i have heard of your misfortune, and----" "wretch!" the woman panted, glaring at him. "how dare you! i'll have you arrested at once!" frank was surprised by this reception, but he kept his composure, although he was struck by a thought that the woman must be mad. "why should you have me arrested?" he asked. "for defending my property? i scarcely think you will do that, madam!" "you--you scoundrel!" panted mrs. arlington, pointing at him. "where is my daughter? you shall never leave this place until you restore her to me!" this did stagger merry somewhat. "mrs. arlington," he said, "i have come to offer my services in searching for your daughter. if i can be of any assistance----" "you--you lured her away!" declared the shaking woman. "you were seen talking with her on the street. is this the way you defend your property? i know your game! you mean to make me promise to drop the battle against you, on which condition you will restore june to me! i have been told that you would try that trick! but i am ready for you, and you shall be arrested immediately. you have walked into the trap!" "my dear woman," said merry quietly, "you never were more mistaken in all your life. i know absolutely nothing of the whereabouts of your daughter; but i fancied you might be able to tell me something that would serve as a clue in the search for her." "don't tell me that! i have sense enough to know you would not offer to help me find her!" startled by the sound of mrs. arlington's excited voice, eliot dodge, her agent, who was in an adjoining room, now entered quickly. when he saw merriwell he stopped short. frank had met dodge once in denver, at which time the man with the blue nose had made him an offer in behalf of the mining syndicate for the san pablo and queen mystery mines, an offer that merry had scornfully declined. now frank recognized the crafty fox of a lawyer at once. "so you are here, dodge?" he said. "and i fancy you are behind some of the doings that have been going on in this region of late." dodge puckered up his mouth and tried to look at the young man with something like contempt, although the effort was a failure. "yes, i am here," he said, in his raspy voice; "and i fancy it is a pretty good thing for mrs. arlington that i am. i have been able to show her the inwardness of this last move of yours." "then you are the one who has filled her mind with the idea that i know something of the whereabouts of miss arlington? well, dodge, i know you are not a fool, and, therefore, i must conclude at once that you have some rascally reason for giving her such an impression. be careful, sir, that you do not make a false step! in this part of the country it is very dangerous. down here men are sometimes lynched for rascality." "don't you dare threaten me!" fumed dodge, shaking his fist at frank. "there is a warrant out for your arrest, and you'll find that the end of your career is pretty near." frank smiled derisively. "you remind me of a snapping cur, dodge," he observed; then he turned from the man, as if not deigning to waste further words on him. "mrs. arlington," he said earnestly, "i assure you on my honor that i have come to you with the most friendly intentions. i assure you that i have ridden more than one hundred miles for the purpose of offering my services in the search for your daughter. you may not believe me, but it is the simple truth. you have received me in a manner most disheartening; but i understand that your nervous condition must be the excuse. "i am not your enemy. i do not wish to fight you. i am fighting the consolidated mining association of america. i would not like to think that i have a woman among my enemies, who have hired murderers and ruffians to try to seize my property! such a thought is most distasteful to me. i have had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, and i found her a most charming girl. i was interested in her. when i learned that she had disappeared i lost not a moment in gathering a few friends and starting for this place. we have covered the ground as fast as possible, taking the heat into consideration. if any one has told you that i am even remotely connected with the disappearance of miss june that person has lied to you and deceived you. if you will give me a little aid, i shall exert myself to the utmost to restore june to your arms. that is all i have to say." she heard him through with impatience. frank saw before he had finished that her mind was set and that he had wasted his breath. "like your brother," said the woman passionately, "you are a scoundrel! like him, you assume the airs of a gentleman. i know your tricks, and i am not deceived. you have been told that there is a warrant out for your arrest. it is true--and here is the officer to serve it!" behind merry there was a heavy step. he turned and found himself face to face with a plain, quiet-looking man, who promptly said: "are you frank merriwell?" "i am." "then let me tell you that i am ben file, city marshal of holbrook, and you are my prisoner! if you try to pull a gun, i'll shoot you in your tracks!" frank showed his nerve then. he did not even change color, although the arrest had fallen upon him so suddenly. "your words are plain enough, sir," he said. "there is no reason why i should provoke you into shooting me, as i have nothing to fear from arrest." "i have been led to understand that you are a very dangerous character," said file, looking merry over in some surprise. "you do not seem so at first glance." frank smiled a bit. "i assure you i am not in the least dangerous," he said. "i surrender without the least resistance." eliot dodge stood in the background, rubbing his hands together and grinning. "mr. dodge," said the city marshal, "will you be good enough to relieve this young man of his weapons." "eh?" said dodge nervously. "i--i--yes, sir." he came forward and took frank's revolvers, handling them gingerly, as if fearing they would explode in his hands. he passed them over to file, who afterward searched merry himself. in spite of frank's coolness, he was indignant over the outrage. mrs. arlington astonished the doctor by seeming stronger and better than she had been since it was known that june had disappeared. "now i have you!" she said exultantly. "if you do not tell me at once where my daughter may be found it will go still harder with you." merry gave her a look of pity. "madam," he said, "i fear that you are not in your right senses. your action in coming to this part of the country and bringing your daughter here, where you have had dealings with ruffians, confirms me in this belief. i cannot believe you would do such things if perfectly sane." "you insult me!" she exclaimed, tossing her head. "but you shall pay dearly for your insults! the law will punish you!" "and are you to stand clear of the law--you, who have incited ruffians to attack me and my property? i am well aware that law and justice may frequently be two different things; but i fancy it will be to your discomfort to have the whole truth come out. i know a ruffian called cimarron bill fired at me from the window of this very room. how came he here unless by your permission? and were you in partnership with a man of his character in an attempted murder?" frank's fearless words struck home, and the woman turned pale, in spite of herself. "oh, doctor!" she said, sinking back on the couch. the astonished physician, who had remained dumb and staring through the most of this scene, now cried to frank: "see what you have done! see what you have done!" "she brought it on herself," retorted merry, turning away, his heart hardened toward the woman. "i have ridden a hundred miles to do everything in my power to find her daughter and restore her to her mother, and i am--arrested!" there was deep bitterness in his tone and manner. "mr. file," he said, "i am ready to go with you, sir." "hold! wait!" called mrs. arlington from the couch. "tell me where you have taken my daughter!" frank gave her a look, shook his head a bit, and again turned away. "oh, tell me!" pleaded the wretched mother. "i can't bear this suspense! my poor june!" then she sat bolt upright and almost screamed: "if you harm a hair of her head, i'll make you regret it until the day of your death! you'll be conpelled to tell! i'm going to see that you are sent to prison! i'll make a convict of you!" frank did not retort. as he was walking out with file's hand on his shoulder, the woman fell on her knees and begged him to restore her daughter. "too bad!" said merry, when the door was closed. "i believe she really thinks i know something about the girl." file said nothing until they had descended to the street. on the steps of the hotel he paused and looked hard at frank. "young man," he said, "you don't act to me like a desperado. i'm mightily disappointed in you. from what i heard, i supposed you a ruffian. to tell you the truth, i'm rather inclined in your favor." "thank you," said frank, with a bit of bitterness. "little good that does me, although i am grateful to know that i have not become villainous in appearance. i came here to do that woman a favor, knowing all the while that she hated me, and this is the way i have been received." "why did you take so much pains to come?" "because i know her daughter, a handsome, refined, noble-hearted girl. it was not for the woman's sake, but for her daughter's that i put myself to the trouble that has drawn me into this scrape, mr. file. tell me, what has been done to find and rescue june arlington?" "everything possible," said the city marshal. "but the girl seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. she vanished in the very heart of this town, too. it's a most mysterious affair. mr. merriwell, i regret that my duty compelled me to place you under arrest and now compels me to lock you up. i hope circumstances may give you your freedom very soon." frank was somewhat touched by these simple words. "go ahead," he said. "but you had better get me under lock and key before my friends find out what has happened. they might raise trouble, and i don't want to see anybody hurt over this affair." so they started down the street, walking side by side, like two friends. file did not even keep a hand on merry. they had proceeded but a short distance when a man suddenly appeared in the open doorway of a saloon. frank saw the pistol in the man's hand, and he recognized his mortal enemy, cimarron bill. as bill appeared in that doorway, merry knew the fellow's purpose was to make a second attempt to kill him, and frank was unarmed and defenseless, under arrest at the time. as bill's weapon came up frank made a sidelong spring. he did this at the very instant, it seemed, that the revolver spoke. the fact was that he sprang a trifle before the shot was fired. his movement seemed much like that of a man death-smitten by a bullet, and cimarron bill dodged back at once, believing he had accomplished his dastardly purpose. frank was not touched. but the bullet meant for him had found a human target. ben file swayed from side to side, his legs buckling beneath him, and fell into merriwell's arms. chapter xxviii. bill hikes out. "got it!" whispered file huskily. "he nailed me good and plenty that time!" without a word, fearing cimarron bill might discover he had shot the wrong man and seek to rectify his bad work, frank lifted file in his muscular arms and ran into a store with him. the city marshal was stretched on a counter. "send for a doctor!" commanded merry. "and turn out a posse to take cimarron bill. he fired the shot." at the mention of cimarron bill, however, consternation reigned. the desperado was all too well known in holbrook, and scarcely a man in all the place cared to face him. "no use," said file faintly. "nobody'll dare touch bill. he'll get out of town deliberately without being molested." "impossible!" exclaimed merry. "why, you don't mean to say they will let that murderous hound escape?" "he'll escape now that i'm flat. there's not a man in holbrook that dares face him." "you're mistaken!" said merry. "there is one man!" "what one?" "this one!" "you?" "yes." "do you mean to say----" "that i dare face that man! give me my weapons and i'll go out and get him!" ben file looked at the boyish young man incredulously. "you don't know what you're talking about," he said, as they were trying to stop the bleeding of his wound, which was in his left side. "that man has a record. he's the deadliest ruffian in arizona. he would kill you." "i don't believe it," said frank. "i've seen his like before. give me my revolvers, and i'll go take him. i'll bring him to you if you live!" file fumbled in his huge pockets and brought out merry's long-barreled revolvers. "go ahead if you want to," he said. "somehow i take stock in you, though i'm afraid it's your funeral you're going to. anyhow, if i'm booked to cash in, i don't mind giving you a show to levant. here comes the doctor." the same red-faced little man came rushing into the store, brought there by a messenger who had gone in search of him. frank examined his weapons, and then walked out of the store. there was considerable excitement on the street, caused by the shooting. merry minded no one, yet kept his eyes wide open for every one. as fast as he could step he proceeded straight to the open door from which cimarron bill had fired the shot. he had a pistol in either hand when he stepped through that doorway. as he had expected, it was a saloon. three persons were in the room, but cimarron bill was not there. "gentlemen," said merry, "i'll be obliged if you will tell me where i can find the white-livered cur who just shot ben file from this doorway." they stared at him as if doubting their senses. "if it's cimarron bill you're looking for, young man," one of them finally said, "take my advice and don't. it's the most onhealthy occupation you can engage in, and i advise----" "cut out the advice," said merry sharply; "and tell me where the cowardly dog has gone." "he ambled out o' yere directly arter doin' the shootin', and we last sees him lopin' down the street that-a-way. but you wants to keep a heap long distance----" frank waited for no more. he was satisfied that bill had departed just as the man said, and he wheeled at once and started down the street. merry knew full well what sort of mission he had undertaken, but he was not daunted in the least by its magnitude. cimarron bill was his deadly foe, but he now saw his opportunity to bring the ruffian to an accounting for his crimes, and he did not propose to let the chance slip. so he inquired as he passed down the street and found that bill had hurried to the saloon kept by schlitzenheimer. again merry had his pistols ready when he entered the saloon. early though it was, he found four men there engaged in a game of draw poker, and one of the four was old joe crowfoot. schlitzenheimer gave a shout when he saw frank. "my gootness!" he cried. "how you vos? vere vos dot dalking tog alretty? i vouldt like to blay dot tog anodder came beenuckle of." frank was disappointed once more in failing to discover cimarron bill. he asked if the man had been there. "he vos," nodded schlitzenheimer. "und avay he dit his saddle take." "he took his saddle?" "yah." "then his saddle was here?" "it he dit keep here, vor id vos very valueless," said the dutchman. "he vos avraid stolen id would pe. i know pill. ven he come und say, 'vritz, you tookit my saddles und keepit it a vile undil vor id i call,' i say, 'yah, you pet.' i haf nod any anxiety him to make some drouble by." "if he came for his saddle it is likely he meant to use it. was he in a hurry?" "der piggest hurry i ever knewn him to pe indo. ven i invortationed him to a drink take, he said he could not sdop vor id." "he's on the run!" exclaimed frank. "where does he keep his horse when in town?" "ad dorvelt's shust down a liddle vays." frank almost ran from the saloon and hurried down the street to dorfelt's stable. he was stared at in the same wondering amazement when he asked for cimarron bill. "mebbe you has urgent business with that gent?" said one man. "i have," answered merry. "he shot ben file about ten minutes ago, and i am after him." "waal, you'll have to hustle to ketch him, an' i 'lows it's jest as well fer you. his hoss was saddled jest now, an' i opine he's well out o' town by this time." frank listened to hear no more. on the run, he set out to find his friends. singularly enough, not one of them knew anything of his arrest, although they had heard of the shooting. he found them in short order, and what he told them in a very few words stirred them from lassitude to the greatest excitement. "fellows," he said, "i'm going to run cimarron bill down if it takes a year! i've given my word to ben file that i would bring bill back. i mean to make good. are you with me in this chase?" they were with him to a man. chapter xxix. old joe takes a drink. away on the horizon, riding to the southeast, was a black speck of a horseman as frank, bart, jack, and ephraim galloped out of town on fresh mounts secured by merry. "there he is!" cried frank. "we mustn't lose him! we must keep him in view and run him down before nightfall. can we do it?" "we can try!" said bart grimly. these young fellows seemed made of iron. all their weariness had vanished, and they sat in their saddles like young centaurs, with the exception of gallup, who could not be graceful at anything. "this is what might well be called the strenuous life," observed jack ready. "it's almost too much for my delicate constitution. i fear my health will be undermined and my lovely complexion will be ruined." "he has seen us," declared frank. "he knows we are after him! it's going to be a hard chase." "how about june arlington?" asked bart. "when i gave ben file my word to bring cimarron bill back i was under arrest for kidnaping june arlington. had i not made that promise i might still be under arrest. i must keep my word to file. i hope to do something for june later." so they rode into the scorching desert, seeming to be gaining on the man ahead for a time. the sun poured down mercilessly. alkali dust rose and filled their nostrils. red lizards flashed before them on the ground at rare intervals. and far ahead the black speck held into the distance. "he knows where he's going, fellows," said frank. "he's not the man to strike blindly into the desert. he'll come to water and feed before his horse gives out, and so we must find the same." but fate seemed against them. afar on the desert a haze arose and grew and became a beautiful lake, its shores lined with waving trees. and in this mirage the fugitive was swallowed up and lost. when the lake faded and vanished the black speck could be seen nowhere on the plain. "vanished into a gully of some sort," said frank. "we must find just what has become of him." so they kept on; but in time they came to feel that the search was useless. water they had brought for themselves, together with some canned food; but the only relief they could give the horses was by pouring a little water over a sponge and wiping out the dry mouths of the poor animals. they were forced to turn aside and seek some hills, where frank felt certain there was a spring. thus it was that nightfall found them at the spring, but cimarron bill was gone, none of them knew where. there was feed for the horses in the little valley, and they made the best of it. frank was far from pleased. everything had gone wrong since their arrival in holbrook, and the prospect was most discouraging. "by gum! it's too bad to hev to give it up," said ephraim. frank shot him a look. "i have no intention of giving it up," he said. "but i confess that i made one bad mistake." "what was that?" "i left crowfoot back there in schlitzenheimer's saloon playing poker." "you think he'll be skinned, do you?" said bart. "oh, i'm not worrying about that. the old reprobate can take care of himself. i knew it would be almost impossible to drag him away from that game, and that was why i did not bother with him. didn't want to lose the time. but that redskin can follow a trail that would bother a bloodhound. if we had taken him at the start, he'd never lost the scent." they lay on the ground and watched the heavens fill with bright stars. the heat of the day melted into coolness, and all knew it would be cold before morning. frank had anticipated that they might have to spend the night in this manner, and blankets had been brought. they seemed alone in the wild waste, with no living thing save their horses within miles and miles. so, with no fear of attack, they wrapped their blankets about them and slept. the wind swept almost icy through the little valley before morning dawned. as the eastern sky grew pale frank opened his eyes and sat up. a moment later a shout from his lips aroused the others. merry was staring at a familiar figure in a dirty red blanket. in their very midst old joe lay stretched, and apparently he had been sleeping as soundly as any of them. nor were his slumbers broken by merry's shout, which astounded frank beyond measure, for never before had he known the old fellow to sleep like that. always when he had stirred he had found the beady eyes of the redskin upon him. "behold!" said jack ready. "lo, the noble red man is again within our midst. but how came it thus?" "waal, may i be honswizzled!" grunted gallup. frank flung aside his blanket. "something is the matter with him!" he said, in a tone that indicated anxiety. "if there wasn't, he'd not sleep this way. i wonder what it is. is he dead?" but when the red blanket was pulled down it was found that joe lay with a quart bottle clasped to his heart in a loving embrace. the bottle was fully two-thirds empty. "that explains it!" said merry, in deep disgust. "the old dog is drunk as a lord! that's how we happen to have the pleasure of finding him asleep. i'll give any man fifty dollars who will catch him asleep when he is perfectly sober." "what a picture he doth present!" said ready. "look upon it! and yet there is something in it to bring sadness to the heart. behold how tenderly he doth hold the long-necker to his manly buzzum! 'tis thus that many a chap hugs a destroyer to his heart." "the old sinner!" said hodge. "i don't see how he got here without arousing any of us. there's his horse, picketed near the other animals." frank stooped and tried to take the bottle from joe's clasp, but the sleeping indian held it fast. "go heap better five dol's," he muttered in his sleep. "he's still playing poker," said frank. he gave crowfoot a hard shake. "wake up, you copper-colored sot!" he cried. "wake up and see what you've got in your hands." "four king," mumbled joe thickly. "heap good!" at this the boys laughed heartily. "that's a pretty good hand!" said frank. "it takes four aces or a straight flush to beat it." then he wrenched the bottle away, whereupon the redskin awoke at once. "mine! mine!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "it's poison," said frank, and smashed the bottle. with a snarl of fury, the indian staggered to his feet and made for merry, drawing a wicked-looking knife. "look out!" cried gallup, in consternation. frank leaped to meet old joe, clutching his wrists and holding him helpless, while he gazed sternly into the bloodshot eyes of the drunken old man. "what's this, crowfoot?" he demanded. "would you strike strong heart with a knife? would you destroy the brother of indian heart? has the poison firewater of the white man robbed you of your senses?" "firewater joe's!" exclaimed the redskin. "no right to spill um! no right! no right!" "i did it for your own good, crowfoot," said merry quietly. "you are in bad shape now. i want you to come out of it. you may be able to help us. what you need is a good drink of water." "ugh! water heap good. joe he take some." immediately frank released the old man's wrists, and joe slipped his knife out of sight with something like a show of shame. in another moment merry had his canteen, filled it at the spring, and handed it to crowfoot, who gravely took it and began to drink. the boys stood around, and their eyes bulged as the old man held the canteen to his mouth, tipping it more and more skyward, a deep gurgling coming from his throat. he continued to drink until the canteen was quite emptied, when he lowered it with perfect gravity, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and observed: "joe him a little dry!" "well, i should say so!" smiled frank. "your interior must have been as parched as an alkali desert, joe." "if he takes many drinks like that," said ready, with a queer twist of his mug, "there'll be a drought in this country that will make an ordinary dry spell look like a back number." crowfoot did not smile. giving back the canteen, he sat down on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and taking his head in his hands. he was the picture of misery and dejection. "injun big fool!" he groaned. "last night feel much good; to-day feel a lot bad. big pain in head." "we've all been there many's the time," sang jack ready softly. then the eccentric chap sat down on the ground beside the redskin, about whom he placed an arm. "joseph," he said, "methinks i know how it is! i have felt that way heap often. ugh! sick all over." joe grunted. "nothing worth living for." another grunt. "much rather be dead with the beautiful daisies growing on my grave than living in such misery." again a grunt. "internal organs all out of gear, stomach on a strike, head bigger than a barrel. are those the symptoms, joseph?" "much so," confessed old joe. "joseph, you have my sympathy. you've never been to college, but you have received part of a college education. i have taken my degree in that branch. i'm a p. m. of j. c.--past master of jag carriers. but i have reformed, and now 'lips that touch wine shall never touch mine.' joseph, i would reclaim you. i would woo you tenderly from the jag path that leadeth to destruction. it is broad and inviting at first, but toward the finish it is rough, and hubbly, and painful to travel. pause while there is yet time. my heart yearns to save you from destruction. listen to the pearly words of wisdom, that drop from my sweet lips. shun the jag juice and stick to the water-wagon. heed this advice and your days shall be long ere you pass to the happy hunting-grounds." "heap talk a lot," said joe; "no say anything. make injun lot sicker!" gallup laughed heartily, slapping his knee. "that's right, by gum!" he cried. "the wind blows ev'ry time jack opens his maouth." "you are jealous," said ready. "you are jealous of my wisdom and eloquence. get thee behind me, nose talk! your face is painful to look upon." "don't you go to makin' that kind of gab!" snapped gallup. "if yeou do, dinged if i don't jolt ye one in the slats!" "such language! slats! i'm shocked! never have you heard words of slang ripple from my tuneful vocal chords. i disdain such frivolity! slang gives me a pain! go lay down!" "lay!" snorted ephraim. "i'm no hen!" "let's have breakfast," said hodge. "we may as well get on the move before it grows too hot." it did not take long to prepare breakfast, but old joe seemed to grow ill at the sight of food. all he wanted was water, and he threatened to drink the weak little spring dry. after a time, he seemed more inclined to talk. "no ketch cim'r'n bill?" he said. "so you found out we were after him?" said frank. "ugh!" nodded the indian. "joe no big fool only when firewater is to get. he play poke', all time him keep ear open. mebbe him learn a whole lot." "it's quite likely. if you had been with us yesterday, we might have stuck to bill's trail. now it is lost, and he may get away." "crowfoot he know how find bill." "what's that? you know how to find him?" "ugh!" "well, that is interesting, for i am bound to find him. i gave ben file my word to bring bill back, and i'm going to keep that promise. if you can help----" "you bet!" grunted joe. "how did you find out so much?" "joe him take drink in saloon. keep much careful not git full. make um believe so. go sleep. hear men talk in whisper. waugh! find out a heap." "well, you're a clever old rascal!" cried merry; "and i'm in love with you!" "joe him play game pritty slick," said the indian. "same time him get one, two, three drink. that bad. make um want heap more. make um take firewater when um git out town." "so you really got drunk because you were trying to do me a good turn?" said merry. "joe, i appreciate it! but what did you hear?" "bill him go to sunk hole." "sunk hole?" cried frank. "that place?" "where's that?" asked hodge, who was deeply interested. "down in the white mountain region, near the head of coyote creek." "why did you exclaim, 'that place?'" "because it is a camp made up of the worst characters to be found in the southwest. it is a place without law and order of any sort. murderers, gamblers, and knaves in general flee there when in danger. they are banded together to defy the law. travelers who happen into that wretched place seldom come forth. at times the ruffians quarrel among themselves and shoot and kill with impunity. the people of the territory have more than once asked that the place be invaded by troops and wiped off the map. it is a standing disgrace." "an' cimarron bill has gone there?" asked ephraim gallup, his eyes bulging. "so joe says." "waal, i ruther guess yeou'll take a couple of thinks afore ye foller him any furder." "i shall follow him into sunk hole if i live!" declared merry grimly; "and i mean to bring him out of the place, dead or alive. i do not ask the rest of you to risk your lives with me. you are at liberty to turn back. joe----" "him stick by strong heart!" declared the old indian quickly. "you bet!" "thank you, joe!" said frank. "i shall need you to show me the road to the place, for i have heard sunk hole is not easy to find." "i hope," said bart hodge quietly, "that you do not fancy for a moment that i'm not going with you? i don't think you would insult me, frank, by entertaining such a thought. i shall be with you through thick and thin." "dear me!" said ready. "how brave you are! please stand in the glow of the limelight where we can admire your heroic pose! la! la! you are a sweet creature, and one to make the matinée girls rave with adoration." "don't get so funny!" growled hodge, who always took ready's chaffing with poor grace. "softly! softly!" smiled jack, with a flirt of his hand. "let not your angry passions rise. you can't play the bold and fearless hero any better than can your humble servant. i'm in this, and you want to watch me and note what a bold front i put on. i'll wager a lead nickle you will begin to think me utterly fearless, and all the while, beyond a doubt, i'll be shaking in my boots. oh, i can make an excellent bluff when i have to." "bluff heap good sometime," said crowfoot. "mebbe bluff take pot." "but it's a mighty poor thing if the other fellow suspects and calls," said jack. "waal," drawled gallup, "darn my punkins! i s'pose i'm in fer it, but i kinder wisht i was to hum on the farm." frank knew the vermonter well enough not to fancy by those words that ephraim was badly frightened. it was gallup's way of expressing himself, and, even though he might be afraid in advance, the tall, lank fellow always showed up well "in a pinch." "then it's settled," said merry. "we all go." "joe him not talk all he find out," put in the indian. "is there more? well, give it to us quick. there are many miles of alkali between here and sunk hole." "joe him hear men whisper 'bout gal." "eh? about a girl?" "ugh!" "then it must be about june arlington? what did they say?" "mebbe bill him know where she is." "what?" cried merry, clutching the redskin by the arm. "is that possible?" "reckon um heap so." "then there is a double reason why i should get my hands on cimarron bill!" "mebbe joe he no hear right; no could ketch all men whisper. he think gal she be took to sunk hole." frank reeled, his face going white. "merciful heaven!" he gasped. "june arlington, innocent little june! in that dreadful place? come, fellows, we must go! june arlington there? the thought is horrifying! if that is true, cimarron bill may go free until i can do my best to get june out of that sink of wickedness! come, fellows--come!" "we are ready!" they cried, in response. chapter xxx. frank in sunk hole. the great dipper indicated by its position that the hour was not far from midnight. crowfoot halted and pointed downward, where, in the gloom of a round valley, a few lights twinkled. "sunk hole!" he said. "at last!" breathed frank. the others stood in silence, looking down at those lights. suddenly they started, for to their ears came the sound of music, dimly heard because of the distance. "perchance my ears deceive me," said ready; "but i fancy i hear the soothing strains of a fiddle." "sure as fate!" exclaimed bart hodge. "listen!" cautioned merry. there were other sounds, a sing-song cry at intervals, and then hoarse laughter and several wild whoops. "by gum!" exclaimed gallup. "saounds jest like one of them air country dances they uster hev over to billing's corners, varmount. the boys called them 'hog wrastles.'" "see," said merry, "there is one place that seems more brightly lighted than the others. it's right in the center of the other lights. fellows, i believe there is a dance going on down there!" "just what i'm beginning to think," said bart. "my! my! how nice!" exclaimed jack. "let's go right down and get into it! balance your partners all! all hands around! let her sizzle!" "that would be a splendid place for you to get into a dance!" said frank sarcastically. "but a dance there!" exclaimed hodge. "it does seem mighty strange," agreed frank. "still something of the kind is going on. hear 'em yell!" and now they could faintly hear the sound of feet keeping time to the music. "we've struck this place in a most excellent time to get into it," said merry. "i suppose one of us ought to go back and watch the horses." the horses had been left in a little pocket some distance behind and they had climbed on foot to the point where they could look down into the round valley. "no need watch um now," said joe. "um hosses all picket fast. we go down there, better go quick." "correct," agreed frank. "just show us how to get down." "follow," said the redskin. "take heap care." the path over which he led them, if path it may be called, was precarious enough. at times they felt that they were on the edge of some precipice, with a great fall lying beneath. but the aged redskin went forward with surprising swiftness, causing them all to strain every nerve to keep up with him, and in time he brought them down into the valley. "take lot care," cautioned crowfoot. "have guns reddy. no can tell. may have to use um 'fore git out." "it's quite likely," said merry grimly. so they all made sure that their pistols could be drawn quickly and readily, and then they crept toward the dark huts, from the windows of which lights gleamed. the sounds of fiddling and dancing grew plainer and plainer. now and then a shout would awake the echoes. "where do they find their 'ladies' for a dance?" asked hodge wonderingly. "oh, there are a few women in this hole," answered merry. "perhaps others have come in." they reached the first hut and paused where they could peer along the street, if such it could be called, for the huts had been built here and there, so that the road between them zig-zagged like a drunken man. in the very center of the place was the building, somewhat larger than its neighbors, from which came the sounds of revelry. doors and windows were wide open. the music having stopped, there might be heard a hum of voices, and then the wild, reckless laugh of a woman floated out upon the night air. frank shuddered a little as he heard the sound, which, to his ears, was more pitiful and appalling than any cry of distress that could fall from female lips. "poor creature!" he thought. "to what depths has she fallen!" they went forward again, slipping around a corner, and merry stumbled and fell over the body of a man that was lying prone on the ground. "hold on!" he whispered. "let's see what we have here. it's a man, but i wonder if he is living or dead." he knelt and felt for the man's heart. "living all right," he declared; "but dead in one sense--dead drunk! whew! what a vile smell of liquor!" "let him lie," said hodge. "i have a fancy to take a peep at him," said frank. "hold still. i want a match. i have one." bringing out a match, he struck it and shaded it with his hands, throwing the light on the prostrate man. the light of the match showed them that the fellow was an unusually large mexican, dressed after the custom of his people in somewhat soiled finery. "dead to the world!" sighed jack ready softly. the match died out in frank's fingers, but merry did not rise. "what are you doing?" asked jack. "are you accumulating his valuables?" "hardly," said merry. "i'm thinking." "can such a thing make you think! what is passing in your massive brain?" "i have an idea." "that's more than ready ever hed," muttered gallup. "fellows," said frank, "this man's clothes ought to be a fairly good fit for me." "well, what of it?" "i'm going to wear them. get hold here, and we'll carry him aside where there'll be little chance that any one will stumble upon us. let's move lively." they did as directed, although wondering why frank should wish to exchange clothes with the drunken mexican. chapter xxxi. the dance in sunk hole. a low-ceiled room with a bar at the end near the door. the odor of smoke, liquor, and perspiration. the place lighted with oil-lamps having dirty chimneys. the lights of the lamps dancing and flaring to the stamp of many heavy-shod feet. a maze of human beings whirling, shifting, prancing, and cutting figures on the floor. rough-looking men, bearded and armed; disheveled women, their faces glowing with excitement and from the effects of drink. at the far end of the room an old man, mounted on a square box and seated on a chair, sawing away for dear life at his fiddle, while he called the figures in a sing-song tone. and this was the way the fiddler called: "first couple balance and swing, promenade the inside ring, promenade the outside ring, balance and swing and cast off six, ladies to the right and gents to the left. swing the one you swung before, down the center and cast off four, swing the one that comes to you, down the center and cast off two." the men were such as most women would avoid. with few exceptions, they had wicked faces. they had been drinking, and at intervals some elated and enthusiastic fellow would utter a blood-curdling yell. but the figures they cut were laughable at times. they "spanked 'er down" furiously. they seized their partners and swung them until often they were lifted off their feet. but those were not the sort of women to mind. three or four of the citizens of sunk hole were married. two had daughters old enough to be present at the dance. other "ladies" had come in from the surrounding country, brought there by their partners. there were a number of mexicans in the crowd, and three or four mexican women. into this smoky room came yet another mexican, a young man, dressed in soiled finery, his wide-brimmed high-peaked hat shading his face. he had a little mustache that was pointed on the ends, and he walked with a swagger. immediately on entering he made for the bar and called for a drink. had any one been watching him closely that person must have noticed that he did not drink the stuff put out to him, but slyly and deftly tossed the contents of the glass into a corner under the bar. this newcomer was frank merriwell, who had disguised himself as well as possible and boldly walked into this den of ruffians. having pretended to drink, frank stood back in a retired spot and looked the dancers over. in a moment his eyes fell on cimarron bill, who had a mexican girl for a partner and was enjoying himself in his own peculiar way. frank knew it would not be safe to come face to face with bill, although he saw at once that the desperado had been drinking heavily and could barely "navigate" through the mazes of the dance. "gents chassé and put on style, resash and a little more style-- little more style, gents, little more style," sang the fiddler; and the dancers strictly obeyed the admonition by putting on all the style of which they were capable. under different circumstances merry would have been amused by the spectacle; and even now, for all of his peril, he was greatly interested. cimarron bill was not habitually a hard drinker, but on this occasion he had surprised everybody present by the amount of whisky he had imbibed. he seemed determined to get intoxicated, and it was plain that he was making a success of it. frank did not wish to dance if he could avoid it, knowing he might be brought face to face with bill in the course of some of the figures. all around the sides of the room men were leaning and looking on, some of them laughing and calling to various dancers. "go it, seven spot!" "spank it down, dandy!" "steady, pie face! your left hoof belongs to the church!" "see honeydew! he's a holy terror!" "watch lanky jim cut a pigeon wing!" "say, big kate can dance some! you bet your boots!" "hi! hi! there goes sweet william, plumb off his pins!" now the fiddler was calling: "first lady out to the right; swing the man that stole the sheep, now the one that packed it home, now the one that eat the meat, now the one that gnawed the bones." frank found an opportunity to slip along the wall toward the back of the room. no one seemed to pay any attention to him until he accidentally stepped on a big fellow's foot. instantly he was given a shove, and the man growled: "what in thunder ails ye, you yaller-skinned greaser? keep off my corns, ur i'll make hash o' you with my toad-sticker!" "pardon, señor, pardon!" entreated merry, in a soft voice, with an accent that seemed perfectly natural. "i deed not mean to do eet, señor." "ef i'd 'lowed ye did i'd sure slashed ye without no talk whatever!" was the retort. having no desire to get into trouble, merry took great pains to avoid stepping on another foot, and he finally reached the point he sought. in the corner at the far end of the room there was not so much light. a bench ran along there, and frank found a seat on it, where he could lean against the thin board partition, and he did not mind if some of the men stood up before him so that he was partly screened. merry knew full well that he had done a most reckless thing in entering that place, where all around him were ruffians and murderers; but there was something about the adventure that he relished, and the danger gave it a spice that was far from disagreeable. he thanked his lucky stars that this dance had given him the opportunity to get in there without attracting any more attention. "meet your partner and all chaw hay, you know where and i don't care, seat your partner in the old armchair." that particular dance ended with this call from the fiddler; but there were no armchairs in which the ladies could be seated, and merry crowded up into the corner in order to be as inconspicuous as possible and to escape being disturbed. there was a general rush for the bar, the fiddler getting down from his box and hastening across the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. some of the women accompanied their partners to the bar and drank with them. such depravity was not pleasant to witness, and merry felt pity for the fallen creatures. sentiment, however, he sought to put aside, thinking only of the dangerous mission that had brought him into that nest of gambolling tigers. two men sat down near merry. they had been dancing, and observed, with some lurid embellishments, that it was hot. then one of them said something that interested frank. "bill's goin' it a whole lot stiff to-night." "that's whatever. never saw him punish the razzle juice this way afore." "you know why, mebbe." "waal, i opine he's some irked up over his mistake in holbrook. first time he ever shot the wrong gent. he warn't gunnin' fer file. it was another galoot he was after." "i jedge that's the matter with him. bandy tried to joke him some about it, an' bandy came mighty near gettin' his." "bandy's a dern fool! he should 'a' knowed better than to shoot off his mouth at bill." "i say so. but bill he's a-playin' a right steep game in that thar gal business." "bill kin play his keerds. you let him alone." "no danger o' me chippin' in. they say the gal's folks are a heap rich." "i opine so, else bill he'd never taken so much trouble over her." "oh, i dunno; she's the purtiest leetle thing i ever set my blinkers on. i 'lowed mebbe bill was lookin' some fer a wife." "wife--northin'! he's lookin' fer the dust. why, he sent word as how he'd skin the galoot what dared hurt her or even say somethin' impolite afore her." "let me tell you somethin'." "fire erway." "han'some charley has seen that gal, an' i 'low he's taken a likin' to her a whole lot. bill better look sharp, ur charley will sure get away with her." "i ain't the one to give charley no advice, but if i were, i'd whisper fer him to think twice afore tryin' it." "charley's some clever. look, thar he is a-drinkin' with bill now. say, pard, i've got an idee that charley's doin' his best to load bill to-night. if that's so, he's got somethin' up his sleeve, an' we want to look right sharp fer a breeze afore this dance is over. i'm goin' to stand ready to duck instanter when the shootin' begins." frank could peer past a man in front of him without moving and see the person referred to as handsome charley, who was drinking with cimarron bill at the bar. this man was larger than bill and heavier. he had a flushed, reckless face that wore a smile nearly all the time. he had a dark mustache and imperial, and there was about him the atmosphere of a dashing desperado. charley at this time seemed very friendly with cimarron bill, and it was plain that he was urging bill to drink again. "all right," thought frank; "i'll watch you both." at this moment a man appeared in the open door and looked timidly into the room. at sight of this man frank gave a start in spite of his wonderful nerve, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he kept himself from crying forth a name. eliot dodge, the crafty lawyer with the blue nose, stood there in the door. no wonder merry was astounded to see that man appear in such a place and at such a time. dodge was rather pale, but an expression of relief flashed over his face when his eyes fell on cimarron bill. then he stepped into the room. bill seemed no less astonished, but he advanced to meet dodge, holding out his hand, which the lawyer accepted. "however is this, mr. dodge?" inquired bill. "i sure am a whole lot surprised to meet up with you here--that is, i'm surprised to have it occur so soon. will you wash the dust out of your throat?" "don't care if i do," said dodge, and they crowded nearer to the bar. "bill, i thinks mebbe you might present yer friend," chipped in handsome charley. "waal, charley," said bill, "this yere is mr.----" "lewis," interposed dodge quickly. "mr. lewis," said bill queerly. "mr. lewis, permit me to make you acquainted with charley sears, generally called handsome charley. will you take a little pisen with us, charley?" handsome charley gave dodge his hand, which the lawyer shook gingerly, his coolness causing the fellow to frown. they all drank, and bill lurched, catching at the edge of the bar. "'scuse me," he said, with unusual politeness. "always makes me dizzy to dance. there is a right good lot of whirlin' around in it, you know." charley smiled. "you had a fine partner that last dance, bill; but you ought to bring out that handsome gal an' take a spin with her, man. i 'low it ain't right to keep her under kiver when every gent yere is yearnin' to set eyes on her." "they'll have to keep right on yearnin'," averred bill, frowning. "you're gettin' a whole lot selfish," declared charley. "are you afeared some other gent will git her away from ye if you brings her out?" "none at all, charley. but she ain't for this gang to hustle around any, and that's level." at this the other seemed to take offense. "i opine, bill," he said, "that you don't set yourself up as a heap better than the rest of this gang?" the cruel face of cimarron bill took on an expression that was a warning. "charley," he said, in a low, smooth voice, with one hand on the bar to steady himself, "i am willing to confess that you disturbs me some. i has my reasons for not bringin' the gal out, an' you'll sure excuse me if i don't recite them none at present. some other time i may explain." but charley persisted. "some other time it will be too late," he said. "i'm certain looking to dance one set with the little beauty myself, bill." "sorry to disappoint you," returned bill; "but the young lady doesn't dance none, if you want to know one good reason." "well, at least, you can bring her forth and permit us to gaze upon her a while," suggested charley. "not to-night," was the firm retort. "then it certain will seem a heap like you thought her too good for us, and the boys won't like that a great deal if i tell 'em so." bill leaned on the bar, his back against it and his elbows resting so that his hands were close to his hips. in that manner he stood perfectly steady, and he was in a position to draw his pistols quickly. "charley," he said, his voice like the purring of a cat, all the thickness seeming gone from his tongue, while his wicked eyes narrowed to two thin slits, "i don't think you'll go for to say anything whatever to the boys on this point. you are my friend, i opine. am i sure right on that?" at this juncture handsome charley realized all at once that bill was not yet drunk enough not to be deadly. charley's eyes noted in a flash how the man had steadied himself and was ready for anything, and charley decided that the time was not yet ripe for bringing on a quarrel. "of course i'm your friend, bill!" he said, with pretended heartiness, "and whatever you says goes with me. i was just speakin' because i has heard some of the boys growlin' over this business. that's all." bill smiled, but his smile was anything but pleasant. "if any o' the boys growl around in your hearin' some more," he said, "refer 'em to me, please. i reckons i can certain stop their growlin' in a hurry." "all right, all right!" nodded charley. "and you, pard," bill went on--"you, i judge, will say to them that i know my business a-plenty, and that you backs me up. eh?" "sure, sure, bill." "i thought you would," nodded the desperado with the deadly eyes. "i opined i could depend on you." "you bet! have another drink, you and mr. lewis?" "excuse us, please," urged bill. "i hates most mortally to decline; but i has some business to transact with mr. lewis, an' i says business first an' pleasure arterwards. arter we has settled the business i'll stand up here to this yere bar an' drink with you as long as the pisen lasts. is that all satisfactory like?" this question was put in a manner that indicated beyond question that it would be best for charley to acknowledge that it was satisfactory, and the acknowledgment was made. "thanks," bowed bill. "you're a sure enough gent, charley, an' i'll shoot the galoot what says to the contrary! an' now i reckons you'll excuse us a while. come, mr. lewis, thar's a small back room, an' we'll jest step in thar." through this dodge had stood there pale to the lips, with the exception of his blue nose, for he realized that these men were on the verge of a disagreement, and he understood that a disagreement between them meant shooting in short order. bill, however, had won out by a display of calm assurance and nerve, which was remarkable, considering his condition. the ruffian slipped an arm through that of dodge, and they crossed the floor and passed through a narrow door just as the fiddler resumed his seat and called for the men to select partners and form for the next dance. frank had watched every move, realizing full well that there was a possibility of a "gun play" between those two desperadoes. he was unable to hear what passed between them, but still he fancied he knew the bulk of it, and, in spite of himself, in spite of the character of the man, he could not help admitting cimarron bill's masterfulness. frank comprehended that charley had thought at first of forcing a quarrel, but had been cowed by bill's manner. the agitation of eliot dodge was also quite apparent. merry had already marked dodge down as a coward. when the two men passed into the back room frank longed to follow them. he sat there, wondering what course to pursue. that june arlington was somewhere in sunk hole he now felt certain. the talk of the two men who had been seated near him was assurance enough on that point. but where was she? how was he to find and rescue her? this task he now understood as the most important one before him and the one to which he was to give his attention at once, regardless of the capture of bill, which could be accomplished later. as he sat there, thinking the affair over and seeking to decide on some course to pursue, he was surprised and pleased to distinctly hear bill speaking in the room beyond the board partition. these boards were thin and badly matched, so that there were large cracks at intervals. one of these cracks happened to be just behind frank's head. by shifting his position slightly, he brought his ear close to the crack. the fiddler was tuning up, and the rough men and women were laughing as they formed on the floor for the next dance. frank was able to concentrate his mind on anything he chose, at the same time becoming quite oblivious to everything else; and now he shut out the sounds of the room in which he sat and listened with all his ability to hear what passed beyond the partition. "sure, partner," bill's voice was saying, "it surprises me a whole lot to see you come pokin' in here. however did you git here?" "terry came with me all the way. you said he would bring word to you from me, but i could not wait. i wanted to have a talk with you face to face, without trusting to any middle man. i felt that i must do it, and that's what brought me here for one thing." "waal, here you are, and now open up. i'm ready to listen to anything whatever you has to say." "in the first place," frank distinctly heard dodge say, "ben file is dead." "say you so?" exclaimed bill, and his voice indicated regret. "i allow i'm a-plenty sorry." "it was bad work." "that's right. don't know how i happened to do anything like that. never did afore. i saw merriwell make a jump, and i thought from the way he done it the bullet sure had gone clean through him." "and you never touched him!" "don't rub it in harder than you kin help, mr. dodge!" "hush! don't speak that name here! it must not get out that i'm in this game! it would ruin me!" "that's all right, pard; no danger. hear the racket out yonder in that room. nobody would ever think o' tryin' to hear what we're sayin'." "still it will be better to keep on calling me lewis. it's a dangerous game we've tackled, and i want to get it through in a hurry now. that's why i'm here." "waal, whatever do you say is the next move?" "merriwell got out of holbrook right after you." "i knows it. the gent sure chases me a distance, but he gits lost, together with his pards, some time afore night." "well, now is the time to make the demand on mrs. arlington for the ransom money. it must be rushed along. she's in a state of mind so that she'll be sure to give up easy now. i've waited for this, and i find she will pay well to have june returned to her unharmed." "that's a heap soothin' and agreeable news. i has waited fer you to say when it was best to make the demand on the old lady." "and i've waited until i felt sure she was so distressed and agitated that she would yield. she did not wish her husband to know of her presence here, and so she sent no word to him at first. now she has wired him the whole facts, and we can reckon that he'll be coming this way as fast as steam can carry him. it's best to get the whole deal through, if possible, before he shows up." "i'm for it." "you must write a demand on the woman for the boodle. she has diamonds and jewels with her on which she can raise ten thousand dollars. make her raise it at once. don't let her delay. frighten her into it." "i opines i can do that. i'll give her a scorcher. i'll tell her the gal is all safe an' onharmed, but she has to plunk down instanter or i'll send her one o' miss june's fingers to hurry her up a leetle." "that will go. i think that ought to start her." "if you says so, i'll make it stiffer. what if i adds that one o' the gal's prittey hands will foller? or an ear--mebbe that's better?" "as you choose. say that the money is to be placed in my hands to be delivered to your agent, who will meet me on the open plain ten miles from holbrook in whatever direction you choose. then i can ride out with it and come back, and you can bring the girl into town under cover of night." "i reckon that ought to work, partner. this yere game is your plannin', an' i falls inter it because i reckons it was easier than gittin' ahead o' merriwell an' seizin' the mine. had i shot up merriwell, instead o' file, i'd 'a' called on the lady hard fer the price, which, together with the money i'll get out o' this strike, would have made me easy for a right good while." "i'm against your idea of trying to saddle the kidnaping onto merriwell." "why?" "i don't think it will go. merriwell might return to holbrook. if the demand for money had his name attached, his arrest would seem to put him where it would be necessary for him to produce the girl. mrs. arlington was for forcing him to do so when file took him. anything like that would cause delay, and delay is something we do not want." "mr.--ah--mr. lewis, you sure reasons correct. we'll jest hitch a made-up name to the demand for money, which will be a whole lot better." "i think so. and now let's write this demand, so that i may turn about and get out of this hole immediately. you must furnish me with a fresh horse. i'm supposed now to be searching for merriwell, several men in town having set out upon the same task, for mrs. arlington offered a reward for his recapture. i will be able to make a very satisfactory explanation of my absence from holbrook." chapter xxxii. dead or living. frank's feelings on listening to this talk, the greater part of which he was able to hear very well, may be imagined far more easily than described. at last he was in full possession of the facts relating to the abduction of june arlington, and a greater piece of villainy had never come to his knowledge. from the first he had regarded eliot dodge as a scoundrel of the worst type; but he had not gaged the man as one who would enter into such a desperate scheme as this. merry had also learned that ben file was dead, and, therefore, he was released from his promise to bring back cimarron bill. immediately his one thought turned to june and to the devising of some method of discovering her whereabouts and going to her rescue. later he could think of other things; but not until this great object had been accomplished. the voices of the men ran on in the little room, though words grew fewer, and merry knew the demand for the ransom money was being written. for a moment he thought of the satisfaction it would give him to expose the rascally lawyer and bring him to the end of his tether. then he saw handsome charley speaking quietly in the ear of a man, afterward passing on to another and yet another. there was something in charley's manner that seemed very significant. "there's trouble brewing for bill," frank decided. "it's coming as sure as fate." he felt for his own weapons, making sure they were where he could draw them and use them without delay; but frank did not propose to become involved in the affair unless circumstances made it impossible to keep out. again he listened at the crack in the partition, hoping that some word passed between dodge and bill would tell him where june was hidden. in this merry was disappointed. true, dodge asked about the girl and bill assured him that she was perfectly safe and unharmed, but that was all. the dance was over and another was in progress when bill and eliot dodge came from that back room. handsome charley and his satellites were watching these two men. but they were permitted to pass to the door, where bill shook hands with dodge, who hurried forth into the night. "how is that, bill?" demanded charley, hastily approaching. "i opine you agreed that you an' your friend would sure drink with me arter your business was over. i notices that he has hiked." bill turned. "count me in, charley," he said easily. "mr.--ah--lewis, he didn't hev time. my neck is again a whole lot dry, and i'll be pleased to irrigate with you." so they stood up to the bar, and frank saw a number of men drawing near from different directions, all coming forward quietly. charley openly expressed his disapproval of the conduct of eliot dodge. "he certain was most onmannerly, bill," he declared. "forget it," advised bill curtly. and this was not at all agreeable to the other. "mebbe i can't do that none," said charley; "but i'll tell ye, bill, what will help a whole lot." "go ahead," said bill. "you has right up-stairs in this same ranch a young lady what is handsome enough to make any gent fergit a wrong, an' her i most mightily wants to bring down yere." frank heard the words distinctly, and they gave him a start. handsome charley was speaking of june arlington; there could be no doubt of that. he said june was "up-stairs in that same ranch." at last frank had received the clue he was seeking. more than merry saw trouble was brewing between charley and bill, and now the attention of almost every person in the room was directed toward them. bill's face grew grim, and again his eyes narrowed and glittered. "see yere," he said harshly, "i allows we has settled the p'int in regard to her, an' so you lets it drop, charley." frank knew that pistols would be out in a few seconds more. he did not wait for the men to draw and begin to shoot. there was no flight of stairs in the room where the dance was taking place, and, therefore, he immediately decided that the stairs might be found in the back room, where the interview between bill and eliot dodge had taken place. the door leading into that room was closed, but frank slipped quickly to it, and it readily opened before his hand. he found himself in a bare room, having but little furniture, a table, a bed, some chairs, and, as frank had believed likely, a steep flight of stairs ran railless up one side of the room, disappearing at a dark landing above. in a twinkling merry was bounding lightly up those stairs, the sounds of loud and angry voices coming from the dance-room, where the music and dancing had now stopped. frank knew that whatever he did must be done in a hurry, for, allowing that in the trouble in the dance-room, handsome charley should come forth triumphant it was likely that june would be sought by some of those ruffians. the thought of this spurred merry on. he pictured to himself the terror of the poor girl seized by those men and dragged into the presence of the mob below. "they shall not touch her!" he muttered. "if i can reach her, they shall not touch her!" then he found himself, in the gloom of the landing, against a heavy door. he sought to open it, but it was locked. from below came the sound of a shot. then there were shouts and other shots. "the devils have broken loose!" exclaimed merry, and he wondered how it fared with bill. in vain he felt for the fastenings of the door. his heart smote him with the fear that it would withstand any attack he might direct upon it. then he found a match and struck it. the light showed him something that made his heart leap with satisfaction. across the face of the door, lying in iron slots, was an iron bar that held it fast. the match was dropped in a twinkling, and frank's fingers lifted the bar from the slots and its socket. then he easily opened the door. at that instant it seemed as if pandemonium broke loose below. there was a perfect fusillade of shots, hoarse shouts from men and wild shrieks from women. there was likewise a terrible crash, as if some part of the building had been ripped down. "june!" called frank. "june! june!" the room in which he found himself was dark and silent. "june! june! i am a friend! answer me!" still silence. again he brought forth and struck a match. it flared up in his fingers, and he lifted it above his head, looking all around. stretched on the floor in a huddled heap in one corner was the body of a girl. the glance he had obtained convinced him that it was june beyond question. frank sprang forward, again speaking her name and assuring her that he was a friend. in the darkness he found her with his hands. she did not move when he touched her, and his fingers ran to her face. it was cold as marble to the touch, and a great horror filled his soul. "merciful god!" he groaned, starting back a little. "they have killed her. the devils!" the shock was so great that he remained quite still on his knees for a few moments. he was aroused by the sound of heavy feet upon the stairs. frank sprang up and dashed across the room to the door. the door leading into the dance-room had been left wide open below. he saw that a number of men had entered the back room, and already two or three were on the stairs. handsome charley was at their head. frank was trapped! at once he realized that cimarron bill was, beyond a doubt, lying in a pool of his own blood in the dance-room. at last the most desperate and dangerous man-killer of the southwest had met his master. merry had little time, however, to think of anything like this. his own life was in the utmost peril. he drew his revolver, and, with the utmost coolness, put a bullet through handsome charley's right shoulder. with a cry, the man fell back into the arms of the one directly behind him, and that fellow was upset, so that all were swept in a great crash to the foot of the stairs. "perhaps that will hold you for a while!" muttered frank, as he picked up the iron bar and promptly closed the door at the head of the stairs. he had seized the bar because he thought it might be a good weapon of defense in case his revolvers should be emptied and he remained in condition to fight. now he thought of something else, and decided that the bar might do for a prop at the door. "there ought to be some other way out of this room," he muttered. "isn't there even a window?" again he struck a match, looking around with the aid of its light. at the end of the long room in which he found himself he fancied he must find a window. toward this end of the room he hurried, and another match disclosed to him a window that was hidden by heavy planking. plainly the planks had been spiked over the window after it was decided to hold june a prisoner in that room. down dropped the match, and instantly frank attacked the planks with the iron bar. fortune must have favored him, for had it been light he could not have been more successful. every stroke was effective, and he began ripping off the planks. there was wild excitement below, and merry prayed for a little time. his heart was filled with a hope that handsome charley's fate would be a warning to others, so they would not be eager to rush up the stairs to the door. in just about one minute he had torn the planks from the window. once more he heard men ascending the stairs. instantly he dashed across the floor, finding the door in the darkness. "halt!" he cried savagely, from behind the closed door. "halt, or i fire!" then he sought to prop the door with the iron bar, pressing it down in such a position that it might hold for some moments against an ordinary attack upon it. "i'll shoot the first man who tries to open this door!" he shouted. but he did not remain there to await an effort to open the door. instead he quickly found the girl in the corner, lifted her limp body, and sought the window once more. reaching the window, frank promptly kicked out sash and glass with two movements of his foot. bang! bang! bang!--sounded heavy blows on the door behind him, but the iron bar was holding well. merry swung his leg over the window-ledge. desperate as he was, he meant to venture a leap from the window to the ground with the girl in his arms. but just then, pausing to look down, he was amazed and delighted to see below him his four friends, who were on the point of entering the building, led by bart hodge. instantly frank hailed them. "catch her!" he cried, swinging the girl out over the window-ledge, so that they could see her below. immediately bart and ephraim extended their arms and stood ready. "let her come!" shouted hodge. frank dropped the girl, and the two young men clutched at her as she fell directly into their arms. at that moment the door behind merry flew open with a slam and the ruffians came bursting into the room. one of them held a lighted lamp. the fellow in advance saw frank in the window and flung up his hand. there was a loud report and a burst of smoke. when the smoke cleared the window was empty, frank having disappeared. "nailed him!" shouted the ruffian who had fired. "nailed him for sure!" he rushed forward to the window and looked down, expecting to discover the body of his victim stretched on the ground. but in this he was disappointed, for neither frank nor his friends were beneath the window. into the darkness of the crooked street some dusky figures were vanishing. frank had leaped from the window, being untouched by the bullet that fanned his cheek in passing. he struck on his feet, but plunged forward on his hands and knees. in a moment he was jerked erect by some one who observed: "methinks your parachute must be out of order. you descended with exceeding great violence. what think you if we make haste to depart?" "jack!" exclaimed frank. "the same," was the assurance, as ready clutched his arm and started him on the run. "dear me! i know this strenuous life will yet bring me to my death!" ahead of them frank saw some figures moving hastily away. "the girl----" "they've got her," assured jack. "old joe is with them. we'll talk it over later." so they ran, well knowing the whole of sunk hole would be looking for them within thirty minutes. it did not take them long to come up with bart, ephraim, and old joe. behind them there sounded shouts and commands, and it was well the whole of sunk hole had been at the dance, else the place must have been aroused so that they would have run into some of its inhabitants. here and there amid the buildings they dodged until they arrived at the edge of the collection and struck out for the side of the valley, crowfoot leading. it was necessary to trust everything to the old indian. without him they could not have known with any certainty that they were taking the proper course to enable them to get out of the valley. the girl was passed from one to another as they ran. they did not waste their breath in words. the old indian ran with an ease that was astonishing, considering his years. looking back, they could see torches moving swiftly here and there through the town, telling that the search for them was being carried on. soon they came to a steep gully that led upward, and the ascent was very difficult, even at first. it grew more and more difficult as they ascended, and it became necessary for them to work slowly in the darkness, the girl being passed upward from time to time, as one after another took turns at creeping ahead. joe did not seem to have much trouble, but he did not bother with the girl. finally he said: "here come bad palefaces! make some big hurry!" it was true that a party of men were running toward the gully. their torches danced and flared, showing them with some distinctness. to the right and left in other parts of the valley were clusters of torches. "heap try to stop us," exclaimed crowfoot. "one way to go up there, 'nother way down there, this be 'nother way. they know all. that how um come here so fast." by the time the men with the torches reached the foot of the gully frank and his comrades were so far above that they were not betrayed by the torchlight. but one of the ruffians bade the others listen, and at that very moment ephraim gallup dislodged a stone that went clattering and rattling downward with a great racket. instantly a wild yell broke from the lips of the ruffians below. "here they are!" they shouted. "they're up here!" then one of them began to blaze away with his pistols, and the bullets whistled and zipped unpleasantly close to the party above. bart hodge stooped and found some rocks as large as ducks' eggs in the hollow of the gully. he knew it would expose their position if he should answer the fire with his revolvers, and so he simply hurled those rocks with all the accuracy and skill that had made him noted on the baseball diamond as a wonderful thrower to second base. the first rock struck a fellow on the wrist and broke it. the third hit another man on the shoulder, and not many of the six bart threw failed to take effect. astonishing though it seemed, this method of retorting to the shooting proved most effective, and the ruffians scattered to get out of the way, swearing horribly. the fugitives continued till the top of the gully was reached and they struck something like a natural path that soon took them where they could no longer see the valley nor hear their enemies. knowing they would be followed still farther, they halted not for a moment until their horses were reached. then they paused only to make ready and swing into the saddle. even as june was passed up to frank she sighed and seemed to come a little to herself. and as they rode into the dusk of the night she recovered consciousness, the cool breeze fanning her face. she wondered and shuddered until she heard the voice of frank merriwell reassuring her, and then she was certain that it was all a dream. in her prison room she had listened with shaking soul to the sounds from below, she had crept to the barred door and heard cimarron bill and eliot dodge talking below, and the horror of knowing the rascally lawyer was in the plot that had brought about her abduction and detention in that den had been a fearful shock to her. when the quarreling and the shooting began, she was filled with mortal dread. she heard some one on the stairs and fumbling at her door, and then, kneeling in a corner of the room, all the world slipped away from her, and she remembered nothing more until she awoke in the arms of her brave rescuer, frank merriwell. chapter xxxiii. the return to holbrook. haggard from worriment and need of sleep, her face seeming drawn and old, her eyes feeling like coals in her throbbing head, mrs. arlington welcomed eliot dodge, who came into the room, looking dejected yet seeming to appear hopeful. "june! june, my child?" cried the tortured mother. "have you no news of her?" "nothing but--this," said dodge, pulling out an unsealed letter. then he briefly told of being held up by three ruffians, who had given him the letter. mrs. arlington read it, and fell half-fainting on the couch, while dodge bent over her with protestations of sympathy. "my poor girl!" gasped the miserable woman. "and she is in the power of such monsters! the ransom money must be paid! she must be saved at once!" "is there no way to avoid paying the money?" said dodge. "is it not possible she may be saved in some other manner?" "i think it is," said a clear voice, as the door was thrust open and frank merriwell, covered from head to heel with the dust of the desert, escorted the rescued girl into the room. "mrs. arlington, i have brought you your daughter." with a scream of joy, mrs. arlington leaped up and june ran into her arms. eliot dodge seemed to turn green. he stood and stared at the girl in a sort of blank stupor, failing to observe that just behind frank merriwell, who still wore the clothes taken from the intoxicated mexican, there was the officer newly appointed to fill the place left vacant by the death of ben file. "june! june! june!" cried mrs. arlington, her face flushed with gladness. "is it you, my poor girl! i can scarcely believe it! how does it happen? tell me how you come to be here!" "i am here, mother, because i was rescued from those horrible ruffians by that brave gentleman whom you have so greatly wronged, frank merriwell. he risked his life for me. i will tell you all, but first--first i must tell you that you have trusted a snake. i mean that monster there!" she pointed her finger at dodge, who started and looked startled, but pretended the utmost amazement. "he is the villain who planned it all!" declared june. "i know, for i heard them talk it over. but he shall not escape!" "i hardly think so," said frank. "officer, he is a desperate man. be careful of him." "this is an outrage!" declared dodge, as the new city marshal grasped him. "i'll not permit it! i----" frank clutched him on the other side, and, a moment later, the officer had ironed his prisoner. mrs. arlington would have interfered, but merry declared he had sworn out the warrant for dodge's arrest, and she saw it was useless. "madam," said frank, "i will leave you alone with your daughter. when she has told you all, you will be ready, i am confident, to prosecute eliot dodge. i shall then withdraw my charge and permit you to have him arrested. in the meantime i bid you good day. i shall be in this hotel for the next day or so." he bowed gracefully to both mrs. arlington and june and left the room. * * * * * when there was plenty of time, frank and his friends talked it over. he told them of his experience in the dance-room, and they told him how they had lingered near, ready to rush to his rescue. when they heard the sounds of the quarrel between cimarron bill and handsome charley they hurried to the door, but there they halted, for they looked in and saw nothing of frank. thus it was that they beheld the shooting of bill as he tried to draw on charley. he was shot down from behind by charley's tools, and they fired several bullets into his body as he lay weltering on the floor. frank shook his head as he heard this account of bill's end. "he was a bad man, a very bad man," he said; "but somehow i'm sorry that he met his end that way. they had to shoot him from the rear. not one of them dared pull on him face to face." frank received a brief letter from mrs. arlington, thanking him for what he had done for her daughter. not one word did she say of her own malevolence toward him, not one word of the manner in which she had wronged him. and the doctor, who brought the letter, told merry that she was in such a precarious condition that she could not write more, nor could she be seen by any one but june. frank smiled grimly, disdainfully, over the letter, then deliberately tore it into shreds. but he had proved his manhood, and june arlington, for all of her mother, found time to see him a few moments before he left town. after that brief time with june he rode light-heartedly away, his friends galloping at his side and listening to the cowboy song that came from his lips. * * * * * transcriber's note: this text file version is encoded in latin- format to preserve all original accents. because of extensive use of dialect, all apparent errors within dialogue have been assumed intentional and retained. page , "merriell's" changed to "merriwell's" (frank merriwell's rough deal) page , changed erroneous period to comma ("i have no desire or intention of irking you up, sir," he said.) page , "referrring" changed to "referring" (certain papers referring to the queen mystery and san pablo mines, which i own.) page , added missing opening quote ("i think i'll finish you!") page , "cimaroon" changed to "cimarron" (cimarron bill watched his tool depart, smiling darkly and muttering to himself) page , removed extraneous quote after "hurriedly" ("oh, velly good, velly good!" answered the celestial hurriedly, backing off a little, his face yellowish white.) page , "cant" changed to "can't" ("i can't beat him at his own game.") page , changed single quote to double quote at end of sentence ("in the first place," frank distinctly heard dodge say, "ben file is dead.") page , "merriwel" changed to "merriwell" (he stood and stared at the girl in a sort of blank stupor, failing to observe that just behind frank merriwell, who still wore the clothes taken from the intoxicated mexican, there was the officer newly appointed to fill the place left vacant by the death of ben file.) transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. crusoe's island: a ramble in the footsteps of alexander selkirk. with sketches of adventure in california and washoe. by j. ross browne, author of "etchings of a whaling cruise," "yusef," &c. new york: harper & brothers, publishers, franklin square. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-four, by harper & brothers, in the clerk's office of the district court of the southern district of new york. contents. crusoe's island. chapter page i. the boat adventure ii. first impressions of the island iii. going ashore iv. condition of the island in v. robinson crusoe's cave vi. the valley on fire vii. the cave of the buccaneers viii. lodgings under ground ix. cooking fish x. ramble into the interior xi. the valley of enchantment xii. a strange discovery xiii. the storm and escape xiv. the american crusoe xv. castle of the american crusoe xvi. difficulty between abraham and the doubter xvii. the murder xviii. the skull xix. the governor's vision xx. the doubter's dyspeptic story xxi. bad dream concerning the doubter xxii. the unpleasant affair of honor xxiii. dr. stillman's journal xxiv. confidential chat with the reader xxv. early voyages to juan fernandez xxvi. alexander selkirk and robinson crusoe a dangerous journey. i. the cannibal ii. the mirage iii. a death struggle iv. the outlaw's camp v. the escape vi. a lonely ride vii. the attack viii. san miguel ix. a dangerous adventure x. a tragedy observations in office. i. my official experiences ii. the great port townsend controversy, showing how whisky built a city iii. the indians of california a peep at washoe. i. introductory ii. start for washoe iii. across the mountains iv. an infernal city v. society of virginia city vi. escape from virginia city vii. my washoe agency viii. start for home ix. arrival in san francisco list of illustrations. crusoe's island. map of juan fernandez page leaving the ship boat in a storm struck by a flaw shipwrecked sailor juan fernandez crusoe's castle crusoe at home plan of the convict cells convict cells chilian huts walrus, or sea lion crusoe's cave a relic of crusoe crusoe's devotions the valley with the cave and cliff dream-land crusoe fairy cove rescue of friday crusoe asleep the californians in juan fernandez fishing crusoe and his comrades cooking in juan fernandez the cliff abraham on the peak the trogon the valley the skull the american crusoe tragic fate of the scotchman the lovers grave of the murdered man the doubter the footprint in the sand the savage orgies the doubter back again swallowing an island dreams and realities peak of yonka scenery of juan fernandez killing savages the author à la robinson crusoe chilian and chilienne a dangerous journey mirage in the salinas valley pass of san juan antelopes in the mirage vulture in the mirage soledad a duel à la mort the camp jack a lonely ride the attack san miguel a spanish caballero valley of santa marguerita lassoing a grizzly the belle of the fandango observations in office the duke of york, queen victoria, and jenny lind the diggers at home out in the mountains protecting the settlers a peep at washoe the bummer going to kern river returning from kern river ho! for frazer river returned from frazer river hurrah for washoe the agency "i say, cap!" dollars with spider legs (a dream) "go it, washoe!" the pocket pistol california stage-driver whisky below "carambo! caraja--sacramento!--santa maria!--diavolo!" board and lodging grindstones a speculator dinner at strawberry the lay-out the stocking-thief the trail from strawberry "we are waiting for you" a short cut diogenes carson city the stage the devil's gate virginia city a question of title "my claim, sir!" gold hill san francisco speculators assay office a fall the comstock lead the claims "silver, certain, sir" "indications, sure!" an old friend carson valley holding on to it mount ophir croppings the flowery diggings honest miner "a gloomy prospect" return from washoe outgoing and incoming the jew's boots snow slide the grade return to san francisco reading extra bulletin crusoe's island. chapter i. the boat adventure. [illustration: map of juan fernandez.] my narrative dates as far back as the early part of the year . then the ship anteus was a noted vessel. many were the strange stories told of strife and discord between the captain and the passengers; pamphlets were published giving different versions of the facts, and some very curious questions of law were involved in the charges made by both parties. it appeared from the statement of the passengers, who were for the most part intelligent and respectable americans, that, on the voyage of the anteus to california, their treatment by the captain was cruel and oppressive in the extreme; that, before they were three weeks from port, he had reduced them almost to a state of absolute starvation; and, in consequence of the violence of his conduct, which, as they alleged, was without cause or provocation on their part, they considered their lives endangered, and resolved upon making an appeal for his removal at the port of rio. on the arrival of the vessel at rio the captain was arraigned before the american consul, and pronounced to be insane by the evidence of six physicians and by the testimony of a large majority of the passengers. it was charged, on the other hand, that the passengers were disorderly, mutinous, and ungovernable; that they had entered into a conspiracy against the captain, and in testifying to his insanity were guilty of perjury. the examination of the case occupied several weeks before the american consul; voluminous testimony was taken on both sides; the question was submitted to the american minister, to the british consul, and to the principal merchants of rio, all of whom concurred in the opinion that, under the circumstances, there was but one proper course to pursue, which was, to remove the captain from the command of the vessel. he was accordingly deposed by the american consul, and a new captain placed in the command. this was regarded by the principal merchants of new york as an arbitrary exercise of authority, unwarranted by law or precedent, and a memorial was addressed by them to the president of the united states for the removal of the consul. a new administration had just come into power; and the consul was removed, ostensibly on the ground of the complaints made against him; but, inasmuch as some few other officers of the government were removed at the same time without such ground, it may be inferred that a difference in political opinion had some weight with the administration. it is not my intention now to go into any argument in regard to the merits of this case; the time may come when justice will be done to the injured, and it remains for higher authority than myself to mete it out. i have simply to acknowledge, with a share of the odium resting upon me, that i was one of the rebellious passengers in the anteus. my companions in trouble so far honored me with their confidence as to give me charge of the case. i was unlearned in law, yet possessed some experience in sea-life; and believing that the lives of all on board depended upon getting rid of a desperate and insane captain, aided to the best of my ability in having a new officer placed in the command. to the change thus made, unforeseen in its results, i owe my eventful visit to the island of juan fernandez. it was the intention of our first captain to touch at valparaiso for a supply of fresh provisions. in the ship's papers this was the only port designated on the pacific side except san francisco. our new commander, captain brooks, assumed the responsibility of leaving the choice between valparaiso and another port to the passengers. it was put to the vote, and decided that we should proceed to callao, so that we might pass in sight of juan fernandez, and have an opportunity of visiting lima, "the city of the kings." early on the morning of the th of may, , we made the highest peak of massa tierra, bearing n.n.w., distant seventy miles. the weather was mild and clear. as the sun rose, it fell calm, and the ship lay nearly motionless. a light blue spot, scarce bigger than a hand-spike, was all that appeared in the horizon. it might have passed for a cloud but for the distinctness of its outline. weary of the gales we had encountered off cape horn, it was a pleasant thing to see a spot of earth once more, and there was not a soul on board but felt a desire to go ashore. for some days past, myself and a few others had talked secretly among ourselves about making the attempt in case we went close enough; but now there seemed to be every prospect of a long calm, and we took it for granted the captain would clap on all sail if we took the trades. there was no other chance but to lower one of the boats and row seventy miles. a party of us agreed to do this, provided we could get a boat. the ship's boats we knew it would be impossible to get without permission of the captain, and that we were not willing to ask. mr. brigham, a fellow-passenger, was owner of one of the quarter-boats. we broached the matter to him, and he gladly joined in the adventure, together with his partner and some friends, so that we made in all a very pleasant party of eleven. the proper number of men for the boat was six, but in consideration of the great distance and the necessity of a change at the oars, five more were crowded in. we had been in the habit of rowing about the vessel whenever it was calm, and this we thought would be a good excuse for lowering the boat. being in great haste, lest the captain should object to letting us go, we only thought of a few necessary articles in case we should be cast away or driven off from the island. two small demijohns of water, a few biscuits, a piece of dried beef, and some cheese and crackers comprised our entire stock of provisions; and for nautical instruments we had only a lantern and a small pocket compass. not knowing but there might be outlaws or savages ashore who might undertake to murder us, we armed ourselves with a double-barreled gun, a fusee, and an old harpoon, which was all we could smuggle into the boat in the excitement of starting. captain brooks happening to come on deck, perceived that there was something unusual going on, and, suspecting our design, took occasion to warn us of the folly of such an expedition. at the same time, thinking there was more bravado than reality about it, he laughed good-humoredly when we acknowledged that we were going ashore. "be sure," said he, as we went over the side, "not to forget the peaches. you will find plenty of them up in the valleys. only don't lose sight of the vessel. you may exercise yourselves as much as you please, but keep the royals above water, whatever you do. bear in mind that you are more than seventy miles from that peak!" we promised him that we would take care of ourselves, and come back safe in case we were not foundered. at a.m. we bade our friends good-by, and with three cheers pushed off from the ship. the boat was only twenty-two feet long and an eighth of an inch thick: it was made of sheet-iron, and was very narrow and crank. most of us, except myself and a whaleman named paxton, were unused to rowing, so that the prospect of reaching land depended a good deal upon the day remaining calm, and upon keeping the boat trimmed, the gunwales being only ten inches out of the water. [illustration: leaving the ship.] there was no excuse for this risk of life, save that insatiable thirst for novelty which all experience to some extent after the monotony of a long voyage. i will only say, in regard to myself, that i was too full of joy at the idea of a ramble in the footsteps of robinson crusoe to think of risk at all. if there was danger, it merely served to give zest to the adventure. by a calculation of the distance and our rate of going, we expected to reach the land by sundown or soon after; and then our plan was to make a tent of the boat-sail, and sleep under it till morning, when by rising early we thought we could take a run over the island, and perhaps get some fruit and vegetables. by that time, should a light breeze spring up during the night, we thought it likely the ship would be well up by the land, and we could pull out and get on board without difficulty. before long we found that distances are very deceptive in these latitudes where the atmosphere is so clear; for notwithstanding the statement of the captain that by the reckoning we were seventy miles from land, we believed that he only told us so to deter us from going, and that we were not much more than half that distance. in rowing we made a division of our number, taking turns or watches of an hour each at the oars, so as to share the labor. once fairly under way, with a smooth sea and a pleasant day before us, we became exceedingly merry at the expense of our fellow-passengers whom we had left in the ship to drift about in the calm, and it afforded us much diversion to think how they would be disappointed upon finding that we were in earnest about going ashore. before long we had cause to wish ourselves back again in the ship, which goes to prove that apparently the most unfortunate are often less so than those who seem to be favored by circumstances. at noon we took a lunch, and refreshed ourselves with a drink of water all round. we had also a good supply of cigars, which we smoked with great relish after our pull; and i think there never was a happier set than we were for the time. still there was but a single peak on the horizon. it was blue and dim in the distance, and apparently not much higher than when we saw it from the mast-head, from which we inferred that there must be a current setting against us. the anteus was hull down, yet we seemed as far from the land as when we started. a ripple beginning to show upon the water, we hoisted our sail to catch the breeze, and found that it helped us one or two knots an hour. with songs and anecdotes we passed the time pleasantly till p.m., when we entirely lost sight of the vessel. paxton, the whaleman, now stood up in the boat to take an observation of the land. there were a few more peaks in sight; the middle peak, which was the first we made, began to loom up very plainly, showing a flat top. it was the mountain called yonka, which is said to be three thousand feet high. we were apparently forty miles yet from the nearest point; and the sun setting here in may at a little after five, we began to feel uneasy concerning the weather, which showed signs of a change. all of us, having gone so far, were in favor of keeping on, though in secret we thought there was a good deal of danger. at sunset we took another observation. the land had risen quite over the water from end to end, and we hoped to reach it in about three hours. it is true none of us knew any thing about the shores, whether they abounded in bays or not, and if so where any safe place of landing could be found, which made us doubtful how to steer. clouds were gathering all over the horizon; a few stars shone out dimly overhead, and the shades of night began to cover the island as with a shroud. swiftly, yet with resistless power, the clouds swept over the whole sky, and the horizon, in all the grandeur of its vast circle, was lost in the shades of night. no sail was near; no light shone upon us now but the dim rays of a few solitary stars through the rugged masses of clouds; no sound broke upon the listening ear save the weary stroke of our oars: a gloom had settled upon the mighty wilderness of waters, and we were awed and silent, for we knew that the spirit of god was there, and darkness was his secret place; that "his pavilion round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of the skies." one large black mass of clouds rose up on the weather quarter; a low moaning came over the sea, and the air became suddenly chill, and the waters rippled around us, and were tossed about by the unseen power, and we trembled, for we beheld the coming of the storm that was soon to burst upon us in all the majesty of its wrath. for a while there was the stillness of death; then "the lord thundered in the heavens, and the highest gave his voice," and out of the darkness came the storm. in fierce and sudden gusts it came, terrible in its resistless might; lashing the sea into a white foam, tossing and whirling overhead, with its thousand arms outstretched; grasping up the waters as it raged over the deep, and scourging them madly through the air, while it moaned and shrieked like the dread spirit of desolation. [illustration: boat in a storm.] every one of us cowered down in the boat to keep her balanced. the spray washed over us fearfully, and the sail shook so in the wind, having let go all, that we thought it would tear the mast out. at this time we were about three leagues from the s.e. end of the island, which was the nearest point then in sight. as the cloud spread by the attraction of the land, the whole island became wrapped in a dark shroud of mist, and in half an hour we could discern nothing but the gloom of the storm around us, as we bore down toward the darkest part on the lea. our lamp was now quenched by a heavy sea, and being unable to distinguish the points of the compass, we were fearful we should miss the island and be carried off so far that we could never reach it again. whenever there was a lull we tried to haul in our sheet, but a sudden flaw striking us once, the boat lay over till she buried her gunwales, and the sea broke heavily over her lee side, and the crew at the same time springing in a body to the weather side, to balance her, brought her over suddenly, so that it was a miracle we were not capsized, which, had it happened so far out at sea in the darkness, would have made an end of us. indeed, it was as much as we could do, by baling continually, to keep her afloat, and every moment we expected to be buried in a watery grave. for the reason that we feared the tide or current which set against us might carry us off beyond reach of the land, we kept up our sail as long as we could, thinking that while we made headway toward the lee of the island we increased our chance of safety. moreover, we knew it was four hundred miles to the coast of chili, and we had neither water nor provisions left. at best our position was perilous. ignorant of the bearings of the harbor, we were at a loss what to do even if we should be able to reach the lee of the island, for we had seen that it was chiefly rock-bound and inaccessible to boats. about a.m., as well as we could judge, we found ourselves close in under the lee of a high cliff, upon the base of which the surf broke with a tremendous roar. some three or four of the party, reckless of the consequences, were in favor of running straight in, and attempting to gain the shore at all hazards. the more prudent of us protested against the folly of this course, well knowing that we would be capsized in the surf and dashed to pieces on the rocks. here we found the evils of having too many masters in an adventure of this kind, where every man who had a will of his own seemed disposed to use it. however, by mild persuasion, we adjusted the difficulty, and agreed to continue on under the lee, where we were sheltered in some degree from the gale, till we should hit upon some safe harbor, if such there was upon the island. the boat was our only resource in case of being left ashore, and all admitted the necessity of preserving it as long as possible. if we found no harbor, we could lie off a short distance and wait till daylight. this plan was so reasonable that none could object to it. as soon as we were well in by the shore, where the gale was cut off by the mountains, we had a light eddy of air in our favor, which induced us to keep up our sail. we soon found the danger of this. a strong flaw from a gap in the land struck us suddenly, and would have capsized us had we not let go every thing, and clung to the weather gunwale till it was over, when we quickly pulled down the sail and took to the oars. [illustration: struck by a flaw.] we could see nothing on our starboard but the wild seas as they rolled off into the darkness; on our larboard, a black perpendicular wall of rocks loomed up hundreds of feet high, reaching apparently into the clouds. sometimes a part of the outline came out clear, with its rugged pinnacles against the sky, and now and then a fearful gorge opened up as we coasted along, through which the wind moaned dismally. it was a very wild and awful place in the dead of night, being so covered with darkness that we scarce knew where we steered, or how soon we might be dashed to pieces in the surf. once in a while we stopped to listen, thinking we heard voices on the shore, but it was only the moaning of the tempest upon the cliffs, and the frightful beating of the surf below. we seemed almost to be able to touch the black and rugged wall of rocks that stood up out of the sea, and the shock of the returning waves so jarred the boat at times that we clung to the thwarts, and believed we were surely within the jaws of death. as the voices died away which we thought came out from the cliffs there was a lull in the storm, and nothing but the wail of the surf could be heard, sounding very sad and lonesome in gloom of night. it was a dreary and perpetual dirge for the ill-fated mariners who were buried upon that inhospitable shore; a death-moan that forever rises out of the deep for the souls that are lost, and the hearts that can never be united with those that love them upon earth again. i thought how well it was writ by the poet-- "oh, solitude! where are the charms that sages have seen in thy face? better dwell in the midst of alarms. than reign in this horrible place." [illustration: shipwrecked sailor.] having pulled about twelve miles along the shore from goat island, where we first got under the lee, and seeing no sign of a cove or harbor, we began to despair of getting ashore before daylight. in this extremity, abraham, a ship-neighbor of mine, succeeded in lighting the lantern again, which he held out in his hand from the bow, hoping thereby to cast a light upon the rocks, that we might grope out our way and reach some place of safety; but it only seemed to make the darkness thicker than it was before. we therefore concluded it was best to pull on till we rounded a point some few miles ahead, where we thought there might be a cove. so we put out the light and got paxton to go in the bow as a look-out, he being the most keen-sighted, from the habit of looking from the mast-head for whales. on turning the point we were startled by a loud cry of "light, ho!" every body turned to see where it appeared. it was close down by the water, about three miles distant, within a spacious cove that opened upon us as we turned the point. paxton's quick eye had descried it the moment we hove round the rock. greatly rejoiced by this discovery, we pulled ahead with a good will and rapidly bore down toward the light. chilled through with the sharp gusts from the mountains, wet with spray, and very hungry, we congratulated ourselves that there were still inhabitants on the island, and we could not but think they would give us something to eat, and furnish us with some place of shelter. captain brooks had told us that he had been here several times in a whaler; that sometimes people lived upon the island from the coast of chili, and sometimes it was entirely deserted. the chilians who frequented this lonely island we knew to be a very bad set of people, chiefly convicts and outcasts, who would not hesitate to rob and murder any stranger whom misfortune or the love of adventure might cast in their power. pirates, also, had frequented its bays from the time of the buccaneers; and it was a question with us whether the light was made by these outlaws, or by some unfortunate shipwrecked sailors or deserters from some english or american whale-ship. the better to provide against danger, we loaded our two guns, and placed them in the bow, as also the harpoon; upon which we steered for the light. all of a sudden it disappeared, as if quenched by water. this was a new source of trouble. what could it mean? there was no doubt we had all seen it. the early voyagers had often seen strange lights at night on the tops of the mountains, which they attributed to supernatural causes; but this was close down by the water, and was too well defined and too distinctly visible to us all either to be a supernatural visitation or the result of some volcanic eruption. while we lay upon our oars wondering what it meant, it again appeared, brighter than before. now, if the inhabitants were not pirates or freebooters, why did they pursue this mysterious conduct? we suspected that they heard our oars, and had lit a fire on the beach to guide us ashore; but if they wanted us to land in the right place, why did they put out the light and start it up again so strangely? for half an hour it continued thus to disappear and reappear at short intervals in the same mysterious way, for which none of us could account. it being now about four o'clock in the morning, we felt so cast down by fatigue and dread of death, that we decided to run in at all hazards, and, if necessary, make our way through the breakers. all hands fell to upon the oars, and soon the light bore up again close on by the head. paxton, who was in the bow, quickly started up, and began peering sharply through the gloom. "what's that?" said he: "look there, my lads. i see something black; don't you see it--there, on the larboard--it looks to me like the hull of a ship! pull, my lads, pull!" and so all gave way with a will, and in a few minutes the tall masts of a vessel loomed up against the sky within a hundred yards! i shall never forget the joy of the whole party at that sight. the light which we had seen came from a lamp that swung in the lower rigging, and though the ship might be a chilian convict vessel, or some other craft as little likely to give us a pleasant reception, yet we were too glad to think of that, and straightway pulled up under her stern and hailed her. for a moment there was a pause as our voices broke upon the stillness; then there was a stir on deck, and a voice answered us in clear sailor-like english, "boat ahoy! where are you from?" "the ship anteus," said we, "bound for california; what ship is this?" "the brooklyn, of new york, bound for california. come on board!" no longer able to suppress our joy, we gave vent to three hearty cheers--cheers so loud and genuine that they swept over the waters of juan fernandez, and went rolling up the valleys in a thousand echoes. in less than five minutes we were all on deck, thankful for our providential deliverance from the horrors of that eventful night. chapter ii. first impressions of the island. the decks of the brooklyn presented a strange and half-savage scene. most of the passengers, aroused from their sleep by the shouts of the officers and crew, had rushed upon deck nearly naked, and quite at a loss to know what had happened. while we were answering some of their questions, captain richardson, the master, pushed his way through the crowd and asked what all the noise was about. we speedily explained how we had left the anteus seventy miles out at sea, and how, through the aid of providence, we had made our way into the harbor and descried the ship's lamp; declaring at the same time our belief that, had we missed the ship, in all probability we would have been dashed to pieces upon the rocks. we then made ourselves known personally to the captain, who was well acquainted with some of the party. he cordially welcomed us on board, and invited us into his cabin, where we gave him a more detailed account of our adventure. meantime the cook was ordered to get us some breakfast as soon as possible, and captain richardson offered us dry clothes, and administered to our wants in the kindest manner. nor was it long till we felt exceedingly comfortable considering the previous circumstances. we soon had breakfast, which, after our toils and troubles, was truly a godsend. some of the finest fish i ever ate was on the table; excellent ham and potatoes also, fresh bread, and coffee boiling hot. it was devoured with a most uncommon relish, as you may suppose; and it was none the less agreeable for being seasoned with pleasant conversation. [illustration: juan fernandez.] the captain admitted that in all his seafaring career he had never known of any thing more absurd than our adventure, and that it was a miracle we were not every one lost. all the passengers crowded around us as if we had risen from the depths of the sea, and i fancied they examined us as if they had an idea that we were some kind of sea-monsters. the brooklyn lay at anchor about half a mile from the boat-landing. at the dawn of day i was on the deck, looking eagerly toward the island. i may as well confess at once that no child could have felt more delighted than i did in the anticipation of something illusive and enchanting. my heart throbbed with impatience to see what it was that cast so strange a fascination about that lonely spot. all was wrapped in mist; but the air was filled with fresh odors of land, and wafts of sweetness more delicious than the scent of new-mown hay. the storm had ceased, and the soft-echoed bleating of goats, and the distant baying of wild dogs were all the sounds of life that broke upon the stillness. it seemed as if the sun, loth to disturb the ocean in its rest, or reveal the scene of beauty that lay slumbering upon its bosom, would never rise again, so gently the light stole upon the eastern sky, so softly it absorbed the shadows of night. i watched the golden glow as it spread over the heavens, and beheld at last the sun in all his majesty scatter away the thick vapors that lay around his resting-place, and each vale was opened out in the glowing light of the morning, and the mountains that towered out of the sea were bathed in the glory of his rays. never shall i forget the strange delight with which i gazed upon that isle of romance; the unfeigned rapture i felt in the anticipation of exploring that miniature world in the desert of waters, so fraught with the happiest associations of youth; so remote from all the ordinary realities of life; the actual embodiment of the most absorbing, most fascinating of all the dreams of fancy. many foreign lands i had seen; many islands scattered over the broad ocean, rich and wondrous in their romantic beauty; many glens of utopian loveliness; mountain heights weird and impressive in their sublimity; but nothing to equal this in variety of outline and undefinable richness of coloring; nothing so dreamlike, so wrapped in illusion, so strange and absorbing in its novelty. great peaks of reddish rock seemed to pierce the sky wherever i looked; a thousand rugged ridges swept upward toward the centre in a perfect maze of enchantment. it was all wild, fascinating, and unreal. the sides of the mountains were covered with patches of rich grass, natural fields of oats, and groves of myrtle and pimento. abrupt walls of rock rose from the water to the height of a thousand feet. the surf broke in a white line of foam along the shores of the bay, and its measured swell floated upon the air like the voice of a distant cataract. fields of verdure covered the ravines; ruined and moss-covered walls were scattered over each eminence; and the straw huts of the inhabitants were almost imbosomed in trees, in the midst of the valley, and jets of smoke arose out of the groves and floated off gently in the calm air of the morning. in all the shore, but one spot, a single opening among the rocks, seemed accessible to man. the rest of the coast within view consisted of fearful cliffs overhanging the water, the ridges from which sloped upward as they receded inland, forming a variety of smaller valleys above, which were strangely diversified with woods and grass, and golden fields of wild oats. close to the water's edge was the dark moss-covered rock, forever moist with the bright spray of the ocean, and above it, cleft in countless fissures by earthquakes in times past, the red burnt earth; and there were gorges through which silvery springs coursed, and cascades fringed with banks of shrubbery; and still higher the slopes were of a bright yellow, which, lying outspread in the glow of the early sunlight, almost dazzled the eye; and round about through the valleys and on the hill-sides, the groves of myrtle, pimento, and corkwood were draped in green, glittering with rain-drops after the storm, and the whole air was tinged with ambrosial tints, and filled with sweet odors; nothing in all the island and its shores, as the sun rose and cast off the mist, but seemed to "suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange." chapter iii. going ashore. [illustration: crusoe's castle.] no longer able to control our enthusiasm, we sprang into the boat and pushed off for the landing. captain richardson, who was well acquainted with the ruins of the chilian settlement, joined us in our intended excursion, and we were accompanied also by a few sporting passengers from the brooklyn in another boat. the waters of the bay are of crystal clearness; we saw the bottom as we dashed over the swell, at a depth of several fathoms. it was alive with fish and various kinds of marine animals, of which there are great quantities about these shores. can you conceive, ye landsmen who dwell in cities, and have never buffeted for weary months the gales of old ocean, the joy of once more touching the genial earth when it has become almost a dreamy fancy in the memories of the past! then think, without a smile of disdain, what a thrill of delight ran through my blood as i pressed my feet for the first time upon the fresh sod of juan fernandez! think of it, too, as the realization of hopes which i had never ceased to cherish from early boyhood; for this was the abiding place, which i now at last beheld, of a wondrous adventurer whose history had filled my soul years ago with indefinite longings for sea-life, shipwreck, and solitude! yes, here was verily the land of robinson crusoe; here, in one of these secluded glens, stood his rustic castle; here he fed his goats and held converse with his faithful pets; here he found consolation in the devotion of a new friend, his true and honest man friday; beneath the shade of these trees he unfolded the mysteries of divine providence to the simple savage, and proved to the world that there is no position in life which may not be endured by a patient spirit and an abiding confidence in the goodness and mercy of god. pardon the fondness with which i linger upon these recollections, reader, for i was one who had fought for poor robinson in my boyish days as the greatest hero that ever breathed the breath of life; who had always, even to man's estate, secretly cherished in my heart the belief that alexander the great, julius cæsar, and all the warriors of antiquity were commonplace persons compared with him; that napoleon bonaparte, the duke of wellington, colonel johnson, tecumseh, and all the noted statesmen and warriors of modern times, were not to be mentioned in the same day with so extraordinary a man; i, who had always regarded him as the most truthful and the very sublimest of adventurers, was now the entranced beholder of his abiding place--walking, breathing, thinking, and seeing on the very spot! there was no fancy about it--not the least; it was a palpable reality! talk of gold! why, i tell you, my dear friends, all the gold of california was not worth the ecstatic bliss of that moment! [illustration: crusoe at home.] chapter iv. condition of the island in . we first went up to a bluff, about half a mile from the boat-landing, where we spent an hour in exploring the ruins of the fortifications built by the chilians in . there was nothing left but the foundation and a portion of the ramparts of the principal fort, partly imbedded in banks of clay, and neatly covered with moss and weeds. it was originally strongly built of large stones, which were cast down in every direction by the terrible earthquake of ; and now all that remained perfect was the front wall of the main rampart and the groundwork of the fort. not far from these ruins we found the convict cells, which we explored to some extent. [illustration: plan of the convict cells.] these cells are dug into the brow of a hill, facing the harbor, and extend underground to the distance of several hundred feet, in the form of passages and vaults, resembling somewhat the catacombs of rome. during the penal settlement established here by the chilian government, the convicts, numbering sometimes many hundreds, were confined in these gloomy dungeons, where they were subjected to the most barbarous treatment. the gates or doors by which the entrances were secured had all been torn down and destroyed, and the excavations were now occupied by wild goats, bats, toads, and different sorts of vermin. rank fern hung upon the sides; overhead was dripping with a cold and deathlike sweat, and slimy drops coursed down the weeds, and the air was damp and chilly; thick darkness was within in the depths beyond--darkness that no wandering gleam from the light of day ever reached, for heaven never smiled upon those dreary abodes of sin and sorrow. a few of the inner dungeons, for the worst criminals, were dug still deeper underground, and rough stairways of earth led down into them, which were shut out from the upper vaults by strong doors. the size of these lower dungeons was not more than five or six feet in length by four or five in height, from which some idea may be formed of the sufferings endured by the poor wretches confined in them, shut out from the light of heaven, loaded with heavy irons, crushed down by dank and impenetrable walls of earth, starved and beaten by their cruel guards, with no living soul to pity them in their woe, no hope of release save in death. we saw, by the aid of a torch, deep holes scratched in one of the walls, bearing the impression of human fingers. it might have been that some unhappy murderer, goaded to madness by such cruel tortures of body and terrible anguish of mind as drive men to tear even their own flesh when buried before the vital spark is extinct, had grasped out the earth in his desperation, and left the marks in his death agonies upon the clay that entombed him, to tell what no human heart but his had suffered there, no human ear had heard, no human eye had witnessed. the deep, startling echo breaking upon the heavy air, as we sounded the walls, seemed yet to mingle with his curses, and its last sepulchral throb was like the dying moan of the maniac. [illustration: convict cells.] some time before the great earthquake, which destroyed the fortifications and broke up the penal colony, a gang of convicts, amounting to three hundred, succeeded in liberating themselves from their cells. unable to endure the cruelties inflicted upon them, they broke loose from their chains, and, rushing upon the guards, murdered the greater part of them, and finally seized the garrison. for several days they held complete possession of the island. a whale-ship, belonging to nantucket, happening to come in at the time for wood and water, they seized the captain, and compelled him to take on board as many of them as the vessel could contain. about two hundred were put on board. they then threatened the captain and officers with instant death in case of any failure to land them on the coast of peru, whither they determined to go in order to escape the vengeance of the chilian government. desirous of getting rid of them as soon as possible, the captain of the whaler ran over for the first land on the coast of chili, where he put them ashore, leaving them ignorant of their position until they were unable to regain the vessel. they soon discovered that they were only thirty miles from valparaiso; but, short as the distance was from the chilian authorities, they evaded all attempts to capture them, and eventually joined the peruvian army, which was then advancing upon santiago. the remainder of the prisoners left upon the island escaped in different vessels, and were scattered over various parts of the world. only a few of the entire number engaged in the massacre were ever captured; sentence of death was passed upon them, and they were shot in the public plaza of santiago. [illustration: chilian huts.] turning our steps toward the settlement of the present residents, we passed a few hours very agreeably in rambling about among their rustic abodes. the total number of inhabitants at this period ( ) is sixteen, consisting of william pearce, an american, and four or five chilian men, with their wives and children. no others have lived permanently upon the island for several years. there are in all some six or seven huts, pleasantly surrounded by shrubbery, and well supplied with water from a spring. these habitations are built of the straw of wild oats, interwoven through wattles or long sticks, and thatched with the same, and, whether from design or accident, are extremely picturesque. the roofs project so as to form an agreeable shade all round; the doorways are covered in by a sort of projecting porch, in the style of the french cottages along the valley of the seine; small out-houses, erected upon posts, are scattered about each inclosure; and an air of repose and freedom from worldly care pervades the whole place, though the construction of the houses and mode of living are evidently of the most primitive kind. seen through the green shrubberies that abound in every direction, the bright yellow of the cottages, and the smoke curling up in the still air, have a very cheerful effect; and the prattling voices of the children, mingled with the lively bleating of the kids, and the various pleasant sounds of domestic life, might well lead one to think that the seclusion of these islanders from the busy world is not without its charms. small patches of ground, fenced with rude stone walls and brushwood, are attached to each of these primitive abodes; and rustic gateways, overrun with wild and luxuriant vines, open in front. very little attention, however, appears to be bestowed upon the cultivation of the soil; but it looks rich and productive, and might be made to yield abundant crops by a trifling expenditure of labor. the chilians have never been distinguished for industry; nor is there any evidence here that they depart from their usual philosophy in taking the world easy. even the american seemed to have caught the prevailing lethargy, and to be content with as little as possible. vegetables of various kinds grow abundantly wherever the seeds are thrown, among which i noticed excellent radishes, turnips, beets, cabbages, and onions. potatoes of a very good quality, though not large, are grown in small quantities; and, regarding the natural productiveness of the earth, there seemed to be no reason why they should not be cultivated in sufficient quantities to supply the demands of vessels touching for supplies, and thereby made a profitable source of revenue to the settlers. the grass and wild oats grow in wonderful luxuriance in all the open spaces, and require little attention; and such is the genial character of the climate, that the cattle, of which there seems to be no lack, find ample food to keep them in good condition both in winter and summer. fig-trees, bearing excellent figs, and vines of various sorts, flourish luxuriantly on the hill-sides. of fruits there is quite an abundance in the early part of autumn. the peaches were just out of season when we arrived, but we obtained a few which had been peeled and dried in the sun, and we found them large and of excellent flavor. many of the valleys abound in natural orchards, which have sprung from the seeds planted there by the early voyagers, especially by lord anson, who appeared to have taken more interest in the cultivation and settlement of the island than any previous navigator. the disasters experienced by the vessels of this distinguished adventurer in doubling cape horn caused him to make juan fernandez a rendezvous for the recruiting of his disabled seamen, and for many months he devoted his attention to the production of such vegetables and fruits as he found useful in promoting their recovery; and having likewise in view the misfortunes and necessities of those who might come after him, he caused to be scattered over the island large quantities of seeds, so that, by their increase, abundance and variety of refreshments might be had by all future voyagers. he also left ashore many different sorts of domestic animals, in order that they might propagate and become general throughout the island, for the benefit of shipwrecked mariners, vessels in distress for provisions, and colonists who might hereafter form a settlement there. the philanthropy and moral greatness of these benevolent acts, from which the author could expect to derive little or no advantage during life, can not be too highly commended. if posthumous gratitude can be regarded as a reward, lord anson has a just claim to it. how many lives have been saved; how many weather-worn mariners, bowed down with disease, have been renewed in health and strength; how many unhappy castaways have found food abundantly where all they could expect was a lingering death, and have been sustained in their exile, and restored at last to their friends and kindred, through the unselfish benevolence of this brave and kind-hearted navigator, no written record exists to tell; but there are records graven upon the hearts of men that are read by an omniscient eye--a history of good deeds and their reward, more eloquent than human hand hath written. besides peaches, quinces, and other fruits common in temperate climates, there is a species of palm called _chuta_, which produces a fruit of a very rich flavor. among the different varieties of trees are corkwood, sandal, myrtle, and pimento. the soil in some of the valleys on the north side is wonderfully rich, owing to deposits of burnt earth and decayed vegetable matter washed down from the mountains. there is but little level ground on the island; and although the area of tillable soil is small, yet by the culture of vineyards on the hill-sides, the grazing of sheep and goats on the mountain steeps, and the proper cultivation of the arable valleys, a population of several thousand might subsist comfortably. pearce, the american, who had thoroughly explored every part of the island, told me he had no doubt three or four thousand people could subsist here without any supply of provisions from other countries. a ready traffic could be established with vessels passing that way, by means of which potatoes, fruits, and other refreshments could be bartered for groceries and clothing. herds of wild cattle now roam over these beautiful valleys; fine horses may be seen prancing about in gangs, with all the freedom of the mustang; goats in numerous flocks abound among the cliffs; pigeons and other game are abundant; and wild dogs are continually prowling around the settlement. the few inhabitants at present on the island subsist chiefly upon fish, vegetables, and goat-flesh, of which they have an ample supply. boat-loads of the finest cod, rockfish, cullet, lobsters, and lamprey eels can be caught in a few hours all around the shores of cumberland bay, and doubtless as plentifully in the other bays. nothing more is necessary than merely the trouble of hauling them out of the water. we fished only for a short time, and nearly filled our boat with the fattest fish i ever saw. had i not tested myself a fact told me by some of the passengers of the brooklyn regarding the abundance of the smaller sorts of fish, i could never have believed it--that they will nibble at one's hand if it be put in the water alongside the boat, and a slight ripple made to attract their attention. this is a remarkable truth, which can be attested by any person who has visited these shores and made the experiment. there is no place among the cliffs where goats may not be seen at all times during the day. they live and propagate in the caves, and find sufficient browsing throughout the year in the clefts of the rocks. lord anson mentions that some of his hunting parties killed goats which had their ears slit, and they thought it more than probable that these were the very same goats marked by alexander selkirk thirty years before; so that it is not unlikely there still exist some of the direct descendants of the herds domesticated by the original crusoe. the residents of cumberland bay have about their huts a considerable number of these animals, tamed, for their milk. when they wish for a supply of goat-flesh or skins (for they often kill them merely for their skins), they go in a body to goat island, where they surround the goats and drive them over a cliff into the sea. as soon as they have driven over a sufficient number they take to their boat again, and catch them in the water. some of them they bring home alive, and keep them till they require fresh meat. nor are these people destitute of the rarer luxuries of life. by furnishing whale-ships that touch for supplies of water and vegetables with such productions as they can gather up, they obtain in exchange coffee, ship-bread, flour, and clothing; and lately they have been doing a good business in rowing the passengers ashore from the california vessels, and selling them goatskins and various sorts of curiosities. they also charge a small duty for keeping the spring of water clear and the boat-landing free from obstructions, and sometimes obtain a trifle in the way of port charges, in virtue of some pretended authority from the government of chili. the shores of juan fernandez abound in many different kinds of marine animals, among which the chief are seals and walruses. formerly sealing vessels made it an object to touch for the purpose of capturing them, but of late years they have become rather scarce, and at present few, if any, vessels visit the island for that purpose. [illustration: walrus, or sea lion.] situated in the latitude of ° ´ s., and longitude ° w., the climate is temperate and salubrious--never subject to extremes either of heat or cold. in the valleys fronting north, the temperature seldom falls below ° fahr. in the coldest season. open at all times to the pleasant breezes from the ocean, without malaria or any thing to produce disease, beautifully diversified in scenery, and susceptible of being made a convenient stopping-place for vessels bound to the great northwestern continent, it would be difficult to find a more desirable place for a colony of intelligent and industrious people, who would cultivate the land, build good houses, and turn to advantage all the gifts of providence which have been bestowed upon the island. the only material drawback is the want of a large and commodious harbor, in which vessels could be hauled up for repairs. this island could never answer any other purpose than that of a casual stopping-place for vessels in want of refreshments, and for this it seems peculiarly adapted. the principal harbors are port english, on the south side, visited by lord anson in ; port juan, on the west; and cumberland bay, on the north side. the latter is the best, and is most generally visited, in consequence of being on the fertile side of the island, where water also is most easily obtained. none of them afford a very secure anchorage, the bottom being deep and rocky; and vessels close to the shore are exposed to sudden and violent flaws from the mountains, and the danger of being driven on the rocks by gales from the ocean. in cumberland bay, however, there are places where vessels can ride in safety, by choosing a position suitable to the prevailing winds of the season. the chart and soundings made by lord anson will be found useful to navigators who design stopping at juan fernandez. chapter v. robinson crusoe's cave. our next expedition was to robinson crusoe's cave. how it obtained that name i am unable to say. the people ashore spoke of it confidently as the place where a seafaring man had lived for many years alone; and i believe most mariners who have visited the island have fixed upon that spot as the actual abode of alexander selkirk. there are two ways of getting to the cave from the regular boat-landing; one over a high chain of cliffs, intervening between crusoe's valley, or the valley of the cave, and the chilian huts near the landing; the other by water. the route by land is somewhat difficult; it requires half a day to perform it, and there is danger of being dashed to pieces by the loose earth giving way. in many parts of the island the surface of the cliffs is composed entirely of masses of burnt clay, which upon the slightest touch are apt to roll down, carrying every thing with them. numerous cases are related by the early voyagers of accidents to seamen and others, in climbing over these treacherous heights. the distance by water is only two miles, and by passing along under the brow of the cliffs a very vivid idea may be had of their strange and romantic formation. we had our guns with us, which we did not fail to use whenever there was an opportunity; but the game, consisting principally of wild goats, kept so far out of reach on the dizzy heights, that they passed through the ordeal in perfect safety. some of us wanted to go by land and shoot them from above, thinking the bullets would carry farther when fired downward than they seemed to carry when fired from below. the rest of the party had so little confidence in our skill that they dissuaded us from the attempt, on the pretense that the ship might heave in sight while we were absent. a pleasant row of half an hour brought us to the little cove in crusoe's valley. the only landing-place is upon an abrupt bank of rocks, and the surf breaking in at this part of the shore rather heavily, we had to run the boat up in regular beach-comber style. riding in on the back of a heavy sea, we sprang out as soon as the boat struck, and held our ground, when, by watching our chance for another good sea, we ran her clear out of the water, and made her fast to a big rock for fear she might be carried away. about two hundred yards from where we landed we found the cave. [illustration: crusoe's cave.] it lies in a volcanic mass of rock, forming the bluff or termination of a rugged ridge, and looks as if it might be the doorway into the ruins of some grand old castle. the height of the entrance is about fifteen feet, and the distance back into the extremity twenty-five or thirty. it varies in width from ten or twelve to eighteen feet. within the mouth the surface is of reddish rock, with holes or pockets dug into the sides, which it is probable were used for cupboards by the original occupant. there were likewise large spike-nails driven into the rock, upon which we thought it likely clothing, guns, and household utensils might have been hung even at as remote a date as the time of selkirk, for they were very rusty, and bore evidence of having been driven into the rock a long time ago. a sort of stone oven, with a sunken place for fire underneath, was partly visible in the back part of the cave, so that by digging away the earth we uncovered it, and made out the purpose for which it was built. there was a darkish line, about a foot wide, reaching up to the roof of the cave, which, by removing the surface a little, we discovered to be produced originally by smoke, cemented in some sort by a drip that still moistened the wall, and this we found came through a hole in the top, which we concluded was the original chimney, now covered over with deposits of earth and leaves from the mountain above. in rooting about the fireplace, so as to get away the loose rubbish that lay over it, one of our party brought to light an earthen vessel, broken a little on one side, but otherwise perfect. it was about eight inches in diameter at the rim, and an inch or two smaller at the bottom, and had some rough marks upon the outside, which we were unable to decipher, on account of the clay which covered it. afterward we took it out and washed it in a spring near by, when we contrived to decipher one letter and a part of another, with a portion of the date. the rest unfortunately was on the piece which had been broken off, and which we were unable to find, although we searched a long time; for, as may be supposed, we felt curious to know if it was the handiwork of alexander selkirk. for my own part, i had but little doubt that this was really one of the earthen pots made by his own hands, and the reason i thought so was that the parts of the letters and date which we deciphered corresponded with his name and the date of his residence, and likewise because it was evident that it must have been imbedded in the ground out of which we dug it long beyond the memory of any living man. i was so convinced of this, and so interested in the discovery, that i made a rough drawing of it on the spot, of which i have since been very glad, inasmuch as it was accidentally dropped out of the boat afterward and lost in the sea. [illustration: a relic of crusoe.] we searched in vain for other relics of the kind, but all we could find were a few rusty pieces of iron and some old nails. the sides of the cave, as also the top, had marks scattered over them of different kinds, doubtless made there in some idle moment by human hands; but we were unable to make out that any of them had a meaning beyond the unconscious expression of those vague and wandering thoughts which must have passed occasionally through the mind of the solitary mariner who dwelt in this lonely place. they may have been symbolical of the troubled and fluctuating character of his religious feelings before he became a confirmed believer in the wisdom and mercy of divine providence, which unhappy state of mind he often refers to in the course of his narrative. [illustration: crusoe's devotions.] this cave is now occupied only by wild goats and bats, and had not been visited, perhaps, by any human being, until recently, more than once or twice in half a century, and then probably only by some deserter from a whale-ship, who preferred solitude and the risk of starvation to the cruelty of a brutish captain. in front of the cave, sloping down to the sea-side, is a plain covered with long rank grass, wild oats, radishes, weeds of various kinds, and a few small peach-trees. the latter we supposed were of the stock planted in the island by lord anson. from the interior of the cave we looked out over the tangled mass of shrubs, wild flowers, and waving grass in front, and saw that the sea was covered with foam, and the surf beat against the point beyond the cove, and flew up in the air to a prodigious height in white clouds of spray. large birds wheeled about over the rocky heights, sometimes diving suddenly into the water, from which they rose again flecked with foam, and, soaring upward in the sunlight, their wings seemed to sparkle with jewels out of the ocean. following the curve of the horizon, the view is suddenly cut off by a huge cliff of lava that rises directly out of the water to the height of twelve or fifteen hundred feet. it forms an abrupt precipice in front, and joins a range of rugged cliffs behind, which all abound in wonderful ledges overlooking the depths below, dark and lonesome caverns, and sharp pinnacles piercing the clouds in every direction. goat-paths wind around them in places apparently inaccessible, and we saw herds of goats running swiftly along the dizzy heights overhanging the sea, where we almost fancied the birds of the air would fear to fly; they bounded over the frightful fissures in the rocks, and clung to the walls of cliffs with wonderful agility and tenacity of foot, and sometimes they were so high up that they looked hardly bigger than rabbits, and we thought it impossible that they could be goats. [illustration: the valley with the cave and cliff.] looking back into the valley, we beheld mountains stretching up to a hundred different peaks, the sides covered with woods and fields of golden-colored oats, and the ravines fringed with green banks of grass and wild flowers of every hue. a stream of pure spring water rippled down over the rocks, and wound through the centre of the valley, breaking out at intervals into bright cascades, which glimmered freshly in the warm rays of the sun; its margins were fringed with rich grass and fragrant flowers, and groves of myrtle overhung the little lakelets that were made in its course, and seemed to linger there like mirrored beauties spell-bound. ridges of amber-colored earth, mingled with rugged and moss-covered lava, sloped down from the mountains on every side and converged into the valley, as if attracted by its romantic beauties. immense masses of rock, cast off from the towering cliffs by some dread convulsion of the elements, had fallen from the heights, and now lay nestling in the very bosom of the valley, enamored with its charms. even the birds of the air seemed spell-bound within this enchanted circle; their songs were low and soft, and i fancied they hung in the air with a kind of rapture when they rose out of their sylvan homes, and looked down at all the wondrous beauties that lay outspread beneath them. [illustration: dream-land crusoe.] some of us scattered off into the woods of myrtle, or lay down by the spring in the pleasant shade of the trees, and bathed our faces and drank of the cool water; others went up the hill-sides in search of peaches, or gathered seeds and specimens of wild flowers to carry home. too happy in the change, after our gloomy passage round cape horn, i rambled up the valley alone, and dreamed glowing day-dreams of robinson crusoe. of all the islands of the sea, this had ever been the paradise of my boyish fancy. even later in life, when some hard experience before the mast had worn off a good deal of the romance of sea-life, i could never think of juan fernandez without a strong desire to be shipwrecked there, and spend the remainder of my days dressed in goatskins, rambling about the cliffs, and hunting wild goats. it was a very imprudent desire, to be sure, not at all sensible; but i am now making a confession of facts rather out of the common order, and for which it would be useless to offer any excuse. pleasant scenes of my early life rose up before me now with all their original freshness. how well i remembered the first time i read the surprising adventures of robinson crusoe! it was in the country, where i had never learned the worldly wisdom of the rising generation in cities. indeed, i had never seen a city, and only knew by hearsay that such wonderful places existed. my father, after an absence of some weeks, returned with an illustrated volume of crusoe, bound in cream-colored muslin (how plainly i could see that book now!), which he gave me, with a smiling admonition not to commence reading it for two or three years, by which time he hoped i would be old enough to understand it. that very night i was in a new world--a world all strange and fascinating, yet to me as real as the world around me. how i devoured each enchanting page, and sighed to think of ever getting through such a delightful history. it was the first book beyond mere fairy tales (which i had almost begun to doubt), the first narrative descriptive of real life that i had ever read. such a thing as a doubt as to its entire truthfulness never entered my head. i lingered over it with the most intense and credulous interest, and long after parental authority had compelled me to give it up for the night, my whole soul was filled with a confusion of novel and delightful sensations. before daylight i was up again; i could not read in the dark, but i could open the magic book and smell the leaves fresh from the press; and before the type was visible i could trace out the figures in the prints, and gaze in breathless wonder upon the wild man in the goatskins. [illustration: fairy cove.] the big tears stood in my eyes when i was through; but i found consolation in reading it again and again; in picturing out a thousand things that perhaps de foe never dreamt of; and each night when i went to bed i earnestly prayed to god that i might some day or other be cast upon a desolate island, and live to become as wonderful a man as robinson crusoe. yet, not content with that, i devoted all my leisure hours to making knife-cases, caps, and shot-pouches out of rabbit-skins, in the faint hope that it would hasten the blissful disaster. years passed away; i lived on the banks of the ohio; i had been upon the ocean. still a boy in years, and more so perhaps in feeling, the dream was not ended. i gathered up drift-wood, and built a hut among the rocks; whole days i lay there thinking of that island in the far-off seas. a piece of tarred plank from some steam-boat had a sweeter scent to me than the most odorous flower; for, as i lay smelling it by the hour, it brought up such exquisite visions of shipwreck as never before, perhaps, so charmed the fancy of a dreaming youth. well i remembered, too, the favored few that i let into the secret; how we went every afternoon to a sand-bar, and called it crusoe's island; how i was robinson crusoe, and the friend of my heart friday, whom i caused to be painted from head to foot with black mud, as also the rest of my friends; and then the battles we had; the devouring of the dead men; the horrible dances, and chasing into the water; and, above all, the rescue of my beloved friday--how vividly i saw those scenes again! [illustration: rescue of friday.] years passed on; i was a sailor before the mast. alas! what a sad reality! i saw men flogged like beasts; i saw cruelty, hardship, disease, death in their worst forms; so much i saw that i was glad to take the place of a wandering outcast upon the shores of a sickly island ten thousand miles from home, to escape the horrors of that life. yet the dream was not ended. bright and beautiful as ever seemed to me that little world upon the seas, where dwelt in solitude the shipwrecked mariner. in the vicissitudes of fortune, i was again a wanderer; impelled by that vision of island-life which for seventeen years had never ceased to haunt me, i cast all upon the hazard of a die--escaped in an open boat through the perils of a storm, and now--where was i? what pleasant sadness was it that weighed upon my heart? was all this a dream of youth; was it here to end, never more to give one gleam of joy; was the happy credulity, the freshness, the enthusiasm of boyhood gone forever? could it be that this was not crusoe's valley at last--this spot, which i had often seen in fancy from the banks of the ohio, dim in the mist of seas that lay between? did i really wander through it, or was it still a dream? and where was the king of the island; the hero of my boyish fancy; he who had delighted me with the narrative of his romantic career, as man had never done before, as all the pleasures of life have never done since; where was the genial, the earnest, the adventurous robinson crusoe? could it be that there was no "mortal mixture of earth's mould in him;" that he was barely the simple mariner alexander selkirk? no! no! robinson crusoe himself had wandered through these very groves of myrtle; he had quenched his thirst in the spring that bubbled through the moss at my feet; had slept during the glare of noon in the shade of those overhanging grottoes; had dreamed his day-dreams in these secluded glens. [illustration: crusoe asleep.] here, too, friday had followed his master; the simple, childlike friday, the most devoted of servants, the gentlest of savages, the faithfullest of men! blessing on thee, robinson, how i have admired thy prolific genius; how i have loved thee for thine honest truthfulness! and blessings on thee, friday, how my young heart hath warmed toward thee! how i have laughed at thy scalded fingers, and wept lest the savages should take thee away from me! * * * chapter vi. the valley on fire. there was a sudden rustling in the bushes. "hallo, there!" shouted a voice. i looked round and beheld a fellow-passenger, a strange, eccentric man, who was seldom known to laugh, and whose chief pleasure consisted in reducing every thing to the practical standard of common sense. he was deeper than would appear at first sight, and not a bad sort of person at heart, but a little wayward and desponding in his views of life. "you'll catch cold," said he; "nothing gives a cold so quick as sitting on the damp ground." "true," said i, smiling; "but recollect the romance of the thing." "romance," rejoined the sad man, "won't cure a cold. i never knew it to cure one in my life." "well, i suppose you're right. every body is right who believes in nothing but reality. the hewer of wood and the drawer of water gets more credit in the world for good sense than the unhappy genius who affords pleasure to thousands." "so he ought--he's a much more useful man." "granted; we won't dispute so well-established a truism. now let us cut a few walking-sticks to carry home. it will please our friends to find that we thought of them in this outlandish part of the world." "to be sure; if you like. but you'll never carry them home. no, sir, you can't do it. you'll lose them before you get half way to america." "no matter--they cost nothing. lend me your knife, and we'll try the experiment, at all events." i then cut a number of walking-sticks and tied them up in a bundle. and here, while the warning of the doubter is fresh in my mind, let me mention the fate of these much-valued relics. i cut four beautiful sticks of myrtle, every one of which i lost before i reached california, though i was very careful where i kept them--so careful, indeed, that i hid them away on board the ship and never could find them again. on our way back to the cave, as we emerged from the grove, i was astonished to see the entire valley in a blaze of fire. it raged and crackled up the sides of the mountains, blazing wildly and filling the whole sky with smoke. the beautiful valley upon which i had gazed with such delight a few hours before, seemed destined to be laid waste by some fierce and unconquerable destroyer, that devoured trees, shrubs, and flowers in its desolating career. the roar of the mad rushing flames, the seething tongues of fire shooting out from the bowers of shrubbery, the whirling smoke sweeping upward around the pinnacles of rock, the angry sea dimly seen through the chaos, and the sharp screaming of the sea-birds and dismal howling of the wild dogs, impressed me with a terrible picture of desolation. it seemed as if some dreadful convulsion of nature had burst forth soon to cover the island with seething lava or ingulf it in the ocean. "what can it be?" said i. "isn't it a grand sight? perhaps a volcano has broken out. surely it must be some awful visitation of providence. it wouldn't be comfortable, however, to be broiled in lava, so i think the sooner we get down to the boats the better." "there's no hurry," said my friend; "it's nothing but the californians down at the cave. i told them before i left that they'd set fire to the grass if they kept piling the brush up in that way. now you see they've done it." "yes, i see they have; and a tolerably big fire they've made of it too." i almost forgave them the wanton act of vandalism, so sublime was the scene. it was worth a voyage round cape horn to see it. "plenty of it," muttered the sad man, "to cook all the food that can be raised in these diggings. i wouldn't give an acre of ground in illinois for the whole island. i only wish they'd burn it up while they're at it--if it be an island at all, which i ain't quite sure of yet." the californians in juan fernandez. we reached the cave by rushing through the flames. when we arrived near the mouth, i was amused to find about twenty long-bearded californians, dressed in red shirts, with leather belts round their bodies, garnished with knives and pistols, and picks in their hands, with which they were digging into the walls of selkirk's castle in search of curiosities. their guns were stacked up outside, and several of the party were engaged in cooking fish and boiling coffee. they had battered away at the sides, top, and bottom of the cave in their eager search for relics, till they had left scarcely a dozen square feet of the original surface. every man had literally his pocket full of rocks. it was a curious sight, here in this solitary island, scarcely known to mariners save as the resort of pirates, deserters, and buccaneers, and chiefly to the reading world at home as the land of robinson crusoe, to see these adventurous americans in their red shirts, lounging about the veritable castle of the "wild man in the goatskins," digging out the walls, smoking cigars, whittling sticks, and talking in plain english about california and the election of general taylor. some of them even went so far as to propose a "prospecting" expedition through crusoe's valley in search of gold, while others got up a warm debate on the subject of annexation--the annexation of juan fernandez. one long, lank, slab-sided fellow, with a leathern sort of face, and two copious streams of tobacco-juice running down from the corners of his mouth, was leaning on his pick outside the cave, spreading forth his sentiments for the benefit of the group of gentlemen who were cooking the fish. [illustration: the californians in juan fernandez.] "i tell you, feller-citizens," said he, aroused into something like prophetic enthusiasm as the subject warmed upon his mind, "i tell you it's manifest destiny. joo-an fernandays is bound by all the rights of con-san-guity to be a part of the great ree-public of free states. gentlemen, i'm a destiny-man myself; i go the whole figure, sir; yes, sir, i'm none of your old hunkers. i go for joo-an fernandays and california, and any other small patches of airth that may be laying around the vicinity. we want 'em all, gentlemen; we want 'em for our whale-ships and the yeomanry of our country! (cheers.) we'll buy 'em from the spaniards, sir, with our gold; if we can't buy 'em sir, by hokey! we'll take 'em, sir! (renewed cheers.) i ask you, gentlemen--i appeal to your feelins as feller-citizens of _thee_ greatest concatenation of states on _thee_ face of god's airth, are you the men that'll refuse to fight for your country? (cheers, and cries of no, no, we ain't the men; hurra for joo-an fernandays!) then, by jupiter, sir, we'll have it! we'll have it as sure as the star of empire shines like the bright loo-min-ary of destiny in the broad panoply of heaven (and more especially in the western section of it). we'll have it, sir, as sure as that redolent and inspiring loominary beckons us on, sir, like a dazzling joo-el on the pre-moni-tary finger of hope; and the glorious stars and stripes, feller-citizens, shall wave proudly in the zephyrs of futurity over the exalted peaks of joo-an fernandays!" (tremendous sensation, during which the orator takes a fresh chew of tobacco, and sits down.) as soon as the party of annexationists perceived us, they called out to us to heave to, and make ourselves at home. "come on, gentlemen, come on! no ceremony. we're all americans! this is a free country. here's fish! here's bread! here's coffee! help yourselves, gentlemen! this is a great country, gentlemen--a great country!" of course we fell to work upon the fish, which was a splendid cod, and the bread and the coffee too, and very palatable we found them all, and exceedingly jolly and entertaining the "gentlemen from the brooklyn." these lively individuals had made the most of their time in the way of enjoying themselves ashore. about a week before our arrival they gave a grand party in honor of the american nation in general. it was in rather a novel sort of place, to be sure, but none the worse for that--one of the large caves near the boat-landing. on this eventful occasion they "scared up," as they alleged, sundry delicacies from home, such as preserved meats, pound-cake, champagne, and wines of various sorts, and out of their number they produced a full band of music. they also, by clearing the earth and beating it down, made a very good place for dancing, and they had waltzes, polkas, and cotillons, in perfect ballroom style. it was rather a novel entertainment, take it altogether, in the solitudes of juan fernandez. i have forgotten whether the four chilian ladies of the island attended; if they did not, it was certainly not for want of an invitation. the american crusoe was there, no longer monarch of all he surveyed. poor fellow, his reign was over. the californians were the sovereigns now. [illustration: fishing.] after our snack with the brooklynites, we joined our comrades down on the beach. they had shot at a great many wild goats, without hitting any, of course. the rest of the afternoon we spent in catching fish for supper. chapter vii. the cave of the buccaneers. it now began to grow late, and we thought it best to look about us for some place where we could sleep. captain richardson very kindly offered us the use of his cabin, but he was crowded with passengers, and we preferred staying ashore. there was something novel in sleeping ashore, but neither novelty nor comfort in a vessel with a hundred and eighty californians on board. brigham and a few others took our boat, and went over near the old fort to search out a camping-ground, while the rest of the party and myself started off with the captain to explore a grotto. we had a couple of sailors to row us, which helped to make the trip rather pleasant. turning a point of rocks, we steered directly into the mouth of the grotto, and ran in some forty or fifty feet, till nearly lost in darkness. it was a very wild and rugged place--a fit abode for the buccaneers. the cliff into which the cave runs is composed of great rocks, covered on top with a soil of red, burned earth. the swell of the sea broke upon the base with a loud roar, and the surf, rolling inward into the depths of the grotto, made a deep reverberation, like the dashing of water under a bridge. there was some difficulty in effecting a landing among these subterranean rocks, which were round and slippery. the water was very deep, and abounded in seaweed. on gaining a dry place, we found the interior quite lofty and spacious, and tending upward into the very bowels of the mountain. some said there was a way out clear up in the middle of the island. overhead it was hung with stalactites, some of which were of great size and wonderful formation. abraham and myself climbed up in the dark about a hundred feet, where we entirely lost sight of the mouth, and could hardly see an inch before us. as we turned back and began to descend, our friends down below looked like gigantic monsters standing in the rays of light near the entrance. i broke off some pieces of rock and put them in my pocket, as tokens of my visit to this strange place. on reaching the boat again, we found a group of our comrades seated around a natural basin in the rocks, regaling themselves on bread and water. the water, i think, was the clearest and best i ever tasted. it trickled down from the top of the cave, and fell into the basin with a most refreshing sound. i drank a pint gobletful, and found it uncommonly cool and pure. nothing more remaining to be seen, we started off for the boat-landing, near the huts, where we parted with our friend the captain, and then, it being somewhat late, we went in search of our party. chapter viii. lodgings under ground. when we arrived on the ground selected by brigham and the others, we found that they had made but little progress in cutting wood for the posts, and much remained to be done before we could get up the tent. heavy clouds hung over the tops of the mountains; the surf moaned dismally upon the rocks; big drops of rain began to strike us through the gusts of wind that swept down over the cliffs, and there was every prospect of a wet and stormy night. it was now quite dark. after some talk, we thought it best to abandon our plan of sleeping under the sail. finally, we agreed to go in search of a cave under the brow of a neighboring cliff. we had seen it during the day, and although a very unpromising place, we thought it would serve to protect us against the rain. we therefore took our oars and sail upon our shoulders, together with what few weapons of defense we had, and stumbled about in the dark for some time, till we had the good fortune to find the mouth of the cave. in the course of a few minutes we struck a light by a lucky chance, and then looked in. there seemed to be no bottom to it, and, so far as we could perceive, neither sides nor top. certainly there was not a living soul about the premises to deny us admission; so we crept down, as we thought, into the bowels of the earth, and, seeing nobody there, took possession of our lodgings, such as they were. it was a damp and gloomy place enough, reeking with mould, and smelling very strong of strange animals. the rocks hung gaping over our heads, as if ready to fall down upon us at the mere sound of our voices; the ground was covered with dirty straw, left there probably by some deserters from a whale-ship, and all around the sides were full of holes, which we supposed from the smell must be inhabited by foxes, rats, and perhaps snakes, though we were afterward told there were no reptiles on the island. we soon found that there were plenty of spiders and fleas in the straw. the ground being damp, we spread our sail over it, in order to make a sort of bed; and, being in a measure protected by a clump of bushes placed in the entrance by the previous occupants to keep out the wind and rain, we did not altogether despair of passing a tolerably comfortable night. for a while there was not much said by any body; we were all busy looking about us. some were looking at the rocks overhead; some into the holes, where they thought there might be wild animals; and myself and a few others were trying to light a fire in the back part of the cave. it smoked so that we had to give it up at last, for it well-nigh stifled the whole party. by this time, being all tired, we lay down, and had some talk about robinson crusoe. "if he lived in such holes as this," said one, "i don't think he had much sleep." "no," muttered another, "that sort of thing reads a good deal better than it feels; but there's no telling how a man may get used to it. eels get used to being skinned, and i've heard of a horse that lived on five straws a day." "for my part," adds a third, "i like it: there's romance about it--and convenience too, in some respects. for the matter of clothing, a man could wear goatskins. tailors never dunned robinson crusoe. it goes a great way toward making a man happy to be independent of fashion. being dunned makes a man miserable." "yes, it makes him travel a long way sometimes," sighs another, thoughtfully. "i'd be willing to live here a few years to get rid of society. what a glorious thing it must be to have nothing to do but hunt wild goats! robinson had a jolly time of it; no accounts to make out, no office-hours to keep, nobody to call him to account every morning for being ten minutes too late, in consequence of a frolic. talking about frolics, he wasn't tempted with liquor, or bad company either; he chose his own company: he had his parrot, his goats, his man friday--all steady sort of fellows, with no nonsense about them. i'll venture to say they never drank any thing stronger than water." [illustration: crusoe and his comrades.] "no," adds another, gloomily, "it isn't likely they applied 'hot and rebellious liquors to their blood.' but a man who lives alone has no occasion to drink. he has no love affairs on hand to drive him to it." "nor a scolding wife. i've known men to go all the way to california to get rid of a woman's tongue." there was a pause here, as most of the talkers began to drop off to sleep. "gentlemen," said somebody in the party, who had been listening attentively to the conversation, "i don't believe a single word of it. i don't believe there ever was such a man as robinson crusoe in the world. i don't believe there ever was such a man as friday. in my opinion, the whole thing is a lie, from beginning to end. i consider robinson crusoe a humbug!" "who says it's all a lie?" cried several voices, fiercely; "who calls robinson crusoe a humbug?" "that is to say," replied the culprit, modifying the remark, "i don't think the history is altogether true. such a person might have lived here, but he added something on when he told his story. he knew very well his man friday, or his dogs and parrots were not going to expose his falsehoods." "pooh! you don't believe in any thing; you never did believe in any thing since you were born. perhaps you don't believe in that. are you quite sure you are here yourself?" "well, to be candid, when i look about me and see what a queer sort of a place it is, i don't feel quite sure; there's room for doubt." "doubt, sir! doubt? do you doubt friday? do you think there's room for doubt in him?" "possibly there may have been such a man. i say there _may_ have been; i wouldn't swear to it." "fudge, sir! fudge! the fact is, you make yourself ridiculous. you are troubled with dyspepsia." "i am rayther dyspeptic, gentlemen, rayther so. i hope you'll excuse me, but i can't exactly say i believe in crusoe. it ain't my fault--the belief ain't naturally in me." upon which, having made this acknowledgment, we let him alone, and he turned over and went to sleep. we now pricked up our lamp, and prepared to follow his example, when a question arose as to the propriety of standing watches during the night--a precaution thought necessary by some in consequence of the treacherous character of the spaniards. there were eleven of us, which would allow one hour to each person. for my part, i thought there was not much danger, and proposed letting every man who felt uneasy stand watches for himself. we had labored without rest for thirty-six hours, and i was willing to trust to providence for safety, and make the most of our time for sleeping. a majority being of the same opinion, the plan of standing watches was abandoned; and having loaded our two guns, we placed them in a convenient position commanding the mouth of the cave. i got the harpoon and stood it up near me, for i had made up my mind to fasten on to the first spaniard that came within reach. attack of the robbers. scarcely had we closed our eyes and fallen into a restless doze, when a nervous gentleman in the party rose up on his hands and knees, and cautiously uttered these words: "friends, don't you think we'd better put out the light. the spaniards may be armed, and if they come here, the lamp will show them where we are, and they'll be sure to take aim at our heads." "sure enough," whispered two or three at once, "we didn't think of that; they can't see us in the dark, however, unless they have eyes like cats. let us put out the light, by all means." so with that we were about to put out the light, when the man who had doubts in regard to robinson crusoe rose up on his hands and knees likewise, and said, "hold on! i think you'd better not do that. it ain't policy. i don't believe in it myself." "confound it, sir," cried half a dozen voices, angrily, "you don't believe in any thing. what's the reason you don't believe in it, eh? what's the reason, sir?" "well, i'll tell you why. because, if you put out the light, we can't see where to shoot. likely as not we'd shoot one another. if i feel certain of any thing, it is, that i'd be the first man shot; it's my luck. i know i'd be a dead man before morning." there was something in this suggestion not to be laughed at. the most indignant of us felt the full force of it. to shoot our enemies in self-defense seemed reasonable enough, but to shoot any of our own party, even the man who doubted robinson crusoe, would be a very serious calamity. at last, after a good deal of talk, we compromised the matter by putting the lamp under an old hat with a hole in the top. this done, we tried to go to sleep. brigham went to the mouth of the cave about midnight to take an observation. he was armed with one of the guns. "what's that?" said he, sharply; "i hear something! gentlemen, i hear something! hallo! who goes there?" there was no answer. nothing could be heard but the moaning of the surf down on the beach. "a spaniard! by heavens, a spaniard! i'll shoot him--i'll shoot him through the head!" "don't fire, brigham," said i, for i wanted a chance to fasten on with the harpoon; "wait till he comes up, and ask him what he wants." "ahoy there! what do you want? answer quick, or i'll shoot you! speak, or you're a dead man!" all hands were now in commotion. we rushed to the mouth of the cave in a body, determined to defend ourselves to the last extremity. "gentlemen," cried brigham, a little confused, "it's a goat! i see him now, in the rays of the moon; a live goat, coming down the cliff. shall i kill him for breakfast?" "wait," said i, "till he comes a little closer; i'll bend on to him with the harpoon." "you'd better let him alone," said the doubter, in a sepulchral voice. "likely as not it's a tame goat or a chicken belonging to the american down there." "a tame devil, sir! how do you suppose they could keep tame goats in such a place as this. your remark concerning the chicken is beneath contempt!" "well, i don't know why. tain't my nature to take an entire goat without proof. i thought it might be a chicken." "then you'd better go and satisfy yourself, if you're not afraid." the doubter did so. he walked a few steps toward the object, so as to get sight of its outline, and then returned, saying, "that thing there isn't a goat at all--neyther is it a chicken." "what is it, then?" "nothing but a bush." "what makes it move?" "the wind, i suppose. i don't know what else could make it move, for it ain't got the first principle of animal life in it. bushes don't walk about of nights any more than they do in the daytime. i never did believe in it from the beginning, and i told you so, but you wouldn't listen to me." we said nothing in reply to this, but returned into the cave and lay down again upon the sail. chapter ix. cooking fish. most of the party were snoring in about ten minutes. for myself, i found it impossible to sleep soundly. the gloomy walls of rock, the strange and romantic situation into which chance had thrown me, the remembrance of what i had read of this island in early youth, the dismal moaning of the surf down on the beach, all contributed to confuse my mind. an hour or two before daylight, i was completely chilled through by the dampness of the ground, and entirely beyond sleep. [illustration: cooking in juan fernandez.] i heard some voices outside, and got up to see who was talking. lest it might be the spaniards, i took the harpoon with me. at the mouth of one of the convict-cells near by i found four of my comrades, who, unable to pass the time any other way, had lit a fire and were baking some fish. they had dug a hole in the ground, which they lined with flat stones, so as to form a kind of oven; this they heated with coals. then they wrapped up a large fish in some leaves, and put it in; and by covering the top over with fire, the fish was very nicely baked. i think i never tasted any thing more delicate or better flavored. we had an abundant meal, which we relished exceedingly. the smoke troubled us a good deal; but, by telling stories of shipwreck, and wondering what our friends at home would think if they could see us here cooking fish, we contrived to pass an hour or so very pleasantly. i then went back into the cave, and turned in once more upon the sail. of course, after eating fish at so unusual an hour, i had a confusion of bad dreams. perhaps they were visions. in this age of spiritual visitations, it is not altogether unlikely the spirits of the island got possession of me. at all events, i saw robinson crusoe dressed in goatskins, and felt him breathe, as plainly as i see this paper and feel this pen. how could i help it? for i actually thought it was myself that had been shipwrecked; that i was the very original crusoe, and no other but the original; and i fancied that abraham had turned black, and was running about with a rag tied round his waist, and i called him my man friday, and fully believed him to be friday. sometimes i opened my eyes and looked round the dismal cavern, and clenched my fists, and hummed an old air of former times to try if robinson had become totally savage in his nature; but it was all the same, there was no getting rid of the illusion. the dawn of day came. no ship was in sight. the sea was white with foam, and gulls were soaring about over the rock-bound shores. i walked down to a spring and bathed my head, which was hot and feverish for want of rest. bright and early we started off on a goat-hunt among the mountains. several passengers from the brooklyn, well provided with guns, joined the party, and the enthusiasm was general. it had been my greatest desire, from the first sight of the island, to ascend a high peak between the harbor and crusoe's valley, and by following the ridge from that point, to explore as far as practicable the interior. for this purpose, i selected as a companion my friend abraham, in whose enthusiastic spirit and powers of endurance i had great confidence. he was heartily pleased to join me; so, buckling up our belts, we branched off from the party, who by this time were peppering away at the wild goats. we were soon well up on the mountain. another adventurer joined us before we reached the first elevation; but he was so exhausted by the effort, and so unfavorably impressed by the frightful appearance of the precipices all round, that he was forced to abandon the expedition and return into the valley. we speedily lost sight of him, as he crept down among the declivities. [illustration: the cliff.] the side of the mountain which we were ascending was steep and smooth, and was covered with a growth of long grass and wild oats, which made it very hard to keep the goat-paths; and all about us, except where these snake-like traces lay, was as smooth and sloping as the roof of a house. there was one part of the mountain that sloped down in an almost perpendicular line to the verge of the cliff overhanging the sea, where the abrupt fall was more than a thousand feet, lined with sharp crags. this fearful precipice rose like a wall of solid rock out of the sea, and there was a continual roar of surf at its base. there was no way of getting up any higher without scaling the slope above, which, as i said before, was covered with long grass and oats, that lay upon it like the thatch of a house; and the rain which had fallen during the previous night now made it very smooth. i looked at it, i must confess, with something like dismay, thinking how we were to climb over such a steep place without slipping down over the cliff; when i beheld abraham, of whom i had lost sight for a time, toiling upward upon it like a huge bear. his outline against the sky reminded me especially of a bear of the grizzly species. i saw that he clung to the roots of the grass with his hands, and dug his toes into the soft earth to keep from sliding back, in case his hold should give way. committing myself to providence, i started after him by a shorter cut, grasping hold of the grass by the roots as i went. every few perches, i stopped to search for a strong bunch of grass, for there was nothing else to hold on by. some of it was so loose that it gave way as soon as i laid hold of it, and i came near going for want of something to balance me. six inches of a slide would have sent me twirling over the cliff into the raging surf a thousand feet below. once, impressed with the terrible idea that i was slipping, i stopped short, and my heart beat till it shook me all over. it was only by lying flat down and seizing the roots of the grass with both hands, while i dug my toes into the sod, that i retained my presence of mind. indeed, at this place, having turned to look back, i was so struck with horror at the frail tenure upon which my life depended, that i turned partly blind, and a rushing noise whirled through my brain at the thought that i should be no longer able to retain my grasp. if for one moment i lost my consciousness and let go my hold of the grass, i would surely be lost; there was no hope; i must be dashed over the precipice, and go spinning through a thousand feet of space till i struck the rocks below, or was buried in the surf. i lay panting for breath, while every muscle quivered as if it would shake loose my grasp. in the space of five minutes i thought more of death than i had ever thought before. was this to be my end after all? what would they say on board the ship when i was dead? what would be the distress of my friends and kindred at home when they heard how my mangled body was picked up in the surf, and buried upon this lonely rock-bound island? a thousand thoughts flashed through my brain in succession. even the happy days of my youth rose up before me now, but the vision was sadly mingled with errors and follies that could never be retrieved. believing my time had come, i looked upward in my agony, and beheld abraham, scarcely twenty yards in advance, lying down in the same position, with hands stretched out and dug into the roots of the grass. "abraham," said i, "this is terrible!" "yes," said he, "a foretaste of death, if nothing worse." "but how in the world are we to get out of it?" "i don't know--there seems to be no hope; we can't go back again, that's an absolute certainty. in my opinion, we'll have to stay here till somebody comes for us, which doesn't seem a likely chance just now." a good rest, however, having inspired us with fresh courage, we resolved upon pushing on. there was a narrow ledge about a hundred yards above us; if we could reach that, we would be safe for the present. by great exertion we got a little above the place where we had lain down; and, the sod beginning to give way as before, we threw ourselves on our faces again, and rested a while. in this way, hanging, as it were, between life and death, we at last reached the ledge. here we flung ourselves on the solid rock, quite exhausted. abraham was a brave man, but he now lay gasping for breath, as pale as a ghost. i suppose i looked about the same, for, to tell the honest truth, i was well-nigh scared out of my senses. certainly all the gold of ophir could not have induced me to go through the same ordeal again. there was still above us, about five hundred feet higher, a point or pyramid of volcanic rock, that stood out over the sea in a slanting direction. it was the highest peak in the neighborhood of the coast, and was called the nipple. we had done nothing yet compared with the ascent of that peak. both of us looked toward it, and smiled. "shall we try it?" said abraham. "no," said i, "we never could get up there; it would be perfect folly to try." "i think not, luff; it isn't so smooth as the place we have just climbed over. don't you see there are rocks to hold on to?" "yes, but they look as if they'd give way. however, if you say so, we'll make the attempt." with this, we each drew a long breath, and commenced climbing up the rocks. sometimes we dug our fingers into the crevices and lifted ourselves up, and sometimes we wound around ledges less than a foot wide, overhanging deep chasms, and were forced to cling to the rough points that jutted out in order to keep our balance. flocks of pigeons flew startled from their nests, and whirled past us, as if affrighted at the intrusion of man. herds of wild goats dashed by us also, and ran bleating down into the rugged defiles, where they looked like so many insects. the wind whistled mournfully against the sharp crags, and swept against us in such fierce and sudden gusts that we were sometimes obliged to stop and cling to the rocks with all our might to keep from being blown off. at last we reached the base of the nipple. this was the wildest place of all. above us stood the dizzy peak, like the turret of a ruined castle, overlooking the surf at a height of nearly two thousand feet. we now lay down again, breathing hard, and a good deal exhausted. when partly recovered, i looked over the edge toward crusoe's valley. it was the grandest sight i ever beheld; rugged cliffs and winding ridges hundreds of feet below; a green valley embowered in shrubbery nestling beneath the heights, all calm and smiling in the warm sunshine; slopes of woodland stretching up in the ravines; a line of white spray from the surf all along the shores, and the boundless ocean outspread in one vast sweep beyond. "i'll tell you what it is, luff," said abraham, "this may be all very fine, but i don't want to try it again." "nor i either, abraham. isn't it awful climbing?" "yes, awful enough; but we must get on the top of that old castle there." "to be sure," said i, rather doubtfully. "of course, abraham; we ought to climb that as a sort of climax. it will make an excellent climax either to ourselves or the adventure." saying this, i walked a few steps from the place where we were lying down, to see if there was any way of scaling the nipple. it appeared to be a huge pile of loose rocks ready to fall to pieces upon being touched. it was about a hundred feet high, and nearly perpendicular all round. there was no part that seemed to me at all accessible. even the first part or foundation could not be reached without passing over a sharp ridge, steep at both sides, and entirely destitute of vegetation. i was not quite mad enough to undertake such a thing as this without the least hope of success. "no, abraham," said i, "we can't do it. i see no way of getting up there." "let me take a look," said abraham, who was always fertile in discoveries. "i think i see a place that we can climb over, so as to get on that horseback sort of a ridge, and the rest of the way may be easier than we suppose." [illustration: abraham on the peak.] he then walked a few steps round a ledge of crumbling rock, and i soon saw him climbing up where it seemed as if there was no possible way of holding on. i actually began to think there was something supernatural in his hands and feet; yet i felt an indescribable dread that he would fall at last. for a while i was in perfect agony; each moment i expected to see him roll headlong over the cliff. presently i lost sight of him altogether. i thought he had lost his balance, and was dashed to atoms below! seized with horror, i sat down and groaned aloud. again i rose and ran to the edge of the cliff, shouting wildly in the faint hope that he was not yet lost. there was no answer but the wail of the winds and the moaning of the surf. while i looked from the depths to the fearful height above, i saw his head rise slowly and cautiously over the top of the nipple; then his body, and then, with a wild shout of triumph, he stood waving his hat on the summit! there he stood, a man of stalwart frame, now no bigger than a dwarf against the sky! i saw him point toward the horizon, and, looking in the direction of his finger, perceived the anteus about twenty miles off under short sail. he remained but a few minutes in this perilous position, as i supposed on account of the wind, which was now very strong. on his return, being unable to get down on the same side, he was forced to creep backward over the ridge, and lower himself by fixing his hands in the crevices to the ledge over the sea, from which he made his way round to the starting-point. when he reached the spot where i stood, he sat down, breathing hard, and looking very pale. "luff," said he, "don't go up there. it shook under me like a tree. every flaw of wind made it sway as if it would topple over." "why," said i, "after scaring me out of my wits, it isn't exactly fair to deprive me of some satisfaction." "don't do it, luff; i warn you as a friend! it ought to be satisfaction enough to find me here safe and sound, after such a climb as that." "no, abraham, i must do it; because when we return to the ship, don't you see what an advantage you'll have over me?" "only in being the greater fool." "then there must be two fools, to make us even. it would hardly be friendly to let you be the only one; so here goes, abraham. in case i tumble over, give my love to all at home, and tell them i died like a trojan." all this was folly, to be sure; but how could i help it? how could i bear the thought of hearing abraham talk about having scaled the nipple, while i was ingloriouly groaning for him down below? it would mortify me to the very soul. following now the same path that abraham had taken, i was soon on top of the first elevation; for, being lighter and more active, though not so strong, i had rather the advantage in climbing. here i wound round by a different way, so as to reach the ridge that led over the chasm. it was about the width of a horse's back, sloping down abruptly on each side. the distance was not over twenty feet, which i gained by straddling the ridge and working along by my hands. the descent on each side was, as before stated, nearly two thousand feet. i need not say it was the most terrible ride i ever had. indeed, when i think of it now, it brings up strange and thrilling sensations. how i got over the final peak, i can hardly tell; it seems as if i must have been drunk with excitement, and reached the summit by one of those mysterious chances of fortune which not unfrequently favor men whose minds are in a morbid state. when i looked down on the waters of the bay, i saw the brooklyn still at anchor. she looked like some big insect floating on its back, with its legs in the air and little insects running about all over it. i staid up on the top of the nipple only a few minutes. the view on every side was sublime beyond all the powers of language; but a gust of wind coming, the frail pinnacle of lava upon which i stood swayed, as abraham had told me; and, fearing it would tumble over, i hurried down the best way i could. chapter x. ramble into the interior. finding by the sun that it was yet early in the day, we resolved, after resting awhile, to push on as far as we could go into the interior. the prospect was perfectly enchanting. winding ridges and deep gorges lay before us as we looked back from the ocean; and cool glens, shaded with myrtle, and open fields of grass in the soft haze below, and springs bubbling over the rocks with a pleasant music; all varied, all rich and tempting. away we darted over the rocks, shouting with glee, so irresistible was the feeling of freedom after our dreary ship-life, and so inspiring the freshness of the air and the wondrous beauty of the scenery. the ridge upon which our path lay was barely wide enough for a foothold. it was composed of loose stones and crumbling pieces of clay. the precipice on the right was nearly perpendicular; on the left craggy peaks reared their grizzled heads from masses of dark green shrubbery, like the turrets of ancient castles shaken to ruin by the tempests of ages. sometimes we had to get down on our hands and knees, and creep over the narrow goat-paths for twenty or thirty feet, holding on by the roots and shrubs that grew in the crevices of the rocks, and at intervals force ourselves through jungles of bushes so closely interwoven that for half an hour we could scarcely gain a hundred yards. about three miles back from the sea-coast, having labored hard to reach a high point overlooking one of the interior valleys, we were stopped by an abrupt rampart of rocks. here we had to look about us, and consider a long time how we were to get over it. we now began to suffer all the tortures of thirst after our perilous adventure on the nipple, and our subsequent struggle through the bushes and along the ridge. there was no sign of a spring any where near; the cliffs were bleached with the wind, and not so much as a drop of water could be found in any of the hollows that had been washed in the rocks by the rain. in this extremity we sat down on a bank of moss, ready to die of thirst, and began to think we would have to return without getting a sight of the valley on the other side of the cliff, when i observed a curious plant close by, nearly covered with great bowl-shaped leaves. "abraham," said i, "may be there's water there!" "may be there is," said abraham; "let us look." we jumped up and ran over to where the strange plant was, and there we beheld the leaves half full of fine clear water! "there! what do you think of that, abraham? isn't it refreshing? you see it requires a person like me to find fresh water on the top of a mountain where there are no springs." "yes, yes," quoth abraham, slowly, "but may be it's poison." "sure enough--may be it is! i didn't think of that," said i, very much startled at the idea of drinking poison. "suppose you drink some and try. if it doesn't do you any harm, i'll drink some myself in about half an hour." "well, i would like a good drink," said abraham, thoughtfully; "there's no denying that. but it always goes better when i have a friend to join me. i'll tell you what i'll do, luff. you take one bowl and i'll take another, and we'll sit down here and call it whisky punch, and both drink at the same time." "very good," said i, "that's a fair bargain. come on, abraham." so we cut the stems of two large leaves, containing each about a pint of water, and sat down on a rock. "your health," said i, raising my bowl; "long life and happiness to you, abraham!" "thank you," said abraham; "the same to you!" "why don't you drink?" i asked, seeing that my friend kept looking at me without touching the contents of the bowl. "i'm going to drink presently." "drink away, then!" "here goes!" but it was not "here goes," for he still kept looking at me without drinking. "well," said i, impatiently, "what are you afraid of?" "i'm not afraid," cried abraham, "but i don't see you drinking." "nonsense, man! i'm waiting for you!" "go ahead, then." "go ahead." here there was a long pause, and we watched each other with great attention. at last, entirely out of patience, i lowered my bowl and said, "abraham, do you want me to poison myself?" "no, i don't," said abraham; "i'd be very sorry for it." "then why did you propose that we should drink this poison together? for i verily believe it must be poison, or it wouldn't look so tempting." "because you wanted me to drink it first." "did i? give me your hand, abraham; i forgot that." whereupon we shook hands, and agreed to consider it not whisky punch, but poison, and drink none at all. [illustration: the trogon.] our thirst increasing to a painful degree, we were about to retrace our steps, when i observed a little bird perch himself upon the edge of a leaf not far off, and commence drinking from the hollow. i told abraham to look. "sure enough," said he, "birds don't drink whisky punch." "no," said i, "god almighty never made a bird or a four-legged beast yet that would naturally drink punch or any other kind of poison. it must be water, and good water too, for birds have more sense than men about what they drink. so here goes, whether you join or not." "and here goes too!" cried abraham; and we both, without hesitating any longer, emptied our bowls to the bottom; and so pure and delicious was the water that we emptied half a dozen leavesful more, and never felt a bit afraid that it would hurt us; for we knew then that god had made these cups of living green, and filled them with water fresh from the heavens for the good of his creatures. chapter xi. the valley of enchantment. thus refreshed, we set to work boldly, and, by dint of hard climbing, reached the top of the cliff. it was the highest point on the island next to the peak of yonka. we looked over the edge and down into a lovely valley covered with grass. wooded ravines sloped into it on every side, and streams wound through it hedged with bushes, and all around us the air was filled with a sweet scent of wild flowers. in that secluded valley, so seldom trodden by the foot of man, we saw how much of beauty lay yet unrevealed upon earth; and our souls were filled with an abiding happiness: for time might dim the mortal eye; the freshness of youth might pass away; all the bright promises of life might leave us in the future; but there was a resting-place there for the memory; an impression, made by the divine hand within, that could never fade; a glimpse in our earthly pilgrimage of that promised land where there is harmony without end--beauty without blemish--joy beyond all that man hath conceived. [illustration: the valley.] nothing was here of that stern and inhospitable character that marked the rock-bound shores of the island. a soft haze hung over the valley; a happy quiet reigned in the perfumed air; the breath of heaven touched gently the flowers that bloomed upon the sod; all was fresh and fair, and full of romantic beauty. yet there was life in the repose; abundance within the maze of heights that encircled the dreamy solitude. fields of wild oats waved with changing colors on the hill-sides; green meadows swept around the bases of the mountains; rich and fragrant shrubs bloomed wherever we looked; fair flowers and running vines hung over the brows of the rocks, crowning them as with a garland; and springs burst out from the cool earth and fell in white mist down into the groves of myrtle below, and were lost in the shade. nowhere was there a trace of man's intrusion. wild horses, snuffing the air, dashed out into the valley in all the joyousness of their freedom, flinging back their manes and tossing their heads proudly; and when they beheld us, they started suddenly, and fled up the mountains beyond. herds of goats ran along the rugged declivities below us, looking scarcely bigger than rabbits; and birds of bright and beautiful plumage flew close around our heads, and lit upon the trees. it was a fair scene, untouched by profaning hands; fair and solitary, and lovely in its solitude as the happy valley of rasselas. chapter xii. a strange discovery. while i was trying to make a sketch of this valley of enchantment, as we called it, abraham was peering over the cliff, and looking about in every direction in search of some ruin or relic of habitation. he was not naturally of a romantic turn, but he had a keen eye for every thing strange and out of the way, and an insatiable thirst for the discovery of natural curiosities. already his pockets were full of roots and pieces of rock; and it was only by the utmost persuasion that i could prevent him from carrying a lump of lava that must have weighed twenty pounds. without any cause, so far as i could see, he began stamping upon the ground, and then, picking up a big stone, he rolled it over the edge of the cliff, and eagerly peeped after it, holding both hands to his ears as if to listen. "what's that, abraham?" said i; "you are certainly losing your wits." "i knew it! i knew it!" he cried, greatly excited; "it's perfectly hollow. there's a natural castle in it!" "where? in your head?" "no, in the cliff here; it's all hollow--a regular old castle! come on! come on, luff! we're bound to explore it. may be we'll rake up something worth seeing yet!" saying which, he bounded down a narrow ledge on the left, and i, as a matter of course, followed. our path was not the most secure, winding as it did over an abyss some hundreds of feet in a direct fall; but our previous experience enabled us to spring over the rocks with wonderful agility, and work our way down the more difficult passes in a manner that would have done credit to animals with four legs. portions of the earth formed a kind of narrow stairway, so distinct and regular that we almost thought it must be of artificial construction. in about ten minutes we reached a broad ledge underneath the brow of the cliff. turning our backs to the precipice, we saw a spacious cavity in the rocks, shaped a good deal like an immense gothic doorway, all overhung with vines and wild fern. "i knew it!" cried abraham, enthusiastically. "a regular old castle, by all that's wonderful! crusoe's cave is nothing to it! just see what a splendid entrance; what ancient turrets; what glorious old walls of solid rock!" "verily, it does look like a castle," said i. "we must call it the castle of abraham, in honor of the discoverer." "yes, but it strikes me there may be another discoverer already. look at these marks on the rock!" "true enough; goats never make marks like these!" near the mouth or entrance of the grotto, traced in black lines, evidently with a burnt stick, we saw a number of curious designs, so defaced by the dripping of water from above that we were unable for some time to make out that they had any meaning. at length, by carefully following the darkest parts, we got some clew to the principal objects intended to be represented, which were very clumsily drawn, as if by an unskillful hand. there was a figure of a man, lying upon a horizontal line, with his face turned upward; the limbs were twisted and broken, and the expression of the features was that of extreme agony; the eyes were closed, the back of the head crushed in, the mouth partly open, and the tongue hanging out. one hand grasped a jagged rock, the other a knife with a part of the blade broken off. close by, with its head upon his feet, was the skeleton of a strange animal, so rudely sketched that we could hardly tell whether it was intended for a goat or not. it had the horns of a goat, but the eyes, turning upward in their sockets, looked like those of a child that had died some horrible death. waving lines were drawn some distance off, as representing the sea in a storm; a large ship under sail was standing off in the foam from a pile of rocks that rose out of the sea like a desolate island. the body of a man could be seen under the waves, struggling toward the ship; a shark was tearing the flesh from his legs, and the hands were thrown up wildly over the water. underneath the whole were several rude sketches of human hearts, pierced through with knives. a hand pointed upward at the figure first described. it had a ring on the forefinger; the tendons of the wrist hung down, as if wrenched from the arm by some instrument of torture. around these strange designs were numerous others, representing the heads of eagles; a famished wolf, gnawing its own flesh; and the corpses of two children, strangled with a rope; besides other rude sketches of which we could make nothing; and, indeed, some of these already mentioned were so indistinct, that we were forced to depend a good deal on conjecture in order to come to any conclusion in regard to what they were intended to represent; so that i have given but a vague idea, at best, of the whole thing. "there's something strange about this," said abraham, trembling all over; "something more than we may like to see. let us go into the cave, and try if we can solve the mystery." "i don't think there's much mystery about it," said i; "evidently some sailor who ran away from a ship has occupied this as a hiding-place; these strange designs he has doubtless made in some idle hour, to represent scenes in his own life. the fellow had a bad conscience--he has left the mark of it here." "he may have left more than that," said abraham, seriously; "he may have fallen from one of these rocks, and lain here for days, helpless and dying: in the agonies of thirst, driven delirious by fever, he tried, perhaps, to tell by these signs how he died. if i'm not mistaken, we'll find some farther clew to this affair within there. let us see, at all events." we then went into the cave, and looked around us as far as the light reached. it was very lofty and spacious, and made a short turn at the back part, so that all beyond was quite wrapt in darkness. weeds hung in crevices of the dank walls of rock; a few footprints of animals were marked in the ground, some slimy tracks were made over the rocks by snails, and these, together with a dull sound of the flapping of wings made by a number of bats that hung overhead, had a very gloomy effect. however, seeing nothing else in the front part of the cave, we groped our way back into the dark passage at the end, and followed it up till we reached a sort of natural stairway leading into an upper chamber. for some time we hesitated about going up here, thinking there might be a hole or break in the rocks through which by mischance we might fall, and be cast down into some vault or fissure underneath. after a while our eyes got a little used to the darkness, and we thought we could discern the chamber a few steps above into which this stairway led; so we crept up cautiously, feeling our way as we went, and as soon as we found that the ground was level we stood upon our feet, and perceived, from the height above us, and the vacancy all around, that we were in a spacious apartment of the cavern. there still being some danger of falling through, as we discerned by the hollow sound made by our feet, we only went a short distance beyond the entrance, when we stopped still on account of the darkness, which was now quite impenetrable. "a queer place!" said abraham; "very like one of the piratical retreats you read about in novels." "very, indeed, and quite as unlike reality," said i; "it doesn't seem to be inhabited by pirates now, though, or any thing else except bats. i wish we had a torch, abraham, for i vow i can't see an inch before me." "that's not a bad idea," said abraham; "i think i have a match in my pocket, but it won't do to run the risk of missing fire here. wait a bit, luff; i'll go back to the mouth of the cave, and rake up some brush-wood. we'll have some light on the subject presently--if the match don't miss fire." abraham then crept back the way we came, as i supposed, for i could see nothing in any direction, and only heard a dull echo around the walls of rock, growing fainter and fainter, till all i was sensible of was the flitting of some bats by my head, and the breath passing through my nostrils. to tell the honest truth, i felt some very queer sensations steal over me upon finding myself all alone in this dark hole, unable to see so much as my hand within an inch of my eyes, and not knowing but the first thing i felt might be a snake or tarentula creeping up my legs, or the bite of some monstrous bat. i waited with great impatience, without daring to move, lest i should miss the way back and fall through the earth; for in the confusion of my thoughts i had lost all knowledge of the direction of the entrance, and this very thing, perhaps, caused me to magnify the time as it elapsed. it seemed to me that abraham would never return, he staid away so long, and this brought up some strange and startling thoughts. suppose, in his search for the brush-wood, he had slipped off the ledge in front of the cave? suppose he had lost his footing in the dark passage on the way out, and fallen into some unfathomable depth below? suppose a gang of wild dogs, driven to desperation by hunger, had seized him, and were now, with all their wolfish instincts, tearing him to pieces? the more i thought, the more vague and terrible became my conjectures; till, no longer able to endure the torture of suspense, i shouted his name with all my might. there was no answer but the startling echoes of my own voice, which seemed to mock me in a thousand different directions. i shouted again, and again there was the same fearful reverberation of voices, growing fainter and fainter till they seemed to die upon the air, like the passing away of hope. i now began to peer through the darkness in all directions, with the intention of retracing my steps should i discover any indication of the entrance by which to direct my course. at first it appeared as if the darkness was of the same density all round, but gradually, as i strained my eyes, i thought i perceived a faint glimmer of light, and thither i cautiously made my way, groping about with my hands as i advanced. in a few moments i felt, by a rush of air, that i was near an opening, and the light growing stronger at the same time, i soon perceived that it led downward in a slanting direction, in the same way as the passage through which we had come up. i was now satisfied that there would be no farther difficulty in getting out, and having no cause to imagine that the place had changed, began to descend as rapidly as possible. all of a sudden my feet slipped from under me, and i went flying down a sort of _chute_, without any power to stop myself, and so terrible was the sensation that i was perfectly speechless, though conscious all the time. it was not long, however, this suspense, for i struck bottom almost at the next moment, and went rolling over headlong into an open space. as soon as i looked around me, i perceived a cleft in the rocks, some fifteen feet above, through which there was a dim ray of light, and this, as i took it, was what had misled me. my sight being rather confused, i now began to grope around me, in order to ascertain if there were any more holes near by, when i discovered that there was straw scattered about over the ground. instinctively i thought about the strange marks on the rocks near the mouth of the cave. now if there should be a dead body here, or a skeleton! what a companion in this lonely dungeon! a cold tremor ran through me, and i actually thought that, should i accidentally touch the clammy flesh of a corpse in such a place, it would drive me mad. for a while i scarcely dared to look around, but the absolute necessity of finding some place of exit at last overcame my apprehensions. the light from above was quite faint, as before stated, but yet sufficient, upon getting used to it, to enable me to perceive that i was in a sort of chamber about fifteen feet in diameter, closed on every side except where i had so unexpectedly entered; and i was greatly relieved to find that there was nothing on the ground but a thin layer of straw scattered about here and there, and a few pieces of wood partly burned. i lost no time in making my way into the chute again, which i found but little difficulty in ascending, for it was not so steep as i had supposed. upon regaining the large apartment from which i had wandered, i heard the muffled echoes of a voice coming, as i thought, from the depths below. they soon grew louder, and i noticed a reddish light faintly shining upon the dark masses of rock. could it be abraham? surely it must be, for i now heard my name distinctly called. "halloo there, luff! where are you. luff? why don't you come on?" "i'm coming," said i, making a rapid rush toward the light, "as fast as i can." "all right!" said abraham; "come on quick!" it was not long, as may be supposed, before i was scrambling down the rough stairway of rocks by which we had originally entered the mysterious chamber; and the next moment i was standing before abraham in the passage, which was now no longer dark, for it was lit up with a tremendous torch of brush-wood, which he held in both hands. "why, where in the name of sense have you been?" cried he, rather excited, as i thought; "what have you been doing all this time?" "doing?" said i; "only exploring the cave, abraham--hunting up curiosities for pastime." "nonsense! i've been calling at you for ten minutes. i didn't want to leave the torch, or i'd have gone up after you; for i couldn't hold it and use my hands at the same time, and i thought if it went out we couldn't light it up again. besides, i've found a treasure--a treasure, luff, beyond all price." "what is it, abraham--a lump of gold?" "pooh! gold couldn't buy it! a skull, sir--a human skull! that's what i've found!" "only a skull? i came near finding the whole body," said i, involuntarily shuddering as i thought of the gloomy chamber with the straw in it; "i'm quite certain i'd have found the entire corpse if it had been there." "but this is a real skull, luff. it's no subject for trifling. some poor fellow has left his bones here, as i suspected." we then went out to the front of the cave. not far from the entrance was a hole somewhat larger than a man's body, which i had not noticed before, and into which abraham now crept with the torch, telling me to follow. it was not long before we entered a cell or chamber large enough to stand up in, the floor of which was littered with straw. "i found it here, luff; here in this straw--the upper part of a man's skull. look at it." here abraham removed some of the straw, and there, indeed, lay the frontal part of a skull. [illustration: the skull.] "i found it just as it lies. i put it back exactly in the same position. i wanted you to see how the man died--poor fellow! a sad death he had of it all alone here." upon this i took up the skull and examined it. the forehead was small and low, and the whole formation of the upper part of the face somewhat singular. there was not sufficient of the lower part left to tell precisely whether it was the skull of a white man or of a negro. i thought it must be that of a negro, from the size of the animal organs. abraham, however, considered it the skull of a white man, on account of the whiteness of the bone. the torch being now burned out, we bethought ourselves of starting toward the valley of the huts, for we had no time to indulge in melancholy reflection on what remained of the poor sailor, or follow up the train of thought suggested by his unhappy fate. abraham carefully wrapped the skull in his handkerchief, and put it in a large pocket that he had in his coat, declaring, as we set out on our return to the top of the cliff, that a thousand dollars would not induce him to part with so rare and valuable a curiosity. chapter xiii. the storm and escape. when we reached the summit of the cliff, and looked over once more into the enchanted valley, we could hardly believe that such a change as we beheld could have taken place during our absence. that scene of beauty upon which we had lingered with so much pleasure now seemed to be a moving ocean of clouds, ingulfing every visible point in its billows of mist, raging and foaming as it swelled up over the heights; the wild roar of the tempest vibrating fiercely through the air--the very rocks upon which we stood trembling in the dread coming of its wrath. while we gazed in silence upon the wilderness of surging billows, the whole island became hidden in mist; and that happy valley, so lovely in its solitude but a brief hour before, so calm in its slumbering beauty, so softly steeped in sunshine, was now buried in the fierce conflict of the elements. nothing was to be seen but an ocean of misty surf below, and a wilderness of dark clouds flying madly overhead. it seemed as if we had been suddenly cut off from the world, and left floating on a huge mass of burned rock, in a chaos of convulsed elements. on every side the impenetrable mists covered the depths, and it needed but a single step to open to us the mysteries of eternity. the storm set in upon us in fierce and sudden gusts, driving us down for safety upon the lee of the rock. no longer able to stand upright, we cowered beneath the shelter which we found there, and so bided our time. from all we could judge, there was no appearance of a change for the better. as soon as there was a lull, we hurried on along the ridge, in the hope of reaching the valley of the huts before dark, for we had eaten nothing since morning, and were not prepared to spend the night in these wild mountains. after infinite climbing and toil, we came to a part of the path where there were neither trees nor bushes. it was about half a mile in length, and was exposed to the full fury of the gale. about midway we were attacked by a terrific gust of wind and deluge of rain, and it was with great difficulty we could retain our foothold. the rain swashed against us with resistless power, driving us down upon our hands and knees in its fury, while it surged and foamed over us like a white sea in a typhoon. blinded and dizzy, we rose again and rushed on, staggering in the fierce bursts of the tempest, and gasping for breath in the deluge of spray. how we lived through it i know not; how it was that we were not cast over into the abyss that threatened to devour us, there is but one who knows, for no eye but his was upon us. breathless, and blinded with the scourging waters, we staggered against a large rock. here we fell upon our knees, no longer able to contend against the tempest, and clung to the bushes that grew in its clefts, while we silently appealed to him who holds the winds in the hollow of his hands to take pity upon us, and cast us not away in his wrath. the worst part of the path being yet before us, where we had previously found it difficult to get over in good weather, we determined upon trying the steep descent on the right, leading directly into the valley of the huts. it was almost a perfect precipice, and was bare and smooth for three hundred yards, where it ran out into a kind of ledge, covered with a stunted growth of trees. if we could reach the grove we would be safe; but between us lay a steep and precipitous field of loose earth, smoothed into a bank of mud by the rains. as we had no alternative, we began the descent as cautiously as possible, thrusting our toes and fingers into the clay, and letting ourselves down by degrees for fifty or a hundred feet at a time, when we stopped a while to look below us. such was the roar of the storm that i hardly knew whether abraham was by me or not, when, hearing a loud shout, i looked round and beheld him flying down the precipice with the velocity of lightning. "oh! he'll be killed!" i exclaimed; "he'll be killed! oh! what a dreadful death!" at the same moment i felt my hold give way, and i dashed after him in spite of myself, grasping madly at the loose earth, and shouting wildly for somebody to stop me. it was a fearful chase--a chase of life or death! on we sped, upheaving the loose masses of sod, and whizzing through the tempest as we flew; grasping desperately at every rock, tearing up the shrubs that grew in the clefts, and dashing blindly over gaping fissures that lay hidden with the grass. great masses of burned rock went smoking down into the chaos of mist below, crashing and thundering as they fell. on, and still on, in our wild career we sped, with the vision of death flitting grimly before us! atoms we were in the strife of elements, whirled powerless into the dark abyss. there was a confused crash of bushes; a stunning sensation--a sudden check--a jarring of the brain--and all was still! i looked, and saw that i was safe. the grove was around me. consciousness returned as i clung panting to the trees; life was given yet; the vision of death fled in the mists of the tempest.[a] for a moment, dizzy and confused, i clung to a tree, and offered up my inward thanks to that providence which had spared me through the fearful ordeal. then, hearing the voice of abraham near by to where i stood, i looked, and saw him seated upon the ground, wailing aloud as if in extreme bodily pain. selfish wretch that i was, had i, in my thankfulness for my own safety, forgotten the friend of my heart! letting go my grasp of the tree, i ran to his side, and asked in choking accents, "abraham! oh, abraham, are you hurt? tell me quick--tell me, are you hurt?" "my skull! my skull!" groaned abraham, in rending tones; "oh! luff, my skull is broken!" "good heavens!" i exclaimed, "what are we to do? this is terrible! wretch that i am, i thought only of myself!" abraham groaned again. his face was livid, and a small streak of blood that coursed down his right cheek told how truly he had spoken. "abraham, my friend abraham!" i exclaimed, in a perfect agony of distress, "perhaps it's not so bad. it may not be broken." "yes it is," said abraham; "i heard it crack when i fell. my feet flew up, and i fell on my back. it must have struck a rock." "oh, abraham, what are we to do? i wouldn't have had this to happen for the whole island. here, i'll tear my shirt off and tie it up." "no, no, luff, it can't be mended; it's broken all to smash. i wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand dollars. it can never, never be mended!" "let me see," said i, carefully laying back his hair; "something must be done, abraham." "no, no--nothing can be done; the trouble's not there, luff; it's _here_--here, in my pocket!" at the same time, while i started back in a perfect maze of confusion, abraham thrust his hand into his coat pocket, and brought forth a whole handful of thin flat bones, broken into small pieces, which he held out with a rueful face, groaning again as he looked at them. "no, no, it can't be mended, luff." "the devil!" said i, angrily, "you may thank your stars it isn't any worse than that!" "worse! worse!" cried abraham, highly excited; "what do you mean? in the name of common sense, isn't that bad enough? how could it be any worse?" "pshaw! abraham; i thought, when i heard your lamentations, and saw that scratch of a bush on your face, that your own natural cranium was fractured." "well, what if you did?" cried abraham, still irritated. "would you call that worse? a live skull will grow together, but a dead one won't. and this--_this,_ with such a history to it--to lose this, after all my trouble in finding it--oh, luff, luff, it's too bad!" however, having no farther time to spare over his ruined skull, he put back the bones in his pocket, and, with a heavy sigh, joined me as i sprang down through the grove. the rest of our descent was comparatively easy. when we got down to the head of the valley, a muddy stream broke wildly over the rocks, carrying down with it the branches and leaves of trees, and roaring fearfully as it rushed on toward the ocean. we followed this in its rapid descent, and were soon with our friends at the boat-landing. footnote: [a] it has already been mentioned that in many parts of the island the soil was loose, and undermined by holes, and the rock weathered almost to rottenness. pursuing a goat once in one of these dangerous places, the bushy brink of a precipice to which he had followed it crumbled beneath him, and he and the goat fell together from a great height. he lay stunned and senseless at the foot of the rock for a great while--not less than twenty hours, he thought, from the change of position in the sun, but the precise length of time he had no means of ascertaining. when he recovered his senses he found the goat lying dead beside him. with great pain and difficulty he made his way to his hut, which was nearly a mile distant from the spot; and for three days he lay on his bed enduring much suffering. no permanent injury, however, had been done him, and he was soon able to go abroad again.--[life of alexander selkirk.] chapter xiv. the american crusoe. the third night closed, leaving us still upon the island. who could tell if the vessel would be in sight by morning? should the gale continue, it was not improbable that she would be driven far to the leeward, and perhaps compelled to give up the search for us entirely. ships had not unfrequently been in sight of the island for weeks, as we afterward learned, and yet unable to make an anchorage, in consequence of baffling winds and heavy gales. it might turn out to be no joke, after all, this wild exhibition. to be crusoes by inclination was one thing, by compulsion another. we were determined not to spend another night in the cave; that was out of the question. there was not one of us who wanted to enjoy the romance of that place again. no better alternative remained for us than to make a bargain with pearce, the american, for quarters in his straw cabin. this we were the more content to do upon seeing him emerge from the bushes with a dead kid hanging over his shoulders, which we naturally supposed he intended for supper. [illustration: the american crusoe.] at first he spoke rather gruffly for a fellow-countryman; but this we attributed to his wild manner of life, separated from all society; nor were we at all disposed to quarrel with him on account of his uncouth address, when we came to consider that a man might understand but little of politeness, and yet be a very good sort of fellow, and understand very well how to cook a kid. we had no money, which we honestly told him in the beginning; but we promised him, in lieu thereof, a large supply of ham and bread from the ship. this did not seem to improve the matter at all; indeed, we began to think he was loth to credit us, which, however, was not the case. he said the californians who had been there had eaten up nearly all his stores, and had paid him little or nothing. they had promised him a good deal, but promises were the principal amount of what he got. if this was all, he wouldn't mind it; they were welcome to what he had; but he didn't like folks to come and take possession of his house as a matter of right, and get drunk in it, and raise old scratch with his furniture, and then swear at him next morning for not keepin' a better tavern. he didn't pretend to keep a tavern; it was his own private house, and he wanted it to be private--that's what he came here for. he had society enough at home, and a darn'd sight too much of it. he liked to choose his own company. he was an independent character himself, and meant to be independent in spite of all the californians on this side of creation. all he wished was that old nick had a hold of california and all the gold in it--if there was any in it, which he didn't much believe himself. he hoped it would be sunk tolerably deep under the sea before some of 'em got there. it was a tolerable hard case, that a man couldn't live alone without a parcel of fellers, that hadn't any thing to do at home, comin' all the way to juan fernandez to play scratch with his house and furniture, and turn every thing upside down, as if it belonged to 'em, and cuss the hair off'n his head for not makin' a bigger house, and keepin' a bar full of good liquor, and a billiard saloon, and bowlin'-alley for the accommodation of travelers--a tolerable hard case. he'd be squarmed ef he was a goin' to stand it any longer. we agreed with crusoe that this was indeed rather a hard case, but promised him that he would find us altogether different sort of persons. we were first-class passengers--none of your rowdy third-class; he understood all that; they were all first-class passengers ashore; he wouldn't believe one of 'em on oath. again we endeavored to compromise the matter, so far as regarded the ham at least, of which he was entirely incredulous, by telling him that he might come on board with us, and then when we'd be sure not to run away without paying him. "but what if you should carry me away?" said he, evidently startled by this proposition. "nothing--only we'd take you to california. that would be a lucky chance for you." "no, it wouldn't. i don't want to go there. i'm very well here." "but there's plenty of gold in california," said we; "no doubt about it at all. you may live here all your life, and be no better off." "i'm well enough off," retorted crusoe; "i only want people to let me alone. ever since this california business they've been troublin' me." "you surely can't be happy here without a soul near you! why, it's enough to drive a man mad. it must be dreadfully dull. you can't be happy!" "yes i am!" said crusoe, peevishly; "i'm always happy when i ain't troubled. when i'm troubled i'm mis'rable. nothin' makes me so mis'rable as bein' troubled." "it makes a good many people miserable," was our reply. "we must trouble you for a night's lodging, at all events, for we have no place else to stay." "i don't want you to stay nowhere else!" cried crusoe; "that wasn't what i meant: you mustn't get drunk--that's what i meant." "no, we won't get drunk; we haven't any thing to get drunk on, unless you insist upon giving us something." "very well, then; you can sleep in my cabin, ef you don't tear it down. some fellers have tried to tear it down." we promised him that we would use every exertion to overcome any propensity we might have in regard to tearing his house down; and, although he still shook his head mournfully, as if he had no farther confidence in man, he led the way toward his hut, hinting in a sort of undergrowl that it would be greatly to our advantage not to get drunk, or attempt to destroy his house and furniture, inasmuch as he had a number of goatskins, which he wouldn't mind letting sober people have to sleep on, but he'd be squarmed ef he'd lend 'em to people that cuss'd him for not keepin' feather beds. we declared upon our words, as gentlemen, that we had no idea whatever of sleeping on feather beds in such a remote part of the world as this, and would be most happy to prove to him that we were worthy of sleeping on goatskins; that we would regard goatskins in the light of a favor, whereas if he put us upon feather beds, we should feel disposed to look upon it rather as a reflection upon our character as disciples of the immortal crusoe. abraham and myself were wet to the skin after our adventure in the mountains, and, having been five or six hours in that condition, we were hungry enough to eat any thing. we therefore left the party down on the beach, where they were trying to set fire to an old pitch-barrel as a signal for the ship, and, under the guidance of pearce, hurried up to the cabin. upon entering the low doorway, we found that there was some promise of good cheer. there was a basket of fish in one corner, and sundry pieces of dried meat hanging upon the walls. our friend set to work to skin the kid; and we, finding a sort of stone fireplace in the middle of the floor, with a few live embers in it, sat down, and began putting on some wood out of a neighboring pile, by which means we soon had a comfortable fire. as soon as the steam was pretty well out of our clothes, and the warmth struck through to our skins, we felt an uncommonly pleasant glow all over us; and the blaze was exceedingly cheerful. in fact, we were quite happy, in spite of the gloomy forebodings of pearce, who kept saying to himself all the time he was skinning the kid, "i expect nothin' else but what they'll burn my house down. ef they'd only let a feller alone, and not come troublin' him, i'd like it a good deal better than bread or ham either--'specially when it's aboard a ship that ain't here, and never will be, i reckon. fun's fun; but i'll be squarmed ef i want to see my house burned down over my head. tain't nothin' to larf at. when i want somethin' to larf at, i kin raise it myself without troublin' other folks. ef a man can't live to himself here, i'd like to know where in creation he _kin_ live. i expect they'll be explorin' the bottom of the sea by'm-by in search of gold; i'd go there to be to myself, ef i thought i could be to myself; but i know they'd be arter me in less than a month. ef i was a bettin' character, i'd be willin' to bet five dollars they'll set fire to the house, and burn it down afore they stop!" meantime brigham and the rest of the party succeeded at length in making a large fire on the beach as a signal for the ship, and they remained down there some time in hopes she would send a boat ashore. but the gale increasing, accompanied by heavy rain, they had to leave the fire, and make a hasty retreat to the hut. chapter xv. castle of the american crusoe. pearce's gloomy views of society began to brighten a good deal when he found that we were not disposed to tear down his house or burn it, or wantonly ruin his furniture. he was not a bad-hearted man by any means, though rather crusty from having lived too long alone, and somewhat prejudiced against the californians on account of the rough treatment he had received from them. a little flattery regarding his skill in architecture, and a word of praise on the subject of his furniture, seemed to mollify him a good deal; and he smiled grimly once or twice at our folly in coming ashore, when we could have done so much better, as he alleged, by staying aboard the ship, and going ahead about our business. regarding the house, which afforded him so much anxiety, there did not appear to us to be any thing quite so original and crusoe-like in any other part of the world. it was a little straw hut, just big enough to creep into and turn round in; with a steep peaked roof, projecting all round, very rustic and rugged-looking, and, withal, very well adapted to the climate. the straw was woven through upright stakes, and made a tolerably secure wall; outside, growing up around the house in every direction, were running vines and wild flowers; and at a little distance were various smaller sheds and out-houses, in which our worthy host kept his domestic animals, and what wood he required during the bad weather. the furniture of his main abode, which was such a source of honest pride to him, consisted chiefly of a few three-legged stools, made of the rough wood with the bark still on; a kind of bench for a lounge; a rough bedstead in one corner, partly shut off by a straw partition; a broken looking-glass, and an iron kettle and frying-pan, besides sundry strange articles of domestic economy of which we could form no correct idea, inasmuch as they were made upon novel principles of his own, and were entirely beyond our comprehension. over head, the rafters were covered with goatskins; a sailor's pea-jacket, a sou'wester, and some colored shirts hung at the head of the bed. in one corner there was a rude wooden cupboard, containing a few broken cups and plates, and a chinese tea-box; in another a sea-chest, which, when pulled out, served for a table. the floor was of mud, and not very dry after the rain; for the roof had sprung a leak, and, moreover, what water was cast off from above eventually found its way in under the walls below. doubtless, like the man with the fiddle, our host thought it useless to mend it when the weather was fine, and too wet to work at it when the weather was rainy. it was a very queer and original place altogether; and with a good fire, and a little precaution in keeping from under the leaks in the roof, not at all uncomfortable. our crusoe friend, overhearing us say that it was a glorious place to live in, a regular castle, where a man might spend his days like a king, smiled again a crusty smile, and growled, "there's tea in that 'ere box. ef you want some you kin have it. i got it out'n a ship that came from china. there ain't better tea nowhere." we thanked him heartily for his kindness, and declared at the same time that we regarded good tea as the very rarest luxury of life. again his face cracked into something like a smile, and he said, "better tea never was drunk in china. ef you like, i'll put sugar in it." we declared that sugar was the very thing of all the luxuries in the world that we were most attached to, but we could not drink it with any sort of relish if we thought it would be robbing him of his stores. if he had these things to spare we would cheerfully use them, and pay him three or four times their value in provisions from the ship. "darn the ship!" cried crusoe; "i don't care a cuss about the ship, so long as you don't get drunk and tear my house down!" upon this we protested that we would sooner tear the hair out of our heads by the roots than tear down so unique and extraordinary a structure as his house; and as to his furniture, it was worth its weight in gold; every stick of it would bring five hundred dollars in the city of new york. whereupon pearce stirred about in the obscure corners with wonderful alacrity, rooting up all sorts of queer things out of dark places, and muttering to himself meantime, "i'm as fond of company as any body, ef they're the right sort; and i'll be squarmed ef i ain't an independent character too. i don't owe nobody for a buildin' of my house, or a makin' of my furniture. i did it all myself, long before california was skeer'd up." he then put down the old kettle on the fire, and, as soon as the water was boiled, emptied a large cupful of tea into it, and set it near the fire to draw. while the tea was drawing, he fried a panful of kid, and broiled some fish on the coals; and when it was all done, he gave us each a tin plate, and told us to eat as much as we wanted, and be darn'd to the ship, so long as we behaved like christians. then he furnished us with cups for the tea, and some sea-biscuit, which he dug out of the cupboard; and i must declare, in all sincerity, that we made a most excellent supper. chapter xvi. difficulty between abraham and the doubter. every one of us, except the man that had no faith in robinson crusoe, admitted that the tea was the best ever produced in china or any where else; that the fried kid was perfectly delicious; that the fish were the fattest and tenderest ever fished out of the sea; that the biscuit tasted a thousand times better than the biscuit we had on board ship; that the whole house and all about it were wonderfully well arranged for comfort; and that pearce, after all, was the jolliest old brick of a crusoe ever found upon a desolate island. in fine, we came to the conclusion that it was a glorious life, calculated to enlarge a man's soul; an independent life; a perfect utopia in its way. "let us," said we, "spend the remainder of our days here! who cares about the gold of ophir, when he can live like a king on this island, and be richer and happier than solomon in his temple!" "you'd soon be tired of it," muttered a voice from a dark corner: it was the voice of the doubter. "you wouldn't be here a month till you'd give the eyes out of your heads to get away." "where's that man?" cried several of us, fiercely. "i'm here--here in the corner, gentlemen, rayther troubled with fleas." "you'd better turn in and go to sleep." "i can't sleep. nobody can sleep here. i've tried it long enough. i reckon the fleas will eat us all up by morning, and leave nothing but the hair of our heads. i doubt if they'll leave that." "was there ever such a man? why, you do nothing but throw cold water on every body." "no i don't; it comes through the roof. it's as much as i can do to keep clear of it myself, without throwin' it on other people." with this we let him alone. the fire now blazed cheerfully, sending its ruddy glow through the cabin. a rude earthen lamp, that hung from one of the rafters, also shed its cheerful light upon us as we sat in a circle round the crackling fagots; and altogether our rustic quarters looked very lively and pleasant. every face beamed with good-humor. even the face of the doubter belied his croaking remarks, and glowed with unwonted enthusiasm. little jim paxton, the whaler, under the inspiration of the tea, which was uncommonly strong, volunteered a song; and the cries of bravo being general, he gave us, in true sailor style, "i'm monarch of all i survey, my right there is none to dispute; from the centre all round to the sea, i'm lord of the fowl and the brute! oh solitude where are the charms," &c. this was so enthusiastically applauded, that my friend abraham, whose passion for all sorts of curiosities had led him to explore musty old books as well as musty old caves for odds and ends, now rose on his goatskin, and said that, with permission of the company, he would attempt something which he considered peculiarly appropriate to the occasion. he was not much of a singer, but he hoped the interest attached to the words would be a sufficient compensation for all the deficiencies of voice and style. "go ahead, abraham!" cried every body, greatly interested by these remarks. "let us have the song! out with it!" "first," said abraham, clearing his voice, "i beg leave to state, for the benefit of all who may not be familiar with the fact, that this is no vulgar or commonplace song, as many people suppose who sing it. on the contrary, it may be regarded as a classical production. among the many effusions to which the popularity of robinson crusoe gave rise, none was a greater favorite in its day than the song which i am about to attempt. it has been customary to introduce it in the character of jerry sneak, in foote's celebrated farce, the mayor of garratt. as the words are now nearly forgotten, i hope you'll not consider it tiresome if i go through to the end. join in the chorus, gentlemen!" poor robinson crusoe. "when i was a lad, my fortune was bad, my grandfather i did lose o; i'll bet you a can, you've heard of the man, his name it was robinson crusoe. oh! poor robinson crusoe, tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, oh! poor robinson crusoe. "you've read in a book of a voyage he took, while the raging whirlwinds blew, so that the ship with a shock fell plump on a rock, near drowning poor robinson crusoe. oh! poor, &c. "poor soul! none but he escaped on the sea. ah, fate! fate! how could you do so? 'till at length he was thrown on an island unknown, which received poor robinson crusoe." "here, gentlemen, i beg you to take notice that we are now, in all probability, on the very spot. i have the strongest reasons for supposing that the castle of our excellent host, in which we are at this moment enjoying the flow of soul and the feast of reason, is built upon the identical site occupied in former times by the castle of the remarkable adventurer in whose honor this song was composed. but to proceed-- "tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, oh! poor robinson crusoe. "but he saved from on board a gun and a sword, and another old matter or two, so that by dint of his thrift, he managed to shift pretty well, for poor robinson crusoe. oh! poor, &c. "he wanted something to eat, and couldn't get meat, the cattle away from him flew, so that but for his gun he'd been sorely undone, and starved would poor robinson crusoe. oh! poor, &c. "and he happened to save from the merciless wave a poor parrot, i assure you 'tis true, so that when he came home, from a wearisome roam, used to cry out, poor robinson crusoe. oh! poor, &c. "then he got all the wood that ever he could, and stuck it together with glue, so that he made him a hut, in which he might put the carcass of robinson crusoe." "hold on there! hold on!" cried a voice, in a high state of excitement. every body turned to see who it was that dared to interrupt so inspiring a song. immediately the indignant gaze was fixed upon the face of the doubter, who, with outstretched neck, was peering at abraham from his dark corner. "excuse me, gentlemen," said he, "but i want some information on that point. did you mean to say, sir, that he, robinson crusoe, stuck the wood together with _glue_ when he built his house? with glue, did you say?" "so the song goes," said abraham, a little confused, not to say irritated. "doubtless the words are used in a metaphorical sense. there is every reason to believe that this is a mere poetical license; but it doesn't alter the general accuracy of the history. for my own part, i am disposed to think that the house was built very much upon the same principles as that of our friend pearce; in fact, that it was precisely such an establishment as we at present occupy." "go on, sir--go on; i'm perfectly satisfied," muttered the doubter; "the whole thing hangs together by means of glue; every part of it is connected with the same material!" abraham reddened to the eyebrows at this uncalled-for remark; his fine features, usually so placid and full of good nature, were distorted with indignation; he turned fiercely toward the doubter; he instinctively doubled up both fists; he breathed hard between his clenched teeth; then, hearing a low murmur of dissuasion from the whole party, he turned away with a smile of contempt, breaking abruptly into the burden of his song, "tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, oh! poor robinson crusoe! "while his man friday kept the house snug and tidy, for be sure 'twas his business to do so, they lived friendly together, less like servant than neighbor, lived friday and robinson crusoe. oh! poor, &c. "then he wore a large cap, and a coat without nap, and a beard as long as a jew, so that, by all that's civil, he looked like a devil more than poor robinson crusoe." "which shows," continued abraham, with his accustomed smile of good humor, "the extraordinary shifts to which a man may be reduced by necessity, and the uncouth appearance he must present in a perfectly unshaved state, when even the poet admits that he looked like a devil. these articles of clothing, which contributed to give him such a wild aspect, were made of goatskins, as he himself informs us in his wonderful narrative; and i beg you to remember, gentlemen, that the very skins upon which we are this moment sitting are related, by direct descent, to those which were worn by robinson crusoe." here the doubter groaned. "well, sir, is there any thing improbable in that?" said abraham, fiercely. "have you any objection to that remark, sir?" "no; i have nothing to say against it in particular, except that i'd believe it sooner if there were goats in the skins. i never heard of modern goatskins descending from ancient goatskins before." "of course, sir," said abraham, coloring, "the goats were in the skins before they were taken out." "likely they were," growled the doubter; "i won't dispute that. but i'd like to know, as a matter of information, if he, robinson crusoe, made his clothes in the same way as he made his house?" "to be sure, sir; to be sure: he made both with his own hands." "i thought so," said the doubter, sinking back into his dark corner; "he sew'd 'em with glue. all glue--glue from beginning to end." "i'll see you to-morrow, sir!" said abraham, swelling with indignation; "we'll settle this matter to-morrow, sir. at present i shall pay no further attention to your remarks!" here he drew several rapid breaths, as if swallowing down his passion; and, looking round with a darkened brow upon the mute and astonished company, resumed, in a loud and steady voice, "tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, oh! poor robinson crusoe! "at length, within hail, he saw a stout sail, and he took to his little canoe; so, when he reach'd the ship, they gave him a trip, back to england brought robinson crusoe. oh! poor robinson crusoe!" we all joined in the chorus--all, except the incredulous man; and, notwithstanding the unfortunate difference between abraham and that individual, which tended so much to mar the harmony of the occasion, we thought, from the way our voices sounded, that it must have been the very first time this inspiring song was sung in the solitudes of juan fernandez. i even fancied i detected the crusty voice of pearce in the chorus: but i wouldn't like to make a positive assertion to that effect, on account of the danger of giving him offense, should he ever cast his eyes upon this narrative. as there was still evidently a cloud upon abraham's brow, which might burst to-morrow upon the doubter, and thereby bring the whole adventure to a tragic termination, several of us now, by a concerted movement, endeavored to effect a reconciliation. we seized upon the doubter, who by this time was dozing away in the corner, and brought him forth to the light, where he looked about him in mute astonishment, muttering, as if awakened out of a dream, "no, sir, it can't be done, sir; a house never was built with glue yet; goatskins never were sewed together with glue--never, sir, never!" "you shall swallow those words, sir!" cried abraham, quivering with passion; "i'll make you swallow them, sir, to-morrow morning!" "i'll swallow 'em now if you like," drawled the doubter, with provoking coolness, "but i can't swallow a house built of glue. possibly i might swallow the goatskins, but the house won't go down--it ain't the kind of thing to go down!" here it required our full force to restrain abraham; he fairly chafed with indignation; his face was flushed; his nostrils distended; his stalwart limbs writhing convulsively; in truth, our well-meant plan of reconciliation only seemed to hasten the tragedy which we were striving to prevent. pearce himself now interposed. "i know'd it," said he; "i know'd they'd tear my house down yet, and ruin my furniture! next thing, all hands'll be breakin' my chairs to pieces on one another's heads; i know'd it; i wouldn't believe 'em on oath!" this rebuke touched abraham in a tender point. quick to take offense, he was also ready in forgiving an injury, especially when a due regard for the feelings of others required it. "gentlemen," said he, "it shall never be said that i have violated the rites of hospitality. there shall be no further difficulty about this matter; i forgive all. your hand, sir!" the doubter awkwardly held out his hand and suffered it to be shaken, upon which he crept back into his dark corner, still, however, muttering incoherently from time to time; but as nothing could be distinguished but the word "glue," it was not deemed of sufficient importance for the renewal of hostilities, or the interruption of the general harmony. good humor being restored, it was all the more hearty after these unpleasant little episodes; and so genial an effect had it upon pearce, that he quite forgot his resentment, and unbended himself again. gradually he began to tell us wild stories of his crusoe life; how he had lived all alone for nearly a year on the island of massafuero without seeing the face of man; how, during that time, he sustained himself upon roots and herbs, and likewise by catching wild goats in traps; how he never was so happy in his life, and never had any trouble till he left that island in a whaler, and came here to juan fernandez; how for two years he had lived on this island, sometimes alone, and sometimes surrounded by outlawed chilians; how on one occasion, while up in the mountains hunting goats, he fell down a precipice, and broke his arm and two of his ribs, and was near dying all alone, without a soul to care for him. a great many strange stories and legends he told us, too, in his rude way, about juan fernandez; and so strong was his homely language, and so fresh and novel his reminiscences, that we often looked round in the waning light of the lamp for fear some ghost or murderer would steal in upon us. as well as i can remember, one of his strange narratives was substantially as follows. there was all the force of reality to give it interest; for it was evidently, as he told us, a simple recital of facts. chapter xvii. the murder. about five years ago (i think he said it was in ), a murder was committed on the island by the father of one of the present chilian residents. pearce was then in valparaiso, and had a statement of the circumstances from some of the parties concerned in it. [illustration: tragic fate of the scotchman.] a scotch sailor, it appeared, deserted from a vessel that touched at the island for wood and water. for a time he concealed himself in a cave among the cliffs near the bay. when the vessel sailed, he came down into the valley and built himself a hut out of straw, in which he resided several months alone. by fishing, and catching wild goats in traps, he supported himself comfortably, and was becoming reconciled to his isolated life, when a family of chilians, consisting of five or six men and women, under the control of an old spaniard, father-in-law of one of the younger men, came over about this period in a small trading vessel from massafuero. they had been living there for some time, but thought they could do better in juan fernandez. there were no huts standing there then except that belonging to the sailor. the chilians prevailed upon him to let them occupy a part of his house, promising to build themselves one as soon as they could cut straw and wood enough. every day they went out on the hill-sides to cut the straw, and they seemed to be making good progress with their hut. one night the sailor, as he lay in bed, overheard one of the chilians say to the others, "we are working hard every day, but it will be a long time before we can get a house built. neither will it be big enough for us all when we finish it. this man is nothing but a heretic, therefore it would be no sin to take his life. let us kill him, and then we can have his house, which has other buildings to it, without the trouble of doing any more work." the others agreed to this, all except one woman, who said god would never suffer them to prosper if they committed such a deed. however, they silenced her by threats, and then talked further upon the best means of murdering the scotchman. having been a beach-comber for many years in spanish countries, he understood the language, and it so happened that he overheard nearly every word. being a powerful man, of great courage and fierce temper, he sprang from his bed, and swore they must leave the house at that very instant, or he would cut their throats. the woman he would have spared this treatment, but he knew she would only fare the worse for his protection. finding him resolute, they took their things and left the house; but after they were out in the dark, it being a stormy night, they begged so hard for shelter that he told them they might go into a shed, which he had built some distance off to keep goats in. here they remained, without daring to molest him, until their own house was completed. in the mean time, the suspicions of the sailor were lulled by their friendly behavior, and he often spent a part of his time in social talk with them, which was the more agreeable inasmuch as the old man's daughter, who had taken his part at first, fell in love with him, and, although jealously watched by her husband, found frequent chances of meeting him alone. he became much attached to her, as well on account of her attempt to save his life as the charms of her person, which were well calculated to excite admiration and kindle the amorous flame. she was a very beautiful woman, a chilian by birth, and was married against her inclination; and coming from a country where the marriage tie is not considered so sacred as it is in more northern climes, she had but little scruple in yielding to her guilty love. his manly person and bold bearing had attracted her in the first place, and these stolen interviews only served to strengthen the passion that grew up between them. at this period they were joined by an english sailor, another deserter, who took up his quarters with the chilians in their new abode, and became a member of their gang. the scotchman had refused, from some dislike that he formed to this man on first sight, to take him into his cabin. this led to a mutual hatred, which was soon increased by other causes. the englishman, struck by the beauty of the young woman, whose affections the other had won, now made love to her on all occasions, but she gave him no encouragement. he attributed his failure to the scotchman, whom he secretly watched. fired with jealousy and deadly hatred toward his rival, he resolved upon putting him to death by stratagem, for he was too cowardly to undertake it openly. having learned the difficulty that had previously occurred, he took occasion to tell the chilians that the scotchman was their mortal enemy, and only awaited an opportunity to murder them all, so as to get entire possession of the young woman, with whom he had already formed a guilty connection. at this period three americans deserted from a whale-ship and joined the scotchman. through some accident, or most likely by foul means, his hut took fire soon after, and was burnt to the ground. he and his companions were obliged to move to a cave near by, where they designed living till they could build another. knowing nothing of the schemes of the english sailor, who took care that it should not be found out through the woman, they were ignorant of the hostile intention of the chilians, till one day, as they were scattered over the valley, cutting wild oats for their cabin, the englishman told the old man, who was the leader of the chilians, that he had overheard the other party say they were going to murder them all that night; and prevailed upon him to muster his men together secretly, and settle the matter at once. they all went first to the cave, and took possession of the arms left there by the americans and their leader. the old man, followed at a distance by his comrades, thereupon proceeded to the valley with a loaded gun; and seeing the scotchman at a distance from the others, he stole upon him and shot him through the body with slugs. badly wounded, but not mortally, the scotchman shouted to his friends that he was shot; that they must follow him and fight for their lives, upon which he ran, covered with blood, toward the cave, followed by the americans. on arriving there they found all their fire-arms gone: they fought for some time with their knives, but were finally overpowered by the chilian party and bound hand and foot. [illustration: the lovers.] next day it so happened that a whale-ship came into the harbor for wood and water. the americans were carried back some distance and hid among the cliffs, with an armed guard over them, so that they might be out of the way when the people from the ship came ashore; and the wounded man was concealed in a cave. the englishman then went on board with the old chilian, and told the captain that a deserter from a whale-ship, who had been on the island some time, had undertaken to murder them, and they had shot him in self-defense. their story was plausibly told, and was believed. they said the man was not dead, and they asked the captain to take him away, as they wanted to get rid of him. the captain refused to do this, saying he would have nothing to do with a deserter; if the man got into trouble by his misconduct, he might get out of it the best way he could. when the vessel sailed, which was the next day, the chilians, in compliance with the advice of the englishman, took their wounded prisoner out into an open space, and shot him through the heart. he fell dead upon the spot. they then dug a hole in the ground and buried him; and, in order to keep his spirit from rising upon them at night, they erected a cross over the grave. the woman, upon hearing that her lover was murdered, fell into a state of melancholy, and refused to taste any food for many days. such was her distress, that she wandered about the cliffs like one bereft of her senses, and was often found at night weeping upon his grave. indeed, she never fully recovered, but was always from that time weakly and unsettled in her mind. [illustration: grave of the murdered man.] another vessel came into port in the course of a few months, and the affair became known through the three americans, who made their escape and got on board. news of the murder was carried to talcahuana by this vessel; and as soon as it reached valparaiso, a small chilian cutter, then lying in the harbor, was dispatched to the island of juan fernandez to capture and bring home the murderers. on their arrival in valparaiso they were taken in irons to santiago, the seat of government, where they were tried and sentenced to be shot in the public plaza. some of the circumstances, considered palliating, became known before the execution was carried into effect, and their punishment was commuted to five years' banishment on the island of st. felix. the chilian government still holds a penal settlement on that island. all criminals of a desperate character are sent there and subjected to hard labor. the term for which these murderers had been banished had just expired (in ), and it was supposed by the present chilian residents that they would return by the first opportunity to juan fernandez. chapter xviii. the skull. during the recital of this tragical narrative, abraham, who had listened to every word with intense interest, became strangely agitated. several times it was apparently with the utmost difficulty he could refrain from relieving himself of something that produced an unusual effect upon his mind. especially when it came to the death of the unfortunate scotchman, i thought i noticed that he was intensely excited. at first, knowing the tenderness of his feelings, i attributed this extraordinary manifestation of interest to grief and pity for the unhappy fate of the beautiful chilian; but i soon found that it proceeded from another and very different cause. no sooner had pearce concluded than he exclaimed, "i'll wager a thousand dollars, gentlemen, that the scotchman never was buried!" "he was buried, certain," said pearce; "i can show you the place." "then there is some strange mystery about it," said abraham, somewhat disappointed. "this very day i found a man's skull, which i am now quite certain has some connection with this tragedy." the intense excitement produced by this disclosure is quite indescribable. every body in the party leaned forward, with starting eyes, and gazed with breathless interest at abraham. he had purposely withheld making any reference to the affair of the skull till a fitting opportunity should occur to disclose all the particulars, when the mind of every individual present was in a proper tone of solemnity to receive so important a communication. that opportunity had how occurred, under the most favorable and unlooked-for circumstances. i never saw abraham so excited in my life before--not even on the occasion of his late unpleasant difficulty. "gentlemen," said he, "i had a presentiment before we left the ship that this expedition would result in some extraordinary discovery. you may judge from the facts which i am about to disclose to you how far this presentiment has been verified." he then, in a voice of becoming solemnity, went into a detailed narrative of our adventures in the mountains. he commenced at the very starting-point, where we separated from the hunting party; he dwelt vividly on our perilous adventure on the cliff, stating all the particulars of our escape; how we climbed up a perpendicular wall of rocks four thousand feet high; how we stood upon the very highest pinnacle, which was only ten inches in diameter; how, when we came down again to the base, we lay perfectly insensible for an entire hour; and the wonderful adventures we had in the interior--the walk of six miles directly back from the ocean; our preservation from a horrible and lingering death by thirst, through the agency of a little bird; the enchanted valley that we explored, and the two wild horses we caught entangled in the bushes, and afterward rode; our discovery of an old castle built in the sixteenth century by juan fernando; the mysterious marks upon the outer wall; our strange and startling explorations of the interior vaults and marble halls; and finally the discovery of the skull--the skull of some unfortunate man who had crept into one of those dreary vaults, where he died on a miserable bed of straw, all alone, without a soul near him! afterward how he (abraham) and myself were overtaken by a frightful tornado, and cast down over the rocks a distance of three miles in a direct line; how, during this terrible fall, he had the misfortune to strike a rock, and ruin the invaluable relic of mortality which he had put in his pocket, by breaking it all to pieces; but-- "did you save the pieces?" asked a voice from the corner. of course it was the voice of the doubter. a look from abraham silenced him, and the narrative was resumed: but it fortunately happened that a portion of the socket of one eye and a piece of the forehead remained entire, which, together with all the smaller fragments, he would be most happy to exhibit to the company; premising, however, that there was but little question in his mind, from all the particulars of pearce's tragical narrative, that this skull was in some way or other connected with it. possibly it might be that the unhappy young woman, who it appears was the victim of an inordinate passion for the murdered man, bereft of her senses by his tragical death, went to his grave at night and dug up his body, and being unable to carry it away at once, perhaps she cut it to pieces, and carried it by degrees up to her secret place of wailing in the mountains, where she could mourn over his remains without fear of discovery. it was not an unreasonable conjecture, he thought, considering the woman was insane. in some hour of despondency she had probably made those mysterious designs which had led to the discovery--the sketch of the dead body of her lover; the ship that left the island without saving him; some pet goat that doubtless accompanied her in her wanderings; the children that were strangled, and all those vague marks, which indicated the character of her thoughts. during the narration of these adventures, which i must confess astonished me not a little, well as i knew the enthusiastic character of my friend (and he never was more in earnest in his life), i observed that pearce had doubled himself up almost into a knot, covering his face with his hands, and heaving convulsively, as if moved by some internal earthquake. there was no sound escaped him, but it was quite evident that he was strangely affected by abraham's narrative. the rest of the party were so deeply interested in the whole disclosure that they took no notice of him. could it be that pearce himself was implicated in the murder? that it was all a fiction his being in valparaiso at the time? that he was in any way attached to this unfortunate female, whose sad fate had aroused all our sympathies? "i'd like to see that skull," said the doubter. "here it is--or what remains of it," said abraham, drawing forth the pieces from his pocket; "you can all see it if you wish." the pieces were handed round and examined with intense interest and curiosity. "you call this a man's skull?" said the doubter, looking incredulously at a piece which he held in his hand. "i do, sir," said abraham, sharply; "have you any objection to my calling it a man's skull, sir?" "no, none at all; you may call it a dog's skull if you like. _i'd_ call it robinson crusoe's skull if i owned it. for all i know to the contrary, it _is_ his; but i'd like to have a certificate from himself to that effect before i'd place much confidence in my own opinion, if i thought so." the biting satire of these remarks touched abraham to the quick. nothing in the world would have prevented him from springing upon the doubter at that moment, and taking summary vengeance upon his person, but the sudden exit of pearce, who, rising from his goatskin, hurriedly left the cabin. this produced a general murmur of disapprobation. it was the unanimous opinion that a course of conduct, resulting as this did--compelling a man, as it were, to leave his own castle for personal security, was very unbecoming; and that abraham, being the chief, although perhaps unintentional cause of it, was in honor bound to go after him and bring him back. i take pride in saying that my friend was not the kind of man to resist such an appeal as this. he immediately left the hut and went in search of pearce. meanwhile we took occasion to administer a well-merited rebuke to the doubter; and to declare that if he again interrupted the harmony of the evening, we would leave him ashore when we started for the ship. his only reply to this was, that he hoped, if he should unfortunately die in a cave in consequence of our cruelty, that his head would make a better-looking skull than the one abraham had found. in about ten minutes abraham and pearce returned, both having a very strange expression upon their features. pearce looked unnaturally serious about the mouth, but i fancied more knowing than usual about the eyes. in sitting down he dropped a dollar, which he hastily picked up and put in his pocket. as to my friend, i thought there was something confused and dejected in his look; but he immediately said with assumed spirits when he came in, "all right, gentlemen; all right. the whole thing is settled; let there be nothing more about it." some few questions, however, were asked concerning the skull, but all the satisfaction abraham could give was, "you have the particulars, gentlemen; you must judge for yourselves." pearce professed to know nothing about it. harmony and good-humor being again restored, there were numerous calls for some farther reminiscences of the island. pearce said he didn't know whether any of us had ever heard of the governor's vision; if we hadn't, maybe we'd like to hear something about it. he couldn't promise that it was all true, but the chilians here believed every word of it; "and, likely enough," he added, looking quietly at abraham, "there may be some of you that can account for it." "let us have it!" exclaimed every body in a breath; "the governor's vision, by all means." pearce then fixed himself comfortably on his goatskin, and, putting some fagots on the fire, gave us in substance the following history of the governor's vision. chapter xix. the governor's vision. the highest peak on the island of juan fernandez is called the peak of yonka. it forms an abrupt precipice all round, of several hundred feet. various attempts have been made from time to time, by sailors and others, to ascend to the summit, but this feat has never been accomplished except in a single instance. a cross still stands upon it, which was erected by two chilians many years ago, under very strange circumstances. it appears that the chilian governor at the time of the penal settlement in cumberland bay went out riding one day near this mountain. on his return he related to his people a strange vision which he had seen in the course of his ramble. he said that, while looking at the peak, he saw down in the valley that lay between a tall man dressed in black, with a black hat on, mounted on a horse of the purest white. the strange rider turned toward him, showing a face of ghastly paleness. he looked at him steadfastly, with "eyes of fire," as the governor declared, the glare of which made the air hot all around. the governor, trembling with awe, made the sign of the cross, upon which the strange horseman put spurs to his horse, and rode straight up the precipice to the summit of the peak, where he stopped a moment to look back. he then, upon seeing the sign of the cross made again, waved his hands wildly, as if in despair, and plunged out of sight on the other side. being a devout man, and withal a believer in spirits, the governor considered this to be an omen of some impending calamity, which could only be averted by planting a cross on the peak. for this purpose he selected two criminals, under sentence of death for the murder of a soldier, and offered them their liberty if they would make the ascent and erect the cross. in the one case there was the certainty of death, in the other a chance of life. the criminals therefore resolved to make the attempt. ropes, ladders, and tools were furnished them by the governor, and they were allowed such provisions as they required, with injunctions that at the expiration of ten days, in case of failure, they would be executed. for eight days they toiled incessantly. they drove spikes into the walls of rock, and day by day went up a little higher, letting themselves down again at night by ropes to the base of the precipice. on the eighth day they reached the summit, ready to die of fright, and worn to skeletons at the terrible ordeal through which they had passed. it took them all the next day to recover sufficiently to be able to resume their labors. the table on the top was of solid rock, not more than fifty feet in diameter. in the centre was a spring of clear water bubbling up and running over the rocks. one of them bathed in this water, and was so refreshed that he thought it must have some magical properties. he went over to the edge on the western side, and looked down to see where it fell. directly beneath him, he saw a line stretched from two points of rock over the precipice, nearly covered with linen shirts, as white as the driven snow, and apparently of the finest texture. he called to his comrade to come and witness this wonderful sight. while the two men were looking over, there came a tremendous hurricane, that compelled them to throw themselves flat on their backs to avoid being blown over into the abyss. after the hurricane had passed they again looked over, but the line and shirts had disappeared, and they saw nothing but the bare rocks. they then fell upon their knees and prayed, and the vision of an angel appeared to them, telling them to put up the cross near the spring. as soon as they had planted the cross, they let themselves down by the ropes, and hastened to tell the governor of the strange adventures that had befallen them. so impressed was he by their wonderful narrative, that he immediately gave them their freedom, as he had promised, and sent them home laden with presents; and he had crosses erected on various parts of the island, and masses performed by the soldiers for a long time after. "i wouldn't swear to it all," added pearce, looking again toward abraham. "but likely some of you gentlemen, who have more schoolin' than i have, may be able to account for it." abraham reddened a little and looked confused, but said nothing. a voice from the corner broke in, "i know exactly how it happened; nothing is easier than to account for it. in the first place, it didn't happen at all. the governor was dyspeptic. i'm rayther dyspeptic myself, gentlemen, and i know what sights a man sees when he gets the horrors from dyspepsia. i've seen stranger sights than that when it was bad on me--once, in particular, i was troubled a good deal worse than the governor." "impossible," said abraham, scornfully, "utterly impossible, sir, that you could ever have seen any thing half so strange as the governor's vision." "i didn't see a house made of glue," retorted the doubter. "i didn't ride on wild horses; neither did i find a castle with a skull in it. i didn't carry the skull six miles, and then find out that it came off the head of a four-legged man; and that the four-legged man was cut to pieces by his lady-love; but i'll tell you what i did see." "hold, sir, hold!" cried abraham, now perfectly furious. "by heavens, gentlemen, i can't stand such insults as these! you must suffer me to chastise this wretch. miserable poltroon! do you dare to taunt me in that manner? i'll see you, sir--i'll see you to-morrow morning!" "likely you will," said the doubter, coolly, at the same time shrinking back a little. "likely you will, if you look in the right direction. keep your dander down till then, and you'll see a good deal better. in the mean time, gentlemen, if you like to listen, i'll tell you what happened when the dyspepsia was bad on me." of course, any proposition calculated to restore harmony was heartily approved, and thereupon we were forced to listen to-- chapter xx. the doubter's dyspeptic story. [illustration: the doubter.] once, when the dyspepsia was bad on me, i went to bed rayther low-spirited, and began to think i was going to die. i thought i couldn't live till morning. my stomach was as hard as a brick-bat, and i was cold all over. the more cover i piled on, the colder i got. the minute i shut my eyes, i was scared to death at the darkness. i felt as if something dreadful was going to happen, and didn't know exactly what it was. sometimes i thought robbers were under the bed, and sometimes i heard strange noises about the house. my heart stopped beating altogether; i felt for my pulse, but couldn't find it in my wrists or any where else. every bit of blood seemed to have oozed out of me in some mysterious way, and to all intents and purposes my body was dead. there was no dream about it. i could move my limbs the same as ever, and was as wide awake as i am this minute; but there was no sign of life about me except that my mind had power to move the dead flesh; for it was cold and clammy as that of a corpse. any body else would have given up, and concluded he was a genuine corpse; but you see i was not the sort of man to believe such a thing as that without farther proof. i therefore lay still a while, in hopes i'd get warm by-and-by, and feel better; but i kept growing colder and colder, and at last was so cold that i felt like ice all over. i had the most dreadful and gloomy reflections. every thing i thought about seemed blue, and dreary, and hopeless; every body unhappy; and the whole future a desert waste, without one ray of light. despair was upon me; i cared for nothing; it was all the same to me whether i lived or died. i wanted neither help, nor pity, nor love, nor life--all, all was wrapped in despair. the gloom of this state brought on a kind of lethargy; a total unconsciousness of every thing external. my mind only existed and operated, as it were, in perfect darkness. the body was nothing but a type of intense darkness and coldness wrapped around the spirit. in this state i at length heard whisperings in the air, outside of me as i thought. they drew nearer; the voices were strange and unnatural; i was conscious of a singular sensation, for a time, as if whirled rapidly through space; then i heard the voices say, in low tones, "how cold he is! how miserably cold he is! but we'll soon warm him!" i now became sensible of strong gases in the air, but they produced no farther impression than the mere consciousness of their existence. wild shrieks and moans, and dreadful hissing sounds arose around me. "here we are," said the voices; "glad of it, for he's terribly cold." "put him there in that big furnace; it'll soon warm him," said another voice, in a tone of authority. i was then tossed, as i thought, some distance, and became suddenly still; but the same cold and impenetrable darkness was around my spirit. "there, that fire's out!" said the voice, angrily; "put him in another, and keep him well stirred up." again there was a movement, and again i was still, but not so still as before, for i was conscious of a jarring sensation. "out again!" roared the same voice, fiercely. "out again! you don't keep him well stirred up!" "he's as cold as ice," said the other voices; "we can't do any thing with him." "try him in the middle furnace!" said the chief voice, sternly; "that'll melt the ice out of him!" again i was whirled through the gases and deposited in some imperceptible place; but all this time i was growing colder and colder. there was a pause, and then the voices said, "he won't burn, sir; don't you see he's putting the fire out." "out again, by all the demons!" roared the chief voice, furiously. "take him away! carry him back to where you got him. the man's dyspeptic. we can't have such a miserable wretch here! by pluto! he'd put out every fire we've got in a week. bear a hand, you rascals! for may i be blessed _if i ain't freezing myself_!" here the doubter paused. "well, sir, well," said abraham, ironically, "have you any thing further to say on the same subject? any thing equally reliable? perhaps you can inform us how you got warm again?" "well, that doesn't properly belong to the story," said the doubter, looking around meaningly upon the company. "i meant that it should end there; but, if you insist upon it, i'll answer your question." "of course, sir; the matter requires explanation. it comes to rather an abrupt conclusion." "the way i got warm, then, was this: i picked up a skull when i was leaving the premises. it was full of hot glue. the fellows that were carrying me got their hands frostbitten and had to let go at last. i fell on an island. the first thing i struck was the top of a mountain. i slid down for three miles without stopping. on the way i broke the skull, and spilled the glue all over me, which made me slip so fast that i was quite warm by the time i got to the bottom." to this abraham made no reply. turning away from the doubter with ferocity and indignation depicted in every feature, he looked silently around upon the company; his breast heaved convulsively; his hands grasped nervously at the hair upon his goatskin; he deliberately tore it out by the roots; he suppressed a rising smile upon the face of every individual in the party by one more look at the doubter--one terrible, scathing, foreboding look of vengeance on the morrow; and then said, in a suppressed voice, "gentlemen, suppose we turn in; it must be twelve o'clock." chapter xxi. bad dream concerning the doubter. as well as we could judge, abraham was right in regard to the time; and being all tired, after the story of the dyspeptic man we set about arranging our quarters for the night. i must admit, however, take it all in all, not omitting even the drawbacks to our enjoyment occasioned by the unfortunate state of things between my friend and the doubter, and the probability of a hostile meeting in the morning, that from the time of leaving home, four months before, i had not spent so pleasant an evening. it was something to look back to with gratification and enjoyment all the rest of the voyage, should we indeed ever be able to resume our voyage. [illustration: the footprint in the sand.] pearce now pulled down an additional lot of goatskins from the rafters, which we spread on the ground so as to make a general bed; and having piled some wood on the fire and bolted the door, we stretched ourselves in a circle, with our feet toward the blaze, and made a fair beginning for the night. it was only a beginning, however, so far as i was concerned, for not long after i had closed my eyes and begun to doze, some restless gentleman got up to see if there was any spaniards trying to unbolt the door; and in stepping over me he contrived to put one foot upon my head, just as i was trying to get from under a big rock that i saw rolling down from the top of a cliff. i was a good deal astonished, upon nervously grasping at it, to find that it was made of leather, and had a human foot in it, and likewise that it had a voice, and asked me, as if very much frightened, "what the deuce was the matter?" this again, upon falling into another doze, brought to mind the footprint in the sand, which occasioned me the greatest distress and anxiety. i tried to get away from it, but wherever i went i saw that fatal mark; in the mountains, in the valleys, in the caves, on the rocks, on the trees, in the air, in the surf, in the darkness of the storm, i saw that dreadful footprint; i saw it, through the dim vista of the past, upon the banks of the ohio, where i had played in boyhood; i saw it again in my first bright glowing dream of the island world, when, with the simplicity of childhood, i prayed that i might be cast upon a desolate island; i saw it in the cream-colored volume--every where--back in childhood, in youth, now again in manhood--from the first to the last, at home, abroad--wherever thought could wander, i saw that strange and wondrous footprint. [illustration: the savage orgies.] in trying to get up the cliff where i could look out for the savages, i fancied the tuft of grass that i had hold of gave way, and i rolled over the precipice into the sea; and this was not altogether an unfounded idea, for i actually had worked myself off the goatskin, and was at that moment paddling about in a sea of mud. again i fell asleep, and a great many confused visions were impressed upon my mind. i saw the savages down on the beach, going through all their infernal orgies. they had seized upon my comrades, and were roasting them in flaming fires, and eating the fattest of them with great relish. the flesh of the doubter, i thought, was so lean and tough that they were unable to eat it; but they stripped it off in long flakes, and hung it round their necks, and danced with it swinging about their bodies, as if they regarded it as the finest ornament in the world. his head was cut off and scalped, and his skull lay upon the ground. i thought abraham had changed again into friday, and i called upon him to look at this dreadful scene, and help me to kill these wretched cannibals; but no sooner did he catch sight of the doubter's skull, than he ran from me toward the spot, and picked it up with a horrible shout of triumph, and sticking his gun into it he held it in the air, and danced all round in a circle laughing like a devil. the doubter, perceiving this in some strange way (for he was without a head), jumped to his feet, with his fleshless bones, and ran after abraham, making signs for his skull; but abraham only laughed the louder and danced the more, thrusting the skull at him as he jumped about, and asking him, in a sneering voice, what he thought of it now? was it a dog's skull yet? would he like to have it fastened on again with glue? how had he contrived to keep out of the fire? were the savages afraid he would put it out? did his present exercise warm him? each of which taunting questions he ended with a wild laugh of derision, and a snatch of his favorite song-- "tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, oh, poor robinson crusoe!" this, i thought, so incensed the doubter that he turned away in disgust, and walked off shaking his neck as if it had the head still on; and when he was some distance from abraham he sat down on the ground and slowly raised his right hand, placing the thumb where his nose would have been had the head still remained in its place, and then his left hand in the same way, fixing the thumb upon the little finger of the other, and thus he waved them to and fro, as if he had no confidence even in his own skull or in any of the circumstances connected with it. while this was going on, the savages continued their infernal dance on the beach. i now raised my gun and began shooting at them, killing them by scores. i could see their dark bodies roll over into the surf, and hear their yells of terror at the report of the gun; and when i rushed down to save my shipmates, all i could see was abraham sitting upon a rock, pounding the skull into small fragments with a big stone which he held in both hands, and the fleshless body of the doubter sitting opposite to him, slowly waving the little finger of his left hand at him in the same incredulous and taunting manner as before. and thus ended the dream. chapter xxii. the unpleasant affair of honor. when i awoke it was daylight. my mind was still harassed with the bad dream concerning the doubter. i had the most gloomy forebodings of some impending misfortune either to him or my friend abraham. every effort to shake off this unpleasant feeling proved entirely vain; it still clung to me heavily; and, although i was now wide awake, yet it seemed to me there was something prophetic in the dream. unable to get rid of the impression, i got up, and looked around upon my comrades, who were all sleeping soundly after their rambles of the previous day. instinctively, as it were, for i was unconscious of any fixed motive, i counted them. there were only nine! a sudden pang shot through me, as if my worst fears were now realized. but how? i thought. where was the tenth man? what had become of him? was it abraham? was it the doubter? who was it? for the light was not strong enough to enable me to distinguish all the faces, partly hidden, as they were, in the goatskins. i looked toward the door; it was unbolted, and slightly ajar. i opened it wide and looked out; there was nothing to be seen in the gray light of the morning but the bushes near the hut, and the dark mountains in the distance. it was time, at all events, to be on the look-out for the ship, so i roused up my comrades, and eagerly noticed each one as he waked. the doubter was missing! could it be possible that abraham's threats had driven him to run away during the night, when all were asleep, and hide himself in the mountains? there seemed to be no other way of accounting for his absence. "where is he? what's become of him? maybe he's drowned himself!" were the general remarks upon discovering his absence. "come on! we must look for him! it won't do to leave him ashore!" we hurried down to the boat-landing as fast as we could, thinking he might be there; and on our way saw that the ship was still in the offing. the boat was just as we had left it, but not a soul any where near. we then roused up every body in the chilian quarter, shouting the name of the missing man in all directions. he was not there! all this time abraham was in the greatest distress, running about every where, without saying a word, looking under the bushes, peeping into every crevice in the rocks, darting in and out of the chilian huts, greatly to the astonishment of the occupants, and quite breathless and dispirited when he discovered no trace of our comrade. at last, when we were forced to give up the search and turn toward pearce's hut, where we had left our host in the act of lighting the fire to cook breakfast, he took me aside, and said, "look here, luff, i'm very sorry i had any difficulty with that poor fellow. the fact is, he provoked me to it. however, i have nothing against him now; and i just wanted to tell you that i sha'n't go aboard the ship till i find him. if you like, you can help me to hunt him up, while the others are seeing about breakfast." "to be sure, abraham," said i, "we must find him, dead or alive. i'll go with you, of course. but tell me, as we walk along, what it was pearce said to you last night. how did you get him back when he went out?" "oh, never mind that now," replied abraham, looking, as i thought, rather confused. "you gave him a dollar, didn't you?" said i; "what was that for?" "why, the fact is, luff, he made those marks himself in some idle hour as he lay basking in the sun up there. he told me that he often spends whole days among the cliffs or sleeping in the caves, while his sheep are grazing in the valleys. you may have noticed that he was rather inclined to burst when he left the hut. the fellow had sense enough not to say any thing before the company. i thought it was worth a dollar to keep the thing quiet." "it was well worth a dollar, abraham; but the skull--what about the skull?" "oh, the skull? _he_ said he picked it up one day outside the cave, and hove it up there, thinking it would do for a lamp some time or other. what excited me so when our shipmate spoke about it was that he should call it a dog's skull." "and wasn't it?" "why, yes; to tell the truth, luff, it _was_ the skull of a wild dog; but you know one doesn't like to be told of such a thing. however, we must look about for the poor fellow, and not leave him ashore." by this time we had reached an elevation some distance back of the huts. we stopped a while to listen, and then began shouting his name. at first we could hear nothing; but at length there was a sound reached our ears like a distant echo, only rather muffled. "halloo!" cried abraham, as loud as he could. "halloo!" was faintly echoed back, after a pause. "nothing but an echo," said i. "it doesn't sound like _my_ voice," observed abraham. "halloo! where are you?" he shouted again, at the highest pitch of his voice. there was another pause. "i'm here!" was the smothered reply. "that's a queer echo," said abraham; "i'll bet a dollar he's underground somewhere. halloo! halloo! where are you?" this time abraham put his ear to the ground to listen. "here, i tell you!" answered the voice, in the same smothered tones. "down here." "he's not far off," said abraham. "come, let us look about." we immediately set out in the direction of the voice. the path made a turn round a point of rocks some few hundred yards distant, on the right of which was a steep precipice. on reaching this, we walked on some distance, till we came to a narrow pass, with a high bluff on one side, and a large rock on the edge of the precipice. the path apparently came to an end here; but upon going a little farther, we saw that it formed a kind of step about three feet down, just at the beginning of the narrow pass, between the rock and the bluff, so that in making any farther progress it would be necessary to jump from the top of the step, or, in coming the other way, to jump up. it was necessary for us, at least, to jump some way before long, for upon arriving at the edge we discovered a pit about four feet wide at the mouth, and how deep it was impossible for us to tell at the moment. we thought it must be rather deep, however, from the sepulchral sounds that came out of it. "here i am," said the voice, "down in the hole, here, if i ain't mistaken, but i wouldn't swear to it; i may be somewhere else: it feels like a hole--that's all i can say about it, except that it's tolerably deep, and smells of goats." "a goat-trap!" exclaimed abraham, in undisguised astonishment. "by heavens, luff, he's caught in a goat-trap!" "it may be a goat-trap, or it may not. i want you to observe that i neither deny nor affirm the proposition. there's not much room in it, however, except for doubt." "how in the world are we to get him out?" cried abraham, whose sympathies were now thoroughly aroused by the misfortune of his opponent. "we must contrive some plan to pull him out. hold on here, luff; i'll go and cut a pole." while abraham was hunting about among the bushes for a pole of suitable length, i sprang over to the other side of the pit, and, getting down on my hands and knees, looked into it, and perceived that it spread out toward the bottom, so that it was impossible to climb up without assistance. "this is rather a bad business," said i; "what induced you to go down there?" "i didn't come down here altogether of my own will," replied the doubter; "credulity brought me here--too much credulity; taking things without sufficient proof; assuming a ground where no ground existed." "how was that? i don't quite understand." "why, you see, i happened to come along this way about an hour ago, to see if the sun rose in the north, and not dreaming of goat-traps, i took it for granted that i could jump down a step in the path apparently not more than three feet deep. there's where the mistake was. a man has no business placing any dependence upon his eyes without strong collateral evidence from all the rest of his senses. i assumed the ground that there was ground at the bottom of the step. accordingly, i jumped. there was no ground for the assumption. to be sure i descended three feet, according to my original design; but i descended at least twelve feet more, of which i had no intention whatever. the fact is, there was some rotten brushwood, covered with straw and clay, over the mouth of the pit, which i went through without the least difficulty." "are you hurt?" said i, anxiously. "well, i was considerably stunned. likely enough some of my ribs are broken, and several blood-vessels ruptured; but i won't believe any thing more for some time. i've made up my mind to that. i may or may not be hurt, according to future proof." by this time abraham came running toward the pit as fast as he could, with a long pole in his hand, which he had cut among the bushes. "this is the best i could get," said he, nearly breathless with haste, and very much excited; "there were some others, but i didn't think they were strong enough." without farther delay, he sprang across the pit to the lower side, and thrust the pole down as far as he could reach. it must have struck something, for he immediately drew it back a little, and the voice of the doubter was heard to exclaim, in a high state of irritation, "halloo, there! what are you about? confound it, sir, i'm not a wild beast, to be stirred up in that way." "never mind," said abraham, "i didn't intend to hurt you. take hold of the pole. i'll pull you out. take hold of it quick, and hang on as hard as you can." "no, sir; it can't be done, sir. i'll not take hold of any thing upon an uncertainty." "but there's no uncertainty about this," cried abraham, in a high state of excitement; "it's perfectly safe. take hold, i tell you." "can't be done, sir, can't be done," said the doubter; "there's not sufficient proof that you'll pull me out if i do take hold. no, sir; i've been deceived once, and i don't mean to be deceived again." "now, by heavens, luff, this is too bad. he doubts my honor. what are we to do?" and abraham wrung his hands in despair. "halloo, there, i say--halloo!" "well, what do you want?" answered the voice of the doubter. "i want to pull you out. surely you don't think i'll be guilty of any thing so dishonorable as to take advantage of your misfortune?" "i don't think at all," said the doubter, gloomily; "i've given up thinking. you may or may not be an honorable man. at present i have nobody's word for it but your own." here i thought it proper to protest that i knew abraham well; that there was not a more honorable man living. "besides," i added, "there's no other way for you to get out of the pit." "very well, then," said the doubter; "i'll take hold, but you must take hold too, and see that he doesn't let go. pull away, gentlemen!" [illustration: the doubter back again.] abraham and myself accordingly pulled away as hard as we could, and in a few moments the head of our comrade appeared in the light, a short distance below the rim of the pit. i had barely time to notice that his hair was filled with straw and clay, when abraham, in his eagerness to get him entirely clear of danger, made a sudden pull, which would certainly have accomplished the object had the doubter come with the upper part of the pole. but such was not the case. on the contrary, both my friend and myself fell flat upon our backs; and upon jumping up, we discovered that the doubter had fallen into the pit again, carrying with him the lower end of the pole, which had unfortunately broken off at that critical moment. there he lay in the bottom of the pit, writhing and groaning in the most frightful manner. "he's killed! he's killed!" cried abraham, in perfect agony of mind. "oh, luff, to think that i killed him at last! it was all my fault. here, quick! lower me down! i must help him!" before i had time to say a word, abraham seized hold of my right hand, and, directing me to hold on with all my might, he began to let himself down into the pit. it required the utmost tension of every muscle to bear his weight, but the excitement nerved me. "let go, now!" said he, as soon as he got as far down as i could lower him without lowering myself, which i narrowly escaped; "let go, luff!" i did so, and heard a dull, heavy fall, and a groan louder than before. "what's the matter, abraham--did you hurt yourself?" "not myself," said abraham, "but i'm afraid i hurt him. i fell on him." "you did," groaned a voice, faintly, "you fell on me. i'm tolerably certain of that. it was a shabby trick, sir; it wasn't bad enough to throw me down here, without jumping on top of me when i couldn't defend myself!" "i hope you're not much hurt," said abraham; "it was all accident--i swear it, on my sacred honor!" "honor!" groaned the doubter, contemptuously; "is it honorable to drop a man into a pit, and knock all the breath out of his body, and then jump on top of him! honor, indeed! but it was my own fault: i was too ready to take things without proof." "now, by all that's human!" cried abraham, stung to the quick at these unmerited reproaches, "i'll prove to you that i didn't mean it. get up on my shoulders--here, i'll help you--and climb out. would any but an honorable man do that?" "it depends upon his motives," replied the doubter; "i won't take motives on credit any more. i'm not going to get up on your shoulders, and have you jump from under me about the time i get hold of something above, and leave me to fall down and break my back, or hang there. no, sir, i want no farther assistance. i've made up my mind to spend the remainder of my days here." "you _sha'n't_ stay here!" cried abraham, exasperated to the last degree by these taunts. "by heavens, sir, you _shall_ be assisted!" here there was a struggle in the bottom of the pit; the doubter writhing like an eel all over the ground in his attempts to elude the grasp of abraham; but soon he was in the powerful arms of my friend, who, holding him up, shouted lustily, "catch hold of him, luff! catch him by the hair or the coat-collar! hold on to him, while i shove him up!" the writhing form of the doubter at the same moment loomed up in the light, and i called upon him to give me his hands; but he resolutely held them down, protesting that he would trust no man for the future; that he'd die before any body should deceive him again. in this extremity, driven almost frantic in my zeal for his safety, i grasped at the collar of his coat, and succeeded, after some difficulty, in getting a firm hold of it. "all right!" i shouted; "push away now, abraham!" in spite of every exertion on abraham's part, however, our unfortunate comrade rose no higher, which i can only account for by the depth of the pit. "a little higher, abraham--just two inches--that's it--all right!" it certainly was all right so far; i had drawn him partly over the edge, and would eventually have drawn him entirely over, had it not caved in, by reason of the united weight of both on it at the same time, and thus the matter was prevented from being all right to any greater extent. the consequence of this disaster was, that we both fell heavily upon abraham, who, unable to bear our united weight, fell himself under the doubter, while i, being uppermost, formed a kind of apex to the pyramid. our fall was thus broken in some measure; and, although abraham groaned heavily under our weight, yet, as fortune would have it, nobody was hurt. the doubter was the first who spoke. "i told you so!" said he, faintly; "but you _would_ try. you would try, in spite of all i could say, and now you see the consequence. it appears to me that there are three men caught in a goat-trap now instead of one; but i'll not insist upon it; there may be only one. my eyes have deceived me already, and likely as not they deceive me now." "no, they don't," said abraham, in smothered tones; "i'm quite certain there are two of you on top of me. get off, if you can, for i can't breathe much longer in this position. you may depend upon it, there are three of us here." "i shall depend upon nothing for the future," replied the doubter, gloomily; "i depended upon a pole just now, and was dropped; i put faith in that pole, and both the faith and the pole were broken at the same time, and my back too nearly, if not quite broken." "but i'm not a pole," groaned abraham, "you may depend upon that. get off now, do, for heaven's sake." "you don't feel like a pole," said the doubter, "but you may be one, for all i know; there's no telling what you are. however, i'll get off, lest you should break likewise." i had already relieved abraham of my weight; and being now entirely free, he got up, and we began to consider how we were to get out of the pit. as good luck would have it, we heard some voices approaching, which we soon discovered to be a couple of chilians, to whom the trap belonged, coming thus early in the morning to see if it had caught any goats. when they looked over and saw the earth broken in, they were greatly rejoiced; but no sooner did they perceive that the game consisted of three full-grown men, than they ran away as fast as they could, shouting "_diabolo_! _diabolo!_" abraham, who had been studying spanish during the voyage, understood sufficient of the language to call out "_americanos! americanos! no diabolo! per amore deos, viene' qui! amigos! amigos! no diabolo!_" this caused them to halt; and upon its being repeated a great many times, they ventured to the edge of the pit, where abraham gave them every assurance that we were three unfortunate americans, who had fallen into the trap by accident, and that we were in no way related to the devil. upon this, they took a coil of rope, which they had for pulling up goats, and making a noose on one end, they let it down. the first man that was fastened on was the doubter. it required the united efforts of abraham and myself to get him into the noose; but we eventually had the pleasure of seeing him go up through the hole without farther accident. i then yielded reluctantly to abraham, who insisted, as a point of honor, that he should be the last man. being light, i was whirled out in a twinkling; and, finally, through this providential turn of affairs, we were all safely landed outside of the pit. the two chilians, unable to divine the causes which had led to this singular state of things, looked on as if still half afraid that they had pulled some very bad characters out of the ground, muttering, as we shook the dirt off our clothes, "_madre de deos! santa maria! padre bonita!_" i considered this a fitting opportunity, in view of the happy issue of the disaster, to effect a full and complete reconciliation between abraham and the doubter, and therefore proposed that they should shake hands on the spot, and forego all future hostilities. my friend immediately held out his hand in the frankest manner; the doubter hesitated a moment, as if afraid that it might result in his being pulled back again into the pit; but, unable any longer to resist the hearty sincerity of his opponent, he gave his hand, and suffered it to be shaken; and so rejoiced was abraham in finding every thing was thus happily settled, that he shook on with all his force for at least five minutes, during which the two chilians, knowing no good reason why a pair of strange gentlemen, just pulled out of a goat-trap, should stand shaking hands with one another, exhibited the utmost surprise and consternation, exclaiming, as before, "_madre de deos! santa maria! padre bonita!_" we contrived to make up the sum of a dollar between us, which we gave to the men, telling them, at the same time, that they need not mention this matter, should they see any of our companions before we left the island. we then started for pearce's hut, which we soon reached. the rest of the party had finished breakfast, and were waiting for us at the boat-landing. they had left directions with pearce that we were to follow without delay, with or without the missing man, as the ship had made a signal for us to come aboard. while the doubter and myself were making a hasty snack, abraham took a piece of bread and meat, and started off to let our friends know that we had found the missing man, and would soon be down. in a few minutes we concluded our snack, and were about leaving the cabin, when pearce said he reckoned some of us had left a bundle, which he had found in the corner. the bundle consisted of a handkerchief tied up, with something in it, which i quickly discovered to be the relic we had found in crusoe's cave. "where did you get that?" said pearce. "we dug it up in crusoe's cave; it was made by alexander selkirk." "no it wasn't; it was made by me. i lived there a while when i first came on the island, and made it myself. i know the mark. i made it about a year and a half ago." "but how is that?" said i, greatly astonished; "it looks to be over a century and a half old." "it wasn't baked enough," said pearce; "that's the reason it didn't keep well. the name's broke off, but there's part of what i writ on it." "impossible!" said i. "don't you see "a s.... --?' what can that be but alexander selkirk, , which was just the time he lived here!" "no, 'taint; alexander selkirk never made that 'ere. i made it myself. i put my name on it; but the name's broke off. i writ, '_a saucepan maid by w. pearce, oct._' that's all. 'taint no use to me now; you may take it, ef you want to." i took it without saying another word; tied it up again in the handkerchief, and asked pearce if he was going down with us to the boat-landing. he said he would be down there presently. so, without farther delay, we set out to join our companions. as we walked rapidly along the path, my shipmate suffered strange sounds to escape from his throat, indicative of his feelings. suddenly he stopped, as if unable to restrain himself any longer. "where are you going?" said he. "going aboard, to be sure; come on, they're waiting for us." "you are, eh? going aboard, eh? well, any thing to humor the idea. it sounds very like reality, indeed--very." "and why shouldn't it?" said i. "of course, why shouldn't it? look here, luff, you're rather a clever sort of fellow." "do you think so?" said i, a little embarrassed at so abrupt an opinion in my favor. "yes, i do," said the doubter; "i always did. will you just have the goodness to look into my mouth (opening it at the same time as wide as he could). now, just cast your eyes into this cavity." i did as he desired me, thinking perhaps the poor fellow was suffering from his fall into the goat-pit. "well," said i, "there's nothing there, so far as i can see, except a piece of tobacco. your tongue looks badly." "it does, eh? no matter about that. this is what i want you to notice: that i have a tolerably big swallowing apparatus, but i'm not the style of man that's calculated to swallow an entire island. possibly i might get down a piece of a skull, or an old saucepan, with a grain of salt; but i can't swallow juan fernandez, with robinson crusoe and alexander selkirk--two of the biggest liars that ever existed, on top of it. no, sir, it can't be done." [illustration: swallowing an island.] i thought myself that he was not a person likely to accomplish a feat of that kind, for his throat was not uncommonly large, and his digestive organs appeared to be weakly. "no, i shouldn't think so," said i. "you don't look like a man that could swallow so much." "very well, then; i'm willing to humor the idea. i'll imagine we're going aboard from juan fernandez, if you like. but the island _doesn't exist_! no, sir; it reads very well on paper; it's a very romantic place, no doubt--if any body could find it; a very pleasant spot for a small tea-party between a pair of wandering vagabonds; but it doesn't exist any where else but on the maps. don't you ever try, luff, to make me believe that any of these things which we imagine to have occurred within the past three days have the slightest foundation in fact." i was not prepared to go to the full extent of denying the entire existence of the island; but, i must confess, there was a good deal in our experiences of the past three days calculated to inspire doubt; so much, indeed, that i hardly knew what to believe myself. even now, after the lapse of four years, and the frequent repetition of all these adventures to my friends, which has given something more of reality to the doubtful points, i would hardly be willing to swear to more than the general outline; nor am i quite certain that even the main incidents would stand cross-examination in a court of doubters. such, reader, is the deceptive nature of appearances! while we were talking, pearce overtook us with a bundle of goatskins which we had bargained for the night before, and we all went down to the boat-landing together. there we found our shipmates all ready to start. the anteus was lying-to about eight or ten miles off, outside the harbor; and the sea being rather rough, we thought it best to agree with pearce for some seats in his boat, and hire a couple of the chilians to help us at the oars. in this way, having stored all our relics in the bow of the boat except the earthen pot, which we had the misfortune to drop overboard, we set out for the ship, bidding a general good-by to juan fernandez and all its romantic vales with three hearty cheers. a few heavy seas broke over us when we got outside the harbor; and we saw the brooklyn weighing anchor and preparing to stand out to sea, and a small brig that we had met in rio beating in; but, with the exception of these little incidents, nothing occurred worth mentioning till we arrived alongside the anteus. the captain and all the passengers received us in silence; not a word was spoken by any body; no sign of rejoicing or recognition whatever took place as we stepped on board. we thought it rather a cool termination to our adventures, and could only account for it by supposing that this was the way people thought to be dead and buried are usually treated when they come unexpectedly to life again after a great deal of grief has been wasted upon them. nor were we wrong in our conjectures; for in about five minutes our friends on board, including the kind-hearted captain, finding themselves entirely unable to keep up such a state of displeasure, crowded around us in different parts of the ship, and began shaking hands with us privately, and asking us a thousand questions about juan fernandez and robinson crusoe. we introduced our worthy host as the real crusoe of the island, and brought both him and the chilians down into the cabin, where we gave them as much as they could eat, besides honorably acquitting ourselves of our indebtedness by paying our friend pearce all the ham and bread we had promised him, and loading him with sundry presents of clothing and groceries. the captain then ordered the yards to be braced; the boat swung off as we began to plow our way once more toward the golden land, and before noon the island was blue in the distance. chapter xxiii. doctor stillman's journal. i have been kindly permitted to select the following from the private journal of dr. j. d. b. stillman, of new york, an intelligent fellow-passenger on the anteus. it will give some idea of the state of feeling on board during our absence. "_sunday, may th._ eleven passengers left the vessel yesterday in a small boat, with the intention of going ashore on the island of juan fernandez for fruit and fresh provisions. at first they made but little progress ahead of the ship, but the wind soon fell away entirely, and about noon the boat could not be seen from the mast-head. another party of eight passengers prepared to start about two o'clock this morning. the captain, however, was so uneasy at the absence of the other boat, that he refused liberty. lights were kept burning in the rigging during the night. toward morning a breeze sprung up. short sail was carried for fear the boat should attempt to reach us and miss her way. at sunrise it was again calm. the islands loomed higher, but nothing could be distinguished. at a.m. a stiff breeze sprang up from the direction of masatierra, and the day was spent in beating to windward, and straining our eyes in the hope of discerning some traces of our lost comrades. the wind continued to freshen all day. at p.m. the sea was quite rough. no light could be seen on the shore. the captain, who is well acquainted with the island, says if they attempted to land on the south side they would be inevitably swamped, and some or all lost, as the shore is rock-bound, and the only safe landing is on the north side, fifteen miles farther on. the probability is that they were too much exhausted to attempt landing, and night would have fallen before they could have reached the land at any rate. i am confident in the opinion that they are on the north side of the island, and that they lay all last night on their oars, and landed this morning, too much exhausted to attempt returning the same day. i have great confidence in some of the company; but to-night gloom is general, and a fearful presentiment seems to rest upon the minds of all that we shall soon have to record a melancholy casualty. "_monday, st._ the wind this morning is blowing very fresh. we have been all day beating nearer the island. objects are quite distinct on the south shore. it is very high and nearly barren. indeed, so steep are the lofty mountain sides that there does not appear to be soil enough adhering to the rocks to support a spire of grass, except near the summits, which are over a thousand feet in height where they rise near the water; and every where, so far as we can see, the shore is rock-bound, upon which the surf beats fearfully. they could not be so wild as to attempt landing on this side. to-night the wind blows a gale, and we shall be compelled to await a change before we attempt the windward side. hopes are getting faint. the distress of those who are most interested in the parties is great. some of our best men were of the company. in fact, it is a question which has absorbed all others, what has become of the boat? to-night i have rather congratulated myself that i did not go. to add to our perplexity, the air is becoming thick, and rain is coming on. the clouds hang heavy and dark over the mountains. at nightfall the wind suddenly changes to s.w. the ship is put about, and run for the north side of the island. "_may d._ while i was writing last night, a loud shout called us all in great haste on deck. a light had been discovered on the shore, and hearty cheers expressed the deep anxiety of all, now in a great measure relieved. there was no doubt that they had reached the shore, and that some of the number were surviving. i felt assured that all was right. signals were set from the rigging, and the vessel lay to during the night. at dawn of day we were twenty miles distant from the island. made all sail and stood in for the harbor. as we neared the shore, discovered a large ship at anchor, and a brig rounding the western point. soon after, we distinguished the tiny sail of our lost boat making for the ship. the captain, in order to show a proper resentment for the disobedience of orders, directed that no demonstrations of joy should be made; and, as they came alongside, they were received in silence." the shades of evening were gathering upon the horizon. a murmur of life arose from the decks, but it fell unheeded upon my ear. for now, and for many days and nights in our dreary voyage, there was no life for me but in the past. i felt that my happiest hours were there. once more i turned to look upon the dim island that was fading away in the south. a steady breeze wafted us onward; the sun's last rays yet lingered in the sky; twilight hung upon the ocean, and its gentle spirit "rendered birth to dim enchantments--melting heaven to earth-- leaving on craggy hills and running streams a softness like the atmosphere of dreams." [illustration: dreams and realities.] and was this the last of the island-world? was it to be in future years a mere dream of the past? was i never more to behold its wild grottoes and green valleys? was all the romance of life to fade away with it in the twilight? was it, like the cream-colored volume, to reveal enchantments that henceforth could dwell only in the memory? fresh, and fair, and wondrous it was in its romantic beauty when the mists were scattered away, and i beheld it for the first time in the glowing light of morning, with the white sea-foam sparkling on its shores, and the birds singing in its groves. how rich the air was with sweet odors; how varied and changing the colors upon the hill-sides; how softly steeped in shadows were its glens and woodland slopes--what a world of romance was there! [illustration: peak of yonka.] i had pressed its sod with my feet; reveled in its streams; lived again my early life in its pleasant valleys; passed some happy hours there with friends from whom i soon must part; and now, what was it? a dim cloud on the horizon, sinking in the sea, fading away in the shadows of night. i looked again; faintly and more faintly still its mountains loomed above the deep. weary with gazing, i closed my eyes, and for a moment i saw it again; but it was only in fancy. i looked--and it had passed away! was it forever? "and now the light of many stars quivered in tremulous softness on the air." yet not forever is it lost to me; for often in the busy world i pause and think of that dream-land in the far-off seas, and it rises before me as i saw it in the morning sun, all rich and strange in its beauty; and again i wander through its romantic vales, and again it brings back pleasant memories of the cream-colored volume; and as i look once more, startled from my reverie by the hum of life, it fades away as it faded then in the shadows of night, but not forever. though i never more may behold it with mortal eyes, yet i see it where distance can not dim the sight: it hath not passed away forever. chapter xxiv. confidential chat with the reader. [illustration: scenery of juan fernandez.] now that we have finished our ramble together, and formed something of a speaking acquaintance, i hope, my dear reader, that you will not take it amiss if i hold you a moment by the button, and say a word in confidence. it has been so long the custom of adventurers to speak now and then about themselves, that i assume the privilege without farther apology. if i have been so fortunate as to inspire you with a friendly interest in my behalf during our pleasant wanderings in the footsteps of robinson crusoe, i am sure you will be glad to learn that it has always been my greatest ambition to prove myself a worthy disciple of that distinguished adventurer. in this view i have, as you may have noticed, adhered to simple facts, and carefully avoided every thing that might be regarded in the light of fiction, though the temptation to indulge in occasional touches of romance was very difficult to resist. indeed, so thoroughly have i striven to become imbued with the true spirit of crusoeism, that much which i thought at first a little doubtful myself, now seems quite authentic; and i think, upon the whole, you may rely upon the truthfulness of my narrative. that i was near being lost in an open boat, with ten others, in trying to get ashore on the island of juan fernandez, i conscientiously believe; that we did get ashore, and sleep in caves and straw huts, and climb wonderful mountains, and explore enchanting valleys, i will insist upon to the latest hour of my life; that i have endeavored faithfully to describe the island as it appeared to me, and to give a true and reliable account of its present condition, climate, topography, and scenery, i affirm on the honor and veracity of a traveler; that in every essential particular it has been my aim to present a faithful picture of life in that remote little world, i will swear to on the best edition of robinson crusoe: more than that it would be unreasonable to expect. if, however, after this candid avowal, you still insist upon having a distinct and emphatic declaration in regard to any doubtful point, all i can say is, that, like the man who made a statement concerning the height of a certain horse, i am ready at all hazards to stick to whatever i said. if i spoke of a mountain as three thousand miles high instead of three thousand feet, why, in the name of peace, let it be three thousand miles; if i killed any savages, i am sorry for it, but they must remain dead--it is impossible to bring them to life now; if i put some of my own ideas into the heads of others, it must have been because i thought them better adapted to the subject than what those heads contained already, and i hold myself responsible for them; if at any time i imagined myself to be the original and genuine crusoe, with a man in my service called friday, i still adhere to it that no crusoe more certain than he was himself ever existed upon that island; if, in short, there is any one point upon which i have hazarded the reputation of a veracious chronicler of actual events, or a faithful delineator of strange scenes in nature, i hereby declare that i shall most cheerfully return to juan fernandez in an open boat with any ten readers who desire to test the matter by ocular demonstration, and thus convince the most skeptical that i have not made a single unfounded assertion. [illustration] and now, in the hope that we may meet again, i wish to leave you a trifling souvenir by which to bear me in mind. one of the sailors on board the anteus was kind enough to make me a suit of clothes out of the goatskins that i bought of pearce. he made them according to a pattern of my own, which i intend some day or other to introduce in the fashionable circles. i stowed them carefully away in my berth, but the rats took such a fancy to them that, by the time i reached california, there was nothing left but the tail of one goat upon which to hang a portrait; and i regret to say the accompanying sketch, taken from memory, affords but an imperfect conception of the suit as i originally appeared in it. i trust the apparent egotism of smuggling my likeness into print in a suit of goatskins, on the pretext of exhibiting the suit itself, will be excused by the absolute necessity of filling it up with something. at the same time, i must be permitted to observe that the stiffness is in the material and not in the person of the author. [illustration: the author À la robinson crusoe.] chapter xxv. early voyages to juan fernandez. the group known as juan fernandez consists of two chief and several smaller islands, situated in the pacific ocean, about four hundred miles from the coast of chili, in latitude ° ´ south, longitude ° west. these islands were discovered in by juan fernando, a spanish navigator, whose name they bear. the largest--lying nearest to the main land--is that which is commonly known by the name of the discoverer; it is also called masatierra. the length of this island is about twelve miles, the breadth six or seven. ninety miles west is the island of masafuero, so named to distinguish it from masatierra. both are composed of lofty mountains; the harbors are small and unsafe, and the shores, for the most part, are rock-bound. the northern aspect, facing toward the equator, is slightly wooded, and the valleys are fertile; but the southern side, toward cape horn, is entirely barren. there are two or three large rocks included in the group, the chief of which, lying at the southern extremity of masatierra, is called goat island, from the great number of goats found there. according to the early navigators, it would appear that these islands must have been visited by the indians of south america long before their discovery by juan fernando, but it was probably only for the purpose of fishing and catching seals. the first attempt to form a regular settlement was made by fernando himself, who, elated by his discovery, and the prospect of colonizing the island, endeavored to obtain a patent from the government at lima. failing to receive encouragement from the government, he resolved upon forming a settlement himself; and he visited the island soon after, taking with him some families, with whom he resided there a short time. a few goats, which they carried with them from lima, speedily stocked the island; and this is probably the origin of these animals in juan fernandez, as no mention is made of their having existed there before. eventually the colony was broken up by the superior inducements held out to settlers in chili, which at this time fell under the dominion of the spaniards; and the spanish authorities of lima still refusing to grant a patent to fernando, he was forced to abandon all hope of forming another and more permanent settlement. for many years subsequently this group was the resort of pirates and buccaneers, who found it convenient, in their cruising in the south pacific, to touch there for wood and water. captain tasman, a dutch navigator, sailed from batavia in , and visited juan fernandez in . a translation of his narrative, in pinkerton's collection, contains an entertaining account of the island at that period. he dwells enthusiastically upon the advantages of its position, the salubrity of the climate, the fertility of the soil, and strongly urges upon the dutch east india company the policy of forming a settlement there, as a dépôt for their commerce in the pacific. alonzo de ovalle, a native of chili, gives, in his historical relation of the kingdom of chili, printed at rome in , a very entertaining account of what he says he "found writ about these islands, in theodore and john de bry, in their relation of the voyage of john scutten." ringrose, in his account of the voyages of captain sharpe and other buccaneers, mentions that a vessel was cast away here, from which only one man out of the whole ship's company escaped; and that this man lived five years alone upon this island, before he had any opportunity of getting away in another vessel. captain watlin was chased from juan fernandez in by three spanish ships. he left on the island a musquito indian, who was out hunting for goats when the alarm was given, and was unable to reach the shore before the ship got under way and put to sea. this indian, according to dampier, whose narrative i quote, "had with him his gun and a knife, with a small horn of powder, and a few shot, which being spent, he contrived a way, by notching his knife, to saw the barrel of his gun into small pieces, wherewith he made harpoons, lances, hooks, and a long knife, heating the pieces first in the fire, which he struck with his gun-flint, and a piece of the barrel of his gun, which he hardened, having learned to do that among the english." with such rude instruments as he made in that manner, he procured an abundant supply of provisions, chiefly goats and fish. in , three years after, when dampier again visited the island, they put out a canoe from the vessel, and went ashore to look for the musquito man. when they saw him, "he had no clothes left, having worn out those he brought from watlin's ship, but only a skin about his waist." the scene that ensued is quaintly and touchingly described in the simple language of the narrative. "he saw our ship the day before we came to an anchor," says dampier, "and did believe we were english, and therefore killed two goats in the morning before we came to an anchor, and dressed them with cabbage, to treat us when we came ashore. he came then to the sea-side to congratulate our safe arrival. and when we landed, a musquito indian, named robin, first leaped ashore, and, running to his brother musquito man, threw himself flat on his face at his feet, who, helping him up and embracing him, fell flat on his face on the ground at robin's feet, and was by him taken up also. we stood with pleasure," continues the famous buccaneer, "to behold the surprise, and tenderness, and solemnity of this interview, which was exceedingly affectionate on both sides; and when their ceremonies of civility were over, we also that stood gazing at them drew near, each of us embracing him we had found here, who was overjoyed to see so many of his old friends, come hither, as he thought, purposely to fetch him." five englishmen were left on the island at another time by captain davis. after the vessel had sailed, they were attacked by a large body of spaniards, who landed in one of the bays; but, in consequence of the facilities for defense afforded by the cliffs, they were enabled successfully to maintain their position, although one of the party deserted and joined the spaniards. they were afterward taken away by captain strong, of london. captain woodes rodgers, commander of the duke and duchess, privateers belonging to bristol, visited juan fernandez in february, . the original, and perhaps the most authentic account of the adventures of alexander selkirk is contained in a very curious and entertaining narrative of the voyage, written by captain rodgers himself, from which it appears that when the ships came near the land, a light was discovered, which it was thought must be on board of a ship at anchor. two french vessels had been cruising in search of captain rodgers's vessel, and these vessels they supposed to be lying in wait for them close to the shore. the boats which had started for the shore returned, and preparations were made for action. on the following day, seeing no vessel there, they went ashore, where they found a man clothed in goatskins, looking, as the narrative says, "wilder than the first owners of them." he had been on the island four years and four months. his name was alexander selkirk, a scotchman, who had been master of the _cinque ports_. having quarreled with captain stradling, under whose command he sailed, he was left ashore at his own request, preferring solitude on an unknown island to the life he led on board this vessel. before the boat that put him ashore left the beach, he repented of his resolution, and begged to be taken back again; but his companions cruelly mocked him, and left him to his fate. it was he that made the fire which had attracted the attention of the two privateers. they took him on board, and, being a good officer, well recommended by captain dampier, he was appointed mate on board captain rodgers's vessel, and taken to england. the account of his adventures during his long residence on the island is supposed to have formed the foundation of robinson crusoe, the most popular romance ever published in any language. a brief but very curious and graphic narrative of his adventures was published in london, soon after his arrival in england, under the quaint title of "providence displayed; or a very surprising account of one _mr. alexander selkirk_, master of a merchant man called the _cinque ports_; who, dreaming that the ship would soon after be lost, he desired to be left on a desolate island in the south seas, where he lived four years and four months without seeing the face of man, the ship being afterward cast away as he dreamed. as also, how he came afterward to be miraculously preserved and redeemed from that fatal place by two _bristol_ privateers, called the _duke_ and _duchess_, that took the rich _acapulco_ ship, worth one hundred ton of gold, and brought it to england. to which is added, an account of his birth and education. his description of the island where he was cast; how he subsisted; the several strange things he saw; and how he used to spend his time. with some pious ejaculations that he used during his melancholy residence there. written by his own hand, and attested by most of the eminent merchants upon the _royal exchange_." _quarto_, containing twelve pages. lord anson visited this island in for the purpose of recruiting his ships, after a succession of melancholy disasters in their passage round cape horn. an accurate topographical survey, and a full and most reliable description of juan fernandez, may be found in the narrative of that expedition, compiled from lord anson's papers, and other materials, by richard walter, chaplain of the centurion. the style of this delightful narrative is admirable for its simplicity; and the information with which it abounds in regard to the topography, climate, and productions of the island, is perhaps the most authentic of the time. in ulloa visited this group. he gives, among many interesting facts, a curious relation of the origin of the dogs which abound there. "we saw many dogs," he says, "of different species, particularly of the greyhound kind; and also a great number of goats, which it is very difficult to come at, artfully keeping themselves among those crags and precipices, where no other animal but themselves can live. the dogs owe their origin to a colony sent thither, not many years ago, by the president of chili and the viceroy of peru, in order totally to exterminate the goats, that any pirates or ships of the enemy might not here be furnished with provisions. but this scheme has proved ineffectual, the dogs being incapable of pursuing them among the fastnesses where they live, these animals leaping from one rock to another with surprising agility." don george juan touched at juan fernandez in , and made several observations of its latitude. don joseph pizarro gives, in his narrative of his voyages, an account of a visit a few years later. in the spanish government founded a settlement on the principal island, and built a fort for the protection of the harbor. in the following year both the fort and the town were destroyed by a violent earthquake. they were afterward rebuilt farther from the shore, and were in good order and inhabited in , when carteret visited the island. soon after the settlement was broken up, and the town and the fortifications were abandoned. the chilian government established a penal colony on the same spot in , which, according to some authorities, was discontinued, after repeated efforts to maintain it, on account of its expense; according to others, in consequence of a terrible earthquake, by which the houses and fortifications were destroyed. [illustration: chilian.] [illustration: chilienne.] when lord cochrane visited the island in , as it appears from a synopsis of howel's life of selkirk, there were but four men stationed on it, apparently in charge of some cattle. a lady who accompanied lord cochrane gives the following description of its condition and appearance at that time: "the island is the most picturesque i ever saw, being composed of high perpendicular rocks, wooded nearly to the top, with beautiful valleys, exceedingly fertile, and watered by copious streams, which occasionally form small marshes. the little valley where the town is, or rather was, is exceedingly beautiful. it is full of fruit-trees and flowers, and sweet herbs, now grown wild; near the shore it is covered with radish and sea-side oats. a small fort was situated on the sea-shore, of which there is nothing now visible but the ditches and part of one wall. another, of considerable size for the place, is on a high and commanding spot. it contained barracks for soldiers, which, as well as the greater part of the fort, are ruined; but the flag-staff, front wall, and a turret are still standing; and at the foot of the flag-staff lies a very handsome brass gun, cast in spain a.d. . a few houses and cottages are still in a tolerable condition, though most of the doors, windows, and roofs have been taken away, or used as fuel by whalers and other ships touching here. in the valleys we found numbers of european shrubs and herbs--'where once the garden smiled.' and in the half-ruined hedges, which denote the boundaries of former fields, we found apple, pear, and quince trees, with cherries almost ripe. the ascent is steep and rapid from the beach, even in the valleys, and the long grass was dry and slippery, so that it rendered the walk rather fatiguing; and we were glad to sit down under a large quince-tree, on a carpet of balm bordered with roses, now neglected, and feast our eyes on the lovely view before us. lord anson has not exaggerated the beauty of the place or the delights of the climate. we were rather early for its fruits, but even at this time we have gathered delicious figs, cherries, and pears, that a few days of sun would have perfected. the landing-place is also the watering-place. there a little jetty is thrown out, formed of the beach-pebbles, making a little harbor for boats, which lie there close to the fresh water, which comes conducted by a pipe, so that, with a hose, the casks may be filled without landing with the most delicious water. along the beach some old guns are sunk, to serve as moorings for vessels, which are the safer the nearer in shore they lie, as violent gusts of wind often blow from the mountain for a few minutes. the height of the island is about three thousand feet." "with all its beauties and resources," adds the biographer of selkirk, "the island seemed destined never to retain those who settled on it; whether from its isolated position, at so great a distance from the continent, or from some other cause, is uncertain. not long after lord cochrane's visit, however, it received an accession of inhabitants, some of them english, who settled in it under the protection of the chilian government." these islands (masafuero and masatierra) have been convulsed by several of those destructive earthquakes which prevail to such an alarming extent on the western coast of south america. in and the destruction was unusually great. the earthquake of was attended by some remarkable phenomena. an eruption burst from the sea, about a mile from the land, where the water was from fifty to eighty fathoms deep. smoke and water were ejected during the day, and flames were seen at night. mr. richard h. dana, jun., who visited juan fernandez in november, , on his voyage to california, gives, in his admirable narrative (two years before the mast), the following graphic account of its condition at that period: "i was called on deck to stand my watch at about three in the morning, and i shall never forget the peculiar sensation which i experienced on finding myself once more surrounded by land, feeling the night-breeze coming from off shore, and hearing the frogs and crickets. the mountains seemed almost to hang over us, and, apparently from the very heart of them, there came out, at regular intervals, a loud echoing sound, which affected me as hardly human. we saw no lights, and could hardly account for the sound, until the mate, who had been there before, told us that it was the 'alerta' of the spanish soldiers, who were stationed over some convicts, confined in caves nearly half way up the mountain. at the expiration of my watch i went below, feeling not a little anxious for the day, that i might see more nearly, and perhaps tread upon, this romantic, i may almost say classic island. when all hands were called it was nearly sunrise, and between that time and breakfast, although quite busy on board in getting up water-casks, etc., i had a good view of the objects about me. the harbor was nearly land-locked, and at the head of it was a landing-place protected by a small breakwater of stones, upon which two large boats were hauled up, with a sentry standing over them. near this was a variety of huts or cottages, nearly a hundred in number, the best of them built of mud and whitewashed, but the greater part only robinson crusoe-like--of posts and branches of trees. the governor's house, as it is called, was the most conspicuous, being large, with grated windows, plastered walls, and roof of red tiles, yet, like all the rest, of only one story. near it was a small chapel, distinguished by a cross; and a long, low, brown-looking building, surrounded by something like a palisade, from which an old and dingy-looking chilian flag was flying. this, of course, was distinguished by the title of _presidio_. a sentinel was stationed at the chapel, another at the governor's house, and a few soldiers, armed with bayonets, looking rather ragged, with shoes out at the toes, were strolling about among the houses, or waiting at the landing-place for our boat to come ashore." not long after mr. dana's visit this settlement was entirely broken up. the houses and fortifications were destroyed by an earthquake, and the penal establishment was discontinued. from time to time, up to the present date, there have been straggling settlers on this island, but there has been no attempt since to colonize it permanently until recently. it has been occasionally visited by vessels of different nations for supplies of wood and water, and such vegetable productions as the valleys afford. american whalers have found it a very convenient stopping-place in their cruisings on the coast of chili and peru; but of late years, the whales becoming scarce in these seas, they are forced to push their voyages into more remote regions. many still touch there, however, on their way to and from the northern coast. at the time of the writer's visit to juan fernandez (may, ), the gold excitement had but recently broken out, and vessels bound to california had just commenced making it a place of resort for refreshments in their outward voyages. since that period, it is stated in the newspapers that an enterprising american has taken the island on lease from the chilian government, and established a settlement upon it of a hundred and fifty tahitians, with the design of cultivating the earth, and furnishing vessels touching there with supplies of fruit and vegetables. chapter xxvi. alexander selkirk and robinson crusoe. it is stated in howel's life of selkirk that the singular history of this man (alexander selkirk) was soon made known to the public, and immediately after his arrival in london he became an object of curiosity, not only to the people at large, but to those elevated by rank and learning. sir richard steele, some time after, devoted to him an article in the paper entitled "the englishman," in which he tells the reader that, as selkirk is a man of good sense, it is a matter of great curiosity to hear him give an account of the different revolutions of his mind during the term of his solitude. "when i first saw him," continues this writer, "i thought, if i had not been let into his character and story, i could have discovered that he had been much separated from company, _from his aspect and gesture_; there was a strong but cheerful seriousness in his look, and a certain disregard of the ordinary things around him, as if he had been sunk in thought. in the course of a few months," as it appears by the same writer, "familiar converse with the town had _taken off the loneliness of his aspect, and quite altered the expression of his face_." "de foe's romance of robinson crusoe was not published till the year , when the original facts on which it was founded must have been nearly forgotten. there is no record of any interview having taken place between selkirk and de foe, so that it can not be decided whether de foe learned our hero's story from his own mouth, or from such narratives as those published by steele and others." on this point a biographer of de foe remarks: "astonishing as was the success of de foe's romance, it did not deter the curious from attempting to disparage it. the materials, it was said, were either furnished by or surreptitiously obtained from alexander selkirk, a mariner who had resided for four years on the desert island of juan fernandez, and returned to england in . very probably his story, which then excited considerable interest and attention, did suggest to de foe the idea of writing his romance; but all the details and incidents are entirely his own. most certainly de foe had obtained no papers or written documents from selkirk, as the latter had none to communicate." robinson crusoe, however, can not be considered altogether a work of fiction. without adhering strictly to the actual adventures of selkirk, or of the musquito indian who preceded him, it gives, in the descriptions of scenery, the mode of providing food, the rude expedients resorted to for shelter against the weather, and all the trials and consolations of solitude, a faithfully-drawn picture from these narratives, and a most truthful and charming delineation of solitary life, with such reflections as the subject naturally suggested. de foe was the great medium through which the spirit of the whole was fused; it required the splendor of his genius to preserve from oblivion the lessons therein taught--of the advantages of temperance, fortitude, and, above all, an implicit reliance in the wisdom and mercy of the creator. he presents them in a most fascinating garb, with all the originality of a master-mind; and it detracts nothing from his credit to say that the pictures are drawn strictly from nature. as captain rodgers well observes in his simple narrative of the adventures of selkirk, "one may see by this that solitude and retirement from the world is not such an insufferable state of life as most men imagine, especially when people are fairly called or thrown into it unavoidably, as this man was; who, in all probability, must otherwise have perished in the seas, the ship which left him being cast away not long after, and few of the company escaped. we may perceive by this story that necessity is the mother of invention, since he found means to supply his wants in a very natural manner, so as to maintain his life, though not so conveniently, yet as effectually as we are able to do with all our arts and society. it may likewise instruct us how much a plain and temperate way of living conduces to the health of the body and the vigor of the mind, both of which we are apt to destroy by excess and plenty, especially of strong liquor, and the variety as well as the nature of our meat and drink; for this man, when he came to our ordinary method of diet and life, though he was sober enough, lost much of his strength and agility." de foe does not, as may be seen by reference to the fourth section of "robinson crusoe," lay the scene of his narrative in juan fernandez. robinson starts from the brazils, where he has been living as a planter, on a voyage to the coast of guinea. driven to the northward along the coast of south america by heavy gales, the captain of the vessel found himself "upon the coast of guinea, or the north part of brazil, beyond the river amazon, toward that of the river oronoco, commonly called the great river; and began to consult with me," says robinson, "what course he should take, for the ship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was for going directly back to the coast of brazil. i was positively against that; and looking over the charts of the sea-coast of america with him, we concluded there was no inhabited country for us to have recourse to till we came within the circle of the caribbee islands, and therefore resolved to stand away for barbadoes; which, by keeping off to sea, to avoid the indraught of the bay or gulf of mexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped, in about fifteen days' sail; whereas we could not possibly make our voyage to the coast of africa without some assistance both to our ship and ourselves. "with this design we changed our course, and steered away n.w. by w. in order to reach some of our english islands, where i hoped for relief; but our voyage was otherwise determined; for, being in the latitude of ° ´, a second storm came upon us, which carried us away with the same impetuosity westward, and drove us so out of the very way of all human commerce, that, had our lives been saved as to the sea, we were rather in danger of being devoured by savages than ever returning to our own country. "in this distress, the wind still blowing very hard, one of our men early in the morning cried out land! and we had no sooner run out of the cabin to look out, in hopes of seeing whereabouts in the world we were, but the ship struck upon a sand, and in a moment her motion being so stopped, the sea broke over her in such a manner that we expected we should all have perished immediately; and we were immediately driven into our close quarters to shelter us from the very foam and spray of the sea." it will be seen from the above that robinson crusoe was not wrecked on the island of juan fernandez. in all probability he never saw that island. i regret the fact as much as any body can regret it, because i always thought so till i referred more particularly to his history; but a due regard for truth compels me to give the facts as i find them. "the history of robinson crusoe," says the biographer of de foe, already quoted, "was first published in the year , and its popularity may be said to have been established immediately, since four editions were called for in about as many months, a circumstance at that time almost unprecedented in the annals of literature. it rarely happens that an author's expectations are surpassed by the success of his work, however astonishing it may seem to others; yet perhaps even de foe himself did not venture to look forward to such a welcome on the part of the public, after the repulses he had experienced on the part of the booksellers; for, incredible as it now appears, the manuscript of the work had been offered to, and rejected by, every one in the trade. "the author of robinson crusoe would be entitled to a prominent place in the history of our literature even had he never given to the world that truly admirable production; and yet we may reasonably question whether the name of de foe would not long ago have sunk into oblivion, or at least have been known, like those of most of his contemporaries, only to the curious student, were it not attached to a work whose popularity has been rarely equaled--never, perhaps, excelled. even as it is, the reputation due to the writer has been nearly altogether absorbed in that of his hero, and in the all-engrossing interest of his adventures: thousands who have read robinson crusoe with delight, and derived from it a satisfaction in no wise diminished by repeated perusal, have never bestowed a thought on its author, or, indeed, regarded it in the light of a literary performance. while its fascination has been universally felt, the genius that conceived it, the talent that perfected it, have been generally overlooked, merely because it is so full of nature and reality as to exhibit no invention or exertion on the part of the author, inasmuch as he appears simply to have recorded what actually happened, and consequently only to have committed to paper plain matter of fact, without study or embellishment. we wonder at and are struck with admiration by the powers of shakspeare or cervantes; with regard to de foe we experience no similar feeling: it is not the skill of the artist that enchants us, but the perfect naturalness of the picture, which is such that we mistake it for a mirror; so that every reader persuades himself that he could write as well, perhaps better, were he but furnished with the materials for an equally interesting narrative." a dangerous journey. chapter i. the cannibal. in the summer of i had occasion to visit san luis obispo, a small town about two hundred and fifty miles south of san francisco. at that time no steamers touched at the embarcadera, and but little dependence could be placed upon the small sailing craft that occasionally visited that isolated part of the coast. the trail through the salinas and santa marguerita valleys was considered the only reliable route, though even that was not altogether as safe as could be desired. a portion of the country lying between the old mission of soledad and san miguel was infested by roving bands of sonoranians and lawless native californians. several drovers, who had started from san francisco by this route to purchase cattle on the southern ranches, had never reached their destination. it was generally believed that they had been murdered on the way. indeed, in two instances, this fact was established by the discovery of the mutilated remains of the murdered men. no clew could be obtained to the perpetrators of the deed, nor do i know that any legal measures were taken to find them. at that period the only laws existing were those administered by the alcaldes, under the mexican system, which had been temporarily adopted in connection with the provisional government established by general riley. the people generally were too deeply interested in the development of the gold regions to give themselves much concern about the condition of other parts of the country, and the chances of bringing criminals to punishment in the southern districts were very remote. [illustration: mirage in the salinas valley.] my business was connected with the revenue service. a vessel laden with foreign goods had been wrecked on the coast within a short distance of san luis. it was necessary that immediate official inquiry should be made into the circumstances, with a view of securing payment of duties upon the cargo. i was also charged with a commission to establish a line of post-offices on the land-route to los angeles, and enter into contracts for the carrying of the mails. by the advice of some friends in san francisco, i purchased a fine-looking mule recently from the colorado. the owner, a texan gentleman, assured me that he had never mounted a better animal; and, so far as i was capable of judging, the recommendation seemed to be justly merited. i willingly paid him his price--three hundred dollars. next day, having provided myself with a good pair of blankets, a few pounds of coffee, sugar, and hard bread, and a hunting-knife and tin cup, i bade adieu to my friends and set out on my journey. a tedious voyage of six months around cape horn had given me a peculiar relish for shore-life. there was something very pleasant in the novelty of the scenery and the inspiring freshness of the air. the rush of emigrants from all parts of the world; the amusing scenes along the road; the free, social, and hopeful spirit which prevailed among all classes; the clear, bright sky, and wonderful richness of coloring that characterized the atmosphere, all contributed to produce the most agreeable sensations. it was a long and rather hazardous journey i had undertaken, and it would doubtless be very lonesome after passing san jose; but the idea of depending solely on my own resources, and becoming, in some sort, an adventurer in an almost unknown country, had something in it irresistibly captivating to one of my roving disposition. i had traveled through texas under nearly similar circumstances, and enjoyed many pleasant recollections of the trip. there is a charm about this wild sort of life, the entire freedom from restraint, the luxury of fresh air, the camp under the trees, with a bright fire and a canopy of stars overhead, that, once experienced, can never be forgotten. nothing of importance occurred till the evening of the fourth day. i met crowds of travelers all along the road, singing and shouting in sheer exuberance of spirit; and not unfrequently had some very pleasant and congenial company, bound either to the mines or in search of vacant government land for the location of claims. the road through the valleys of santa clara and san jose was perfectly enchanting, winding through oak groves, and fields of wild oats and flowers; and nothing could exceed the balminess of the air. indeed, the whole country seemed to me more like a succession of beautiful parks, in which each turn of the road might bring in view some elegant mansion, with sweeping lawns in front, and graceful ladies mounted on palfreys, than a rude and uncivilized part of the world hitherto almost unknown. i stopped a night at san jose, where i was most hospitably received by the alcalde, an american gentleman of intelligence, to whom i had a letter of introduction. next day, after a pleasant ride of forty-five miles, i reached the mission of san juan, one of the most eligibly located of all the old missionary establishments. it was now in a state of decay. the vineyards were but partially cultivated, and the secos, or ditches for the irrigation of the land, were entirely dry. i got some very good pears from the old spaniard in charge of the mission--a rare luxury after a long sea-voyage. the only tavern in the place was the "united states," kept by an american and his wife in an old adobe house, originally a part of the missionary establishment. having secured accommodations for my mule, i took up my quarters for the night at the "united states." the woman seemed to be the principal manager. perhaps i might have noticed her a little closely, since she was the only white woman i had enjoyed the opportunity of conversing with for some time. it was very certain, however, that she struck me as an uncommon person--tall, raw-boned, sharp, and masculine--with a wild and piercing expression of eye, and a smile singularly startling and unfeminine. i even fancied that her teeth were long and pointed, and that she resembled a picture of an ogress i had seen when a child. the man was a subdued and melancholy-looking person, presenting no particular trait of character in his appearance save that of general abandonment to the influence of misfortune. his dress and expression impressed me with the idea that he had experienced much trouble, without possessing that strong power of recuperation so common among american adventurers in california. it would scarcely be worth while noticing these casual acquaintances of a night, since they have nothing to do with my narrative, but for the remarkable illustration they afford of the hardships that were encountered at that time on the emigrant routes to california. in the course of conversation with the man, i found that he and his wife were among the few survivors of a party whose terrible sufferings in the mountains during the past winter had been the theme of much comment in the newspapers. he did not state--what i already knew from the published narrative of their adventures--that the woman had subsisted for some time on the dead body of a child belonging to one of the party. it was said that the man had held out to the last, and refused to participate in this horrible feast of human flesh. so strangely impressive was it to be brought in direct contact with a fellow-being, especially of the gentler sex, who had absolutely eaten of human flesh, that i could not but look upon this woman with a shudder. her sufferings had been intense; that was evident from her marked and weather-beaten features. doubtless she had struggled against the cravings of hunger as long as reason lasted. but still the one terrible act, whether the result of necessity or insanity, invested her with a repellant atmosphere of horror. her very smile struck me as the gloating expression of a cannibal over human blood. in vain i struggled against this unchristian feeling. was it right to judge a poor creature whose great misfortune was perhaps no offense against the laws of nature? she might be the tenderest and best of women--i knew nothing of her history. it was a pitiable case. but, after all, she had eaten of human flesh; there was no getting over that. when i sat down to supper this woman was obliging enough to hand me a plate of meat. i was hungry, and tried to eat it. every morsel seemed to stick in my throat. i could not feel quite sure that it was what it seemed to be. the odor even disgusted me. nor could i partake of the bread she passed to me with any more relish. it was probably made by her hands--the same hands that had torn the flesh from a corpse and passed the reeking shreds to her mouth. the taint of an imaginary corruption was upon it. the room allotted to me for the night was roughly furnished, as might reasonably be expected; but, apart from this, the bedding was filthy; and, in common with every thing about the house, the slatternly appearance of the furniture did not tend to remove the unpleasant impression i had formed of my hostess. whether owing to the vermin, or an unfounded suspicion that she might become hungry during the night, i slept but little. the picture of the terrible ogress that i had seen when a child, and the story of the little children which she had devoured, assumed a fearful reality, and became strangely mingled in my dreams with this woman's face. i was glad when daylight afforded me an excuse to get up and take a stroll in the fresh air. chapter ii. the mirage. after an early breakfast, i mounted my mule and pursued my journey over the pass of the san juan. the view from the summit was magnificent. beyond a range of sand-hills toward the right stretched the great pacific. ridges of mountains, singularly varied in outline, swept down in front into the broad valley of the salinas. the pine forests of monterey and santa cruz were dimly perceptible in the distance; and to the left was a wilderness of rugged cliffs, as far as the eye could reach, weird and desolate as a cape horn sea suddenly petrified in the midst of a storm. descending through a series of beautiful little valleys clothed in a golden drapery of wild oats, and charmingly diversified with groves of oak and sycamore, and rich shrubbery of ceonosa, hazel, and wild grape, i at length entered the great valley of the salinas, nine miles from the mission of san juan. at that time innumerable herds of cattle covered the rich pastures of this magnificent valley; and although there are still many to be seen there, the number has been greatly reduced during the last ten years. a large portion of the country bordering on the salinas river, as far south as the mission of soledad, has been cut up into small ranches and farms; and thriving settlements and extensive fields of grain are now to be seen where formerly ranged wild bands of cattle, mustang, and innumerable herds of antelope. [illustration: pass of san juan.] turning to the southward, and keeping in view the two great ranges of mountains which were the chief landmarks in former times, the scene that lay outspread before me resembled rather some wild region of enchantment than any thing that could be supposed to exist in a material world--so light and hazy were the distant mountains, so vaguely mingled the earth and sky, so rich and fanciful the atmospheric tints, and so visionary the groves that decorated the plain. never before had i witnessed the mirage in the full perfection of its beauty. the whole scene was transformed into a series of magnificent optical illusions, surpassing the wildest dreams of romance. points of woodland, sweeping from the base of the mountains far into the valley, were reflected in mystic lakes. herds of cattle loomed up on the surface of the sleeping waters like miniature fleets of vessels with variegated sails. mounds of yellow sand, rising a little above the level of the plain, had all the effect of rich oriental cities, with gorgeous palaces of gold, mosques, and minarets, and wondrous temples glittering with jewels and precious stones. bands of antelope coursed gracefully over the foreground; but so light and vaguely defined were their forms that they seemed rather to sail through the air than touch the earth. by the illusory process of the refraction, they appeared to sweep into the lakes and assume the forms of aerial boats, more fanciful and richly colored than the caïques of constantinople. birds, too, of snowy plumage, skimmed over the silvery waste; and islands that lay sleeping in the glowing light were covered with myriads of water-fowl. a solitary vulture, sitting upon the carcass of some dead animal a few hundred yards off, loomed into the form of a fabulous monster of olden times, with a gory head, and a beak that opened as if to swallow all within his reach. these wonderful features in the scene were continually changing: the lakes disappeared with their islands and fleets, and new lakes, with still stranger and more fantastic illusions, merged into existence out of the rarefied atmosphere. thus hour after hour was i beguiled on my way through this mystic region of enchantment. [illustration: antelope in the mirage.] toward evening i reached the salinas river, where i stopped to rest and water my mule. a spanish vaquero, whom i found under the trees enjoying the siesta to which that race are addicted, informed me that it was "_dos leguos, poco mas o meno_," to soledad. as he lived there, he would show me the way. it was inhabited by the sobranis family, and they owned sixteen square leagues of land and "_muchos granada_." this much i contrived to understand; but when i handed the vaquero a fine principe cigar, and he took a few whiffs and became eloquent, i entirely lost the train of his observations. it is possible he may have been reciting a poem on pastoral life. at all events, we jogged along very sociably, and in something over an hour reached the mission. [illustration: vulture in the mirage.] a more desolate place than soledad can not well be imagined. the old church is partially in ruins, and the adobe huts built for the indians are roofless, and the walls tumbled about in shapeless piles. not a tree or shrub is to be seen any where in the vicinity. the ground is bare, like an open road, save in front of the main building (formerly occupied by the priests), where the carcasses and bones of cattle are scattered about, presenting a disgusting spectacle. but this is a common sight on the spanish ranches. too lazy to carry the meat very far, the rancheros generally do their butchering in front of the door, and leave the indians and buzzards to dispose of the offal. [illustration: soledad.] a young spaniard, one of the proprietors, was the only person at home, with the exception of a few dirty indians who were lying about the door. he received me rather coldly, as i thought, and took no concern whatever about my mule. i learned afterward that this family had been greatly imposed upon by travelers passing northward to the mines, who killed their cattle, stole their corn, stopped of nights and went away without paying any thing. at first they freely entertained all who came along in the genuine style of spanish hospitality; but, not content with the kind treatment bestowed upon them, their rough guests seldom left the premises without carrying away whatever they could lay hands upon. this naturally embittered them against strangers, and of course i had to bear my share of the ill feeling manifested toward the traveling public. it was not long, however, before i discovered a key to my young host's good graces. he was strumming on an old guitar when i arrived, and soon resumed his solitary amusement, not seeming disposed to respond to my feeble attempts at his native language, but rather enjoying the idea of drawing himself into the doleful sphere of his own music. as soon as a favorable opportunity occurred, i took the guitar, and struck up such a lively song of "the frogs that tried to come it, but couldn't get a chance," that the cadaverous visage of my host gradually relaxed into a smile, then into a broad grin, and at the climax he absolutely laughed. it was all right. music had soothed the savage breast. sobranis was conquered. he immediately directed the vaquero to see to my animal, and set to work and got me an excellent supper of tortillas and frijoles, jerked beef and oja; after which he insisted upon learning the song of the frog, which of course i was obliged to teach him. so passed the hours till late bedtime. notwithstanding the fleas, which abounded in overwhelming numbers, i contrived to sleep soundly. next morning, after a good breakfast of coffee, tortillas, jerked beef, etc., as before, i mounted my mule and proceeded on my journey, much to the regret of sobranis, who positively refused to accept a cent for the accommodations he had afforded me. chapter iii. a death-struggle. in the vicinity of the sea-shore, and as far inland as soledad, the temperature was delightfully cool and bracing; but beyond the first turning-point of mountains to the southward a marked change was perceptible. although the sun was not more than two hours high, the heat was intense. the rich black soil, which had been thoroughly saturated with the winter rains, was now baked nearly as hard as stone, and was cracked open in deep fissures, rendering the trail in some places quite difficult even for the practiced feet of the mule. every thing like vegetation was parched to a crisp with the scorching rays of the sun. the bed of the river was quite dry, and no sign of moisture was visible for many miles. the rich fields of wild oats were no longer to be seen, but dried and cracking wastes of wild mustard, sage-weed, and bunch grass. in some places deserts of sand, without a particle of vegetation, and incrusted with saline deposits, stretched along the base of the mountains as far as the eye could reach. the glare on these plains of alkali (as they were commonly called) was absolutely blinding. toward noon, so intense was the heat, i thought it impossible to endure it another hour. a dry, hot cloud of dust rose from the parched earth, and hung around me like the fiery breath of an oven. neither tree nor shrub was to be seen any where along the wayside. as i toiled wearily along, scarcely able to get my mule out of a walk, i thought of denham and clapperton, the brothers lander, mungo park, and all the great african explorers, and wondered how they could have endured for weeks and months what i found it so hard to bear for a few hours. there was no respite; nothing in the world to alleviate the burning heat; not even a stunted shrub to creep under. and yet, thought i, this is but a flash in the pan to the deserts of africa. not that the heat is more intense there; for i believe it is admitted that the thermometer rises higher in california than in any other part of the world. i have known it to be ° fahrenheit in the mines, and have been told that in the gulches of some of the foot-hills of the sierra nevada it has been known to reach °. the official table published by congress shows that the maximum heat at fort miller is °, while at fort yuma, on the colorado, it does not exceed °. in the narrative of the voyages of lord anson, written by his chaplain, it is conceded that the heat is greater in california, owing to local causes, than at any known point between the tropics. but very different is it in africa, or any tropical country, in this respect--that the climate of california is never oppressive, whatever may be the temperature. the nights are delightfully cool, and the mornings peculiarly fresh and bracing. hence the suffering from heat is never protracted beyond a few hours. at all events, not to go into any farther dissertation upon climate, i found it quite warm enough on the present occasion, and would have been very glad to accept the loan of an umbrella had any body been at hand to offer it to me. about an hour before sunset, as i was riding slowly along, enjoying the approaching shades of evening, i discovered for the first time that my mule was lame. i had traveled very leisurely on account of the heat, making not over thirty miles. the nearest water, as the young spaniard, sobranis, had informed me, was at a point yet distant about five miles. i saw that it was necessary to hurry, and began to spur my mule in the hope of being able to reach this camping place; but i soon perceived that the poor animal was not only lame, but badly foundered--at least it seemed so then, though my convictions on that point were somewhat shaken by what subsequently occurred. i had succeeded, after considerable spurring, in getting him into a lope, when he suddenly stumbled and threw me over his head. the shock of the fall stunned me for a few moments, but fortunately i was not hurt. i must have turned a complete somersault. as soon as consciousness returned i found that i was lying on my back in the middle of the road, the mule quietly grazing within ten feet. i got up a little bewildered, shook off some of the dust, and started to regain the bridle; but, to my great surprise, the mule put back his ears, kicked up his heels, and ran off at a rate of speed that i deemed a foundered animal entirely incapable of achieving. there was not the slightest symptom of lameness in his gait. he "loped" as freely as if he had just begun his journey. in vain i shouted and ran after him. sometimes he seemed absolutely to enjoy my helpless condition, and would permit me to approach within two or three feet, but never to get hold of the bridle. every attempt of that kind he resented by whirling suddenly and kicking at me with both heels, so that once or twice it was a miracle how i escaped. for the first time since morning, notwithstanding the heat of the clay, my skin became moist. a profuse sweat broke out all over me, and i was parched with a burning thirst. it was thirty miles from soledad, the nearest inhabited place that i knew of, and even if i felt disposed to turn back it would have been at great risk and inconvenience. my blankets, coat, pistol, and papers--the whole of incalculable importance to me--were firmly strapped behind the saddle, and there was no way of getting at them without securing the mule. upon reflection, it seemed best to follow him to the watering-place. he must be pretty thirsty after his hard day's journey in the sun, and would not be likely to pass that. i therefore walked on as fast as possible, keeping the mule as near in the trail as his stubborn nature would permit. it was not without difficulty, however, that i could discern the right trail, for it was frequently intersected by others, and occasionally became lost in patches of sand and sage-brush. in this way, with considerable toil, i had advanced about two miles, when i discovered that a large band of spanish cattle, which had been visible for some time in the distance, began to close in toward the line of my route, evidently with the intention of cutting me off. their gestures were quite hostile enough to inspire a solitary and unarmed footman with uneasiness. a fierce-looking bull led the way, followed by a lowing regiment of stags, steers, and cows, crowding one upon the other in their furious charge. as they advanced, the leader occasionally stopped to tear up the earth and shake his horns; but the mass kept crowding on, their tails switching high in the air, and uttering the most fearful bellowing, while they tossed their horns and stared wildly, as if in mingled rage and astonishment. i had heard too much of the wild cattle of california, and their hostility toward men on foot at this season of the year, not to become at once sensible of my dangerous position. the nearest tree was half a mile to the left, on the margin of a dry creek. there was a grove of small oaks winding for some distance along the banks of the creek; but between the spot where i stood and this place of security scattering bands of cattle were grazing. however, there was no time to hesitate upon a choice of difficulties. two or three hundred wild cattle rushing furiously toward one in an open plain assist him in coming to a very rapid conclusion. i know of no position in which human strength is of so little avail--the tremendous aggregation of brute force opposed to one feeble pair of arms seems so utterly irresistible. i confess instinct lent me a helping hand in this emergency. scarcely conscious of the act, i ran with all my might for the nearest tree. the thundering of heavy hoofs after me, and the furious bellowing that resounded over the plain, spread a contagion among the grazing herds on the way, and with one accord they joined in the chase. it is in no spirit of boastfulness that i assert the fact, but i certainly made that half mile in as few minutes as ever the same distance was made by mortal man. when i reached the tree i looked back. the advance body of the cattle were within a hundred yards, bearing down in a whirlwind of dust. i lost no time in making my retreat secure. as the enemy rushed in, tearing up the earth and glaring at me with their fierce, wild eyes, i had gained the fork of the tree, about six feet from the ground, and felt very thankful that i was beyond their reach. still there was something fearful in being blockaded in such a place for the night. an intolerable thirst parched my throat. the effects of the exertion were scarcely perceptible at first, but as i regained my breath it seemed impossible to exist an hour longer without water. in this valley the climate is so intensely dry during the summer heats that the juices of the system are quickly absorbed, and the skin becomes like a sheet of parchment. my head felt as if compressed in a band of iron; my tongue was dry and swollen. i would have given all i possessed, or ever hoped to possess, for a single glass of water. while in this position, with the prospect of a dreary night before me, and suffering the keenest physical anguish, a very singular circumstance occurred to relieve me of farther apprehension respecting the cattle, though it suggested a new danger for which i was equally unprepared. a fine young bull had descended the bed of the creek in search of a water-hole. while pushing his way through the bushes he was suddenly attacked by a grizzly bear. the struggle was terrific. i could see the tops of the bushes sway violently to and fro, and hear the heavy crash of drift-wood as the two powerful animals writhed in their fierce embrace. a cloud of dust rose from the spot. it was not distant over a hundred yards from the tree in which i had taken refuge. scarcely two minutes elapsed before the bull broke through the bushes. his head was covered with blood, and great flakes of flesh hung from his fore shoulders; but, instead of manifesting signs of defeat, he seemed literally to glow with defiant rage. instinct had taught him to seek an open space. a more splendid specimen of an animal i never saw; lithe and wiry, yet wonderfully massive about the shoulders, combining the rarest qualities of strength and symmetry. for a moment he stood glaring at the bushes, his head erect, his eyes flashing, his nostrils distended, and his whole form fixed and rigid. but scarcely had i time to glance at him when a huge bear, the largest and most formidable i ever saw in a wild state, broke through the opening. a trial of brute force that baffles description now ensued. badly as i had been treated by the cattle, my sympathies were greatly in favor of the bull, which seemed to me to be much the nobler animal of the two. he did not wait to meet the charge, but, lowering his head, boldly rushed upon his savage adversary. the grizzly was active and wary. he no sooner got within reach of the bull's horns than he seized them in his powerful grasp, keeping the head to the ground by main strength and the tremendous weight of his body, while he bit at the nose with his teeth, and raked stripes of flesh from the shoulders with his hind paws. the two animals must have been of very nearly equal weight. on the one side there was the advantage of superior agility and two sets of weapons--the teeth and claws; but on the other, greater powers of endurance and more inflexible courage. the position thus assumed was maintained for some time--the bull struggling desperately to free his head, while the blood streamed from his nostrils--the bear straining every muscle to drag him to the ground. no advantage seemed to be gained on either side. the result of the battle evidently depended on the merest accident. [illustration: a duel À la mort.] as if by mutual consent, each gradually ceased struggling, to regain breath, and as much as five minutes must have elapsed while they were locked in this motionless but terrible embrace. suddenly the bull, by one desperate effort, wrenched his head from the grasp of his adversary, and retreated a few steps. the bear stood up to receive him. i now watched with breathless interest, for it was evident that each animal had staked his life upon the issue of the conflict. the cattle from the surrounding plains had crowded in, and stood moaning and bellowing around the combatants; but, as if withheld by terror, none seemed disposed to interfere. rendered furious by his wounds, the bull now gathered up all his energies, and charged with such impetuous force and ferocity that the bear, despite the most terrific blows with his paws, rolled over in the dust, vainly struggling to defend himself. the lunges and thrusts of the former were perfectly furious. at length, by a sudden and well-directed motion of his head, he got one of his horns under the bear's belly, and gave it a rip that brought out a clotted mass of entrails. it was apparent that the battle must soon end. both were grievously wounded, and neither could last much longer. the ground was torn up and covered with blood for some distance around, and the panting of the struggling animals became each moment heavier and quicker. maimed and gory, they fought with the desperate certainty of death--the bear rolling over and over, vainly striking out to avoid the fatal horns of his adversary--the bull ripping, thrusting, and tearing with irresistible ferocity. at length, as if determined to end the conflict, the bull drew back, lowered his head, and made one tremendous charge; but, blinded by the blood that trickled down his forehead, he missed his mark, and rolled headlong on the ground. in an instant the bear whirled and was upon him. thoroughly invigorated by the prospect of a speedy victory, he tore the flesh in huge masses from the ribs of his prostrate foe. the two rolled over and over in the terrible death-struggle; nothing was now to be seen save a heaving, gory mass, dimly perceptible through the dust. a few minutes would certainly have terminated the bloody strife, so far as my favorite was concerned, when, to my astonishment, i saw the bear relax in his efforts, roll over from the body of his prostrate foe, and drag himself feebly a few yards from the spot. his entrails had burst entirely through the wound in his belly, and now lay in long strings over the ground. the next moment the bull was on his legs, erect and fierce as ever. shaking the blood from his eyes, he looked around, and seeing the reeking mass before him, lowered his head for the final and most desperate charge. in the death-struggle that ensued both animals seemed animated by supernatural strength. the grizzly struck out wildly, but with such destructive energy that the bull, upon drawing back his head, presented a horrible and ghastly spectacle; his tongue, a mangled mass of shreds, hanging from his mouth, his eyes torn completely from their sockets, and his whole face stripped to the bone. on the other hand, the bear was ripped completely open, and writhing in his last agonies. here it was that indomitable courage prevailed; for, blinded and maimed as he was, the bull, after a momentary pause to regain his wind, dashed wildly at his adversary again, determined to be victorious even in death. a terrific roar escaped from the dying grizzly. with a last frantic effort he sought to make his escape, scrambling over and over in the dust. but his strength was gone. a few more thrusts from the savage victor, and he lay stretched upon the sand, his muscles quivering convulsively, his huge body a resistless mass. a clutching motion of the claws--a groan--a gurgle of the throat, and he was dead. the bull now raised his bloody crest, uttered a deep bellowing sound, shook his horns triumphantly, and slowly walked off, not, however, without turning every few steps to renew the struggle if necessary. but his last battle was fought. as the blood streamed from his wounds a death-chill came over him. he stood for some time, unyielding to the last, bracing himself up, his legs apart, his head gradually drooping; then dropped on his fore knees and lay down; soon his head rested upon the ground; his body became motionless; a groan, a few convulsive respirations, and he too, the noble victor, was dead. during this strange and sanguinary struggle, the cattle, as i stated before, had gathered in around the combatants. the most daring, as if drawn toward the spot by the smell of blood or some irresistible fascination, formed a circle within twenty or thirty yards, and gazed at the murderous work that was going on with startled and terror-stricken eyes; but none dared to join in the defense of their champion. no sooner was the battle ended, and the victor and the vanquished stretched dead upon the ground, than a panic seized upon the excited multitude, and by one accord they set up a wild bellowing, switched their tails in the air, and started off at full speed for the plains. [illustration: the camp.] chapter iv. the outlaws' camp. it was now nearly dark. the impressive scene i had just witnessed, and in which i had become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of danger, now forcibly reminded me that this was not a safe place of retreat for the night. i descended from the tree, seeing all clear, and hurried out toward the edge of the plain, where i discovered a trail leading down parallel with the creek. the water-hole i knew must be on this creek, for there was no other in sight. it could not be more than two or three miles distant, and there was yet sufficient light to enable me to keep within range of the bushes on the left. i walked on rapidly for nearly an hour, sometimes stumbling into the deep fissures which had been made in the ground by the heat of the sun, and often obliged to descend deep arroyas and seek for some time before i could find an outlet on the other side; but in the course of an hour i was rejoiced to see a point of woodland jutting into the plain, not over a few hundred yards distant, in the midst of which there was the glimmer of a fire. i say rejoiced, for certainly that was the first sensation; but in approaching the light i could not but think of the savage character of the country, and the probability of meeting with company here as little to my liking as any i had yet encountered. this part of the salinas was entirely out of the range of civilization; neither miners nor settlers had yet intruded upon these dreary solitudes; and the chances were greatly in favor of meeting a party of sonoranian desperadoes or outlawed californians. yet what inducement could i present for robbery or murder in such a destitute plight? without coat, blankets, pistol, or property of any kind except a watch concealed in the fob of my pantaloons--even without money; for what little i owned, not over forty or fifty dollars, was contained in a leather purse in the pocket of my coat--of what avail would it be to molest me? if plunder should be an object, they must already be in possession of all i had. these considerations somewhat allayed my apprehensions; and, at all events, i saw no alternative but to keep on. as i descended from the plain into the oak grove bordering upon the bed of the creek, i observed that there were only two men in camp. from their costume--the common blue shirts, pantaloons, and rough boots of ordinary travelers on the way to the mines--i judged them to be americans. nor was i mistaken. the very first word i heard spoken was an oath, which it is unnecessary for me to repeat. "i say, griff," said one, in a coarse, brutal voice, "if he comes don't you budge. he'll be here certain." "jack," replied the man addressed, "you've done enough of that. you'd better hold up a while, that's my opinion." the other laughed; not a joyous laugh of natural mirthfulness, but something resembling a chuckling sneer that was horribly repelling. an instinctive feeling prompted me to retrace my steps and strike out for the mission of soledad. without well knowing why, i was impressed with an irresistible conviction that the spirit of sin brooded over this camp. acting upon the impulse of the moment, i turned to retreat while yet undiscovered, when a man emerged from the bushes a little below, and called out sharply, "who's that? answer quick, or you're a dead man!" i answered at once, "an american--a friend. don't shoot! it's all right!" i then advanced into the camp, where i was greeted with an uneasy and suspicious stare, very much unlike any reception i had ever met with before from a party of countrymen. there was either distrust or disappointment in their looks, probably both. the party consisted of three men, two of whom were standing by the fire cooking a piece of venison, while the third, who had hailed me from the bushes, seemed to have been on the look-out. the man called "jack"--he who had first spoken--was a swarthy, thick-set fellow, about thirty years of age, with a bull neck, a coarse black beard, and heavy sun-burned mustache. his eyes were overhung by bushy brows, and were of a cold, stony color and very deeply set, giving him an appearance of peeping out furtively from a chaparral of brush. a shock of black matted hair covered his head; his hands were begrimed with dirt, and his dress was ragged, greasy, and stained with blotches of filth and blood. on his feet he wore a pair of coarse heavy boots, out at the toes, in the legs of which his pantaloons were carelessly thrust, giving him a peculiarly slovenly and blackguard air. a belt around his waist, with a revolver and knife, and a leather pouch for balls and patching, completed his costume and trappings. i instinctively recoiled from this man. his whole expression--his voice, manner, dress, and all--pronounced him a coarse and unmitigated villain. there was not a single redeeming point about him that i could discover. hard, crafty, and cruel, profane, filthy, and brutal, his character was patent at a glance. if he was not intrinsically bad, nature had grievously belied him. [illustration: "jack."] the other, to whom this fellow had addressed his remarks when i first heard their voices, and who was called "griff," was apparently somewhat younger, though rough and weather-beaten, as if he had been much exposed. his form was gaunt and athletic, and his height over six feet. there was something very sad in the expression of his face, which was well chiseled, and not destitute of a certain quality of rough, manly beauty. a prominent nose; firm and compressed lips; a square projecting chin, evincing firmness, and a liquid blue eye, with a mingled expression of gentleness and determination; deep furrows, tending downward from the corners of his mouth; long waving hair, and a light mustache, gave him something of a heroic cast of countenance, which, but for an appearance of general recklessness, would have redeemed him under all the disadvantages of ragged clothes and evil associations. yet i felt at once interested in this man. he seemed embarrassed as i scanned his features, apparently struggling with some natural impulse of politeness, which prompted him to offer me a more kindly welcome than his comrades had bestowed upon me; but, if such an impulse moved him, it was speedily checked. he drew his hat over his brow, and resumed his occupation at the fire without saying a word. still, even his silence was not unfriendly. the third of this strange party was a lithe, wiry man, not over five feet eight in height, but compact and not ungracefully formed. he was apparently much older than either of the others. to look upon him once was to receive an impression of evil that could never be effaced. his countenance was the most repellent i had ever seen, far surpassing that of the man "jack" in cool, crafty malignity. i could readily imagine that this was the leader in all that required subtlety, intellect, and skill. his forehead was high and narrow; his eyes closely set together, black, and of piercing brilliancy; his features sharp and mobile; but it was his mouth that more than all gave him the distinguishing expression of cruelty and cunning. a sardonic smile continually played upon his thin, bloodless lips. every muscle seemed under perfect control. it might well be said of this man that "he could smile, and smile, and be a villain still," for villainy lurked in every feature. yet he was not deficient in a certain air of personal neatness to which the other two had no pretensions. his jet-black hair was closely cut, and his face quite destitute of beard, and of that peculiar leaden color which indicates a long career of dissipation. in his dress he was even slightly foppish; wore a green cassimere hunting-jacket, with brass buttons; a white shirt, a breast-pin, and a pair of check pantaloons. his fingers were adorned with rings, and a watch-guard hung from his neck. the hilt of a bowie-knife, ornamented with silver, protruded from under the breast of his vest, and a revolver hung from a belt around his waist. in his motions he was quick, supine, and noiseless. something of the basilisk there was about this man--something brilliant and glossy, as if he shone with a peculiar light. i fancied i had seen gamblers like him in new orleans, fierce yet wary men, accustomed to play at hazardous games; glossy outside and of fascinating suavity, but corrupt to the core. even his green coat added to the illusion; it fitted him so neatly, and seemed so like the natural slimy skin of a poisonous reptile. it was evident this was no ordinary adventurer. his manner was that of a man of the world; he had seen much, and he knew much, mostly of evil i fancied, for all that was about him was essentially bad. a certain deference toward him was perceptible in the manner of the other two men, especially in that of the thick-set fellow called jack, who lost much of his bravado air when "the colonel" spoke, for such was the title accorded to the last-named of the party. the colonel was pleased to scan me very closely for some moments before he opened his lips. when he spoke i was astonished at the change in his voice, which, when i first heard it, was sharp and hard. it was now wonderfully soft and silky. "sir," said he, blandly, "you seem to have lost your way. have you walked far?" "not very," was my answer. "only five miles. my mule threw me and ran away. i was unable to catch him, and thought probably he had made his way to this pool of water. have you seen him?--a large brown mule, with a roll of blankets and a coat fastened to the saddle?" the colonel smiled pleasantly. "i see, friend, you are not accustomed to traveling in this rough style. your mule has doubtless gone back to his old quarters, wherever you got him. a mule never goes farther in a new direction than he can help." "but i saw him start for this point. he was very thirsty, i know; and, besides, he came from the colorado not over a month ago. his course would naturally be to the southward if he desired to return to his old quarters." "very likely," said the colonel, quietly: "it may be the same mule i sold to a gentleman from texas down there about that time." "yes--i bought him from a texan. it must be the same," i answered, glad to find some clew, however remote, to the object of my search. the colonel smiled again, and expressed his regret that it was not the nature of that mule to go in the direction of the colorado. the fare for mules in that region was rather dry; and the animal in question had a very keen appreciation of good fare. at all events, no such mule had been seen here--"unless, perhaps, you may have seen him," added the colonel, turning to the thick-set man, and regarding him with a peculiar expression--the same basilisk eye that i had noticed before. "i?" said jack, laughing coarsely; "the last mule i saw was a small mustang horse that belongs to myself." "possibly _you_ may have seen him?" suggested the colonel, looking at the tall, gaunt man, griff; and here i could not but notice the change in his expression. his brow unconsciously lowered, and there was something devilish in the cool malignity of his eye. griff was silent. his frame seemed convulsed with some emotion of disgust or hatred. the colonel, turning quickly to me, observed, with an affected suavity, "this man may possibly be able to tell you something about your mule." at this the person referred to drew himself up into an erect position, and gave a look at the colonel--a look of such mingled hatred, defiance, and contempt, that i expected to see the latter wilt before it or draw his revolver. but he did neither. and here i detected the secret of his power over the other two men--imperturbable self-possession. he merely elevated his brows superciliously as griff sternly remarked, "you know as much of the mule as i do! what do you ask me for? be careful." "oh," said the colonel, jocularly, "i thought you might have seen him while i was absent. you know i'm not in the habit of noticing these things." griff resumed his slouching attitude, stirring the fire moodily, while the colonel requested me to be seated, and proceeded to do the honors of the repast. all that i have attempted to describe was perfectly quiet; not a loud word was spoken, and but for the peculiar expression of each face, involving some dark complicity of experience, it might have passed unnoticed. there was really nothing said that necessarily bore an evil import. yet what was it that filled me with such an indefinable abhorrence of these men--of two of them, at least? that they were unprincipled adventurers, i knew; that they were depraved enough to be professed gamblers, highway robbers, or horse thieves, was reasonable to suppose from their appearance; but there was something more than that about them. the leader was no common gambler or horse-thief. he was too keen, too polished, too subtle for that. he might be a forger, a slave speculator, a dealer in blood-hounds, a gambler in fancy stocks; yet this was no country for the exercise of that sort of talent--at least that portion of it which he had chosen as a place of temporary abode. he might be on his way to the mines. i asked no questions. it was enough to feel the evil influence of the present--enough to know by intuition that the hands of this man were stained with some deadly sin. hungry as i was, i could not swallow the bread he gave me without a choking sensation of disgust. the act of eating with him implied a species of fellowship against which my very soul rebelled. of the swarthy man, jack, i had a different impression. he was purely brutal. all his instincts were coarse, savage, and depraved. whatever quickness or cunning he possessed was that of an animal. he was far inferior to the other in all the essential attributes of a successful villain. i looked upon him as upon a vicious brute. for the tall fellow, griff, i must confess i felt a strange sympathy. that he was not naturally depraved, no one who looked upon his fine features, and frank, manly bearing, could for a moment doubt. he might be dissipated, reckless, even criminal, but he surely was not all bad. there was something of conscience left in him yet--some human emotion of remorse. otherwise, why was his expression so strangely sad? why was it that there seemed to be no bond of sympathy between him and the others--beyond, perhaps, some complicity in crime, either accidental or the result of evil associations? a deadly fascination seemed to be spread over him by the leader, against which he struggled in vain. the slight outburst of passion which i had witnessed showed too plainly the powerful thraldom in which he was held. his defiant tone--the withering hatred of his eye--the impatient gesture of contempt, were but the momentary ebullitions of a proud spirit. no sentiment of personal fear could have found a place in that manly breast. the cause of his submission lay deeper than that. something of self-accusation must have had a share in it, thus to paralyze his strength--something more inextricable than any web that mortal man could cast over him unaided by a sense of his own iniquity. i could not conjecture what crime he had committed. whatever it was, i had a strong yearning to befriend him. surely there was still hope for him; he could not be utterly lost without bearing in his features the impress of unmitigated evil. as soon as supper was over, the colonel lighted his pipe and seemed disposed to be sociable. it was impossible for me to get over the abhorrence i had for this man. even his efforts to be agreeable had something sinister in them that increased my dislike. still, i was in the power of these men, whether they chose to exercise it for good or for evil, and it behooved me to suppress any disrelish i might have for their company. "you came from soledad to-day, i think you said?" observed the colonel. "yes; i stopped there last night." "did you meet any body on the road?" he asked, carelessly. "only two spaniards from santa marguerita." the colonel started. "any news from below?" "none that i could understand. i don't speak the spanish language." "you heard nothing from san miguel?" "no." "which way are you bound, if i may take the liberty of asking?" "to san luis. i have business there connected with the revenue service. unfortunately, my mule has disappeared with my blankets, coat, pistol, what little money i had, and my official papers, which are of no use to any body but myself. i fear the loss will subject me to great inconvenience." "you are aware, i suppose," said the colonel, with the same disagreeable smile i had before noticed, "that the road is considered a little dangerous for solitary travelers. murders have been committed between this and san miguel." "any lately?" i asked, assuming more composure than i felt. "why as for that," replied the colonel, making an effort to be humorous, "it would be hard for me to keep the run of all i hear in this part of the country. society is rather backward, and the newspapers do not keep us advised of the current events of the day." here there was a pause. i felt convinced that this man was capable of any deed, however dark and damning. even while he spoke his fingers played with the butt of a revolver that hung from his belt. something caught my eye as his hand moved--a small silver star near the lock of the pistol. this was not an ordinary mark. i at once knew the pistol to be mine. a friend had given it to me. the star was a fanciful device of his own, based upon the idea that its rays would guide the bullet to its destination. the colonel detected my inquisitive glance, and smiled again in his peculiar way, but said nothing. if i had any doubt on the subject before, i now felt quite satisfied that he was not only a villain, but one who would not hesitate to take my life if it would serve his purpose. whether his thoughts ran in that direction at present i could not determine. he possessed a wonderful power of inspiring dark impressions without uttering a word. the mere suspicion of such a design was at least unpleasant. at length he rose, having finished smoking his pipe, and with an air of indifference said, "it must be getting late. have you the time, sir?" i pulled out my watch, scarcely conscious of the act, and remarked that it wanted a few minutes of nine. "a nice-looking watch, that!" observed the colonel. "it must be worth a hundred dollars." "yes, more than that," i answered; for i saw at once that any manifestation of suspicion would be the last thing to answer my purpose. "it cost $ in new york. it is a genuine chronometer, and the casing is of solid gold." the colonel exchanged glances with the swarthy man, jack, and proposed to go out and take a look at the horses. before they had proceeded fifty yards they stopped and looked back. griff had been sitting moodily before the fire during the conversation above related, and did not seem disposed to move at the summons of his leader, who now called sharply to him to come on. the same expression of defiant hatred that i had noticed before flashed from the man's eyes, and for a moment he seemed to struggle against the colonel's malign influence. "come!" said the latter, sharply, "what do you lag behind for? you know your duty!" "yes," muttered griff, between his set teeth, "i know it! it is hardly necessary to remind me of it." he then rose and proceeded to join his comrades. as he passed by where i sat he hurriedly whispered, "_stay where you are. don't attempt to escape yet. depend upon me--i'll stand by you!_" chapter v. the escape. it may readily be conceived that my sensations were not the most pleasant during the absence of the three men in whose power i was so strangely and unexpectedly placed. that two of them were quite capable of murdering me, if they had not already made up their minds to do so, was beyond question. i looked around, and saw to my dismay that they scarcely took the trouble to conceal the robbery they had already perpetrated. my blankets lay under a tree not over fifteen steps from the fire, and my coat and saddle were carelessly thrown among the common camp equipments in the same place. what could one unarmed man do against three, or even two, fully armed desperadoes? my first impulse was to steal away, now that there was a chance--perhaps the only one i might have--and conceal myself in the bushes till morning, then endeavor to make my way along the bed of the creek to soledad. better trust to the grizzly bears than to such men as the colonel and jack. but it was more than probable they were thoroughly acquainted with every thicket and trail in the country, and would not be long in overtaking me on horseback. there was another serious consideration: i could not well afford to lose my mule, money, and papers. the latter were of incalculable value, and could not be replaced. i had no idea that they had been suffered to remain in my coat pocket. so adroit a speculator as the colonel must have ascertained their contents and placed them beyond danger of recovery. besides, the man griff had warned me not to attempt an escape yet. was he to be trusted? surely i could not be deceived in him. what object could he have in warning me unless to provide for my safety? these considerations were unanswerable. i determined to remain and abide the issue. it is said that danger sharpens men's wits. i believe it; for while there was ample reason to suppose these men were deliberating upon my destruction, a scheme flashed upon my mind which i at once resolved to carry into effect. up to this period i had given them a plain statement of my misfortune. they evidently regarded me as a very simple-minded and inexperienced traveler. nothing could be easier than to improve upon that idea. as soon as they returned and resumed their places around the fire, i made some casual inquiries of the colonel about the route from san miguel to san luis obispo, professing to be exceedingly anxious to reach the latter place within five or six days. the colonel was bland and obliging as usual, giving me, without reserve, full particulars in regard to the route. "but what's your hurry?" said he, smiling in his accustomed manner; "why not stay with us a few days and make yourself comfortable? the weather is rather warm for so long a pedestrian tour--unless, indeed, something is to be made by it." this he said with a low chuckle and a significant glance at the fellow with the thick neck. "that is precisely why i want to get on," i answered; "a great deal is to be made by it if i get there in time, and a great deal lost if i don't. a vessel laden with foreign goods has gone ashore on the beach below the embarcadera. i have advices that most of the cargo is saved. the duties, according to a copy of the manifest forwarded to the custom-house at san francisco, amount to over ten thousand dollars. the supercargo writes that he can sell out on advantageous terms at san luis, provided he can pay the duties there to some authorized officer of the government within the period named. i am on my way down to receive the money. if i can get back with it to san francisco within ten or twelve days, it will be of considerable advantage to the government as well as to myself. unfortunately, there is no water communication at present, or i might gain time by taking a vessel. however, i apprehend no difficulty in being able to hire a mule at san miguel. as for the stories of robbery and murder on the road, i have no faith in them. at all events, i am not afraid to try the experiment." this communication made an evident impression upon the minds of the colonel and jack, both of whom listened with intense interest. the man griff looked a little puzzled, but a casual glance reassured him: he at once caught at my meaning. i could see that the colonel was embarrassed as to what course to pursue in reference to the stolen property. he held down his head for some time, pretending to be occupied in clearing the stem of his pipe, but it was apparent that he was in considerable perplexity. deep and guarded as he was, it was not difficult to conjecture what was passing in his mind. there was now a strong inducement for permitting me to proceed on my journey. the prospect of securing ten thousand dollars was worthy of some risk; yet, if he acknowledged the stealing of my mule and other property, it was not likely i would again place myself in his power. on the other hand, i had seen the pistol, and must have some suspicion of the true state of the case. i have often observed that men deeply versed in villainy, while they possess a certain sort of sagacity, are deficient in the perception of character when it involves a more comprehensive knowledge of human nature than usually falls within the limits of their individual experience. they are quick to detect every species of vulgar trickery, but their capacity to cope with straightforward truth is limited. they suspect either too much or too little, and lose confidence in their own penetration. with men like themselves they understand how to deal--they know by intuition the governing motives; but simplicity and frankness are weapons to which they are not accustomed. a direct statement of facts, in which they can see no motive of prudence, sets them at fault. they can analyze well through a dark atmosphere, but, like night-birds, have very dim perceptive powers in daylight. while the colonel could discover no interested motive in my simple statement respecting the loss of a vessel on the coast (of which he had probably heard from other sources), and could see no reason why i should not be simple enough to come back with a large sum of money, since i had been simple enough to lose a valuable mule and exhibit a valuable watch, he nevertheless seemed unable to extricate himself from suspicion in reference to the pistol--the only article of my property which he had reason to suppose i had seen. he could easily have said that he had found it on the trail; but he was not skilled in degrees of innocence. he had deferred his explanation too long, and, judging by himself, could not imagine that any other person would credit so flimsy a statement. in this he was correct, but his one-sided sagacity led him into puzzling inconsistencies. to lull all suspicion on this point was indispensable to the success of my plan. the apparent confidence which i had manifested in the good faith of the party tended greatly to prevent the leader from coming to a satisfactory conclusion. so at least it appeared to me, as i watched the uncertain movements of his hands and the changing expression of his countenance. he was evidently aware that i had seen the star on the handle of the pistol, yet my conduct indicated no suspicion. it was necessary that i should remove whatever doubt on the subject might be lurking in his mind. with this in view, i took occasion to renew the conversation relative to the route, stating that although i apprehended little danger, it was still an awkward position to be entirely without arms in a strange country. "the loss of my pistol," said i, "is a serious inconvenience. it must have fallen from my belt when the mule threw me, and become covered with dust. i could go back and find the place, but that would occupy nearly half a day, and i can not afford to lose the time. the only particular value the pistol has is that it is a present from a friend who belonged to the order of the lone star of texas. the badge of the association is marked upon the handle, as usual with arms belonging to the members." "yes," said the colonel, after a pause, "i once belonged to that order myself, and have a pistol similarly marked." "perhaps you would be willing to dispose of it?" i observed. "not that i have any money, but i would cheerfully give my watch for a good pistol, which would be at least three times its value." "my dear sir," said the colonel, affecting an air of injured pride, "you certainly can not be aware that a member of the lone star never sells or barters his arms. any thing else, but not his weapons of personal defense. fortunately, however, i have a spare revolver, which is entirely at your service. as for your watch, i should be sorry to deprive you of so useful an article, and one which would be of no value to myself. time is of little consequence to men who are accustomed to spend it as they please, and whose chief dependence is on the sun, moon, and stars." i accepted the proffered gift, as may be supposed, without the slightest qualms of conscience in depriving the donor of so valuable a piece of property; and having expressed my thanks, noticed that, while pretending to search for the pistol among the camp equipments, he took care to cover up my blanket and coat. the colonel soon returned to the fire, and handed me a very handsome revolver, a belt, powder-flask, and small leather bag containing caps, balls, and other necessary appendages. it struck me as a little strange that, having apparently made up his mind to let me depart, he had not offered to lend me an animal to ride upon; but a moment's reflection satisfied me that there was good cause for this. there could be no doubt, from the character of the party, that the horses were stolen, and would be recognized on the road. besides, he knew i could easily hire a horse or mule at san miguel. after this i observed that the colonel took occasion to speak a few words to jack, the import of which i could only conjecture had some reference to my papers. jack answered aloud, "yes, the grass is bad there. i'll go put my mustang in another place." he then walked away, and the colonel busied himself in preparing our sleeping quarters for the night. it was nearly eleven o'clock. in about fifteen minutes jack returned, and we all lay down in different directions, within a short distance of the fire. a saddle-blanket, kindly furnished by my chief entertainer, enabled me to make quite a comfortable bed. the night was mild and pleasant. a clear sky, spangled with stars, was visible through the tops of the trees, and never had i seen it look so beautifully serene. could it be that guilt could slumber peacefully under that heavenly canopy? surely the evil spirit must be strong in the hearts of men who, unconscious of the reproving purity of such a night, could thus forget their sins, and lie calmly sleeping upon the bosom of their mother earth. how deadened by a long career of crime must conscience be in the breast of him who, steeped in guilt, could thus, in the presence of his maker, "o'erlabored with his being's strife, sink to that sweet forgetfulness of life!" neither the colonel nor the man jack moved an inch after taking their places. i almost envied them their capacity to sleep, so gentle and profound was their oblivion to the world and all its cares. to me this refreshing luxury was denied. my fate seemed to hang upon a thread. i could not feel any confidence in these men. they might become suspicious at any moment, and murder me as i lay helpless before them. for over two hours i watched them; they never moved. the probable fact was, they had made up their minds not to molest me, in view of the large sum of money i expected to collect at san luis. my course seemed clear enough. but here was the difficulty. i could do nothing without my papers. nor was i content to lose my mule, saddle, and blankets, which i knew to be in their possession. the tall man, griff, was restless, and turned repeatedly, moaning in his sleep, "god have pity on me! oh god, have pity on me!" it was a sad sight to behold him. no mortal eye could fathom the sufferings that thus moved him. truly, "the mind that broods o'er guilty woes is like a scorpion girt by fire." at length--it must have been about an hour before day--he arose, looked cautiously around, and, seeing all quiet, beckoned to me, and stealthily left the camp. on his way out he gathered up my blanket, saddle, and coat in his arms, and looked back to see if i had taken the hint. i lost no time in slipping from my covering, and following his receding figure. it was a trying moment. i expected to see the other two men rise, and held my pistol ready for defense. in a few minutes we were beyond immediate danger of discovery. "now," said griff--"now is your time. here is your mule. mount him and be off! they will undertake to pursue you as soon as they discover your absence; but i shall loose the riatas, and it will take them some time to catch the horses. you will find your papers on the trail as soon as you strike the plain. get to san miguel, and you are safe. they dare not go there; _but don't stop on the way_." while he was talking griff fixed my saddle and pack on the mule, and i mounted without loss of time. what could i do to reward this noble fellow? in the hurry of the moment i handed him my watch. "friend," said i, "you have done me an inestimable service. take this trifle as a keepsake, and with it my best thanks. you and i may never meet again." "no, it is not likely we shall," said griff, sadly. "our ways are different. keep your watch; i can't accept it. all i ask of you is not to judge me harshly. good-by!" the impulse to serve this unfortunate man was irresistible. i could not leave him thus. it was no idle curiosity that prompted me to probe the mystery of his conduct. "in heaven's name, friend, why do you stay with these bad men? what unholy power have they over you? leave them, i implore you--leave them at once and forever. come with me. i will do all i can for you. surely you are not too far gone in crime for repentance. the vilest sinner may be saved!" the poor fellow's frame was convulsed with agony. he sobbed like a child, and for a moment seemed unable to speak. suddenly, as if recollecting himself, he said, "no, sir, i can not turn traitor. it is no use--i am gone beyond redemption. their fate must be mine. god pity me! i struggled hard against the evil spirit, but he has conquered. i am gone, sir--gone! yet, believe me, i am not wholly depraved--a criminal in the eyes of the law; a robber; an outcast from society and civilization; but (here he lowered his voice to a whisper)--but not a murderer. oh god, pity me! my mother--my poor old mother!" this was all. the next moment he turned away, and was lost in the gloom of the trees. chapter vi. a lonely ride. as i struck into the trail and out into the broad valley of the salinas a sense of freedom relieved me in some degree of the gloom inspired by the last words of this strangely unfortunate man. the stars were shining brightly overhead, but the moon had gone down some time previously. it was just light enough to see the way. a small white object lying in the trail caused the mule to start. in the excitement of my escape i had forgotten about the papers. here they were, all safe. i had no doubt they had been thus disposed of by the ruffian jack during the previous evening when he took occasion to absent himself from the camp. i quickly dismounted and placed the package securely in the leg of one of my boots, then pushed on with all speed to reach a turning-point of the mountains some distance ahead, in order to be out of sight by the dawn of day, which could not be far off. in about an hour i had gained this point, and at the same time the first faint streaks of the coming day began to appear in the eastern sky. the air was peculiarly balmy--cool enough to be pleasant, and deliciously odorous with the herbage of the mountains. already the deer began to leave their coverts among the shrubbery on the hill-sides, and numerous bands of them stood gazing at me as i passed, their antlers erect, their beautiful forms motionless, as if hewn from the solid rock, but manifesting more curiosity than fear. thousands of rabbits frisked about in the open glades, and innumerable flocks of quail flitted from bush to bush. the field-larks and doves made the air musical with their joyous hymns of praise to the rising sun; the busy hum of bees rose among the wild flowers by the wayside; all nature seemed to awake from its repose smiling with a celestial joy. in no other country upon earth have i seen such mornings as in the interior of california--so clear, bright, and sparkling--so rich and glowing in atmospheric tints--so teeming with unbounded opulence in all that gives vigor, health, and beauty to animated nature, and inspiration to the higher faculties of man. there is a redundancy of richness in the earth, air, and light unknown even in that land of fascination which is said to possess "the fatal gift of beauty." [illustration: a lonely ride.] contrasted with the dark spirit of crime that hung over my late encampment, such a morning was inexpressibly lovely. every breath of air--every sound that broke upon the listening ear--every thought of the vast wild plains and towering mountains that swept around me in the immeasurable distance, inspired vague and unutterable sensations of pleasure and pain--pleasure that i was free and capable of enjoying such exquisite physical and mental luxuries; pain that here, on god's own footstool, "all but the spirit of man was divine." as the sun rose, and spread over mountain and valley a drapery of glowing light, giving promise of continued life to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, i could not but think with sadness how man--made after god's own image, the most perfect of his works, gifted with reason and intelligence--should so strangely turn aside from the teachings of his maker, and cast away the pure enjoyments so bountifully spread before him. was it possible that a single created being, however steeped in crime, could be insensible to the soothing and humanizing influences of such a scene? the unhappy fate of the poor fellow to whom i was so deeply indebted haunted me. he, at least, must have felt the better promptings of his inner nature amid these beautiful works of a beneficent creator. surely such a man could never be utterly lost. there were noble traits in his character that must, some time or other, assert their supremacy. honorable even in his degradation, he scorned to turn traitor to men whom he despised. his was not a nature formed for cruel and crafty deeds. frank, manly, and ingenuous in his whole bearing, there was evidence of innate nobility in his misguided sense of honor, and a manifest scorn of deception in his wild outbursts of passion. what could have driven him to this career of crime? what satanic power was that by which he was enthralled? i could not believe that he was voluntarily bad. that single outburst of emotion as he spoke of his mother would have redeemed him had he been the worst of criminals. a career of dissipation must have brought him to this. he was evidently compromised, but to what extent? some painful mystery hung over his connection with these bad men--i could not fathom it. the more i reflected upon all i had seen and heard, the more profound became my sympathy; nor is it an affectation of generosity to say that i would have sacrificed much to have saved him. yet this man's case was not an uncommon one in california. there were many there, even at that early period, and there are still many, who, with the noblest attributes that adorn human nature, have become castaways. as the day advanced a marked change became perceptible in the character of the country. passing out from the valley of the salinas to the right, the trail entered a series of smaller valleys, winding from one to another through a succession of narrow cañons between low, gravelly hills, destitute of shrubbery, and of a peculiarly whitish and barren aspect. the scene was no longer enlivened by bands of deer and smaller game, such as i had seen in the morning; the birds had also disappeared; not a living thing was in sight save a few buzzards hovering in the air over the bleached and sterile hills, and occasionally a coyote or wild-cat skulking stealthily across the trail. toward noon the earth became like a fiery furnace. the air was scorching. in the narrow passages, where the hills converged into a focus, cutting off every current of air, the refraction of the sun's rays was absolutely terrific. it seemed as if my very clothing must crisp into tinder and drop from my body. the skin peeled from my face and hands; a thick woolen hat was insufficient to keep the fierce and seething heat from my head, and i sometimes feared i would be smitten to the earth. not knowing the water-holes, or rather having no time to look for them, i was parched with an intolerable thirst. on every eminence i turned to look back, but nothing was in sight save the dreary waste of barren hills that lay behind. toward evening, having stopped only a few minutes at a pool of water, my mule began to lag again. i had no spurs, and it was utterly in vain that i urged him on by kicks and blows. his greatest speed was a slow trot, and to keep that up for a few hundred yards at a time required my utmost efforts. by sundown i estimated that the distance to san miguel must be twelve or fifteen miles. it was a very unpleasant position to be in--pursued, as i had every reason to suppose, by men who would not hesitate to take my life, yet unable to accelerate the speed of my animal. all i could do was to continue beating him. the country became still more lonesome and desolate as i advanced. the chances of being overtaken momentarily increased. my anxiety to reach san miguel caused me to forget all the sufferings of fatigue and thirst, and strain every nerve to get my mule over the ground. but the greater the effort the slower he traveled. it was true, i had a pistol, and could make some defense. yet the chances were greatly against me. unskilled in this sort of warfare, an indifferent rider, unacquainted with the trails by which i might be cut off and surprised, it seemed indeed a very hopeless case, should such an emergency arise. besides, it would be very little satisfaction to shoot one, or even two men, against whom i felt no enmity, and whose lives were worth nothing to me, and still less to get killed myself. the truth is, i had a particular relish for life; others were interested in it as well as myself, and i did not feel disposed to risk it unnecessarily. the sun went down at last, and the soft shadows of night began to soften the asperities of the scene. i rode on, never once relaxing my efforts to get a little more speed out of my mule. the moon rose, and innumerable stars twinkled in the sky. the air became delightfully balmy. long shadows of rocks and trees swept across the trail. mystic forms seemed to flit through the dim distance, or stand like ghostly sentinels along the wayside. often i fancied i could see men on horseback stationed under the overhanging rocks, and detect the glitter of their arms in the moonlight. stumps of trees riven by the storms of winter loomed up among the rocks like grim spectres; the very bushes assumed fantastic forms, and waved their long arms in gestures of warning. the howling of innumerable coyotes and the hooting of the night-owls had a singularly weird effect in the stillness of the night. chapter vii. the attack. it must have been nearly ten o'clock when my mule suddenly stopped, turned around, and set up that peculiar nickering bray by which these animals hail the approach of strangers. as soon as he ceased his unwelcome noise i listened, and distinctly heard the clatter of hoofs in the road, about half a mile in the rear. that my pursuers were rapidly approaching there was now very little doubt. it was useless to attempt to reach san miguel, which must be still four or five miles distant. i had no time, and resolved at once to make for a little grove some three or four hundred yards to the right. as i approached the nearest trees i was rejoiced to see something like a fence. a little farther on was a gray object with a distinct outline. it must be a house. there was no light; but i soon discovered that i was within fifty yards of a small adobe building. my mule now pricked up his ears, snuffed the air wildly, and absolutely refused to move a step nearer. i dismounted, and tried to drag him toward the door. his terror seemed unconquerable. with starting eyes, and a wild blowing sound from his nostrils, he broke away and dashed out into the plain. i speedily lost sight of him. this time i had taken the precaution to secure my papers and pistol on my person. the mule had taken the direction of san miguel; but, even should i be unable to recover him, the loss would not be so great as before. however, it was no time to calculate losses. the clatter of hoofs grew nearer and nearer, and soon the advancing forms of two mounted men became distinctly visible in the moonlight. there was no alternative but to seek security in the old adobe. i ran for the door and pushed it open. the house was evidently untenanted. no answer was made to my summons save a mocking echo from the bare walls. my pursuers must have caught sight of me as they approached. i could hear their imprecations as they tried to force their animals up to the door. one of the party--the colonel, whose voice i had no difficulty in recognizing, said, "blast the fellow! what did he come here for?" the other answered with an oath and a brutal laugh, "we've got him holed, any how. it won't take long to root him out." they then dismounted and proceeded to tie their horses to the nearest tree. i could hear them talk as they receded, but could not make out what they said. while this was going on i had closed the door, and was looking for some bolt or fastening, when i heard the low, fierce growl of some animal. there was no time to conjecture what it was; the next moment a furry skin brushed past, and the animal sprang through an opening in the wall. a wooden bar was all i could find; but the iron fastening had been broken, and the only way of securing the door was to brace the bar against it in a diagonal position. the floor was of rough hard clay, and served in some sort to prevent the brace from slipping. a few moments of painful anxiety passed. i had drawn my revolver, and stood close against the inner wall, prepared to fire upon the first man that entered. presently the two men returned, approaching stealthily along the wall, so as to avoid coming in range of the door. the sharp, hard voice of the colonel first broke the silence. "come," said he, "open the door! you can't help yourself now! it is all up with you, my fine fellow!" i knew the villains wanted to find my position, and made no answer. "you may as well come out at once," said the colonel; "you have no chance. there is nobody here to stand by you as there was last night. your friend is keeping camp with a bullet through his head and a gash in his throat." pressed as i was, this news shocked me beyond measure. the unfortunate man who had befriended me had paid the penalty of his life for his kindness. "out with you!" roared the colonel, fiercely, "or we'll burst the door down. come, be quick!" [illustration: the attack.] another pause. i heard a low whispering, and stood with breathless anxiety with my finger upon the trigger of my pistol. in that brief period it was wonderful how many thoughts flashed through my mind. i knew nothing of the construction of the house; had no time even to look around and see if there was any back entrance. a faint light through one small window-hole in front, within three feet of the door, was all i could discern. every nerve was strained to its utmost tension. my sense of hearing was painfully acute. the low whispering of the two ruffians, the faint jingling of their spurs, the very creaking of their boots, as they stealthily moved, was fearfully audible. with an almost absolute certainty of death, without the remotest hope of relief, it was strange how my thoughts wandered back upon the past; how the peaceful fireside of home was pictured to my mind; how vividly i saw the beloved faces of kindred and friends; how all that were dear to me seemed to sympathize in my unhappy fate. yet it was impossible to realize that my time had come. the whole thing--the camp, the dark, murderous faces, the chase, the blockade--resembled rather some horrible fantasy than the dread truth. strange, too, that i should have noticed something even grotesque in my situation; run into a hole, as the ruffian jack had said, like a coyote or a badger. five minutes--it seemed a long time--must have passed in this way, when i became conscious of a gradual darkening in the room. a low, heavy breathing attracted my attention. i looked in the direction of the window, and thought i could detect something moving; but the darkness was so impenetrable that it might be the result of imagination. should i fire and miss my mark, the flash would reveal my position and be certain destruction. the dark mass again moved. i could distinctly hear the respiration. it must be one of the men trying to get in through the small window-hole. i raised my pistol, took dead aim as near as possible upon the centre of the object, and fired. the fall of a heavy body outside, a groan, an imprecation, was all i could hear, when a tremendous effort was made to force the door, and two shots were fired through it in quick succession. the wood was massive, but much decayed; and i saw that it was rapidly giving way before the furious assaults that were made upon it from the outside, evidently with a heavy piece of timber. another lunge or two of this powerful battering-ram must have borne it from its hinges or shattered it to fragments. "hold on, jack!" said the wounded man in a low voice; "come here, quick! the infernal fool has shot me through the shoulder! i'm bleeding badly." the ruffian dropped his bar, as i judged by the sound, and turned to drag his leader out of range of the door. now was the time for a bold move. hitherto i had acted on the defensive; but every thing depended on following up the advantage. removing the brace from the door, i made an opening sufficient to get a glimpse of the two men. the stout fellow, jack, was stooping down, dragging the other toward the corner of the house. i fired again. the ball was too low; it missed his body, but must have shattered his wrist; for, with a horrible oath, he dropped his burden, and staggered back a few paces writhing with pain, his hand covered with blood. before i could get another shot he darted behind the house. at the same time the colonel rose on his knee, turned quickly, and fired. the ball whizzed by my head and struck the door. while i was trying to get a shot at him in return, he jumped to his feet and staggered out of range. i thought it best now to rest satisfied with my success so far, and again retired to my position behind the door. for the next ten or fifteen minutes i could hear, from time to time, the smothered imprecations of the wounded ruffians, but after this there was a dead silence. i heard nothing more. they had either gone or were lying in wait near by, supposing i would come out. this uncertainty caused me considerable anxiety, for i dared not abandon my gloomy retreat. two or three hours must have passed in this way, during which i was constantly on the guard; but not the slightest indication of the presence of the enemy was perceptible. two nights had nearly passed, during which i had not closed my eyes in sleep. the perpetual strain of mind and the fatigue of travel were beginning to tell. i felt faint and drowsy. during the whole terrible ordeal of this night i had not dared to sit down. but now my legs refused to support me any longer. i groped my way toward a corner of the room to lie down. some soft mass on the ground caused me to stumble. i threw out my hands and fell. what was it that sent such a thrill of horror through every fibre? a dead body lay in my embrace--cold, mutilated, and clotted with blood! it has been my fortune, during a long career of travel in foreign lands, to see death in many forms. i do not profess to be exempt from the weakness common to most men--a natural dread of that undiscovered region toward which we are all traveling. but i never had any peculiar repugnance to the presence of dead men. what are they, after all, but inanimate clay? the living are to be feared--not the dead, who sleep the sleep that knows no waking. not this--not the sudden contact with a corpse; not simply the cold and blood-clotted face over which i passed my hand was it that caused me to recoil with such a thrill of horror. it was the solution of a dread mystery. there, in a pool of clotted gore, lay the corpse of a murdered man. no need was there to conjecture who were his murderers. i rose up, thoroughly aroused from my drowsiness. it was probable others had shared the fate of this man. if so, their bodies must be near at hand. i was afraid to open the door to let in the light, for, bad as it was to be shut up in a dark room with the victim or victims of a cruel murder, it was worse to incur the risk of a similar fate by exposing myself. after somewhat recovering my composure i groped about, and soon discovered that three other bodies were lying in the room: one on a bed--a woman with her throat cut from ear to ear--and two smaller bodies on the floor near by--children perhaps eight or ten years old, but so mutilated that it was difficult to tell what they were. their limbs were almost denuded of flesh, and their faces and bodies were torn into shapeless masses. this must have been the finishing work of the animal--a coyote no doubt--that had startled me with a growl, and broken through the window after i had first closed the door. i could also now account for the strange manner in which the mule had snuffed the air, and his unconquerable terror in approaching the house. only a few articles of furniture were in the room--a bed, two or three broken stools, a frying-pan, coffee-pot, and a few other cooking utensils, thrown in a heap near the fireplace. there was no other room; nor was there any back entrance, as i had at first apprehended. it was a gloomy place enough to spend a night in, but there was no help for it. i certainly had less fear of the dead than of the living. it could not be over two or three hours till morning; and it was not likely the two men, who were seeking my life, would lurk about the premises much longer, if they had not long since taken their departure, which seemed the most probable. i knelt down and commended my soul to god; then stretched myself across the brace against the door, and, despite the presence of death, fell fast asleep. it was broad daylight when i awoke. the sun's earliest rays were pouring into the room through the little window and the cracks of the door. a ghastly spectacle was revealed--a ghastly array of room-mates lying stiff and stark before me. from the general appearance of the dead bodies i judged them to be an emigrant family from some of the western states. they had probably taken up a temporary residence in the old adobe hut after crossing the plains by the southern route, and must have had money or property of some kind to have inspired the cupidity of their murderers. the man was apparently fifty years of age; his skull was split completely open, and his brains scattered out upon the earthen floor. the woman was doubtless his wife. her clothes were torn partly from her body, and her head was cut nearly off from her shoulders; besides which, her skull was fractured with some dull instrument, and several ghastly wounds disfigured her person. the bedclothes were saturated with blood, now clotted by the parching heat. the two children had evidently been cut down by the blows of an axe. their heads were literally shattered to fragments. what the murderers had failed to accomplish in mutilating the bodies had been completed by some ravenous beast of prey--the same, no doubt, already mentioned. i saw no occasion to prolong my stay. it was hardly probable the colonel and jack, wounded as they were, would renew their attack. they must have made their way back to camp, or at least retired to some part of the country where they would incur less risk of capture. chapter viii. san miguel. it was a bright and beautiful morning as i left the house and turned toward san miguel. the contrast between the peaceful scene before me and the horrible sight i had just witnessed was exceedingly impressive. the mellow light of the early sun on the mountains; the winding streams fringed with shrubbery; the rich, golden hue of the valley; the cattle grazing quietly in the low meadows bordering on the salinas river; the singing of the birds in the oak groves, were indescribably refreshing to a fevered mind, and filled my heart with thankfulness that i was spared to enjoy them once more. yet i could not but think of what i had witnessed in the adobe hut--a whole family cut down by the ruthless hands of murderers who might still be lurking behind the bushes on the wayside. their dreadful crime haunted the scene, and its exquisite repose seemed almost a cruel mockery. de quincey somewhere remarks that he never experienced such profound sensations of sadness as on a bright summer day, when the very luxuriance and maturity of outer life, and the fullness of sunshine that filled the visible world, made the desolation and the darkness within the more oppressive. i could now well understand the feeling; and though grief had but little part in it, beyond a natural regret for the unhappy fate of the murdered family, still it was sad to feel the contrast between the purity and beauty of god's creation and the willful wickedness of man. i had not lost the strong instinct of self-preservation, which, so far at least, through the kind aid of providence, had enabled me to preserve my life; and in my lonely walk toward san miguel i was careful to keep in the open valley, and avoid, as much as possible, coming within range of the rocks and bushes. in about an hour i saw the red tile roofs and motley collection of ruinous old buildings that comprised the former missionary station of san miguel. a gang of lean wolfish dogs ran out to meet me as i approached, and it was not without difficulty that i could keep them off without resorting to my revolver, which was an alternative that might produce a bad impression where i most hoped to meet with a friendly reception. as i approached the main buildings i was struck with the singularly wild and desolate aspect of the place. not a living being was in sight. the carcass of a dead ox lay in front of the door, upon which a voracious brood of buzzards were feeding; and a coyote sat howling on an eminence a little beyond. i walked into a dark, dirty room, and called out, in what little spanish i knew, for the man of the house. "_quien es?_" demanded a gruff voice. i looked in a corner, and saw a filthy-looking object, wrapped in a poncho, sitting lazily on a bed. by his uncouth manner and forbidding appearance i judged him to be the vaquero in charge of the place, in which i was not mistaken. with considerable difficulty i made him comprehend that i had lost my mule, and supposed it had strayed to san miguel. "_quien sabe?_" said the fellow, indifferently. [illustration: san miguel.] could he not find it? i would be willing to reward him. i would give him the blankets. i was an _oficiál_, and was on my way to san luis obispo. to each of these propositions the man returned a stupid and yawning answer, "_quien sabe_--who knows?" finding nothing to be gained on that point, i asked him for something to eat, for i was well-nigh famished with hunger. he pointed lazily to a string of jerked beef strung across the rafters. it required but little time to select a few dry pieces, and while i was eating them the fellow asked me if i had any tobacco. i handed him a plug, which speedily produced a good effect, for he got up and passed me a plate of cold tortillas. when i had somewhat satisfied the cravings of hunger, i asked him, in my broken spanish, if he had heard of the murder--five persons killed in an old adobe house near by. "_quien sabe?_" said he, in the same indifferent tone. "_muchos malhos hombres aqui._" this was all he knew, or professed to know, of the murder. "amigo," said i, "if you'll get my mule and bring him here, i'll give you this watch." he took the watch and examined it carefully, handed it back, and remarked as before, "_quien sabe?_" the glitter of the gold, however, seemed to quicken his perceptive faculties to this extent that he got up from the bed, put on his spurs, took a riata from a peg on the wall, and walked out, leaving me to entertain myself as i thought proper during his absence. having finished a substantial repast of jerked beef and tortillas, i went out and rambled about among the ruins for nearly an hour. a few lazy and thriftless indians, lying in the sun here and there, were all the inhabitants of the place i could see. this ranch must have been a very desirable residence in former times. the climate is charming, except that it was a little warm in summer, and the cattle ranges are richly clothed with grass and very extensive. [illustration: a spanish caballero.] in about an hour my friend the vaquero came back, mounted on a broncho or wild horse, leading after him my mule, with the pack unchanged. from what i could understand, he had found the mule entangled by the bridle in the bushes, some three miles on the trail toward san luis. according to promise, i handed him my watch. he took it and examined it again, then handed it back without saying a word. "_amigo_," said i, "the watch is yours. i promised it to you if you found my mule." to this he merely shrugged his shoulders. "won't you take it? i have no money." "no, señor," said he, at length, with a somewhat haughty air, "i am a spanish gentleman." "oh, i beg your pardon. will you do me the favor, then, to accept a plug of tobacco?" i opened my pack and handed him a large plug of the finest pressed cavendish. "_mil gracias!_" said the spanish gentleman, smiling affably, and making a condescending inclination of the head. "that suits me better. a watch is bad property here. i don't want to be killed yet a while." here was a hint of his reason for declining the proffered reward. but he did it very grandly; and i was quite willing to accord to him the title of señor caballero to which he aspired, though he certainly looked as unlike the caballeros described by the learned fray antonio agapida, who went out to make war upon the moors of granada, as one distinguished individual can look unlike another. there was ample reason why i should regard my mule with dissatisfaction. all my misfortunes, so far, had arisen from his defective physical and mental organization (if i may use the term in reference to such an animal); but the fact is, it has been my fate, as far back as i can recollect, to have the worst stock in the country foisted upon me. never yet, up to this hour, have i succeeded in purchasing a sound, safe, and reliable animal--except, indeed, an old horse that i once owned in oakland, generally known in the neighborhood as selim the steady--a name derived from his unconquerable propensity for remaining in the stable, or getting back to it as soon as ever he left the premises. the vaquero, or, as he aspired to be called, the caballero, offered to barter his broncho for my mule, and, as an inducement, set him to bucking all over the ground within a circle of fifty yards, merely to show the spirit of the animal, of which i was so well satisfied that i declined the barter. chapter ix. a dangerous adventure. bidding my worthy friend a kindly "adios," i mounted the mule and pursued my journey toward san luis. the country, for many miles after leaving san miguel, was very wild and picturesque. blue mountains loomed up in the distance; and the trail passed through a series of beautifully undulating valleys, sometimes extensive and open, but often narrowed down to a mere gorge between the irregular spurs of the mountains. game was very abundant, especially quail and rabbits. i saw also several fine herds of deer, and occasionally bands of large red wolves. it was a very lonesome road all the way to the valley of santa marguerita, not a house or human being to be seen for twenty miles at a stretch. toward evening, on the first day after leaving san miguel, i descended the bed of a creek to water my mule. while looking for the water-hole, i heard some voices, and suddenly found myself close by a camp of sonoranians. it was too late to retreat, for i was already betrayed by the braying of my mule. upon riding into the camp i was struck with the savage and picturesque group before me, consisting of some ten or a dozen sonoranians. it is doing them no more than justice to say that they were the most villainous, cut-throat, ill-favored looking gang of vagabonds i had ever laid eyes upon. some were smoking cigarritos by the fire, others lying all about the trees playing cards, on their ragged saddle-blankets, with little piles of silver before them; and those that were not thus occupied were capering around on wild horses, breaking them apparently, for the blood streamed from the nostrils and flanks of the unfortunate animals, and they were covered with a reeking sweat. probably it may be thought that i exceeded the truth when i asked this promising party if they had seen six "americanos" pass that way with a pack-train from san luis, friends of mine that i was on the look-out for. they had seen no such pack-train; it had not passed since they camped there, which was several days ago. "then," said i, "it must be close at hand, and i must hurry on to meet it. the mules are laden with _mucha plata_." having watered my mule, i rode on about five miles farther, where i reached a small ranch-house occupied by a native californian family. they gave me a good supper of frijoles and jerked beef, and i slept comfortably on the porch. next day i struck into the valley of santa marguerita. i shall never forget my first impression of this valley. encircled by ranges of blue mountains were broad, rich pastures, covered with innumerable herds of cattle; beautifully diversified with groves, streams, and shrubbery; castellated cliffs in the foreground as the trail wound downward; a group of cattle grazing by the margin of a little lake, their forms mirrored in the water; a mirage in the distance; mountain upon mountain beyond, as far as the eye could reach, till their dim outlines were lost in the golden glow of the atmosphere. surely a more lovely spot never existed upon earth. i have wandered over many a bright and beautiful land, but never, even in the glorious east, in italy, spain, switzerland, or south america, have i seen a country so richly favored by nature as california, and never a more lovely valley than santa marguerita upon the whole wide world. there is nothing comparable to the mingled wildness and repose of such a scene; the rich and glowing sky, the illimitable distances, the teeming luxuriance of vegetation, its utter isolation from the busy world, and the dreamy fascination that lurks in every feature. [illustration: valley of santa marguerita.] i had passed nearly across the valley, and was about to enter upon an undulating and beautifully timbered range of country extending into it from the foot-hills, when a dust arose on a rise of ground a little to the left and about half a mile distant. my mule, ever on the alert for some new danger, pricked up his ears and manifested symptoms of uncontrollable fear. the object rapidly approached, and without farther warning the mule whirled around and fled at the top of his speed. neither bridle nor switch had the slightest effect. in vain i struggled to arrest his progress, believing this, like many other frights he had experienced on the road, was rather the result of innate cowardice than of any substantial cause of apprehension. one material difference was perceptible. he never before ran so fast. through brush and mire, over rocks, into deep arroyas and out again, he dashed in his frantic career, never once stopping till by some mischance one of his fore feet sank in a squirrel-hole, when he rolled headlong on the ground, throwing me with considerable violence several yards in advance. i jumped to my feet at once, hoping to catch him before he could get up, but he was on his feet and away before i had time to make the attempt. it now became a matter of personal interest to know what he was running from. upon looking back, i was astonished to see not only one object, but four others in the rear, bearing rapidly down toward me. the first was a large animal of some kind--i could not determine what--the others mounted horsemen in full chase. whatever the object of the chase was, it was not safe to be a spectator in the direct line of their route. i cast a hurried look around, and discovered a break in the earth a few hundred yards distant, toward which i ran with all speed. it was a sort of mound rooted up by the squirrels or coyotes, and afforded some trifling shelter, where i crouched down close to the ground. scarcely had i partially concealed myself when i heard a loud shouting from the men on horseback, and, peeping over the bank, saw within fifty or sixty paces a huge grizzly bear, but no longer retreating. he had faced round toward his pursuers, and now seemed determined to fight. the horsemen were evidently native californians, and managed their animals with wonderful skill and grace. the nearest swept down like an avalanche toward the bear, while the others coursed off a short distance in a circling direction to prevent his escape. suddenly swerving a little to one side, the leader whirled his lasso once or twice around his head, and let fly at his game with unerring aim. the loop caught one of the fore paws, and the bear was instantly jerked down upon his haunches, struggling and roaring with all his might. it was a striking instance of the power of the rider over the horse, that, wild with terror as the latter was, he dared not disobey the slightest pressure of the rein, but went through all the evolutions, blowing trumpet-blasts from his nostrils and with eyes starting from their sockets. despite the strain kept upon the lasso, the bear soon regained his feet, and commenced hauling in the spare line with his fore paws so as to get within reach of the horse. he had advanced within ten feet before the nearest of the other horsemen could bring his lasso to bear upon him. the first throw was at his hind legs--the main object being to stretch him out--but it missed. another more fortunate cast took him round the neck. both riders pulled in opposite directions, and the bear soon rolled on the ground again, biting furiously at the lassos, and uttering the most terrific roars. the strain upon his neck soon choked off his breath, and he was forced to let loose his grasp upon the other lasso. while struggling to free his neck, the two other horsemen dashed up, swinging their lassos, and shouting with all their might so as to attract his attention. the nearest, watching narrowly every motion of the frantic animal, soon let fly his lasso, and made a lucky hitch around one of his hind legs. the other, following quickly with a large loop, swung it entirely over the bear's body, and all four riders now set up a yell of triumph and began pulling in opposite directions. the writhing, pitching, and straining of the powerful monster were now absolutely fearful. a dust arose over him, and the earth flew up in every direction. sometimes by a desperate effort he regained his feet, and actually dragged one or more of the horses toward him by main strength; but, whenever he attempted this, the others stretched their lassos, and either choked him or jerked him down upon his haunches. it was apparent that his wind was giving out, partly by reason of the long chase, and partly owing to the noose around his throat. a general pull threw him once more upon his back. before he could regain his feet, the horsemen, by a series of dexterous manoeuvres, wound him completely up, so that he lay perfectly quiet upon the ground, breathing heavily, and utterly unable to extricate his paws from the labyrinth of lassos in which he was entangled. one of the riders now gave the reins of his horse to another and dismounted. cautiously approaching, with a spare riata, he cast a noose over the bear's fore paws, and wound the remaining part tightly round the neck, so that what strength might still have been left was speedily exhausted by suffocation. this done, another rider dismounted, and the two soon succeeded in binding their victim so firmly by the paws that it was impossible for him to break loose. they next bound his jaws together by means of another riata, winding it all the way up around his head, upon which they loosened the fastening around his neck so as to give him air. when all was secure, they freed the lassos and again mounted their horses. i thought it about time now to make known my presence and stood up. some of the party had evidently seen me during the progress of the chase, for they manifested no surprise; and the leader, after exchanging a few words with one of the men, and pointing in the direction taken by the mule, rode up and said very politely, "_buenas dias, señor!_" he then informed me, as well as i could understand, that he had sent a man to catch my mule, and it would be back presently. while we were endeavoring to carry on some conversation in reference to the capture of the bear, during which i made out to gather that they were going to drag him to the ranch on a bullock's hide, and have a grand bullfight with him in the course of a few days, the vaquero returned with my mule. [illustration: lassoing a grizzly.] i had a pleasant journey of thirty-five miles that day. nothing farther occurred worthy of record. when night overtook me i was within fifteen miles of san luis. i camped under a tree, and, notwithstanding some apprehension of the sonoranians, made out to get a good sleep. next morning i was up and on my way by daylight. the country, as i advanced, increased in picturesque beauty, and the hope of soon reaching my destination gave me additional pleasure. a few hours more, and i was safely lodged with some american friends. thus ended what i think the reader must admit was "a dangerous journey." chapter x. a tragedy. a few days after my arrival in san luis i went, in company with a young american by the name of jackson, to a fandango given by the native californians. the invitation, as usual in such cases, was general, and the company not very select. every person within a circle of twenty miles, and with money enough in his pockets to pay for the refreshments, was expected to be present. the entertainment was held in a large adobe building, formerly used for missionary purposes, the lower part of which was occupied as a store-house. a large loft overhead, with a step-ladder reaching to it from the outside, formed what the proprietor was pleased to call the dancing-saloon. in the yard, which was encircled by a mud wall, were several chapadens, or brush tents, in which whisky, gin, aguardiente, and other refreshments of a like nature, "for ladies and gentlemen," were for sale at "two bits a drink." a low rabble of mexican greasers, chiefly sonoranians, hung around the premises in every direction, among whom i recognized several belonging to the gang into whose encampment i had fallen on my way down from santa marguerita. their dirty serapas, machillas, and spurs lay scattered about, just as they had dismounted from their mustangs. the animals were picketed around in the open spaces, and kept up a continual confusion by bucking and kicking at every straggler who came within their reach. such of the rabble as were able to pay the entrance-fee of "_dos realles_" were sitting in groups in the yard, smoking cigarritos and playing at monté. a few of the better class of rancheros had brought señoritas with them, mounted in front on their saddles, and were wending their way up the step-ladder as we entered the premises. i followed the crowd, in company with my friend jackson, and was admitted into the saloon upon the payment of half a dollar. this fund was to defray the expense of lights and music. on passing through the doorway i was forcibly impressed with the scene. some fifty or sixty couples were dancing to the most horrible scraping of fiddles i had ever heard, marking the time by snapping their fingers, whistling, and clapping their hands. the fiddles were accompanied by a dreadful twanging of guitars; and an indian in one corner of the saloon added to the din by beating with all his might upon a rude drum. there was an odor of steaming flesh, cigarritos, garlic, and cologne in the hot, reeking atmosphere that was almost suffocating; and the floor swayed under the heavy tramp of the dancers, as if every turn of the waltz might be the last. the assemblage was of a very mixed character, as may well be supposed, consisting of native californians, sonoranians, americans, frenchmen, germans, and half-breed indians. most of the mexicans were rancheros and vaqueros from the neighboring ranches, dressed in the genuine style of caballeros del campaña, with black or green velvet jackets, richly embroidered; wide pantaloons, open at the sides, ornamented with rows of silver buttons; a red sash around the waist; and a great profusion of gold filigree on their vests. these were the fast young fellows who had been successful in jockeying away their horses, or gambling at monté. others of a darker and lower grade, such as the sonoranians, wore their hats and machillas just as they had come in from camp; for it was one of the privileges of the fandango that every man could dress or undress as he pleased. a very desperate and ill-favored set these were--perfect specimens of mexican outlaws. the americans were chiefly a party of texans, who had recently crossed over through chihuahua, and compared not unfavorably with the sonoranians in point of savage costume and appearance. some wore broadcloth frock-coats, ragged and defaced from the wear and tear of travel; some red flannel shirts, without any coats--their pantaloons thrust in their boots in a loose, swaggering style; and all with revolvers and bowie-knives swinging from their belts. a more reckless, devil-may-care looking set it would be impossible to find in a year's journey. take them altogether--with their uncouth costumes, bearded faces, lean and brawny forms, fierce, savage eyes, and swaggering manners--they were a fit assemblage for a frolic or a fight. every word they spoke was accompanied by an oath. the presence of the females imposed no restraint upon the subject or style of the conversation, which was disgusting to the last degree. i felt ashamed to think that habit should so brutalize a people of my own race and blood. many of the señoritas were pretty, and those who had no great pretensions to beauty in other respects were at least gifted with fine eyes and teeth, rich brunette complexions, and forms of wonderful pliancy and grace. all, or nearly all, were luminous with jewelry, and wore dresses of the most flashy colors, in which flowers, lace, and glittering tinsel combined to set off their dusky charms. i saw some among them who would not have compared unfavorably with the ladies of cadiz, perhaps in more respects than one. they danced easily and naturally; and, considering the limited opportunity of culture they had enjoyed in this remote region, it was wonderful how free, simple, and graceful they were in their manners. [illustration: the belle of the fandango.] the belle of the occasion was a dark-eyed, fierce-looking woman of about six-and-twenty, a half-breed from santa barbara. her features were far from comely, being sharp and uneven; her skin was scarred with fire or small-pox; and her form, though not destitute of a certain grace of style, was too lithe, wiry, and acrobatic to convey any idea of voluptuous attraction. every motion, every nerve seemed the incarnation of a suppressed vigor; every glance of her fierce, flashing eyes was instinct with untamable passion. she was a mustang in human shape--one that i thought would kick or bite upon very slight provocation. in the matter of dress she was almost oriental. the richest and most striking colors decorated her, and made a rare accord with her wild and singular physique; a gorgeous silk dress of bright orange, flounced up to the waist; a white bodice, with blood-red ribbons upon each shoulder; a green sash around the waist; an immense gold-cased breast-pin, with diamonds glittering in the centre, the greatest profusion of rings on her fingers, and her ears loaded down with sparkling ear-rings; while her heavy black hair was gathered up in a knot behind, and pinned with a gold dagger--all being in strict keeping with her wild, dashing character, and bearing some remote affinity to a dangerous but royal game-bird. i thought of the mexican chichilaca as i gazed at her. there was an intensity in the quick flash of her eye which produced a burning sensation wherever it fell. she cast a spell around her not unlike the fascination of a snake. the women shunned and feared her; the men absolutely worshiped at her shrine. their infatuation was almost incredible. she seemed to have some supernatural capacity for arousing the fiercest passions of love, jealousy, and hatred. of course there was great rivalry to engage the hand of such a belle for the dance. crowds of admirers were constantly urging their claims. it was impossible to look upon their excited faces and savage rivalry, knowing the desperate character of the men, without a foreboding of evil. "perhaps you will not be surprised," said jackson, "to hear something strange and startling about that woman. she is a murderess! not long since she stabbed to death a rival of hers, another half-breed, who had attempted to win the affections of her paramour. but, worse than that--she is strongly suspected of having killed her own child a few months ago, in a fit of jealousy caused by the supposed infidelity of its father--whose identity, however, can not be fixed with any certainty. she is a strange, bad woman--a devil incarnate; yet you see what a spell she casts around her! some of these men are mad in love with her! they will fight before the evening is over. yet she is neither pretty nor amiable. i can not account for it. let me introduce you." as soon as a pause in the dance occurred i was introduced. the revolting history i had heard of this woman inspired me with a curiosity to know how such a fiend in human shape could exercise such a powerful sway over every man in the room. although she spoke but little english, there was a peculiar sweetness in every word she uttered. i thought i could detect something of the secret of her magical powers in her voice, which was the softest and most musical i had ever heard. there was a wild, sweet, almost unearthly cadence in it that vibrated upon the ear like the strains of an Æolian. added to this, there was a power of alternate ferocity and tenderness in her deep, passionate eyes, that struck to the inner core wherever she fixed her gaze. i could not determine for my life which she resembled most--the untamed mustang, the royal game-bird, or the rattlesnake. there were flitting hints of each in her, and yet the comparison is feeble and inadequate. sometimes she reminded me of rachel--then the living, now the dead, queen of tragedy. had it not been for a horror of her repulsive crimes, it is hard to say how far her fascinating powers might have affected me. as it was, i could only wonder whether she was most genius or devil. not knowing how to dance, i could not offer my services in that way, and, after a few commonplace remarks, withdrew to a seat near the wall. the dance went on with great spirit. absurd as it may seem, i could not keep my eyes off this woman. whichever way she looked there was a commotion--a shrinking back among the women, or the symptoms of a jealous rage among the men. for her own sex she manifested an absolute scorn; for the other she had an inexhaustible fund of sweet glances, which each admirer might take to himself. at a subsequent period of the evening i observed, for the first time, among the company a man of very conspicuous appearance, dressed in the very picturesque style of a texan ranger. his face was turned from me when i first saw him, but there was something manly and imposing about his figure and address that attracted my attention. while i was looking toward him he turned to speak to some person near him. my astonishment may well be conceived when i recognized in his strongly-marked features and dejected expression the face of the man "griff," to whom i was indebted for my escape from the assassins near soledad! there could be no doubt that this was the outlaw who had rendered me such an inestimable service, differently dressed, indeed, and somewhat disfigured by a ghastly wound across the temple, but still the same; still bearing himself with an air of determination mingled with profound sadness. it was evident the colonel had misinformed me as to his death. perhaps, judging from the wound on his temple, which was still unhealed, he might have been left for dead, and subsequently have effected his escape. at all events, there was no doubt that he now stood before me. i was about to spring forward and grasp him by the hand, when the dreadful scene i had witnessed in the little adobe hut near san miguel flashed vividly upon my mind, and, for the moment, i felt like one who was paralyzed. that hand might be stained with the blood of the unfortunate emigrants! who could tell? he had disavowed any participation in the act, but his complicity, either remote or direct, could scarcely be doubted from his own confession. how far his guilt might render him amenable to the laws i could not of course conjecture. it was enough for me, however, that he had saved my life; but i could not take his hand. while reflecting upon the course that it might become my duty to pursue under the circumstances, i observed that he was not exempt from the fascinating sway of the dark señorita, whose face he regarded with an interest even more intense than that manifested by her other admirers. he was certainly a person calculated to make an impression upon such a woman; yet, strange to say, he was the only man in the crowd toward whom she evinced a spirit of hostility. several times he went up to her and asked her to dance. whether from caprice or some more potent cause i could not conjecture, but she invariably repulsed him--once with a degree of asperity that indicated something more than a casual acquaintance. it was in vain he attempted to cajole her. she was evidently bitter and unrelenting in her animosity. at length, incensed at his pertinacity, she turned sharply upon him, and leaning her head close to his ear, whispered something, the effect of which was magical. he staggered back as if stunned, and, gazing a moment at her with an expression of horror, turned away and walked out of the room. the woman's face was a shade paler, but she quickly resumed her usual smile, and otherwise manifested no emotion. this little incident was probably unnoticed by any except myself. i sat in a recess near the window, and could see all that was going on without attracting attention. i had resolved, after overcoming my first friendly impulses, not to discover myself to the outlaw until the fandango was over, and then determine upon my future course regarding him by the result of a confidential interview. i fully believed that he would tell me the truth, and nothing but the truth, in reference to the murder of the emigrants. the dance went on. it was a spanish waltz; the click-clack of the feet, in slow-measured time, was very monotonous, producing a peculiarly dreamy effect. i sometimes closed my eyes and fancied it was all a wild, strange dream. visions of the beautiful country through which i had passed flitted before me--a country desecrated by the worst passions of human nature. amid the rarest charms of scenery and climate, what a combination of dark and deadly sins oppressed the mind! what a cess-pool of wickedness was here within these very walls! half an hour may have elapsed in this sort of dreaming, when griff, who had been so strangely repulsed by the dark señorita, came back and pushed his way through the crowd. this time i noticed that his face was flushed, and a gleam of desperation was in his eye. the wound in his temple had a purple hue, and looked as if it might burst out bleeding afresh. his motions were unsteady--he had evidently been drinking. edging over toward the woman, he stood watching her till there was a pause in the dance. her partner was a handsome young mexican, very gayly dressed, whom i had before noticed, and to whom she now made herself peculiarly fascinating. she smiled when he spoke; laughed very musically at every thing he said; leaned up toward him, and assumed a wonderfully sweet and confidential manner. the mexican was perfectly infatuated. he made the most passionate avowals, scarcely conscious what he was saying. i watched the tall texan. the veins in his forehead were swollen; he strode to and fro restlessly, fixing fierce and deadly glances upon the loving couple. a terrible change had taken place in the expression of his features, which ordinarily had something sweet and sad in it. it was now dark, brutish, and malignant. suddenly, as if by an ungovernable impulse, he rushed up close to where they stood, and, drawing a large bowie-knife, said to the woman, in a quick, savage tone, "dance with me now, or, damn you, i'll cut your heart out!" she turned toward him haughtily--"señor!" "dance with me, or die!" "señor," said the woman, quietly, and with an unflinching eye, "you are drunk! don't come so near to me!" the infuriated man made a motion as if to strike at her with his knife; but, quick as lightning, the young mexican grasped his uprisen arm and the two clenched. i could not see what was done in the struggle. those of the crowd who were nearest rushed in, and the affray soon became general. pistols and knives were drawn in every direction; but so sudden was the fight that nobody seemed to know where to aim or strike. in the midst of the confusion, a man jumped up on one of the benches and shouted, "back! back with you! the man's stabbed! let him out!" the swaying mass parted, and the tall texan staggered through, then fell upon the floor. his shirt was covered with blood, and he breathed heavily. a moment after the woman uttered a low, wild cry, and, dashing through the crowd--her long black hair streaming behind her--she cast herself down by the prostrate man and sobbed, "o cara mio! o deos! is he dead? is he dead?" "who did this? who stabbed this man?" demanded several voices, fiercely. "no matter," answered the wounded man, faintly. "it was my own fault; i deserved it;" and, turning his face toward the weeping woman, he said, smiling, "don't cry; don't go on so." there was an ineffable tenderness in his voice, and something indescribably sweet in the expression of his face. "o deos!" cried the woman, kissing him passionately. "o cara mio! say you will not die! tell me you will not die!" and, tearing her dress with frantic strength, she tried to stanch the blood, which was rapidly forming a crimson pool around him. the crowd meantime pressed so close that the man suffered for want of air, and begged to be removed. several persons seized hold of him, and, lifting him from the floor, carried him out. the dark señorita followed close up, still pressing the fragments of her bloodstained dress to his wound. order was restored, and the music and dancing went on as if nothing had happened. i had no desire to see any more of the evening amusements. next day i learned that the unfortunate man was dead. he was a stranger at san luis, and refused to reveal his name, or make any disclosures concerning the affray. his last words were addressed to the woman, who clung to him with a devotion bordering on insanity. when she saw that he was doomed to die, the tears ceased to flow from her eyes, and she sat by his bedside with a wild, affrighted look, clutching his hands in hers, and ever and anon bathing her lips in the life-blood that oozed from his mouth. "_i loved you--still love you better than my life!_" these were his last words. a gurgle, a quivering motion of the stalwart frame, and he was dead! at an examination before the alcalde, it was proved that the stabbing must have occurred before the affray became general. it was also shown that the young mexican was unarmed, and had no acquaintance with the murdered man. who could have done it? was it the devil-woman? was this a case of jealousy, and was the tall texan the father of the murdered child? upon these points i could get no information. the whole affair, with all its antecedent circumstances, was wrapped in an impenetrable mystery. when the body was carried to the grave by a few strangers, including myself, the chief mourner was the half-breed woman--now a ghastly wreck. the last i saw of her, as we turned sadly away, she was sitting upon the sod at the head of the grave, motionless as a statue. next morning a vaquero, passing in that direction, noticed a shapeless mass lying upon the newly-spaded earth. it proved to be the body of the unfortunate woman, horribly mutilated by the wolves. the clothes were torn from it, and the limbs presented a ghastly spectacle of fleshless bones. whether she died by her own hand, or was killed by the wolves during the night, none could tell. she was buried by the side of her lover. soon after these events, having completed my business in san luis, i took passage in a small schooner for san francisco, where i had the satisfaction in a few days of turning over ten thousand dollars to the collector of customs. i never afterward could obtain any information respecting the two men mentioned in the early part of my narrative--the colonel and jack. no steps were taken by the authorities to arrest them. it is the usual fate of such men in california sooner or later to fall into the hands of an avenging mob. doubtless they met with a merited retribution. eleven years have passed since these events took place. many changes have occurred in california. the gangs of desperadoes that infested the state have been broken up; some of the members have met their fate at the hands of justice--more have fallen victims to their own excesses. i have meanwhile traveled in many lands, and have had my full share of adventures. but still, every incident in the "dangerous journey" which i have attempted to describe is as fresh in my mind as if it happened but yesterday. observations in office. i. my official experiences. there is something very fascinating in public office. the dignity of the position touches our noblest sympathies, and makes heroes and patriots of the most commonplace men. it is wonderful, too, how unselfish people become under the influence of this most potent charm. every four years it becomes an epidemic. the passional attraction of office is felt throughout the length and breadth of the land. many thousands of our best citizens visit the seat of government at the inauguration of a new president. a large proportion of them have faithfully served their country by contributing their time, talents, energies, and pecuniary resources to the success of the dominant party. but they don't want any thing; they have a natural repugnance to office; they merely come to look on, and pay their respects to the chief magistrate. if he deems it necessary to solicit their services for the common good, it is not for them, as patriotic citizens, to refuse. the seductive influences of official position may tend, perhaps, to quicken their perception of the grades of service in which their time could be most profitably spent; but modesty, after all, is their predominant trait. indeed, for that matter, the general characteristic of great men is modesty, and where will you see so many notoriously great men as in washington upon the advent of a new administration. the difficulty is to find a man who is not great. you may find many who are poor, some thriftless, and a few worthless, but none deficient in greatness. it must not be understood, however, that mercenary considerations have any connection with the charm which allures them thither. these excellent people--as in my own case, for example--are governed by motives of the purest and most exalted patriotism. who is there so destitute of national pride--so indifferent to the welfare of his fellow-beings, that he does not desire to serve his country when he sees that she stands in need of his services? the consideration of a per-diem allowance could not be wholly discarded, but i assure you, upon the veracity of a public officer, it had not the slightest influence upon me when i accepted the responsible position of inspector general of public depositories. the secretary of the treasury--a gentleman in whom i had great confidence--required my services. i was unwilling, of course, to stand in the way of an efficient administration of the affairs of his department. the fact is, i had great personal respect for him, and was anxious to afford him all the assistance in my power. i do not pretend to say that the appointment of inspector general was destitute of attractions in itself, but they were not of a pecuniary character. the title had a sonorous and authoritative ring about it altogether different from the groveling jingle of filthy lucre--something that vibrated upon the higher chords of the soul. an honorable ambition to serve one's country is one of the highest and most ennobling passions that can govern the human mind. to this may be attributed some of the greatest achievements which have given lustre to ancient and modern history. it has developed the greatest intellects of the old and new world, and furnished the rising generation with illustrious models of unselfish devotion to the common welfare of mankind. no wonder, then, that office possesses such extraordinary attractions. it is the cheapest way of becoming great. a man never before heard of outside of his village home--never before known to do any thing remarkable by his most intimate friends--never before suspected of possessing the least capacity for mental or manual labor of any kind whatsoever, may become, in the course of four-and-twenty hours, a topic of newspaper comment throughout the whole country--praised for virtues he never possessed, abused for vices to which he never aspired. an appointment places him prominently before the public. it shows the world that there was always something in him--whether whisky or sense matters little, since he has received the endorsement of the "powers that be." to make a short story of it, i was obliged to accept the position. the party in power stood in need of my services. i could not refuse without great detriment to the country. this was many years since; and i beg to say that there is nothing in my journal of experiences bearing upon the present state of affairs. at great pecuniary sacrifice (that is to say, in a prospective sense, for i hadn't a dime in the world), i announced myself as ready to proceed to duty. in his letter of instructions, the secretary of the treasury was pleased to direct me to proceed to the pacific coast, and carefully examine into the condition of the revenue service in that remote region. i was to see that the accounts of the collectors were properly kept and rendered; that the revenue laws were faithfully administered; that the valuation of imports was uniform throughout the various districts; whether any reduction could be made in the number of inspectors and aids to the revenue stationed within their limits, with a view to a more economical administration of the laws; whether the public moneys were kept in the manner prescribed by the independent treasury act of august th, ; and what additional measures, if any, were necessary for the prevention of smuggling and other frauds upon the revenue, all of which i was to report, with such views as might be suggested in the course of the investigation for the promotion of the public interests. these were but a few of the important subjects of official inquiry upon which i was to enlighten the department. i frankly confess that, when i read the instructions, and pondered over their massive proportions and severe tone of gravity, i was appalled at the immensity of the interests committed to my charge. a somewhat versatile career, during which i had served before the mast in a whaler, studied medicine, hunted squirrels in the backwoods, followed the occupation of ferry-keeper, flat-boat hand, and short-hand writer, had not fitted me particularly for this sort of business. what did i know about the forms of accounts current, drawbacks, permits, entries, appraisements, licenses, enrollments, and abstracts of imports and exports? what reliable or definite information was i prepared to give to collectors of customs in reference to schedules and sliding scales? what hope was there that i could ever get to the bottom of a fraud upon the revenue service, when i had but a glimmering notion of the difference between fabrics of which the component parts were two thirds wool, and fabrics composed in whole or in part of sheet-iron, leather, or gutta-percha? as for inspectors of customs, how in the world was an agent to find out how many inspectors were needed except by asking the collector of the district, who ought to know more about it than a stranger? but if the collector had half a dozen brothers, cousins, or friends in office as inspectors, would it not be expecting a little too much of human nature to suppose he would say there were too many in his district? i reflected over the idea of asking one of these gentlemen to inform me confidentially if he thought he could dispense with a dozen or so of his relatives and friends without detriment to the public service, but abandoned it as chimerical. then, to go outside and question any disinterested member of the community on this subject seemed equally absurd. who could be said to be disinterested when only a few offices were to be filled, and a great many people wished to fill them? i would be pretty sure to stumble upon some disappointed applicant for an inspectorship, or, worse still, upon a smuggler. it is a well-ascertained fact that disappointed applicants for office are always opposed to the fortunate applicants, and smugglers, as a general rule, have a natural antipathy to inspectors of customs. there was another serious duty imposed upon me--to ascertain the character and standing of all the public employés, their general reputation for sobriety, industry, and honesty, and to report accordingly. here was rather a delicate matter--one, in fact, that might be productive of innumerable personal difficulties. having no unfriendly feeling toward any man, and attaching a fair valuation to life, i did not much relish the notion of placing any man's personal infirmities upon the official records. if a public officer drank too much whisky, it was certainly a very injurious practice, alike prejudicial to his health and morals; but where was to be the gauge between too much and only just enough? no man likes to have his predilection for stimulating beverages made a matter of public question, and the gradations between temperance and intemperance are so arbitrary in different communities that it would be a very difficult matter to report upon. i have seen men "sociable" in new orleans who would be considered "elevated" in boston, and men "a little shot" in texas who would be regarded as "drunk" in maine. it is all a matter of opinion. no man is ever drunk in his own estimation, and whether he is so in the estimation of others depends pretty much upon their standard of sobriety. with respect to honesty, that was an equally delicate matter. what might be considered honest among politicians might be very questionable in ordinary life. i once knew of a public officer who had been charged with embezzling certain public moneys. there was no doubt of the fact, but he fought a duel to prove his innocence. in one respect, at least, he was honest--he placed a fair valuation upon his life, which was worth no more to the community than it was to himself. i did not think an ordinary per-diem allowance would be sufficient to compensate for maintaining the public credit by such tests as this, especially as there were nearly two hundred public offices to be examined; but it seemed nothing more than reasonable that the laws should be administered by sober and honest men, and, upon the whole, i could not perceive how this unpleasant duty could be avoided. the department furnished me with a penknife, a pencil, several quires of paper, and a copy of gordon's digest of the revenue laws. this was my outfit. it was not equal to the outfit of a minister plenipotentiary, but there was a certain dignity in its very simplicity. to be the owner of a fine congressional penknife, a genuine english lead-pencil, paper _ad libitum_, and gordon's digest, was no trifling advance in my practical resources. i looked into the digest, read many of the laws, and became satisfied that the creator had not gifted me with any capacity for understanding that species of writing. for mr. gordon, who had digested those laws, i felt a very profound admiration. his powers of digestion were certainly better than mine. i would much rather have undertaken to digest a keg of spike nails. the act of march , , upon which most of the others were based, was evidently drawn with great ability, and covered the whole subject. like a boeotian fog, however, it covered it up so deep that i don't think the author ever saw it again after he got through writing the law. whenever there was a tangible point to be found, it was either abolished, or so obscured by some other law made in conformity with the progress of the times that it became no point at all; so that, after perusing pretty much the whole book, and referring to mayo's compendium of circulars and treasury regulations, i am free to confess the effect was very decided. i knew a great deal less than before, for i was utterly unable to determine who was right--congress, gordon, mayo, or myself. under these circumstances, it will hardly be a matter of surprise that serious doubt as to my capacity for this service entered my mind. perhaps, in the whole history of government offices, it was the first time such a doubt ever entered any man's head upon receiving an appointment, and i claim some credit for originality on that account. the position was highly responsible; the duties were of a very grave and important character, bordering on the metaphysical. now, had i been requested to visit juan fernandez, and report upon the condition of robinson crusoe's castle, or ascertain the spot in which he found the footprint in the sand, or describe for the benefit of science the breed of wild goats descended from the original stock--had these questions been involved in my instructions, or had i been appointed to succeed sancho panza in the government of nantucket (which i verily believe was the island referred to by cervantes), i could have had no misgivings of success. but this awful thing of abstracts and accounts current; this subtile mystery of appraisements, appeals, drawbacks, bonds, and bonded warehouses; this terrible demon of manifests, invoices, registers, enrollments, and licenses; this hateful abomination of circulars on refined sugar, and fabrics composed in whole or in part of wool; this miserable subterfuge of triplicate vouchers and abstracts of disbursements, combined to cast a gloom over my mind almost akin to despair. the question arose, would it not be the most honorable course to return the commission to the secretary of the treasury, and confess to him confidentially, as a friend, that i thought he would render the country greater service by appointing a more suitable agent? but then there was the per-diem allowance, a very snug little sum, much needed at the time; and there was the honor of the position--a pillar in the federal structure; and then the advantage of travel, and the charm of becoming at once famous in the national records. besides, it might be considered disrespectful to say to the secretary of the treasury--a gentleman from an interior state, who had no experience in commerce or public finances--that i had no experience in these things myself, and doubted my capacity to do justice to the government. might he not regard such a confession in the light of a personal reflection? after all, i thought it would be as well perhaps to try my hand at the business. many a man never finds out that he is great in some particular line till he tries his hand. i have at this moment in my eye at least half a dozen senators of the united states who i verily believe would make excellent butchers, bakers, blacksmiths, and carpenters, if they only knew it. i am acquainted with some that would be an ornament to any court of justice as public criers, and not a few who would make capital hands at playing quoits and pitch-penny. in short, i know many men occupying these positions who would succeed even better in other branches of industry than in the capacity of statesmen; but the misfortune is, they are not aware of the fact, and never can be persuaded to believe it. very few men understand what they are good for till some adventitious circumstance occurs to develop their latent and peculiar talents. in this view, it might be that i was a capital hand at revenue business, though, to tell the truth, i had never collected any revenue worth mentioning on my own account; and what experience i had had in depositories was confined to my own pockets, which seldom retained the sums deposited in them over twelve hours, if so long as that. a transcript from my official reports will convey some idea of my labors under the complicated instructions issued to me at various intervals from washington. the first has reference to the general subject of smuggling, and proposes the removal of the custom-house from san francisco to bear harbor, near cape mendocino. this was addressed to his honor the secretary of the treasury: "sir,--if bear harbor is eligible for any purpose in the world, it is for a port of entry and a custom-house. not that there are any inhabitants there at present, or in the vicinity, except indians, bears, elk, deer, and wildcats; not that any vessels ever come in there, or ever will, perhaps, but as a guard against smuggling. you know, sir, from the experience of collectors from passamaquoddy bay to point isabel, and from san diego to the straits of fuca, that smuggling must be going on somewhere, else why is the treasury department flooded with applications for an increase of inspectors? even senators and members of congress unite in the opinion that a great deal of smuggling is perpetrated on remote and isolated parts of our coast, for they are always recommending some friend in whom they have confidence to keep a guard upon the revenue at such places. one would think that smugglers would rather pay duties and take their wares into a good market, than put them ashore where there are no inhabitants, and transport them at double the risk and cost to some place where they are wanted. if they must enjoy the pleasure of violating the law at all, would it not pay better to smuggle their wares directly into the principal cities, as new york or san francisco, for example? i know that in the former place they incur some risk of detection from night inspectors, who are supposed to be always on the look-out about the wharves after dark; but in san francisco the night inspectors have been abolished on account of the soporific effects of the climate. several of them fell asleep directly after receiving their appointments, and never woke up, except on pay-day, during the entire term of their service. "for some years, at least, one collector of customs could perform all the duties that might be required of him at bear harbor. no doubt the dullest and laziest politician in the entire state could be hired to occupy the position at three thousand dollars per annum. the collector at the city of gardner, which consists of two small frame shanties and a pig-pen, situated at the mouth of the umpqua river--where shipwreck is almost absolutely certain in case a vessel attempts to enter--receives only a thousand dollars per annum. sir, it can not be expected that a gentleman more than ordinarily gifted with valuable traits of character can be obtained for so small a sum. government is compelled to pay for the services of active and intelligent collectors at the ports of benicia, sacramento, stockton, monterey, san pedro, and san diego, three thousand dollars a year each. if they were at all conspicuous for idleness, it is impossible to conjecture what it would cost to obtain their services; but the amount of labor performed by these gentlemen (who, by the way, are all very excellent persons, and for whom i entertain great personal respect) is almost incredible. at benicia the duties of the office are absolutely onerous. from one to two vessels a year enter that port with coals from cardiff, which are deposited at the dépôt of the pacific steam-ship company. upon these coals the duties have to be computed and accounts rendered to the department, besides which he is compelled to keep an accurate account of his own salary. for all this he is only allowed the occasional services of one inspector, whereas he ought to be allowed three. if they were gentlemen of a lively temperament, they would at least give something of vitality to the present deserted appearance of the port. i have known a smaller number than that to produce a considerable sensation in the public streets of other cities. a great deal of trouble to the benicia collector might be saved if the two cardiff vessels per annum were permitted to enter at san francisco on their way up. "at sacramento the duties of the collector are still more arduous. indeed, it is a matter of surprise that any man can be found to undertake them at three thousand dollars a year. a vessel with foreign goods entered this port in , since which period some six or eight consecutive collectors have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of another. the most remarkable part of it is, that the other vessel has never yet arrived. upon a review of the facts, i think that any person of a less sanguine temperament than a collector of customs would have long since given up the hope of obtaining any public revenue from this source. somehow all the vessels have a habit of stopping at san francisco, paying duties there, discharging their cargoes for interior transportation, and going about their business, which must be a constant subject of mortification to the sacramento collectors. i have known respectable gentlemen who occupied this position to be denied over twenty-five dollars a month for office-rent, after it had ranged for years at two or three hundred--even denied the services of a deputy or clerk, and actually compelled to make out their own pay accounts! "and yet these officers are required to attend at primary meetings, conventions, and legislative assemblages, and keep the party all right, when there may be a complication of difficulties between the various aspirants for the senate of the united states, utterly impossible to settle except by electing them all. "at stockton the case is still harder. i never knew a collector there to have any thing at all to do, except to keep the run of his office-rent and salary, which, in justice it must be said, is a branch of public duty always faithfully performed. yet this officer is expected to pass the time agreeably year after year on a miserable pittance of three thousand dollars, without even the hope of ever seeing a dutiable cargo landed upon the wharves of the city. i do not believe that the most sanguine gentleman that ever held that position aspired to any thing of greater commercial value than a flock of sheep supposed to be on the way from mexico, and for the capture and confiscation of which two inspectors were for many years stationed at the tejon pass, about three hundred miles from stockton. but even the hope of seizing these sheep or their descendants has been blasted since congress abolished the duties on stock; and now the collector, to protect the revenue, must fail unless he succeeds in getting hold of a box of contraband articles that it is supposed certain parties in san francisco are awaiting an opportunity to send up, either by the steam navigation line or some of the small sailing craft that ply on this route. as this box of goods has been expected ever since , the prospect of its appearance and seizure is becoming more favorable every year. if there was a surveyor stationed at the mouth of the san joaquin--say in the city called 'the new york of the pacific'--the chances of seizure would be greatly augmented. there is a surveyor of customs at nisquelly, in the territory of washington, and another at santa barbara, who might render some aid by the transmission of secret information. i do not know what has become of the surveyor at pacific city, near the mouth of the columbia. the last time i saw him he was engaged in the performance of his official functions in the tin business at oregon city, the city of pacific having been discontinued about two years previously in consequence of a lack of inhabitants. "at monterey the amount of hardship endured by the collector is absolutely incredible. not only is he furnished with an indifferent government house to live in, which costs an annual outlay of several hundred dollars to keep it from falling to pieces, and thereby crushing himself and assistants beneath the ruins, but he is required to look after two inspectors, who are appointed to aid him in protecting the coast from the nefarious operations of smugglers. besides this, it is supposed that a mysterious vessel has been hovering around the bay of monterey ever since , with an assorted cargo of bar fixtures, billiard balls, whisky, nine-pins, cards, cotton handkerchiefs, boots, bowie-knives, and revolvers, upon a considerable portion of which duties have never been paid. this vessel is no doubt awaiting an opportunity to land these articles in violation of law, and to the great detriment of public morals and serious loss to the treasury. the collector is expected to be present or within reach of a telegraphic dispatch whenever she makes her appearance; and it is farther expected that he will not flinch from his duty even should she prove to be the flying dutchman or the wizard of the seas. "at san pedro the coasting steamer senator touches for grapes and passengers some half a dozen times a month, and the collector is expected to keep a record of that vessel's arrivals and departures; also the range of captain banning's paddle-wheeled steam skiff medora, six scows, and several fishing smacks. in addition to these onerous duties, it devolves upon him to keep his own pay account, and see that the light does not stop burning of nights in the public light-house on point conception, without any money to pay the keeper and assistant except such casual remittances as may be made once or twice in the course of as many years. i knew one light-house keeper who stood by the light manfully for a whole year, and finally had to sell his chance of pay for the means of subsistence. some of the light-house keepers, indeed, are supposed to live on whale-oil, the board in washington being evidently under the impression that oil is a light article of diet, upon which men will not be apt to go to sleep. another reason, perhaps, for the remissness with which their salaries generally arrive is that their stations are generally not densely populated with voters, or, in fact, with any thing but sheep and rabbits. i have a person in my eye whom i would like to recommend for the collectorship at san pedro whenever the present incumbent may think proper to resign. by the way, the latter is a very clever and estimable gentleman, to whom i intend not the slightest disrespect in thus referring to his office; but there are peculiar qualifications for every position in life, and the individual to whom i refer possesses some very remarkable advantages over the generality of custom-house officers; that is to say, he can sleep on his desk in the midst of the direst confusion; is never known to be in a hurry; thinks no more of time than he does of eternity, or any thing else; and invariably postpones till to-morrow what most people would deem of vital importance to be done to-day. his work is generally in arrears, but will be all right--_poco tiempo_! "at san diego the same burdensome and oppressive state of things exists. the custom-house is an old military building, with a roof that falls to pieces every winter, and a set of doors and windows through which both wind and rain have free access. the only article of public property about the premises that yet sticks together is a tremendous iron safe, in which the revenue is going to be kept--as soon as it is collected. even this is getting rusty for want of use. the books have an ancient and fish-like aspect; and a public shovel, that is used to clear the mud away from the door whenever a vessel is seen in the offing, is going away year after year, and will eventually be reduced to a broken handle. this office is accessible by means of a boat, though in bad weather the deputy prefers to reside in an old hulk that lies at anchor in the bay. the building is eligibly located in a chapparal of prickly pears, within about five miles of old town, or, properly speaking, the beautiful city of san diego. mexican stock were formerly imported into this district, but, having been made free by act of congress, the collector is left destitute of occupation, and is compelled to seek business and society in various parts of the state. now and then, however, he is supposed to take a look at his pay account, and see that the public light on the point keeps burning of nights, notwithstanding the roof has been blown off. as government refuses to furnish him with rain-water to drink, he is compelled, whenever his official duties call him to the port of entry, to hitch up his buggy and travel five miles to the city of san diego every time he is thirsty. indeed, so parsimonious is the department becoming of late, that it will not even allow him a deputy or clerk at public expense, although there has been one there for years. i look upon this as a very severe course of discipline to impose upon any gentleman whose services are presumed to be worth three thousand dollars per annum, and would recommend that he should at least be allowed a bottle of whisky. "all these are examples of the manner in which executive patronage may be enlarged without inconvenience to commerce or obstruction to navigation. if it were not for the collectorships, what would the delegation in congress have to make up the complement of their indebtedness to partisan politicians? and if one delegation were denied this privilege, how could accounts be settled with fellow-members similarly situated in other states? an inspector of customs, at a compensation of five hundred dollars a year (for there is nothing to do), would of course answer the requirements of commerce at any of these ports; but then what sort of an office would that be to offer to the owner of one or more members of the legislature? it would be especially severe at bear harbor, where there will be no coffee-houses, billiard saloons, or other places of amusement for some time. "in view of these suggestions being urged upon congress by the heads of the departments, i would mention that, in the temporary absence of government buildings at bear harbor, a number of chapadens, or brush tents, at present occupied by indians, can be leased for a term of years at a rate of rent not exceeding from five hundred to a thousand dollars each per month. the very best of them can be had for less than the rent paid for the union street bonded warehouse in san francisco, toward the building of which government loaned seventy-two thousand dollars as an advance of rent, and paid, by way of interest on the capital, for four years, two hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars; after which, upon the united representation of twenty influential merchants, a collector and deputy collector of customs, and a special agent, that the premises were only worth about fourteen thousand per annum, it paid one hundred and ten thousand more to abrogate the contract, and as a solemn warning to all private individuals and public officers not to attempt such a speculation as that again. the chapaden of the chief digger, to-no-wauka, could be purchased in fee simple for less than twenty-eight thousand dollars, which was the exact amount annually expended for the rent of the united states court-rooms at san francisco until my friend yorick, the government agent, reduced it to ten thousand, after which, of course, he was removed. "as an additional protection to the revenue, i would suggest that a revenue cutter be stationed at bear harbor, modeled after the fashion of a large wash-tub, which would be but a slight improvement upon the sailing capacity of the three cutters now stationed on the pacific coast. the masts might be constructed out of large tin dippers inverted, in the bowls of which marines could be stationed to keep a look-out for smugglers. spare blankets would answer for the sails, and a large carving-knife run out at the stern would serve admirably to steer by. in order that there might be no danger of missing the way during dark nights from any variation in the compass, it would be well, perhaps, to abandon the compass altogether, and send a boat ahead with a light, to point out where the rocks and smugglers might be found. there being no vessels to catch at bear harbor, no inconvenience would result from the fact that such a cutter would be as well calculated to lie at anchor as the cutter marcy at san francisco, which has been known to pursue several vessels for infractions of the revenue laws, but never to catch any of them. i attribute this not to any want of zeal on the part of the officers, but partly to the superior speed of the runaway vessels, and partly to the fact that the marcy is obliged to lie at anchor for six months in the year in the bay of san francisco for want of other occupation. the remaining six months she necessarily spends in the straits of carquinas, near benicia, in order to get rid of the barnacles that accumulate on her bottom during the term of her sedentary career below. "if exception should be taken to this precedent on the ground that a revenue cutter may sometimes really be wanted at a port of entry where there is some commerce, surely none will be taken to the cutter lane, stationed within the mouth of the columbia river. for the officers of this cutter i entertain the most sincere respect; but if she has ever been known to chase any thing larger than wild ducks, the fact must have been hushed up from motives of public policy. it has certainly not been a matter of general comment. about one vessel with dutiable merchandise enters the columbia in the course of half a dozen years, and certainly all sailing vessels have difficulty enough in getting in, without attempting to run away after they come to an anchor. indeed, i don't know where they would run to unless it might be over the cascades, and through the dalles to walla walla, or up to oregon city on the willamette river, where the flour-mills of abernethy & co. would soon grind them to pieces. to suppose that they would undertake to run away before they get over the bar is to suppose that they might just as well stay away altogether, and thereby avoid the risk of shipwreck in addition to the remote possibility of being captured by a revenue cutter. the officers condemned to this station have my most ardent sympathies. it generally rains at astoria between two and three hundred days every year, the consequence of which is, that the whole country and every thing in it has a mildewed appearance. already i can fancy that barnacles are growing on the beards of these gentlemen; that their skin is becoming slippery and green; their eyes sharkish in expression, from a constant habit of looking out for smugglers that never can be within five hundred miles; that the habit of pulling ashore in the boats and back again; 'making it so' when four and eight bells are announced; looking up at the mast-head and then down again; going below and reading the same old newspaper, and coming up again; turning in and taking a nap, and turning out when the nap is ended; exercising their quadrants by an occasional peep at the heavenly bodies; eating three scanty and melancholy meals a day; doing all this and never doing any thing else, unless it may be to superintend the patching of an old sail which has rotted to pieces, or the splicing of an old rope to keep the blocks from falling down on their heads, will eventually so wear upon their mental and physical resources as to drive them all mad. should it ever be the misfortune of any suspicious character to fall into the hands of these gentlemen, i have no doubt he will have reason to regret it during the brief period of his existence; for they will certainly cut him to pieces with their swords, or blow him to fragments out of one of the public guns, on the general principle that, being paid for doing something, they ought to do it as soon as possible. "the revenue cutter at puget's sound, familiarly known as the 'jeff davis,' finds occasional occupation in chasing porpoises and wild indians. it is to be regretted that but little revenue has yet been derived from either of these sources; but should she persist in her efforts, there is hope that at no distant day she may overhaul a canoe containing a keg of british brandy--that is to say, in case the paddles are lost, and the indians have no means of propelling it out of the way. "these vessels, in addition to their original cost, which was not cheap considering their quality and sailing capacity, require an expenditure of some forty or fifty thousand dollars a year for repairs, rigging, pay of officers and men, subsistence, etc., as also for powder to enable the officers to kill ducks and salute distinguished people that visit these remote regions. now and then they run on the rocks in trying to find their way from one anchorage to another, in which event they require extra repairs. as this is for the benefit of navigation, it should not be included in the account. they generally avoid running on the same rock, and endeavor to find out a new one not laid down upon the charts--unless, perhaps, by some reckless fly--in order that other vessels may enjoy the advantage of additional experience. the beauty of bear harbor in this respect is, that a revenue cutter could run on a new rock every day in the year, so that, by designating its exact location on the chart, there would be three hundred and sixty-five rocks per annum to be avoided by vessels entering the harbor. "some military protection would probably be required there for several years to come, in order to protect the citizens from the attacks of grizzly bears. i would suggest that a post be established on some eligible point, and comfortable quarters erected for the officers and soldiers. while these quarters are in progress of erection, it might be well to station a large rooster in the top of a neighboring tree to give warning of the approach of the enemy. as rome was saved in one way, so might bear harbor be saved in another. should it become necessary to abandon them, the citizens will no doubt be willing to purchase them at public auction. "i do not know what the military quarters at fort miller are going to do, but the last time i saw them they looked very sorry they had ever been built. the same may be said of the quarters at benicia, fort tejon, and san diego, which goes to prove the transitory character of military operations. so long as our army goes about the country dropping down beautiful little cities, we in the line of civil life can certainly have no objection. as expense is no object, perhaps, to the war department, i would suggest that there is a very rugged point of rocks near the entrance of bear harbor, upon which a friend of mine has located a claim that he is willing to sell for military purposes for the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. it commands a fine view of the ocean, and abounds in mussels and albicores; besides which, it is cheaper and uglier than lime point at the entrance of the golden gate, and would not require near so much writing to make the purchase satisfactory to the public. "for a few years, during the infancy of the community, it may be necessary for some enterprising citizen to borrow from government one hundred thousand dollars at six per cent. per annum, in consequence of the high rates of interest in california. there will be no difficulty in doing this, i apprehend, if he have influence at court. a precedent may be found in the case of the folsom estate, against which judgment had been obtained, and an execution placed in the hands of the marshal. private parties found it to their advantage to step in, purchase a portion of the property, pay a portion of the debt, and, upon giving satisfactory security, assume the remainder, amounting to a hundred thousand dollars, at six per cent. it may be a little irregular to favor particular parties in this way, but then public money had better be bringing six per cent. than lying idle in the treasury; and besides, when it is found necessary to issue treasury notes in order to carry on the government, they bring a premium, and there is a gain to that extent over the ready cash. if all the public money was loaned out at six per cent., and all the private money that might be necessary borrowed at five, of course the financial condition of the treasury would be one per cent. better per annum. "after these things were done, and the business of bear harbor placed upon a permanent footing, private instructions might be issued to the collector of customs to go out and stump the state in behalf of the great principles of national economy. experience would enable him to stand firmly upon the broad platform of public integrity; and when he addressed the multitude, he could dwell feelingly on the sublime doctrine of earlier days--'millions for defense, but not a cent for tribute!' he could put his hand upon his brow, and solemnly declare that, so long as he was gifted with the light of intellect to comprehend the sound doctrines of public policy bequeathed to us by our forefathers, he would stand by the laws and the constitution. he could put his hand upon his heart, and call upon the people to witness that he, for one, had ever remained true to first principles. he could put his hand upon his stomach, and avow, from the bottom of his soul, that he conscientiously indorsed the measures of the prevailing party. he could put his hand upon his pocket, and affirm in all sincerity that he went heart and hand with the reigning powers on all the great questions of the day. and, having fully delivered himself on these various points, he could wind up with an anecdote from the schildburghers. when the wise men of schilda undertook to build their grand council-house, they carried down on their backs from the top of a high hill a large number of heavy logs. in moving the last log, it fell out of their hands and rolled to the bottom of the hill. 'don't you see,' said the town fool, 'if you had started them all in the same way, they would have rolled down of their own accord?' which they admitted was true, and accordingly carried all the logs up to the top of the hill again, and then rolled them down. so, if the people don't like this party, they can roll in another just as good. your obedient servant, etc." in my next chapter of experiences i propose giving a succinct account of the great port townsend controversy. this cost me more trouble than all my other experiences together, and came very near costing me my life. ii. the great port townsend controversy, showing how whisky built a city. few persons who have visited the pacific coast of late years are ignorant of the fact that the city of port townsend is eligibly situated on puget's sound, near the straits of fuca; and none who have seen that remarkable city can hesitate a moment to admit that it is a commercial metropolis without parallel. port townsend is indeed a remarkable place. i am not acquainted with quite such another place in the whole world. it certainly possesses natural and artificial advantages over most of the cities known in the atlantic states or europe. in front there is an extensive water privilege, embracing the various ramifications of puget's sound. admiralty inlet forms an outlet for the exports of the country, and hood's canal is an excellent place for hoodwinking the revenue officers. on the rear, extending to dunganess point, is a jungle of pine and matted brush, through which neither man nor beast can penetrate without considerable effort. this will always be a secure place of retreat in case of an invasion from a war-canoe manned by northern indians. with regard to the town itself, it is singularly picturesque and diversified. the prevailing style of architecture is a mixed order of the gothic, doric, ionic, and corinthian. the houses, of which there must be at least twenty in the city and suburbs, are built chiefly of pine boards, thatched with shingles, canvas, and wooden slabs. the palace and out-buildings of the duke of york are built of drift-wood from the saw-mills of port ludlow, and are eligibly located near the wharf, so as to be convenient to the clams and oysters, and afford his maids of honor an opportunity of indulging in frequent ablutions. there is somewhat of an ancient and fish-like odor about the premises of his highness, and it must be admitted that his chimneys smoke horribly, but still the artistic effect is very fine at a distance. the streets of port townsend are paved with sand, and the public squares are curiously ornamented with dead horses and the bones of many dead cows, upon the beef of which the inhabitants have partially subsisted since the foundation of the city. this, of course, gives a very original appearance to the public pleasure-grounds, and enables strangers to know when they arrive in the city, by reason of the peculiar odor, so that, even admitting the absence of lamps, no person can fail to recognize port townsend in the darkest night. when it was a port of entry under the laws of the united states, there was a collector of customs stationed in a small shanty on the principal wharf, whose business it was to look out for smugglers, and pay the salary of an inspector who owns some sheep on san juan island, and holds joint possession of that disputed territory with the british government. the collector of customs, being unable to attend to the many important duties that devolved upon him without assistance, was allowed two boatmen, whose duty it was to put him on board of suspicious vessels in the offing, and one of whom, by virtue of a special commission, was ex-officio deputy collector, and made up the accounts of the district. the principal luxuries afforded by the market of this delightful sea-port are clams, and the carcasses of dead whales that drift ashore, by reason of eating which the inhabitants have clammy skins, and are given to much spouting at public meetings. the prevailing languages spoken are the clallam, chenook, and skookum-chuck, or strong water, with a mixture of broken english; and all the public notices are written on shingles with burnt sticks, and nailed up over the door of the town-hall. a newspaper, issued here once every six months, is printed by means of wooden types whittled out of pine knots by the indians, and rubbed against the bottom of the editor's potato pot. the cast-off shirts of the inhabitants answer for paper. for the preservation of public morals, a jail has been constructed out of logs that drifted ashore in times past, in which noted criminals are put for safe keeping. the first and last prisoners ever incarcerated in that institution were eleven northern indians, who were suspected of the murder of colonel ehy at whidbey's island. as the logs are laid upon sand to make the foundation secure, the indians, while rooting for clams one night, happened to come up at the outside of the jail, and finding the watchman, who had been placed there by the citizens, fast asleep, with an empty whisky bottle in the distance, they stole his blanket, hat, boots, and pipe, and bade an affectionate farewell to port townsend. the municipal affairs of the city are managed by a mayor and six councilmen, who are elected to office in a very peculiar manner. on the day of election, notice having been previously given on the town shingles, all the candidates for corporate honors go up on the top of the hill back of the water-front, and play at pitch-penny and quoits till a certain number are declared eligible; after which all the eligible candidates are required to climb a greased pole in the centre of the main public square. the two best then become eligible for the mayoralty, and the twelve next best for the common council. these fourteen candidates then get on the roof of the town-hall and begin to yell like indians. whoever can yell the loudest is declared mayor, and the six next loudest become the members of the common council for the ensuing year. while i had the misfortune to be in public employ (and for no disreputable act that i can now remember), it became my duty to inquire into the condition of the indians on puget's sound. in the course of my tour i visited this unique city for the purpose of having a "wa-wa" with the duke of york, chief of the clallam tribe. the principal articles of commerce, i soon discovered, were whisky, cotton handkerchiefs, tobacco, and cigars, and the principal shops were devoted to billiards and the sale of grog. i was introduced by the indian agent to the duke, who inhabited that region, and still disputed the possession of the place with the white settlers. if the settlers paid him any thing for the land upon which they built their shanties it must have been in whisky, for the duke was lying drunk in his wigwam at the time of my visit. for the sake of morals, i regret to say that he had two wives, ambitiously named "queen victoria" and "jenny lind;" and for the good repute of indian ladies of rank, it grieves me to add that the queen and jenny were also very tipsy, if not quite drunk, when i called to pay my respects. the duke was lying on a rough wooden bedstead, with a bullock's hide stretched over it, enjoying his ease with the ladies of his household. when the agent informed him that a hyas tyee, or big chief, had called to see him with a message from the great chief of all the indians, the duke grunted significantly, as much as to say "that's all right." the queen, who sat near him in the bed, gave him a few whacks to rouse him up, and by the aid of jenny lind succeeded, after a while, in getting him in an upright position. his costume consisted of a red shirt and nothing else, but neither of the royal ladies seemed at all put out by the scantiness of his wardrobe. there was something very amiable and jolly in the face of the old duke, even stupefied as he was by whisky. he shook me by the hand in a friendly manner, and, patting his stomach, remarked, "duke york belly good man!" [illustration: the duke of york, queen victoria, and jenny lind.] of course i complimented him upon his general reputation as a good man, and proceeded to make the usual speech, derived from the official formula, about the great chief in washington, whose children were as numerous as the leaves on the trees and the grass on the plains. "oh, dam!" said the duke, impatiently; "him send any whisky?" no; on the contrary, the great chief had heard with profound regret that the indians of puget's sound were addicted to the evil practice of drinking whisky, and it made his heart bleed to learn that it was killing them off rapidly, and was the principal cause of all their misery. it was very cruel and very wicked for white men to sell whisky to the indians, and it was his earnest wish that the law against this illicit traffic might be enforced and the offenders punished. "oh, dam!" said the duke, turning over on his bed, and contemptuously waving his hand in termination of the interview--"dis tyee no 'count!" while this wa-wa, or grand talk, was going on, the queen put her arms affectionately around the duke's neck, and giggled with admiration at his eloquence. jenny sat a little at one side, and seemed to be under the combined influence of whisky, jealousy, and a black eye. i was subsequently informed that the duke was in the habit of beating both the queen and jenny for their repeated quarrels, and when unusually drunk was not particular about either the force or direction of his blows. this accounted for jenny's black eye and bruised features, and for the alleged absence of two of the queen's front teeth, which it was said were knocked out in a recent brawl. some months after my visit to port townsend, in writing a report on the indians of puget's sound, i took occasion to refer to the salient points of the above interview with the duke of york, and to make a few remarks touching the degraded condition of himself and tribe, attributing it to the illegal practice on the part of the citizens of selling whisky to the indians. i stated that his wigwam was situated between two whisky-shops, and that the clallams would soon be reduced to the level of bad white men in port townsend, "which, to say the least of it, was a very benighted place." the report was printed by order of congress, though i was not aware of that fact till one day, sitting in my office in san francisco, i received a copy of the "olympia democrat" (if i remember correctly), containing a series of grave charges against me, signed by the principal citizens of port townsend. i have lost the original documents, but shall endeavor to supply the deficiency as well as my memory serves. the letter was addressed to the "united states special agent," and was substantially as follows: "sir,--the undersigned have read your official report relative to the indians of puget's sound, and regret that you have deemed it necessary to step so far aside from the line of your duty as to traduce our fair name and reputation as citizens of port townsend. you will pardon us for expressing the opinion that you might have spent your time with more credit to yourself and benefit to the government. "sir, it may be that on the occasion of your visit here the duke of york and his wives were drunk; but the undersigned are satisfied, upon a personal examination, that neither queen victoria nor jenny lind suffered the loss of two front teeth, as you state in your report; and they are not aware that jenny lind's eyes were ever blacked by the duke of york, nor do they believe it, although you have thought proper to make that statement in your report. "the undersigned do not pretend to say that there is no whisky sold in port townsend; but they deny, sir, that you ever saw any of them drunk, or that the citizens of port townsend, as a class, are at all intemperate. on the contrary, they claim to be as orderly, industrious, and law-abiding as the citizens of any other town on the pacific coast or elsewhere. "sir, it is scarcely possible that you can have forgotten so soon the marked kindness and hospitality with which you were treated by the citizens of this place during your sojourn here; and now the return you make is to blacken the reputation of our thriving little town, and endeavor to destroy our future prospects. you are, of course, at liberty to choose your own line of travel, but if ever you visit port townsend again, we can assure you, sir, you will enjoy a very different reception. had you confined your misstatements to the indians, we might have excused it on the ground that it is not customary for public officers to adhere strictly to facts in their reports; but when you go entirely out of your way, and commit such an unprovoked attack upon our character, we feel bound to set ourselves right before the world. "in charity, we can only suppose that you have been grossly deceived in your sources of information; yet, when you profess to have witnessed personally the evil effects of whisky in port townsend, and go so far as to pronounce it 'a benighted place,' we can not evade the conclusion that you must have had some experience in what you say you witnessed; either that, or you deliberately committed a base slander upon the citizens of this place. although the undersigned consider themselves included in your sweeping assertion, it can not have escaped your memory, sir, that on the occasion of your visit to port townsend you found them engaged in their peaceful avocations as useful and respectable members of society; and they positively deny that any of them have ever sold whisky to the indians, or committed the crime of murder. "sir, the undersigned have made inquiry into that portion of your report in which you state that no less than six murders were committed here during the past year, and can only find that two were committed, and neither of them by citizens of this place. the conclusion, therefore, to which the undersigned are forced, is, that you were at a loss for something to say, and invented at least four murders for the purpose of contributing to the interest of your report. "sir, when a respectable community are engaged in trying to make an honest living, we think it hardly fair that you, as a government agent, should come among them, and, without cause or provocation, slander their character and injure their reputation. we therefore enter our solemn protest against the unfounded charges made in your report, and respectfully recommend that in future you confine yourself to your official duties. "(signed), j. hodges, b. punch, t. thatcher, b. fletcher, warren hastings, wm. pitt, j. fox, e. burke, and eleven others." here was a serious business. i can assure the reader that the sensations experienced in the perusal of such a document, when addressed to one's self through a public newspaper, and signed by fifteen or twenty responsible persons, are peculiar and by no means agreeable. for a moment i really began to think i was a very bad man, and that there must be something uncommonly reprehensible in my conduct. upon the whole, i felt that i was a little in fault, and had better apologize. there was no particular necessity for introducing queen victoria's front teeth and jenny lind's black eye to congress; and, to confess the truth, it was really going a little beyond the usual limits of official etiquette to "ring in" a public town possessing some valuable political influence. i therefore prepared and published in the newspapers an apology, which it seemed to me ought to be satisfactory. the following is as close a copy of the original as i can now write out from memory: "san francisco, cal., april st, . "to messrs. j. hodges, b. punch, t. thatcher, b. fletcher, warren hastings, wm. pitt, j. fox, e. burke, and eleven others, citizens, port townsend, w. t.: "gentlemen,--i have read with surprise and regret your letter of the th ult., in which you make several very serious charges against me in reference to certain statements contained in my report on the indians of puget's sound. not the least important of these charges is that i stepped aside from the line of my duty to traduce your fair name and reputation as citizens of port townsend. you entertain the opinion that i might have been better employed--an opinion in which i would cheerfully concur if it were not based upon erroneous premises. i have not the slightest recollection of having traduced 'your fair name and reputation,' or made any reference to you whatever in my report. when i alluded to the 'beach-combers, rowdies, and other bad characters' in port townsend, i had no idea that respectable gentlemen like yourselves would take it as personal. of course, as none of you ever sold whisky to the indians or committed murder, you do great injustice to your own reputation in supposing that the public at large would attribute these crimes to you because i mentioned them in my report. "you deny positively that either queen victoria or jenny lind had her front teeth knocked out by the duke of york. well, i take that back, for i certainly did not examine their mouths as closely as you seem to have done. but when you deny that jenny lind's eye was black, you do me great injustice. i shall insist upon it to the latest hour of my existence that it was black--deeply, darkly, beautifully black, with a prismatic circle of pink, blue, and yellow in the immediate vicinity. i cheerfully retract the teeth, but, gentlemen, i hold on to the eye. depend upon it, i shall stand by that eye as long as the flag of freedom waves over this glorious republic! you will admit, at all events, that jenny had a drop in her eye. "while you do not pretend to say that there is no whisky sold in port townsend, you do insist upon it that i never saw any of you drunk. of course not, gentlemen. there are several of you that i do not recollect having ever seen, either drunk or sober. if i did see any of you under the influence of intoxicating spirits, the disguise was certainly effectual, for i am now entirely unable to say which of you it was. besides, i never said i saw any of you drunk. it requires a great deal of whisky to intoxicate some people, and i should be sorry to hazard a conjecture as to the gauge of any citizen of port townsend. i do not believe you habitually drink whisky as a beverage--certainly not port townsend whisky, for that would kill the strongest man that ever lived in less than six months, if he drank nothing else. many of you, no doubt, use tea or coffee at breakfast, and it is quite possible that some of you occasionally venture upon water. "gentlemen, you were pleased to call my attention to certain custom-house claims, indian claims, and pre-emption claims when i was at port townsend; but when you 'claim to be as orderly, industrious, and law-abiding as the citizens of any other town on the pacific coast or elsewhere,' you go altogether beyond my official jurisdiction. i think you had better send that claim to congress. "that 'it is not customary for public officers to adhere strictly to facts for their reports' is a melancholy truth. you have me there, gentlemen. truth is very scarce in official documents. it is not expected by the public, and it would be utterly thrown away upon congress. besides, the truth is the last thing that would serve your purpose as claimants for public money. "you are charitable enough to suppose that i may have been grossly deceived in my sources of information. well, you ought to know all about that, for i got most of the information from yourselves. as to my remark that port townsend is 'a benighted place,' i am astonished that you did not see into the true meaning of that expression. it was merely a jocular allusion to the absence of lamps in the public streets at night. "you do not think it can possibly have escaped my memory that i found you engaged in your peaceful avocations as useful and respectable members of society on the occasion of my visit to port townsend. now, upon my honor, i can not remember who it was particularly that i saw engaged in peaceful avocations, but i certainly saw a good many white men lying about in sunny places fast asleep, and a good many more sitting on logs of wood whittling small sticks, and apparently waiting for somebody to invite them into the nearest saloon; others i saw playing billiards, and some few standing about the corners of the streets, waiting for the houses to grow--all of which were unquestionably peaceful, if not strictly useful avocations. i have no recollection of having seen any person engaged in the performance of any labor calculated to strain his vertebræ. "the result of your inquiries on the subject of murder appears to be that only two murders were committed in port townsend during the past year, instead of six, as stated in my report. well, gentlemen, i was not present, and did not participate in any of these alleged murders, and cheerfully admit that your sheriff, who gave me the information, and whose name is appended to your letter, may not have counted them accurately. at all events, i take four of them back, and place them to the credit of port townsend for the ensuing year. i utterly disclaim having invented them, though i would at any time much rather invent four murders than commit one. nor can i admit that i was at a loss for something to say. there was abundance of fictitious material presented in the course of my official investigations, without rendering it at all necessary for me to resort to imaginary murders. and i farther insist upon it that, if i did not personally witness the violent death of six men in port townsend, i heard the king's english most cruelly murdered there on at least six different occasions. gentlemen, you need not take any farther trouble about 'setting yourselves right before the world.' i trust you will admit that you are all right now, since i have duly made the amende honorable. "wishing you success in your 'peaceful avocations,' and exemption from all future anxiety relative to the price of lots in port townsend, i remain, very respectfully, your obedient servant," etc. strange to say, so far from being satisfied with this apology, the citizens of port townsend were enraged to a degree bordering on insanity. the mayor, upon the reception of the mail containing the fatal document, called the town council together, and the schoolmaster read it to the town council, and the town council deliberated over it for three days, and then unanimously resolved that the author was a "vile kalumater, unworthy of further atension, and had beter stere cleer of port townsend for the future!" for two years they did nothing else, in an official point of view, but write letters to the san francisco papers denouncing the author of this vile kalumy, and assuring the public that his description of port townsend was wholly unworthy of credit; that port townsend was the neatest, cleanest, most orderly, and most flourishing little town on the pacific coast. by the time the frazer river excitement broke out, the people of california were well acquainted, through the newspapers, with at least one town on puget's sound. if they knew nothing of whatcomb, squill-chuck, and other rival places that aspired to popular favor, they were no strangers to the reputation of port townsend. thousands, who had no particular business there, went to take a look at this wonderful town, which had given rise to so much controversy. the citizens were soon forced to build a fine hotel. many visitors liked the society, and concluded to remain. others thought it would soon be the great centre of commerce for all the shipping that would be drawn thither by the mineral wealth of frazer river, and bought city lots on speculation. traders came there and set up stores; new whisky saloons were built; customers crowded in from all parts; in short, it became a gay and dashing sort of place, and very soon had quite the appearance of a city. when the frazer river bubble burst, nobody was killed at port townsend, because it had a strong reputation, and could still persuade people that it was bound to be a great city at some future period. during the following year i made bold to pay my old friends a visit. a delegation of the common council met me on the wharf. there were no hacks yet introduced, but any number of horses were placed at my disposal. the greeting was cordial and impressive. a most complimentary address was read to me by the mayor of the city, in which it was fully and frankly acknowledged that i was the means of building up the fortunes of port townsend. after the address, the citizens with one accord rushed to me, and, grasping me warmly by the hand, at once retracted their injurious imputations. these gratifying public demonstrations over, we adjourned to the nearest saloon, and buried the hatchet forever in an ocean of the best port townsend whisky. it is due to the citizens to say that not one of them went beyond reasonable bounds on this joyous occasion, by which i do not mean to intimate that they were accustomed to the beverage referred to. at all events, i think it has been clearly demonstrated by these authentic documents that "whisky built a great city." iii. the indians of california. when the state of california was admitted into the union, the number of indians within its borders was estimated at one hundred thousand. of these, some five or six thousand, residing in the vicinity of the missions, were partially civilized, and subsisted chiefly by begging and stealing. a few of the better class contrived to avoid starvation by casual labor in the vineyards and on the farms of the settlers. they were very poor and very corrupt, given to gambling, drinking, and other vices prevailing among white men, and to which indians have a natural inclination. as the country became more settled, it was considered profitable, owing to the high rate of compensation for white labor, to encourage these christian tribes to adopt habits of industry, and they were employed very generally throughout the state. in the vine-growing districts they were usually paid in native brandy every saturday night, put in jail next morning for getting drunk, and bailed out on monday to work out the fine imposed upon them by the local authorities. this system still prevails in los angeles, where i have often seen a dozen of these miserable wretches carried to jail roaring drunk of a sunday morning. the inhabitants of los angeles are a moral and intelligent people, and many of them disapprove of the custom on principle, and hope it will be abolished as soon as the indians are all killed off. practically, it is not a bad way of bettering their condition; for some of them die every week from the effects of debauchery, or kill one another in the nocturnal brawls which prevail in the outskirts of the pueblo. [illustration: the diggers at home.] the settlers in the northern portions of the state had a still more effectual method of encouraging the indians to adopt habits of civilization. in general, they engaged them at a fixed rate of wages to cultivate the ground, and during the season of labor fed them on beans, and gave them a blanket or a shirt each; after which, when the harvest was secured, the account was considered squared, and the indians were driven off to forage in the woods for themselves and families during the winter. starvation usually wound up a considerable number of the old and decrepit ones every season; and of those that failed to perish from hunger or exposure, some were killed on the general principle that they must have subsisted by stealing cattle, for it was well known that cattle ranged in the vicinity, while others were not unfrequently slaughtered by their employers for helping themselves to the refuse portions of the crop which had been left in the ground. it may be said that these were exceptions to the general rule; but if ever an indian was fully and honestly paid for his labor by a white settler, it was not my luck to hear of it; certainly it could not have been of frequent occurrence. the wild indians inhabiting the coast range, the valleys of the sacramento and san joaquin, and the western slope of the sierra nevada, became troublesome at a very early period after the discovery of the gold mines. it was found convenient to take possession of their country without recompense, rob them of their wives and children, kill them in every cowardly and barbarous manner that could be devised, and when that was impracticable, drive them as far as possible out of the way. such treatment was not consistent with their rude ideas of justice. at best they were an ignorant race of diggers, wholly unacquainted with our enlightened institutions. they could not understand why they should be murdered, robbed, and hunted down in this way, without any other pretense of provocation than the color of their skin and the habits of life to which they had always been accustomed. in the traditionary researches of their most learned sages they had never heard of the snakes in ireland that were exterminated for the public benefit by the great and good st. patrick. they were utterly ignorant of the sublime doctrine of general welfare. the idea, strange as it may appear, never occurred to them that they were suffering for the great cause of civilization, which, in the natural course of things, must exterminate indians. actuated by base motives of resentment, a few of them occasionally rallied, preferring rather to die than submit to these imaginary wrongs. white men were killed from time to time; cattle were driven off; horses were stolen, and various other iniquitous offenses were committed. the federal government, as is usual in cases where the lives of valuable voters are at stake, was forced to interfere. troops were sent out to aid the settlers in slaughtering the indians. by means of mounted howitzers, muskets, minié rifles, dragoon pistols, and sabres, a good many were cut to pieces. but, on the whole, the general policy of the government was pacific. it was not designed to kill any more indians than might be necessary to secure the adhesion of the honest yeomanry of the state, and thus furnish an example of the practical working of our political system to the savages of the forest, by which it was hoped they might profit. congress took the matter in hand at an early day, and appropriated large sums of money for the purchase of cattle and agricultural implements. from the wording of the law, it would appear that these useful articles were designed for the relief and maintenance of the indians. commissioners were appointed at handsome salaries to treat with them, and sub-agents employed to superintend the distribution of the purchases. in virtue of this munificent policy, treaties were made in which the various tribes were promised a great many valuable presents, which of course they never got. there was no reason to suppose they ever should; it being a fixed principle with strong powers never to ratify treaties made by their own agents with weaker ones, when there is money to pay and nothing to be had in return. the cattle were purchased, however, to the number of many thousands. here arose another difficulty. the honest miners must have something to eat, and what could they have more nourishing than fat cattle? good beef has been a favorite article of subsistence with men of bone and muscle ever since the days of the ancient romans. so the cattle, or the greater part of them, were driven up to the mines, and sold at satisfactory rates--probably for the benefit of the indians, though i never could understand in what way their necessities were relieved by this speculation, unless it might be that the parties interested turned over to them the funds received for the cattle. it is very certain they continued to starve and commit depredations in the most ungrateful manner for some time after; and, indeed, to such a pitch of audacity did they carry their rebellious spirit against the constituted authorities, that many of the chiefs protested if the white people would only let them alone, and give them the least possible chance to make a living, they would esteem it a much greater favor than any relief they had experienced from the munificent donations of congress. but government was not to be defeated in its benevolent intentions. voluminous reports were made to congress, showing that a general reservation system, on the plan so successfully pursued by the spanish missionaries, would best accomplish the object. it was known that the missions of california had been built chiefly by indian labor; that during their existence the priests had fully demonstrated the capacity of this race for the acquisition of civilized habits; that extensive vineyards and large tracts of land had been cultivated solely by indian labor, under their instruction; and that by this humane system of teaching many hostile tribes had been subdued, and enabled not only to support themselves, but to render the missions highly profitable establishments. no aid was given by government beyond the grants of land necessary for missionary purposes; yet they soon grew wealthy, owned immense herds of cattle, supplied agricultural products to the rancheros, and carried on a considerable trade in hides and tallow with the united states. if the spanish priests could do this without arms or assistance, in the midst of a savage country, at a period when the indians were more numerous and more powerful than they are now, surely it could be done in a comparatively civilized country by intelligent americans, with all the lights of experience and the co-operation of a beneficent government. at least congress thought so; and in laws were passed for the establishment of a reservation system in california, and large appropriations were made to carry it into effect. tracts of land of twenty-five thousand acres were ordered to be set apart for the use of the indians; officers were appointed to supervise the affairs of the service; clothing, cattle, seeds, and agricultural implements were purchased; and a general invitation was extended to the various tribes to come in and learn how to work like white men. the first reservation was established at the tejon, a beautiful and fertile valley in the southern part of the state. head-quarters for the employés, and large granaries for the crops, were erected. the indians were feasted on cattle, and every thing promised favorably. true, it cost a great deal to get started, about $ , ; but a considerable crop was raised, and there was every reason to hope that the experiment would prove successful. in the course of time other reservations were established, one in the foot-hills of the sacramento valley, at a place called nome lackee; one at the mouth of the noyo river, south of cape mendocino; and one on the klamath, below crescent city; besides which, there were indian farms, or adjuncts, of these reservations at the fresno, nome cult or round valley, the mattole valley, near cape mendocino, and other points where it was deemed advisable to give aid and instruction to the indians. the cost of these establishments was such as to justify the most sanguine anticipations of their success. in order that the appropriations might be devoted to their legitimate purpose, and the greatest possible amount of instruction furnished at the least expense, the executive department adopted the policy of selecting officers experienced in the art of public speaking, and thoroughly acquainted with the prevailing systems of primary elections. a similar policy had been found to operate beneficially in the case of collectors of customs, and there was no reason why it should not in other branches of the public service. gentlemen skilled in the tactics of state legislatures, and capable of influencing those refractory bodies by the exercise of moral suasion, could be relied upon to deal with the indians, who are not so far advanced in the arts of civilization, and whose necessities, in a pecuniary point of view, are not usually so urgent. besides, it was known that the digger tribes were exceedingly ignorant of our political institutions, and required more instruction, perhaps, in this branch of knowledge than in any other. the most intelligent of the chiefs actually had no more idea of the respective merits of the great candidates for senatorial honors in california than if those distinguished gentlemen had never been born. as to primary meetings and caucuses, the poor diggers, in their simplicity, were just as apt to mistake them for some favorite game of thimblerig or pitch-penny as for the practical exercise of the great system of free suffrage. they could not make out why men should drink so much whisky and swear so hard unless they were gambling; and if any farther proof was necessary, it was plain to see that the game was one of hazard, because the players were constantly whispering to each other, and passing money from hand to hand, and from pocket to pocket. the only difference they could see between the different parties was that some had more money than others, but they had no idea where it came from. to enlighten them on all these points was, doubtless, the object of the great appointing powers in selecting good political speakers to preside over them. after building their houses, it was presumed that there would be plenty of stumps left in the woods from which they could be taught to make speeches on the great questions of the day, and where a gratifying scene might be witnessed, at no remote period, of big and little diggers holding forth from every stump in support of the presiding administration. for men who possessed an extraordinary capacity for drinking ardent spirits; who could number among their select friends the most notorious vagrants and gamblers in the state; who spent their days in idleness and their nights in brawling grog-shops; whose habits, in short, were in every way disreputable, the authorities in washington entertained a very profound antipathy. i know this to be the case, because the most stringent regulations were established prohibiting persons in the service from getting drunk, and official orders written warning them that they would be promptly removed in case of any misconduct. circular letters were also issued, and posted up at the different reservations, forbidding the employés to adopt the wives of the indians, which it was supposed they might attempt to do from too zealous a disposition to cultivate friendly relations with both sexes. in support of this policy, the california delegation made it a point never to indorse any person for office in the service who was not considered peculiarly deserving of patronage. they knew exactly the kind of men that were wanted, because they lived in the state and had read about the indians in the newspapers. some of them had even visited a few of the wigwams. having the public welfare at heart--a fact that can not be doubted, since they repeatedly asserted it in their speeches--they saw where the great difficulty lay, and did all in their power to aid the executive. they indorsed the very best friends they had--gentlemen who had contributed to their election, and fought for them through thick and thin. the capacity of such persons for conducting the affairs of a reservation could not be doubted. if they had cultivated an extensive acquaintance among pot-house voters, of course they must understand the cultivation of potatoes and onions; if they could control half a dozen members of the legislature in a senatorial contest, why not be able to control indians, who were not near so difficult to manage? if they could swallow obnoxious measures of the administration, were they not qualified to teach savages how to swallow government provisions? if they were honest enough to avow, in the face of corrupt and hostile factions, that they stood by the constitution, and always meant to stand by the same broad platform, were they not honest enough to disburse public funds? in one respect, i think the policy of the government was unfortunate--that is, in the disfavor with which persons of intemperate and disreputable habits were regarded. men of this kind--and they are not difficult to find in california--could do a great deal toward meliorating the moral condition of the indians by drinking up all the whisky that might be smuggled on the reservations, and behaving so disreputably in general that no indian, however degraded in his propensities, could fail to become ashamed of such low vices. in accordance with the views of the department, it was deemed to be consistent with decency that these untutored savages should be clothed in a more becoming costume than nature had bestowed upon them. most of them were as ignorant of covering as they were of the lecompton constitution. with the exception of a few who had worked for the settlers, they made their first appearance on the reservations very much as they appeared when they first saw daylight. it was a great object to make them sensible of the advantages of civilization by covering their backs while cultivating their brains. blankets, shirts, and pantaloons, therefore, were purchased for them in large quantities. it is presumed that when the department read the vouchers for these articles, and for the potatoes, beans, and cattle that were so plentifully sprinkled through the accounts, it imagined that it was "clothing the naked and feeding the hungry!" the blankets, to be sure, were very thin, and cost a great deal of money in proportion to their value; but, then, peculiar advantages were to be derived from the transparency of the fabric. in some respects the worst material might be considered the most economical. by holding his blanket to the light, an indian could enjoy the contemplation of both sides of it at the same time; and it would only require a little instruction in architecture to enable him to use it occasionally as a window to his wigwam. every blanket being marked by a number of blotches, he could carry his window on his back whenever he went out on a foraging expedition, so as to know the number of his residence when he returned, as the citizens of schilda carried their doors when they went away from home, in order that they should not forget where they lived. nor was it the least important consideration, that when he gambled it away, or sold it for whisky, he would not be subject to any inconvenience from a change of temperature. the shirts and pantaloons were in general equally transparent, and possessed this additional advantage, that they very soon cracked open in the seams, and thereby enabled the squaws to learn how to sew. as many of the poor wretches were afflicted with diseases incident to their mode of life, and likely to contract others from the white employés of the reservations, physicians were appointed to give them medicine. of course indians required a peculiar mode of treatment. they spoke a barbarous jargon, and it was not possible that any thing but barbarous compounds could operate on their bowels. of what use would it be to waste good medicines on stomachs that were incapable of comprehending their use? accordingly, any deficiency in the quality was made up by the quantity and variety. old drug stores were cleared of their rubbish, and vast quantities of croton oil, saltpetre, alum, paint, scent-bottles, mustard, vinegar, and other valuable laxatives, diaphoretics, and condiments were supplied for their use. the result was, that, aided by the peculiar system of diet adopted, the physicians were enabled very soon to show a considerable roll of patients. in cases where the blood was ascertained to be scorbutic, the patients were allowed to go out in the valleys, and subsist for a few months on clover or grass, which was regarded as a sovereign remedy. i was assured at one reservation that fresh spring grass had a more beneficial effect on them than the medicines, as it generally purged them. the department was fully advised of these facts in elaborate reports made by its special emissaries, and congratulated itself upon the satisfactory progress of the system. the elections were going all right--the country was safe. feeding indians on grass was advancing them at least one step toward a knowledge of the sacred scriptures. it was following the time-honored precedent of nebuchadnezzar, the king of babylon, who was driven from men, and did eat grass as oxen, and was wet with the dews of heaven till his hairs were grown like eagles' feathers, and his nails like birds' claws. an ounce of croton oil would go a great way in lubricating the intestines of an entire tribe of indians; and if the paint could not be strictly classed with any of the medicines known in the official dispensary, it might at least be used for purposes of clothing during the summer months. red or green pantaloons painted on the legs of the indians, and striped blue shirts artistically marked out on their bodies, would be at once cool, economical, and picturesque. if these things cost a great deal of money, as appeared by the vouchers, it was a consolation to know that, money being the root of all evil, no injurious effects could grow out of such a root after it had been once thoroughly eradicated. the indians were also taught the advantages to be derived from the cultivation of the earth. large supplies of potatoes were purchased in san francisco, at about double what they were worth in the vicinity of the reservations. there were only twenty-five thousand acres of public land available at each place for the growth of potatoes or any other esculent for which the hungry natives might have a preference; but it was much easier to purchase potatoes than to make farmers out of the white men employed to teach them how to cultivate the earth. sixteen or seventeen men on each reservation had about as much as they could do to attend to their own private claims, and keep the natives from eating their private crops. it was not the policy of government to reward its friends for their "adhesion to the constitution" by requiring them to perform any practical labor at seventy-five or a hundred dollars a month, which was scarcely double the current wages of the day. good men could obtain employment any where by working for their wages; but it required the best kind of administration men to earn extraordinary compensations by an extraordinary amount of idleness. not that they were all absolutely worthless. on the contrary, some spent their time in hunting, others in riding about the country, and a considerable number in laying out and supervising private claims, aided by indian labor and government provisions. the official reports transmitted to congress from time to time gave flattering accounts of the progress of the system. the extent and variety of the crops were fabulously grand. immense numbers of indians were fed and clothed--on paper. like little children who cry for medicines, it would appear that the whole red race were so charmed with the new schools of industry that they were weeping to be removed there and set to work. indeed, many of them had already learned to work "like white men;" they were bending to it cheerfully, and could handle the plow and the sickle very skillfully, casting away their bows and arrows, and adopting the more effective instruments of agriculture. no mention was made of the fact that these working indians had acquired their knowledge from the settlers, and that, if they worked after the fashion of the white men on the reservations, it was rarely any of them were obliged to go to the hospital in consequence of injuries resulting to the spinal column. the favorite prediction of the officers in charge was, that in a very short time these institutions would be self-sustaining--that is to say, that neither they nor the indians would want any more money after a while. it may seem strange that the appropriations demanded of congress did not decrease in a ratio commensurate with these flattering reports. the self-sustaining period had not yet come. on the contrary, as the indians were advancing into the higher branches of education--music, dancing, and the fine arts, moral philosophy and ethics, political economy, etc.--it required more money to teach them. the number had been considerably diminished by death and desertion; but then their appetites had improved, and they were getting a great deal smarter. besides, politics were becoming sadly entangled in the state, and many agents had to be employed in the principal cities to protect the women and children from any sudden invasion of the natives while the patriotic male citizens were at the polls depositing their votes. the department, no doubt, esteemed all this to be a close approximation to the spanish mission system, and in some respects it was. the priests sought the conversion of heathens, who believed neither in the divinity nor the holy ghost; the department the conversion of infidels, who had no faith in the measures of the administration. if there was any material difference, it was in the head of the church, and the missionaries appointed to carry its views into effect. but the most extraordinary feature in the history of this service in california was the interpretation given by the federal authorities in washington to the independent treasury act of . that stringent provision, prohibiting any public officer from using for private purposes, loaning, or depositing in any bank or banking institution any public funds committed to his charge; transmitting for settlement any voucher for a greater amount than that actually paid; or appropriating such funds to any other purpose than that prescribed by law, was so amended in the construction of the department as to mean, "except in cases where such officer has rendered peculiar services to the party and possesses strong influences in congress." when any infraction of the law was reported, it was subjected to the test of this amended reading; and if the conditions were found satisfactory, the matter was disposed of in a pigeon-hole. an adroit system of accountability was established, by which no property return, abstract of issues, account current, or voucher, was understood to mean what it expressed upon its face, so that no accounting officer possessing a clew to the policy adopted could be deceived by the figures. thus it was perfectly well understood that five hundred or a thousand head of cattle did not necessarily mean real cattle with horns, legs, and tails, actually born in the usual course of nature, purchased for money, and delivered on the reservations, but prospective cattle, that might come into existence and be wanted at some future period. for all the good the indians got of them, it might as well be five hundred or a thousand head of voters, for they no more fed upon beef, as a general thing, than they did upon human flesh. neither was it beyond the capacity of the department to comprehend that traveling expenses on special indian service might just as well mean a trip to the convention at sacramento; that guides and assistants were a very indefinite class of gentlemen of a roving turn of mind; that expenses incurred in visiting wild tribes and settling difficulties among them did not necessarily involve the exclusion of difficulties among the party factions in the legislature. in short, the original purpose of language was so perverted in the official correspondence that it had no more to do with the expression of facts than many of the employés had to do with the indians. the reports and regulations of the department actually bordered on the poetical. it was enough to bring tears into the eyes of any feeling man to read the affecting dissertations that were transmitted to congress on the woes of the red men, and the labors of the public functionaries to meliorate their unhappy condition. faith, hope, and charity abounded in them. "see what we are doing for these poor children of the forest!" was the burden of the song, in a strain worthy the most pathetic flights of mr. pecksniff; "see how faithful we are to our trusts, and how judiciously we expend the appropriations! yet they die off in spite of us--wither away as the leaves of the trees in autumn! let us hope, nevertheless, that the beneficent intentions of congress may yet be realized. we are the guardians of these unfortunate and defenseless beings; they are our wards; it is our duty to take care of them; we can afford to be liberal, and spend a little more money on them. through the judicious efforts of our public functionaries, and the moral influences spread around them, there is reason to believe they will yet embrace civilization and christianity, and become useful members of society." in accordance with these views, the regulations issued by the department were of the most stringent character--encouraging economy, industry, and fidelity; holding all agents and employés to a strict accountability; with here and there some instructive maxim of morality--all of which, upon being translated, meant that politicians are very smart fellows, and it was not possible for them to humbug one another. "do your duty to the indians as far as you can conveniently, and without too great a sacrifice of money; but stand by our friends, and save the party by all means and at all hazards. _verbum sap!_" was the practical construction. when public clamor called attention to these supposed abuses, and it became necessary to make some effective demonstration of honesty, a special agent was directed to examine into the affairs of the service and report the result. it was particularly enjoined upon him to investigate every complaint affecting the integrity of public officers, collect and transmit the proofs of malfeasance, with his own views in the premises, so that every abuse might be uprooted and cast out of the service. decency in official conduct must be respected and the public eye regarded! peremptory measures would be taken to suppress all frauds upon the treasury. it was the sincere desire of the administration to preserve purity and integrity in the public service. from mail to mail, during a period of three years, the agent made his reports; piling up proof upon proof, and covering acres of valuable paper with protests and remonstrances against the policy pursued; racking his brains to do his duty faithfully; subjecting himself to newspaper abuse for neglecting it, because no beneficial result was perceptible, and making enemies as a matter of course. reader, if ever you aspire to official honors, let the fate of that unfortunate agent be a warning to you. he did exactly what he was instructed to do, which was exactly what he was not wanted to do. in order to save time and expense, as well as farther loss of money in the various branches of public service upon which he had reported, other agents were sent out to ascertain if he had told the truth; and when they were forced to admit that he had, there was a good deal of trouble in the wigwam of the great chief. not only did poor yorick incur the hostility of powerful senatorial influences, but by persevering in his error, and insisting that he had told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, he eventually lost the respect and confidence of the "powers that be," together with his official head. i knew him well. he was a fellow of infinite jest. there was something so exquisitely comic in the idea of taking official instructions literally, and carrying them into effect, that he could not resist it. the humor of the thing kept him in a constant chuckle of internal satisfaction; but it was the most serious jest he ever perpetrated, for it cost him, besides the trouble of carrying it out, the loss of a very comfortable per diem. the results of the policy pursued were precisely such as might have been expected. a very large amount of money was annually expended in feeding white men and starving indians. such of the latter as were physically able took advantage of the tickets-of-leave granted them so freely, and left. very few ever remained at these benevolent institutions when there was a possibility of getting any thing to eat in the woods. every year numbers of them perished from neglect and disease, and some from absolute starvation. when it was represented in the official reports that two or three thousand enjoyed the benefit of aid from government within the limits of each district--conveying the idea that they were fed and clothed at public expense--it must have meant that the territory of california originally cost the united states fifteen millions of dollars, and that the nuts and berries upon which the indians subsisted, and the fig-leaves in which they were supposed to be clothed, were embraced within the cessions made by mexico. at all events, it invariably happened, when a visitor appeared on the reservations, that the indians were "out in the mountains gathering nuts and berries." this was the case in spring, summer, autumn, and winter. they certainly possessed a remarkable predilection for staying out a long time. very few of them, indeed, have yet come back. the only difference between the existing state of things and that which existed prior to the inauguration of the system is, that there were then some thousands of indians living within the limits of the districts set apart for reservation purposes, whereas there are now only some hundreds. in the brief period of six years they have been very nearly destroyed by the generosity of government. what neglect, starvation, and disease have not done, has been achieved by the co-operation of the white settlers in the great work of extermination. [illustration: out in the mountains.] no pretext has been wanted, no opportunity lost, whenever it has been deemed necessary to get them out of the way. at nome cult valley, during the winter of -' , more than a hundred and fifty peaceable indians, including women and children, were cruelly slaughtered by the whites who had settled there under official authority, and most of whom derived their support either from actual or indirect connection with the reservation. many of them had been in public employ, and now enjoyed the rewards of their meritorious services. true, a notice was posted up on the trees that the valley was public land reserved for indian purposes, and not open to settlement; but nobody, either in or out of the service, paid any attention to that, as a matter of course. when the indians were informed that it was their home, and were invited there on the pretext that they would be protected, it was very well understood that, as soon as government had spent money enough there to build up a settlement sufficiently strong to maintain itself, they would enjoy very slender chances of protection. it was alleged that they had driven off and eaten private cattle. there were some three or four hundred head of public cattle on the property returns, all supposed to be ranging in the same vicinity; but the private cattle must have been a great deal better, owing to some superior capacity for eating grass. upon an investigation of this charge, made by the officers of the army, it was found to be entirely destitute of truth: a few cattle had been lost, or probably killed by white men, and this was the whole basis of the massacre. armed parties went into the rancherias in open day, when no evil was apprehended, and shot the indians down--weak, harmless, and defenseless as they were--without distinction of age or sex; shot down women with sucking babes at their breasts; killed or crippled the naked children that were running about; and, after they had achieved this brave exploit, appealed to the state government for aid! oh, shame, shame, where is thy blush, that white men should do this with impunity in a civilized country, under the very eyes of an enlightened government! they did it, and they did more! for days, weeks, and months they ranged the hills of nome cult, killing every indian that was too weak to escape; and, what is worse, they did it under a state commission, which in all charity i must believe was issued upon false representations. a more cruel series of outrages than those perpetrated upon the poor indians of nome cult never disgraced a community of white men. the state said the settlers must be protected, and it protected them--protected them from women and children, for the men are too imbecile and too abject to fight. the general government folded its arms and said, "what can we do? we can not chastise the citizens of a state. are we not feeding and clothing the savages, and teaching them to be moral, and is not that as much as the civilized world can ask of us?" at king's river, where there was a public farm maintained at considerable expense, the indians were collected in a body of two or three hundred, and the white settlers, who complained that government would not do any thing for them, drove them over to the agency at the fresno. after an expenditure of some thirty thousand dollars a year for six years, that farm had scarcely produced six blades of grass, and was entirely unable to support over a few dozen indians who had always lived there, and who generally foraged for their own subsistence. the new-comers, therefore, stood a poor chance till the agent purchased from the white settlers, on public account, the acorns which they (the indians) had gathered and laid up for winter use at king's river. notwithstanding the acorns, they were very soon starved out at the fresno, and wandered away to find a subsistance wherever they could. many of them perished of hunger on the plains of the san joaquin. the rest are presumed to be in the mountains gathering berries. at the mattole station, near cape mendocino, a number of indians were murdered on the public farm within a few hundred yards of the head-quarters. the settlers in the valley alleged that government would not support them, or take any care of them; and as settlers were not paid for doing it, they must kill them to get rid of them. at humboldt bay, and in the vicinity, a series of indian massacres by white men continued for over two years. the citizens held public meetings, and protested against the action of the general government in leaving these indians to prowl upon them for a support. it was alleged that the reservations cost two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, and yet nothing was done to relieve the people of this burden. petitions were finally sent to the state authorities asking for the removal of the indians from that vicinity; and the state sent out its militia, killed a good many, and captured a good many others, who were finally carried down to the mendocino reservation. they liked that place so well that they left it very soon, and went back to their old places of resort, preferring a chance of life to the certainty of starvation. during the winter of last year a number of them were gathered at humboldt. the whites thought it was a favorable opportunity to get rid of them altogether. so they went in a body to the indian camp, during the night when the poor wretches were asleep, shot all the men, women, and children they could at the first onslaught, and cut the throats of the remainder. very few escaped. next morning sixty bodies lay weltering in their blood--the old and the young, male and female--with every wound gaping a tale of horror to the civilized world. children climbed upon their mothers' breasts, and sought nourishment from the fountains that death had drained; girls and boys lay here and there with their throats cut from ear to ear; men and women, clinging to each other in their terror, were found perforated with bullets or cut to pieces with knives--all were cruelly murdered! let any one who doubts this read the newspapers of san francisco of that date. it will be found there in its most bloody and tragic details. let them read of the pitt river massacre, and of all the massacres that for the past three years have darkened the records of the state. [illustration: protecting the settlers.] i will do the white people who were engaged in these massacres the justice to say that they were not so much to blame as the general government. they had at least given due warning of their intention. for years they had burdened the mails with complaints of the inefficiency of the agents; they had protested in the newspapers, in public meetings, in every conceivable way, and on every possible occasion, against the impolicy of permitting these indians to roam about the settlements, picking up a subsistence in whatever way they could, when there was a fund of $ , a year appropriated by congress for their removal to and support on the reservations. what were these establishments for? why did they not take charge of the indians? where were the agents? what was done with the money? it was repeatedly represented that, unless something was done, the indians would soon all be killed. they could no longer make a subsistence in their old haunts. the progress of settlement had driven them from place to place till there was no longer a spot on earth they could call their own. their next move could only be into the pacific ocean. if ever an unfortunate people needed a few acres of ground to stand upon, and the poor privilege of making a living for themselves, it was these hapless diggers. as often as they tried the reservations, sad experience taught them that these were institutions for the benefit of white men, not indians. it was wonderful how the employés had prospered on their salaries. they owned fine ranches in the vicinity; in fact, the reservations themselves were pretty much covered with the claims of persons in the service, who thought they would make nice farms for white men. the principal work done was to attend to sheep and cattle speculations, and make shepherds out of the few indians that were left. what did it signify that thirty thousand dollars a year had been expended at the tejon? thirty thousand at the fresno? fifty thousand at nome lackee? ten thousand at nome cult? forty-eight thousand at mendocino? sixteen thousand at the klamath? and some fifty or sixty thousand for miscellaneous purposes? that all this had resulted in the reduction of a hundred thousand indians to about thirty thousand? meritorious services had been rewarded, and a premium in favor of public integrity issued to an admiring world. i am satisfied, from an acquaintance of eleven years with the indians of california, that, had the least care been taken of them, these disgraceful massacres would never have occurred. a more inoffensive and harmless race of beings does not exist on the face of the earth; but, wherever they attempted to procure a subsistence, they were hunted down; driven from the reservations by the instinct of self-preservation; shot down by the settlers upon the most frivolous pretexts; and abandoned to their fate by the only power that could have afforded them protection. this was the result, in plain terms, of the inefficient and discreditable manner in which public affairs were administered by the federal authorities in washington. it was the natural consequence of a corrupt political system, which, for the credit of humanity, it is to be hoped will be abandoned in future so far as the indians are concerned. they have no voice in public affairs. so long as they are permitted to exist, party discipline is a matter of very little moment to them. all they ask is the privilege of breathing the air that god gave to us all, and living in peace wherever it may be convenient to remove them. their history in california is a melancholy record of neglect and cruelty; and the part taken by public men high in position, in wresting from them the very means of subsistence, is one of which any other than professional politicians would be ashamed. for the executive department there is no excuse. there lay the power and the remedy; but a paltry and servile spirit, an abject submission to every shifting influence, an utter absence of that high moral tone which is the characteristic trait of genuine statesmen and patriots, have been the distinguishing features of this branch of our government for some time past. disgusted with their own handiwork; involved in debt throughout the state, after wasting all the money appropriated by congress; the accounts in an inextricable state of confusion; the creditors of the government clamoring to be paid; the "honest yeomanry" turning against the party in power; political affairs entangled beyond remedy; it was admitted to be a very bad business--not at all such as to meet the approval of the administration. the appropriation was cut down to fifty thousand dollars. that would do damage enough. two hundred and fifty thousand a year, for six or seven years, had inflicted sufficient injury upon the poor indians. now it was time to let them alone on fifty thousand, or turn them over to the state. so the end of it is, that the reservations are practically abandoned; the remainder of the indians are being exterminated every day; and the spanish mission system has signally failed. a peep at washoe. chapter i. when i inform the reader that i have scarcely dipped pen in ink for six years save to unravel the mysteries of a treasury voucher; that i have lived chiefly among indians, disbursing agents, and officers of the customs; that i now sit writing in the attic of a german villa more than eight thousand miles from the scene of my adventures, without note or memorandum of any kind to refresh my memory, he will be prepared to make reasonable allowance for such a loose, rambling, and disjointed narrative as an ex-inspector general can be expected to write under such adverse circumstances. if there be inconveniences in being hanged, as the gentle elia has attempted to prove, so likewise are there inconveniences in being decapitated; for surely a man deprived of the casket which nature has given him as a receptacle for his brains is no better off than one with a broken neck. but it is not my present purpose to enter into an analysis of this portion of my experience; nor do i make these references to official life by way of excuse for any rustiness of intellect that may be perceptible in my narrative, but rather in mitigation of those unconscious violations of truth and marvelous flights of fancy which may naturally result from long experience in government affairs. ever since , when i first trod the shores of california, the citizens of that land of promise have been subject to periodical excitements, the extent and variety of which can find no parallel in any other state of the union. to enumerate these in chronological detail would be a difficult task, nor is it necessary to my purpose. the destruction of towns by flood and fire; the uprisings and downfallings of vigilance committees; the breaking of banking-houses and pecuniary ruin of thousands; the political wars, senatorial tournaments, duels, and personal affrays; the prison and bulkhead schemes; the extraordinary ovations to the living and the dead, and innumerable other excitements, have been too frequently detailed, and have elicited too much comment from the atlantic press not to be still in the memory of the public. but, numerous as these agitations have been, and prejudicial as some of them must long continue to be to the reputation of the state, they can bear no comparison in point of extent and general interest to the mining excitements which from time to time have convulsed the whole pacific coast, from puget's sound to san diego. in these there can be no occasion for party animosity; they are confined to no political or sectional clique; all the industrial classes are interested, and in a manner, too, affecting, either directly or incidentally, their very means of subsistence. the country abounds in mineral wealth, and the merchant, the banker, the shipper, the mechanic, the laborer, are all, to some extent, dependent upon its development. even the gentleman of elegant leisure, vulgarly known as the "bummer"--and there are many in california--is occasionally driven by visions of cocktail and cigar-money to doff his "stove-pipe," and exchange his gold-mounted cane for a pick or a shovel. the axiom has been well established by an eminent english writer that "every man wants a thousand pounds." it seems, indeed, to be a chronic and constitutional want, as well in california as in less favored countries. [illustration: the bummer.] few of the early residents of the state can have forgotten the gold bluff excitement of ' , when, by all accounts, old ocean himself turned miner, and washed up cartloads of gold on the beach above trinidad. it was represented, and generally believed, that any enterprising man could take his hat and a wheelbarrow, and in half an hour gather up gold enough to last him for life. i have reason to suspect that, of the thousands who went there, many will long remember their experience with emotions, if pleasant, "yet mournful to the soul." [illustration: going to kern river.] the kern river excitement threatened for a time to depopulate the northern portion of the state. the stages from marysville and sacramento were crowded day after day, and new lines were established from los angeles, stockton, san josé, and various other points; but such was the pressure of travel in search of this grand depository, in which it was represented the main wealth of the world had been treasured by a beneficent providence, that thousands were compelled to go on foot, and carry their blankets and provisions on their backs. from stockton to the mining district, a distance of more than three hundred miles, the plains of the san joaquin were literally speckled with "honest miners." it is a notable fact, that of those who went in stages, the majority returned on foot; and of those who trusted originally to shoe-leather, many had to walk back on their natural soles, or depend on sackcloth or charity. [illustration: returning from the kern river.] after the kern river exchequer had been exhausted, the public were congratulated by the press throughout the state upon the effectual check now put upon these ruinous and extravagant excitements. the enterprising miners who had been tempted to abandon good claims in search of better had undergone a species of purging which would allay any irritation of the mucous membrane for some time. what they had lost in money they had gained in experience. they would henceforth turn a deaf ear to interested representations, and not be dazzled by visions of sudden wealth conjured up by monte-dealers, travelers, and horse-jockeys. they were, on the whole, wiser if not happier men. nor would the lesson be lost to the merchants and capitalists who had scattered their goods and their funds over the picturesque heights of the sierra nevada. and even the gentlemen of elegant leisure, who had gone off so suddenly in search of small change for liquors and cigars, could now recuperate their exhausted energies at the free lunch establishments of san francisco, or, if too far gone in seed for that, they could regenerate their muscular system by some wholesome exercise in the old diggings, where there was not so much gold perhaps as at kern river, but where it could be got at more easily. [illustration: ho! for frazer river.] scarcely had the reverberation caused by the bursting of the kern river bubble died away, and fortune again smiled upon the ruined multitudes, when a faint cry was heard from afar--first low and uncertain, like a mysterious whisper, then full and sonorous, like the boom of glad tidings from the mouth of a cannon, the inspiring cry of frazer river! here was gold sure enough! a river of gold! a country that dazzled the eyes with its glitter of gold! there was no deception about it this time. new caledonia was the land of ophir. true, it was in the british possessions, but what of that? the people of california would develop the british possessions. had our claim to ° ´ been insisted upon, this immense treasure would now have been within our own boundaries; but no matter--it was ours by right of proximity. the problem of solomon's temple was now solved. travelers, from marco polo down to the present era, who had attempted to find the true land of ophir, had signally failed; but here it was, the exact locality, beyond peradventure. for where else in the world could the river-beds, creeks, and cañons be lined with gold? where else could the honest miner "pan out" $ per day every day in the year? but if any who had been rendered incredulous by former excitements still doubted, they could no longer discredit the statements that were brought down by every steamer, accompanied by positive and palpable specimens of the ore, and by the assurances of captains, pursers, mates, cooks, and waiters, that frazer river was the country. to be sure, it was afterward hinted that the best part of the gold brought down from frazer had made the round voyage from san francisco; but i consider this a gross and unwarranted imputation upon the integrity of steam-boat owners, captains, and speculators. did not the famous commodore wright take the matter in hand; put his best steamers on the route; hoist his banners and placards in every direction, and give every man a chance of testing the question in person? this was establishing the existence of immense mineral wealth in that region upon a firm and practical basis. no man of judgment and experience, like the commodore, would undertake to run his steamers on "the baseless fabric of a vision." the cheapness and variety of his rates afforded every man an opportunity of making a fortune. for thirty, twenty, and even fifteen dollars, the ambitious aspirant for frazer could be landed at victoria. i will not now undertake to give a detail of that memorable excitement; how the stages, north, south, east, and, i had almost said, west, were crowded day and night with scores upon scores of sturdy adventurers; how farms were abandoned and crops lost for want of hands to work them; how rich claims in the old diggings were given away for a song; how the wharves of san francisco groaned under the pressure of the human freight delivered upon them on every arrival of the sacramento and stockton boats; how it was often impracticable to get through the streets in that vicinity owing to the crowds gathered around the "runners," who cried aloud the merits and demerits of the rival steamers; and, strangest of all, how the head and front of the frazerites were the very men who had enjoyed such pleasant experience at gold bluff, kern river, and other places famous in the history of california. no sensible man could doubt the richness of frazer river when these veterans became leaders, and called upon the masses to follow. they were not a class of men likely to be deceived--they knew the signs of the times. and, in addition to all this, who could resist the judgment and experience of commodore wright, a man who had made an independent fortune in the steam-boat business? who could be deaf when assayers, bankers, jobbers, and speculators cried aloud that it was all true? well, i am not going to moralize. mr. nugent was appointed a commissioner, on the part of the united states, to settle the various difficulties which had grown up between the miners and governor douglass. he arrived at victoria in time to perform signal service to his fellow-citizens; that is to say, he found many of them in a state of starvation, and sent them back to california at public expense. frazer river, always too high for mining purposes, could not be prevailed upon to subside. its banks were not banks of issue, nor were its beds stuffed with the feathers of the golden goose. had it not been for this turn of affairs, it is difficult to say what would have been the result. the british lion had been slumbering undisturbed at victoria for half a century, and was very much astonished, upon waking up, to find thirty thousand semi-barbarous californians scattered broadcast over the british possessions. governor douglass issued manifestoes in vain. he evidently thought it no joke. the subject eventually became a matter of diplomatic correspondence, in which much ink was shed, but fortunately no blood, although the subsequent seizure of san juan by general harney came very near producing that result. [illustration: returned from frazer river.] the steamers, in due course of time, began to return crowded with enterprising miners, who still believed there was gold there if the river would only fall. but generosity dictates that i should say no more on this point. it is enough to add, that the time arrived when it became a matter of personal offense to ask any spirited gentleman if he had been to frazer river. there was now, of course, an end to all mining excitements. it could never again happen that such an imposition could be practiced upon public credulity. in the whole state there was not another sheep that could be gulled by the cry of wolf. business would now resume its steady and legitimate course. property would cease to fluctuate in value. every branch of industry would become fixed upon a permanent and reliable basis. all these excitements were the natural results of the daring and enterprising character of the people. but now, having worked off their superabundant steam, they would be prepared to go ahead systematically, and develop those resources which they had hitherto neglected. it was a course of medical effervescence highly beneficial to the body politic. all morbid appetite for sudden wealth was now gone forever. but softly, good friends! what rumor is this? whence come these silvery strains that are wafted to our ears from the passes of the sierra nevada? what dulcet Æolian harmonies--what divine, enchanting ravishment is it "that with these raptures moves the vocal air?" as i live, it is a cry of silver! silver in washoe! not gold now, you silly men of gold bluff; you kern riverites; you daring explorers of british columbia! but silver--solid, pure silver! beds of it ten thousand feet deep! acres of it! miles of it! hundreds of millions of dollars poking their backs up out of the earth ready to be pocketed! do you speak of the mines of potosi or golconda? do you dare to quote the learned baron von tschudi on south america and mexico? do you refer me to the ransom of atahualpa, the unfortunate inca, in the days of pizarro? nothing at all, i assure you, to the silver mines of washoe! "sir," said my informant to me, in strict confidence, no later than this morning, "you may rely upon it, for i am personally acquainted with a brother of the gentleman whose most intimate friend saw the man whose partner has just come over the mountains, and he says there never was the like on the face of the earth! the ledges are ten thousand feet deep--solid masses of silver. let us be off! now is the time! a pack-mule, pick and shovel, hammer and frying-pan will do. you need nothing more. hurrah for washoe!" kind and sympathizing reader, imagine a man who for six years had faithfully served his government and his country; who had never, if he knew himself intimately, embezzled a dollar of the public funds; who had resisted the seductive influences of gold bluff, kern, and frazer rivers from the purest motives of patriotism; who scorned to abandon his post in search of filthy lucre--imagine such a personage cut short in his official career, and suddenly bereft of his per diem by a formal and sarcastic note of three lines from head-quarters; then fancy you hear him jingle the last of his federal emoluments in his pocket, and sigh at the ingratitude of republics. would you not consider him open to any proposition short of murder or highway robbery? would you be surprised if he accepted an invitation from mr. wise, the aeronaut, to take a voyage in a balloon? or the berth of assistant manager in a diving-bell? or joined the first expedition in search of the treasure buried by the spanish galleon on her voyage to acapulco in ? then consider his position, as he stands musing upon the mutability of human affairs, when those strange and inspiring cries of washoe fall upon his ears for the first time, with a realizing sense of their import. borne on the wings of the wind from the sierra nevada; wafted through every street, lane, and alley of san francisco; whirling around the drinking saloons, eddying over the counters of the banking offices, scattering up the dust among the front street merchants, arousing the slumbering inmates of the custom-house--what man of enterprise could resist it? washoe! the comstock lead! the ophir! the central--the billy choller companies, and a thousand others, indicating in trumpet-tones the high road to fortune! from the crack of day to the shades of night nothing is heard but washoe. the steady men of san francisco are aroused, the men of front street, the gunny-bag men, the brokers, the gamblers, the butchers, the bakers, the whisky-dealers, the lawyers, and all. the exception was to find a sane man in the entire city. [illustration: hurrah for washoe.] no wonder the abstracted personage already referred to was aroused from his gloomy reflections. a friend appealed to him to go to washoe. the friend was interested there, but could not go himself. it was a matter of incalculable importance. millions were involved in it. he (the friend) would pay expenses. the business would not occupy a week, and would not interfere with any other business. chapter ii. start for washoe. next day an advertisement appeared in the city papers respectfully inviting the public to commit their claims and investments to the hands of their fellow-citizen, mr. yusef badra, whose long experience in government affairs eminently qualified him to undertake the task of geological research. he was especially prepared to determine the exact amount of silver contained in fossils. it would afford him pleasure to be of service to his friends and fellow-citizens. the public would be so kind as to address mr. badra, at carson city, territory of utah. this looked like business on an extensive scale. it read like business of a scientific character. it was a card drawn up with skill, and calculated to attract attention. i am proud to acknowledge that i am the author, and, furthermore (if you will consider the information confidential), that i am the identical agent referred to. [illustration: the agency.] many good friends shook their heads when i announced my intention of visiting washoe, and, although they designed going themselves as soon as the snow was melted from the mountains, they could not understand how a person who had so long retained his faculties unimpaired could give up a lucrative government office and engage in such a wild-goose chase as that. little did they know of the brief but irritating document which i carried in my pocket, and for which i am determined some day or other to write a satire against our system of government. i bade them a kindly farewell, and on a fine evening, toward the latter part of march, took my departure for sacramento, there to take the stage for placerville, and from that point as fortune might direct. my stock in trade consisted of two pair of blankets, a spare shirt, a plug of tobacco, a note-book, and a paint-box. on my arrival in placerville i found the whole town in commotion. there was not an animal to be had at any of the stables without applying three days in advance. the stage for strawberry had made its last trip in consequence of the bad condition of the road. every hotel and restaurant was full to overflowing. the streets were blocked up with crowds of adventurers all bound for washoe. the gambling and drinking saloons were crammed to suffocation with customers practicing for washoe. the clothing stores were covered with placards offering to sell goods at ruinous sacrifices to washoe miners. the forwarding houses and express offices were overflowing with goods and packages marked for washoe. the grocery stores were making up boxes, bags, and bundles of groceries for the washoe trade. the stables were constantly starting off passenger and pack trains for washoe. mexican _vaqueros_ were driving headstrong mules through the streets on the road to washoe. the newspapers were full of washoe. in short, there was nothing but washoe to be seen, heard, or thought of. every arrival from the mountains confirmed the glad tidings that enormous quantities of silver were being discovered daily in washoe. any man who wanted a fortune needed only to go over there and pick it up. there was jack smith, who made ten thousand dollars the other day at a single trade; and tom jenkins, twenty thousand by right of discovery; and bill brown, forty thousand in the tavern business, and so on. every body was getting rich "hand over fist." it was the place for fortunes. no man could go amiss. i was in search of just such a place. it suited me to find a fortune ready made. like professor agassiz, i could not afford to make money, but it would be no inconvenience to draw a check on the great washoe depository for fifty thousand dollars or so, and proceed on my travels. i would visit japan, ascend the amoor river, traverse tartary, spend a few weeks in siberia, rest a day or so at st. petersburg, cross through russia to the black sea, visit persia, nineveh, and bagdad, and wind up somewhere in italy. i even began to look about the bar-rooms for a map in order to lay out the route more definitely, but the only map to be seen was de groot's outline of the route from placerville to washoe. i went to bed rather tired after the excitement of the day, and somewhat surfeited with washoe. presently i heard a tap at the door; a head was popped through the opening: "i say, cap!" "well, what do you say?" "are you the man that can't get a animal for washoe?" "yes; have you got one to sell or hire?" "no, i hain't got one myself, but me and my pardner is going to walk there, and if you like you can jine our party." "thank you; i have a friend who is going with me, but i shall be very glad to have more company." "all right, cap; good-night." the door was closed, but presently opened again: "i say, cap!" "what now?" "do you believe in washoe?" "of course; why not?" "well, i suppose it's all right. good-night; i'm in." and my new friend left me to my slumbers. [illustration: "i say, cap!"] but who could slumber in such a bedlam, where scores and hundreds of crack-brained people kept rushing up and down the passage all night, in and out of every room, banging the doors after them, calling for boots, carpet sacks, cards, cocktails, and toddies; while amid the ceaseless din arose ever and anon that potent cry of "washoe!" which had unsettled every brain. i turned over and over for the fiftieth time, and at length fell into an uneasy doze. a mountain seemed to rise before me. millions of rats with human faces were climbing up its sides, some burrowing into holes, some rolling down into bottomless pits, but all labeled washoe. soon the mountain began to shake its sides with suppressed laughter, and out of a volcano on the top burst sheets of flame, through which jumped ten thousand grotesque figures in the shape of dollars with spider legs, shrieking with all their might, "washoe! ho! ho! washoe! ho! ho!" [illustration] surely the sounds were wonderfully real. tap, tap, at the door. "i say, cap!" "well, what is it?" "'bout time to get up, if you calklate to make pete's ranch to-night." so i got up, and, after a cup of coffee, took a ramble on the heights, where i was amply compensated for my loss of rest by the richness and beauty of the sunrise. it was still early spring; the hills were covered with verdure; flowers bloomed in all directions; pleasant little cottages, scattered here and there, gave a civilized aspect to the scene; and when i looked over the busy town, and heard the lively rattle of stages, wagons, and buggies, and saw the long pack-trains winding their way up the mountains, i felt proud of california and her people. there is not a prettier little town in the state than placerville, and certainly not a better class of people any where than her thriving inhabitants. they seemed, indeed, to be so well satisfied with their own mining prospects that they were the least excited of the crowd on the subject of the new discoveries. the impulse given to business in the town, however, was well calculated to afford them satisfaction. this was the last dépôt of trade on the way to washoe. my excellent friend dan gelwicks, of the _mountain democrat_, assured me that he was perfectly satisfied to spend the remainder of his days in placerville. who that has ever visited the mountains, or attended a political convention in sacramento, does not know the immortal "dan"--the truest, best-hearted, handsomest fellow in existence; the very cream and essence of a country editor; who dresses as he pleases, chews tobacco when he pleases, writes tremendous political philippics, knows every body, trusts every body, sets up his own editorials, and on occasions stands ready to do the job and press work! i am indebted to "dan" for the free use of his sanctum; and in consideration of his kindness and hospitality, do hereby transfer to him all my right, title, and interest in the roaring jack claim, wild-cat ledge, devil's gate, which by this time must be worth ten thousand dollars a foot. before we were quite ready to start our party had increased to five; but as each had to purchase a knife, tin cup, pound of cheese, or some other article of luxury, it was ten o'clock before we got fairly under way. and here i must say that, although our appearance as we passed along the main street of placerville elicited no higher token of admiration than "go it, washoe!" such a party, habited and accoutred as we were, would have made a profound sensation in hyde park, london, or even on broadway, new york. [illustration: "go it, washoe."] the road was in good condition, barring a little mud in the neighborhood of "hangtown;" and the day was exceedingly bright and pleasant. as i ascended the first considerable elevation in the succession of heights which extend all the way for a distance of fifty miles to the summit of the sierra nevada, and cast a look back over the foot-hills, a more glorious scene of gigantic forests, open valleys, and winding streams seldom greeted my vision. the air was singularly pure and bracing; every draught of it was equal to a glass of sparkling champagne. at intervals, varying from fifty yards to half a mile, streams of water of crystal clearness and icy coolness burst from the mountain sides, making a pleasant music as they crossed the road. whether the day was uncommonly warm, or the exercise rather heating, or the packs very heavy, it was beyond doubt some of the party were afflicted with a chronic thirst, for they stopped to drink at every spring and rivulet on the way, giving rise to a suspicion in my mind that they had not been much accustomed to that wholesome beverage of late. this suspicion was strengthened by a mysterious circumstance. i had lagged behind at a turn of the road to adjust my pack, when i was approached by the unique personage whose head in the doorway had startled me the night before. "i say, cap!" at the same time pulling from the folds of his blanket a dangerous-looking "pocket pistol," he put the muzzle to his mouth, and discharged the main portion of the contents down his throat. "what d'ye say, cap?" now i claim to be under no legal obligation to state what i said or did on that occasion; but this much i am willing to avow, that upon resuming our journey there was a glorious sense of freedom and independence in our adventurous mode of life. the fresh air, odorous with the scent of pine forests and wild flowers; the craggy rocks overhung with the grape and the morning-glory; the merry shouts of the mexican _vaqueros_, mingled with the wild dashing of the river down the cañon on our right; the free exercise of every muscle; the consciousness of exemption from all farther restraints of office, were absolutely inspiring. i think a lyrical poem would not have exceeded my powers on that occasion. every faculty seemed invigorated to the highest pitch of perfection. hang the dignity of office! a murrain upon party politicians and inspector generals! to the bottomless pit with all vouchers, abstracts, and accounts current! i scorn that meagre and brainless style of the heads of the executive departments, "sir,--your services are no longer--" what dunce could not write a more copious letter than that? who would be a slave when all nature calls upon him in trumpet tones to be free? who would sell his birthright for a mess of pottage when he could lead the life of an honest miner--earn his bread by the sweat of his brow--breathe the fresh air of heaven without stint or limit? and of all miners in the world, who would not be a washoe miner? beyond question, this was a condition of mind to be envied and admired; and, notwithstanding the two pair of heavy blankets on my back, and a stiff pair of boots on my feet that galled my ankles most grievously, i really felt lighter and brighter than for years past. nor did it seem surprising to me then that so many restless men should abandon the haunts of civilization, and seek variety and freedom in the wilderness of rugged mountains comprising the mining districts of the sierra nevada. the life of the miner is one of labor, peril, and exposure; but it possesses the fascinating element of liberty, and the promise of unlimited reward. in the midst of privations, amounting, at times, to the verge of starvation, what glowing visions fill the mind of the toiling adventurer! richer in anticipation than the richest of his fellow-beings, he builds golden palaces, and scatters them over the world with a princely hand. he may not be a man of imagination; but in the secret depths of his soul there is a latent hope that some day or other he will strike a "lead," and who knows but it may be a solid mountain of gold, spangled with diamonds? [illustration: the pocket pistol.] the road from placerville to strawberry flat is for the most part graded, and no doubt is a very good road in summer; but it would be a violation of conscience to recommend it in the month of april. the melting of the accumulated snows of the past winter had partially washed it away, and what remained was deeply furrowed by the innumerable streams that sought an outlet in the ravines. in many places it seemed absolutely impracticable for wheeled vehicles; but it is an article of faith with california teamsters that wherever a horse can go a wagon can follow. there were some exceptions to this rule, however, for the road was literally lined with broken-down stages, wagons, and carts, presenting every variety of aspect, from the general smash-up to the ordinary capsize. wheels had taken rectangular cuts to the bottom; broken tongues projected from the mud; loads of dry-goods and whisky-barrels lay wallowing in the general wreck of matter; stout beams cut from the road-side were scattered here and there, having served in vain efforts to extricate the wagons from the oozy mire. occasionally these patches of bad road extended for miles, and here the scenes were stirring in the highest degree. whole trains of pack-mules struggled frantically to make the transit from one dry point to another; "burros," heavily laden, were frequently buried up to the neck, and had to be hauled out by main force. now and then an enterprising mule would emerge from the mud, and, by attempting to keep the edge of the road, lose his foothold, and go rolling to the bottom of the cañon, pack and all. amid the confusion worse confounded, the cries and maledictions of the _vaqueros_ were perfectly overwhelming; but when the mules stuck fast in the mud, and it became necessary to unpack them, then it was that the _vaqueros_ shone out most luminously. they shouted, swore, beat the mules, kicked them, pulled them, pushed them, swore again; and when all these resources failed, tore their hair, and resorted to prayer and meditation. (opposite is a faint attempt at the _vaquero_ sliding-scale.) [illustration: california stage-driver.] it will doubtless be a consolation to some of these unhappy _vaqueros_ to know that such of their mules as they failed to extricate from the mud during the winter may, during the approaching summer, find their way out through the cracks. should any future traveler be overtaken by thirst, and see a pair of ears growing out of the road, he will be safe in digging there, for underneath stands a mule, and on the back of that mule is a barrel of whisky. [illustration: whisky below.] owing to repeated stoppages on the way, night overtook us at a place called "dirty mike's." here we found a ruinously dilapidated frame shanty, the bar, of course, being the main feature. next to the bar was the public bedroom, in which there was every accommodation except beds, bedding, chairs, tables, and washstands; that is to say, there was a piece of looking-glass nailed against the window-frame, and the general comb and tooth-brush hanging by strings from a neighboring post. a very good supper of pork and beans, fried potatoes, and coffee, was served up for us on very dirty plates, by mike's cook; and after doing it ample justice, we turned in on our blankets and slept soundly till morning. it was much in favor of our landlord that he charged us only double the customary price. i would cheerfully give him a recommendation if he would only wash his face and his plates once or twice a week. [illustration: carambo!--caraja--sacramento!--santa maria!--diavolo!] the ascent of the mountains is gradual and continuous the entire distance to strawberry. after the first day's journey there is but little variety in the scenery. on the right, a fork of the american river plunges down through a winding cañon, its force and volume augmented at short intervals by numerous smaller streams that cross the road, and by others from the opposite side. thick forests of pine loom up on each side, their tops obscuring the sky. a few patches of snow lay along our route on the first day, but on the second snow was visible on both sides of the cañon. the succession of scenes along the road afforded us constant entertainment. in every gulch and ravine a tavern was in process of erection. scarcely a foot of ground upon which man or beast could find a foothold was exempt from a claim. there were even bars with liquors, offering a tempting place of refreshment to the weary traveler where no vestige of a house was yet perceptible. board and lodging signs over tents not more than ten feet square were as common as blackberries in june; and on no part of the road was there the least chance of suffering from the want of whisky, dry-goods, or cigars. [illustration: board and lodging.] an almost continuous string of washoeites stretched "like a great snake dragging its slow length along" as far as the eye could reach. in the course of this day's tramp we passed parties of every description and color: irishmen, wheeling their blankets, provisions, and mining implements on wheel-barrows; american, french, and german foot-passengers, leading heavily-laden horses, or carrying their packs on their backs, and their picks and shovels slung across their shoulders; mexicans, driving long trains of pack-mules, and swearing fearfully, as usual, to keep them in order; dapper-looking gentlemen, apparently from san francisco, mounted on fancy horses; women, in men's clothes, mounted on mules or "burros;" pike county specimens, seated on piles of furniture and goods in great lumbering wagons; whisky-peddlers, with their bar-fixtures and whisky on mule-back, stopping now and then to quench the thirst of the toiling multitude; organ-grinders, carrying their organs; drovers, riding, raving, and tearing away frantically through the brush after droves of self-willed cattle designed for the shambles; in short, every imaginable class, and every possible species of industry, was represented in this moving pageant. it was a striking and impressive spectacle to see, in full competition with youth and strength, the most pitiable specimens of age and decay--white-haired old men, gasping for breath as they dragged their palsied limbs after them in the exciting race of avarice; cripples and hunchbacks; even sick men from their beds--all stark mad for silver. but the tide was not setting entirely in the direction of carson valley. a counter-current opposed our progress in the shape of saddle-trains without riders, long lines of pack-mules laden with silver ore, scattering parties of weather-beaten and foot-sore pedestrians, bearing their hard experience in their faces, and solitary stragglers, of all ages and degrees, mounted on skeleton horses, or toiling wearily homeward on foot--some merry, some sad, some eagerly intent on farther speculation, but all bearing the unmistakable impress of washoe. among the latter, a lank, leathery-looking fellow, doubtless from the land of wooden nutmegs, was shambling along through the mud, talking to himself apparently for want of more congenial fellowship. i was about to pass him, when he arrested my attention: "look here, stranger!" i looked. "you're bound for washoe, i reckon?" i was bound for washoe. "what line of business be you goin' into there?" was not quite certain, but thought it would be the agency line. [illustration: grindstones.] "ho! the agency line--stage-agent, maybe? burche's line, i guess?" that was not it exactly; but no matter. perhaps i could do something for him in washoe. "nothing, stranger, except to keep dark. do you know the price of grindstones in placerville?" i didn't know the price of grindstones in placerville, but supposed they might be cheap, as there were plenty there. "that's my hand exactly!" said my friend, with an inward chuckle of satisfaction. i expressed some curiosity to know in what respect the matter of grindstones suited his hand so well, when, looking cautiously around, he drew near, and informed me confidentially that he had struck a "good thing" in washoe. he had only been there a month, and had made a considerable pile. there was a dreadful scarcity of grindstones there, and, seeing that miners, carpenters, and mechanics of all sorts were hard up for something to sharpen their tools on, he had secured the only grindstone that could be had, which was pretty well used up when he got it. but he rigged it up ship-shape and bristol fashion, and set up a grinding business, which brought him in from twenty to thirty dollars a day, till nothing was left of the stone. now he was bound to placerville in search of a good one, with which he intended to return immediately. i wished him luck and proceeded on my way, wondering what would turn up next. it was not long before i was stopped by another enterprising personage; but this was altogether a different style of man. there was something brisk and spruce in his appearance, in spite of a shirt far gone in rags and a shock of hair that had long been a stranger to the scissors. what region of country he came from it was impossible to say. i think he was a cosmopolite, and belonged to the world generally. "say, colonel!"--this was his style of address--"on the way to washoe?" [illustration: a speculator.] "yes." "excuse me: i have a little list of claims here, colonel, which i would like to show you;" and he pulled from his shirt-pocket a greasy package of papers, which he dexterously unfolded. "guess you're from san francisco, colonel? here is--let me see-- feet in the pine nut, feet in the grizzly ledge, feet in the gouge eye, feet in the wild-cat, feet in the root-hog-or-die, feet in the bobtail horse, feet in the hell roaring; and many others, colonel, in the best leads. now the fact is, d'ye see, i'm a little hard up, and want to make a raise. i'll sell all, or a part, at a considerable sacrifice for a small amount of ready cash." "how much do you want?" "why, if i could raise twenty dollars or so, it would answer my present purpose; i'll sell you twenty feet in any of these claims for that amount. every foot of them is worth a thousand dollars; but, d'ye see, they're not yet developed." circumstances forced me to decline this offer, much to the disgust of the enterprising speculator in claims, who assured me i might go farther and fare worse; but somehow the names did not strike me as attractive in a mineral point of view. i had by this time lost the run of all my comrades, and was obliged to pursue my journey alone. three had gone ahead, and the other was nearly used up. the day had opened fairly, but now there were indications of bad weather. it was quite dark when i reached a small shanty about four miles from strawberry. here i halted till my remaining comrade came up. the proprietor of the shanty was going into the tavern business, and was engaged in building a large clapboard house. his men were all at supper, and in reply to our application for lodgings, he told us we might sleep in the calf-pen if we liked, but there was no room in the house. he could give us something to eat after his workmen were done supper, but not before. he had brandy and gin, but no tea to spare. on the whole, he thought we had better go on to strawberry. now this was encouraging. it was already pattering down rain, and the calf-pen to which he directed us was knee-deep in mud and manure, without roof or shelter of any kind. even the unfortunate progeny of the old cow, which ran bellowing around the fence, in motherly solicitude for her offspring, shivered with cold, and made piteous appeals to this hard-hearted man. i finally bribed him, by means of a gold dollar, to let us have a small piece of bread and a few swallows of tea. thus refreshed, we resumed our journey. four miles more of slush and snow, up hill nearly all the way, across rickety bridges, over roaring cataracts, slippery rocks, stumps, and brush, through acres of black oozy mire, and so dark a bat could scarcely recognize his own father! it was a walk to be remembered. the man in the shanty, if he possess a spark of humanity, will, i trust, feel bitterly mortified when he reads this article. he caused me some gloomy reflections upon human nature, which have been a constant source of repentance ever since. but consider the provocation. the rain poured down heavily, mingled with a cutting sleet; a doleful wind came moaning through the pines; our blankets were wet through, and not a stitch upon our backs left dry; even my spare shirt was soaking the strength out of the plug of tobacco so carefully stowed away in its folds, and my paints were giving it what aid they could in the way of color. well, there is an end to all misery upon earth, and so there was to this day's walk. a light at length glimmered through the pines, first faint and flickering, then a full blaze, then half a dozen brilliant lights, which proved to be camp-fires under the trees, and soon we stood in front of a large and substantial log house. this was the famous "strawberry," known throughout the length and breadth of the land as the best stopping-place on the route to washoe, and the last station before crossing the summit of the sierra nevada. the winter road for wheel-vehicles here ended; and, indeed, it may be said to have ended some distance below, for the last twelve miles of the road seemed utterly impracticable for wagons. at least, most of those i saw were fast in the mud, and likely to remain there till the beginning of summer. dark and rainy as it was, there were crowds scattered around the house, as if they had some secret and positive enjoyment in the contemplation of the weather. edging our way through, we found the bar-room packed as closely as it could be without bursting out some of the walls; and of all the motley gangs that ever happened together within a space of twenty feet, this certainly was the most extraordinary and the most motley. dilapidated gentlemen with slouched hats and big boots, jew peddlers dripping wet, red-shirted miners, teamsters, vaqueros, packers, and traders, swearing horribly at nothing; some drinking at the bar, some warming themselves before a tremendous log fire that sent up a reeking steam from the conglomerated mass of wet and muddy clothes, to say nothing of the boots and socks that lay simmering near the coals. a few bare and sore footed outcasts crouched down in the corners, trying to catch a nap, and here and there a returned washoeite, describing in graphic language, garnished with oaths, the wonders and beauties of virginia city. but chiefly remarkable in the crowd was the regiment of light infantry, pressed in double file against the dining-room door, awaiting the fourth or fifth charge at the table. [illustration: dinner at strawberry.] at the first tinkle of the bell the door was burst open with a tremendous crash, and for a moment no battle-scene in waterloo, no charge at resaca de la palma or the heights of chapultepec, no crimean avalanche of troops dealing death and destruction around them, could have equaled the terrific onslaught of the gallant troops of strawberry. the whole house actually tottered and trembled at the concussion, as if shaken by an earthquake. long before the main body had assaulted the table the din of arms was heard above the general uproar; the deafening clatter of plates, knives, and forks, and the dreadful battle-cry of "waiter! waiter! pork and beans! coffee, waiter! beefsteak! sausages! potatoes! ham and eggs--quick, waiter, for god's sake!" it was a scene of destruction and carnage long to be remembered. i had never before witnessed a battle, but i now understood how men could become maddened by the smell of blood. when the table was vacated it presented a shocking scene of desolation. whole dishes were swept of their contents; coffee-pots were discharged to the dregs; knives, forks, plates, and spoons lay in a confused mass among the bones and mutilated remnants of the dead; chunks of bread and hot biscuit were scattered broadcast, and mince-pies were gored into fragments; tea-cups and saucers were capsized; and the waiters, hot, red, and steamy, were panting and swearing after their superhuman labors. half an hour more and the battle-field was again cleared for action. this was the sixth assault committed during the evening; but it was none the less terrible on that account. inspired by hunger, i joined the army of invaders this time, and by gigantic efforts of strength maintained an honorable position in the ranks. as the bell sounded, we broke! i fixed my eye on a chair, rushed through the struggling mass, threw out my hands frantically to seize it, but, alas! it was already captured. a dark-visaged man, who looked as if he carried concealed weapons on his person, was seated in it, shouting hoarsely the battle-cry of "pork and beans! waiter! coffee, waiter!" up and down the table it was one gulping mass, jaws distended, arms stretched out, knives, forks, and even the bare hands plunged into the enemy. not a spot was vacant. i venture to assert that from the commencement of the assault till the capture and complete investment of the fortifications did not exceed five seconds. the storming of the malakoff and the fall of sebastopol could no longer claim a place in history. at length fortune favored the brave. i got a seat at the next onslaught, and took ample satisfaction for the delay by devouring such a meal as none but a hardy washoeite could be expected to digest. pork and beans, cabbage, beef-steak, sausages, pies, tarts, coffee and tea, eggs, etc.--these were only a few of the luxuries furnished by the enterprising proprietor of the "strawberry." may every blessing attend that great benefactor of mankind! i say it in all sincerity; he is a great and good man, a websterian innkeeper, for he thoroughly understands the constitution. i would give honorable mention to his name if i knew it; but it matters not; his house so far surpasses the metropolitan or the st. nicholas that there is no comparison in the relish with which the food is devoured. in respect to sleeping accommodations there may be some difference in their favor. i was too late to secure a bed in the general bedroom up stairs, where two hundred and fifty tired wayfarers were already snoring in double-shotted bunks × ; but the landlord was a man of inexhaustible resources. a private whisper in his ear made him a friend forever. he nodded sagaciously, and led me into a small parlor about × , in which he gave my company of five what he called a "lay-out," that is to say, a lay-out on the floor, with our own blankets for beds and covering. this was a special favor, and i would have cherished it in my memory for years had not a suspicion been aroused in my mind before the lapse of half an hour that there were others in the confidence of mine host. scarcely had i entered upon the first nap when somebody undertook to walk upon me, commencing on my head and ending on the pit of my stomach. i grasped him firmly by the leg. he apologized at once in the most abject manner; and well for him he did, for it was enough to incense any man to be suddenly roused up in that manner. the intruder, i discovered, was a jew peddler. he offered me a cigar, which i smoked in token of amity; and in the mean time he turned in alongside and smoked another. when daylight broke i cast around me to see what every body was doing to create such a general commotion. i perceived that there were about forty sleepers, all getting up. boots strongly scented with feet, and stockings of every possible degree of odor, were lying loose in all directions; blankets, packs, old clothes, and ragged shirts, and i don't know what all--a palpable violation of the landlord's implied compact. true, he had not agreed to furnish a single bed for five, but he never hinted that he was going to put forty men, of all sorts and sizes, in the same general "lay-out," as he was pleased to style it, and that only large enough for half the number. once, in minnesota, i slept in a bed with eight, and gave considerable offense to my landlord when i remonstrated against his putting in a ninth. he said he liked to see a man "accommodating"--a reflection upon my good-nature which i considered wholly unwarranted by the circumstances. but this was even a stronger case. [illustration: the "lay out."] the jew peddler had not undressed, and, not to judge him harshly, i don't think he ever did undress. he was soon up, and left, as i suppose, while i was dressing. with him departed my stockings. they were not very fine--perhaps, considering the muddy road, not very clean; but they were all i had, and were valuable beyond gold or silver in this foot-weary land. i never saw them more. what aggravated the offense, when i came to review it seriously, was, that i remembered having seen him draw just such a pair over his boots, as a protection against the snow, without the remotest suspicion of the great wrong he was doing me. [illustration: the stocking-thief.] we shall meet this stocking-thief again. chapter iii. across the mountains. upon taking an observation from the front door at strawberry, we were rather startled to find that the whole place was covered with snow to the depth of two or three feet. the pack trains had given up all hope of getting over the mountain. it was snowing hard, and the appearance of the weather was dark and threatening. to be housed up here with three or four hundred men, and the additional numbers that might be expected before night, was not a pleasant prospect; but to be caught in a snow-storm on the summit, where so many had perished during the past winter, was worse still. upon reviewing the chances i resolved to start, and if the storm continued i thought there would be no difficulty in finding the way back. it was eight miles of a continuous and precipitous ascent to the summit, and three miles from that point to the lake house in lake valley, where the accommodations were said to be the worst on the whole trail. [illustration: the trail from strawberry.] a few miles from strawberry one of the party gave out in consequence of sore feet; the other two pushed on, despite the storm which now raged fearfully, but had not proceeded far when they were forced to turn back. i was loth to leave my disabled friend, and returned with him to strawberry, where we had a repetition of nearly all that has already been described, only a little intensified in consequence of increased numbers. the others of our party stopped somewhere on the road, and i did not meet them again until next afternoon at woodford's, on the other side of the mountain. as soon as it was light next morning i took another observation of the weather. it was still snowing, but not so heavily as on the preceding day. my remaining partner was by this time completely crippled in his feet, and had to hire a horse at the rate of twenty dollars for twenty-five miles. i was delayed some hours in getting off, owing to the pressure of the forces at the breakfast-table, but finally made a fair start for the summit. my pack had become a source of considerable inconvenience. i was accustomed to walking, but not to carrying a burden of twenty or twenty-five pounds. my shoulders and ankles were so galled that every step had to be made on the nicest calculation; but the new snow on top of the old trail began to melt as soon as the sun came out, making a very bad trail for pedestrians. two miles from strawberry we crossed a bridge, and struck for the summit. here we had need of all our powers of endurance. it was a constant struggle through melted snow and mud--slipping, sliding, grasping, rolling, tumbling, and climbing, up again and still up, till it verily seemed as if we must be approaching the clouds. the most prominent peculiarity of these mountains is, that a person on foot, with a heavy load on his back, is never at the top when he imagines he is; the "divide" is always a little farther on and a little higher up--at least until he passes it, which he does entirely ignorant of the fact. there is really no perceptible "divide;" you pass a series of elevations, and commence the descent without any apparent difference in the trail. the pack trains had broken through the old snow in many places, leaving deep holes, which, being now partially covered with recent snow, proved to be regular man-traps, often bringing up the unwary pedestrian "all standing." the sudden wrenching of the feet in the smaller holes, which had been explored by the legs of horses, mules, and cattle, was an occurrence of every ten or a dozen steps. in many places the trail was perfectly honeycombed with holes, where the heavily-laden animals had cut through the snow, and it was exceedingly difficult to find a foothold. to step on either side and avoid these bad places would seem easy enough, but i tried it on more than one occasion, and got very nearly buried alive. all along the route, at intervals of a mile or two, we continued to meet pack trains; and as every body had to give way before them, the tumbling out and plunging in the snow were very lively. i walked on rapidly in the hope of making woodford's--the station on the eastern slope of the mountain--before night, and by degrees got ahead of the main body of footmen who had left strawberry that morning. in a narrow gorge, a short distance from the commencement of the descent into lake valley, i happened to look up a little to the right, where, to my astonishment, i perceived four large brown wolves sitting on their haunches not over twenty feet from me! they seemed entirely unconcerned at my presence, except in so far as they may have indulged in some speculation as to the amount of flesh contained on my body. as i was entirely unarmed, i thought it would be but common politeness to speak to them, so i gave them a yell in the indian language. at this they retired a short distance, but presently came back again as if to inquire the exact meaning of my salutation. i now thought it best not to be too intimate, for i saw they were getting rather familiar on a short acquaintance; and picking up a stick of wood, i made a rush and a yell at them which must have been formidable in the extreme. this time they retreated more rapidly, and seemed undecided about returning. at this crisis in affairs a pack train came along, the driver of which had a pistol. upon pointing out the wolves to him he fired, but missed them. they then retreated up the side of the mountain, and i saw nothing more of them. [illustration: "we are waiting for you."] the descent of the "grade" was the next rough feature in our day's journey. from the point overlooking lake valley the view is exceedingly fine. lake bigler--a sheet of water forty or fifty miles in length by ten or fifteen wide--lies embosomed in the mountains in full view from this elevation; but there was a drizzling sleet which obscured it on this occasion. i had a fine sight of it on my return, however, and have seldom witnessed any scene in europe or elsewhere to compare with it in extent and grandeur. [illustration: a short cut.] the trail on the grade was slippery with sleet, and walking upon it was out of the question. running, jumping, and sliding were the only modes of locomotion at all practicable. i tried one of the short cuts, and found it an expeditious way of getting to the bottom. some trifling obstruction deprived me of the use of my feet at the very start, after which i traveled down in a series of gyrations at once picturesque and complicated. when i reached the bottom i was entirely unable to comprehend how it had all happened; but there i was, pack and baggage, all safely delivered in the snow--bones sound, and free of expense. at the lake house--a tolerably good-sized shanty at the foot of the grade--we found a large party assembled, taking their ease as they best could in such a place, without much to eat and but little to drink, except old-fashioned tarentula-juice, "warranted to kill at forty paces." the host of the lake was in a constant state of nervous excitement, and did more scolding, swearing, gouging, and general hotel work in the brief space of half an hour than any man i ever saw. he seemed to be quite worn out with his run of customers--from a hundred to three hundred of a night, and nowhere to stow 'em--all cussin' at him for not keepin' provisions; and how could he, when they ate him clean out every day, and some of 'em never paid him, and never will? i was not sorry to get clear of the lake house, its filth, and its troubles. upon crossing the valley, which is here about a mile wide, the ascent of the next summit commences. here we had almost a repetition of the main summit, except that the descent on the other side is more gradual. at length we struck the beginning of hope valley. i shall always remember this portion of the journey as the worst i ever traveled on foot. every yard of the trail was honeycombed to the depth of two or three feet. on the edges there was no foothold at all; and occasionally we had to wade knee-deep in black, sticky mire, from which it was difficult to extricate one's feet and boots at the same time. i was glad enough when myself and two casual acquaintances succeeded in reaching the solitary log house which stands near the middle of the valley. i little expected to find in this wilderness a philosopher of the old school; but here was a man who had evidently made up his mind to withstand all the allurements of wealth, and devote the remainder of his life to ascetic reflections upon the follies of mankind. diogenes in his tub was not more rigorous in his seclusion than this isolated inhabitant of hope valley. his log cabin, to be sure, was some improvement, in extent, upon the domicile of that famous philosopher; but in point of architectural style, i don't know that there could have been much advantage either way. a few empty bags, and a bar entirely destitute of bottles, with a rough bench to sit upon, comprised all the furniture that was visible to the naked eye. from a beam overhead hung a bunch of foxskins, which emitted a very gamy odor; and the clay floor had apparently never been swept, save by the storms that had passed over it before the cabin was built. a couple of rifles hung upon pegs projecting from the chimney, and a powder-flask was the only mantle-piece ornament. diogenes sat, or rather reclined, on the pile of empty sacks, holding by the neck a fierce bull-dog. the sanguinary propensities of the animal were manifested by repeated attempts to break away, and seize somebody by the throat or the leg; not that he growled, or snarled, or showed any puppyish symptoms of a trifling kind, but there was a playful switching of his tail and a leer of the eye uncommonly vicious and tiger-like. it certainly would not have taken him more than two minutes to hamstring the stoutest man in the party. between the dog and his master there was a very striking congeniality of disposition, if one might judge by the expression of their respective countenances. it would apparently have taken but little provocation to make either of them bite. battered and bruised as we were, and hungry into the bargain, after our hard struggle over the mountain, it became a matter of vital importance that we should secure lodgings for the night, and, if possible, get something to eat. the place looked rather unpromising; but, after our experience in lake valley, we were not easily discouraged. upon broaching the subject to diogenes in the mildest possible manner, his brow darkened, as if a positive insult to his common sense had been attempted. [illustration: diogenes.] "stay here all night!" he repeated, savagely. "what the h--ll do you want to stay here all night for?" we hinted at a disposition to sleep, and thought he might possibly have room on the floor for our blankets. at this he snapped his fingers contemptuously, and muttered, "can't come that over me! i've been here too long for that!" "but we are willing to pay you whatever is fair." "pay? who said i wanted pay? do i look like a man that wants money?" we thought not. "if i wanted money," continued diogenes, "i could have made fifty dollars a day for the last two months. but i ask no favors of the world. some of 'em wants to stay here whether i will or no; i rather think i'm too many for any of that sort--eh, bull, what d'ye say?" bull growled, with a bloodthirsty meaning. "too many altogether, gents--me and bull." there was a sturdy independence about this fellow, and a scorn for filthy lucre that rather astonished me as a citizen of a money-loving state. "well, if you can't let us stay all night, perhaps you can get us up a snack of dinner?" "snack of dinner?"--and here there was a guttural chuckle that boded failure again--"i tell you this ain't a tavern; and if it was, my cook's gone out to take a airing." "but have you nothing in the house to eat?" "oh yes, there's a bunch of foxskins. if you'd like some of 'em cooked, i'll bile 'em for you." this man's disposition had evidently been soured in early life. i think he must have been crossed in love. his style had the merit of being terse, but his manner was sarcastic to the verge of impoliteness. "well, i suppose we can warm ourselves at the fire?" "if you can," quoth diogenes, "you can do more than i can;" and here he hauled his blanket over his shoulders, and fell back on the empty potato sacks as if there was no more to be said on that or any other subject. the bull-dog seemed to be of the same way of thinking, and quietly laid down by his master; still, however, keeping his eye on us, as suspicious characters. nothing remained but to push on for woodford's, distant six miles. now, when you come to put six miles on the end of a day's journey such as ours had been, it becomes a serious matter. besides, it was growing late, and a terrific wind, accompanied by a blinding sleet, rendered it scarcely practicable to stand up, much less to walk. i do not know how we ever staggered over that six miles. the last three, however, were down hill, and not so bad, as the snow was pretty well gone from the cañon on the approach to woodford's. this is the last station on the way over from carson, and forms the upper terminus of that valley. it is supposed to be in utah, but our landlord could not tell us exactly where the boundary-line ran. we found here several hundred people, bound in both directions, and passed a very rough night, trying to get a little sleep amid the motley and noisy crowd. i had endured the journey thus far very well, and had gained considerably in strength and appetite. the next day, however, upon striking into the sand of carson valley, my feet became terribly blistered, and the walking was exceedingly painful. there are some good farms in the upper part of the valley, between woodford's and genoa, though the general aspect of the country is barren in the extreme. by sundown i had made only fifteen miles, and still was three miles from genoa. every hundred yards was now equal to a mile. at length i found it utterly impossible to move another step. it was quite dark, and there was nothing for it but to sit down on the road-side. fortunately, the weather was comparatively mild. as i was meditating how to pass the night, i perceived a hot spring close by, toward which i crept; and finding the water strongly impregnated with salt, it occurred to me that it might benefit my feet. i soon plunged them in, and in half an hour found them so much improved that i was enabled to resume my journey. an hour more, and i was snugly housed at genoa. this was a place of some importance during the time of the mormon settlements, but had not kept pace with carson city in the general improvement caused by the recent discoveries. at present it contained a population of not more than two or three hundred, chiefly store-keepers, teamsters, and workmen employed upon a neighboring saw-mill. the inhabitants professed to be rich in silver leads, but upon an examination of the records to find the lead in which my san francisco friend had invested, and which was represented to be in this district, i was unable to find any trace of it; and there was no such name as that of the alleged owner known or ever heard of in genoa. in fact, as i afterward ascertained, it was purely a fictitious name, and the whole transaction was one of those peter funk swindles so often practiced upon the unwary during this memorable era of swindles. i don't know how my friend received the intelligence, but i reported it to him without a solitary mitigating circumstance. had i met with the vile miscreant who had imposed upon him, i should have felt bound to resort to personal measures of satisfaction, in consideration of the fund expended by my friend on the expenses of this commission of inquiry. the deeds were so admirably drawn, and the names written so legibly, that i don't wonder he was taken in. in fact, the only obstacle to his scheme of sudden wealth was, that there were no such mines, and no such men as the alleged discoverers in existence. i proceeded the next day to carson city, which i had fixed upon as the future head-quarters of my agency. the distance from genoa is fifteen miles, the road winding around the base of the foot-hills most of the way. i was much impressed with the marked difference between the country on this side of the sierra nevada range and the california side. here the mountains were but sparsely timbered; the soil was poor and sandy, producing little else than stunted sage bushes; and the few scattering farms had a thriftless and poverty-stricken look, as if the task of cultivation had proved entirely hopeless, and had long since been given up. across the valley toward the desert, ranges of mountains, almost destitute of trees, and of most stern and forbidding aspect, stretched as far as the eye could reach. carson river, which courses through the plain, presented the only pleasing feature in the scene. [illustration: carson city.] i was rather agreeably surprised at the civilized aspect of carson city. it is really quite a pretty and thrifty little town. situated within a mile of the foot-hills, within reach of the main timber region of the country, and well watered by streams from the mountains, it is rather imposing on first acquaintance; but the climate is abominable, and not to be endured. i know of none so bad except that of virginia city, which is infinitely worse. the population was about twelve or fifteen hundred at the time of my visit. there was great speculation in town lots going on, a rumor having come from salt lake that the seat of government of utah was about to be removed to carson. hotels and stores were in progress of erection all about the plaza, but especially drinking and gambling saloons, it being an article of faith among the embryo sovereigns of utah that no government can be judiciously administered without plenty of whisky, and superior accommodations for "bucking at monte." i am not sure but there is a similar feature in the california constitution; at least, the practice is carried on to some extent at sacramento during the sittings of the legislature. measures of the most vital importance are first introduced in rum cocktails, then steeped in whisky, after which they are engrossed in gin for a third reading. before the final vote the opponents adjourn to a game of _poker_ or _sledge_, and upon the amount of champagne furnished on the occasion by the respective parties interested in the bill depends its passage or defeat. it was said that champagne carried one of the great senatorial elections; but this has been denied, and it would be dangerous to insist upon it. i had the pleasure of meeting in carson an esteemed friend from san francisco, mr. a. j. van winkle, real estate agent, who, being a descendant of the famous rip van winkle, was thoughtful enough to furnish me with a bunk to sleep in. warned by the fate of his unhappy ancestor, my friend had gone briskly into the land business, and now owned enough of town lots, of amazingly appreciative value, to keep any man awake for the remainder of his life. i think if i had as much property, doubling itself up all the time like an acrobat in a circus, i would never sleep another wink thinking about it. chief among the curiosities of carson city is the _territorial enterprise_--a newspaper of an origin long anterior to the mining excitement. i was introduced to "the colonel," who presides over the editorial department, and found him uncommonly strong on the ultimate destiny of carson. his office was located in a dirty frame shanty, where, amid types, rollers, composing-stones, and general rubbish of a dark and literary aspect, those astounding editorials which now and then arouse the public mind are concocted. the colonel and his compositors live in a sort of family fashion, entirely free from the rigorous etiquette of such establishments in new york. they cook their own food in the composition room (which is also the editorial and press room), and being, as a general thing, short of plates, use the frying-pan in common for that purpose. in cases of great festivity and rejoicing, when a subscriber has settled up arrearages or the cash is paid down for a good job of hand-bills, the colonel purchases the best tenderloin steak to be had in market, and cooks it with one hand, while with the other he writes a letter of thanks to the subscriber, or a puff on the hand-bill. but the great hope upon which the colonel feeds his imagination is the removal of the seat of government from salt lake to carson city, which he considers the proper place. mr. van winkle is also of the same opinion; and, as a general thing, the proposition is favorably entertained by the citizens of carson. as usual in new countries, a strong feeling of rivalry exists between the carsonites and the inhabitants of virginia city. i have summed up the arguments on both sides and reduced them to the following pungent essence: virginia city--a mud-hole; climate, hurricanes and snow; water, a dilution of arsenic, plumbago, and copperas; wood, none at all except sage-brush; no title to property, and no property worth having. carson city--a mere accident; occupation of the inhabitants, waylaying strangers bound for virginia; business, selling whisky, and so dull at that, men fall asleep in the middle of the street going from one groggery to another; productions, grass and weeds on the plaza. while this fight is going on, silver city, which lies about midway between the two, shrugs her shoulders and thanks her stars there can be no rivalry in her case. if ever there was a spot fitted by nature for a seat of government, it is silver city--the most central, the most moral, the most promising; in short, the only place where the seat of government can exist for any length of time. this kilkenny-cat fight is highly edifying to a stranger, who, of course, is expected to take sides, or at once acknowledge himself an enemy. the result, i hope, will be satisfactory and triumphant to all parties. i would suggest that the government be split into three slices, and a slice stowed away under ground in each of the great cities, so that it may permeate the foundations of society. chapter iv. an infernal city. a few days after my arrival in carson the sky darkened, and we soon had a specimen of the spring weather of this region. to say that it stormed, snowed, and rained would be ridiculously tame in comparison with the real state of the case. the wind whistled through the thin shanties in a manner that left scarcely a hope of roof or frame standing till night. through the crevices came little hurricanes of snow-drift mixed with sand; each tenement groaned and creaked as if its last hour had come; the air was bitterly cold; and it seemed, in short, as if the vengeance of heaven had been let loose on this desolate and benighted region. next day the clouds gradually lifted from the mountain tops, and the sun once more shone out bright and clear. the snow, which now covered the valley, began to disappear; the lowing of half-starved cattle, in search of the few green patches visible here and there, gave some promise of life; but soon the portentous gusts of wind swept down again from the cañons; dark clouds overspread the sky, and a still more violent storm than on the preceding day set in, and continued without intermission all night. by morning the whole face of the country was covered with snow. a few stragglers came in from woodford's, who reported that the trail to placerville was covered up to the depth of six or eight feet, and was entirely impracticable for man or beast. apprehensions were felt for the safety of the trains on the way through, as nothing could be heard from them. a large party had started out to open the trail, but were forced back by the severity of the weather. the snow-drifts were said to vary from twenty to thirty feet in depth. here was a pretty predicament! to be shut up in this desolate region, where even the cattle were dying of starvation, with seven or eight thousand human mouths to be fed, and the stock of provisions rapidly giving out, was rather a serious aspect of affairs. i do not know that actual starvation could have resulted for some time, certainly not until what cattle were alive had been killed, and soup made of the dead carcasses that covered the plain. even before resorting to the latter extremity there were horses, mules, burros, and dogs on hand, upon which the cravings of hunger might be appeased for a month or so; and in the event of all these resources giving out, should the worst come to the worst, the few digger indians that hung around the settlements might be made available as an article of temporary subsistence. in this extremity, when considerable suffering, if not absolute starvation, stared us in the face, the anxiety respecting the opening of the trails became general. groups of men of divers occupations stood in the streets, or on every little rise of ground in the neighborhood, speculating upon the chances or peering through the gloom in the hope of discerning the approach of some relief train. the sugar was gone; flour was eighty dollars a sack, and but little to be had at that; barley was seventy-five cents a pound, and hay sixty cents; horses were dying for want of something to eat; cigars were rapidly giving out; whisky might stand the pull another week, but the prospect was gloomy of any thing more nourishing. in this exciting state of affairs, when every brain was racked to devise ways and means of relief, and when hope of succor was almost at an end, a scout came running in from the direction of the downerville trail with the glorious tidings of an approaching mule train. the taverns, billiard saloons, groggeries, and various stores were soon empty--every body rushed down the street to have assurance made doubly sure. cheer after cheer burst from the elated crowd when the train hove in sight. on it came--at first like a row of ants creeping down the hillside; then nearer and larger, till the clatter of the hoofs and the rattling of the packs could be heard; then the blowing of the tired mules; and at last the leader, an old gray mule, came staggering wearily along heavily packed. a barrel was poised on his back--doubtless a barrel of beef, or it might be pork, or bacon. the brand heaves in sight. per baccho! it is neither beef, pork, nor bacon, but _whisky_--old bourbon whisky! the next mule totters along under two half barrels. speculation is rife. every man with a stomach and an appetite for wholesome food is interested. pigs' feet perhaps, or mackerel, or, it may be, preserved chicken? but here is the mark--_brandy_; by the powers! nothing but _brandy!_ however, here comes the third with a load of five-gallon kegs--molasses beyond question, or lard, or butter? wrong again, gentlemen--_gin_, nothing but _gin_. on staggers a fourth, heavily burdened with more kegs--sugar, or corn-meal, or preserved apples, i'll bet my head. never bet your head. it is nothing but bitters--_mack's bitters_! but surely the fifth carries a box of crushed sugar on his back, he bears himself so gayly under his burden. and well he may! that box contains no more sugar than you do, my friend; it is stuffed choke-full with decanters, tumblers, and pewter spoons. but there are still ten or fifteen mules more. surely there must be some provisions in the train. nobody can live to a very protracted period of life on brandy, whisky, gin, mack's bitters, and glass-ware. alas for human expectation! one by one the jaded animals pass, groaning and tottering under their heavy burdens--a barrel of rum; two boxes of bottled ale; six crates of champagne; two pipes of california wine; a large crate of bar fixtures; and a dozen boxes of cigars--none of them nutritious articles of subsistence. as if to enhance our troubles, the party in charge of the train had been nearly starved out in the mountains, and now came in the very lankest and hungriest of the crowd. if they were thirsty, it was their own fault; but none of them looked as if they had suffered in that respect. [illustration: the stage.] before entering into the responsible duties of my agency, i was desirous of seeing as much of the mining region as possible, and with this view took the stage for virginia city. the most remarkable peculiarity on the road was the driver, whose likeness i struck in a happy moment of inspiration. at silver city, eight miles from carson, i dismounted, and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. the road here becomes rough and hilly, and but little is to be seen of the city except a few tents and board shanties. half a mile beyond is a remarkable gap cut by nature through the mountain, as if for the express purpose of giving the road an opportunity to visit virginia city. as i passed through the devil's gate it struck me that there was something ominous in the name. "let all who enter here--" but i had already reached the other side. it was too late now for repentance. i was about to inquire where the devil--excuse me, i use the word in no indecorous sense. i was simply about to ask where he lived, when, looking up the road, i saw amid the smoke and din of shivered rocks, where grimy imps were at work blasting for ore, a string of adventurers laden with picks, shovels, and crowbars; kegs of powder, frying-pans, pitch-forks, and other instruments of torture--all wearily toiling in the same direction; decrepit old men, with avarice imprinted upon their furrowed brows; jews and gentiles, foot-weary and haggard; the young and the old, the strong and the weak, all alike burning with an unhallowed lust for lucre; and then i shuddered as the truth flashed upon me that they were going straight to--virginia city. every foot of the cañon was claimed, and gangs of miners were at work all along the road, digging and delving into the earth like so many infatuated gophers. many of these unfortunate creatures lived in holes dug into the side of the hill, and here and there a blanket thrown over a few stakes served as a domicile to shield them from the weather. at gold hill, two miles beyond the gate, the excitement was quite pitiable to behold. those who were not at work burrowing holes into the mountain were gathered in gangs around the whisky saloons, pouring liquid fire down their throats, and swearing all the time in a manner so utterly reckless as to satisfy me they had long since bid farewell to hope. [illustration: the devil's gate.] this district is said to be exceedingly rich in gold, and i fancy it may well be so, for it is certainly rich in nothing else. a more barren-looking and forbidding spot could scarcely be found elsewhere on the face of the earth. the whole aspect of the country indicates that it must have been burned up in hot fires many years ago and reduced to a mass of cinders, or scraped up from all the desolate spots in the known world, and thrown over the sierra nevada mountains in a confused mass to be out of the way. i do not wish to be understood as speaking disrespectfully of any of the works of creation, but it is inconceivable that this region should ever have been designed as an abode for man. a short distance beyond gold hill we came in sight of the great mining capital of washoe, the far-famed virginia city. in the course of a varied existence it had been my fortune to visit the city of jerusalem, the city of constantinople, the city of the sea, the city of the dead, the seven cities, and others of historical celebrity in the old world, and many famous cities in the new, including port townsend, crescent city, benicia, and the new york of the pacific, but i had never yet beheld such a city as that which now burst upon my distended organs of vision. on a slope of mountains speckled with snow, sage-bushes, and mounds of upturned earth, without any apparent beginning or end, congruity or regard for the eternal fitness of things, lay outspread the wondrous city of virginia. frame shanties, pitched together as if by accident; tents of canvas, of blankets, of brush, of potato-sacks and old shirts, with empty whisky-barrels for chimneys; smoky hovels of mud and stone; coyote holes in the mountain side forcibly seized and held by men; pits and shafts with smoke issuing from every crevice; piles of goods and rubbish on craggy points, in the hollows, on the rocks, in the mud, in the snow, every where, scattered broadcast in pell-mell confusion, as if the clouds had suddenly burst overhead and rained down the dregs of all the flimsy, rickety, filthy little hovels and rubbish of merchandise that had ever undergone the process of evaporation from the earth since the days of noah. the intervals of space, which may or may not have been streets, were dotted over with human beings of such sort, variety, and numbers, that the famous ant-hills of africa were as nothing in the comparison. to say that they were rough, muddy, unkempt and unwashed, would be but faintly expressive of their actual appearance; they were all this by reason of exposure to the weather; but they seemed to have caught the very diabolical tint and grime of the whole place. here and there, to be sure, a san francisco dandy of the "boiled shirt" and "stove-pipe" pattern loomed up in proud consciousness of the triumphs of art under adverse circumstances, but they were merely peacocks in the barn-yard. [illustration: virginia city.] a fraction of the crowd, as we entered the precincts of the town, were engaged in a lawsuit relative to a question of title. the arguments used on both sides were empty whisky-bottles, after the fashion of the _basilinum_, or club law, which, according to addison, prevailed in the colleges of learned men in former times. several of the disputants had already been knocked down and convinced, and various others were freely shedding their blood in the cause of justice. even the bull-terriers took an active part--or, at least, a very prominent part. the difficulty was about the ownership of a lot, which had been staked out by one party and "jumped" by another. some two or three hundred disinterested observers stood by, enjoying the spectacle, several of them with their hands on their revolvers, to be ready in case of any serious issue; but these dangerous weapons are only used on great occasions--a refusal to drink, or some illegitimate trick at monte. [illustration: a question of title.] upon fairly reaching what might be considered the centre of the town, it was interesting to observe the manners and customs of the place. groups of keen speculators were huddled around the corners, in earnest consultation about the rise and fall of stocks; rough customers, with red and blue flannel shirts, were straggling in from the flowery diggings, the desert, and other rich points, with specimens of croppings in their hands, or offering bargains in the "rogers," the "lady bryant," the "mammoth," the "woolly horse," and heaven knows how many other valuable _leads_, at prices varying from ten to seventy-five dollars a foot. small knots of the knowing ones were in confidential interchange of thought on the subject of every other man's business; here and there a loose man was caught by the button, and led aside behind a shanty to be "stuffed;" every body had some grand secret, which nobody else could find out; and the game of "dodge" and "pump" was universally played. jew clothing-men were setting out their goods and chattels in front of wretched-looking tenements; monte-dealers, gamblers, thieves, cut-throats, and murderers were mingling miscellaneously in the dense crowds gathered around the bars of the drinking saloons. now and then a half-starved pah-ute or washoe indian came tottering along under a heavy press of fagots and whisky. on the main street, where the mass of the population were gathered, a jaunty fellow who had "made a good thing of it" dashed through the crowds on horseback, accoutred in genuine mexican style, swinging his _riata_ over his head, and yelling like a devil let loose. all this time the wind blew in terrific gusts from the four quarters of the compass, tearing away signs, capsizing tents, scattering the grit from the gravel-banks with blinding force in every body's eyes, and sweeping furiously around every crook and corner in search of some sinner to smite. never was such a wind as this--so scathing, so searching, so given to penetrate the very core of suffering humanity; disdaining overcoats, and utterly scornful of shawls and blankets. it actually seemed to double up, twist, pull, push, and screw the unfortunate biped till his muscles cracked and his bones rattled--following him wherever he sought refuge, pursuing him down the back of the neck, up the coat-sleeves, through the legs of his pantaloons, into his boots--in short, it was the most villainous and persecuting wind that ever blew, and i boldly protest that it did nobody good. yet, in the midst of the general wreck and crash of matter, the business of trading in claims, "bucking" and "bearing," went on as if the zephyrs of virginia were as soft and balmy as those of san francisco. [illustration: "my claim, sir."] this was surely--no matter; nothing on earth could aspire to competition with such a place. it was essentially infernal in every aspect, whether viewed from the comstock ledge or the summit of gold hill. nobody seemed to own the lots except by right of possession; yet there was trading in lots to an unlimited extent. nobody had any money, yet every body was a millionaire in silver claims. nobody had any credit, yet every body bought thousands of feet of glittering ore. sales were made in the mammoth, the lady bryant, the sacramento, the winnebunk, and the innumerable other "outside claims," at the most astounding figures, but not a dime passed hands. all was silver under ground, and deeds and mortgages on top; silver, silver every where, but scarce a dollar in coin. the small change had somehow gotten out of the hands of the public into the gambling saloons. every speck of ground covered by canvas, boards, baked mud, brush, or other architectural material, was jammed to suffocation; there were sleeping houses, twenty feet by thirty, in which from one hundred and fifty to two hundred solid sleepers sought slumber at night, at a dollar a head; tents, eight by ten, offering accommodations to the multitude; any thing or any place, even a stall in a stable, would have been a luxury. [illustration: gold hill.] the chief hotel, called, if i remember, the "indication," or the "hotel de haystack," or some such euphonious name, professed to accommodate three hundred live men, and it doubtless did so, for the floors were covered from the attic to the solid earth--three hundred human beings in a tinder-box not bigger than a first-class hen-coop! but they were sorry-looking sleepers as they came forth each morning, swearing at the evil genius who had directed them to this miserable spot--every man a dollar and a pound of flesh poorer. i saw some, who perhaps were short of means, take surreptitious naps against the posts and walls in the bar-room, while they ostensibly professed to be mere spectators. [illustration: san francisco speculators.] in truth, wherever i turned there was much to confirm the forebodings with which i had entered the devil's gate. the deep pits on the hill-sides; the blasted and barren appearance of the whole country; the unsightly hodge-podge of a town; the horrible confusion of tongues; the roaring, raving drunkards at the bar-rooms, swilling fiery liquids from morning till night; the flaring and flaunting gambling-saloons, filled with desperadoes of the vilest sort; the ceaseless torrent of imprecations that shocked the ear on every side; the mad speculations and feverish thirst for gain--all combined to give me a forcible impression of the unhallowed character of the place. [illustration: assay office.] what dreadful savage is that? i asked, as a ferocious-looking monster in human shape stalked through the crowd. is it--can it be the--? no; that's only a murderer. he shot three men a few weeks ago, and will probably shoot another before night. and this aged and decrepit man, his thin locks floating around his haggard and unshaved face, and matted with filth? that's a speculator from san francisco. see how wildly he grasps at every "indication," as if he had a lease of life for a thousand years! and this bull-dog fellow, with a mutilated face, button-holing every by-passer? that fellow? oh, he's only a "bummer" in search of a cocktail. and this--and this--all these crazy-looking wretches, running hither and thither with hammers and stones in their hands, calling one another aside, hurrying to the assay offices, pulling out papers, exchanging mysterious signals--who and what are all these? oh, these are washoe millionaires. they are deep in "outside claims." the little fragments of rock they carry in their hands are "croppings" and "indications" from the "wake-up-jake," "root-hog-or-die," "wild-cat," "grizzly-hill," "dry-up," "same horse," "let-her-rip," "you bet," "gouge-eye," and other famous ledges and companies, in which they own some thousands of feet. hold, good friend! i am convinced there is no rest for the wicked. all night long these dreadful noises continue; the ears are distracted with an unintelligible jargon of "croppings," "ledges," "lodes," "leads," "indications," "feet," and "strikes," and the nostrils offended with foul odors of boots, old pipes, and dirty blankets--who can doubt the locality? if the climate is more rigorous than dante describes it--if calypso might search in vain for ulysses in such a motley crowd--these apparent differences are not inconsistent with the general theory of changes produced by american emigration and the sudden conglomeration of such incongruous elements. i was grieved and astonished to find many friends here--some of them gentlemen who had borne a very fair reputation in san francisco, and whose unhappy fate i never could have anticipated. the bankers and brokers who had been cut off, after a prosperous career on montgomery street, had, of course, reached the goal toward which they had long been tending; the lawyers, who had set their unfortunate fellow-creatures by the ears, were now in a congenial element; the hard traders and unscrupulous speculators, who had violated all the moral obligations of life in their greedy lust for money, naturally abounded in large numbers; in short, it was not a matter of surprise that justice had at length been dealt out to many sinful men. but when i recognized friends whom i had formerly known as good citizens, the fathers of interesting families, exemplary members of society in san francisco, i was profoundly shocked. it was impossible to deny that they must have been guilty of some grievous wickedness to entitle them to such a punishment. (what surprised me most of all was to find colonel r----, to whom i had a letter of introduction, the leading spirit here. his assistance was sought by all. he was the best friend to any man in need of advice. hospitality with him was a cardinal virtue. he had turned out of his own snug quarters long since to make room for the sick and disabled, and now slept about wherever he could find shelter. he was chief owner in the "comstock lead," and showed great liberality in giving a helping hand to others on the road to fortune. in fine, i am utterly unable to determine for what crime he was now suffering expiation. there was nothing in his conduct that i could discover the least unbecoming to a good citizen. his benevolence, hospitality, and genial manners were worthy any christian. to me and to many others he proved the good samaritan, and i still hesitate to believe that he merited the hard fate now meted out to him. but who can fathom the judgments pronounced upon men?) the bare contemplation of the miseries suffered by the inhabitants of this dreadful place was enough to stagger all convictions of my identity. could it be possible that i was at last in--in virginia city? what had i done to bring me to this? in vain i entered into a retrospection of the various iniquities of my life; but i could hit upon nothing that seemed bad enough to warrant such a fate. at length a withering truth flashed upon me. this must be the end of a federal existence! this must be the abode of ex-inspector-generals! it must be here that the accounts current of the decapitated are examined. woe to the wretch who failed to profit by specie clause of the independent treasury act while he had official claws on hand! such _laches_ of public duty can not be tolerated even in--virginia city. [illustration: a fall.] i slept, or rather tried to sleep, at one "zip's," where there were only twenty "bunks" in the room, and was fortunate in securing a bunk even there. but the great macbeth himself, laboring under the stings of an evil conscience, could have made a better hand of sleeping than i did at zip's. it proved to be a general meeting-place for my san francisco friends, and as they were all very rich in mining claims, and bent on getting still richer, they were continually making out deeds, examining titles, trading and transferring claims, discussing the purchases and prospects of the day, and exhibiting the most extraordinary "indications" yet discovered, in which one or other of them held an interest of fifty or a hundred feet, worth, say, a thousand dollars a foot. between the cat-naps of oblivion that visited my eyes there was a constant din of "croppings"--"feet"--"fifty thousand dollars"--"struck it rich!"--"the comstock ledge!"--"the billy choller!"--"miller on the rise!"--"mammoth!"--"sacramento!"--"lady bryant!"--"a thousand feet more!"--"great bargain"--"forty dollars a foot!"--crash! rip! bang!--"an earthquake!"--"run for your lives!" what the deuce is the matter? it happened thus one night. the wind was blowing in terrific gusts. in the midst of the general clatter on the subject of croppings, bargains, and indications, down came our next neighbor's house on the top of us with a terrific crash. for a moment it was difficult to tell which house was the ruin. amid projecting and shivered planks, the flapping of canvas, and the howling of the wind, it really seemed as if chaos had come again. but "zip's" was well braced, and stood the shock without much damage, a slight heel and lurch to leeward being the chief result. i could not help thinking, as i turned in again after the alarm, that there could no longer be a doubt on the subject which had already occasioned me so many unpleasant reflections. it even seemed as if i smelled something like brimstone; but, upon calling to zip to know what was the matter, he informed me that he was "only dryin' the boots on the stove." chapter v. society of virginia city. [illustration: the comstock lead.] notwithstanding the number of physicians who had already hoisted their "shingles," there was much sickness in virginia, owing chiefly to exposure and dissipation, but in some measure to the deleterious quality of the water. nothing more was wanting to confirm my original impressions. the water was certainly the worst ever used by man. filtered through the comstock lead, it carried with it much of the plumbago, arsenic, copperas, and other poisonous minerals alleged to exist in that vein. the citizens of virginia had discovered what they conceived to be an infallible way of "correcting it;" that is to say, it was their practice to mix a spoonful of water in half a tumbler of whisky, and then drink it. the whisky was supposed to neutralize the bad effects of the water. sometimes it was considered good to mix it with gin. i was unable to see how any advantage could be gained in this way. the whisky contained strychnine, oil of tobacco, tarentula juice, and various effective poisons of the same general nature, including a dash of corrosive sublimate; and the gin was manufactured out of turpentine and whisky, with a sprinkling of prussic acid to give it flavor. for my part, i preferred taking poison in its least complicated form, and therefore adhered to the water. with hot saleratus bread, beans fried in grease, and such drink as this, it was no wonder that scores were taken down sick from day to day. sickness is bad enough at the best of times, but here the condition of the sick was truly pitiable. there was scarcely a tenement in the place that could be regarded as affording shelter against the piercing wind; and crowded as every tent and hovel was to its utmost capacity, it was hard even to find a vacant spot to lie down, much less sleep or rest in comfort. many had come with barely means sufficient to defray their expenses to the diggings, in the confident belief that they would immediately strike upon "something rich;" or, if they failed in that, they could work a while on wages. but the highest wages here for common labor were three dollars a day, while meals were a dollar each, and lodgings the same. it was a favor to get work for "grub." under such circumstances, when a poor fellow fell sick, his recovery could only be regarded as a matter of luck. no record of the deaths was kept. the mass of the emigration were strangers to each other, and it concerned nobody in particular when a man "pegged out," except to put him in a hole somewhere out of the way. i soon felt the bad effects of the water. possibly i had committed an error in not mixing it with the other poisons; but it was quite poisonous enough alone to give me violent pains in the stomach and a very severe diarrhea. at the same time, i was seized with an acute attack of rheumatism in the shoulder and neuralgic pains in the head. the complication of miseries which i now suffered was beyond all my calculations of the hardships of mining life. as yet i had struck nothing better than "winn's restaurant," where i took my meals. the comstock ledge was all very fine, but a thousand dollars a foot! who ever had a thousand dollars to put in a running foot of ground, when not even the great comstock himself could tell where it was running to. on the whole, i did not consider the prospect cheering. at this period there were no laws of any kind in the district for the preservation of order. some regulations had been established to secure the right of discovery to claimants, but they were loose and indefinite, differing in each district according to the caprice of the miners, and subject to no enforcement except that of the revolver. in some localities the original discoverer of a vein was entitled to running feet; he could put down the names of as many friends as he chose at feet each. notice had to be recorded at certain places of record, designating the date and location of discovery. all "leads" were taken up with their "dips, spurs, and angles." but who was to judge of the "dips, spurs, and angles?" that was the difficulty. every man ran them to suit himself. the comstock ledge was in a mess of confusion. the shareholders had the most enlarged views of its "dips, spurs, and angles;" but those who struck croppings above and below were equally liberal in their notions; so that, in fine, every body's spurs were running into every body else's angles. the cedar hill company were spurring the miller company; the virginia ledge was spurring the continuation; the dow company were spurring the billy choller, and so on. it was a free fight all round, in which the dips, spurs, and angles might be represented thus, after the pattern of a bunch of snakes: [illustration: the claims.] the contention was very lively. great hopes were entertained that when judge cradlebaugh arrived he would hold court, and then there would be some hope of settling these conflicting claims. i must confess i did not share in the opinion that law would settle any dispute in which silver was concerned. the almaden mine case is not yet settled, and never will be as long as there are judges and juries to sit upon it, and lawyers to argue it, and silver to pay expenses. already virginia city was infested with gentlemen of the bar, thirsting and hungering for chances at the comstock. if it could only be brought into court, what a picking of bones there would be! when the snow began to clear away there was no end to the discoveries alleged to be made every day. the flowery diggings, six miles below virginia, were represented to be wonderfully rich--so rich, indeed, that the language of every speculator who held a claim there partook of the flowery character of the diggings. the whole country was staked off to the distance of twenty or thirty miles. every hill-side was grubbed open, and even the desert was pegged, like the sole of a boot, with stakes designating claims. those who could not spare time to go out "prospecting" hired others, or furnished provisions and pack-mules, and went shares. if the prospecting party struck "any thing rich," it was expected they would share it honestly; but i always fancied they would find it more profitable to hold on to that, and find some other rich lead for the resident partners. in virginia city, a man who had been at work digging a cellar found rich indications. he immediately laid claim to a whole street covered with houses. the excitement produced by this "streak of luck" was perfectly frantic. hundreds went to work grubbing up the ground under their own and their neighbors' tents, and it was not long before the whole city seemed in a fair way of being undermined. the famous _winn_, as i was told, struck the richest lead of all directly under his restaurant, and was next day considered worth a million of dollars. the dips, spurs, and angles of these various discoveries covered every foot of ground within an area of six miles. it was utterly impossible that a fraction of the city could be left. owners of lots protested in vain. the mining laws were paramount where there was no law at all. there was no security to personal property, or even to persons. he who turned in to sleep at night might find himself in a pit of silver by morning. at least it was thus when i made up my mind to escape from that delectable region; and now, four months later, i really don't know whether the great city of virginia is still in existence, or whether the inhabitants have not found a "deeper deep, still threatening to devour." [illustration: "silver, certain, sir!"] it must not be supposed, from the general character of the population, that virginia city was altogether destitute of men skilled in scientific pursuits. there were few, indeed, who did not profess to know something of geology; and as for assayers and assay offices, they were almost as numerous as barkeepers and groggeries. a tent, a furnace, half a dozen crucibles, a bottle of acid, and a hammer, generally comprised the entire establishment; but it is worthy of remark that the assays were always satisfactory. silver, or indications of silver, were sure to be found in every specimen. i am confident some of these learned gentlemen in the assay business could have detected the precious metals in an irish potato or a round of cheese for a reasonable consideration. it was also a remarkable peculiarity of the country that the great "comstock lead" was discovered to exist in almost every locality, however remote or divergent from the original direction of the vein. i know a gentleman who certainly discovered a continuation of the comstock forty miles from the ophir mines, and at an angle of more than sixty degrees. but how could the enterprising adventurer fail to hit upon something rich, when every clod of earth and fragment of rock contained, according to the assays, both silver and gold? there was not a coyote hole in the ground that did not develop "indications." i heard of one lucky fellow who struck upon a rich vein, and organized an extensive company on the strength of having stumped his toe. claims were even staked out and companies organized on "indications" rooted up by the squirrels and gophers. if they were not always indications of gold or silver, they were sure to contain copper, lead, or some other valuable mineral--plumbago or iridium, for instance. one man actually professed to have discovered "ambergris;" but i think he must have been an old whaler. [illustration: "indications, sure!"] the complications of ills which had befallen me soon became so serious that i resolved to get away by hook or crook, if it was possible to cheat the ---- corporate authorities of their dues. i had not come there to enlist in the service of mammon at such wages. bundling up my pack one dark morning, i paid "zip" the customary dollar, and while the evil powers were roistering about the grog-shops, taking their early bitters, made good my escape from the accursed place. weak as i was, the hope of never seeing it again gave me nerve; and when i ascended the first elevation on the way to gold hill, and cast a look back over the confused mass of tents and hovels, and thought of all i had suffered there in the brief space of a few days, i involuntarily exclaimed, "if ever i put foot in that hole again, may the--" but perhaps i had better not use strong language till i once more get clear of the devil's gate. chapter vi. escape from virginia city. as ill luck would have it, a perfect hurricane swept through the cañon from gold hill, sometimes in gusts so sudden and violent that it was utterly impossible to make an inch of headway. tents were shivered and torn to shreds all along the wayside. i saw one party sitting at breakfast with nothing but the four posts which had originally sustained their tent and a few fragments of canvas flapping from them as a protection against the wind. nothing could withstand its terrific force. cabins with bush tops were unroofed; frame shanties were rent asunder, and the boards flew about like feathers; the air was filled with grit and drift, striking the face as if the great guns, which are sometimes said to blow, were loaded with duck-shot. nor did the wind confine itself to one channel. it ranged up hill and down hill, raking the enemy fore and aft. in one place two tents were torn up, as one might say, by the roots, and carried off bodily to the top of the mountain; in another, half a dozen might be seen traveling down hill, at the rate of forty miles an hour, toward the flowery diggings. what became of all the unfortunate wretches who were thus summarily deprived of their local habitations i never learned. most likely they sought refuge in the coyote holes, which, in fact, appeared to be untenanted; for i don't think coyotes could live long in such a country. a short distance beyond gold hill a trail strikes off to the right, which is said to cut off four or five miles of the distance to carson city. that would be a considerable gain to a traveler making his escape from virginia city, and whose every step was attended with extreme physical suffering, to say nothing of the mental disquietude occasioned by his proximity to that place. besides, it avoided the "devil's gate," of which i had also an intense dread. what hordes of dark and inexorable imps might be laying in wait there, with pitchforks to impale a poor fellow upon, and kegs of blasting powder to blow him up; what accounts might have to be rendered of one's stewardship at head-quarters; what particular kind of passport, sanded over with brimstone and stamped with a cloven foot, might be demanded, it was not possible to conjecture. at all events, it was safer to incur no risk. the old adage of the "longest way round" did not occur to me. i took the trail, and was soon out of sight of gold city. the mountains were covered with snow, not very deep, but soft and slippery. in my weak state, with a racking rheumatism and the prostrating effects of the arsenic water, the labor of making headway against the fierce gusts of wind and keeping the trail was very severe. every few hundred yards i had to lie down in the snow and await some relief from the paroxysms of pain. after an hour or two i reached a labyrinth of hills, in which the trail became lost by the melting of the snow. i still had some idea of the general direction, and kept on. my progress, however, was very slow, and at times so difficult that it required considerable effort of mind to avoid stopping altogether, and "taking the chances," as they say, in this agreeable region. now all this may seem very absurd, as compared with the sufferings endured by colonel frémont in the rocky mountains, and doubtless is, in some respects. as, for instance: i was not shut up in a gorge of the mountains, a thousand miles from the habitations of man; i was not in a state of starvation, though thin enough for a starved man in all conscience; i was not at all likely to remain in any one position, however isolated, without being "spotted" by some enterprising miner in search of indications. but then, on the other hand, i was thoroughly dredged with arsenic, plumbago, copperas, and corrosive sublimate, and had neither mule nor "burro"--not even a woolly horse to carry me. does any body pretend to say that the renowned arctic explorers ever encountered such a series of hardships as this? four or five months of perpetual night, with the thermometer ° below zero, may be uncomfortable; but then the adventurer in the polar regions has the advantage of being the farthest possible distance from certain other regions--say, from virginia city. about noon i came to the conclusion that, however willing the spirit might be, the flesh had done its best, and was now quite used up; so i stretched myself on the snow under a cedar bush, and resolved to await what assistance providence might send me. i was not long there when a voice in the distance caught my ear. i rose and called. in a few minutes a mysterious figure emerged from the bushes at the mouth of a cañon a few hundred feet below. i beckoned to him to come up. the singular appearance and actions of the man attracted my attention. his face was nearly black with dirt, and his hair was long and shaggy. on his head he wore a tattered cap, tied around the chin with a blue cotton handkerchief. a tremendous blue nose, a pair of green goggles, and boots extending up to his hips, completed the oddity of his appearance. at first he approached me rapidly; but at the distance of about fifty yards he halted, as if uncertain what to do. he then put down his pack, and began to search for something in the pockets of his coat--a knife, perhaps, or a pistol. could it be possible this fellow was a robber, who had descried me from the opposite mountain, and was now bent upon murder? if so, it would be as well to bring the matter to an issue at once. i was unarmed, having even lost my penknife by reason of a rent in my pocket. there were desperate characters in this wilderness, who would think nothing of killing a man for his money; and although i had only about forty dollars left, that fact could not possibly be known to this marauder. his appearance, to be sure, was not formidable; but then one should not be too hasty in judging by appearances. for all i knew he might be the--old gentleman himself on a tour of inspection from virginia city. "hallo, friend!" said i, assuming a conciliatory tone, "where are you bound?" upon this he approached a little closer. i soon perceived that he was a german jew, who had either lost his way or was prospecting for silver. as he drew near, he manifested some signs of trepidation, evidently being afraid i would rob him of his pack, in which there was probably some jewelry or old clothes. it is hardly necessary for me to say that i had no intention of robbing him. i had not come to that yet. there was no telling to what straits i might be reduced; but, as long as i had a dollar in my pocket, i was determined to avoid highway robbery. besides, it was beyond my strength at this particular crisis; a fact which the jew seemed to recognize, for he now approached confidently. his first exclamation, on reaching the spot where i stood, was, "dank gott! ish dis de trail?" "where are you bound?" "to carson. i pe going to carson, and i pe losht for six hours. mein gott! it ish an awful country. you know the way?" "of course. you don't suppose i'd be here if i didn't know the way?" "dat is zo." "come on, friend; i'm going in that direction. but don't walk very fast--i'm sick." "zo? was is de matter?" "poisoned." "mein gott! mein gott! das is awful." "very--it makes a fellow so weak." "mein gott! did dey poison you for your money?" and here the jew put his hands behind him to see if his pack was safe. "oh no, it was only the water--arsenic and copperas." "zo!" this explanation apparently relieved him of a very unpleasant train of thought, for he now became quite lively and talkative. as we trudged along, chatting sociably on various matters of common interest, it occurred to me from time to time that i had seen this man's face before. the idea grew upon me. it was not a matter of particular importance, and yet i could not banish it. his voice, too, was familiar. certainly there was something about him that possessed an uncommon interest. "friend," said i, "it occurs to me i've seen you before." "zo? i dink de same." [illustration: an old friend.] some moments elapsed before i could fix upon the occasion or the place. all at once the truth flashed upon me. it was strawberry flat! i had slept with the man! this was the identical wretch who had robbed me of my stockings! in the excitement produced by the discovery and the recollection of my blistered feet, i verily believe, had i been armed with a broad-sword or battle-axe, after the fashion of brian de bois guilbert, i would have cloven him in twain. "ha! i remember; it was at strawberry! you slept with me one night," said i, in a tone of suppressed passion. "das is it! das is it!" cried the jew. "i shlept mit you at sthrawberry!" the effrontery of the villain was remarkable. probably he would even acknowledge the theft. "friend," said i, calmly and deliberately, "did you miss a pair of woolen stockings in the morning about the time you started?" "look here!" quoth the wretch, suddenly halting, "was dey yours?" "they were!" at this the abominable rascal doubled himself up as if in a convulsion, shook all over, and turned almost black in the face. it was his mode of laughing. "well, i daught dey wos yours! i daught to myself, mein gott! how dat fellow will shwear when he find his sthockings gone!" and here the convulsions were so violent that he fairly rolled over in the snow, and kicked as if in the agonies of death. it was doubtless very funny to rob a man of his valuable property and cause him days of suffering from blistered feet; but i was unable to see any wit in it till the jew regained his breath and said, "vel, vel! i must sthand dhreat for dat! i know'd you'd shwear when you missed 'em. vel, vel! das is goot! here's a flask of first-rate brandy--dhrink!" i took a small pull--medicinally, of course. from that moment my forgiveness was complete. i harbored not a particle of resentment against the man, though i never again could have entertained implicit confidence in his integrity. in due time we reached the banks of carson river at a place called dutch john's, distant about four miles from carson city. i have an impression that john was an emigrant from salt lake. he had brought with him a woman to whom he was "sealed," and was the father of a thriving little family of "cotton-heads." some of the stage-drivers who were in the habit of taking a "smile" at john's persuaded him that he was now among a moral and civilized people, and must get married. to be "sealed" to a woman was not enough. he must be spliced according to church and state, otherwise he would wake up some fine morning and find himself hanging to a tree. john had heard that the californians were terrible fellows, and had a mortal dread of vigilance committees. the stage-drivers were rather a clever set of fellows, and no way strict in morals; but then they might hang him for fun, and what would be fun to them would be death to him. there was some charm in living an immoral life, to be sure, yet it would not do to enjoy that disreputable course at the expense of a disjointed neck. on the whole, john took the advice of the stage-drivers, and got married. next day he rode through the streets of carson, boasting of the adroit manner in which he had escaped the vengeance of the vigilance committee. i am happy to add that he is now a respectable member of the community. not that i recommend his whisky. i consider it infinitely worse than any ever manufactured out of tobacco-juice, cayenne pepper, and whale-oil at port townsend, washington territory, where the next worst whisky in the world is used as the common beverage of the inhabitants. leaving john's we came to the plain. here the sand was heavy, and the walking very monotonous and tiresome. this part of carson valley is a complete desert. scarcely a blade of grass was to be seen. shriveled sage-bushes scattered here and there over the sand were the only signs of vegetation. even the rabbits and sage-hens had abandoned the country. all the open spaces resembled the precincts of a slaughter-house. cattle lay dead in every direction, their skulls, horns, and carcasses giving an exceedingly desolate aspect to the scene. near the river it was a perfect mass of corruption. hundreds upon hundreds of bleached skeletons and rotting carcasses dotted the banks or lay in great mounds, where they had gathered for mutual warmth, and dropped down from sheer starvation. the smell filled the air for miles. thousands of buzzards had gathered in from all parts to the great carnival of flesh--presenting a disgusting spectacle as they sat gorged and stupefied on the foul masses of carrion, they scarcely deigning to move as we passed. in the sloughs bordering on the river, oxen, cows, and horses were buried up to the necks where they had striven to get to the water, but, from excess of weakness, had failed to get back to the solid earth. some were dead, others were dying. around the latter the buzzards were already hovering, scarcely awaiting the extinction of life before they plunged in their ravenous beaks and tore out the eyes from the sockets. on the dry plain many hundreds of cattle had fallen from absolute starvation. the winter had been terribly severe, and the prolonged snows had covered what little vegetation there was. those of the settlers who had saved hay enough for their stock found it more profitable to sell it at $ a ton and let the stock die. horses, oxen, and cows shared the same fate. many lingered out the winter on the few stunted shrubs to be found on the foot-hills, and died just as the grass began to appear. it was a hard country for animals of all kinds. those that were retained for the transportation of goods were little better than living skeletons, yet the amount of labor put upon them was extraordinary. in virginia city it was almost impossible to procure a grain of barley for love or money. enormous prices were offered for any kind of horse-feed by men who had come over on good horses, and who wished to keep them alive. at the rate of five dollars a day it required but a short time for the best horse to "eat his head off." hay was sold in little wisps of a few pounds at sixty cents a pound, barley at seventy-five cents, and but little to be had even at those extravagant rates. a friend of mine from san francisco, who arrived on a favorite horse, could get nothing in the way of feed but bread, and he paid fifty cents a loaf for a few scanty loaves about the size of biscuits to keep the poor animal alive. it was truly pitiable to see fine horses starving to death. the severity of the weather and the want of shelter were terribly severe on animals of every kind. good horses could scarcely be sold for a tenth part of their cost, though the distance across the mountain could be performed under ordinary circumstances in two days. but where all was rush and confusion there was little time to devote to the calls of humanity. men were crazy after claims. every body had his fortune to make in a few months. the business of jockeying had not grown into full vogue except among a few, who were always willing to sell at very high prices and buy at very low--a remarkable fact connected with dealers in horseflesh. [illustration: carson valley.] the walk across carson valley through the heavy sand had exhausted what little of my strength remained, and i was about to give up the ghost for the third time, when a wagoner from salt lake gave me a lift on his wagon and enabled me to reach the town. here my excellent friend van winkle gave me another chance in his bunk, and in the course of a few days i was quite recruited. chapter vii. my washoe agency. the courteous reader who has followed me so far will doubtless be disappointed that i have given so little practical information about the mines. touching that i can only say, as macaulay said of sir horace walpole, the constitution of my mind is such that whatever is great appears to me little, and whatever is little seems great. the serious pursuits of life i regard as a monstrous absurdity on the part of mankind, especially rooting in the ground for money. the washoe mines are nothing more than squirrel-holes on a large scale, the difference being that squirrels burrow in the ground because they live there, and men because they want to live somewhere else. i deny and repudiate the idea that any man really has any necessity for money. he only thinks he does--which is a most unaccountable error. but then you may have some notion of going to washoe yourself, just to try your luck. good friend, let me advise you--don't go. stay where you are. devote the remainder of your life to your legitimate business, your wife, and your baby. don't go to washoe. if you have no money, or but little, you had better go to--any other place. it is no retreat for a poor man. the working of silver mines requires capital. a poor man can not make wages in washoe. if you are rich and wish to speculate--a word in your ear. [illustration: holding on to it.] "the undersigned is prepared to sell at reasonable prices" [this i quote from one of my advertisements] "valuable claims in the following companies: the dead broke, the rip snorter, the love's despair, the ragged end, the fool hardy, the ousel owl, the grab game, the riff-raff. "the titles to all these claims are perfect, and the purchaser of any claim will have no difficulty whatever in holding on to it." i hope it will not be inferred from the desponding tone of my narrative that i deny the existence of silver in washoe, for certainly nothing is farther from my intention. that there is silver in the comstock lead, and in great quantities, is a well-established fact. how many thousands of tons may be there it is impossible for me to say, but there must be an immense quantity--beyond all calculation in fact, as the ore is scattered all around the mines in great heaps, and every heap is said to be worth a fortune if it would only bear transportation to san francisco at an expense of $ per ton. the best of it is sorted out and packed off on mules every day or two, partly to get the silver out of it, and partly to show the speculators in san francisco that the mines have not yet given out. the yield per ton is estimated at from $ to $ . during the time of my visit to the mines but little work could be done on account of the number of speculators who were engaged in trying to sell out, few of them being disposed to engage in the slow operation of mining. some said it was on account of the weather, but i suspect the weather had very little to do with it. the following is a rough estimate of the companies who claim to hold in the comstock vein: billy choller feet. hill and norcross " goold and curry " savage " washoe " belcher and best " sides ground " murphy " kinney " central " california " welch and bryan " central (again) " ophir " mexican " continuation of ophir " newman, scott, & co. " miller co. " bob allen and others " [illustration: mount ophir.] besides about forty miles of outside claims, said to be on a direct line with the comstock, and to be richer, if any thing, than the original vein. when i left, the prices asked for a share in any of the above companies ranged from $ to $ per running foot, and it was alleged that the purchaser could follow his running foot through all its dips, spurs, and angles. some of these companies numbered as high as two or three hundred. i know a gentleman who sold out all his assets and invested the proceeds, $ , in inches of the central, and another who mortgaged his property to secure five feet in the billy choller. these gentlemen are, in all probability, at this moment worth a million of dollars each. [illustration: croppings.] in short, the whole country looks black, blue, and white with silver, and where there is no silver there are croppings which indicate sulphurets or copperas. [illustration: the flowery diggings.] the flowery diggings were in full flower; and if they have since failed to realize the expectations that were then formed of them, it must be because the mammoth lead gave out, or lady bryant did not sustain her reputation. [illustration: honest miner.] to the honest miner i have a word to say. you are a free-born american citizen--that is, unless you were born in ireland, which is so much the better, or in germany, which is better still. you live by the sweat of your brow. you are god's noblest work--an honest man. the free exercise of the right of suffrage is guaranteed to you by the glorious constitution of our common country. upon your vote may depend the fate of millions of american freemen, nay, fate of freedom itself, and the ultimate destiny of mankind. i do not appeal to you on the present occasion for any personal favor. thank fortune, i am beyond that. but in the name of common sense, in the name of our beloved state, in the name of the great continental congress, i do appeal to you, if you have a claim in california, hold on to it! don't go pirouetting about the country in search of better claims, abandoning ills that you are well acquainted with, and flying to others that you know nothing about. if you do, you may find it "a gloomy prospect." [illustration: "a gloomy prospect."] i was now, so to say, permanently established at carson city. in other words, it was questionable whether i should ever be able to get away without resorting to the intervention of friends, which was an alternative too revolting for human nature to bear. the only resource left was "the agency." i had forgotten all about it hitherto, and now resolved to call at the express office, and see what fortune might be in store for me. surely the advertisement must have elicited various orders of a lucrative nature. nor was i disappointed. a package of letters awaited me. without violating any confidential obligations, i may say, in general terms, that the contents and my answers were pretty much as follows: _a._ wishes to know what the prospect would be in washoe for a young man of the medical profession. has a small stock of drugs, and proposes to engage in the practice of medicine, and at the same time keep a drug store. _ans._ doctors are already a drug in washoe. brandy, whisky, and gin are the only medicines taken. bring over a lot of good liquors, prescribe them at two bits a dose, and you will do well. charge, $ --please remit. _b._ has about twenty head of fine american cows. would like to sell them, and wishes a contract made in advance. _ans._ could find nobody who wanted to pay cash for cows. money is scarce and cows are plenty. have sold your cows, however, for the following valuable claims: feet in the root-hog-or-die; feet in the let-her-rip; feet in the gone case; and feet in the you bet. charge, $ , which please remit by express. _c._ would like to know if a school could be established in washoe with any reasonable prospect of success. has been engaged in the business for some years, and is qualified to teach the ordinary branches of a good english education, or, if desired, greek and latin. _ans._ no time to waste in learning here, and no use for the english language, much less greek or latin. a pious missionary might find occupation. one accustomed to mining could develop what indications there are of a spiritual nature among the honest miners. no charge. _d._ wishes to invest about $ in some good claims. has three or four friends who will go in with him. is willing to honor a draft for that amount. hopes i will strike something rich. _ans._ have bought a thousand feet for you in the very best silver mines yet discovered. they are all in and about the devil's gate. several of them are supposed to be in the comstock ledge. they are worth $ , this moment; but if you can sell them in s. f. for an advance of $ , do so by all means, as the silver may give out. charge, $ or nothing. _e._ has been in bad health for some time, and thinks a trip across the mountains would do him good. please give him some information about the road and manner of living. how about lodgings and fare? is troubled with the bronchitis, and wishes to know how the climate would be likely to affect it. _ans._ hire a mule at placerville, and if you are not too far gone the trip may benefit your bronchial tubes. the road is five feet deep by miles long, and is composed chiefly of mountains, snow, and mud. lodgings--from one to two hundred lodgers in each room, and from two to four bedfellows in each bed. will not be troubled long with the bronchitis. the water will probably make an end of you in about two weeks. charge--nothing. _f._ is a lawyer by profession, and desires to establish a business in some new country. thinks there will be some litigation at washoe in connection with the mines. wishes to be informed on that point, and would be obliged for any general information. _ans._ about every tenth man in washoe is a lawyer. there will doubtless be abundance of litigation there before long. would advise you to go to some other new country, say pike's peak, for instance. respecting things generally, miller and rodgers are going up and whisky down. charge, cents. please remit. _g._ thinks of taking his family over to washoe. how are the accommodations for women and children? and can servants be had? _ans._ keep on thinking about that or something else, but don't attempt to carry your thoughts into effect. if you do, your wife must wear the--excuse me--she must wear male apparel. for accommodations, yourself and family might possibly be able to hire one bunk two feet by six; and you might seduce a digger indian to remain in your domestic employ by giving him $ in cash and a gallon of whisky per day. charge--nothing. _h._ has a house and lot worth about $ , . would like to trade it for some good mining claims. can not sell the property for cash on account of a difficulty about the title; but this you need not mention, as it can probably be adjusted for a reasonable consideration. _ans._ have traded your house and lot for feet in the pine nut, do. in the ousel owl, do. in the salmon tail, in the roaring jack, and in the amador. these are all good claims, and it will make no difference about the title to your house and lot, as each claim in the above-mentioned companies has also several titles to it. charge, $ . please remit. _i._ is in the stove business, and understands that cast-iron stoves bring a high price in washoe. has some notion of sending over a consignment. please state expenses and prospect of success. _ans._ stoves are very valuable in washoe, especially cooking-stoves. it costs from to cents per pound to get them over on mule-back, at which prices they can be sold for claims, but not for money. if you have any very young stoves that can be planted, as the schildbergers planted the salt, a good crop of them can be sold. charge--nothing. _j._ is inventor of a process for extracting silver out of the crude ore without smelting. the machinery is simple, and would easily bear transportation. could the patent right be sold in washoe? _ans._ nothing is more needed here than just such an invention as yours. bring it over by all means. if you can extract silver out of the general average of the ore found here, either by smelting or otherwise, you will do a splendid business. charge, $ . please remit. _k._ understands that lumber is $ a thousand in virginia city. can be delivered at the wharf in san francisco from the mendocino mills for about $ a thousand. would it be practicable to get any quantity of it over, so as to make the speculation profitable? _ans._ you are correctly informed as to the value of lumber in washoe. a balloon might be constructed to carry over a small lot; but, in case you found that mode of transportation too expensive, i know of no other way than to remove a portion of the sierra nevada mountains in the rear of placerville, or run a tunnel through underneath. it is possible that the price of labor might be an obstacle to the success of either of these plans, in which event, if you can contract to put one board on the back of each man leaving san francisco, he may be able to earn his board, and you may be able to get your lumber over cheap. charge, $ . please remit. i have thus given an average specimen of the letters that came pouring in upon me by every mail. it kept me busy, as may well be supposed, to attend to the numerous requests made by my correspondents; but the trouble was, no money came. there was a great deal, to be sure, for future collection, and as long as that was due it could not be lost by any injudicious speculation. it was some consolation, therefore, to reflect upon the large amount of capital that had accrued in the various operations of the agency. at this crisis, when fortune had fairly begun to smile, the weather changed again, and for days it stormed and snowed incessantly, covering up the whole valley, and blocking up every trail. a relapse of rheumatism and my poison-malady now seized me with renewed virulence. i had scarcely any rest by night or day, and soon saw that to remain would be a sure way of securing a claim to at least six feet of ground in the vicinity of carson. the extraordinary number of persons who had invested in silver mines, and who were anxious to sell out in san francisco, suggested the idea of changing my agency to that locality. i therefore notified the public that there was a rare opportunity of selling out their claims to the best advantage, and it was not long before i was freighted down with "indications," powers of attorney, deeds, and bills of sale. chapter viii. start for home. as soon as the weather permitted i set forth on my journey homeward, taking the stage to genoa, in the hope of finding a horse or mule there upon which to cross the mountains. it was doubtful whether the trail was yet open; but a thaw had set in, and the prospect was that it would be practicable to get over in a few days. the stage from genoa to woodford's had been discontinued, in consequence of the expense of feeding the horses. all the saddle trains had left before the late snow, and there was not an animal of any kind to be had except by purchase--an alternation for which i was not prepared. in this unfortunate state of affairs there was nothing left but to try it again on foot. it was with great difficulty that i could walk at all, much less carry my blankets and the additional weight of a heavy bundle of "croppings." the prospect of remaining at genoa, however, was too gloomy to be thought of. so i sold my blankets for a night's lodging, and set out the next morning for woodford's. by dint of labor and perseverance i accomplished about eight miles that day. it was dark night when i reached a small farm-house on the road-side. here a worthy couple lived, who gave me comfortable lodgings, and cooked up such a luxurious repast of broiled chicken, toast, and tea, that i determined, if practicable, to remain a day or two, in order to regain my strength for the trip across the mountain. [illustration: return from washoe.] the kindness and hospitality of these excellent people had the desired effect. in two days i was ready to proceed. fortunately, an ox-wagon was going to woodford's for lumber, and i contracted with the driver, a good-humored negro, to give me a lift there for the sum of fifty cents. i had the pleasure of meeting several san francisco friends on the road, and gave them agreeable tidings of the mines. the trail had just been opened. a perfect torrent of adventurers came pouring over, forming an almost unbroken line all the way from placerville. by this time the spring was well advanced and the excitement was at its height. the news from below was, that the whole state would soon be depopulated. every body was coming--women, children, and all. of course i wished them luck, but it was a marvel to me what they would do when they reached washoe. already there were eight or ten thousand people there, and not one in fifty had any thing to do, or could get employment for board and lodging. companies were leaving every day for more's lake and walker's river, and the probability was that there would be considerable distress, if not absolute suffering. but it was useless to talk. every adventurer must have a look at the diggings for himself. there must be luck in store for him, if for nobody else. for my part, i had taken a look and was satisfied. the ox-team traveled very slowly, so that there was a good opportunity of seeing people pass both ways. the difference in the expression of the incoming and the outgoing was very remarkable, being about the difference between a man with fifty dollars in his pocket and one who wished to borrow that amount. there was that canny air of confidence about the former which betokens the possession of some knowledge touching the philosopher's stone not shared by mankind generally. about the latter there was a mingled expression of sadness and sarcasm, as if they were rather inclined to the opinion that some people had not yet seen the elephant. [illustration: outgoing and incoming.] as my ox carriage crept along uneasily over the rocky road, i was hailed from behind, "hello dare! sthop!" it was my friend the jew again! i had lost sight of him in carson, and now, by some fatality, he was destined to be my companion again. "mein gott! i'm tired valking. can't you give me a lift?" the driver was willing provided i had no objection. now i had freely forgiven this man for the robbery of my stockings. i was not uncharitable enough to refuse help to a tired wayfarer; yet i had a serious objection to his company under existing circumstances. his boots were nearly worn out, and mine had but recently been purchased in carson. if this fellow could embezzle my stockings and afterward unblushingly confess the act, what security could i have on the journey for the safety of my boots? i knew if he once started in with me he would never relinquish his claim to my company until we reached placerville; for the fellow was rather of a sociable turn, and liked to talk. it seemed best, therefore, under all circumstances, to have a distinct understanding at once. the treaty was soon negotiated. on my part it was stipulated that israel should ride to woodford's on the ox wagon provided he paid his own fare; that we should cross the mountain together for mutual protection, provided he would deposit in my hands his watch or a $ gold piece as security for the safety of my boots; and, finally, that he would bind himself by the most solemn obligations of honor not to steal both the security and the boots; to all of which the jew assented with one of those internal convulsions which betokened great satisfaction in the arrangement. the watch was covered with pewter, as i discovered when he handed it to me; but i had no doubt it was worth eight or ten dollars. besides, the treaty made no mention of the quality of the watch. it might possibly be an excellent timepiece, and, at all events, seemed to be worth a pair of boots. toward evening we arrived at woodford's. between two and three hundred travelers from the other side of the mountain had already gotten in, and it was represented that there was a line of pedestrians all the way over to strawberry. the rush for supper was tremendous. not even the famous heenan and sayers contest could compare with it, for here every body went in--or at least tried to get in. at the sixth round i succeeded in securing a favorable position, and when the battle commenced was fortunate enough to be crushed into a seat. in the way of sleeping there was a general spread-out up stairs. by assuming a confidential tone with the proprietor i contrived to get a mattress and a pair of blankets. the jew slept alongside on his pack, with a covering of loose coats. nature's balmy restorer quickly put an end to all the troubles of the day, notwithstanding the incessant noise kept up throughout the night. [illustration: the jew's boots.] in the morning i awoke much refreshed. it was about seven o'clock, and time to start. i turned to arouse my friend israel, but, to my surprise, found that he had already taken his departure. a horrible suspicion seized me. had he also taken--yes, of course; my boots were gone too! and the security? the watch? i looked under my pillow. miserable wretch! he had also taken the watch. i might have known it! i was a fool for trusting him. when i picked up the old pair of boots bequeathed to me as a token of remembrance by this depraved man--when i held them up to the light and examined them critically--when i reflected upon the journey before me, it was enough to bring tears to the sternest human eye. no matter; i would catch the dastardly wretch on the trail. if ever i laid hands upon him again, so help me--but what is the use of swearing. no man ever caught another in this world with such a pair of boots on his feet--and here i examined them again--never! one might as well attempt to walk in a pair of condemned fire-buckets. there was no help for it but to await some chance of getting over on horseback. fortunately, a saddle-train which had passed down to genoa during the previous day returned a little after daylight. for the sum of $ , cash in advance, i secured an unoccupied horse--the poorest animal, perhaps, ever ridden by mortal man. there is no good reason that i am aware of why people engaged in the horse-business should always select for my use the refuse of their stock; but such has invariably been their practice. i have never yet been favored with a horse that was not lame, halt, or blind, or otherwise physically afflicted. i had not ridden more than a mile from woodford's before i discovered that the miserable hack upon which i was mounted traveled diagonally, like a lugger beating against a head wind. his fore feet were well enough--they traveled on the trail; but his hind feet were continually undertaking to luff up a little to windward. when it is borne in mind that the trail was over a bank of snow from eight to ten feet deep, and not more than a foot wide, the inconvenience of that mode of locomotion will at once be perceived. every few hundred yards the hind feet got off the trail, and went down with a sudden lurch that kept me in constant apprehension of being buried alive in the snow. another serious difficulty was, that my horse, owing perhaps to the defect in his hind legs, had no capacity for short turns, so that whenever the trail suddenly diverged from its direct course, he invariably brought up against a rock, stump, or bank of snow. i appealed to the captain or commander of the train to give me a better animal, but he assured me positively this was the very best in the whole lot, and that i would find him peculiarly adapted to mountain travel, where it was often an advantage for an animal to hold on to an upper trail with his fore feet while his hind ones were searching for another down below. in short, on this account solely he had named him "guyascutas." as there seemed to be no way of impressing the captain with a different opinion of the merits of guyascutas, i was obliged to make the best of a bad bargain, and jog on as fast as spurs, blows, and entreaties could effect that result. in reference to the jew, whom i expected to overtake, and for whom i kept a sharp look-out, it may be as well to state at once that i never again put eyes on him. whether he secreted himself behind some tree or rock till the saddle-train passed, or, overcome by remorse for the dastardly act he had committed, cast himself headlong over some precipice, i have never been able to ascertain. he is a miserable wretch at best. in view of the future, i would not for all the wealth of the rothschilds stand in his--well, yes, for that much money i might stand in his boots, provided no others were to be had; but i should regret extremely to be guilty of such an act toward any fellow-traveler as he had committed. it was four o'clock when we got under way from the lake house. a mule-driver from the other side of the divide had cautioned us against starting. there had been several snow-slides during the day, and it was only a few hours since the trail had been cut through. a large train of mules heavily laden must now be on the way down the grade, and fifteen other trains had left strawberry since noon. [illustration: snow slide.] those who have passed over the "grade" can best appreciate our position. two of our horses had already died of starvation and hard usage. there was no barley or feed of any kind to be had at the lake house. the snow was rapidly melting, and avalanches might be expected at any moment. only a day or two ago one of these fearful slides had occurred, sweeping all before it. two mules and a horse were carried over the precipice and dashed to atoms, and the driver had barely escaped with his life. it was considered perilous to stop on any part of the grade. the trail was not over a foot wide, being heavily banked up on each side by the accumulated snow. passing a pack train was very much like running a muck. the spanish mules are so well aware of their privileges when laden, that they push on in defiance of all obstacles, often oversetting the unwary traveler by main force. i was struck with a barrel of whisky in one of the narrow passes some time previously and knocked nearly senseless, so that i had good cause to remember their prowess. it was put to the vote whether we should make the attempt or remain, and finally, after much discussion, referred to our captain. he was evidently determined to go on at all hazards, having a stronger interest in the lives of his horses than any of the party. at the word of command we mounted and put spurs to our jaded animals. "now, boys," said the captain, "keep together. your lives depend upon it! watch out for the pack trains, and when you see them coming hang on to a wide place! don't come in contact with the pack-mules, or you'll go over the grade certain." there was no need of caution. every nerve was strained to make the summit as soon as possible. it should be mentioned that the "grade" is the placerville state road, cut in the eastern slope of the sierra nevadas, and winding upward around each rib of the mountain for a distance of two miles. it was now washed away in many places by the melting of the snow, and some of the bridges across the ravines were in a very bad condition. from the first main elevation there is still another rise of two or three miles to the top of the divide, but this part is open and the ascent is comparatively easy. in meeting the pack trains the only hope of safety is to make for a point where the road widens. these places of security occur only three or four times in the entire ascent of the grade. to be caught between them on a stubborn or unruly horse is almost certain destruction at this season of the year. the only alternative is to dismount with all speed, wheel your horse round, and, if possible, get back to some place of security. in about half an hour we made a point of rocks where the trail was bare. our captain gave the order to dismount, and proceeded a short distance ahead to reconnoitre. the whole space occupied by our twelve horses and riders was not over six or eight feet wide by about thirty in length. should any of the animals become stampeded, they were bound to go over. the tracks of several which had recently been pushed over the precipice by the pack trains were still visible. our captain returned presently with news that a train was in sight. soon we heard the tinkling of the bell attached to the leader, and then the clattering of the hoofs as the mules descended with their heavy burdens. one by one they passed. whisky, gin, and brandy again! barrels, half barrels, and kegs! the vaqueros made the cliffs resound with their carambas and carajas, their doña marias and santa sofias! a language apparently well understood by the mules. this was a train of forty mules, all laden with liquors for the thirsty miners. the vaqueros reported another train within half a mile of twenty-five mules, and others on the grade. [illustration: the grade.] after another train had passed, our captain gave the word to mount and "cut for our lives!" scarcely five seconds elapsed before we were all off, dashing helter-skelter up the trail. the horses plunged and stumbled over the rocks, slush, and mud in a manner truly pitiable for them and dangerous for us. in some places the mules had cut through for hundreds of yards, and the trail was perfectly honey-combed. but there was no time for humanity. dashing the spurs into the bleeding sides of our animals, we pushed on as if all the evil powers of virginia city were after us. "go it, boys!" our captain shouted; "neck or nothing! i see the train! two hundred yards more and we're all safe! caraja! here's another train right on us!" it was a palpable truth. the pack-mules came lumbering down around a point not fifty yards from us. "dismount all! wheel! and cut back for your lives!" this was the order. in a moment we were all plunging frantically in the snow. some of the horses were stampeded, and one man had gotten his riata around his leg. the mules had also commenced a stampede, when, by dint of shouting, plunging, and struggling, we got clear of them, and went tearing down the trail to our old station. the train soon passed us. whisky again, of course. "how many trains more, senor?" to the vaquero. "carambo! muchos! muchos!" and on he went laughing. this was hard. we could not stand here much longer, for the tremendous bank of snow above us began to show indications of breaking away. two trains more passed in rapid succession, and then our captain rode ahead again to reconnoitre. it was growing dusk. the prospect was any thing but cheering. at a given signal we mounted once more. now commenced a terrible race. heads, necks, legs, or horse-flesh were as nothing in the desperate struggle to reach the next point. this time we were in luck. the haven was attained just soon enough to avoid a train of forty mules. from the vaquero we learned that another was still on the grade. we might be able to pass it, however, half a mile farther on. at the word of command we again mounted, and put spurs to our jaded animals. it was not long before we heard the tinkling of a bell. now for it! halt! the mules were on us before we could turn; and here commenced a scene which baffles all description. some of us were overturned, horses and all, in the banks of snow. others sprang from their horses and let them struggle on their own account. all had to break a way out of the trail. the mules were stampeded, and kicked, brayed, and rolled by turns. the vaqueros were in a perfect frenzy of rage and terror combined--shrieking maladetto! carambo! and caraja! till it seemed as if the reverberation must break loose the snow from above, and send an avalanche down on top of us all. bridles got foul of stray legs and jerked the owners on their backs; riatas were twisted and wound around horses, mules, and whisky-barrels; packs went rolling hither and thither; men and animals kicked for their bare lives; heads, legs, and bodies were covered up in snow-drifts; and nobody knew what every body else was doing, or what he was doing himself. in short, the scene was altogether very lively, and would have been amusing had it not been intensified by the imminent risk of slipping over the precipice. it was at least a thousand feet down into lake valley, and a man might just as well be kicked on the head by twelve frantic horses and twenty-five vicious mules as undertake a trip down there by the short cut. all troubles must end. ours ended when the animals gave out for want of breath. upon picking up our scattered regiment, with all arms and equipments used in the melee, we found the result as follows: dead, none; wounded by kicks, scratches, sprains, and bruises, six; mortally frightened, the whole party, inclusive of our captain; lost, a keg of whisky, which some say went down to lake valley; but i have my suspicions where that keg went, and how it was secreted. from this point over the summit we met several more pack trains, and had an occasional tumble in the snow. nothing more serious occurred. it was quite dark as we commenced our descent. the road here was a running stream of mud, obstructed by slippery rocks, ruts, stumps, and dead animals. it was a marvel to me how we ever reached the bottom without broken bones. my horse stumbled about every hundred yards, but never fell more than three quarters down. somehow people rarely get killed in this country, unless shot by revolvers or bad whisky. chapter ix. arrival in san francisco. the crowds were thicker than ever at strawberry. from all accounts the excitement had only just commenced. five thousand were represented to be on the road from the various diggings throughout california. i had bargained for a bed, and was enjoying the idea of a good supper--the savory odor of which came through the cracks of the bar-room door--when our captain announced that he could get no feed for his animals, and we must ride on to "dick's," fourteen miles more. this was pretty tough on a sick man. the ride since morning had been quite hard enough to try the strength and temper of a well man; but add fourteen miles to that, of a dark night and raining into the bargain, and the sum total is not agreeable. it was useless to remonstrate. the captain was inflexible. he could not see his horses starve. one was just giving his last kick, and three more were about to "go in." i might stay if i pleased, suggested the captain, but the horses must go on. as i had paid thirty dollars for the ride, and had barely enough left to get to san francisco, there was no alternative but to mount. by this time three of the party were so ill as to be scarcely able to sit in their saddles. it is wonderful how much one can endure when there is nobody at hand to care a pin whether he lives or dies. i rather incline to the opinion that many people in this world die from the kindness and sympathy of friends, who, if thrown upon their own resources, would weather it out. i have an impressive recollection of the fourteen miles from strawberry to "dick's." my horse, guyascutas, broke down about half way. the rest of the party pushed on. about the same time the old torture of rheumatism and neuralgia assailed me in full force. it was pitch dark. there was no stopping-place nearer than "dick's." the weather was cold, and a drenching rain had now penetrated my clothes to the skin. a distinct recollection of my feelings a month ago, as i tramped along over this road with my pack on my back, afforded me ample material for philosophical reflection. was it now somebody else--some decrepit old fogy who had lost his all, and had nothing more to expect in this world? or could it possibly be the glowing enthusiast, just freed from the trammels of office, and inspired by visions of mountain life, liberty, and wealth? if it was the same--and there could hardly be any mistake about it, unless some mysterious translation of the spirit into some other body had taken place at virginia creek--the visions of mountain life, liberty, and unbounded riches were certainly of a very different character. in addition to the peculiarity in the hind-quarters of guyascutas, which caused him always to make two trails at the same time, i had now reason to suspect that he was entirely blind of one eye, and afflicted with a cataract on the other. every hundred yards or so he walked off the road, and brought up in some deep cavity or against a pile of rocks. the mud in many places was up to his haunches, and if there was a comparatively dry spot any where in existence, he was sure to avoid it. i think he disliked me on account of the spurring i gave him on the grade, and wanted to get rid of me in some way; or perhaps he considered his own course of life beyond farther endurance. the result of all the stumbling, and running into deep pits, banks of rock, and mud-holes was, that i had to get down and walk the remainder of the way. if a conviction had not taken possession of my mind that the captain would compel me to pay for the horse in the event of failure to produce him, i would cheerfully have left him to his fate and proceeded alone; but, under the circumstances, i thought it best to lead him. at last the welcome lights hove in sight. it was not long before i was snugly housed at dick's, where a good cup of tea brought life and hope back again. this, i may safely say, was my hardest day's experience of travel in any country. next day poor guyascutas was so far gone on his long journey that i had to leave him at a stable on the road-side, and proceed on foot. by night i was within six miles of placerville. here i overtook a fellow-traveler, and bargained with him for his horse. from placerville, by stage to sacramento, the journey is devoid of interest. i arrived at san francisco in due time, a little the worse for the wear, but still equal to any new emergency that might arise. the citizens of san francisco were on the _qui vive_ for news from washoe. almost every man with a dollar to spare, and many who had nothing to spare, had invested, to a greater or less extent, in claims--from thousands of feet down to a few inches. conflicting accounts had recently come down. the public mind was in a state of feverish excitement. was washoe a humbug, or was it not? was there silver there, or was it all sham? what was the ophir worth at this time? how about the billy choller and the miller? these were but a few of the questions asked me on montgomery street. it required an hour to walk fifty yards, so great was the pressure for news. could i tell any thing about the winnemuck, or the pine nut, or the rogers? did i happen to know what the wake-up-jake was worth in washoe? what about the lady bryant--was it true that it had gone down? whereabouts was the jim crack located, and what was dead broke worth? in short, i looked over more deeds, and answered more questions of a varied and indefinite nature, in the brief space of three days, than had ever been put to and answered by any one man before. [illustration: return to san francisco.] the editor of the _bulletin_, who had made a flying visit to washoe, and in whose company i had traveled down from placerville, commenced about this time a series of articles, in which he told some startling truths. base metal had been found in the comstock; to what extent it prevailed nobody could tell. if the comstock should prove to be worthless, what hope was there for the "outside claims." the news spread like wild-fire. a panic seized upon the multitudes whose funds were invested in washoe. men hurried about the streets in search of purchasers of washoe stock; but purchasers were nowhere to be found. every body wanted to sell. the comstock suddenly fell from one thousand down to five dollars per foot, and no sales at that. miller went down fifty per cent.; and the great outside could scarcely be given away at any price! alas! had it come to this? the gigantic washoe speculation "gone in," and none so poor to do it reverence! softly! a word in your ear, reader! they are only "bucking it down" for purposes of speculation. the keen men who know a thing or two are buying up secretly. the silver is there, and it must come out. all this cry about base metal is "a dodge" to frighten the timid. if you have claims, hold on to them; they will be up again presently. for my part, i thought it best to leave san francisco before my correspondents--for whom, it will be remembered, i had executed some business in washoe--retracted their good opinion of my sagacity. there was no chance at this crisis to sell the various claims with which i had been commissioned at carson city. capitalists were short of funds. the money-market was laboring under a depression. the liver of the body politic was in a state of collapse. i went to the principal bankers, but failed to accomplish any thing. they even refused to lend money on unquestionable security. in view of all the circumstances, i determined to visit europe. if the moneyed men of the old world could only be satisfied of the extent, variety, and magnificence of the investments to be made in the new, they would not hesitate to open negotiations with an agent direct from washoe. frankfort-on-the-main, january, . you will perceive from my address, most esteemed reader, that i am now established at one of the best points for pecuniary transactions on the continent of europe. i have seen many of the wealthy burghers of frankfort, and am pleased to say that they manifest a very friendly disposition. as yet they do not quite understand the nature of the proposed securities, but i have great confidence in their sagacity. my negotiations with the rothschilds have been of the most amicable character. they have gone so far as to express the opinion that washoe must be a remarkable country; and yesterday, when i proposed to sell them fifty feet in the gone case, and forty in the roaring grizzly, for the sum of one hundred thousand florins, they smiled so politely, and withal looked so completely puzzled, that i considered it best not to force an immediate answer. you are aware, of course, that in important negotiations of this kind it is judicious to let the opposite party sleep a night or two over your proposition. that the rothschilds are at present a little wary of any investment in washoe is quite natural. the nomenclature is new to them. they have never before heard of roaring grizzly and gone case silver mines. but if that should prove to be their only objection, i have no doubt they will ultimately purchase to the extent of several millions. if they do, i shall be happy to negotiate further sales for a reasonable commission, to be paid strictly in advance. my publishers will, i am confident, forward any letter to my address. [illustration: reading extra bulletin.] the end. proofreading team at http://www.fadedpage.net [illustration: slowly he was let down] ross grant tenderfoot by john garland author of "ross grant, gold hunter" "ross grant on the trail" illustrated by r. l. boyer the penn publishing company philadelphia copyright by the penn publishing company ross grant, tenderfoot to mr. and mrs. c. h. tewksbury whose life in the wyoming mountains has made ross grant, tenderfoot, possible, i cordially dedicate this book introduction when i went over the same route, some time before ross grant traveled it, from cody eighty miles into the snow-capped shoshones, i found how welcome a "doc tenderfoot" would be in the gold mining camp at the end of the route. there was, in camp, the superintendent of one of the mining companies, a man who had never had any instruction in things medical or surgical, but who, with a steady hand and a cool head, and an acquired knowledge of "first aids," was often called on in case of sickness and accident, as there was no doctor nearer than cody. such a state of affairs greeted ross grant when he arrived with his medical "emergency chest" and his real knowledge of the use to which its contents should be put. also, i found a certain "outfit" of men, not mckenzie in name but in nature, waiting to "jump" certain valuable "claims" provided the owners failed in any particular to measure up to the requirements of the law. their intention was to do the "jumping" legally and not through "gun play," which is becoming an obsolete custom in that great state. then, too, i discovered over on a real meadow creek valley--exactly the same place that ross found--a real "dutch weimer" afflicted with snow-blindness, imprisoned for months at a time in the little valley because of the danger from snowslides on the mountainsides. and, by the way, if you should ever follow this same interesting trail from cody up into the mountains, you would find "ross grant, tenderfoot" an accurate guide-book until you reached the end of the stage route. there you would find that miners' camp is a fictitious name applied to a real place. and if you should chance to be in camp on the fourth of july, you would realize fully the difficulties that ross had to contend against in the vast snowfalls. for the year i visited the mountains the glorious fourth was celebrated by snow-shoe races down the mountainsides! there are snow-storms every month in the year there, but miners' camp is comparatively free from snow during august and september. these are the months, then, when gold hunters, "prospectors," are most numerous in the mountains. i saw them everywhere with their "pack outfits" bound on wooden saddles, seeking in the rocks for indications of a fortune that is as elusive in their business as the proverbial "pot of gold at the end of a rainbow." but, although ross grant did not immediately find a fortune, he found what is far more desirable, the development of muscle, quick wit and nerve in the situations which he was obliged to face and conquer in these adventure-breeding mountains. "ross grant, gold hunter" tells of the hero's further adventures in the mountains and of his hard won "find." in "ross grant on the trail" he meets many discouragements, but finally conquers them. john garland. contents i. a born surgeon ii. a steady hand iii. doc tenderfoot in action iv. the fourth man v. a man who needed bracing up vi. the men of meadow creek vii. half-confidences viii. ross's "hired man" ix. surprises x. a newcomer on meadow creek xi. meadow creek valley misses leslie xii. a calamity befalls ross xiii. the search xiv. a perilous journey xv. a new camp xvi. the ingratitude of weston xvii. a random shot xviii. a humiliating discovery xix. an unexpected victory illustrations page slowly he was let down _frontispiece_ map of the meadow creek trail "what's the latest word?" he struck the trail beside the dynamite box the snow hid it from view map of the crooked trail "you've paid for it" ross grant, tenderfoot chapter i a born surgeon dr. fred grant, recalled in haste from his daily round of professional visits by a telephone message from his nephew, leaped out of his carriage over the yet moving wheel, and, stuffing an open letter into his pocket, rushed up the walk and into his office, which occupied a wing of his commodious house. a sight met his eyes which was not uncommon, situated as he was in the midst of the coal fields of wyoming valley in pennsylvania. stretched out on the leather couch lay a man from the mines, black and grimy, his right arm crushed. two other miners, also blackened with coal-dust, sat on the edges of their chairs, their eyes following the movements of ross grant, the doctor's nephew and self-constituted assistant. those movements had been rapid and effective. again and again had this seventeen-year-old boy been brought face to face with such cases as this, and he handled it promptly and wordlessly. words, indeed, would have been wasted, as none of his callers spoke english. he had quieted the sufferer with a hypodermic injection of morphine, stripped the injured arm, cleansed it, and treated it with a temporary dressing. then, with the bandages firmly in place, he had gone to the telephone and patiently called up house after house until he found his uncle. when dr. grant entered the office, he found ross calmly taking the temperature of the wounded man. "he must have met with the accident at least an hour before they got him here," the boy explained, "for he was suffering awfully. i thought i ought to fix him up before trying to find you." his uncle nodded with satisfaction, and bent over the man. "all right," he commended briefly, but his tone said more. words were not always necessary to an understanding between uncle and nephew. the younger man was an abridged edition of the older in form and feature. in movements the two were alike only so long as ross was aiding the doctor on such an occasion as this. then there were in both the same alertness and quiet intentness, the same compression of the lips and narrowing of the eyes. but when the strain of the hour was past and the miners gone, the boy's manner changed. the alert quality which characterized the uncle at all times seemed to desert the nephew, and his movements became slow. from the born surgeon in embryo he became a rather awkward, self-conscious boy. throwing himself into a chair behind the table, he drew toward him gray's "anatomy," and began reading at a line marked by a paper-cutter, his closely cropped head grasped in both hands. the older man moved around the room restlessly, occasionally glancing with troubled eyes at the figure behind the table. standing finally in front of the window, he drew the letter from his pocket, smoothed it out, and read it again. in front of him, in the valley, lay pittston and wilkes-barre, with scranton in the distance, and beyond, the sun-burned hills, almost hidden now by the smoke from a hundred coal-breakers, and by the late august haze. "ross," began dr. grant abruptly, without turning, "i'm afraid you are going to meet disappointment--to a certain extent. i have a letter from your father." the boy raised his head with a jerk. "do you mean that he forbids----" "no,"--the doctor turned slowly,--"not exactly. he expects to send for you in a few days, and will tell you himself." ross's chin came up. "and i shall not be twenty-one for nearly four years yet!" he exclaimed aggressively. his uncle looked at him with more sternness than he felt. "remember, ross, that he is your father and that you owe him----" ross interrupted hotly, looking longingly at the letter. "i don't owe him as much as i do you and aunt anne." dr. grant made no reply, nor did he share the letter. putting it into an inner pocket, he left the office, and presently ross heard the sound of wheels on the drive. dr. grant was starting again on his interrupted round of calls. the boy leaned back and drew a deep breath. his father was going to send for him, and would then tell him--what? that he could not enter a medical college? that he could not become a surgeon? that he must fit himself for a business career? his chin came up again. he looked around the office lingeringly. it had been the heart of his home for seven years. it represented to him all that he wished to become. his father was almost a stranger to him; his uncle had stood in the place of a father since he, a sickly boy of ten, had been sent from the city to gain health on the hills which girdle wyoming valley. he had gained health. in so far he had fulfilled his father's wishes. but, in addition, he had gained a knowledge and been settled in a desire extremely displeasing to ross grant, senior, who expected to train his only son to continue his own business. "grant & grant" was the father's ambition; "dr. grant" the son's. presently dr. grant's wife appeared in the doorway of the office. she was a short, round woman, with a laughing face and a pretty, bustling air of authority. stopping abruptly, she shook a chubby forefinger at ross. "all day to-day," she accused, "you have bent over that book." ross, his elbows planted on the table and his chin resting on his fists, shook his head. he did not look up. "i've been studying gray on anatomy, aunt anne. got to master him." aunt anne bobbed energetically across the room, and slammed the volume shut. "there!" she cried triumphantly. "get out and walk five miles, and strengthen your own anatomy!" under her light tones and in the affectionate touch of her hand as she ran her fingers through his hair, ross detected an undercurrent of solicitude, which brought forth a counter-accusation. rising hastily, he laid both hands on her shoulders, and looked down from an altitude of five feet ten. "aunt anne, you know what father wrote to uncle, don't you?" mrs. grant's eyes fell. "better take a good run over the mountain, ross," she parried. ross's hands slipped from her shoulders. "i see there's no use asking either of you what he wrote." mrs. grant flecked some dust from the table. "sometimes, ross," was her only reply, "disappointment is the very best and most strengthening tonic we can take." she turned away, adding without glancing back as she left the room: "i do wish, ross, that you'd get out and exercise more. you would conquer gray's 'anatomy'--and all other difficulties--more quickly if you would." "i guess you're right, aunt anne," assented ross. "yes," scolded aunt anne to her sister in the living-room--but the scolding rested on a very apparent foundation of love--"ross always agrees with me about taking vigorous exercise--and then never takes it. now watch him walk, will you?" she fretted, looking out of the window. her sister, busily sewing, paused with suspended needle, and glanced out. ross was going slowly down the drive, his head bent forward, his youthful shoulders carelessly sagging, his long arms aimlessly hanging, giving him a curiously helpless appearance at variance with his large frame. "it's ross's own fault," declared aunt anne. "he doesn't like to exert himself physically. not that he's lazy," defensively, "for he isn't. he would work all night over a patient, and never think of himself; but to get out and exercise for the sake of exercising, and straightening himself up, and holding himself, somehow--well, i've talked myself hoarse about it, and then found that he had been reading some medical book or other all the time i was talking!" here aunt anne laughed silently, and ran her shears through a length of gingham, adding, as if the addition were a logical sequence to her monologue: "it's a mystery to me how his father can feel so disappointed in him." "disappointed in ross?" exclaimed the sister in a tone of wonder. mrs. grant nodded. "his father sends for him once a year, sees him for a day or two when ross is at the greatest disadvantage in unaccustomed surroundings--you know the stepmother is a woman of fashion; and the result is that he is so awkward and slow and tongue-tied that his father--well," mrs. grant bit off her thread energetically, "of course, we feel tender on the subject because we have had ross now for seven years, and we think a better boy never lived. but now the time has come," her voice trembled, "when we must give him up." "will his father forbid his going to medical college?" asked the sister. mrs. grant hesitated. "no, i don't think he will forbid it; but he will prevent it--if he is able," she added significantly. two days later the summons from ross grant, senior, arrived in the shape of a telegram brief and to the point. "take night-train," it read, "september first. reach office at nine." "ross," worried aunt anne as she straightened his tie and hovered around him anxiously the afternoon of september first, "you'd better get a new hat in scranton. this one is--well, i think you better appear before mrs. grant in a new one." "all right, aunt." dr. grant extended his hand, and gripped ross's. "remember, my boy, that the telegram appointed nine a. m. as the time for your appearing." ross laughed. "don't you worry, uncle," he returned confidently. "i shall be at the office before father gets there." but, despite his confidence, it was nearly ten the morning following before he stepped out of the elevator of a broadway office building and presented himself hesitatingly before the clerk in his father's outer office. his hesitation was due to his appearance. his hat, new the afternoon before, was soiled and pierced by the calk of a horse's shoe. his shirtfront was also soiled and then smeared over by a wet cloth in a vain effort to remove the dirt. his right coat-sleeve was wrinkled, and bore marks of a recent wetting. about his clothes lingered a subtle "horsy" odor, which caused the clerk to sniff involuntarily as he curiously looked over the heir to the house of grant before disappearing into the inner office. when he returned he bore the crisp message that ross was to wait until his father had time to see him. ross waited. he retreated to a window through which the sunshine streamed, and there sat, industriously drying his wet sleeve. he pulled it, and smoothed it, and stretched it, only to see it shrivel and shrink while he waited. the clerk occasionally glanced with no abating of curiosity from the boy to the clock. two hours passed. others waiting in that outer office grew restless. they read. they took quick turns about the room. they went out into the corridor, and returned. at last, one by one, they were ushered into the inner office, while ross still waited. it was past twelve before his father sent for him, and the first glance the boy encountered was one of displeasure. "did you come in on the night-train?" was the elder grant's greeting. "yes, sir." the father frowned, and looked up at a clock which ticked above their heads. "i telegraphed you that i could see you at nine." ross sank into a great padded, leather-upholstered chair. all about him were evidences of luxury, but he was conscious only of his father's displeasure and of his own disreputable appearance. he studied his hands awkwardly, and stumbled in his reply. "i should have been here by nine, sir, but for an accident which occurred on the ferry----" "accident?" his father's tone softened. ross looked at his coat-sleeve. "there was a fine horse, a big bay that stood behind a truckster's cart. he took an apple. it lodged in his throat, and he nearly choked to death." the boy hesitated and glanced up. "i got it out," he explained simply, adding apologetically, "i got awfully mussed up doing it, though." "you!" grant burst out, paying no attention to the apology. "you got it out!" he leaned forward, genuinely interested. "how did you do it?" ross warmed under the interest in the tone. "i was standing in the bow of the boat, just over the rail from the horse, and i saw what the trouble was. there was no one else who seemed to know what to do." he spoke modestly. "the horse would have died before we reached the landing; and so," simply, "i ran my arm down his throat, and got the apple." "you did!" ejaculated grant. he leaned further forward. "and what prevented the horse from chewing up your arm while you were after the apple?" "a bootblack's brush," ross explained. "a boy was rubbing up a man's shoes near me; and i grabbed his brushes, and got busy. one of the deck hands helped me prop the horse's mouth open. i threw off my coat"--here ross surveyed himself ruefully, and left the subject of the horse; "and i got pretty dirty all over. couldn't help it. there wasn't any time to think of keeping clean. but after we got over on the new york side the owner of the horse took me to a stable, and helped me to clean up; but--i don't think it's much of a success." mr. grant leaned back in his swivel chair, rested his elbows on the arms, and fitted his finger-tips together. his imagination, country-trained in his youth, was supplying some of the details which his son had omitted. he nodded his iron-gray head, and narrowed his eyes, a trick common to all the grants when intent on any subject. "quick work," he remarked after a pause. his eyes were taking the measure of his son. "it had to be quick work," he added as if to convince himself that ross could act swiftly. "where did you get breakfast?" was his next question. "i haven't had any," ross replied. "i tried to get here by nine o'clock." a low whistle escaped the father. he arose, and reached for his hat, which lay on the top of a safe behind him. "we'll go out to lunch now." ross glanced doubtfully from his father's well-groomed person to his own dirty coat. "perhaps, father, you'd like me to go out alone so long as----" "nonsense!" interrupted grant brusquely. as they left the room, he took his boy's arm. there was little resemblance between the two. ross had his uncle's head with its high brow and well-shaped chin, lean cheeks, and prominent ears. he was taller than his father, but wholly lacked his father's energetic manner and erect carriage. "you graduated in june from wyoming seminary," the father stated as they entered a large broadway restaurant and sat down near the door. "yes, sir." "no honors?" the boy's eyes fell. "no, sir. i stood tenth in a class of thirty-four." evasion of the truth was not one of ross's strong points. "and," stated his father, "it took you five years to do a four years' course." ross looked his father squarely in the eyes, and lifted his chin a little. the father noticed for the first time that the boy's chin could indicate aggression. "i flunked on mathematics. but i made them up the next summer, and went on." again grant looked at his son attentively, the son who retrieved his failure and "went on." "you're seventeen," he said abruptly. "what's next?" the question, as both knew, was superfluous. "medical college," ross answered as abruptly as the question had been put. "i am preparing for the entrance examinations in the university of pennsylvania. i want to go down and take them in january, and at the same time pass upon a couple of subjects in the freshman year." there was a gleam of curiosity in grant's deep-set eyes as he put the next questions. "haven't i told you repeatedly that i shall never advance one penny on a medical education for you?" "yes, sir." ross's eyes met his father's steadily but respectfully. "and i shall not ask you to advance a cent." "but haven't i forbidden your uncle, also, to help you out?" "yes, sir, and uncle fred has no intention of helping me. he'll keep the letter and the spirit of the law you have laid down." "well, then----" ross smiled quietly. "but you have never forbidden my getting a medical education through my own efforts; and that, father, is what i intend to do." ross grant, senior, found himself looking into eyes which he recognized as strangely like his own and shining with the same determination which in himself had established a thriving business and built up a moderate fortune. never had he been so interested in his son. never had he so coveted him for a business career. but, as he ate a moment in silence, young ross's determined voice seemed to be repeating in old ross's ears, "that, father, is what i intend to do." during the remainder of the meal the elder grant listened attentively to the younger's plans. to ross this was a new experience. after the first irritation over his tardiness, his father had not once oppressed him with that sense of disapproval and disappointment which usually sent him back to his uncle with a buoyant relief at his escape from new york. still, he was not deceived. he knew that his father's summons had to do with the thwarting of his surgical career; and he was prepared to argue, persuade, do anything short of actual defiance, to gain permission to work for the object toward which all his inclinations pulled. as they made their way up broadway through the noon-hour crowd, a feminine voice behind them suddenly piped out excitedly: "there he is, kate, right ahead of you--that tall, round-shouldered young man. he's the one i told you about on the ferry this morning. i tell you what, he made all the men around step lively for a few minutes." ross suddenly quickened his pace. his face flushed uncomfortably, but the voice of "kate's" companion was still at his heels. "why, he grabbed them brushes and was over the rail as quick as a cat, and had that horse's mouth open before its owner even knew that it was chokin'----" ross, senior, strode along behind ross, junior, now in a vain attempt to keep up. he chuckled in a sly enjoyment of the boy's embarrassment. "he certainly can move, i see," he muttered, "when he has something to move toward--or away from!" but the mutter was lost on ross seeking an escape from that voice of praise by dodging in and out among the crowd until his father lost sight of him, and found him again only at the entrance to the office building. when the two were again seated in the private office, the father for the first time broached the matter which he had called the son from pennsylvania to hear; and, had he studied the boy for months, he could not have overcome his opposition more tactfully and completely. "ross," he began quietly, "i am not going to forbid your going to a medical college this year or any other year. to be honest with you, i admire your grit. i believe it will bring you success. and so, as i say, i am not going to forbid your entering the university of pennsylvania. but--i am going to ask a favor of you." ross's eyes sparkled. his father swung around, and, picking up a pencil, marked aimlessly on a pad lying on the big mahogany desk. "well, father." "i am going to ask you to help me pay a debt which i owe--and the payment will certainly spoil this year so far as college is concerned." grant paused. he did not look up, but he heard ross draw a deep breath. then there was silence. "keep in mind," grant began again, "that i am not requiring this of you--i am asking it." "yes--sir." the tone gave the father the uncomfortable impression that he was assisting at a surgical operation on his son, but he bent his head a little lower over the pad, and traced figures more carefully as he began abruptly on a seemingly new subject. "have i ever told you about my western partner, jake weimer?" "no, sir." "well, i started business in the west without a cent, and it was weimer who gave me my start. he was running a store in butte, and took me with him. i have managed to get beyond a start, but weimer never has. after i came east he lost his share of our earnings, and turned prospector. ever since he has spent his life trying to squeeze gold out of the mountains. again and again he has staked out claims, and i've grub-staked him to the finish. for twenty-five years this has gone on. so far, none of the properties have amounted to much; still, we hold them; there's always a chance of a rise in value." grant drew straight, heavy lines on the pad as he told the story of his grub-staked partner. he fell easily into the vernacular of the gold-fields. "four years ago weimer went prospecting among the shoshones in wyoming over near yellowstone park. there he began development work on some deserted claims, a few miles from miners' camp." here grant pulled a letter from his pocket, and consulted it. "the claims, it seems," he continued, "had been originally worked by two men named allen and waymart mckenzie. they did the required work for three years, and then threw up their job and left wyoming. now they're back again, wishing, evidently, that they had never left." ross nodded. his eyes had not left his father's face. "weimer has felt from the first that he would make good on these claims. he has sent me quartz from time to time, and i've had it assayed. it carries moderately high values in gold, silver, and lead; but, as the camp is eighty miles from a railroad, up among almost impassable mountains, where it's impossible to get the quartz to a smelter, i confess i have paid but little attention to weimer's work. it has seemed a waste of energy, despite his enthusiasm." grant suddenly threw himself back in his chair. his manner took on a keener edge, and his tone became brisker. "but this year things bid fair to change there because the burlington railroad is surveying a line from cody, and a boom is in prospect for next summer. our claims have suddenly acquired a new importance; they promise to become valuable." "then," commented ross in a low, constrained tone, "weimer will get beyond a 'start' at last." grant regarded his son keenly. he did not answer the comment directly. "according to the law of wyoming," he continued, "one hundred dollars' worth of work a year for five years must be done on a claim, or five hundred dollars' worth all together within five years, before the tract can be patented, by which i mean before the owners can receive a clear title to it. now, weimer has done four years' work all right; but this year, the fifth and last in which he can hold the claims without fulfilling the conditions of work to the full, he is failing because of snow-blindness. it seems he had an attack last spring, and was obliged to stay in his cabin for weeks at a time instead of working." ross cleared his throat. "and if he fails----" "we lose the claims, and the mckenzies get them back." grant again consulted the letter. "weimer got a man named steele to write this--an amos steele in miners' camp. he writes that the mckenzies are taking advantage of some technicalities in the law. they have already filed a claim on the tract based on their three years' former occupancy. this will clear the way for them to take possession in case weimer fails with the work. steele goes on to say that, if the claims are saved, some one must come out and look after them--preferably some one with a personal interest in the property." mr. grant laid the letter down, adding slowly, "if you go, i shall give you a substantial personal interest." there ensued a pause. ross sat motionless. his gaze had left his father's face, and was fixed on the rug. "now, knowing," grant continued, "that weimer has set his heart on these claims, i can't desert him. that work must be done and the claims patented." there was another pause. grant looked at his son expectantly, but still ross neither moved nor spoke. "weimer is a good sort," grant went on tentatively. "you'd like weimer. he's a big man and jolly in every pound of his avoirdupois. great story-teller--stories worth listening to, what's more. you wouldn't be dull with him." grant leaned forward suddenly, and asked directly the question to which his son felt there could be but one reply in view of his father's appeal. "my boy, will you go?" chapter ii a steady hand in the two weeks which elapsed between ross's visit to his father and his start for wyoming he planned hopefully for the year. "father has given me a free hand," he told his uncle. "as soon as i can get the work done and the claims patented i am at liberty to come back home, and i tell you i shall hustle. i shall hire as many men as are necessary in miners' camp, and take 'em over to meadow creek, where the claims are located, and just rush that work through." "i wonder," remarked dr. grant thoughtfully, "why that man weimer doesn't hire it done instead of sending east for some one to manage the matter." ross frowned into the open grate before which the two were sitting. "why, uncle, i never thought of that, and father didn't mention it. in fact, he knows but very little about miners' camp or weimer's work, and you know he hasn't seen weimer in years. all he knows about the business is contained in a letter that weimer got a man named amos steele to write. weimer, it seems, can't use his eyes to read or write. the letter is very short. that man steele is a mine-superintendent out there. father knows about the company which he works for." "the very idea," cried aunt anne a few moments later in tearful indignation, "of ross grant's sending that boy away out west to the jumping-off place into the wilderness without knowing the conditions into which he's sending him! it's a shame. he's our boy, and i don't want him to go." the doctor made no reply, but retired precipitately to the office, where he had occupied himself at intervals all day with fitting up an emergency chest for ross. the chest was a little oblong, hair-covered strong trunk, which had held all of the doctor's worldly possessions when, thirty years before, he had started to the medical college just as his brother, ross's father, had started west for his financial "start." into this chest uncle and nephew fitted all sorts of objects medical, from books to bandages. "when you're eighty miles from a physician, ross, and shut in by snow-drifted mountains at that, it's well to have a few remedies and appliances on hand." "and, when you're several sabbath days' journey from civilization, with time to burn on your hands, it's also well to have some light literature along," laughed ross, tucking into the chest piersol's "histology." "i intend to make my time count for myself, as well as for weimer and father." aunt anne, meantime, was packing another and more modern chest, her tears besprinkling the contents. "i have put your winter shirts and chamois-skin vest right on top of the tray, ross," she sobbed as she bade him good-bye. "you better put 'em on as soon as you reach the mountains, as it will be cold there." "all right, aunt; i shall." ross's voice was a little husky as he turned to his uncle. dr. grant was standing beside the vacated breakfast table absorbed in filling a glass of water. carefully he brimmed it drop by drop. aunt anne peered through her tears. "why, fred," she exclaimed, "what are you up to? don't make ross miss his train." calmly the doctor added a few more drops, and then turned to his nephew. his eyes narrowed intently as he motioned toward the glass. "i want to test your nerves, ross. hold it out," he directed. the boy smiled confidently, raised the glass, carried it from him the length of a long, steady arm, and held it there. then he returned it to the table without spilling a drop. the doctor grasped the hand that had held the glass, looking earnestly into the boy's eyes. "ross, the hand that holds the surgeon's knife successfully must _keep as steady as this_." for a long, silent moment uncle and nephew looked into each other's faces as their hands gripped. ross made no reply, but in the expression which leaped to his eyes the older man read the resolution which satisfied him, and which seemed a part of this slow, steady nephew of his. an hour later the boy was being borne westward on the way to chicago and the "jumping-off place into the wilderness." at the same time his father sat behind his desk on broadway reading a letter postmarked cody, wyo., and signed d. h. leonard. it was written in reply to a recent communication from ross grant, senior. "of course i shall be glad to do anything in my power for your son," the letter read, "along the lines you have suggested. i see the wisdom of your move, too. it doesn't always do to refuse a boy's demands point-blank. it's far better to turn him from his purpose as you are doing--or trying to do, i should say, because, if young ross is anything like old ross, he will not be so easily turned. yet, as you say, a little stirring up and jostling out of his uncle's beaten tracks may put some new ideas into his head. this country certainly bids fair to be stirring enough now to fascinate any young man. it's a good idea also to give him a half-share in your share of the claims; and i'm sure, if the railroad makes good its promise of a way up to miners' camp, the claims will be worth working for. and, as a real estate dealer, i don't need to be urged to do my best to interest him in the business of this vast land, the country of the future." in chicago a telegram overtook ross. it was from his father. "stop overnight at hotel irma, cody," it read. "leonard will meet you there." two days later, early in the morning, the west bound express dropped ross grant and half a dozen other passengers at toluca, in southern montana, a station with a water-tank and some cattle corrals attached. here stood the train which by day plied over the branch road to cody, and by night returned to toluca. it was a mixed train consisting of freight and express cars with a sleeper at the end. the half dozen passengers, reënforced by others left by the east bound express, all men, transferred themselves to this coach. every one except ross seemed to be more or less acquainted with every one else. ross sat silent, listening and looking out on as much of the great west as was visible from the slowly moving car. across the windswept, sun-cracked plain grumbled the old engine. on either side were herds of cattle fattening on the dusty dried grass, which looked to ross dead and worthless. not a tree met his eyes, and not a house. "got the western fever yet?" drawled a voice behind him finally, and ross looked around into the good-natured face of a man who had boarded the north bound express at omaha. ross shook his head decidedly. "there's nothing here to give a fellow the western fever," he returned, pointing to the flat yellow plain overlaid by the dull yellow sunshine. the man lounged forward, his elbows on the back of ross's seat, and grinned. he was apparently about thirty, short and fair, with sandy hair and mustache. he wore corduroy trousers and coat, with a dark flannel shirt and turn-over collar under which was knotted carelessly a broad green silk tie. hanging to the back of his head was a brown, broad-brimmed hat, the crown encircled with a narrow band of intricately woven hair dyed in all the colors of the rainbow. "i'll tell ye what's out there that gives most of us the western fever," he declared; "and that's money prospects. sort of a yellow fever, ye know, it is, except that no one wants to be cured." "then i don't want to catch it in the first place," declared ross, looking out of the window again. presently some one in the rear of the car lowered a newspaper, and rumbled over the top of it: "you fellers rec'lect old man quinn?" some did; some did not. to the latter, the speaker explained. "used to live in cody. friend of buffalo bill, old man quinn was. went down to oklahomy five years ago, and bought a sheep ranch. he and some of the cattlemen around him got by the ears over how much of the range belonged to the sheep----" here an inarticulate murmur sounded through the car. there was a "cattle war" on in wyoming at that time. "wall, one night two years ago about now, after a big round-up at north fork, one thousand of old man quinn's sheep was driven over the bluffs into north fork river. all that old man quinn could find out was that four men done it. but he kept a-tryin' to find out, and got a _de_tective down from kansas city, feller who used to be a cow puncher himself; and he nabbed three of 'em. they had had the gall to stay right there on the range all this time." "good reason," volunteered some one, "why it took so long to land 'em. i suppose old man quinn was lookin' for 'em among the punchers that had left after the round-up." "jest so," declared the informant. "he was tryin' to track up every one who cleared out after the round-up--jest so." "how long did they git?" asked some one further up the aisle. "two years." "sandy," some one across the aisle said to the man behind ross, "wa'n't you down t' oklahomy punchin' two year ago?" there was a perceptible pause. then a note of irritation spoke through sandy's drawl as he answered briefly, "no, north texas." and, while the rest continued the discussion concerning old man quinn, he leaned forward and devoted himself to ross. presently they came to the hills whose barrenness and sombreness were relieved at intervals by the brilliant coloring of the rocks. "well," asked sandy, "what do ye think of this? it ain't every day east that ye can walk around the crater of an old volcano." "is this----" began ross, his head out of the window. "this is!" chuckled he of the sandy hair. the train was crawling slowly around the edge of a wide, shallow well, on all sides of which the hills frowned darkly, stripped of every vestige of verdure. "an extinct volcano!" ejaculated ross. "yep,"--the other sagged forward until his laughing face was close to ross's,--"but just let me tell ye right here, young man, that volcanoes is the only thing in the west that's extinct. everything else is pretty lively." ross joined in the laugh which greeted this sally all around him. the man opposite lowered his paper, and looked over his glasses. "volcanoes _and_ hopes, sandy," he amended quickly, instantly retiring again behind his paper. ross did not understand the significance of the retort, but he noticed that several men around exchanged glances and that sandy's face lost a fraction of its good nature. and when sandy's face lost its humorous expression, it was not pleasing. dusk and cody drew near together. the train dropped over the "rim," and steamed along through the big horn basin, coming to a final standstill in front of another station and water-tank. "cody," announced the brakeman. "all out." ross, suitcase in hand, his top-coat over his arm, stumbled out of the train, still swaying with the perpetual motion of the last few days. a big open wagon with side seats stood beside the platform. at the call of the driver ross looked around interrogatively at sandy, who was still beside him. "oh, we're two miles from the town yet," sandy replied to the look. "pile in. train can't make it over the shelves between here and stinkin' water." ross silently "piled in." sandy sat down beside him, and the wagon filled with the other passengers. behind them, stretching back into the darkness, their heads sagging sleepily, was a row of teams, their neck-yokes joined by a chain, their heads connected by a single rein running through the ring at the left side of the bit. "hey, there," called one of the men in the wagon, "does grasshopper strike the trail to-night for meeteetse?" "yep," came a voice beside a lantern which was traveling to and fro. "there's a lot of freight to pack up to miners' camp; and, if it gits there ahead of the snow, these freighters have got to hit the pike more rapid than they have been doin'." a horseman dashed past the wagon and into the circle of light from the lantern hung in front of the station. dropping the reins to the ground, he swung his leather-enveloped legs off the horse, and yelled at the station agent: "have those boxes of apples come yet?" "just here," replied the holder of the moving light. "can't you start 'em up by the meeteetse stage to-night?" demanded the newcomer. "the boys are about famished." "them surveyors," complained the agent, "are always hollerin' for more grub. 'n' no matter how much ye fill 'em, they don't go faster than molasses in january. ain't got beyond sagehen roost this minute, and they'll probably be a-quittin' in a month." ross pricked up his ears. the same interest was manifested by sandy. "don't you worry about our quitting," the newcomer returned brusquely; "if the burlington railroad starts out to run a track up to miners' camp, why, it will run one, that's all, if the track has to go under snow-sheds all the way up from the meadows." at this point the big open bus rumbled off over the dust-choked "shelf" toward cody. an unwieldy swaying coach drawn by four horses passed them on its way to the station. "meeteetse stage is late to-night," remarked sandy. on rumbled the wagon. its brake screamed against the wheel as the horses plunged down the steep inclines which marked the descent from one "shelf" to another. presently a vile odor greeted ross's nostrils, and at the same time the wagon struck the bridge over the sulphurated waters of the shoshone, and began the climb on the other side. ross was keenly alive to this strange new world in which the convenience of the east met the newness and crudeness of the west. brilliant electric lights illuminated dust-deep, unpaved, unsprinkled streets. tents stood beside pretentious homes, and stone business blocks were rising beside offices located in canvas wagons with rounded tops. and to and fro past the wagon flashed horsemen, cowboys dressed like sandy except that their corduroy trousers were incased in leather "chaps." sandy, watching ross out of the corner of his eye, grinned at the boy's expression. "buck up here, tenderfoot," he advised good-naturedly. "this here is 'the irma'; and, if you've got any better hotels in the east, why, don't tell colonel cody of it, at any rate, for 'the irma' is the colonel's pet." then ross found himself in the foyer of "the irma," the hotel that "buffalo bill" erected to honor his home town, which bears his name, a comfortable, modernly equipped house decorated with hundreds of paintings, water colors, and etchings, all picturing the scenes in colonel cody's life as represented in his "wild west show." sandy had registered in advance of ross, and stepped to a swinging door at the end of the counter. there he stopped and turned back. "come on and have a drink, tenderfoot," he invited good-naturedly. ross was writing his name, and did not look up. "no, thank you," he returned quietly. "i don't drink." several men lounging about glanced curiously at the boy. sandy thrust his hands into his pockets, and, leaning against the counter, looked at him in open interest. after ross had registered, he drew a nickel from his pocket and laid it on the counter. "a two-cent stamp, please." the clerk, impatient with the deliberation of his movements, cast the nickel hurriedly into the cash drawer and handed out a stamp. ross waited for the change, while three men behind him pressed forward to the register. sandy grinned broadly. "there's no change comin', tenderfoot," he said with a chuckle. "you've reached a land where nothin' less'n a nickel can be got outside a post-office." "pennies don't grow in the rocky mountains," added the clerk in a tone which plainly invited the boy to move on. the tone brought the blood to ross's cheek. his eyes suddenly narrowed. his head went up, and his voice quickened and deepened. "very well, then," he returned coolly, "give me another two-cent stamp and a postal card." sandy patted his thigh softly. "you'll pass, tenderfoot," he murmured. "no flies on you--at least, they don't stick there." ross took his trophies, and retired to a desk beside the swinging door. just as he had finished directing a letter to his aunt anne he noticed that his new friend was waiting again beside the counter. when the last man had registered, sandy pulled the book toward him and leaned over it. suddenly he bent lower, and jabbed hard on the page with his forefinger. when he turned, all the good humor had dropped out of his face. with a glance of keen interest at the boy beside the desk he passed on into the barroom. so marked was the change in his manner that ross paused in the act of dipping his pen into the ink-well. "guess i'll see who sandy is," he thought, and, dropping his pen, crossed to the book. the name stared up at him in big bold letters directly above his own, but he had not noticed it at the time of registering. _"allen mckenzie, miners' camp."_ ross pursed his thin lips, and nearly whistled aloud as he returned to his desk. "it's one of the mckenzies who are after our claims," he wrote at the end of a long letter to his uncle and aunt; "but he is a funny, good-natured fellow. i partly like him and partly don't. he has no six-shooter in sight--in fact, i'm told that six-shooters have gone more or less out of fashion in wyoming; and he doesn't look a bit as i had imagined a 'claim-jumper' would. but one thing he may reckon on; there will be no chance for him or any one else to jump the weimer-grant claims in a few months." and, sealing this confident declaration, he slipped the letter into the mail-box, ate a hearty dinner, and went to bed. the following morning at nine o'clock d. h. leonard, his father's old-time friend, appeared, and greeted the son most cordially. mr. leonard was a man of middle age, hale, red-faced, bald-headed, and wearing a "boiled" shirt and collar. he was a dealer in real estate, with offices in both cody and basin. it was to his office that he first took ross. "we'll go for a drive by and by," he began, throwing himself back in his chair and tossing a cigar across the desk. "we have the country of the future here, and i want you to see it. perfect gold-mine in this land once it's irrigated." ross picked up the cigar, played with it a moment, and laid it again on the desk, listening attentively. the older man drew a match across the woodwork beneath his chair, and lighted his cigar. "it's _the_ place for young men, grant, a greater place than it was when horace greeley gave his advice to young men to go west--here's a match," he interrupted himself to say. ross accepted the match, bit on the end of it a moment, and laid it beside the cigar. "don't you smoke?" asked leonard in some surprise. before ross could reply, some one called mr. leonard out into the hall. as the door closed behind him, ross arose and stood silently in front of the open window. beyond the little town and beyond the level stretch of "shelves" arose the big horn mountains, miles away, but so sharply outlined in the clear air that they seemed only a short walk distant. as ross leaned against the window-casing, some one in the room adjoining came to the open window. the stub of a cigar was thrown out, and a voice exclaimed: "but if grant realized the situation, he'd never have sent a boy out here to look after those claims. and it looks as though it was his son--same initials. but with such a boy and weimer you ought to be able----" the speaker left the window at this point, and ross lost the rest of the sentence. in a few moments, however, some one clattered through the hall and down the stairs, with spurs jingling. a horse stood on the street below, tethered only by its bridle-reins dangling to the ground. from the entrance to the building sandy mckenzie emerged, clad as on the previous day, except for a colored handkerchief knotted about his neck. mounting his pony, he touched a spur to its flank, and galloped away in a cloud of dust just as leonard returned. "who's in the next room?" asked ross. "over on the right?" asked leonard carelessly. "oh, a lawyer has that office." he crossed to the window, and glanced out just as mckenzie disappeared. "evidently sandy's pulling out for the mountains," he observed. "miners' camp, that is." "are there only two mckenzies?" asked ross. leonard shrugged his shoulders. "two are all that have ever showed up around here--sandy and waymart; but they say there are half a dozen more brothers and cousins, some figurin' under names not their own; but where they put up i don't know." here he turned and looked curiously at ross. "i suppose your father told you that sandy and waymart are sitting up on meadow creek waiting to jump the grant-weimer claims." "yes, he told me," answered ross, and hesitated. "do they use guns in the jumping process?" leonard laughed. "not much! they have other and safer methods of getting their own way in case weimer doesn't do the work the law requires this year." then he glanced at the unsmoked cigar, and repeated his question of some time before. "don't you smoke?" ross shook his head shortly. "why not?" leonard looked at his old friend's son in friendly interest. ross stretched out his right arm in an unconscious imitation of the test his uncle had required of him only a few mornings before. "it's apt to get on a fellow's nerves," was all the reply he made. there was much to see during the day and much to hear. leonard took the boy for a long drive up the cañon of the shoshone, whose densely green waters have a background of brilliant reds and yellows in the sandstone sides of the wall through which the river has cut. up and yet up the carriage went, with the walls rising higher and higher on either side, the road a mere thread blasted out of the rocks, up to the great dam which was beginning to raise its head across the river bed to hold back the water and distribute it over big horn basin through irrigating canals. ross's interest, however, during the drive was divided. he was glad to see the vast "shoshone project," as the government reservoir is called; but his most active thoughts were following sandy mckenzie on his way to miners' camp, and his questions were of the camp and wyoming mining laws and the conditions he would meet in this new and strange land. but leonard had never been up to camp, and was not interested in mining, but in ranch lands; therefore, ross got but little enlightenment from him, and finally, ceasing to question, listened in silence while the older man, in obedience to the senior grant's request, did his best to interest the junior grant in the business prospects of wyoming. "i want you to come down to basin at christmas," leonard said cordially as host and guest sat down to dinner in the dining-room of "the irma" at six o'clock that night. "my home is in basin. it's the county-seat of big horn county, you know; and i want you to come down there. i want to show you more of this magnificent country." ross was grateful for this friendly invitation, but made no promises; and presently the two were eating in silence, ross looking with interest on some of the contrasts which were too familiar for leonard even to notice. under elaborate and gaudy chandeliers was a bare and not overclean floor. looking down on the thickest and heaviest of cracked china were pictures by well-known artists. seated around the tables spread in linen, were bearded men in chaps and overalls, flannel shirts and spurs, together with those in tan oxfords and broadcloth. at the table opposite ross, and facing him, was a man to whom his glance returned again and again. he sat alone. his square, unexpressive face was relieved by a pair of fine dark-brown eyes. the lower part of his face was covered by a stubby reddish beard. his hair was brown, and fell nearly to his eyes, giving him the appearance of having a low forehead. he wore a coat,--the first of its kind ross had seen,--a short, bulky affair, with a high collar laid over the shoulders and lined throughout with lambskin, the wool badly worn on the collar. his chaps were of undressed leather, with the long hair trimmed short save from the thigh to the ankle. high riding boots, spurs, and a sombrero, which he wore low over his forehead while eating, completed his costume. "who is he?" asked ross. mr. leonard shook his head. "man next to me here said he rode in this afternoon on the yellowstone trail. don't know who he is." as if he felt he was under discussion, the stranger raised his head, and his eyes met ross's in a quick furtive glance. after dinner leonard gripped ross's hand in farewell, and left. an hour later there was a rattle of wheels in front of the hotel, the sound of horses's hoofs, and a rollicking voice called: "meeteetse stage. all aboard!" ross, with a glance around the office which he expected to see again before spring, picked up his bag, and went out on the piazza. here he stood while his trunk and the emergency chest were swung up behind the stage and roped. then he climbed up beside the driver, who was glad to have some one near to help him keep awake during the long night ride, and they were off, only to be stopped almost immediately by a man standing in the doorway of a store. "hold up there!" shouted the man. "steele is here, and wants to go on to-night." the name caught ross's attention. "is it amos steele?" he asked the driver. the driver assented. "yep--superintendent of the gale's ridge mine up in camp." ross leaned forward and surveyed with interest the pleasant-faced, well-dressed, squarely-built young man who came out of the store and climbed into the stage. in his pocket ross had the letter steele had written his father at weimer's request. "git out of this," the driver requested briefly of his four bronchos as the stage door slammed to, and the four obligingly "got out" on a run. just as they left the last house behind them, a figure on horseback whirled by in a cloud of dust, and ross recognized in the sheepskin coat and hairy chaps the stranger who had attracted his attention during dinner. chapter iii doc tenderfoot in action besides steele, there were three other passengers inside the stage that night. one was the assistant manager of the embar ranch, south of meeteetse. he had been to omaha with a car-load of cattle. the remaining two were miners whom steele had picked up in butte. this much ross learned from the driver. he learned many other things by listening to the conversation between hillis, the manager, and steele, although all the while he was keenly observant of his surroundings. the stage was bowling along smoothly over a road as level as a floor and flooded by brilliant moonlight. behind them cody faded into silvery mist, guarded by the huge shadowy bulks of the big horn mountains. ahead, houseless and treeless, stretched the shelf until the shimmering mist cut off the sight. and in the distance, so far ahead that sometimes he blended with the mist, rode the horseman in the sheepskin coat. "hi, there, andy," called the ranch-manager; "who is that fellow ahead?" andy, the driver, turned, and looked down through the open flap into the cavernous darkness of the stage. "don't know. didn't find out. i have seen fellers, though, that can give more information about themselves per square inch than that same chap ahead there." "i never saw 'im in these parts before," returned hillis. "nor i." the driver spat over the flank of the right wheeler. "gid'ep there, suke, ye slowmy, you! hike it, old blue! git out of this!" and, having thus jogged the energy of the leaders, andy gave his attention again to hillis. "hain't ever set eyes on that brown chap before. i guessed back there he was bound fer embar. looks like a puncher." "i wish"--the assistant manager of the embar spoke forcefully--"that he and seven or eight more were bound for the embar." "short of hands, eh?" questioned andy, whirling his "black snake" so skilfully that the lash missed the heads of the wheelers, and touched the flank of the nigh leader. "short of hands?" steele broke in. "who isn't short of hands from butte to omaha--especially in wyoming? i've been out two weeks advertising and hunting men, and here i am back again with two only." ross turned half around in his high seat, and grasped the low back. "is labor as scarce as that in miners' camp?" he burst out in a brusque, astonished tone which betrayed a personal interest. "as scarce as diamonds," returned steele, adding with a laugh, "and almost as expensive." andy pushed back his hat, and surveyed his young companion with curiosity. there was a little stir in the coach also. "it must be"--amos steele spoke as if the matter had been debated before--"that you are related to ross grant of new york." "yes," returned ross, "i am his son." he was conscious of becoming an immediate centre of speculation. "i wondered," remarked steele, "when i saw your name on the hotel register. going out to camp, are you?" "yes," ross hesitated. "in answer to that letter you wrote father for mr. weimer." "oh!" steele's tone was edged with astonishment. "come out to see to the work, did ye?" asked andy. "yes." andy glanced sidewise, and ross caught the look of incredulity. [illustration: "regular trail from miner's camp to weimer's, etc."] "expected to hire men to do it, did ye?" that andy was a general information bureau was due to his faculty for asking questions. "yes, i do," emphatically. the present tense of the reply did not escape the listener's attention. "weimer has tried to hire," volunteered steele; "but it's no use." "why not?" demanded the boy. "well, in the first place, as i said, there hain't enough men to supply the demand; and, in the second place, no man in his senses is going away over on the creek, where he'll be shut in for months, when he can just as well stay down in camp, and get the same wages." "shut in for months?" repeated ross slowly. andy explained. "along about first of february ye're shut in fer sartain. trail fills up, and there's apt to be snowslides any time on old crosby." ross sat with widening eyes staring out into the moonlight, and wondering with tightening muscles what he was "up against." the vagueness of his father's knowledge concerning weimer's work had not counted in new york. but here, swinging along toward miners' camp with two-thirds of the width of the continent between himself and his friends, ross realized that this vagueness had put him at a disadvantage. the two men behind him began discussing the cattle market, and the stage slid down the side of the first mesa of the wyoming bad lands and into the coulee, or dry creek, at the bottom. the level road was left behind. up hill and down plunged the horses ahead of the rocking, tipping stage. there was no regular road. a dozen tracks showed the differing routes of as many drivers. to ross it seemed as if destruction were imminent every time they came to the top of one of the short, steep hills. but andy jammed on the brake hard, and, giving a peculiar little whistle, yelled carelessly, "git out of this." presently andy took advantage of the rattle of wheels and hoofs to say to ross: "steele is boss of the gale's ridge work up to camp. they keep open all winter; t'other company shuts down." "shuts down?" repeated ross. "yep, has to. men go down t' cody t' work on the project. hard work to keep men in camp through the winter. when the railroad goes up there, 'twill be different." some one inside the stage struck a match. "on time, ain't you, andy?" asked steele's voice; "it's twelve-thirty." "yep," returned the driver. "here's dry creek." the road, a well-defined track here, was hemmed in between a creek-bed on one hand and a hill on the other. on top of the hill, silhouetted against the star-studded sky, appeared a wagon with a white bellying canvas top. around it, covering the hilltop and the side clear down to the track was a soft white moving mass that caused ross to give a startled exclamation. "why--that looks like--it _is_ sheep!" he ejaculated. "sheep by the hundreds." "sheep's the word!" returned the driver. "this is sheepy's layout. that's his wagon up yon. he herds fer parties in cody. there's nigh seven hundred of them sheep. never seen such a flock before, did ye?" before ross could reply, the stage swung around a corner of the hill and andy, with a sharp whistle, drew up the leaders abruptly. they were in an open space in front of the stage camp, half cabin and half dugout driven into the hillside. beside the dugout was a low, stout corral, outside of which were a haystack and a jumble of bales of hay. as the stage stopped, the door of the dugout opened, and a man loomed large against a dim light within. but all this ross did not notice at the time. his attention was riveted on the horse just ahead ridden by the stranger. around and around it whirled, unmindful of the quirt and spur of the rider. "pretty ridin'," remarked andy, spitting appreciatively over the wheel. the men inside the stage clambered out with grunts at their stiffened limbs, and leaned against the wheels watching. the man in the doorway stepped out, and thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked calmly while the horse placed its four feet together and humped its back with a momentum which sent the rider high in the air. when he came down, he settled himself in the saddle, drew up on the reins, and dug his spurs into the horse's flank. the animal, his nostrils distended and the foam flying from his mouth, without any warning rose on his hind legs, and threw himself backward. the rider freed one foot from the stirrup; but the other caught, and horse and rider went down in a heap. there was a deep groan from both, and then silence. if the men had seemed indifferent before, they made up in activity now. with a flying leap andy was down from his high seat. the stage-camp man rushed forward, and threw himself on the horse's head, while the others pulled the unconscious rider from beneath the animal's body. "leg's done for," ross heard steele say as they carried the wounded man into the dugout. ross clambered awkwardly down from his seat, and followed. he nearly fell over an empty chicken-coop and into the one little room of the dugout. "put 'im here," directed the stage-camp man, whom the others called hank. he pointed to the blankets in the corner from which he had crawled ten minutes before. "here, boy," steele said with pale-faced absorption, "smooth the blankets up." ross, half dazed by his strange and unexpected surroundings, slowly and clumsily did as he was directed, and they laid the unconscious stranger down carefully, his left leg hanging limply from a point half-way between knee and hip. then the men straightened up, and looked at one another. "a bad job," muttered hank. "take 'im back to cody?" asked steele. hillis shook his head. "doctor there went to thermopolis this morning." suddenly the daze which had beclouded ross's brain cleared away. he woke up, and his whole attention focused itself on the prostrate man. in a moment he became alert, resourceful, and active. his boyish hesitation fell from him. he threw off his top-coat, tossed his cap with it to the uncovered board table, and, kneeling by the man's side, laid his ear on the heart. "go out," he said authoritatively to the astonished men, "and bring in my smallest trunk. hurry, for this chap will be conscious in just a moment." no one stirred. whipping out his jack-knife, ross cut a strap which secured the chaps, and caught one leg at the ankle. "help me pull 'em off," he cried urgently. some one stooped to the other foot, and the chaps were off. kneeling beside the wounded leg, with his knife, ross ripped the trousers from ankle to thigh, and exposed a bloody wound. "compound fracture," he exclaimed after a brief examination. then he looked up. "where's that chest?" he demanded. "i must cleanse this and bandage it at once." the cock-sureness of the boy's tone and the sight of the skilful touch of his fingers on the wound galvanized the two miners into action, and in a moment the emergency chest was beside ross. "hot water," was his next command, as he fumbled with the key, "and a small dish"--his eye fell on the table--"that salt cellar, with every grain of salt washed out. quick!" the wounded man had recovered consciousness now, and was groaning, and clinching his fists, and rolling his head from side to side in agony. "are you a doctor?" asked steele incredulously. "my uncle is," ross returned briefly, "and i'm going to be." the answer, coupled with a view of the contents of the chest and ross's manipulation of those contents, brought relief to the men. he had produced a hypodermic syringe, and with a tiny morphine tablet dissolved in the salt cellar he began operations which lasted the greater part of two hours, and employed every man present. "bring in that hen-coop," directed ross; "we can use that for a double inclined plane to stretch the leg over." steele, who had so recently issued orders to a slow and clumsy boy, now quietly obeyed this embryo surgeon. hillis was holding bandages, while hank and andy were doing something which filled their souls with wonder, namely, making long, narrow bags from grain sacks out of which wheat had been hastily dumped. "by the great horn spoon, what're these fer?" andy demanded in an undertone, running the big needle deep into his thumb. "jehoshaphat!" hank shook his head helplessly. he plumped a stick of wood into his rusty old stove, and refilled a kettle from a water pail which stood on a box. steele dragged in the triangular chicken-coop, and laid it beside the wounded man, who was moaning mechanically and drowsily now. ross arose, and set a bottle of alcohol on the table. he looked critically at the coop. "the very thing," he muttered with eyes alight. "how fortunate that i fell over it coming in!" then he paused in thought. miners' camp and meadow creek were forgotten. forgotten were weimer and the neglected work. a "case" lay before him, a man needing the help that it was life for the boy to give. when, at last, the belated stage was ready to move on, the men, again in their overcoats, lined up and looked down at the sleeping patient. he lay with the knee of the wounded leg over the peak of the chicken-coop, padded thick and soft with blankets, the leg held secure and motionless between heavy sand-bags. down the leg from knee to foot on either side ran strips of adhesive plaster with loops protruding below the foot. and attached to the loops was a small bag loaded with stone. "to reduce the fracture," ross explained briefly. he was on his knees, measuring the well leg with a tape measure from the haircloth trunk. "see, this leg is longer now because the broken parts of the thigh bone in the other have been driven past each other, and the muscles have contracted, shortening the leg. the weight on the foot will stretch the muscles and allow the ends of the bone to meet again." "jehoshaphat!" exclaimed andy softly. "he's lucky to have you come trailin' down the pike just behind 'im. but see here, fellers," the driver turned to the others; "yer uncle samuel will dock me this time sure, fer the mail won't reach meeteetse in time fer the stage up to miners' camp!" "miners' camp!" the exclamation burst involuntarily from ross. he arose. the tape measure dropped from his hands. he drew his hand across his wet forehead. he had seen the stage load prepare to go on without a thought that he ought to go also. his one idea had been the care of the nameless man on the blankets. "miners' camp," he repeated; "why, i ought to go on!" "not much," cried hank in lively alarm. "what 'ud i do with him and all that toggery?" jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the chicken-coop. "of course," was ross's decision in a low tone, "i can't desert him--but i ought to go on." a few moments later, andy's four bronchos pounded up the hill beyond the stage camp and disappeared, leaving ross standing beside the window watching. the man on the blankets breathed heavily. a big yellow cat purred around ross's legs. hank poked the fire. "guess i'll rustle some grub now," the latter said in awkward solicitude. "ye're all in, ain't ye, doc?" ross turned from the window wearily without replying, and for the first time looked about the cabin. it was roughly boarded, with a hard dirt floor. in addition to the bench, the only seats were boxes in which "canned goods" had been stored away. a pile of wood lay behind an old stove propped up on boxes in lieu of legs. a cupboard containing some tin cups and thick plates, a few pans and skillets, and a shelf heaped with magazines half a year old completed the furnishings of the room. suddenly ross's eyes lighted on the wounded man's sheepskin coat, which had been cast hurriedly aside on the floor. lifting it, he stepped to the door, and commenced to shake it energetically. out of the breast pocket fell a small object. it hit the stone in front of the door with a metallic ring. ross picked it up, and looked down into the photographed face of a winning girl with smiling eyes, curved lips, and plump cheeks. the picture was a little oval set in a gilt frame. on the back in a girlish hand was written the inscription, "to lon weston." "weston, huh?" came hank's voice at ross's elbow. "i never heard of lon weston before. wonder where he hails from." hank glanced speculatively at the sleeper, then took a deep earthenware dish from the cupboard, beat its contents with a spoon, greased a skillet, and set it on the fire. "men fergot t' eat," he grumbled, "'n' fergot t' feed the horses. they fergot everything except him. they'll be one hungry lot when they land in meeteetse." he raised the smoking skillet, and gave a deft toss, which sent the flapjack spinning into the air, turned it over, and settled it back with the baked side uppermost. "nice-looking girl that!" he muttered absently, immediately adding, "here ye are--flapjacks 'n' coffee!" late in the afternoon the injured man aroused himself groaning. he stared at ross with eyes which gradually cleared as a realization of his environment was borne in on him. "i say, doc," he muttered, biting his lips with the pain, "i'm all to the bad, ain't i?" "leg's used up for a few days, that's all, mr. weston," returned ross cheerfully. the man turned his head quickly. his eyes widened and he seemed to forget his pain. for a long moment he lay motionless looking from ross to hank, who grinned hospitably at him from the stove. "cheer up down there," said hank in jovial strain, "the worst is yet t' come, fer i'm makin' ye some puddin', and even my mother 'ud say that puddin' ain't one of my strong pints!" the sick man did not smile. he merely stared at the speaker until hank disappeared, a water pail in hand, bound for the spring. then he threw out a hand toward ross and asked abruptly: "where did you get it?" ross, turning a flapjack awkwardly, looked inquiringly over his shoulder. "get what?" "the name--weston?" ross smiled and then, partly because he was embarrassed and partly because he thought the injured man would be, turned his back before answering, "a picture fell out of your coat and i--we--saw the name written on the back, 'lon weston.'" there was no reply, and presently ross added, "i put the photo back in your pocket and hung the coat above your head there on the peg. guess you can reach it." still no reply, and ross, looking around, found his patient with head turned away, eyes closed and lips pressed tightly together in his beard. suddenly, in the open doorway appeared a figure that ross had not seen before. a shaggy head was advanced cautiously within the cabin and the owner peered at weston curiously. then, evidently understanding his closed eyes to mean sleep, the stranger backed out precipitately and sat down on the bench outside the door. from this vantage point he peered around the jamb from time to time eyeing ross and his patient in turn. "good-evening," said the former as the stranger showed no signs of speaking. the shaggy head appeared in the doorway and nodding briefly, was withdrawn, just as hank, coming with the water, called, "well, sheepy, what's the latest word up your way?" it was luther, otherwise "sheepy," the herder whose wagon crowned the adjacent hill. he was hank's daily caller. "there ye are, doc," exclaimed hank entering with the water. "puddin' fer weston, and flapjacks 'n' coffee fer you and me with cabbage 'n' spuds thrown in. fill up." it was a menu which was not varied to any great extent in the days which followed, strange days for "doc tenderfoot," as hank called ross. [illustration: "what's the latest word?"] every night at midnight one of the two stages plying between cody and meeteetse stopped at the stage camp for supper and horse feed. every noon the other stage stopped for dinner on its return trip. between times, horsemen came and went, occasionally, men from the ranches on wood river and the grey bull, miners "packing" their beds behind them, prospectors going out of the mountains for the winter, and every day during the first week there was sheepy. sheepy usually came toward night when his flock had been driven in from the range and rounded up by the faithful shepherd dog near the canvas-topped wagon. one day, the last of the week, after ross had had a particularly trying time with his patient, he left the latter asleep, and going outside, sat on the bench in the sunshine watching hank who was repairing the corral. presently sheepy joined him, first refreshing himself, as usual, with a long look at the snoring weston. "once i seen a feller that rode like him and looked like him, only his hair and beard," sheepy announced finally in a hoarse whisper. "i seen 'im ridin' in ahead of th' stage that night, and i thought 'twas th' other chap." ross listened without interest. sheepy filled a pipe with deliberation and lighted it. then, clasping a worn knee in both hands he spoke again out of the corner of his mouth. "that feller had hair light as tow and his face clean of beard, but he rode the same and his eyes was the same. he was a puncher off the cattle ranges. used to ride past my wagon alone about once a week headin' fer town. went in the edge of the evenin' always." "and where were you?" asked ross still without interest. "down in oklahomy. i was herdin' sheep fer old man quinn." ross looked at sheepy with new interest. "i heard the men on the train talking about old man quinn and the sheep that he lost. were you there at that time?" sheepy nodded. "i sartain was. that's two years gone by." "and did you see what was going on--driving the sheep into the river, i mean?" questioned ross eagerly. the sheep-herder shook his grizzled head. "it wa'n't off my range that the sheep was drove, but another feller's called happy. he seen there was four men done it. it was night--dark night, and they didn't stop to say howdy ner make any introductions. they shot happy's dog and got away over the bluff with a thousand sheep. they was drunk, all of 'em, but not too drunk not t' know what they was doin'. old man quinn got three of 'em. he's been after the other ever since." "do you think he'll be caught?" sheepy moved his shoulders helplessly. "don't know. old man quinn he never lets up on a thing. took 'im two years t' find three. bet he don't give t'other up." "why did they drive the sheep over the bluff?" asked ross. sheepy frowned. "cattlemen claimed the sheep had crossed the dead line. cattlemen are always claimin' that, and they push the line further and further in on the sheep and claim more of the range every year. they do here. they did down in oklahomy. the sheep owners and cattlemen had a row at the big cattle round-up on the north fork. it was after the round-up, when the cow punchers was feelin' pretty gay and let themselves loose, that them four drove old man quinn's sheep over the bluff." there was a pause, and then sheepy went back to the original subject. "the feller that looked like him and rode like him," jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "used to ride past when i was shakin' grub in my wagon. he used t' go grinnin' mostly and starin' at his hoss' ears. and he alus went with his fixin's on, tan chaps and a red silk 'kerchief 'round his neck and indian gloves with these here colored gauntlets. oh, he struck the trail in his good togs all right--bet he went t' see some girl 'r other!" this was the last information that ross received from sheepy for several months. the following morning there arrived from cody a supply wagon which replenished the sheep-herder's larder, and then, the sheep having eaten the range bare for miles around the dugout, the canvas-topped wagon was attached to the supply wagon and drawn to another hilltop ten miles away. with it went sheepy only faintly regretting the loss of companionship at the dugout. the seven hundred sheep that his dog rounded up and drove in advance of the wagons were the companions with which he was best acquainted. "it wouldn't ha' been a bad idee," hank remarked when the last bleat died away in the distance, "if sheepy could ha' stayed all winter. he ain't generally long on talk--none of them herders be--but he was some one t' have around, and once in a while his tongue breaks loose." ross drew a long breath and thought of meadow creek. in the afternoon hank resumed his repairs on the corral, leaving weston asleep and ross kneeling beside his medicine chest sorting its contents. the sorting done, the boy arose noiselessly and closed the lid of the chest. then, turning, he looked down on the head of the sleeper. for the first time he noticed that weston's hair, thick and unkempt, was dull in color and had a dead look at variance with its evident health. tiptoeing across the floor he bent over the recumbent man and gently raising a lock of his hair looked wonderingly at the roots. the sight caused him to utter an exclamation which disturbed the sleeper. he straightened himself and stepped back precipitately. the hair was tow-colored at the roots. chapter iv the fourth man ross stood motionless until weston, muttering and turning his head from side to side, gradually came to rest again and fell into a deeper sleep. then the boy went outside and sat down on the bench. "it's easy enough to put two and two together," he muttered. leaning forward, he dropped his elbows on his knees and taking his head between his hands, proceeded to do some adding satisfactory in its results. he longed for the presence of sheepy. now he would question him with interest on the subject of the puncher whose face was free from a beard and whose hair was tow color. he wanted more information on the subject of that cattle round-up and of the process of getting those three guilty cow punchers. still, he believed that sheepy had told him enough to make it clear that weston was the fourth that old man quinn was after. "some one that looked like weston and rode like him," ross enumerated the points in the evidence, "only the man in oklahoma had no beard and his hair was tow color." what was easier than to grow a beard--the hair was already accounted for--it had been tow-colored before its owner stained it a chestnut brown. and why should he have colored it unless for purposes of disguise? and why a disguise unless he was guilty of a crime such as driving old man quinn's sheep into the north fork? at this point in his reasoning, another fact flashed into the boy's mind--the strange way in which weston had acted about his name. "ha, ha!" exclaimed ross aloud and then checked his voice. "probably he didn't want us to know his name, his real name," he thought. "how all that dovetails together. if i could only get hold of sheepy now!" on further reflection, however, he decided that sheepy could throw no more light on the subject. it was evident that the herder did not know the name of the puncher who had ridden alone past his wagon, for he had not connected weston's name with the other. nor would weston, if he were the same puncher, be likely to recognize sheepy who, as he himself said, was in his wagon preparing supper when the puncher, his eyes on his horse's ears, passed. that night, when ross rolled up in his blankets beside weston he was sure he was lying beside the fourth cowboy of old man quinn's search. but in the cold clear dawn he was not so sure. it might have been vanity that had led weston to stain his hair, tow not being a manly color. then, too, even if he had been on the north fork, so were dozens of other cow punchers. as to his name, weston would naturally have been astonished at perfect strangers addressing him rightly where he believed himself unknown. ross, eating his breakfast, and only half listening to hank, looked down at the prostrate man speculatively, his mind full of suspicion, but not so sure as on the previous day that there was no flaw in his reasoning. he had not had an opportunity, the day before, of speaking to hank about the matter, and now he decided to keep his suspicions to himself for the present. his suspicions, however, during the two weeks which followed, were swallowed up in the anxiety that attended this, the first "case" where he had been obliged to assume all responsibility. the care and interruptions to his rest wore on him. never had one of aunt anne's hair mattresses invited sleep as did the blankets laid on the dirt floor when he found time to lie on them. often he fell asleep sitting on the hard bench, his head on his arms crossed on the table, while hank was frying flapjacks and boiling thick black coffee. as for the patient, he accepted ross's ministrations with but few remarks. as his thigh bone began to knit, he became querulous, and finally passively enduring. "when you goin' to let me out of this?" he asked on the day when ross last measured the injured leg. the boy settled back on his heels. "i have sent for some plaster of paris," he explained, "and, by the time it gets here, your leg will be healed and ready for a cast. then you can be taken back to cody and let the doctor there see you. if it was not for that ugly fracture you would have been out of here before. if you'd only have the cody doctor to look you over now----" the man grunted, and worked restlessly at the sand-bag, which, on the outside of his leg, reached his armpit. "cody doctor be hanged!" he remarked unaffably. "he don't know half as much as you do." it was the nearest approach to thanks or praise he had given ross. "that cody doctor ain't worth shucks," confirmed hank, who occupied a box beside the stove. "he tended a feller that i knew, and let 'im die." the speaker looked from ross to his patient with an expression which plainly said that the former could not be guilty of any such charge. the brown eyes of the patient rolled slowly in their sockets until their gaze could rest on ross. then the lids dropped over them. "the cody doctor be hanged!" he remarked again more affably, and fell asleep. ross continued to sit on his heels until his patient commenced to snore. then he glanced at the occupant of the box seat and asked softly: "hank, has weston ever told you where he came from?" "nope," responded hank absently. "not where he hails from ner where he's started fer, ner why, ner what fer. that's nothin' though, doc." here hank looked sidewise at ross. "you'll find, if ye stay in these parts long, that there's lots of men who ain't partin' with every fact they know within ten minutes after ye're introduced to 'em. and you'll find, too, that it ain't always healthy to ask questions. ye have th' sort of sense who ye can question and who ye can't." "and this fellow----" ross jerked his head in the direction of the sleeper. hank yawned and reached for the poker and a stick of wood. "i ain't aimin' to inquire fer into his history--unless i could inquire of some one else besides himself, that is. hello!" he interrupted himself suddenly with the stick held over the stove. "who's that hikin' over the creek?" ross arose with alacrity and went to the door. the first snow had fallen on the bad lands, but in an hour it had been whisked away by a warm northwest wind, leaving the ground soft and a little stream of water in dry creek across which rode a man who proved to be a prospector from the mountains. "must have had a bit of snow here," he called as he turned his horse into the corral. "up t' miners' camp it's two inches deep and driftin'." as this prospector was eating his dinner, he most unexpectedly gave ross his first news of weimer. the boy, finding hank both intelligent and sympathetic, had talked freely concerning his mission in the mountains and his desire to return east at an early date. to the latter subject, in all its details of study and college-attendance, hank listened and questioned in open interest. but, when ross touched the subject of weimer and the mckenzies, the other was non-committal and guarded, as became a landlord who might be called upon any day to serve flapjacks and coffee to all of the parties under discussion. "i hope," he had observed cautiously on two or three occasions, "that you'll get on all right with uncle jake weimer." and, although his tone implied a doubt, ross could not prevail on him to explain it. but the prospector, who had ridden through from the mountains, and knew nothing of ross or of his origin, spoke more freely. he had passed along meadow creek but a few days before. "dutch weimer," he told hank as he bolted boiled cabbage and flapjacks, "was settin' at the door of his shack, a-smokin' as though his claims was all patented and secure. he says that eastern pal of hisn is a-sendin' some one t' help 'im out." hank coughed behind his hand, and motioned toward ross, busy with his patient; but at first the prospector was too intent on his food to notice. "and there," he observed with a chuckle, "are them two mckenzie boys a-settin' on their claims next door and waitin'." he gave another chuckle. "curious how that snow-blindness should have touched dutch weimer." then he saw hank's restraining gesture, and paused. glancing down, he met lon weston's veiled brown eyes and ross's wide gray ones; but the prospector had suddenly become as non-committal as hank himself, nor did ross's persistent questioning wring from him any further details. he had but passed that way, he assured ross, had stopped but a moment in front of weimer's cabin and that was all. but what he had said was enough to leave ross troubled, and impatient to start for meadow creek and his delayed work. finally the plaster of paris came. the stage from cody brought it one noon, and ross's spirits arose at the prospect of release from his unwelcome charge. "if it wa'n't fer yer uncle samuel's long arm of the law, doc," the stage-driver informed him as he was disposing of potatoes and pork, "i'd leave my stage right here and see ye wind all them stiff rags around that there leg. i'd like t' see th' finish s' long as i seen the beginnin'. but the trouble with bein' stage skinner is, ye've got t' hike along no matter what shows ye come acrost on the trail. hand them spuds acrost, doc, will ye? hank, if ye'd let 'em smell fire a minute 'r two mebby i could drive my fork int' 'em." a few minutes later, he arose from the bench, drew the back of his hand across his mouth and addressed weston. "wall, i suppose you'll be ready t' be boosted onto the stage when i come back in th' mornin'? s' long." scarcely had his four bronchos topped the hill on the further side of dry creek before a procession, the like of which ross had never seen, appeared on the trail the other side of the dugout. it was a pack outfit on horses accompanied by a man and a boy. it slowly rounded the shoulder of the hill behind the corral. the man rode ahead whistling gaily, his sombrero pulled low over his eyes, a purple tie knotted under the turn-over collar of his flannel shirt. his horse's tail was tied to a rope which, in turn, was tied loosely about the neck of the first pack animal. in similar fashion the five bronchos were held together on the trail, and after them came a horse ridden by a boy about ross's height. on the pack animals were wooden saddles piled high with supplies for a camp, boxes and bags securely roped to the saddles. hank, in the act of clearing the dishes from the bare board table, stopped with a platter of boiled turnip and pork suspended in the air. "by the great horn spoon!" he yelled, "if there don't come wishin' wilson! and a pack outfit! is my eyes a-foolin' me? doc, look out. is it a five bronc outfit, or ain't it?" "it certainly is," confirmed ross. he arose from his seat on the floor where he was working in the plaster and stepped to the door. but hank was before him holding up the platter of food. "hey, there, wishin'! here's some come-backs hot fer ye! where'd ye come from? where ye goin' and what fer and how long and why and all the rest?" evidently the newcomer was one of the kind that could safely be questioned, for hank turned himself into a great interrogation point as he set the platter down, and rushing out, pulled the stranger from his horse, shaking him in familiar bear play. ross watched while the train filed slowly up to the dugout, bringing the boy's mount to rest in front of the door. the young rider wore a new brown corduroy suit, and a long fur coat, the skirts of which were drawn up awkwardly above a pair of high riding boots and tucked under the rider's legs. a pair of shining silver spurs adorned the heels of the boots, while a sealskin cap crowned a head covered with closely cropped hair darker than ross's. his eyes also were darker and his figure, although of the same height, was more slender than ross's. he was also, apparently, a couple of years younger. the two boys nodded at each other, ross with awkward cordiality and interest, the stranger carelessly and with unmistakable condescension. swinging himself out of the saddle he said pleasantly but commandingly: "take my coat inside, please." he shed his fur coat and pulled off his fur-lined gloves and tossed both into ross's arms, while hank, watching the proceeding out of the tail of an amused eye, talked with wilson. ross, biting his lips, backed into the shack and tossed coat and gloves on the end of the table near weston. the boy, following his moves from the doorway, pointed at the prostrate man, asking in a surprised and subdued voice: "what ails him?" "broke his leg," responded ross shortly, not relishing the touch of lordliness in the other's manner. "how did he do it?" demanded the stranger. "horse fell on him," answered ross, and returned abruptly to his work with the plaster. weston lay with his blanket drawn up to his chin and one arm thrown over his face and ear, his face turned to the wall. he was breathing regularly as though in sleep, although ross knew he was wide awake. this was a favorite position with him when hank was entertaining guests. it saved him the trouble of responding to inquiries, and, as ross had come to suspect, might also serve to avert a chance recognition. presently wilson approached the dugout, leaving the boy in the corral rubbing down his mount. one arm was thrown in rough affection over hank's shoulder while the two pulled each other about like two boys at play. "i tell you, hank!" wilson exclaimed at the door, "this is what ye might call god's country, and i always have a feelin' of gettin' home in these parts. but, jehoshaphat! it didn't look a spell ago as if i'd ever strike the trail to the mountains again. it looked like as if i'd have to throw up my claims and----" "sh!" interrupted hank tiptoeing into the shack. "guess he's asleep, ain't he?" he explained over his shoulder in a hoarse whisper. "chap named weston that come this way three weeks ago and bust his leg out in front, here. hoss fell on him." wilson, who followed at hank's heels, looked weston over with friendly but detached interest. "on the mend, is he?" asked the newcomer subduing his voice with difficulty. hank forgot to continue his whisper. "you bet!" he exclaimed heartily. "doc here is a-mendin' him t' beat anything i ever seen from a full sized doctor." he jerked his thumb toward ross. "doc's goin' to have him all plastered up and out of here to-morrow." wishing looked at ross with a pleasant nod, stepped over the bench and was about to seat himself at the table when he bethought him suddenly of his riding companion. leaning forward he looked out of the doorway. then with a nod he sat down and forgetting that weston was supposedly sleeping, raised his voice again to its normal high key. "fetch on them come-backs, hank. my pard'll be here in a minute. i need t' git the start of him in eating always, fer he ain't long on grub such as we shake out here. i expect," with an amused chuckle, "that it ain't exactly what he's used to." hank slapped his knee and leaned forward. "say, wishin', how d'ye come t' be hikin' over the country with queen victory's youngest? my eyes! ain't he a reg'lar ornament t' th' landscape?" wishing wilson laughed softly and then glancing hastily from ross to weston, shook his head at hank. "less is all right!" he declared cautiously. "he's young yet. lots of time to learn--more time 'n you and me have, hank." hank set coffee before his guest, asking, "who is he and where does he hail from?" wilson squared himself before the table, both arms resting thereon and began to eat noisily, talking between knifefuls. "luckiest thing for me that ever struck the trail, that young feller is," he began. "i was stranded down in omaha without a red cent in my pocket and no way of raisin' one. if you'll believe me i couldn't find a man in omaha with brains enough to believe in them claims of mine, no, not with the ore assay report before their eyes. i tell ye, hank, times have changed down in omaha. there wa'n't no grub-stakers waitin' around like there used to be fer prospectors to snatch up--no, not one. and just as i was gettin' plum used up talkin', this young feller, less jones, fell onto me outer a clear sky. it was in a hotel where i went t' talk with a drummer, but not t' eat. why, hank, yer uncle wilson didn't have the price of a hotel dinner handy, and that drummer never treated me! well, i stood tryin' to persuade him that his salary was burning fer investment in my claims, when in comes less and lined up 'longside me listenin'. i hadn't any kind of objection to his hearin', but he looked like such a cub that i never paid no attention t' 'im, but when the drummer said a final 'nix,' less he stepped up and asked me about the claims, and, t' make a long story short, before the end of the day i was hikin' over town hot footed on the trail of supplies with less at my heels with an open pocketbook." "does he stay up t' the creek with you?" asked hank wonderingly. "says he will," laughed wilson. "says he's wanted for years t' try his luck with quartz!" "must 'a' begun wantin' then when he was a baby," remarked hank succinctly. "where's his ma and pa?" wishing shrugged his shoulders and balanced a quantity of pork and potatoes on the blade of his knife. "search me! he says there's no one to hender him doin' what he pleases, and so i take it he's dropped out of some fairy orphanage som'ers where they have gold t' burn. i'm fallin' on his neck more'n i'm askin' him questions that he don't want t' answer. less is an all right sort, you'll find, but he ain't long on information." at this point wishing's garrulity suffered an interruption from the entrance of his young partner. leslie jones walked with the erect bearing that aunt anne coveted for ross. buttoning his short corduroy jacket over a soft flannel shirt, across the front of which was suspended a large gold chain, he ran his fingers around inside his collar and looked about impatiently. ross, attending strictly to his work, did not look up. hank, sitting on a bench opposite wilson, spread his elbows yet further apart on the table and indicated a place beside him. "set down and fall to, young feller!" "i'll wash up first," returned leslie in a tone which had a decided edge. his manner plainly indicated his desire to be waited on. hank raised his eyebrows and waved a hand vaguely toward the stove. "there's pans 'n' water. help yerself. guess there's a towel hikin' about som'ers in the corner. my dozen best handmade 'uns ain't come in yet from the laundry!" every one laughed except weston and leslie. the former breathed regularly, apparently unconscious of all that was said and done in the room. the latter flushed, and plunging into the corner tumbled the pans about angrily like a spoiled child, spilling as much water on the floor as he could. then he sat down beside his partner and asked shortly for some hot coffee, with an emphasis on the adjective. hank leisurely pushed the coffee-pot across the table. "help yerself. this was hot a spell ago and will be again at supper time." hank's voice having acquired an edge by this time, "victory's youngest" poured the coffee angrily but wordlessly into his thick cup and ate in silence, listening to wilson, who was too much occupied with a vision of riches to come to allow such scenes to disturb his equanimity. "as i told less," he went on, raising his voice to drown opposition, "we'll leave part of the sticks and the grub up the cañon to the coal claims and then when it comes winter and the mountains are impassable, we'll just strike the trail over from the creek to the cañon and work the coal till things open up in the spring. that creek is a mean place to drop into this late." "what creek?" asked ross, suddenly awakening to the conversation. "meadow creek," returned wishing. "that's where doc is bound fer, wishing'," volunteered hank. "doc is come out t' help jake weimer." wishing surveyed the boy with cordial eyes. "jake weimer, hey? we'll be neighbors, then. my claims ain't two miles up the creek." "doc, he's grant's boy," supplemented hank. "but i bet my last year's hat that he can't mine it as well as he can doctor." "doctor!" exclaimed leslie jones curiously. "are you a doctor?" "he's fixed him up all right," interrupted hank pointing to weston. "stretched his leg over my best chicken-coop and needled his arm and made 'im walk a chalk line generally. oh, i tell ye doc is better than the cody doctor." ross laughed. "i know something about medicine and surgery," he confessed. "i've read and helped my uncle, dr. grant. that's all." "all!" echoed leslie jones. his manner was touched with disbelief as he looked from weston to ross. "and did you, alone, set a leg?" ross sought to change the subject. "aw--that's not much--when you know how. i'm glad i'm to have neighbors up on meadow creek. hope i don't have to stay there any longer than you do." "expect to clean up the title this year, do you?" asked wilson. "that's what i came for." "well, all i can say now is that you'll be mighty glad you come. i tell ye what, doc, meadow creek is the mining deestrict of the future," whereupon wishing launched on a glowing account of the future of meadow creek claims as he saw the future. his eyes lighted up and he forgot to eat as he told of the wonderful value of the gold and silver that he expected to pull out of the claims he had staked the previous year. he believed so thoroughly in his own vision that even ross, whose interests were far removed from gold mining, felt a thrill of expectancy as to the outcome of his work in meadow creek, while leslie, whose appetite was slight for the coarse, ill-cooked food, dropped his fork to listen although he must have heard the recital many times before. shortly after dinner, the two saddled up and departed in the order in which they had come. "so long!" yelled wilson, waving his hat. "we expect t' strike it rich before a month." "good luck!" shouted hank and ross together, the latter adding, "i'll see you again in a few days." hank, stuffing his hands into his pockets, pursed up his lips and whistled shortly as the pack outfit disappeared in a cloud of dust. "if wishin' is cal'latin' that he has enough there to last two men all winter he's about as far off in his cal'lations as--well, as wishin' usually is. wishin' ain't no lightnin' cal'later on any subject, but he's a mighty likely chap t' have around." "judging from the small amount his pard ate to-day he has food enough, i should say," returned ross, adding hastily, "but then i realize that i know nothing about it." "huh!" laughed hank, "he must know that when that there young chap has been in the mountings a few days he'll eat mulligan 'n' spotted pup 'n' bacon with the best of 'em. his will be a good, lively comin' appetite--but huh! i should hate mightily t' have t' feed 'im. wonder if wishin' has packed some bibs along 'n' silk socks 'n' hand-warmers! huh!" when ross reëntered the cabin he found weston staring out of the doorway, his arm stretched by his side. "guess you didn't sleep much," remarked hank noisily gathering up the dishes. "all i wanted to," returned weston shortly. hank piled the dishes into a pan and poured boiling water over them. "m-m," he soliloquized, "all the time i was lookin' at him i was thinkin' i'd seen that young jones before. m-m--where, i wonder?" no one answered, and he washed dishes in silence while ross returned to his work and weston lay staring out-of-doors. the following day ross saw his patient depart on the stage headed toward cody, and prepared to take the next one himself in the opposite direction. when he assisted weston out of the door of the dugout, he knew exactly as much about him as when he followed his prostrate figure in at the same door three weeks before--and no more, unless the name be excepted. hank watched the stage off with a scowl, and then departed from his usual custom of cautious speech, where possible customers were concerned. "guess that feller must 'a' hailed from som'ers beside wyoming," he grumbled. "now, a wyoming chap would 'a' paid his bill, or if he was on the hog's back, he'd owned up and passed his promise. but that there maverick never even said, 'thank ye,' to you or me; and here you're knocked out of three weeks' work along of him, to say nothin' of the work day and night you've put in on 'im. well, good riddance; 'tain't no ways likely we'll set eyes on 'im again." chapter v a man who needed bracing up the road to miners' camp from meeteetse, forty-five miles long, follows the grey bull to its junction with wood river. thence it wanders along through miles of fertile ranch lands; then, rising among the black foot-hills, up, up, it winds across the precipitous face of jo-jo hill, and plunges among the snow-crowned shoshones, crowded nearer and yet nearer to wood river until finally there is but room for the narrow track and the narrow stream at the bottom of the deep cañon. this was the road which ross traveled the day following weston's departure for cody, and traveled in increasing discomfort. the further they advanced among the mountains, the colder it became, until, finally, ross was obliged to desert the high seat beside bill travers, the driver, and seek shelter inside the stage, but not until he had learned from bill that there was no hotel in miners' camp. in talking with hank he had taken it for granted that there was a lodging house of some description and so had asked no questions on the subject. "i pack my grub along," bill assured him carelessly, "'n' roll up in a bunk in a shack that some one 'r other has left. if you've packed yer bed along, stay with me to-night. there's the floor," hospitably, "and i guess i can rustle grub enough fer both. anyhow, there's two eatin'-houses where you could fill up." at five in the afternoon the stage crawled through the dusk over a yielding bridge built of hemlock saplings creaking under their coating of ice and snow, and stopped in front of a shack out of whose open door glinted a welcome light. another light appeared high up on the side of the mountain. "hold up there, bill," was the shout which had brought the stage to a standstill. "got a cold, hungry young chap inside there, name of grant? wishin' wilson went through yesterday and said he'd be along with you to-day." ross recognized the voice as belonging to steele, and, opening the stage door, answered for himself in the affirmative. steele shook hands cordially. "better get out here, grant," he invited in an offhand way; "i have some beefsteak ready to fry, and the spuds are bakin' in the oven." ross climbed out with as much alacrity as his cold, benumbed limbs would permit. but no sooner was he on the ground than something queer occurred. his legs gave every indication of doubling up under him, while his head felt as large and airy as a balloon. he clutched the wheel, but not until steele had clutched him. "altitude!" exclaimed steele. "being a mile and a half above sea-level don't agree with most people just at first." ross leaned against the wheel, looking up giddily at the strip of sky corralled between the towering summits of dundee and gale's ridge. it seemed to him that it was the mountains and not the altitude which oppressed him, and bore down upon him, and shut off his breath. "my baggage," he began hesitatingly to the stage-driver, "where--if there's no hotel----" but steele interposed. "lend a hand here, bill, with these trunks. i want grant to put up at my hotel to-night, bag and baggage." bill grinned, and laid hands on the emergency chest. "he'll git a better layout than at my old shack, i tell ye! say! is uncle jake in camp?" steele shook his head. "nope. i'm going to see about packin' grant over to the creek myself in a few days," and a great wave of thankfulness surged over ross. a few moments later steele waved his hand around the one room of his little log shack. "this is the only kind of home you'll find up here, grant, about the same as weimer has over on the creek. things are rough and ready here, without any frills." as he spoke he glanced at the larger of ross's trunks. if amos steele understood one subject better than mining operations, that one subject was men. he saw in ross an overgrown, homesick boy, with a stout but untested "backbone." "and i wonder," thought steele, "how far that backbone is going to take him when it gets a healthy development, and--how far is he goin' to develop it?" furthermore, steele concluded, ross was more accustomed to bending over a book than over a shovel; and he shrugged his shoulders at the thought of the weimer-grant claims. "his backbone can't do everything," he decided, "no matter how stout it grows, especially when weimer has lost his." steele's shack was at the foot of gale's ridge. half-way up the mountainside was another and larger shack, where his miners, thirty in number, ate. above that was the "bunk-house" where they slept. and yet higher up was the mouth of the tunnel out of which the gale's ridge mining company expected to pull vast wealth when the burlington road had done its part. "i'd rather bach it," steele explained to ross as they sat down to beefsteak and baked potatoes, "than to be with the men. it's pleasanter for me--and," with a jolly laugh, "for them also, i expect." ross liked this frank young superintendent who had so kindly taken him in. he felt that he must get his bearings in some way, and steele was the man to set him right. therefore quite early in the evening the boy burst out with: "mr. steele, i've come to the conclusion that i'm the greenest tenderfoot that ever came to wyoming. now, you know the ropes here, and i don't. will you advise me?" "that is exactly what i've been wanting to do," assented steele swiftly and heartily. "but i won't do it at all to-night. it'll take you a few days to get over your light-headedness, and until you do the trail around crosby won't be healthy ridin' for you. anyway, there's a lot to be done, for uncle jake weimer hasn't laid in any winter supplies yet." ross tipped his chair back against the unhewn logs, and thrust his hands into his pockets. ever since the talkative prospector had passed through the stage camp he had wondered what manner of man weimer was. but not until he was jolting along in the stage that day did one sentence especially recur to him in all its possible significance. the prospector had said, "'curious how that snow-blindness should have touched dutch weimer.'" therefore, ross's first question was of the man he had crossed the continent to help. the answer reached far into the night; and when at last ross, wrapped in his blankets, lay down in a bunk built against the wall, it was a long time before sleep came, tired as he was. the following evening, after a full day's work, he sat down beside the little home-made table to write to dr. grant and aunt anne while steele washed up the supper dishes. "i should be worse than helpless, were it not for steele," he wrote; "and even with him to help me i may as well own up i am in blue funk. not a man is there to hire; so the programme for the next few months seems to be this: yours truly has got to put on some muscle, and buckle down to pick and shovel. where do you think piersol's 'histology' is coming in, uncle, or that man remsen? "but that's not the worst. it seems that weimer isn't as stout in his head as he was before he was stricken with snow-blindness, and, although he is as stout as ever in his muscles, he doesn't take kindly to work any more. hasn't even taken the winter's supplies of food and dynamite over to meadow creek. he's just smoking his pipe in peace because of the man father is sending to help him out! but i can tell you that the peace is all on his side. "the mountains here are the original packages, all right. they're miles high, and look as if they'd topple over on a fellow with but half an excuse. and then the air--or the lack of it, rather! i've not been able to walk any distance without a cane, so uncertain does this rare air make me in my motions. but steele says i'll get over that in a day or two. so, day after to-morrow he is going with me to meadow creek with the gale's ridge company's horses--we 'pack' over the supplies for the winter, and the emergency chest just as it is; but, aunt anne, only a small portion of the contents of my big trunk can go. over on the creek steele can explain to me about the amount of work to be done, for fear weimer doesn't tell it straight----" suddenly ross stopped. he leaned back and bit his pencil, his eyes narrowing frowningly as he glanced over the letter. then with a gesture of disdain he caught up the sheets, and tore them into fragments. steele paused in the act of placing the dishes in the rough cupboard which was nailed to the logs behind the stove. "well, i'd think twice before i tore up a letter--too hard work to write 'em." "i have thought twice," returned ross emphatically. "that's why i tore it up. no use piling up all my difficulties on them first thing. aunt anne worries enough over my being here, as it is." "so there's an 'aunt anne,' is there?" mused steele to himself over the dishes. he glanced at the bits of paper in a heap on the table. "good work she and that doctor uncle have done." he surveyed ross's clean-cut, clear-eyed face as it bent above a second and brighter letter, one that ignored or made light of the difficulties oppressing the boy. in order to divert further the attention of the recipients, ross also wrote divers pieces of information that he had learned from steele. "i am trying to ferret out this gold mining business from the beginning," he wrote. "i never got the hang of it before, and, if mr. steele wasn't everlasting patient with me, i wouldn't be getting much now, because everything is so new and strange here. i don't half understand the men's lingo, because they have a strange name for everything.... well, it seems that a gold mine up here is started in some such a way as this: along comes a prospector--quartz crazy, he is called if he's in dead earnest--with a pick and shovel, a hammer and microscope, and a camp outfit. if some one else has provided him with food and the outfit he is 'grub-staked' and his 'pard' is entitled to half of the results of his work. father, for instance, has grub-staked weimer for years. this prospector pegs away at the rocks, getting specimens of ore and examining them under his microscope. he goes right past rocks that look to me full of gold they glitter so. no gold in such! but when he finds some common, dull old stone that doesn't show up much to me but has all the earmarks of 'a high value' in gold, then he thinks he has found the outcropping of a good 'lead,' because all the rock that is behind that rock in the same strata is supposed to have that much gold in it or more. so there he 'stakes his claim.' you see i've got the hang of a few of the terms already. first, he drives a stake near the rock and leaves on it a paper with his name and the date and a notice that the land is his for so many feet each way. he can't take possession of more than six hundred feet one way and fifteen hundred the other in one claim, but he can stake off as many other claims right beside this first as he wants to. the staking is easy enough, but the tug of war comes in doing enough work to patent the claims! this means to get a deed of possession from the state. there is where weimer and i are up against it--on the work side! but guess i'd better not make your heads ache any more with such an accumulation of learned facts. i'll just say good-bye now and continue the headache in my next." to his father he wrote a different kind of letter, a defense of his delay at dry creek. "i couldn't desert a man in that shape," he wrote, "although i have lost three weeks at exactly the season of the year, i find, when three weeks count for the most. i'm sorry it happened that way, but i shall try to put in good time now and make up. anyway, i guess the delay is as broad as it is long, because, if that accident hadn't occurred, i shouldn't have known steele; and it's his help that's smoothing things out here for me to begin work." ross did not know that the way he had conducted himself at dry creek was the cause of the very practical interest which steele was taking in him. but not all of steele's influence in camp had secured a single laborer for meadow creek. ross found that andy's explanation on the cody stage held good. no one cared to go any further out of the world than miners' camp. "it's bad enough," one of the mountain company's men told ross, "up here eighty miles from the railroad, with a stage only three times a week in summer and any time it can get through in the winter. but, when it comes to workin' on the creek, _ex_cuse me! seven mile over crosby, and the trail shut up half the year. no, i'm goin' to cody when the mountain works shuts down." the gale's ridge company worked all winter; but the mountain company dismissed its employees, twenty in number, when the deep snows came. to the twenty ross applied in vain. labor was dear and men scarce "cody way," and the miners refused to be mewed up over on the creek for five months at any price. "you see," steele explained, "i'd be glad to employ all the twenty during the winter myself; but not many of 'em will ever stay up here in camp--too much cut off. i shall run short of hands all winter. of course, when the railroad gets up here, it will be different. they'll be willing to stay then." ross checked a groan. "the railroad isn't here, but i am," he observed grimly. steele looked at him curiously. "why don't you strike the trail back east," he asked abruptly, "since you started out without understanding the situation?" ross glanced up in surprise. "why, i never thought of doing that!" he exclaimed, and dropped the subject. but steele continued to look him over with a new interest; for the stage the previous evening had brought to steele a letter from the elder grant asking for private information concerning the situation ross, junior, was encountering. ross's brief letters from dry creek had shown ross, senior, that he had no real knowledge of the nature of the difficulties into which he had sent his son. the morning of the third day, ross, staggering around uncertainly without a cane, aided steele in binding the supplies on the wooden saddles of the packhorses. from the gale's ridge company's supply-shack they brought sacks of flour and cornmeal, boxes of canned vegetables and condensed milk, sides of bacon and hams, bags of coffee and tea, all of which steele with many a twist of the rope and "half-hitch" secured to the clumsy saddles. the trustiest horse carried the emergency chest. on ross's own horse, lashed behind his saddle, were his bed blankets and a bundle from the trunk aunt anne had packed with such care. "all ready?" called steele, one foot in his stirrup. he looked back at ross already mounted, bringing up the rear of the string of packhorses, standing in front of the company's store. "all ready," shouted ross. steele, about to swing himself up, hesitated. he glanced again at ross. then, dropping his bridle reins to the ground, he disappeared inside the store, emerging presently with a short rifle and a cartridge belt. "ever use a gun?" he asked. ross hesitated. "i've practiced target shooting a little, and gone hunting a few times; but," candidly, "i don't amount to shucks with a gun." steele grinned, and handed it up. "take it along," he advised, "and practice some more. it may bring you fresh meat. sometimes elk and mountain sheep come down to the creek to drink over there--won't come amiss, anyhow." ross accepted the gun; and steele, going back to the head of the procession, mounted, and led the way up the cañon, which presently broadened until it formed a snow-flecked valley a few rods wide. here were a dozen shacks, another eating house, and the store of the mountain company. the mouth of its tunnel could be seen high on the side of the mountain above the store. immediately beyond this valley the cañon was nearly closed by two great peaks. the one on the left was still dundee; but on the right gale's ridge gave place to crosby, behind which lay meadow creek valley. zigzagging across the face of this mountain wound a narrow trail gradually ascending. up and yet up climbed the horses until ross clung to his saddle involuntarily while looking down. soon wood river became a thread, and the shacks became black doll-houses set in patches of snow. on the trail the snow lay deep in the hollows, but was swept away wherever the east wind could touch it. but, snow-filled or black, the trail ever ascended. the peak of dundee opposite, which had seemed from the cañon narrow and remote, stretched out now immense and so near that ross felt he could hurl a stone across and hit it. he looked ahead. they were approaching the dizzy shoulder of crosby. steele rounded it, and disappeared. one by one the slow packhorses, their loads hitting against the rocks on the inside of the trail, crawled cautiously after, and also disappeared. then before ross opened a view of startling grandeur. he was looking out over the top of gale's ridge and down across big horn basin, beyond cody, eighty miles away and into the blue heart of the big horn mountains. the sight brought with it a pang of homesickness. eighty miles from a railroad! eighty difficult, laborious miles! ross felt helpless and small and decidedly shaky in this strange new world about which he had so much to learn. clinching his teeth hard together, he looked up. above were bowlders seemingly glued to the almost upright mountainside. below--but ross's head swam, and he turned his eyes to the inside of the trail, and clung to the saddle. below was a sheer drop of a thousand feet down to the falls of meadow creek, which separated crosby from gale's ridge. the mist came up in clouds rolling thick and frosty in the zero air. this was the quarter-mile of trail which cut meadow creek valley off from wood river cañon for months during the year. "well," laughed steele as they stopped where the trail widened beyond the dangerous shoulder, "you didn't take a header, did you?" ross passed his hand across his forehead. his face was pale. "no, but--i felt every minute that i'd go over." "you'll get used to that," returned steele easily. "you see why that trail becomes impassable later, don't you? if it was just the snow on the trail, why, that wouldn't count. you could shovel it off around the shoulder, and go on snow-shoes the rest of the way. but, when the snow lodges up over the shoulder something like ten feet deep, and a chinook or warm wind comes along and loosens it, a footfall or a man calling might start it, and then----" steele shrugged his shoulders. "and there is no other way you can get into the creek valley?" asked ross. "no other way with a horse. you can follow the creek toward its source, they say, a few miles and then across. hunters go that way sometimes, but on foot; and they have to scramble for it." on and on they went over a wide trail now beside the clear little meadow creek. ross began to feel giddy again. "of course you do," steele explained the next time they made a stop, "because the creek is half a mile higher than the cañon. but you get over that in a few days." "i wonder," exclaimed ross suddenly, "how leslie jones stood that trail?" "about the same as the average and ordinary mortal," rejoined steele sarcastically. "but you'll probably have a good many chances of finding out for yourself. you'll be glad to see anybody, even young jones!" at last, after threading their way between spurs and over bowlders and through valleys, they emerged on the other side of crosby, and found themselves in a bowl the sides of which were formed by mountains so high and grim that ross gasped for the breath that he felt the peaks would eventually shut off. it was a queer and uncomfortable feeling, this which the mountains gave him, a sense of being shut in and overpowered and helpless. the peaks on all sides were snow-heaped; but the valley, protected as it was, showed patches of black earth. sage-brush with scrub spruce and hemlock were the only vegetation of the valley visible, but the sides of the mountains showed a good growth of hemlock and pine trees reaching to timber line only a few hundred feet up. on the left at the foot of crosby--whose back looked as high to ross as its face, despite the fact that he was half a mile higher here than in the cañon--two columns of smoke were ascending from two clusters of hemlocks a quarter of a mile apart. toward these, steele, drawing in his horse, pointed. "the first is your layout," he called back over his shoulder, "the other is the mckenzies'!" "and where is wilson's?" asked ross, eagerly. steele faced in the opposite direction and indicated a narrow trail that led to the right, disappearing in a forest of scrub pine which filled the ravine between two of the mountains that formed the rim of the bowl. "follow that trail and you'll reach 'em. but ten to one, before you can do it they'll follow the trail this way and reach you!" "i hope so!" exclaimed ross in a heartfelt tone. a few moments later he was face to face with weimer. the latter stood in the doorway of a low log shack, his great hands cupped over large blue goggles through which his eyes showed dimly, the lids screwed together, leaving only slits for the admission of the dreaded glare of light from the snow. his hands were crusted with dirt. his face, bearded to the rim of the goggles, was grimy, and the beard matted. his hair hung uneven and uncombed to his thick rounded shoulders. he wore a colored flannel shirt, a sheepskin coat, and corduroy trousers thrust into the knee-high tops of old shoes. in response to steele's greeting and introduction weimer extended his hand, peered at ross a moment, and then asked eagerly in a throaty, husky voice of steele: "d'ye pack any tobac' over?" "lots of it," cried steele jovially. "enough for your use and some for you to give to your neighbors." immediately weimer's sagging, middle-aged figure became straight and stiff, and his high forehead wrinkled in a heavy frown. "give dem mckenzies anyting! ven i do, it'll be ven my name ain't shake veimer." steele stepped quickly in front of the older man, and spoke forcefully. "there's one thing, uncle jake, that you're givin' 'em as fast as you can, and that's these claims." "nein! nein!" weimer shouted. "das ist nicht so!" his uneven black hair bobbed wildly about his shoulders. he pumped his powerful arms up and down as if the mckenzies were beneath them. steele thrust his face near that of the agitated man, and demanded roughly, "how many shots have you put since you were over to camp to get me to write to young grant's father? say, now!" weimer's manner became cringing. he backed into the cabin. "if your eyes----" he began, but steele cut him short. "you know you've not taken one pound of ore out of your tunnel since. you know you have sat around here waitin' for grant to send some one to help you out----" weimer put up a great hand, and shrank back as a child would have retreated before his mother's upraised slipper. steele followed him into the cabin, and ross slowly followed steele. "the snow ist come," whimpered weimer; "und i can't see ven the snow comes, und the tunnel so far ist to valk----" but steele cut short his complaints sternly. "now," he declared, "all your excuses must come to an end. here is some one to help. young grant here is going to put this work through, and you've got to brace up and help him. i should be ashamed to sit down and let a couple of mckenzies take away my claims." at once weimer became alert and combative. the mckenzies should not take the claims. "you see how it is," steele began as he and ross were carrying the cases of dynamite "sticks" up the trail to the tunnel in which weimer was doing the assessment work for the four tracts to which he had laid claim. "mentally weimer has become suddenly an old and childish man while retaining all his physical powers. he can do the work of two ordinary men if he can be made to work--and it's up to you to compel him. otherwise, by the first of next july, at the time when these claims ought to be patented, you will have to forfeit 'em." ross's heart sank. "the first of next july," and it was then but the middle of october! he laid the case of sticks down on the ore-dump, and, glancing up at the peaks which held him a prisoner, caught his breath in a gust of rebellion. at the mouth of the tunnel, some seven feet high and eight wide, was the "dump," to the edge of which ran a rusty track with a "bumper" at the end. the track extended into the tunnel. on it stood a lumbering vehicle, consisting of the trucks of a hand car, on which was fastened a home-made box to carry ore. "this," explained steele, "is a remnant of weimer's better days. there was no way to pack a regular car over here, and he devised this. he was a smart man until last year." after dinner, which weimer prepared,--ross found him always ready to prepare food and eat it,--steele suggested that they "drop in" on the mckenzies. "especially," he added, his eyes scanning ross's face, "after your meeting sandy on the way to cody." ross hesitated. "i don't know about that," he objected, surprised that steele should suggest such a thing. "wouldn't it be a bit queer for me to call on my 'friends the enemy'?" steele laughed, but held strongly to his point. "not queer at all. there's no object in not being on a speakin'-footing with 'em," he said. "there's nothing to be gained and a lot to be lost by openly recognizing what they're waiting for. you're goin' to get almighty lonesome up here,"--involuntarily ross swallowed, and turned his face away,--"and that sandy mckenzie is good company--on the surface. i can't say as much for the other, waymart, but he'll pass." the sun was shining warmly when they left weimer's cabin. the snow above the narrow loam-paved trail was melting and running in rivulets down to the creek. overhead the spruce boughs met, and laced their green fingers together, sending down a damp, spicy odor. near the mckenzie cabin steele paused and looked up the mountainside. a few rods away the earth was thrown up around some tree stumps whose tops had been recently cut off. "you see," he explained in a low tone to ross, "the mckenzies are supposed to be over here working some claims that they staked out last spring. but look there! they haven't got the discovery hole finished yet!" the "discovery hole," as ross had learned, must be dug within thirty days after the staking of the claim, and is a name given to the ten feet of development work required by the law of wyoming. this ten feet of digging may mark either the commencement of a tunnel if the claim is located on the side of a mountain, or, if the claim is on level ground, the hole takes the form of a shaft driven perpendicularly into the earth. with a claim thus staked and developed, the owner may rest secure for one year without further work. then, in order to hold the claim against any covetous claim "jumper" he must do one hundred dollars' worth of development work a year for five years in order to obtain a patent. if he has staked several adjacent claims, work for all may be done in one shaft or tunnel. ross, merely glancing at the incomplete discovery hole, looked at the cabin from which the sound of voices issued. his gaze was doubtful, and his footsteps lagged. seeing this, steele walked on briskly, rapped on the sagging door, threw it open, and brought ross reluctantly face to face with his "friends the enemy." chapter vi the men of meadow creek sandy mckenzie sat before a rough board table on which his elbows lazily rested, supporting half his weight. sandy needed no gymnasium exercises to teach him relaxation. before him were the remains of a hearty dinner, the chief dish of which smelled to ross like beefsteak. from this dish from time to time sandy forked bits of meat on which he leisurely chewed. he wore the same garb in which ross had first seen him; but the corduroy trousers were much the worse for wear and dirt, and it had been weeks since his face had felt a razor. his sandy hair also had increased in length, one thick lock perpetually dangling over his forehead. waymart, an older and darker man than sandy, lay in his bunk smoking, his knees drawn up and his hands clasped around them. waymart was clean shaven, and his black hair was closely clipped. both sandy and waymart were surprised to see ross at their cabin door, but sandy favored him with a delighted grin. rising without disturbing the box on which he had been sitting, he straddled across it, and held out a cordial hand. "hello, tenderfoot," he shouted. "i hear they've added doc to that there name since i see you last." waymart crawled slowly out of his bunk. his black eyes met ross's an instant, and then slid away, the lids drooping. he held out a hand which, although larger than sandy's, lacked its cordial grip. "have some chairs," sandy invited gayly, kicking forward a couple of boxes. "these here are our second-best plush, upholstered, _ma_hogany affairs. the best are coming from chicago when the burlington road gets into camp." there was about sandy such an air of gay irresponsibility and cordiality that ross brightened perceptibly. after all, his "friends the enemy" might not be bad neighbors, and he was glad he had allowed steele to persuade him to come. pushing his box away from the red-hot stove, he tipped it up on end, and sat down beside the only window the cabin afforded. directly outside, hanging to a tree, were the hind quarters of a beef, as ross supposed at first glance. but, chancing to glance down, he found himself looking at the head of an elk with great branching antlers, a head such as he had seen at "the irma" in cody, credited to the marksmanship of buffalo bill. "last week," he heard waymart saying to steele, "we got him over near the divide." ross opened his eyes in astonishment. "a week!" he exclaimed, glancing from the table to the meat hanging uncovered and unprotected outside. sandy caught the expression, and slapped his leg gleefully. "think that there meat ought to be off color by this time, don't ye, doc? well, let me tell ye we'll be eatin' on it hangin' just where it is until it's gone; and the last bite will be as good as the first." steele explained. "the air up here cures meat, grant, quite as well as brine. it takes meat a mighty long time to spoil--in fact, if it's properly jerked, it never spoils." "'jerked'?" interrogated ross: but sandy had launched into an account of their hunt over on the divide, and no one explained the "jerking" process then. as sandy talked, his manner lost its laziness. he became animated, laughing and gesticulating constantly, and occasionally running his fingers through his hair and throwing the stray front lock back among its fellows. waymart had lain back in his bunk again, and unceremoniously elevated his knees, between which he glanced at ross from time to time. he said but little, and smiled less. the two occupied a cabin similar to weimer's except that it was cleaner. in one corner was a heap of supplies, boxes of canned goods, and sacks of flour. seeing steele's eyes on these, sandy explained easily: "hain't packed over our winter's supplies yet except the sticks. got a plenty of them, but grub's gettin' pretty low." "better hurry up, then," remarked steele in a careless fashion. "all the horses in camp will be sent below in a couple of weeks." by "below" he meant the ranches of wood river valley. sandy pushed back his front lock. "time enough," he returned lightly. "everything can wait except game-huntin'. there's a flock of mountain sheep over on the north side of crosby, and we're goin' to trail 'em to-morrow." then he turned hospitably to ross. "want to go along?" ross shook his head. "i've--i've got to work," he stammered, embarrassed at being obliged to introduce the subject of work on the weimer-grant claims. he might have saved himself all embarrassment, as the subject seemed to have no personal connection with the gay sandy. "what," he cried, "in huntin' season? wall, i've met other tenderfeet constituted like ye; but they soon git over the fit, and so will you, i reckon. brought a gun?" "yes." "you'll be out with us yet," declared sandy. "sure," came from the bunk in tones of certainty. ross said nothing. "when you bring down your first buck," pursued sandy, unruffled by the boy's silence, "you'll begin to git the western fever that ye said ye didn't want." here sandy chortled. "guess ye think ye're enough of a doctor t' cure that fever, but wait and see!" as he said this, there was in the speaker's manner, or in his blue eyes or sandy-bearded face, a return of that subtle something which had caused ross to decide that he "partly liked him and partly didn't." "i expect," said steele laughingly, "that doc here will get as quartz crazy as wishing wilson is. of course, you fellows have seen wishing." "wishin' wilson!" exclaimed sandy and waymart in one breath, sandy adding, "what do ye mean? whereabouts is wishin'?" "well! well! how comes it you didn't know?" exclaimed steele wonderingly. "wishing is right up here in your midst. he's holding down his claims this minute up yonder," jerking his thumb over his shoulder. sandy sat up and threw the lock out of his eyes. "back to stay?" he asked with his forehead puckering into a scowl. steele nodded. "stay till the trail is shut up." the scowl on sandy's forehead deepened. "thought wishin' was on the hog's back. last i knew he was tryin' to sell out to a party in omaha. when did he come?" waymart crawled out of his bunk again and lighted his pipe. "we've been hunting'," he explained, "ye know. didn't git back 'til yesterday. place may be full of folks and we none the wiser!" "i don't think you're crowded up here yet," steele rejoined. "and wishing didn't come until--when was it?--only a few days ago, he and his new partner." "pardner?" cried sandy. "pardner!" echoed waymart, holding his pipe in his hand. "what pardner?" "young chap," replied steele, "about doc's height and--what age should you say, doc?" "probably seventeen," returned ross. "not much over," adding, "his name is jones, leslie jones. he's from omaha." "grub stake?" asked waymart succinctly. "more than that," answered steele. "jones is going to stay and help." the scowl on sandy's forehead smoothed itself out. he grinned genially at ross. "i wonder now," he mused, "if there's enough of us old goats up here in meadow greek to round up the kids and take care of 'em!" "what about the kids taking care of the goats?" laughed steele. "sometimes they're bigger hustlers." sandy nodded lightly. "this air'll take the hustle out quick enough. such high mountains as these hain't made fer hustlers." as ross was returning with steele to weimer's shack, the superintendent glanced at him sidewise. "i don't believe," he said slowly, "that the mckenzies intend to winter here. of course, there's no object in their stayin'. we all know they're not here to work their claims, and it isn't necessary to stay in order to watch yours; and they've no winter supplies, nor," thoughtfully, "have they mud-chinked their cabin. you can see daylight anywhere between the logs. no, i don't think they have any intention of staying." ross looked around the tiny valley, with its fringe of windy, inaccessible peaks, and thought of the long months ahead of him, shut in among those cruelly cold mountains. "i hope they stay!" he declared fervently. an hour later, having talked over the situation with ross thoroughly, explained the amount of work necessary to be done in the tunnel, and given weimer large chunks of advice, steele rode away, driving his packhorses in front of him. ross watched him out of sight and then entered the shack whistling to keep his courage up. inside he surveyed his temporary home with a shiver which stopped the whistle. "uncle jake," he suggested, "let's clean house the rest of the day. willing?" weimer, sitting on a box in front of the stove, assented without removing the pipe from his lips. "ja, clean up all you vant to. i tink your fader was alvays vantin' to clean mit der house." "think of my father's ever cleaning out a cabin like this!" muttered ross. he stood helplessly in front of the door looking from the complacently smoking weimer to the bags and boxes heaped on the floor and then around the dirt-encrusted room. he thought of aunt anne and her perfectly kept house with a great throb of homesickness. then he thought of his father, who had got his "start" under such conditions as these and suddenly threw off his coat. "it's got to be done," he said aloud, "and i've got to do it!" "vat?" asked weimer stupidly turning his goggles in ross's direction. weimer was hugging his knees in a state of blissful content, the smoke from his pipe curling about his head and almost shutting from view the big young man on whose shoulders he had already shifted all burdens connected with the grant-weimer claims. during the remainder of the day ross worked cleaning up the cabin and packing away their winter supplies. when night came his bunk looked better to him than the supper which weimer was preparing, and he dropped asleep sitting beside the table waiting for the flapjacks. but, instead of turning in directly after washing the supper dishes, as he had intended, he was forced to keep awake until nine o'clock entertaining the denizens of meadow creek valley. the mckenzies came over first. weimer, who, when night approached, had removed his goggles, saw them coming first and raised his voice in protest. "ach! dem mckenzies! see here, poy, dey mustn't come mit my cabin. dey ist after dese claims. vorstehen sie nicht?" "yes, yes, uncle jake, i understand," ross returned soothingly. "but they can't carry the claims away in their pockets to-night, and to-morrow morning we are going to bone down to work at such a rate that they'll come up missing on their calculations altogether." at the mention of work, weimer groaned and retiring precipitately to his bunk lay there regarding the doorway hostilely through the smoke from his pipe. the next minute the doorway framed sandy with waymart close behind. "hello, doc!" sandy pushed his cap to the back of his head. "mart and i, we've started out fer to pay our respects to wishin' wilson. want t' hike along with us?" ross shrugged his shoulders and sat down on one end of the table, dish-cloth in hand. "guess i've had hiking enough for one day, mckenzie. let's see. it's two miles up there, isn't it?" "yep;" sandy lounged in and sat down on a box. "and by th' same sign it's two miles back. but, gosh, young man, a matter of four mile ain't nothin' in this country!" he surveyed ross curiously. "how d'ye travel east? in a push cart?" ross grinned but flushed. "the trip over from camp was on rather higher ground than i've ever seen before and it--well--it winded me," frankly. "and this afternoon i've been hoeing out here. so i'm not exactly as fresh as a morning glory to-night." waymart came inside and looked around. ross pushed a box in his direction and, after a moment's hesitation and a civil nod in the direction of the bunk, the older mckenzie sat down and pulled his pipe out of his pocket. "ha, ha!" laughed sandy. "when you're a few months further away from pennsylvany you'll forgit that a shack needs a hoe, t' say nothin' of a broom." then he addressed the bunk without looking toward it. "uncle jake, have you seen wishin'?" "ja," growled weimer uncivilly, "dat i have." "how did he look?" smiled sandy who seemed to enjoy the other's "grouch." "look?" violently. "vy, how should he look but shust like himself!" waymart chuckled, and sandy was about to reply when footsteps were heard drawing near. heavy shoes were crunching the stones and pine needles under foot, and voices sounded louder and louder. "must be wilson and jones," said ross going to the door. the room was lighted by two miner's candlesticks driven into the side logs. one candle was near the door, and the light fell on the genial face of wishing wilson, who paused in the doorway to wring ross's hand and shout his greetings at the other occupants of the room, before stepping in and allowing his young partner to enter. when ross finally held out his hand to leslie jones he knew that he was facing a boy as homesick as himself, rather than "queen victory's youngest." leslie gripped the other's hand as though its owner were a lifelong friend. "how do you make it up here?" he asked in a low tone. "don't make it yet," responded ross. "i just got here to-day. steele came up with me." then he turned to introduce leslie to the mckenzies and saw a tableau which puzzled him. waymart was staring at leslie with amazed eyes and a lower jaw that slightly sagged. he held his pipe in front of his mouth surprised in the act of adjusting it between his lips. sandy, rising, came blithely forward, and, in passing waymart, stumbled and jostled against him. waymart instantly recovered his lost poise. lowering his pipe he slouched along behind sandy and shook hands with wilson's partner. wilson himself was over beside weimer's bunk telling at the top of his voice that he had come to a rock wall in his tunnel, and on the other side there must, without fail, be either a pocket of free gold or a lead that would make the claims among the most valuable in the shoshones. to this optimistic talk leslie did not listen with the same absorbing interest he had shown at sagehen roost, ross noticed. in fact, a week of loneliness, coarse food and hard work had wilted leslie jones both physically and mentally. abject weariness seemed to have robbed him of a part of his absorbing self-esteem. furthermore, he appeared to ross to be troubled as well as homesick. he looked at sandy and waymart unrecognizingly and sat down on a bench beneath the candle by the stove. "we shall stay," ross heard wishing tell the mckenzies, "till the pass over crosby threatens. then we'll hike it below to the coal claims." "didn't know you had any," interrupted sandy. "where are they?" "up wood river, only about a mile or such a matter from camp. fine outcroppin' of coal. best in the country. when the burlington gits here they've got t' have coal and i says to myself, 'there's where you come up on top, wishin', you'll have th' coal t' sell 'em,' me and my pard now," he added with a glance at jones. the boy looked at him vaguely, as though he had not heard, and nodded. he sat with one knee thrown over the other, his back pressed against the side logs, his eyes so heavy that the lids kept drooping despite his efforts to keep awake. his hands were blistered, and his new corduroy suit dirty and torn. the air of newness which had characterized him when ross first met him was gone. his hair had lengthened, and his cheeks revealed hollows. he said but little, being engaged in the absorbing effort to keep awake. besides, sandy and wilson gave no one else a chance to talk. waymart smoked stolidly staring at the candle above leslie. ross, sitting with his elbows on the table, ceased to struggle against weariness, and, with his head on his arms, fell asleep. he awakened just in time to see his callers depart, whereupon he threw himself, dressed, in his bunk and slept until late the next morning. during the next few weeks, all days seemed alike to ross except sunday. early each sunday morning he struck the trail for miners' camp, the post-office, and steele's shack. at first he crept shudderingly over that quarter mile around the shoulder of crosby. but soon his head lost every sense of giddiness, and his legs regained their accustomed strength, and his heart ceased to beat agitatedly at sight of the thousand-feet fall. on the third sunday he came into steele's shack with a brighter face than he had worn before. [illustration: he struck the trail] "things are sort of righting themselves," he reported over a hot elk steak. "i'm getting weimer down to work in dead earnest," chuckling. "i hold the mckenzie boys before his mind's eye continually, and roll that car out, and dump it so quickly that he has to step lively to get enough ore picked out and blasted out to fill it." steele whistled when ross told him how many cubic feet had been taken out of the weimer-grant tunnel during the week. he took from his pocket a paper and pencil, and fell to figuring. ross pushed aside the empty dishes, and, leaning across the table, looked on with interest. he, too, had figured extensively since work began on meadow creek, but only during the last week had the figures satisfied him. "why, man alive!" cried steele after a few moments' silent work, "you'll fetch it, at this rate." he stretched his hand across the table impetuously, and gripped ross's, adding, "i thought you could never do it--even with a backbone." ross's shoulders straightened, and his face flushed boyishly. "we _must_ fetch it!" steele leaned back, and drummed on the table. "what about the mckenzies? of course they must know what progress you've made." "well," exclaimed ross, "i hope i can keep 'em so interested guessing that they'll stay all winter. they come over as socially as you please about every evening. weimer doesn't like it much. he has no use for 'em, but i have, you bet! i'm glad to have 'em around, especially now when i can estimate that at the present rate of speed the tunnel will be ready so we can apply for a patent by june." to dr. and mrs. grant, ross wrote: "it's going to be a long pull and a strong pull, but i shall stick to the ship and show father that i can do something else besides setting a bone. "and what's more and queerer, i'm in danger of getting interested in gold mining for itself. every time i push our little car out to the end of the dump and unload the ore i wonder how much gold i'm watching roll away down the incline. aunt anne, you said in your last that it seems such a waste to throw away the ore. well, if you were here you'd find it a greater waste of good money to try to get money out of the quartz under present conditions. you see there are only a few dollars' worth of gold in a ton of rock. that ton would have to be 'packed,' as they say here, eighty miles over the roughest of trails to cody, and there loaded on cars and sent clear to omaha, our nearest smelter. and i guess you know more than i do about the costly process of crushing ore and extracting gold from it in a smelter. it's not like mining for 'pay dirt,' as the men here call placer mining, where you gather up sand and wash it out yourself and find the particles of gold in the bottom of your pan. this quartz digging is the most expensive kind of mining there is. but when the burlington gets the branch road up into miners' the ore can be loaded at the mines and unloaded in omaha without change of cars. then we'll dig out the dumps and send them to the smelter, and back will come the gold jingling into our pockets. but whenever i'm moved to give you information i feel small, for i believe, in spite of all you write, that you both know more than i do about it now. "i haven't had a book in my hand, uncle fred. when it comes night, i am too tired to understand the newspapers that i bring over from miners', to say nothing of delving in histology. i expect i shall forget all i ever knew, but never mind! if i can get those claims patented, and so satisfy father, then next year i'll begin over again to fit myself for college--guess what i knew once will come back when i've studied a little. anyway, i'm not going to worry about it now." ross underscored those last words to convince himself that he was not worrying, and handed the letter over to bill travers to be mailed at meeteetse. to his father ross proudly wrote of the week's progress in the tunnel, adding in reply to a rather longer letter than usual, which he found awaiting him in camp, "no, i have no intention of throwing up the job." his father had opened the way wide for him to "throw up the job" after receiving the letter he had requested steele to fill with exact information. that part of the information which stated that ross must necessarily be shut up in meadow creek valley for months with a more or less weak-headed partner had led to the letter which ross found awaiting him. but ross, junior, was not well enough acquainted with ross, senior, to understand that this letter was an invitation for him to return east. "he thinks i'm just chicken-hearted enough to be ready to cut and run at the first obstacle," was ross's thought when he read what his father had written. his chin came up, and his eyes narrowed. "i'd stay and work here a year before i'd show the white feather now." ever since his last visit to new york, ross had dwelt with secret pride on the respect and confidence that his father had shown him, and the sensation was so new and pleasant that he had no intention of forfeiting it. and thus it happened that, with grant, senior, and dr. grant and aunt anne all desiring ross's presence at home, and with ross's wishes coinciding exactly with theirs, he remained at the "jumping-off place" into the wilderness. in his private office on broadway, grant, senior, read and reread, "no, i have no intention of throwing up the job." he twisted uneasily in his swivel-chair. he pulled steele's last letter out of a pigeonhole, read it, frowned, and replaced it. then he leaned back and admitted aloud: "i wish the boy was safely entered in medical college." but, even as he considered the matter, "the boy" with a small pack on his back, candy and a few apples to eat as a relish with the canned stuff, was plodding through the snow, light and easily brushed aside as yet, over the trail between miners' camp and meadow creek. and the boy's heart was growing as courageous as his muscles were strong. chapter vii half-confidences it was dark that night when ross arrived at the weimer shack. the candles were lighted, and as he passed the window, he saw leslie jones within, sitting on a box on the opposite side of the room. his elbows were on the table, and he was listening to weimer, or rather, pretending to listen. at a glance, ross saw that his thoughts were far afield, his eyes being fixed on the speaker with an absent stare. he appeared more unkempt than on the occasion of his first call, and his face was thinner. there was also about him an air of collapse that made him a different person from the overbearing young man who had issued lofty orders at sagehen roost. it was the second time that ross had seen him since coming into the valley. the week before he had gone with the mckenzies one evening to the jones claims, but the two boys had exchanged few remarks, both being too tired to talk. as ross entered the shack a sudden thought struck him. he stopped in the doorway and greeted jones with, "see here! why haven't i thought to get your mail sundays? you haven't been over to camp at all, have you?" leslie moved uneasily. he picked up his cap and pulled at the rim. "aw--it's bully of you to think of my mail, but i'm not expecting--why, yes, you might inquire," he added lamely. then, "what's going on in camp? i'd like to hear something about people once more," with a wry smile. ross unstrapped a pack from his back and threw the contents on the table. sorting out the week's papers, he tossed them across the table. "'omaha news.' want to see it?" the blood came in an unexpected rush to leslie's face and his hand trembled as he reached for the papers. ross watched him as he took them and scanned the headings, column by column. then he glanced keenly over the advertisements, and without reading further threw the papers aside and rested his elbows despondently on the table. weimer, satisfied with the tobacco and candy that ross had brought, retired to his bunk, dozing and smoking by turns. ross had seated himself at the table opposite leslie and reread his letters. now, as the other cast the papers aside, he looked up and met misery in the eyes leveled at him from beneath his caller's lengthening hair. "say!" ejaculated ross impulsively, "i bet you find it as awful up in this country as i do!" "awful!" echoed leslie. "it's----" a sudden working in his throat stopped him. he turned his face away. "i wouldn't stay here for all the gold in these mountains if things weren't just as they are," ross continued sympathetically, "and i presume you're caught in some such way, too, or you'd get out." leslie hesitated, nodded and again faced ross, "how are you caught?" he asked eagerly. ross told him briefly about his father's interest in the claims and weimer's appeal for help that had led to his, ross's, coming. as he talked leslie's eagerness evaporated. he evidently was looking for another sort of explanation, and his response was only half-hearted: "then your father sent you. that's bad luck when you want to be in school." he hesitated and added: "it's not every fellow that wants to go to school. i hate it!" "you do!" exclaimed ross. "well, i can't say i waste any love on studying myself, that is, in most studies, but i'm after results. i'm willing to bone down to work because of where the work will take me. the only thing i really like to study is medicine, anatomy and all that sort of thing, you know. but in order to get anywhere in the profession, i have to take a lot of mathematics and language and things that i detest." leslie's shoulders came up. "i won't study what i don't like," he declared arrogantly, "and i can't be made to--guess they're finding that out, too!" the last was under his breath. "well," ross began vaguely, "if you want to be a business man it's not necessary to go through college. our most successful business men----" his voice trailed into silence as he saw that the other was not listening. there ensued a few moments of quiet. in the bunk weimer snored gently. a nickel clock suspended on a peg from the side logs ticked loudly. the pine chunks in the sheet-iron stove cracked and snapped cheerfully. leslie stared dejectedly at the table, while ross, his forehead knit into a puzzled frown, stared at leslie. what could have happened, he asked himself, to rob the other in four weeks of his former desire to turn prospector? homesickness? perhaps, but ross decided the trouble lay deeper. if it were mere homesickness, the boy would be haunting miners' camp and the post-office or else clearing out of the mountains. "where's wilson?" ross asked finally. leslie aroused himself with difficulty. "he's over at the mckenzies'. i came here." "how's the tunnel going? are you making headway?" this question opened the flood-gates of leslie's misery. "headway?" he burst out. "yes, we're making headway, but toward what, i'd like to know!" it was an exclamation rather than a question, and the boy brought his clenched fist down violently on the table. "why," stammered ross, "toward getting the claims patented, i suppose. what else did you expect?" leslie's excitement subsided. he folded his arms on the table. "i came expecting to find gold," he confessed. "i could hardly wait to get here and now--well, i'm here, that's all, and all my money is spent for supplies." "but didn't you understand," ross began, "that the ore up here had to be smelted in order to release the metal, and that we can never pack the ore on horseback over these trails and----" "no," cried leslie fiercely, "i didn't understand. i understood that i was coming to work claims that would surely prove a perfect klondike in a short time--i thought in a few weeks." "oh, that's wilson," broke in ross. "he's a perfect promoter, steele tells me, because he believes in things himself so intensely that he makes you see his way in spite of yourself. steele says he has been quartz crazy for years. every claim that he stakes holds his everlasting fortune in prospect." "i've found that out," assented leslie bitterly, "and yet i can't blame wilson. i foisted myself on him at omaha--he didn't get after me. and he has really been square with me. he simply made me believe in his claims as thoroughly as he does, and he believes in them yet, but i don't. you see," leslie explained, "he keeps expecting to run across a pocket of free gold, and that he says he'll turn over to me so i can get back the money i put into the supplies. i've got to get that money back pretty soon," he added emphatically. ross looked at him commiseratingly. "i'm afraid you can't." for a moment leslie's lips worked miserably. he took no pains to conceal his emotion from ross. finally he burst out, "i must, grant. i've simply got to have that money back." he held out his hands palms up. they were blistered and sore. "that doesn't matter," he declared. "i'd work 'em to the bone if the work would bring the gold. and a month ago i'd never done an hour's work in my life. i tell you," in a burst of irrepressible confidence, "everything looks different to me to-day from what it did five weeks ago. i wish--i wish i could go back those five weeks--why, i'd almost be willing to go to school----" approaching sounds stopped the confidence that ross was so anxious to hear. the door opened unceremoniously, and the mckenzies entered, accompanied by wilson. the latter was talking excitedly. with a nod at ross he finished his speech while helping himself to a seat beside the stove. "i tell you there's every sign of free gold. same kind of stun crops out there and in the same layers and at the same angle as when i was working up in butte. my claims was right next door to a fellow's named harrison. one mornin' he bust through a wall rock slam bang right onto two thousand dollars' worth of the prettiest yellow ye ever see. and i tell ye i shouldn't be a mite surprised if our next blast showed us a streak of yellow too." sandy laughed unconcernedly. "a streak of yeller in a chap and in a rock mean two different things, i notice. and i've also seen more of the yeller in fellers than in rocks," easily dropping on a box and lighting his pipe. young jones, looking at his partner, brightened visibly, despite the knowledge he had recently acquired of wilson's optimism. there was about the man such a cock-sureness, such simple sincerity and abiding faith in his own statements that ross felt that he could not rest content the following day without knowing the result of that next charge of dynamite. steele had told him about these "pockets" that occasionally are concealed in the heart of the veins or "leads" along which mining tunnels are driven. they are uncovered unexpectedly by a blast of dynamite. they consist of small quantities of quartz of such richness that it pays to transport the ore to the smelter. but every prospector dreams of uncovering a pocket of "free gold" ore, quartz through which the gold is scattered in visible particles or streaks and can be extracted in its pure state with the aid of a hammer and a knife blade. "come down to-morrow night," ross said in a low tone across the table, "and report." leslie nodded, and ross, going to his emergency chest, brought out a bottle of liquid and a box of salve. "here," he said abruptly, "better take some care of those hands of yours if you don't want blood poisoning to set in. soak 'em well in hot water with a teaspoonful of this added"--he shoved the bottle of liquid across the table--"and then rub in this salve. and don't work in the dirt without gloves till those sores are healed." humbly and gratefully leslie took his orders from "doc tenderfoot," while the men looked on with interest and many questions. "tell ye what," said sandy heartily, "if i intended t' winter here i'd feel easier about the trail bein' closed. if a stick should go off at the wrong time and blow ye int' pieces, doc here could put th' pieces together and patch ye up as good as new. doc's all right!" "i wish," thought ross as he saw his guests depart, "that i could say the same about sandy." but while he had no faith in the friendly pretentions of sandy, he dreaded any mention of his leaving the mountains. to feel that he would be left alone with weimer for months was maddening. if only wilson and his partner were to remain on the creek--but they too would go as soon as the trail threatened to become impassable. this careless speech of sandy's concerning leaving the valley drove all other ideas out of ross's head that night and persisted in the morning. to feel that weimer and himself were the only human beings in meadow creek valley, to know that there was no escape until the sun thawed away the barrier in the spring was a terrifying thought. it was present that day with ross like a waking nightmare. as he pushed the little car out of the tunnel and dumped it, he looked up at the cold gray peaks with a wild desire to level them and bring miners' camp--cody--pennsylvania--nearer. so absorbing was this desire that he forgot the promised visit from leslie and was surprised to see him at the door before he had finished washing the supper dishes. "you wanted to hear about that promised vein," explained the newcomer, reading ross's surprise in his face. "oh--why, yes! that pocket of free gold!" exclaimed ross hastily picking up the thread of connection where it had been broken the previous evening by sandy's reference to leaving the valley. "did you uncover it?" "uncover nothing!" returned leslie. he sat on the table and swung his feet restlessly, adding despondently, "and what's more, we won't uncover anything in a lifetime up here, either. i've lost all hope--except," he added with a shrug of his shoulders, "just the minute that wilson is talking." "i never had any hope," said ross slowly, "but then, i have never given the ore more than a thought. with me it's simply to get the work done, satisfy my father and--clear out." "and with me," responded leslie, "it's the money now--i've got to have the money. only," he added, "i'll say this--that when i left omaha there was more in it for me than the money. you see--i'll own up--i was crazy to get out of school and, well--see things and do 'em! if i'd gone to some other place, to goldfield or even down to miners' camp it would be different. but i'm here and all my money's spent." continually he came back to that last statement. that fact had evidently swallowed up all the lust for adventure, for "getting out and seeing things"--it was the only thing that young jones could now see in the situation. ross wondered why but did not like to ask. finally he said hesitatingly, "i say, jones, if you want to get out of here i'll--that is--i have enough on hand to let you have your car-fare back to omaha." the blood rushed over leslie's face. his head came up proudly. "see here, grant," he exclaimed briskly, sliding off the table and stuffing his hands into his pockets, "it must sound as if i'm a low-down beggar, but i never thought of such a thing as getting hold of your money!" "and i never thought of it, either," declared ross quickly. "i've made you the offer on my own hook. come off your high and mighty perch and talk sense! take the money and pay it back when you can. i'm a hundred dollars to the good here." leslie "came off his perch" instantly and held out his hand repentantly. "thank you, grant. that's awfully white of you, but that won't do. it's not car-fare i want, and omaha is the last place i want to strike--or next to the last, at least--without--well, a lot more than car-fare." after a moment he repeated, "i tell you it's white of you to offer it, though. it makes a fellow feel as if he'd fallen among friends." the latter expression reminded ross of something about which he had not thought in three weeks, namely, the behavior of waymart mckenzie when he first saw leslie. with the water still dripping from the dish-pan the boy hung it against the logs, tossed the dish-cloth on top of the pan and rolling down his sleeves, asked: "jones, do you know the mckenzies?" leslie shook his head. "before coming here, do you mean?" ross nodded. "no, never saw them before. why?" "oh, nothing," returned ross carelessly, "only when you came in here the first night i thought they acted as though they'd seen you before, or waymart did, rather." the effect of this simple statement was unexpected. leslie gripped the table excitedly. his face paled and he was obliged to clear his throat before asking: "what made you think that? i didn't--didn't notice anything. i never thought that they--he----" "it was just a trifle that made me think that," ross hastened to assure his guest in confusion. "just a little byplay when waymart first saw you. nothing to----" "tell me exactly what it was," commanded leslie, and all the boy's imperiousness leaped to the front. "i want to know all that you saw." ross related the incident haltingly. "sandy didn't act as though he had ever seen you before. it was only waymart," he said consolingly, but it was plain to be seen that the other was not consoled. "it's possible, very possible that they may have seen me--i wouldn't have noticed them," he muttered, "if they were--that is, father hired any number of men--they might all see me and i not notice them." "maybe i can find out," offered ross promptly. "i'll ask them." "no, no!" hastily; "don't bother with the matter." leslie crossed the room, threw open the door and stood staring across the valley at the mckenzie shack. when next he spoke he did not look around: "it will be just as well, grant, if you don't mention me to 'em until----" there ensued a long pause. then, "until i talk with you again." just before he left he asked abruptly, "do you bring the omaha papers back with you every sunday?" "i can," replied ross, "if you want 'em. but, see here, jones, why don't you go over to camp with me next sunday?" leslie hesitated. "guess i will. good-night." a few steps from the door he turned back. "see here, grant, don't wait for me sunday. if i go i'll be here by eight o'clock. but if i don't go, i should like to see the omaha papers." "all right, i'll fetch them," returned ross. sunday morning he postponed his start for miners' camp until past eight o'clock, hoping that leslie would come, but no leslie appeared. sandy did, however. he came freshly shaved and combed, with a new kerchief knotted about his neck. "want some good company over t' camp?" he inquired jocularly. "if ye do, here it is, fer i'm goin' out." "going to stay long or just for the day?" asked ross. "oh, i dunno how long," carelessly. "i've got t' see cody again. little old town couldn't fetch it if i didn't hang around it about once in so often." "is waymart going?" "nope, mart will hold the cabin and claims down here. mart don't like t' hit th' trail as often as i do. he's fer his pipe and a soft bunk and a good meal. mart 'ud be a failure as one of these here globe-trotters. he's what ye could call domestic in his tastes. the only thing he lacks," here sandy chuckled at his own wit, "is a blamed thing to be domestic about!" as they were making their way cautiously around the shoulder of crosby, sandy asked suddenly, "why don't that young jones go t' camp ever on sunday? guess they don't work sundays up t' th' wilson claims. i should think he'd be as wild as you be t' git over this side of crosby where there's a post-office and newspapers and things." "i don't know," returned ross in a general denial of knowledge of all sandy had said. "i wonder about that young feller now," pursued sandy affably. "so do i!" thought ross. he said nothing. "i wonder how he come t' drop out of nowhere with money enough t' grub-stake the two of 'em fer six months--and then have nothin' further t' draw on!" sandy, walking now shoulder to shoulder with ross, looked at him keenly. "don't know anything about it," returned ross shortly, but he could not rid himself of the insinuation in sandy's words. when he returned that night to meadow creek, ross was disappointed at finding wilson awaiting him as well as leslie. he had hoped that leslie would come for the papers alone and would continue the conversation of his previous visit. in a loud and jovial voice wilson informed doc that his pard had started out in good shape that morning to go over to camp and had then backed out. "must have got clean over here," wilson added. leslie gathered up the newspapers which ross had brought and fitted them together without meeting ross's eyes. "i found i was too tired to go on," was all the explanation he made. "i slept pretty much all day and am going to turn in early to-night." ross nodded speechlessly, wondering how much sandy's going had to do with leslie's staying. would the latter avoid the mckenzies now that he knew they had seemed to recognize him, and why? before the evening was far spent ross began to suspect that leslie would like to avoid him also, if it were possible. the boy looked more despondent than ever, but he shielded his despondency behind a proud reserve that shut ross out, much to the latter's disappointment. "perhaps," ross told himself, "if i hadn't been such an idiot as to offer him money, he wouldn't act so offish now. i never had any more tact than a goat, anyhow! wish i had minded my own business and let him do all the talking!" "vas ist de matter mit dot poy?" weimer asked as soon as the door closed on their visitors. "he vas such a talker oder time he vas here und now he talks nicht at all." "guess he's homesick." weimer rubbed his great hands together thoughtfully. "und sick of de mountains, i tink," he added shrewdly. "ven dot poy come here he fooled himself!" the last of the week saw sandy's return. he came strolling along the trail one night just as the sunlight was fading from the tops of the mountains. he was whistling, apparently in high spirits. stopping at the door of weimer's shack he paused to call: "hi, in there, grant! i saw your friend leonard at cody. i set you up in fine shape t' 'im. 'no grass,' says i, 'will turn t' hay while he's gittin' things done.'" ross laughed. despite the fact that he knew sandy's praise covered an abyss of insincerity, it was pleasant, none the less. after the supper dishes were washed, he decided to visit the mckenzies. "want to go along, uncle weimer?" he asked, well knowing what the reply would be. "go mit dem mckenzies?" gesticulated weimer. "ven i do it vill pe ven my legs von't carry me avay from dem!" ross laughed. "well, uncle weimer, my legs seem to want to carry me where i can get the cody news. i want to hear about mr. leonard. perhaps he has heard from father more recently than i." there was no moon that night, and the sky had become suddenly overcast so that ross faced a dense darkness pierced only by the candle-light from the window of the mckenzie shack. he stumbled toward this, feeling his way so slowly along the narrow trail that he unwittingly approached the cabin silently and surprised an altercation within. sandy's voice was raised in vehement assertion and waymart's lower rumble in protest. as he was groping for the door, he heard sandy say: "i tell ye, mart, wild hosses won't drag 'im up here s' long as that young feller is in these mountings, and we may want 'im here." then waymart's response, "well, what be ye aimin' to do about it? don't bite off more'n ye can swaller. ye do that too often. he'll be out of here in a few weeks. what's eatin' ye? 'let well enough alone.'" "yes," scornfully from sandy. "ye maverick! they won't go till we----" ross, his hand on the door, had stubbed his toe against a stone. "sh," came sandy's warning in lowered tones. "what's that?" there was a step across the floor. ross instinctively fell back into the darkness and slipped behind a tree. the door was jerked open and sandy's figure appeared. an instant he looked out and then turning back, said disgustedly, "nobudy, but guess we don't need t' yell loud enough t' be heard up t' wilson's." chapter viii ross's "hired man" as the door closed on sandy, ross beat a hasty retreat. his first thought was that the brothers were discussing him. the fact that they were in the valley to watch the progress of work on the weimer-grant claims and that they were interested in his being there and not anxious to have him remain, all aided in the interpretation of the mckenzies' speeches. "but who on earth is it that won't come as long as i am here and why not?" he asked himself as he stumbled back in the direction of the light in weimer's cabin. "vat's you pack for alreddy?" demanded weimer from his bunk as ross opened the door. "ist dem mckenzies mit wilson, hein?" "no," returned ross, "but i decided that i am tired enough to turn in instead of going visiting," and he forthwith "turned in," but did not go to sleep immediately. truth to tell, he was uneasy. he felt that sandy, behind that good-natured, friendly exterior, was full of schemes. the mckenzies wanted the claims, and ross had unexpectedly interposed himself between them and their desires. therefore, their schemes must include him. what was on foot now? he tossed restlessly in his bunk assailed with qualms of fear that he tried to conceal from himself. "ah, what you afraid of?" he asked himself disgustedly. "they won't shoot you nor yet tie you hand and foot and throw you over the crosby trail. as steele says, i haven't a thing to fear personally from 'em. that's not their way. go to sleep." this command he issued to himself in an angry mutter and at once scrambled up in his bunk wider awake than ever. his mental horizon unexpectedly cleared. "of course he's the one they meant and not me!" he exclaimed aloud. "vat's dat you say?" asked weimer sleepily. "hein?" "a waking nightmare," returned ross and lay down again. of course it was leslie. "'he's to be here only a few weeks,'" waymart had said. "'let well enough alone.'" he, ross, expected to winter in the valley, and the mckenzies knew it. yes, they were referring to leslie. that calmed ross, but deepened the mystery. the following morning he thought over the situation while he was at work. it was a blind enough situation, but he felt that he ought to repeat to leslie the scraps of conversation that he had overheard. they might mean much to the boy, and in spite of his reserve and his overbearing manners ross liked leslie. at noon he ate dinner hastily, and telling weimer that he would be back in an hour, set out for the upper claims. snow had fallen the night before and the trail had filled, making walking tiresome, for ross had not yet accustomed himself to the use of snow-shoes. with his hands in his pockets and his cap drawn down over his eyes he plunged through the drifts in the teeth of a sharp east wind. up the side of the mountains he struggled, through the pass between two peaks where meadow creek had cut a channel and into a hollow sheltered from the wind and exposed to the sun. "hello, grant!" a voice greeted him from the upper side of the trail. ross pushed his cap back and looked up. in the sunshine, his back against a warm rock, his feet buried in the dry loam and pine needles, sat leslie jones. he had eaten his dinner and wandered along the trail until he had found a warm spot in which to spend the noon hour. ross promptly climbed the steep mountainside and dropped down beside him. "the mckenzies say," began leslie curiously, "that you don't stop work long enough to eat and sleep. yet here you are two miles from home in the middle of the day." "it's because of what the mckenzies have said that i'm here now," ross returned swiftly. "it may not be worth a picayune to you, and then again, maybe, it will be," and he related the events of the previous evening. leslie bent a troubled face over a stick that he was idly whittling. "are you sure, grant, that they meant me? i haven't an idea who they are nor who could be so afraid of me that he wouldn't come up here with me here. i don't know of a soul that's afraid of me, but," with a short, mirthless laugh, "i do know of some one that i'm afraid of. it's not the mckenzies, although they might--if they know me----" suddenly he flung the stick from him and faced ross impulsively. "grant, did you ever do something that you'd give anything you possessed to undo--and that you'd just _got_ to undo?" ross, startled at the sudden change in his companion, at the latter's intensity and evident unhappiness, merely shook his head awkwardly, avoiding the misery-filled eyes. he turned away and began piling up stones, bits of shining quartz that had been thrown, at some time, out of a discovery hole above them. presently leslie regained his self-possession. "i say, grant," he began again abruptly, "to tell you the truth, i have started to go over to see you half a dozen times within a week and got this far every time. i'm going to ask a favor of you." "all right," said ross with a gruffness that did not conceal his sympathy. "fire ahead!" "the other day you--you offered me money," leslie began with difficulty. "yes, and i do to-day," ross interrupted. leslie shook his head. "hold on till i get to it. i can't take your money--not that way. but the other day i heard the mckenzies tell wilson that you tried to hire men in miners' camp. will you hire me?" "will i!" ross leaped to his feet. he grabbed his cap and tossed it in the air and then fell to pommeling leslie in pure exuberance of joy. "hire you? i wish there were half a dozen of you to hire! bully for you! but----" his exuberance died out. he replaced his cap and looked down on the other, his lips pursed ready for a whistle. "well?" "see here!" ross burst out. "what about wilson?" "that's all right," leslie answered quickly. "i told him a couple of days ago that i'd got to get money. i told him i'd leave him the grub, of course. i agreed to furnish it, and i'll stick to my word," doggedly, "but i must also light out and earn some money. and all i can do is to work with my hands. i--well, i've always hated to make my head work, and i've never had to do any other kind until now. you'll find i'm soft yet, but i'll do my best." the boy spoke humbly. ross sent his cap spinning into the air once more. "i'll risk you! you're not as soft as you were six weeks ago! not by half! when can you come?" leslie considered. "wilson says he'll go below to the coal claims in a couple of weeks. i'll talk it over with him and let you know." "come to-morrow, if you can," ross shouted back as he slid down to the trail. work went easily for a few days in view of leslie's coming. the thought of his companionship robbed the prospective loneliness of meadow creek valley of its terrors. he whistled and sang about the shack as he hunted up the material out of which to make a third bunk. he was hammering away on this the second evening after his talk with leslie, when the mckenzies dropped in. they had been over on the divide hunting and had been out of ross's sight and mind since his talk with leslie. not until sandy pushed the door open unceremoniously and walked in did ross recall the comments that had so disturbed him and wondered once more to whom they had referred, himself or leslie, and what the reference meant. "hello, grant!" sandy exclaimed, stopping abruptly just inside the door. "what's up? why another bunk? goin' t' take boarders? any relations droppin' in t' attend our festivities up here?" ross looked over his shoulder laughingly. "nope. give another guess." sandy came nearer. waymart shut the door and sat down beside the stove. weimer turned his back on "dem darned mckenzies," and put on his goggles that he might not be tormented by a view of their faces. it was a never-ending source of vexation to him that they came sociably to his shack. "i haven't any more guesses in stock," declared sandy, but the smile on his face was succeeded by a frown and he bit his red beard restlessly. "hired man is coming to-morrow," ross formed him as the hammer sent another nail home in the side wall. "hired man!" exploded sandy. "where the deuce will you get a hired man?" "right here in the valley," exulted ross. "leslie jones." "leslie jones!" repeated sandy. "leslie jones," muttered waymart. "by and by," ross confessed, "when all you fellows go below, it will seem a little more livable up here to have a third one around. i'd pay a man wages just to stay here to say nothing of working for me." neither sandy nor waymart made any comment. sandy stood watching the work in silence, while waymart allowed his pipe to go out. then both departed. they said they were going up to see wilson, but ross noticed that they returned to their own cabin instead. "something doesn't seem to please our friends the enemy," he chuckled after their departure. "they see the weimer-grant claims getting further and further from their reach." "ve vill peat dem mckenzies yet," gloated weimer rubbing his hands gently on his knees. "ven dot oder poy comes de work vill run und jump!" ross did not see the mckenzies again until leslie was occupying the third bunk, wilson having, good-naturedly, sent him down within a week after the boys had completed their bargain. "clear out if ye want to," wilson had said kindly. "it's white of ye t' leave the grub. i hain't a cent t' pay fer it. there's a fortune in these claims of mine, but it's too late t' dig it out this year. next summer----" and he was launched on the glowing prospects for the next season. leslie entered on his task with a grim determination which seemed foreign to his disposition. "i don't want you to get sick of your bargain the first week," he said one day in answer to ross's remonstrance when he refused to stop work on account of a bruise on his wrist. "you open up that little emergency chest and i can go on digging just the same. i don't want any delayed wages in mine!" with the advent of leslie, life fell into pleasanter grooves in weimer's cabin. despite the anxiety ever present with the newcomer, and despite his natural reserve, ross's exuberance of spirits caused by his presence and work affected him, and after the supper dishes were washed, the two boys wrestled, chaffed each other or talked, ross about his father and uncle and aunt, leslie about his school life in omaha. "it's a boys' school," he explained one day, "a military academy. i've had to go there ever since i was knee high to a grasshopper. discipline is fierce. i hate it, and this year i made up my mind i'd not stand it, so i'm here." "and wish," ventured ross, "that you were back in school again." "yes--almost," leslie began impulsively and then paused, adding quietly, "lots of things i wish, and wish 'em hard." the following evening after supper, weimer tumbled into his bunk at once and began snoring. the two boys washed the dishes, in silence at first. outside, snow was falling heavily. through the drifting flakes the mckenzies' light shone fitfully. the brothers had been away again hunting and had just returned. as leslie set the dishes on their shelf above the stove he glanced uneasily out of the window. he had not seen the mckenzies for some time. ever since they had crossed the valley that noon on their snow-shoes, their hunting trophies on their shoulders, he had watched their cabin with that same air of uneasy abstraction. "ross," he broke out at last, "i've got to tell you something. i hate like a dog to tell it, but it's got to break loose some time and it may as well be right now." he turned from the shelf, glanced at the snoring weimer, lowered his voice, and, standing beside the stove, worked restlessly at the damper in the pipe. ross, without looking at him, slowly scrubbed the dish-pan and then the table. "it's like this," leslie began. "when i met wilson i had five hundred dollars in my pocket and a grouch against my father. always before then, father had sent the academy a check to pay for the semester--you have to pay there in advance for half the year--but this year he had business on hand that couldn't be interrupted and so he called me into his office in a great hurry the morning i left home and handed over the check to me. it was made out to me and it was for five hundred dollars. that's the price of the half year, you see. dad handed it over and just said, 'here, pay your own bill,' and got out. that's about all that's ever between us, anyway. well, i went up to omaha. we'd had it out about school all summer. i was bound not to go this year, and he swore that i should go and go through college if he had to rope me and tie me and take me himself, as he put it! father is a whirlwind of a man. but i was bound not to go, and the money let me out. i took the check and cashed it at the bank and went to the 'hill house,' where i met wilson. i reasoned that the money was mine because it was to be spent on me. you see, ross, i was mad enough to reason anything my way that i wanted." leslie turned the damper absently, sending smoke in gusts into the room, but neither boy noticed it. ross wiped out his dish-pan, hung it on its nail, and sitting down on a box, took his chin between his hands and stared at the fire. "i thought," leslie went on, "that i'd invest that money and surprise dad. well," grimly, "he's probably as surprised by this time as i am. you've heard wilson tell about my meeting him and agreeing to go with him. i spent the entire five hundred on our outfit and car-fare in the expectation that in six weeks i could write to dad and tell him what a success i'd made of it! i had six weeks' grace." ross looked up inquiringly. "what do you mean?" "father and i never have corresponded extensively, but he always looks sharply after my reports. the first report goes out from the academy in six weeks after school opens. i reckoned from what wilson said that we'd strike it rich up here in a month more or less, and so about the time father would be looking into the reason why no report was sent from the academy, he'd be receiving one from me up here and, you know, ross, 'nothing succeeds as well as success,' and success of this sort would get dad right under the collar. well, he probably knows by this time that i've turned up missing at school, and he has not received a letter from meadow creek telling about the discovery of free gold!" leslie gave the damper a final twist and sat down on a pile of fire-wood. "ross," he exclaimed violently, "i am about seven ways an everlasting fool!" ross grinned cheerfully. "aunt anne always says that to find out that you're a fool 'is the best cure for the disease of foolishness.' so you see you're headed toward the cure already." leslie shook his head. "there's that money, ross. it wasn't mine, and you know it and i know it. i can't face dad again without it in my hand. why, i wouldn't see him until i'd earned it for--well, wild horses wouldn't drag me," he concluded passionately. "i tell you, ross, i've let myself in for a heap of trouble. i know father." "now that he finds out you've skipped, leslie, won't he be hunting you up?" leslie stirred uneasily and turning stretched up and looked in the direction of the mckenzies. "that's what i'm expecting, or else he'll not think me worth while. i tell you, ross, i've made dad no end of trouble both at home and in school. things look sort of different up here. i've--well--i've never been up against it before." "are you going to send your father word?" "send him word before i get back that five hundred!" cried leslie aghast. "you don't know dad. i can't face him without it. not much." "but he'd see that you feel different----" ross began. "you don't know dad," leslie cut in harshly. "with the men it's just the same. it's 'stand and deliver' or get out, and he'd treat me just the same." the coming of the mckenzies put an end to further conversation. they came to announce their departure on the morrow. "any little thing you'd like us t' git fer you?" sandy asked the boys lazily. "want us t' bring ye any biled shirts or one of these here coats with long handled tails? if you fellers lay out t' stay here all winter ye better lay in a stock of society rags, 'n' dancin' shoes." "about the most useful dancing shoes we'll need will be snow-shoes, i guess," ross retorted. leslie, from the wood-pile, said little but watched the brothers closely. neither paid more than a passing attention to him, concentrating their remarks on ross. they left early and went up the creek with the intention of paying a farewell call on wilson. "i don't believe," said leslie the following morning as he watched them take the trail leading over crosby, "that they have ever seen me before. they don't act as though they have, do they?" "haven't seen a sign of it since that first night," declared ross, "and yet what i overheard, you know----" "must have referred to you," returned leslie with conviction. the next three days passed quietly enough. the inhabitants of weimer's cabin heard an occasional blast from wilson's claims, but did not see wilson. steadily the two boys worked and steadily ross held weimer to his labors. usually it was weimer who got the meals, either ross or leslie leading him down to the shack, in case the sun shone, about half-past eleven. in three-quarters of an hour the boys would leave work and sit down to a substantial meal of hot bread, potatoes and all sorts of canned meats and vegetables. but the third day after the mckenzies' departure it chanced that when eleven o'clock came, weimer and leslie were in the far end of the tunnel drilling the "cut in" holes for a new blast, and ross, pushing the little car back into the tunnel, sang out: "hey, you fellows, keep on and i'll go down and shake up the grub this time." he ran down the trail to the cabin, and soon had a roaring fire in the heater. a kettle of beans had been left simmering on the back of the stove. this ross pulled forward, and then, delving among the canned goods, he proceeded to set out various edibles, all the while whistling cheerfully. "m-m, tomatoes," he interrupted himself to mutter, "we haven't had tomatoes in two days. and corn--sweet corn. guess weimer has overlooked the corn entirely. we'll have corn. soup! jiminy! we haven't had soup in an age. vegetable. that means a little of everything, and that taken boiling hot. here goes soup." "whoa!" came a deep voice from the trail outside the door, then the voice was raised, "hello! who's t' home?" ross stepped to the door and faced a middle aged man, clad in leather "chaps" and short fur coat. a fur cap was drawn down over his ears and his hands were encased in huge fur gloves. he sat easily on a gray horse and was leading another, a mottled brown and white. as ross appeared, he drew off one glove and slipped the hand carelessly under the tail of his coat at the same time squaring about in his saddle so that he faced the doorway. ross, in his shirt sleeves, stepped out and greeted the newcomer hospitably. "hello! come in to dinner." "had mine down in miners' camp," returned the other with a backward jerk of his head. he touched his mount with his spur and came close to ross. the brown and white horse pulled back obstinately on the leading rope. the animal was saddled. "are you the young chap that's workin' for weimer?" "yes." "all right." the stranger withdrew his hand from the tail of his coat. it held a gun. "no monkey-shines now! you're the boy i'm after. i'm the sheriff of big horn county, and i have a warrant here for your arrest. your father is honin' to meet up with you and settle a little account of money taken in omaha." chapter ix surprises for a moment ross was stunned. his hands fell nervelessly at his side, and he stared up at the stranger with expressionless eyes. then, as the situation dawned on him, his eyes suddenly narrowed and into them leaped a light that caused the other to move the gun suggestively and say warningly: "no monkeying allowed, understand. swallow a bite right now and climb up here on this other horse." ross looked over his shoulder speculatively. from his position he could see the mouth of the tunnel on the mountainside behind the cabin. the mouth showed up black and empty and from its depth came the muffled sound of the hand drills wielded by weimer and leslie. the trail leading over the mountain to miners' camp was screened from the mouth of the tunnel by hemlocks. it could be seen only from the end of the dump. ross thought fast. "all right," he said finally. "i'll go with you now--and quietly. there's no objection, i suppose, to my leaving a note for--weimer?" no doubt existed in his mind as to the legality of the warrant and the seriousness of purpose in the man before him; therefore, he asked no further questions. moreover, he wished above all things to avoid question and get off before leslie appeared on the scene. "leave a note, yes, or see 'im," assented the sheriff. "i'm willin'. where is he?" "at work," hastily. "i'll just leave a note." the sheriff dismounted, dropped his bridle reins beside his horse's head, hitched the second animal's rope about the pommel of his saddle, and followed ross into the shack, repeating, "where at work?" "in the tunnel," mumbled ross. "i would rather write a line than call him." he picked up some cold biscuits left over from breakfast and stuffed them into his pockets. then, drawing a box up to the table, he sat down with paper and pencil to write a note. to his confusion, the sheriff stood over him looking on. he moistened the point of his pencil slowly. what on earth could he say that would make leslie understand and yet not give the situation away to the sheriff? to gain time he gnawed on one of weimer's hard biscuits. "where is my--father?" he asked finally, stumbling guiltily over the word. the sheriff spat out of the doorway and twirled his gun impatiently. "you'll see 'im before i leave you, all right," was his ambiguous reply. "and the sooner that is the better it'll suit me. git busy, young man, with that pencil. i don't aim to go int' winter quarters here. we've got to go on to cody." ross bit his lips and laid the biscuit aside. his eyes narrowed until they were mere slits. grasping his pencil with a firmness he was far from feeling he began to write without preface. "the sheriff is here arresting me for stealing money from my father in omaha. he is taking me to him in cody now. i don't know when i can get back. keep the work going sure, and don't worry. i think i will be able----" he paused and moistened the pencil again, then crossed out the last sentence and substituted: "i shall try to reason with him and make him see that he had better let me keep on doing what i am doing and earn the money to pay him back." another instant ross paused and thought. then he added the singular explanation which he believed would make the foregoing more lucid to leslie: "as i write the sheriff is standing over me," and then bethought himself just in time to avoid signing his name. "huh!" grunted the sheriff reading the last sentence. "so he is; and now hustle!" ross hustled most willingly. seizing his top-coat and cap he was ready in a few moments for the perilous journey over the crosby trail. silently he mounted the brown and white horse, all the time glancing anxiously at the mouth of the tunnel. he rode in front of the sheriff and slyly urged his horse forward until the intervening trees hid the mouth of the tunnel from which still issued the steady grind and thud of the drills. it was not until the two horses were cautiously feeling their way down the perilous trail, and ross saw far below him the shacks of miners' camp that some of the difficulties of his sudden venture began to present themselves to him. his decision had been made so hurriedly that he had had no time to think all around the subject of the arrest and his own action. it had seemed to him outrageous that a father should arrest his own son even though that boy had done wrong. ross revolted at the idea. "i don't wonder," he thought, "that less is afraid of his father. but his fear wouldn't sit so hard on his temper but what there'd be no end of explosions, and then where would they both get to?" it was the thought of this state of affairs that had led ross to the impulsive determination to go to that father and ask for a few months of grace for the son. in this, as he acknowledged to himself, he had a mixed motive and part of the mixture was not unselfish. "if he'll only let leslie stay and help me through the winter and earn the money," was his thought, "if i can make him see that leslie's no quitter, and that he knows he has made a big mistake and is willing to bone down and undo it--if i can only make him see!" it was here that ross's misgivings began. he knew he was no talker and evidently, as leslie said, the father was a man of violent temper. "i'll probably have my little trip under arrest for nothing," ross told himself as they reached the foot of crosby. "mr. jones will blow my head off and send back for leslie. queer father not to come himself instead of sending a sheriff and a warrant and so disgrace his own son!" as to who was responsible for notifying the father of the whereabouts of his son, ross did not for a moment doubt. sandy's trip to cody and the departure a few days before of both brothers answered that question to his satisfaction. at the foot of crosby the trail of horsemen turned into the wagon trail leading past gale's ridge. on foot approaching them was a man whom ross had met often in steele's shack, and the sight of him awoke the boy with a shock to another phase of the situation that he had not, so far, had time to consider. of course, it would not be possible for him to reach cody and mr. jones without betraying his identity to the sheriff! there were the men of gale's ridge, the hotel at meeteetse, and above all, there was sagehen roost and hank. he turned in his saddle. it was a waste of time to go on. he might as well own up and let the sheriff go back after leslie. "i was foolish to think of coming!" he muttered aloud and reined in his horse. the sheriff, coming on behind with his head bent, looked up questioningly and rode alongside. the two had not exchanged a word since leaving the creek, the sheriff being silent by nature and ross by choice. at that instant, the footman passed them. on the sheriff he bestowed an unrecognizing nod, on ross a broad and cordial grin. "hello, there, doc!" he greeted and passed on. the sheriff glanced in surprise from the man to ross. the latter drew a deep breath, and squaring about on his saddle shook the bridle reins. "that's a nickname they've given me," he muttered and rode on. the sheriff nodded and fell back, leaving ross determined to play the game as far as he was able. he had forgotten that he was known from cody to meeteetse as "doc tenderfoot." in a few moments they had passed through camp and, rounding the shoulder of old dundee, settled down to the eighteen mile ride to the half-way house between miners' camp and meeteetse. this house, as ross knew, had changed hands since his arrival in the mountains, and the change would lessen the chances that he would be recognized there. as it turned out, the sheriff was not recognized either, the family being newcomers in wyoming, and the two ate in silence, the sheriff introducing neither himself nor ross. "luck is with me so far," ross thought as they saddled and rode away from the ranch, "but how can i ever get past meeteetse and sagehen roost?" the moon shone brilliantly, and they pushed ahead rapidly, ross exulting over the sheriff's determination to get on to meeteetse that night. they rode as silently as before, ross in advance. the black hills met the trail on either side, and beside the trail flowed the shallow waters of wood river until it merged into the grey bull. half-way to meeteetse, the sheriff's horse stumbled and limped thereafter, necessitating a slower pace, so that it was nearly midnight before they drew rein in front of the "weller house." to ross's relief, the place was dark with the exception of a single lamp in the office. even the barroom was deserted. ross left the sheriff to register for both, and then followed the sleepy clerk down to a lunch of cold "come-backs" which that individual "rustled" from the kitchen himself. "if fortune will favor me as well to-morrow as it did to-day," ross thought as he listened to the sheriff's first snores, "i'll be next to jones by this time to-morrow night and try to do some talking for leslie!" he knew that his roommate was no wiser concerning him than when they started from meadow creek, and he most heartily desired a continuation of that ignorance. in the morning the two were up early and down to breakfast. ross looked about apprehensively for some one who had seen him on his way into the mountains. he slunk into the dining-room in the wake of the bulkier sheriff and pushing himself unobtrusively into a corner seat bent low over his plate as befitted a young man under arrest. but no sooner was he seated than the proprietor of the house spied him from the other end of the dining-room, and with never a suspicion that he was talking to the sheriff's prisoner, strode across the room. he slapped the sheriff familiarly on the shoulder: "what the dickens are you doing up this way? why don't ye stay in basin where ye belong?" then he grasped ross's hand cordially: "bless us if here ain't doc back again. got them claims cleaned up yet, doc?" ross, encountering the puzzled eyes of the sheriff, quaked. "no, we haven't yet," he muttered and glancing toward the dining-room door, exclaimed in sudden inspiration, "wonder if that man is motioning to you?" the proprietor looked around. several men were in the hall outside the dining-room. "i'll go and see," he exclaimed. the sheriff continued to look at ross. "bluff!" he announced briefly and understandingly. the blood flooded ross's face guiltily. "it was," he confessed, adding quickly, "say, don't give my arrest away where i'm known, will you?" his request and confusion satisfied the sheriff. the puzzled expression died out of his face. "all right," he assented and fell on his breakfast. the proprietor did not see ross again until he was riding away. then he ran out of the barroom bareheaded and called, "steele's in cody, doc. he said you was pannin' out more like an old prospector than a tenderfoot." the sheriff rode up beside his prisoner with a quick inquiry: "how long have ye worked for weimer?" "long enough to be sick of it and want to quit," returned ross gruffly, giving his horse a quick slap that set the animal to loping. it was no part of his plan to hold any unnecessary conversation with the sheriff that day. "i guess," the latter called as he came galloping after, "that you'll quit now all right, all right!" ross made no reply, but took care to keep well in advance of his captor. although his plan had, so far, succeeded, he was far from feeling triumphant because of a distressing sense of guilt at the deception he was obliged to practice. nor was he able to dispel this sense by the knowledge that he was acting for the good of all concerned. "i may be only messing things up more than they are already," he thought dejectedly as they approached sagehen roost. "what under the sun led me to think i was equal to such a job, anyway?" then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed, his chin raised itself determinedly and he turned his attention to the half-way house and the loquacious hank. how could he ever get past hank and remain leslie jones in the sheriff's eyes? if only he could get a moment's speech with hank alone. but the sheriff was ever at his elbow. they had made good time from meeteetse, and so approached dry creek and sagehen roost a full hour ahead of the stage from cody. this fact gave ross courage. with the stage-driver eliminated he had only hank to deal with. "hello, hank!" shouted the sheriff as they dismounted in front of the corral. "shake us up some grub right away, will ye?" hank appeared at the door. ross dodged behind the sheriff's horse, and stooping over noted the approach of hank's legs. when they had borne their owner to the corral gate he straightened up and saying loudly: "hello, hank!" scratched the flank of the horse sharply with a pin he had found under the lapel of his coat. "wall, if there ain't doc tenderfoot!" shouted hank, but got no further. the horse leaped forward, and, as the sheriff sprang for its head, ross managed to get hank's ear for an instant: "don't give me away, hank. talk to him and let me alone--understand--no names called. don't talk to me nor about me." hank stared his amazement, helped the sheriff catch his mount, scratched his head until ross's words had soaked in, and then obeyed them so literally that when, half an hour later, ross leaped to his horse's back, he was still leslie jones to the taciturn sheriff, and hank, tongue-tied for once, was left standing beside the corral gate with a multitude of questions unasked. ross's spirits arose. they were on the home stretch now to cody. there was not a house on the way and only the stage to meet. ross, forgetting his rôle as a shamefaced prisoner, began to whistle and plan what he should say to leslie's father. his buoyancy was checked only when he chanced to look over his shoulder and discovered the sheriff looking at him not only with the puzzled air which he had worn at meeteetse, but, ross thought, with suspicion also. "i never seen a sober man arrested that took arrest as you do," the sheriff declared riding to ross's side. "think this is a little picnic, don't ye?" "i'm trying to think just how it will turn out," answered the boy seriously. "there's the cody stage, isn't it?" the sheriff reined his horse back, and, with a flourish, the four horses swept past with andy's foot jammed hard on the brake and andy's whip cracking over the wheelers' heads. just in the nick of time he recognized ross. "hi, there!" he shouted. "doc, where's yer patient? and how is he?" then, before any answer could be returned, the stage was beyond reach of ross's voice, disappearing in a cloud of dust. "what patient does he mean?" asked the sheriff. "it's a fellow i helped when i first came out here," answered ross frankly. he was afraid of the sheriff's suspicions. "he was hurt in front of sagehen roost, and as i know something about surgery i--helped--to fix him up." the sheriff studied his horse's ears. a look of perplexity overspread his face. "i heard of that down in basin. but it seems to me that was before you come." he looked hard at ross. "the mckenzies said----" he stopped suddenly, and bit his lips. ross seized this pause to mutter, "it's not so long ago," and forged ahead on the trail, taking good care to keep ahead until the lights of cody and the odor of the shoshone river--"stinking water"--smote their senses together through the gathering darkness of the early december night. then the sheriff, straightening in his saddle, said in a voice of authority: "come back here. we'll ride neck and neck now." ross fell back, and asked his first question, and no sooner was it out than he bit his lips savagely in vexation at his own thoughtlessness. "is mr. jones stopping at 'the irma'?" "who?" exploded the sheriff. "mr. jones," murmured ross in confusion. the sheriff looked the boy over silently but intently in the moonlight. the blood surged into ross's face, and, despite the chill of the night wind, the perspiration broke out on his forehead. "huh!" was the only response to his question. "jones!" then, with their horses neck to neck the two rode over the bridge together and for the second time entered the town to which buffalo bill has given his name, cody. on the other side of the bridge, near the dust-deep road, stood a tent. the flap was fastened back, and, within, seated about a rough table, sat four men playing cards. when the sound of horses' hoofs reached the players, one of them arose and came to the tent's opening. it was sandy mckenzie. the sheriff, still regarding ross, did not look toward the tent, while ross, excited over the prospect of meeting leslie's father, and confused by his recent misspeech, scarcely bestowed a moment's thought on sandy, whom he had known was in cody and believed to be the instigator of the arrest. he glanced, however, within the tent as they passed and recognized waymart. the man sitting next, his back to the open flap, his face bent over the cards in his hand, one leg stretched out under the table, looked strangely familiar to the boy, but he was too preoccupied to give him any attention. the fourth man, his face turned toward the riders, was a stranger. a moment later, a man took the horses in front of "the irma," and the sheriff with his prisoner walked into the lobby and up to the desk. picking up the pen, the sheriff thrust it into ross's hand. "register for yourself," he commanded briefly. ross hesitated, glanced at the waiting clerk, glanced at the suspicious face of the sheriff and then, with a shaking hand, wrote: "ross grant, junior," and laid the pen down. the sheriff drew the register toward him with a slowly purpling face. "that's my name," declared ross. he spoke defensively, yet with a ring of exultation in his voice. "you haven't asked me for it before." the blood dropped out of the sheriff's face. the shivers ran down ross's spine at the anger in his face. "what does this mean, you cub!" the sheriff demanded furiously. "it means that i want to talk to leslie jones' father before he sees leslie," announced ross boldly, "so i came with you. there was nothing to prevent my coming." a hand fell on the sheriff's shoulder. sandy mckenzie stood at ross's elbow. sandy's face wore a curiously baffled expression, but he nodded to ross in much his usual nonchalant manner. "hello, doc, you here? didn't expect to see you. how'd you leave leslie jones?" there was an emphasis on the last name which ross did not notice. neither did he notice the shrewd observation in the questioner's eyes. "i left him busy," the boy returned glibly, "and so did the sheriff!" once more the blood rushed into the sheriff's face, and in unselected language he had begun to tell ross what he thought of him, when sandy succeeded in drawing him aside and leading him into the barroom, followed by waymart and a group that the conversation had attracted. after they had disappeared, ross turned to the clerk. "is mr. jones stopping here?" he asked confidently. "nope," responded the clerk, leaning an elbow on the ledger. "what was it you put over the sheriff?" "not here!" ross exclaimed, not hearing the question. "did you understand the name? i want to see mr. jones." in his anxiety he raised his voice. the clerk grinned. "there ain't no man here by the name of jones." "but there must be," ross insisted stupidly. "there's got to be! this is the only hotel in town, isn't it?" "yep," grinned the clerk. "it's the original waldorf-astory all right. where does this here jones hail from?" "omaha." there was unlimited dismay in ross's tone. "hain't got any one from omaha here, and hain't had this winter." ross pulled the register toward him and began to scan the names. instantly he exclaimed, "bully! steele. i'd forgotten him. i'll see----" "not this trip!" the clerk interrupted lazily. "ye must 'a' met steele. he went back on the stage to-night." "leonard, then. he's here, isn't he?" "nope," replied the clerk nonchalantly. "he's in basin. home's there, ye know." baffled, perplexed, ross turned again to the register. the clerk had told the truth. there had been no guest entered from omaha or any place further away than montana in weeks. "see here," he exclaimed finally, "do you know anything about leslie jones, that went over to meadow creek with a man named wilson a few weeks ago?" the clerk leisurely turned the pages until he arrived at the entry sought. "here they be," he pushed the book across the counter. "wilson and jones. they stayed here most a week. knew wilson and remember jones when he was here." "and hasn't his father been here?" asked ross eagerly. "not at any time?" "nope." "haven't you--haven't you heard from him at any time or--or known about him? i've got to see the father," ross burst out in irrepressible confidence born of his distraction. "i've stopped work and come all the way down from the shoshones to talk with jones." "can't help it. don't know anything about any jones except this young one." at this point the clerk was called into the dining-room. he left ross standing beside the desk staring at the register, confused and helpless. "and right here i got the big head over the way i had managed," he told himself in humiliation, "and at the very last minute gave the whole thing away!" why couldn't he have had the sense to play the game far enough to see the end--and leslie's father, he asked himself miserably. now he had simply made a fool of himself and angered the sheriff and had not benefited leslie. the sheriff would probably turn about and go back after the right boy. with this thought ross straightened his shoulders determinedly and turned toward the barroom. as there was nothing to be gained by silence he was going to ask questions. as he turned, a man slid into the hotel in advance of him--the man with the oddly familiar back. the sheriff, sandy and waymart were standing together, and toward them ross made his way through clouds of tobacco smoke and past groups of cowboys, railroad men and prospectors. "hi, doc!" called sandy gaily. "hump along here and be sociable. what'll you have? it's on me. anybody," admiringly, "that's smart enough t' fool the sheriff of big horn county can have anything on me they'll take." the sheriff turned his back on sandy and scowled. he did not glance at his late prisoner. "i don't want anything," declared ross shortly. he planted himself resolutely in front of sandy. "but i'd like to know where leslie jones' father is?" sandy smiled easily, while the scowl faded from the sheriff's face. "i ain't no city directory, doc," responded sandy, "and what's more, i ain't knowin' of any leslie jones! his end name ain't any more jones than yours is. he's fooled ye mighty bad--see?" the blood rushed to ross's face. "n-not jones?" he stammered. "not jones! what is it then?" "why, doc, if he don't want ye t' know i ain't got a call t' tell ye. be reasonable." sandy spoke with maddening pleasantry and condescension. "a feller's name is his own, and if he wants t' keep it kinda fresh and unused i ain't the one t' dig it up 'n' let it get covered with dust. better go back t' meadow creek and have it out with leslie." ten minutes later, ross, with a hot and angry face, was back in the lobby. his indignation burned against leslie, who had, unconsciously, helped to put him in the hole in which he found himself. the subdued laugh which had marked his retreat from the barroom rang long in his ears. the sheriff's laugh was the loudest. "arrest will serve him right!" muttered ross as he entered the dining-room. "there isn't a reason on earth why he shouldn't have told me his right name when he told me the rest." angrily ross ate his supper, glowering down at his plate and not noticing the entrance of the mckenzies with the sheriff. after supper he went up to his room. the door was unlocked, the key having been long since lost. a single electric bulb swinging over the dresser was alight. under the bulb lay a sealed and soiled envelope. ross picked it up and turning it over came on the direction, "doc tenderfoot," in a sprawling and carefully careless hand. wonderingly he opened the envelope. within was a note written with a lead pencil on the back of a yellow advertising sheet. it ran: "leslie's name is quinn, not jones. his father is a. b. quinn, north bend, okla., or castle street, omaha. he is in omaha now waiting for leslie. sheriff is to send him there. mum is the word about this note--to him or leslie or the mckenzies. if i did not know you were on the square you would not get it to be mum about." chapter x a newcomer on meadow creek "'old man quinn!'" ross cried aloud. "'old man quinn' and the sheep war. and leslie is his son!" it all came back, the story he had almost forgotten in the stress of events on meadow creek, the conversation on the train, old sheepy's tale and, at last, his suspicions concerning lon weston with his dyed hair. and when his memory brought lon into mental view, ross's face lit up with a sudden flash of intelligence. "it was weston that i saw in the tent, and it was weston that went into the barroom ahead of me!" he laid the note on the dresser and, bending under the electric light, studied it. there was nothing to show who had written it except the caution at the end. that might have emanated from waymart, but the language was better than he would have used. ross felt that it was lon weston who had written that message. of course, if such was the case, and lon was the fourth whom old man quinn was looking for, that warning not to give the unsigned writer away would be accounted for. it might, in some way, be the clew that would lead to lon's detection. ross now recalled how lon had lain with one arm over his face all the time that wilson and leslie had been at the stage camp. he could not now recall whether or not the injured man's name had been spoken in leslie's presence. but he did remember that leslie had said of the mckenzies that perhaps they were men at some time in his father's employ, in which case he might not know them, but that they would probably recognize him. "then if he had heard weston's name it might not mean anything to leslie," ross concluded. he wondered why lon had not made himself known that evening and wondered how he came to know the mckenzies. in fact, he sat on the side of his bed wondering about a dozen things until midnight, and then went to bed undecided what to do now that he had quinn's address in his possession. his resentment kindled against leslie whenever he thought of the latter's deception about his name. and the probabilities were that a letter from him, ross, would not move the father to clemency. in this undecided state of mind, ross strolled into the lobby the following morning, considering how he could best kill time until the stage started for meeteetse that evening. as he was standing in front of a window, his hands deep in his pockets, the sheriff and sandy rode past, followed by waymart. neither the sheriff nor waymart looked his way. but sandy did, and, grinning, raised his hand in a graceful salute. ross, nodding, felt his anger at sandy dying. distrust him as he must, ross could not dislike him. in this strange state of mind, however, the boy was by no means alone throughout the length and breadth of big horn county. "they're going now after the right chap," thought ross, and a wave of sympathy for leslie began to wash away his resentment. in the end, he spent the greater part of the day composing a letter to old man quinn, wherein he set forth leslie's position, prospects and altered feelings in bald statements containing but few adjectives. in explaining who the writer was he gave a brief account of his connection with the sheriff. between the acts of composing, tearing up, and rewriting the composition, he searched cody for lon weston, but could not find him. when, that evening, he climbed into the stage behind andy, he had sent the letter to leslie's father and had not caught a glimpse of weston. at the stage camp he was the butt of much congratulation and derision from the hilarious hank. "say, you made the sheriff mad as a hornet, but he had t' own up ye cheated 'im out of a year's growth. sandy set the hull thing out in good shape. but why didn't ye stick t' yer job instid of layin' down 'n' kickin' up yer heels before the time?" "because i'm no good, hank, this side of the mississippi river," returned ross in humility of spirit. "don't knock me--you can't get ahead of me in that respect! i've kicked myself all over cody to-day." the following morning, at meeteetse, he joined bill travers and the miners' camp stage and started on the all day's journey into the mountains. at noon, he began looking for the sheriff and leslie. he had calculated that they would meet the stage at the half-way ranch and there he would tell leslie what he had written his father. but no leslie appeared. all the afternoon during the stage's progress into the mountains, ross looked for the sheriff and his prisoner, but he looked in vain. at six o'clock, bill travers dropped his one passenger in front of steele's shack, and ross, climbing gale's ridge, opened the door on the superintendent in the act of sitting down to supper. "hello, there!" cried steele grasping the boy's chilled hand. "here's the best elk steak you ever planted your teeth in. draw up and tell me what you've been up to, skylarking off to cody with the sheriff." ross followed directions, and soon was giving steele the entire story of his capture and failure. steele, forgetting to eat, alternated between amusement and amazement. "by george, i don't wonder that sheriff was mad! you see, doc, he's new to the business of being sheriff. you were his first arrest." "probably if he were not so new he wouldn't have been so easily fooled." "i can't say," retorted steele, "that he was easily fooled. strikes me you were about as slow with him as greased lightning." ross flushed at the praise. it was balm to his wounds in his self-esteem. early the following morning, he started for meadow creek, and at the upper camp learned something for which he was unprepared and which was a source of temporary satisfaction to him. leslie had disappeared. until noon ross lingered in camp watching the sheriff and sandy pass and repass in their search for the runaway. finally, just before noon, he saw them on snow-shoes striking out up wood river cañon into the uninhabited wilderness beyond. then he slowly mounted the dizzy trail leading to weimer's shack and the interrupted work. "it must have been my note that warned him," ross thought as he watched the figures toiling up wood river cañon. "i hope they have the chase of their lives," he said aloud, "and then i can patronize sandy and stroke him down as he did me at 'the irma'--provided i dare!" he found weimer sitting beside the fire smoking and growling over the absence of both his assistants. "dot poy," he explained, "read dot paper you wrote and den vat does he do, hein? he says notings, aber he takes some tings and out he goes und leaves me mit der vork und mit mine eyes, und dey so pad!" this was the extent of the information he was able to give ross concerning leslie. many grievances he had against the sheriff and "dem mckenzies" that had ransacked the premises and had ridden to and fro, over to wilson's and round the mountains searching for traces of leslie. as it turned out, they might have found a trace of him had they searched more thoroughly, for the following day, ross, diving into the pocket of his slicker for some nails that he carried there, came on a folded note pinned in the bottom of the pocket. [illustration: beside the dynamite box] "all i understand from your letter," ran the note, "is that it has given me a chance to make my getaway. it was a mighty white thing of you to do, and i appreciate it, though i know i haven't acted that way. you've probably found out what my name is by this time. i didn't tell you, because i was so dead ashamed about the whole matter that i hated to face myself and disgrace the name. but i never thought father would do such a thing as he has, and so i shall clear out and stay cleared until he has stopped hunting. i know where i'm going, and you'll see me in meadow creek after father goes back and has given me up.--leslie jones quinn." ross, standing on the dump beside the dynamite box, a hammer in one hand, read the letter. at once all his remaining resentment against leslie disappeared. "i guess i would have done the same about the name in his place," he concluded. pinning the note in his pocket again for safe keeping he repaired the dynamite box. then he entered the tunnel, where weimer was once more at work drilling for a blast. "uncle jake," he asked, "when did leslie leave, what time in the day?" "it vas not day, it vas night," growled weimer wrestling with the drill. "he vent avay mit darkness." "that accounts," said ross, "for his not having been seen in camp." he felt certain that leslie would take refuge in the shack up wood river cañon where wilson had stored some of the supplies in preparation for the winter's work on the coal claims. in this case he would be discovered, for it was in that direction that the sheriff and sandy had gone as ross was climbing the crosby trail. therefore, it was with anxiety that the boy looked for the return of the mckenzies. darkness had fallen when he left the tunnel that night, and as he emerged from the trees that clustered about the dump, he saw a light in the mckenzie cabin. without waiting for his supper, he crossed the little valley and rapped on the door. "hello, doc," came sandy's voice from within. "haul up the latch-string and show yerself. comin' to crow over us, ain't ye?" he continued as ross entered. "well, that ye can, fer we can't find hide ner hair of leslie, and the sheriff has hit the trail to basin about as mad as they make 'em over the whole thing!" here sandy threw his head back and laughed as amusedly as though the entire affair were a joke of his own manufacture. he did not seem to harbor the least resentment against ross for having blocked the wheels of his game. rather, he applauded the blocking frankly, while waymart smoked stolidly beside the table and said nothing. "that little note that you left for less is what done the business," sandy went on cheerfully reviewing the situation. "the sheriff had forgot that note 'til we got up here and the bird wa'n't t' be found in the hand ner the bush neither. that was a neat little trick, doc, almost as neat as the way ye come it over the sheriff on the trail to cody. guess he'll not fergit ye fer a spell! mart, don't be s' stingy with that weed. hand over some. my pipe is about as empty as the sheriff's head." "why did you do it, sandy?" ross burst out. "what made you send word to leslie's father that he was here?" sandy composedly filled his pipe and lighted it. "it was cruelty t' little children not t', doc. the very idee of leslie jones leavin' his pa and----" "his name isn't jones, and you know it, and i know it!" interrupted ross. he could not keep the ring of triumph from his tone. "he is leslie quinn." sandy's hand traveled slowly to his pipe. "is he? how'd you find out?" he asked quickly. "easily enough," said ross carelessly, "when you know how." both waymart and sandy regarded the boy intently. "been back here then, has he?" they asked in one breath. ross arose. "'it would be cruelty to little children' to tell you!" he quoted boldly and opened the door. waymart gave an exclamation and sprang to his feet. his hands were clenched. but sandy, kicking him under the table, guffawed. "give and take, mart," he exclaimed. "i'm willin' t' chew my own words, and if i am willin' there ain't no kick comin' from you!" the following day ross wrote another letter to leslie's father and enclosed the note he had found pinned in his pocket. this letter he entrusted to wilson to mail in cody, for wilson was going to butte for a few weeks before beginning his winter's work on his coal claims. he stopped at noon to bid weimer and ross good-bye. "nothin' would hire me t' stay over here all winter," were his last words to ross. although the latter had seen but little of the prospector, his departure made the valley seem lonelier than ever, and caused ross to cling desperately to the idea of the mckenzies remaining. as the days passed, and more snow fell, the brothers began to get decidedly uneasy. they accounted for their uneasiness to ross by telling him they were in need of supplies and saw no way of getting any over from miners' camp. sandy was the informant, as usual, while waymart's eyebrows were lifted in momentary surprise. by that time every horse in miners' camp had been sent "below." there was but little grass on the mountains during the brief summer; and through the winter, which occupied nine months of the year, every ounce of fodder must be packed over the difficult road from the ranches. "i don't see," quoth sandy unconvincingly, "but what we'll have to strike the trail. hain't no way, as i can see, to pack grub over except on our backs, and that's too slow." for a moment there was silence in weimer's cabin. the wind moaned and wailed among the hemlocks, and whistled savagely past the cabin. in his bunk weimer snored. above them came the cry of the coyotes, like a child's long-drawn scream of pain and fear. the terror of loneliness among those overhanging mountains gripped at the boy's throat. for a moment he could not speak. then, "if you could get provisions over easily, would you stay longer?" sandy crossed his legs restfully. "sure," he answered readily. that week, therefore, ross used his spare time--and some time which he ought not to have spared--in making a sled. it was, when finished, a crude but efficient affair, the runners being surmounted by a double-decked box. this vehicle he exhibited one day to the mckenzies as the prospective conveyor of their supplies over the mountains. sandy stood in front of the shack, his hands in his pockets, his cap pushed well back on his head and the front lock of hair falling over his forehead. "doc, you're the stuff!" he cried warmly. "there's an idee or two floatin' around in yer tenderfoot brain, ain't there?" tied to both front and rear of the sled were ropes, two in front, one behind. those in front differed in length. "see?" explained ross. "two can't walk abreast on the trail, but still it's easier for each one to pull on his own rope. that's the reason i made 'em of different lengths. then one of us behind can hold the sled from slipping off the trail with the rear rope. in this way we can bring up a big load of supplies." sandy removed his cap, and pushed back his hair. "doc, where was you raised? guess i'll go back t' the same place, and be raised over agin. it might pay." his tone expressed an admiration that was almost genuine. waymart said nothing. he scarcely glanced at the sled, but turned away scowling up toward the tunnel where, as he had informed himself, ross and weimer were doing an amazingly good piece of work. as they started back toward their own shack, ross heard waymart say angrily to sandy, "are you goin' to take the use of that sled?" and sandy's answer, "for sure, now! what's eatin' you, mart? doc's got a good head on 'im." "entirely too good fer us, mebby!" growled waymart; and ross smiled in satisfaction, thinking they referred to his work in the tunnel. just before supper, the door of weimer's shack unceremoniously opened, and waymart's arm was thrust in. "here," his voice said roughly, "take this here elk steak." ross relieved the arm of its burden, and the door closed sharply. it was a sirloin steak, the juiciest and most tender in the animal which the brothers had brought into the valley the day before. sandy had often brought them venison before, but never waymart; and ross was pleased. "while sandy is entertaining," ross had told steele, "and waymart seldom says two sentences at one sitting, and next to never meets my eye, yet, if it came right down to a choice, i believe i'd rather travel along with waymart than with sandy." "your choice is all right," steele had replied. "if waymart would cut loose from sandy, he'd earn an honest living. it's sandy that's the head, though. it's sandy that plans; waymart furnishes the feet and arms. sandy's good company, but i wouldn't trust him with my pocketbook around the corner. not," steele added, "that he'd steal it in such a way that the law could touch him. no, he'd have the pocketbook, but it 'ud leave him free to look any jury in the eye and to shake hands with me afterward." the new sled made its first journey down into miners' camp one sunday in december two weeks after ross had ridden down with the sheriff. waymart went ahead with one of the leading-ropes over his shoulder, and sandy behind, steadying the empty vehicle around the shoulder of crosby. waymart led because he was the heaviest, and there was a deep fall of snow to contend against except around the shoulder, where, fortunately, the wind had swept the mountain clean. as the trail broadened beyond, waymart paused to survey the low-hanging clouds. ross, in the rear, stopped and studied the mountains which nature had in ages past taken in her gigantic hands and flung into the cañon between dundee and crosby, compelling wood river to crawl and worm and wind and cut its way deep and narrow down into miners' camp. "i wonder," exclaimed ross suddenly to sandy, "what is beyond that conglomeration of peaks." "wood river cañon still, clean over on top of the divide, and you can follow it on horseback right through. part of the time up there," waving his hand toward the jumble of mountains which seemingly ended the cañon, "it's pretty rocky trailin', especially in winter, but it can be done." sandy rested one foot on the edge of the sled. waymart glued his eyes on the camp far below. from various projecting stovepipes volumes of smoke were curling straight up in the windless air. from the tunnel of the mountain company almost opposite them came a succession of blasts which stirred the echoes between dundee and crosby. the mountain company were no respecters of sunday. they were also working day and night in view of the near shut-down of the works. but ross's gaze was seeking to penetrate further toward the source of wood river. "any one living beyond there?" he asked. sandy grinned. "elk, mountain-sheep, coyotes, bears, and timber wolves." "but no people?" "nope. there ain't a man livin' 'twixt here and the yellowstone park--now. last summer a few prospectors sort of strolled up wood river a few dozen miles, but they hiked it out, i tell ye, when snow come." "i wish," ross said impulsively, "that i could go over there exploring." waymart lifted his eyes the fraction of a moment, and encountered sandy's. a peculiar expression passed between them. then waymart's gaze fell again on the camp, and sandy replied carelessly to ross: "after you git the work done in your tunnel better strike some of these trails, but not in winter. they ain't safe, especially for a tenderfoot." "but in the summer," returned ross absently, "i don't expect to be here." "oh--that so?" and sandy gave the sled a careless push. waymart drew the rope over his shoulder, and once more the trio descended the trail. at the upper camp ross left the brothers to purchase their supplies while he visited the post-office and steele. at the former place he found a note to himself from leslie's father and a bulkier letter addressed to leslie in his care. mr. quinn had received both of ross's letters, he wrote, the last with the enclosure from leslie. he had taken the steps necessary to recall the warrant, which, he explained, had seemed to him the "surest and quickest way of fetching the boy home," and would allow leslie to return to ross as his note indicated that he desired. on his return ross was to give up the letter put in his care. mr. quinn closed his communication with thanks to ross for the trouble he had been to, also, for his assurance that leslie was boning down to work! two weeks had elapsed since leslie disappeared. nothing had been seen of him nor heard of him in either the upper or lower camps, and ross returned to meadow creek troubled in spirit. "i'm afraid," he told himself as he helped the mckenzies haul their supplies up the trail, "that i've made even a bigger mess of it all the way around than i thought at first." steele, from his doorway, watched ross out of sight that afternoon, with a pleased smile on his bearded lips. he was a tanned and freckled ross now. sun and wind and work in the open for two months had left their marks on the boy. he stood straighter, walked more firmly, and had laid on pounds of muscle. "he's put himself through good and plenty, as well as holding uncle jake's nose to the grindstone," concluded steele, turning back into the cabin. on the making of the sled he had commented but briefly to ross, realizing how much the presence of the mckenzies meant to the boy. to himself he thought, however: "that sandy mckenzie! how he does manage to make other folks do his work!" * * * * * during the week which followed, a stranger passed through miners' camp. he was seen by only one man, "society bill," who belonged to the gale's ridge outfit. "he asked the way to the meader creek trail," society bill told steele. "now, i wonder if he's a new one of them mckenzies. i never set my two eyes on 'im before." "horseback?" asked steele. "yep. decent sort of bronc he rode. told me to tell bill travers to drive it down below to-morrow if it got down this far." "that looks as if he knew what he was about, and intended to stay," mused steele. early the following morning the "decent sort of broncho," with its bridle reins tied to the pommel of the saddle, was discovered in front of steele's shack, pawing the snow in an ineffectual attempt to get a breakfast. bill travers, returning with the stage, according to request, drove the beast ahead of him down to the first ranch, and, taking off saddle and bridle, turned it into a large corral with dozens of other horses to winter. in the spring one by one the owners would straggle along, identify their horses and saddles, pay their bills, and depart for the mountains. the owner of the ranch pitched the saddle under a shed, and thought no more about the transaction. bill travers, whirling his whip over the backs of his four stage horses, gave the stranger and his horse no more thought. society bill, having disseminated his news among the other miners, presently forgot it. but amos steele neither forgot nor ceased to speculate. "who is he, and what is he doing on the creek?" steele asked himself. the first part of the question ross answered the following sunday. he could scarcely wait to open the door before announcing: "lon weston is over on the creek. he is cousin to the mckenzies!" chapter xi meadow creek valley misses leslie ross could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses when he saw lon weston riding along the trail below the dump. the boy had pushed the car with its load of ore out to the bumper and dumped it before he saw the horseman in the sheepskin coat, the hairy chaps, and a fur cap drawn over forehead and ears. the horse shied at the chunks of ore rolling almost to its feet, and weston looked up. "hello, there!" shouted ross. "what on earth are you doing here?" weston drew in his horse. "hello, doc!" he returned with gruff pleasantness without answering the question. "doc" slipped and slid down the snowy path to the trail, and held out a cordial hand. "how's your leg?" "all right." weston gripped the extended hand heartily. "almost as good 's new." his brown eyes above his heavy stubby beard held a pleasanter expression than ross had seen in them while nursing their owner. they were deep eyes, capable of mirroring accurately the varied moods of the man looking out of them. "i didn't recognize you in cody three weeks ago," ross was beginning when weston interrupted him. leaning down from his saddle he met the boy's eyes steadily. "remember," he said slowly and meaningly, "that you didn't see me--nor hear from me--in cody." "all right," agreed ross, embarrassed by the fixity of the other's stare. "i'll forget it hereafter, but i want to thank----" "cut it out," commanded weston briefly, straightening again in the saddle. "at least," invited ross, "you'll come to dinner with me. uncle jake is frying ham and onions. smell 'em? i got some onions and half a dozen apples over at camp sunday." his voice could not have been more eager had he been relating the finding of free gold. "come on in, and have some." weston's eyes slipped away from ross's in a way which reminded the latter of waymart's, and rested on the smoke from the cabin a quarter of a mile away. "guess not, to-day. thank you just the same. the boys are probably rustlin' grub this minute and they'll be expectin' me. see you again." ross stood motionless, looking after him. weston rode sitting straight, unlike the usual careless forward droop of the cow puncher. he was a well-built man, although his shoulders were rather narrow. but the only characteristic that ross noticed was the grip of the left knee against the horse. for the strength of that grip he was responsible, but it was a responsibility which lon did not seem to recognize. suddenly the boy realized the newcomer's words. so sandy and waymart were expecting him, but had said nothing about it to ross. and when ross had told them about lon weston at the stage camp they had made no sign that they knew him. that was strange. he turned slowly toward the cabin, where weimer was frying ham and onions and boiling coffee. opening the cabin door he was met by a white gust of steam mingled with savory smoke. he propped the door open, and brought in an armful of wood. weimer, in his shirt-sleeves, was bending his head over a little stove, which offered barely room for a small kettle and a skillet with a coffee-pot sandwiched in between. a sheet-iron oven stood on the floor, the top answering for a sideboard. when weimer made biscuits and sour dough bread, the oven was placed on top of the stove. ross threw his wood down on the hard dirt floor, and put a stick into the stove by way of the wide front door. the pine instantly blazed up, showing a wide crack which zigzagged across the side of the old stove. "uncle jake,"--ross sat back on one heel, and looked up at his partner whose blinking eyes were in the gloom of the cabin unprotected now by goggles,--"uncle jake, a stranger has just come into meadow creek city on the limited." weimer chuckled. before the advent of his youthful "pard" the old man--ross always thought of him as old despite his black hair and great strength--had not laughed in months. "he stopped at the second station," pursued ross. weimer's face instantly darkened. "at the mckenzies'? one of dem consarned gang, he ist?" "that's what i want to know. it's lon weston, the fellow i told you i took care of at the stage camp." weimer dumped ham and onions into an agateware basin, and set it on the table. "i don't know him, i don't. but he comes to der mckenzies, hein? und after all dose days you spen' mit him!" uncle jack frowned heavily, and, sitting down, helped himself to boiled "spuds." "i tink i knew all dem consarned gang, but dere ist no veston mit 'em." ross dragged to the little bare board table a box marked in big letters, "ruford's canned tomatoes, the yellow brand," and, turning the box on end, straddled it opposite weimer. weimer, eating and drinking noisily, found time to ask vindictively, "ist he for more medicine come mit you?" ross shook his head, and bent over his plate. the plate was tin. the cup out of which he drank his coffee was also tin. his knife and fork were steel, and his spoon was pewter. the place of the lacking milk pitcher was usurped by a tin can of condensed milk with the top bent back and the milk dried all over the sides. but ross ate--how he ate! potatoes followed ham, and coffee followed potatoes, and onions followed both, and then he began all over again. never had eating been such serious work with him. but never, also, had his muscles been so firm and hard. as for a pickaxe, it was coming to feel no heavier than the baseball bat which he had always rather scorned. "i wonder," he began after a pause, "what lon's up to here, anyway." the question started weimer on his favorite topic, the claim jumpers and the injustice of the mining laws. he could not talk fast enough in english, and so dropped into his native german. ross, accustomed to his tirades, cleared away the dishes, pushed the table back against the dirt chinked logs, and lay down on the blankets of his bunk for a few moments, his eyes glued on the little nickel clock. he broke into the other's scolding monologue. "in ten minutes we must go back to work." weimer scowled darkly. his lids, red and swollen, almost obscured his pale-blue eyes. "mine eyes ist too pad to-day," he declared. "i vill not to go out in de sun again." a few weeks before, this oft-repeated declaration had alarmed ross. now he made no reply. but, when the hands of the nickel clock indicated one, he arose and put on his oiled jumper and oilskin cap. "come, uncle jake," he said in a strong, decided tone. "here are your goggles. get busy, or the mckenzie outfit will have our claims in spite of us. now, when there are three to watch instead of two, we must show the mettle we're made of." moved by the magic statement, ever new and ever powerful, that the claims might be jumped, uncle jake, forgetting that in substance he had made the same objection to work twice a day for weeks and that ross had overcome his objections in substantially the same way, "got busy." and presently ross led him out, his eyes not only securely goggled, but covered as well with a black cloth which he pressed fearfully against the goggles. the snow was weimer's evil genius. he lived in dread of the sight of it. without assistance he would not move a dozen paces away from the cabin after the sun had risen on meadow creek valley. but the fear of the light had made as great an impression on his mind as the light itself had made on his eyes, and he had fallen into the habit, before ross came, of staying in his cabin during cloudy days, lest, if he ventured out, the sun might break through the clouds. the old partner and the young went up the steep trail to the tunnel, ross leading weimer up over the side of the dump and into the mouth of the tunnel. in the shelter of its gloom the latter removed his goggles; and, stumbling along over the chunks of ore lying beside the narrow track, he reached the end of the short tunnel which had been blasted from the solid rock. lighting a fresh candle, he set it in its socket at the end of a sharply pointed iron, a miner's candlestick, and, jabbing the point into a crevice, leisurely surveyed the wall before him. behind him the little empty car filled the tunnel with sound as ross pushed it rattling and jolting over the rusty rails. "ready to drill for another shot, ain't we?" ross asked. he pushed the car back out of the way. "got to hustle to get it done this afternoon, too." under the stimulus of ross's presence and hustle the older man fell to work valiantly, but it was slow work. down in miners' camp machinery performed the task which weimer was doing laboriously with the aid of a hand drill. before him, at the end of the tunnel, was a seamed and uneven wall of rock a little higher than his head and a little broader than his reach had he extended his arms on either side. in this wall he patiently drilled three sets of holes, into which the "sticks" were placed for the next "shot," as the explosion of dynamite was called. in mining terms the old man was "putting a shot." near the top of the wall he made three holes. half-way down were two more, long and inclined toward each other at the top. these were the "cut-in holes." lastly, at the foot of the wall were three large holes called "lifters." the contents of the top holes and the cut-ins were set off first, splintering and cracking the rock. then the lifters were exploded, actually lifting the loosened mass above it and hurling it into the tunnel. when quiet reigned again, and ross had loaded his hand car with the débris, he pushed it out on the dump again through the moist, freezing atmosphere of the tunnel. there was water everywhere. near the mouth of the tunnel it was frozen on the sides and the top, and carpeted the floor with slush. further in it was unfrozen, oozing out of the sides, dripping from the roof, running along the track. it covered the oiled garments of the men at work. it put out their candles. it made muck of the quartz dust on the floor. it often destroyed the lighted fuses. there was something maddening to ross in its incessant drip and drizzle, and he always emerged on the dump with a feeling of relief, especially when the sun shone as it did that day in dazzling brightness. he dumped the car, and was about to push it back when his eyes fell on weston's horse journeying on the back trail riderless. "that means," thought ross, "that he's going to stay. why?" a feeling of relief was mixed with uneasiness. the relief was caused by this further link in the chain of evidence that when the trail to miners' camp was closed it would not close on weimer and him alone. the uneasiness had to do with the mission of the mckenzie outfit in meadow creek valley. why were they reinforced by weston? "oh!" exclaimed ross aloud in sudden disgust with himself. "he's come to hunt, of course! his gun was strapped on behind. i never thought of that. if he belongs to the mckenzie outfit, he'd rather hunt than eat." it seemed to him that the "outfit" bore him not the slightest grudge or ill will. sandy, indeed, seemed openly to like him, waymart tolerated him with a surly good humor, while weston--here ross knit his brow--weston baffled him completely; still, considering the incident of the note in cody, the boy looked on him as a friend albeit one who evidently did not care to pose in that capacity before the mckenzies. from his position ross could look down and across on the claims of the mckenzies and almost into the "discovery hole" in which they were supposed to be working. waymart was leisurely drilling a hole in the rock to receive a stick of dynamite when sandy came out of the cabin and walked rapidly toward him. the two talked together a moment, and then weston joined them. in a moment the three fell apart, and appeared to be talking excitedly. presently waymart dropped the discussion, and turning his back walked away a few steps with his hands in his pockets and stood in a listening attitude. ross watched with absorbing interest. even at that distance he could see that the discussion between the other two was not amiable. the scene lasted but a few moments, and then all three descended to the cabin together. that evening after supper, ross washed the day's dishes, brought in wood, and put the room to rights, while weimer alternately smoked and snored in his bunk. the room was dimly lighted by candles in candlesticks thrust into logs. ross, so tired and sleepy he could scarcely keep his eyes open, hung up the dish-pan on its nail beside the stove, and looked longingly toward the emergency chest pushed beneath his bunk. not one word had he mastered of the contents of the books he had stowed away there with such high hopes. "i don't believe the mckenzies are coming over," he told weimer, as he filled the stove and wound up the clock. "it's too late for them." weimer made no reply. his pipe had fallen on his chest, and his hair-encircled mouth was wide open in a vacuous sleep. at that moment the rising wind beat the snow against the window, and ross uttered an exclamation. he had forgotten to shut the tool-house door, and, fearing that with the wind in the south the little log house would be filled with snow before morning, he went back up the trail to the tunnel. climbing noiselessly over the soft snow, he arrived at the ore dump, and was making for the tool house across the mouth of the tunnel when a light flickered in his path. startled, he looked into the tunnel, and saw three figures at the end silhouetted against the dim candle-light. "lon, sandy and waymart," he muttered. there was no danger of his being discovered, so dark was the night. therefore, he sat down on his heels beside the tool house, and watched, puzzled at first to understand the movements of the men. "oh," he muttered suddenly, "they're measuring to see how fast the work is going." with a tape line the men were estimating the cubic feet of rock excavated by ross and weimer. ross hugged his knees, and exulted. his "friends the enemy" might measure all they chose, he thought; and every length of the tape line would reveal to them the futility of waiting to jump the weimer-grant claims. presently the three started out of the tunnel. ross, seeking a hiding-place, found it behind a clump of low spruce trees at the right of the tunnel's mouth. the intruders blew out their candles as they came out on the dump. "at this rate," ross heard waymart say, "they're solid on these here claims." but, although he strained his ears, he could hear nothing more. after a brief wait the last sound of twigs breaking under their shoes died away; and ross, leaving his hiding-place, shut the tool-house door and went back to the cabin. he found weimer awake and whistling in his bunk. ross paused at the door, regarding him curiously. it was the first time he had ever heard the old man make this cheerful sound, although steele had said he used to be called whistling weimer as well as dutch weimer. "hello, uncle jake!" cried ross. "feeling pretty gay, aren't you?" weimer stopped in the middle of his tune, and blinked at ross. "nein," he denied, "i ain't feelin' gay. if your eyes vas----" ross interrupted. "now, see here, uncle jake; you know your eyes are better since i've taken to doctoring them." the last few weeks had certainly improved the old man. his eyes were better, owing to a cooling lotion which ross had dropped under the lids twice a day. weimer's mind was clearer because his growing confidence in his young partner had quieted his fears. ross's cheerfulness was also contagious. nor did the cleanliness on which the boy insisted lower weimer's vitality. soap became a known quantity to him. all these favorable circumstances reacted on weimer's work. he was becoming more and more efficient, and ross's spirits had risen as the days passed; and he saw the growing intelligence manifested by the other in regard to operations in the tunnel. this change for the better in uncle jake had not passed unnoticed by the mckenzies. ross said nothing to the old man about the scene he had just witnessed in the tunnel. it would do no good, and would only inflame the other's wrath. therefore, he snuffed the candles, repeating mechanically: "don't believe the mckenzies are coming over to-night." but at that moment footsteps sounded outside the door. the snow creaked under the pressure of shoes, and sandy and waymart entered. sandy was as gay and talkative as ever, but not waymart. he sat down on a box, leaned back against the logs, turned up his coat collar to protect himself from the icy wind, which sought out the dirt-chinked crevices, and, pulling a mouth-organ from his pocket, began to play. nor did he stop until sandy rose to go. a sombre figure he made back among the shadows, his eyes resting vacantly on the floor at his feet. one leg was crossed over the other, the toe moving in time to the discordant music. waymart's thoughts did not seem to be cheerful companions. but sandy had drawn a box close up beside the roaring fire, and sat with his elbows on his knees and a pipe in his mouth. he paid no attention to weimer nor to his musical brother, but told ross yarns of the gold-fields of montana and nevada, tales concerning other men, ross noticed; sandy never talked about himself. the evening passed and the men rose to depart without having mentioned the newcomer; and ross, with the thought of their previous reticence concerning him in mind, waited for them to speak first. it was sandy who spoke, but not until his hand was on the door and waymart stood outside the cabin. then he said carelessly, as though ross had never seen weston before, and as though the coming of a relative was an every-day event in meadow creek valley: "cousin hiked it over the mountain to-day. we're goin' t' strike th' trail over t' the divide to-morrow, huntin'. he's great on game." "so," thought ross, "i'm right. it's hunting that has brought him here." the next morning at daylight, ross, eating breakfast, chanced to glance out of the dirty west window. up near the summit of soapweed ledge, which met crosby at right angles, he saw three figures advancing single file. each carried a gun, and had a small pack and snow-shoes strapped on his back. "uncle jake," asked ross suddenly, "have you ever been over to the divide?" weimer shook his head. "no, i stay home and attend to pizness." "haven't you ever crossed that mountain?" ross indicated soapweed ledge. "yes." "what's beyond?" "more mountains," answered weimer vaguely, "und peyond dem more und more." it was a week before the hunters returned, a long lonely week for ross. each morning he told himself hopefully that before night leslie might return, but, to his increasing dismay, no leslie came. "can it be that an accident has happened to him, somewhere, alone, or has he changed his mind about coming and gone back home?" ross asked himself this question as he stood at the mouth of the tunnel one morning staring in the direction of soapweed ledge. a heavy snowstorm had set in that morning, and in the afternoon the falling snow shrouded the ledge in a white veil out of which the three men now emerged, moving slowly across the little valley. their snow-shoes were on their feet, and in place of the light packs with which they had started their shoulders were bent under loads of venison. the mckenzies had returned. that evening waymart appeared at weimer's door with a goodly portion of meat, at which ross looked dubiously. "you've given us so much already," he hesitated. waymart interrupted. "jerk it," he directed briefly. "jerked meat makes a good stew when ye can't git no fresh meat." he turned sharply to weimer in his bunk. "see here, uncle jake, have ye forgot how t' jerk venison?" weimer crawled out of his bunk, scowling. "vell, i haf nicht dat. i guess i jerk him so gud as anypody." "get about it then!" retorted waymart with rough kindness. "here's a meat knife to shred it up with." he laid a large, sharp knife on the table, and cut ross's thanks short by an abrupt departure. weimer, grumbling at the interruption to his rest, cut the meat in long, thin strips, which, he told ross, were to be nailed to the outside of the shack after the storm had passed. but in the morning, ross, objecting to a process which brought the meat into contact with the dirty logs, stretched a cord between two trees, and over it, in the sunshine, folded the strips clothespin fashion, leaving them for the air to cure and dry. for two or three days the mckenzies did not visit their neighbors. ross saw them outside their shack occasionally, and something in the air and attitudes spoke, even at that distance, of disagreement. one evening at six o'clock weimer stumbled out of the tunnel alone and down the path, the darkness robbing the snow of its terrors. a few moments later, ross, having laid the dry sticks in the drilled holes in the end wall of the tunnel, lighted the fuses, and, candle in hand, made for the mouth. he came out on lon weston sitting on a stump which projected above the dump. "hello, doc," greeted lon weston. "hello, weston." ross was so astonished to see him there that he nearly forgot to count the explosions that just then thundered in the tunnel behind him. "one, two, three, four, five." that accounted for the five sticks. he leaned against the tool house, and looked at lon through the dusk. lon's cap was pulled down over his eyes. his sheepskin collar was turned up, meeting the cap. all that was visible of his face was a bit of beard protruding around the stem of the pipe. but the voice sounded a more amiable note than it ever had in the stage camp, although his manner revealed an uneasy embarrassment. "well, doc, how d'ye like minin'?" "i don't like it at all," replied ross honestly. "seems t' like you all right," returned lon. "you're in better flesh and color than you was down on dry creek." "so are you," retorted ross, laughing. lon made no reply. he moved restlessly. "done any studyin' in that pile o' books ye had along?" he asked abruptly after a time. "no." ross's tone was crisp. "haven't studied a word." the subject was a tender one with him. there ensued a pause. ross opened the door of the tool house, and threw in his pick and shovel. he hitched the legs of his high rubber boots nearer his body; and then, as lon made no move toward going, he swung his numbed hands briskly. "i thought," lon began again in a constrained and hesitating way, "that you was mighty anxious about those books. i thought your goin' to some college or other depended on your gettin' outside of those books." ross struck his hands rapidly together. "i can't study," he answered briefly. "i get too tired working." weston arose and faced toward the cabin of the mckenzies. "another storm comin'," he announced. "get here day after to-morrow." "that's christmas," muttered ross. his heart contracted sharply, and a homesick pang assailed him. in his ignorance, before leaving home, he had set christmas as the date of his return. chapter xii a calamity befalls ross ross was writing to dr. and mrs. grant. he bent over the rough table under the light of two candles stuck into the logs above his head. weimer slept in his bunk the sound and noisy sleep of a tired laborer. "at the rate we're going at present," ross wrote, "we'll finish work by the middle of may.... we have at least one thing to be thankful for in our tunnel. we're not obliged to timber it. of course, blasting through solid rock isn't easy nor fast work, but i guess in the long run we get along faster than we would through dirt. in this case, you see we should be obliged to snake logs down from the mountainside and build side walls and roof in the tunnel for our own safety. how's 'snaking' for you, aunt anne? first time i heard it i hadn't an idea what it meant, but it covers the process of cutting down trees and getting them to their destination. tell you what! we speak some language up here. the king's english isn't always in it, but then every one understands, and i have fallen into using it as easily as a fish takes to water. and i am getting hardened to the work and the weather. i wouldn't mind the whole thing so much now if only the way to miners' camp would remain open. but any day it may become practically impassable, and then i cannot hear from you nor you from me for months. that--as i look ahead--is the tough part of it, being cooped up here with only five of us; and how the mckenzies can remain without laying in more provisions i don't see. they have meat enough, but that's all. with this letter i'm taking another over to camp for leslie's father. i ought to have sent him word before that leslie hasn't been seen nor heard of since he disappeared, but every day i've looked for him back--the whole affair worries me a lot--i should think as soon as he gets my letter, old man quinn would come and hunt leslie up himself." at this point there was the sound of laughter outside, and ross laid aside his pencil and pad. "sandy," he muttered, listening. to his surprise it was not sandy whom the opening door revealed, but lon and waymart, both in unprecedented high spirits. "we left sandy snorin'," waymart volunteered. "he and uncle jake ought to bunk in together. lon, show ross how sandy talks in his sleep." weston sat down, leaned his head back against the logs, gave one or two passes through his hair, which left it arranged like sandy's with a lock falling over his forehead; and in an instant, although weston was dark and sandy fair, an excellent imitation of the latter mumbled and talked and snored against the logs. weston accurately and easily imitated the voice and manner of sandy with his laugh and every facial characteristic. even weimer rolled over in his bunk and laughed. next, weston, carried out of himself by an appreciative audience, imitated waymart, the sheep-herder at dry creek, and finally ross himself, and did it all with amazing success. ross, convulsed with laughter, rocked back and forth on his box. it was the first real fun he had encountered since leaving pennsylvania. it did not seem possible that this weston was the same half-sullen, wholly silent man whom he had nursed at the stage camp. ross sat opposite the window in front of which weston was performing; and finally, just as waymart had called for an imitation of weimer, the boy, glancing up, encountered sandy's face outside the dirty pane. it remained there but an instant while sandy took the measure of the performer, but that instant was enough to show ross the full expression of which he had caught glimpses before, and which revealed the side of his character that sandy usually concealed. his blue eyes glinted angrily. his thin lips, tightly closed, wore a cruel expression, while every feature clearly showed a malignant disapproval of weston's methods of entertainment. the laugh died in ross's throat; but the next instant the door swung open and sandy entered, gay and careless--except as to eyes. they still glinted. "thought ye'd shook me, didn't ye?" he asked with a grin. "wall, this racket would bring a feller up from his grave, to say nothin' of a little snooze." he pushed a box over on its side, and sat astride it; and at once the atmosphere in the cabin changed, and became frigid, despite the newcomer's gaiety. weston slunk back to his seat, and all ross's urging proved ineffectual to draw him out of his shell again. waymart's face also lost its good humor. presently the three left together. weimer, wide awake, moved around the shack. "dat veston!" he chuckled. "how many kinds of beoples ist he? i could shut mine eyes and tink he vas dem all." the next day was sunday, and early in the morning in the teeth of a mild wind and threatened storm ross was off for miners' camp. as far as the shoulder around crosby he went on snow-shoes. arrived at the shoulder, and, making use of the long, sharp spike which he carried, he picked his way cautiously forward, pushing through the deep snow in the trail with his feet and knees, the spike set on the outer edge to prevent his slipping. again and again a ledge of overhanging snow would break away and fall on him; and, light even as the snow yet was, its weight dropping on his shoulders caused him to stagger. the snow-shoes also became a burden, for they were a useless encumbrance until he reached the foot of the mountain and struck out for steele's shack over two miles of snow already five feet deep. when he reached gale's ridge, he was almost exhausted, not only from pushing through the snow on the trail, but from the unaccustomed effort of walking on snow-shoes. already he was dreading the most difficult task of all--the return journey. steele met him with a manifest uneasiness. "grant, your trips down to camp this season are numbered," he cautioned as they sat down to an early dinner. "an old trailer could creep around the shoulder of crosby for a little while yet, but neither you nor i could do it in safety. the snow's gettin' so almighty deep now, and blowin' up in ledges on the shoulder--you probably got a ducking coming over?" his tone arose inquiringly. ross nodded. "several times a lot of snow dropped on me; once i almost lost my balance." steele moved uneasily. "that's the trouble with that trail even before there's danger of a regular avalanche. you're likely to get swept over when you least expect it, and going back is worse than coming." directly after dinner ross commenced to bind on his snow-shoes for an early departure, having filled his pockets with candy for weimer. his heart was heavy, and he had a queer, choky sensation as he looked around the little shack, which he might not see again in months. steele was adjusting the straps on his own snow-shoes. "going up the cañon with me, are you?" asked ross. steele nodded, and got into his top-coat. "a little way," he answered briefly. although it was only one o'clock in the afternoon, twilight had fallen. the clouds rolled up the cañon so low that they hung almost within reach of the men's hands, although not much snow was yet falling. an indescribable gloom filled the cañon, the gloom of utter isolation and loneliness. not a breath of wind was stirring; not a movement of a tree was audible. everywhere were the deep snow, the silent trees, the great white hulks of the mountains; and over all the clouds glowered sullenly. nature had erected sudden and impenetrable barriers in all directions, and ross felt as though he were striving against them all. in silence the two traveled the distance which lay between gale's ridge and the upper end of miners' camp, which was at present a deserted end. when they passed out of sight of the eating house on gale's ridge, they left behind them every sign of life. the mountain company had shut down two weeks before. a few men had gone to steele, but the majority had betaken themselves "below." their shacks stood as the owners had left them, with their stoves, their crude furniture, and in some cases provisions, intact. the stage was due now only once a week, and the post-office had been removed to steele's cabin. the former postmaster had gone to work on a ranch on the grey bull, leaving the post-office doors wide open, the snow filling the cabin and banking up against the letter boxes. "by april," said steele, "you can't see even the roof of a single one of these places down here next the river. they'll all be plumb covered with snow." steele did not stop, as ross supposed he would, at the foot of crosby, but started up the trail. "where are you going?" demanded the boy. the superintendent went on. his reply came back muffled by the heavy air. "around the shoulder of this little hill." nor could any protest from ross restrain him. as they began the ascent, ross found the moisture hanging in drops to his clothing, while his face felt as though it were being bathed in ice-water. at the same time the clouds settled all about them. "this is literally walking with our heads in the clouds," muttered steele grimly. "and this is the weather that'll pack the snow in this trail with a crust as hard as earth--ugh!" they ascended the trail laboriously, steele in the lead, ross lagging behind, leg-weary, and heavy-hearted at the thought of the months to come. around the shoulder of the mountain they cautiously felt their way, the thick clouds about them seeming to press back the banks of snow above. once on the safe trail beyond the shoulder steele turned, and held out his hand without a word. also wordless, ross gripped it. then the older man took the back trail, and disappeared. the boy stood where the other left him, staring into the clouds which hid the shoulder. as he stood, a slight breeze touched his cheek and died away. he buckled his snow-shoes on again, and faced meadow creek valley. as he did so, the breeze came again. presently it turned into a wind, and the clouds retreated hastily up the mountainside. great flakes of snow filled the air. faster and faster they came swirling down until the air was thick with a storm which cut sharply against ross's face. he hurried on, and in an hour was beyond the reach of the storm in weimer's shack, drying his wet coat and cap. he found his old partner half wild with anxiety. "if you did not come pack to-night," he cried, "i thought you would never! a plizzard ist now." so rejoiced was uncle jake at ross's return that he sat near the fire and waxed garrulous while the wind lashed the trees and drove the snow outside; and ross, the other side of the stove, shivered and listened listlessly. "what ails you, hein?" weimer finally demanded. and ross, with a lump in his throat of which he was not ashamed, told him. "ach!" exclaimed weimer disgustedly. he snapped his thumb and finger together. "i vas here dree vinters alone mit no one near. py day i vorked. py night dem volves howl und cayotes; but," consolingly, "dey can't git in, und dey vant nicht to git in." then for the first time he went on to relate to ross in his quaint and broken english many stories of those lonely winters in this solitary valley, which had then held him as its only inhabitant. "no wonder," thought ross, listening to the fury of the storm, "that the old man's mind was ready to give away under the additional trial of an attack of snow-blindness." the blizzard continued in unabated fury all the next day. neither weimer nor ross visited the tunnel. they remained housed, watching the snow gradually pile itself around the little shack until the two small windows were obscured, and they were obliged to resort to candle-light. but during the night the wind changed, and the following morning the sun rose in a brilliantly blue sky. directly after an early breakfast ross started to shovel a way out of the cabin. he dug the snow away from the door and windows, and then turned his attention to the trail leading to the tunnel. here he found that the wind had favored him, sweeping the path clean and filling up the hollows. in the valley the snow lay seven feet deep. ross worked his way to the ore-dump, at the base of which he paused to look down on the mckenzies. their cabin was also released from the snow as to door and window. the snow was also tramped and shoveled around the discovery hole, but no one was in sight, and ross had turned again to his task when a yell caused him again to face the mckenzie cabin. sandy was gesticulating frantically while he advanced rapidly on snow-shoes, dodging the trees as he came diagonally across the mountainside. he came on, talking at the top of his voice, but all ross could catch was "sticks" and "thief" and "trail." sandy was plainly excited. his neckerchief was knotted under one ear; his coat was buttoned up awry; his cap was on with one ear-flap dangling, and the other held fast by the rim of the cap. his ears and nose were scarlet, the thermometer registering, that morning, thirty below zero. "our dynamite is gone," sandy yelled when he was near enough to make ross understand. "gone--stolen." ross stared at him stupidly. "who is there to take it?" "some one," panted sandy with an oath, "must have come up the trail sunday and taken the stuff, thinkin' that it 'ud storm right off and shut up the trail so none of us 'ud be such fools as t' go over t' camp after more. that's the way i've figured it out, and i lay ye i'm right." "when did you find out the sticks were gone?" asked ross with an interest which did not as yet reach beyond sandy. "a few minutes ago," gasped sandy. "i come as fast as i could to see if your----" ross cut him short with a loud exclamation, and without waiting to hear the end of the sentence turned and plunged up over the dump, ploughing and fighting his way through the snow as though it were a thing of life. sandy picked up the wooden shovel which the boy had cast away, and followed out of breath, but still talking. "you know we kept the sticks in a box under a hemlock right above the hole, and----" ross, unheeding, floundered across the dump, and began to dig wildly at the tool-house door, only the upper part of which was visible. with set teeth he dug, forgetting sandy, forgetting the shovel, his common sense swallowed up in a panic of fear. weimer had always kept the dynamite sticks in a box, a large double boarded and heavily lidded affair which was set in the corner of the tool chest furthest from the door. at first ross had raised the lid of this box with chills creeping down his spine. his hair had stirred under his cap when he first saw weimer stuff the sticks carelessly into his pocket and enter the tunnel. but familiarity with the use of the sticks had robbed them of their terror, although ross was always cautious in the handling. "hold on, doc." sandy's voice at his elbow finally brought the frantic boy to his senses. "ye can't do nothin' with yer hands. stand aside there, and i'll shovel the snow away from the door." ross stood back, unconscious of the nip of the cold on his nose and cheeks, and watched sandy shoveling with a will, the while talking consolingly. "i don't believe the thieves have come anigh ye; don't look so, anyway. it's likely some one who's a grudge against some of us. there's plenty holds grudges agin lon. wisht he'd stayed in the valley--here ye be! ketch a holt of this side of the door. now, one, two, three!" the door yielded to their combined efforts, and ross rushed in with sandy at his heels. his fingers were so numbed he could scarcely raise the lid of the dynamite box. a film seemed to cover his eyes, and in the light which entered grudgingly only by way of the door he could see nothing. he bent his head further over the box, but it was sandy's voice which confirmed his worst fears. "not a stick left. they've made a clean sweep of medder creek valley!" the film cleared from ross's eyes, but not from his brain. the box was empty--the box which had contained the stuff absolutely necessary to the work in the tunnel. ross glanced up and met sandy's eyes. sandy's eyes looked steadily and guilelessly into ross's, and sandy's face expressed all the sympathy and commiseration of which ross stood in need. the boy sat down on the edge of the box. "what shall i do?" he asked, his thoughts in a whirl. "do about th' same as we've got t'--git out!" quoth sandy with a lugubrious shake of his head. "here we got lon up here t' help push our work, and now we're up a stump; for ye know"--here sandy's eyes held ross's while he spoke slowly--"there's no use thinkin' about gittin' any over from camp. no one 'ud be crazy enough to resk packin' a load of sticks around the shoulder this time of year." ross shivered as he thought of the shoulder under its body of snow. "when are you going?" he asked. "to-morrow," answered sandy promptly. "we'll start then, but we'll have to shovel through. you'll have t' lead weimer, won't ye?" ross swallowed twice before he answered. "yes, i suppose so." "we'll help ye." sandy's tones were good-natured and soothing. he seemed suddenly to have lost all regret at the disappearance of his store of dynamite. "we'll break open the trail, and then we can rope ourselves together around the shoulder. that's safer." "all right," ross heard himself say in an unnatural voice. he could not in an instant adjust himself to this radical uprooting of his plans. "it'll be a ticklish job," sandy continued, "t' break through around the shoulder without bringin' down the hull side of old crosby on us, includin' a few rocks; but every day now we put it off is so much the worse." he turned to go. "then we'll pick ye up in the mornin'; will we?" "why--i suppose so," returned ross. "there doesn't seem to be anything else to do." "better not load up much," warned sandy; "and don't give uncle jake a load at all. all we're goin' to try to pack over is a little venison." then sandy disappeared, and ross suddenly recovered from his mental numbness. it was the sting of anger which aroused him. so confused and disappointed had he been, and so well had sandy played his part, that the true solution of the theft did not dawn on the boy until the other's departure. then he stopped short on the downward trail and uttered an exclamation, his hands clinching inside his mittens, and his eyes narrowing and flashing. of course, it was sandy's own brain which had planned the matter and sandy's own henchmen who had made off with the sticks. they had taken this way of stopping the progress of work in the tunnel. they had waited until no more dynamite could be brought over the trail, calculating that when the time came for the claims to be patented one half year's work would be undone, and then! ross started blindly down the path. he would go over to the camp with the mckenzies. he would go down to meeteetse with them--no officer of the law could be found nearer, and there he would put them all under arrest. here he stopped again. arrest them on what evidence? face to face with this question, he was obliged to acknowledge the neatness of the scheme which had for its first point the theft of their own sticks. could he prove that no one had come over the trail after he reached the valley? and could he prove that the dynamite had not been taken by this mythical some one? ross thought of what steele had said concerning trusting sandy with his pocketbook. sandy would have the contents of the purse, steele said, but he'd take care to get them in such a way that he could shake hands afterward with the owner, as well as face any jury. "and steele," ross muttered, drawing a long breath, "was right." the news of the loss seemed to jar weimer back into a semblance of his former intelligence. instead of ranting as ross expected he would he sat down and talked over the situation reasonably with his young partner. it was weimer, in fact, who restored something like hope to ross. he objected to leaving the valley with the mckenzies. he had been over that valley and the surrounding mountains inch by inch, he told ross. let that "consarned gang" be gone. they two would stay and bring the dynamite to light. then he told of place after place on the mountain which would make excellent hiding-places for the sticks. there were many caves, and some of them dry. weimer reasoned the "gang" would cache the sticks in a dry place for their own future use. temporarily the old partner and the young changed places, and, as ross listened, he became stout of heart once more. "of course," he exclaimed, "if dynamite can't be carried up the trail, neither can it be taken back into camp. it's got to be somewhere around here; and, if we hunt for it a month, we can still get the work done in time." "vy didn't i tink of dem sticks?" weimer asked angrily. "i might know dem consarned gang pe up to somet'ing ven dey see our vork it vas gettin' fast! vy didn't i tink?" ross, having lapsed into his own thoughts, made no reply; and weimer arose from the box where he had been sitting, and crawled into his bunk. ross paced the floor slowly, his arms folded behind him. ross's fighting blood was up. before this he had looked at his work as the result of his father's request. it was not to his liking, and the only actual pleasure he took in it was the prospect of finishing it. he had believed before the theft of the sticks that he would welcome anything which really necessitated his leaving meadow creek valley, although he would accept nothing less than necessity. but this theft seemed suddenly to have made the work his own and the failure to accomplish it a personal defeat. instead of rejoicing over the prospect of leaving meadow creek valley he welcomed eagerly weimer's suggestion that they stay and hunt for the dynamite, even though the hunt meant that, dynamite or no dynamite, they must be shut up in the valley for months to come. suddenly a new fear caused him to scramble hastily into his coat, cap, and mittens. "i'm going to fetch the tools down," he explained grimly. "i'm not going to risk having some one make off with them!" "dat ist so," assented weimer. "ve vill need dose tools; ve vill. dose mckenzie gang vill see. i can find dose sticks, und i know i can." none of the mckenzies came over that evening, to ross's relief, for the events of the day had brought a new fear of that outfit. sandy's good-natured neighborliness had deceived him. now for the first time he realized that they were actual enemies, ready to stoop to any means within the law to baffle him. it was scarcely daylight the following morning, although breakfast in the weimer cabin had been disposed of, before there was heard a tramp of feet outside through the creaking snow, and sandy with a heavy pack on his back appeared at the door. "all ready t' strike the trail?" he asked, putting his head inside the shack. there was an instant's silence, during which sandy's face changed as he looked quickly from ross to weimer. the latter sat beside the table, his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the boards. ross answered, "we can't get ready to go so quickly." for a moment sandy's face was the face which had appeared at the window the night weston was indulging in mimicry, but for a moment only. then he rallied and assumed an air of concerned astonishment. "what? not ready? why, man alive, yer chance may be gone if ye wait another day. uncle jake, you ought to know that, if doc here don't. why, we're afraid we can't come it even by ropin' together. better hustle up and come." both weimer and ross sat still, and after a little further parley waymart called angrily: "hike along here, sandy. guess they know what they want t' do better 'n you do. make tracks here!" the three "made tracks," while ross stood and watched them out of sight. but after they had gone the boy, uneasy lest they should return to do the tunnel some damage, climbed the trail and entered the tool house. the house was fastened between two trees which grew at one side of the dump, the side furthest from the trail across the mountain toward miners' camp. ross had entered aimlessly after assuring himself that the door at the mouth of the tunnel had not been opened. he stood silently looking out of a crack down on the mass of snow which glistened at the foot of the dump, when he was startled by seeing sandy on snow-shoes creep around the dump and look up. only a glance upward did sandy give, and them, turning, disappeared. yet his face had appeared anxious before that upward glance, while afterward there was on it a satisfied smile. the hours that followed were anxious ones for the two remaining in meadow creek valley. they began a hunt for the dynamite as soon as the mckenzies had disappeared. starting at the mckenzie shack and discovery hole they widened the search in a circle which finally included the valley and the sides of the adjoining mountains, with a single important omission; it did not occur to either of them to examine their own premises further than to assure themselves that neither tool house nor tunnel had suffered any damage from their "friends the enemy." at four o'clock came the first signs of dusk and, discouraged, the partners moved slowly across the valley. half-way across, ross chanced to glance up at the stovepipe projecting from the roof of their shack. "a fire!" he shouted. "look there, uncle jake! some one has built up the fire!" at that instant the door swung open and leslie quinn stood in the doorway. chapter xiii the search over fried bacon, sour dough bread and varied "canned goods," leslie told his story to an interested and excited audience of two. the day of ross's arrest he had shouldered a pack of stuff selected from the trunk which still stood under the new third bunk, waited until twilight so that he could not be seen on the trail, and then, on snow-shoes, had made his way over crosby and up wood river cañon to wilson's cabin on the coal claims. "you see," he said, a flush sweeping over his face, "i supposed father was at cody, and i wouldn't have faced him without that five hundred dollars for all the gold that may be in these mountains, and, besides, the way he had taken to get even with me--well, i don't need to say how it cuts!" here leslie bent over his plate in shame. "although--i--well, of course, i deserve it, but i didn't think he'd go as far as that." "hold on, less!" ross jumped up from the table so suddenly that the box on which he had been sitting was knocked over. "here's a letter to you in my care. it has been here so long i had forgotten it." he pulled the emergency chest from under his bunk and produced both of mr. quinn's letters--the one to himself and the one yet unopened. "there you are!" he exclaimed, tossing both across the table. "i take it from what your father says in mine that he thought of the arrest not as a punishment, but as the way in which he could be sure of getting his hands on you quickly in omaha." eagerly leslie read both letters, his troubled face lighting and softening. "you're right," he said finally in a low tone. "i guess dad is--is more all right than--than i used to think. i've been no end of an idiot, frankly." he folded his letter and slipped it into his slicker pocket while weimer urged: "you was mit dot shack, und dey found you not, hein?" "but i want to hear about ross's----" "no, no," interrupted ross. "finish out your story first. mine will look like thirty cents at the end of yours. i'm not exactly proud of myself." "vilson's shack," prompted weimer, pushing his plate back and planting both elbows on the table. leslie continued his story in a new exuberance of spirits, occasionally fingering the letter in his pocket. he had foreseen that wilson's shack would be searched, and so, trusting to the drifting snow to conceal his trail, he had, during the night, packed provisions into one of the many deserted shacks in the upper camp. he had selected one overlooking the trail up crosby. it had two rooms, one behind the other, the back room having an outside door and but one small window. leaving the first room undisturbed, he had stowed his provisions in the back room, which also contained a bunk. "i can tell you that it was hard sledding for me until after the sheriff and the mckenzies came and went that day," he continued ruefully. "i had brought along my blankets, but i didn't dare light a fire, and i nearly froze and nearly starved on cold canned stuff. but after the sheriff had gone back--you see i could watch the camp from the back room window--and the mckenzies had passed the shack on the trail over here, i hung blankets over the windows and had a fire nights when the smoke wouldn't be seen. i could cook at night and early in the morning and so got along fairly well. but i expected them all back again for another search, so mornings i used to vacate the outside room and leave it the same as it had been." "why didn't you come over sooner?" asked ross. "don't you see that i couldn't," demanded leslie, "so long as the mckenzies were here? i knew, though, that they had told wilson that they were not going to stay all winter. they told him they would go to cody as soon as they thought the crosby trail was getting dangerous. so i watched that trail like a cat for them to go and for my chance to get here." "vilson he vent out," interrupted weimer. "yes, uncle jake, i saw him go, but i lay low. i was afraid of the consequences of being seen. i had no idea that father had been put off. i was sure he would come on himself, and i knew that if father once struck my trail he'd unearth me. he never gives up." "then, this morning----" prompted ross. "yes, this morning when i saw the mckenzies coming down the trail bag and baggage, i humped myself to get ready to get over here before their tracks got filled up. i knew that if they could get one way i could get the other way to-day, but maybe not to-morrow. and i tell you what," here leslie arose and stretched out his arms, "i've been living these weeks as close and cramped a prisoner as i ever want to be. i could get out nights a little because the camp came to be about deserted, but i was cooped up all day in the shack." far into the night the boys talked, while weimer alternately listened and dozed. when ross was well launched on the story of his arrest he became at once embarrassed, wondering how he was going to evade the matter of lon weston and the note. he finally compromised by ending the story of his capture in a partial account of his conversation with sandy in the barroom of "the irma," and leslie, taking it for granted that his father's name and address came from sandy, did not ask embarrassing questions. "it's as i suspected, then," he added slowly. "the mckenzies were probably employed on the ranches around home at some time. the cowboys and sheep-herders are always coming into the town, and probably they all knew me by sight, while i didn't know them one from another." ross checked the question which arose to his lips concerning the fourth man that mr. quinn was after, and shortly after, the boys tumbled into their bunks, ross with a feeling of deep relief that the third bunk would be occupied during the winter. "i didn't do so badly in cody after all, as it has all turned out," he thought comfortably as he fell asleep. he was only half awakened a few moments later by an exclamation from the third bunk, and heard leslie say, "by the way, ross, who was----" then the question, "are you asleep?" ross, without replying, sank into a deeper sleep, and leslie said no more. weimer was already snoring. the following morning ross tumbled out at daybreak and built a roaring fire in the old cracked heater. he glanced at the third bunk and began whistling cheerfully. perhaps they could find the dynamite now that there was a second with sound eyes to aid in the search and a sound brain to help plan. if only the sticks could be found the early spring would see the work completed and the claims patented. the first thing weimer did when he arose was to go to the door and survey sky and mountains with practiced eye, as he sniffed the bracing air. the sky was overcast and lowering, while a sharp wind drove the snow in eddies and drifts through the valley. "der vill pe a pig storm mit us," he prophesied; "it ist on its vay. it vill get here in dree, four days." "hear that, less?" shouted ross at the new bunk. "you turn out and we'll be off. we've got to unearth that dynamite before any more snow piles up here around us." leslie left his bunk with a bound. "i'm good for it. how's breakfast? when i filled up last night i thought i'd never need anything more and here i am as hollow as a drum!" at the breakfast table, he suddenly bethought himself of the question he had meant to ask the previous night. "i say, doc," he exclaimed, "who was the third man with the mckenzies yesterday? my cabin wasn't near enough the trail so that i could see." ross hesitated and weimer answered, "dot vas a cousin of the mckenzies, name of lon veston." there was a clatter and a fall as knife and fork slipped out of leslie's hands. "lon weston!" he ejaculated. "lon weston here? a cousin of the mckenzies?" "know him?" asked ross. leslie picked up his fork. "know lon? well, i should say so. he's made trouble enough at home----" he bit his lips suddenly and stopped, adding, "he was foreman on a ranch near north bend for a couple of years. he--he used to come to our house a good deal." in a flash ross recalled the photo that had dropped out of weston's pocket at sagehen roost, the pretty girl face, and instantly he knew why hank had said of leslie when he rode away with wilson, "seems as if i'd seen that there young feller before." "yes, they are surely brother and sister," ross decided, his gaze fixed critically on leslie's downcast face. "they look tremendously alike." "veston, he vas de man dot doc here mended," weimer volunteered. "doc vas at dry creek mit veston." leslie glanced quickly across the table. "not the man who was there when i passed through--the day i was with wilson--not that one, ross?" "the same," nodded ross. "he's the lon weston that i know." "then he isn't the lon weston that i know," said leslie with conviction and also relief. "that man at dry creek had dark hair, while the ranch foreman had hair as light almost as sandy's. not the same at all." and because of the note at "the irma," ross did not contradict leslie, did not tell him that weston's hair was still light beneath its dye of chestnut brown. "but some day," he thought, "i can ask him about the fourth man that his father is after, and so find out about weston in a roundabout way." but the search for the dynamite soon proved so strenuous that all thought of the crime committed on the north fork faded from ross's mind. day after day the boys continued the search while weimer stayed in the cabin "rustling grub" and giving suggestions. the theft of the sticks seemed to have shocked the man into something of his former mental keenness and industry. not once did ross have to urge him to his household tasks. when the boys tramped into the cabin at noon or long after darkness had fallen, they found a hearty appetizing meal prepared, the cook even going to the length of objecting to their washing the dishes. "if you dem sticks find," he would say, "ich vill stay mit dese dishes." "uncle jake," exclaimed ross at noon the third day of the hunt, "i'm discouraged. we have poked into every spot for miles around where such a lot of dynamite could be hidden--and then have gone again." "i'm almost ready to believe," declared leslie, "that the boys had the sticks in their packs when they left." weimer shook his head. "no, never would dose poys pe so foolish. dose sticks are here, hein? somewhere in meadow creek valley ve vill find dem," but the old man's voice broke on the declaration. "of course it couldn't be that the mckenzies carried them away," affirmed ross. "if there had been six men of them they couldn't have carried away all the dynamite that we had and wilson had and they had. in fact they couldn't have carried it all very far that night and in the teeth of the awful storm that howled among these peaks. i believe with uncle jake that the stuff is in this valley." "you see, uncle jake," ross began after a pause, "we have gone on the supposition that they chose a spot under the cover of rocks or in hollow trees, some place where the dynamite would be kept dry. now, it may be that they have dug a hole in the snow and ice, and buried it in the open, and the snow has drifted over its grave." "maype! maype!" weimer ejaculated. "put, if dey haf, our goose, it ist cooked." he pushed the box on which he sat back against the wall. ross opened the cabin door, and looked out. the weather had grown warmer. the blanket of clouds which had hovered over the earth for days had lifted and the snow lay dazzling in the strong light. when he closed the door, weimer had donned his blue goggles. "where's your big storm, uncle jake?" asked ross. "comin', comin'," answered uncle jake confidently. "it vill pe on us py mornin'. dis light it vill not last." ross sat down and took his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "every fall of snow," he thought, "makes our work so much more hopeless." presently weimer broke the silence. "vell," he began meditatively, "ve haf t'ings to eat fer de vinter, anyvay," and ross understood the circle around which uncle jake's thoughts had been winding. "yes, it's meadow creek for us now, whether the dynamite is found or not." ross's voice was grim. "we went over on the trail as far as the shoulder of crosby to-day and whew! uncle jake, it was a sight to see. the wind has packed the snow into that trail until it hangs over the gorge in great masses and curls." "looks," added leslie, "as though a thousand tons or so might sweep down over the shoulder any minute. the trail is closed all right as far as i'm concerned. if i hadn't come in the mckenzies' footprints that morning i wouldn't have come at all." after dinner the boys fastened on their snow-shoes outside the door and then looked questioningly at each other. "well--where to now?" asked leslie despondently. "sure enough--where?" returned ross equally despondent. weimer had offered no suggestions, and the boys were at the end of their resources. "we've hunted every place," said ross absently, adjusting a buckle on the strap of his snow-shoe, "except our own premises here." no sooner had he heard his own voice speaking these careless words than their possible significance struck him. he sprang up with kindling eyes. "less, do you hear?" he shouted, his thoughts in advance of his tongue. "there's where it may be, and maybe that was the reason why sandy came back and looked. hurry! hurry up!" "what are you talking about?" yelled leslie as ross raced awkwardly around the cabin on his snow-shoes. weimer opened the door and peered out through his colored goggles. "has dot poy gone crazy?" he asked. leslie, without pausing to answer, hurried after ross. "where to?" he yelled. "the tool house," returned ross over his shoulder. "it's fastened between two trees, and hangs out over the foot of the dump! see?" but, instead of taking the trail to the tunnel, ross struck across the mounds and hillocks and drifts of snow that blocked the trail leading to miners' camp. through the tangle of pines and hemlocks he led the way until he stopped at the foot of the snow-heaped dump and looked up at the tool house, one side of which rested on the dump, while the opposite side was fastened to sturdy hemlocks whose trunks arose from the débris heaped about them from the tunnel. the tool house was now a shapeless white form, while the dump was buried beneath tons of snow. "it was here," ross explained breathlessly, "that sandy stood. i was looking out at the mckenzies from a crack up in the house. he came back and looked up under the house and then grinned and went back to the others. they had started to leave, you know. now why did he want to look under that house?" "that's it!" cried leslie with excited conviction. "they had cached the stuff under the house and he wanted to make sure that their trail could not be seen. ross, the sticks are up under there, high and dry." "you bet!" shouted ross turning in his tracks. "we'll get shovels and dig for it. and, less, if we find the cache, we'll let off one blast around here outside of the tunnel that 'ill show them, if they're still over in camp, that we ain't dead yet." "nor dumb and stupid, either!" cried leslie delightedly as he legged it rapidly over the snow. in the door of the shack they found weimer still standing, shielding his eyes with one hand and calling questions into space. the boys, appearing, stopped to answer, not only satisfying the old man but receiving a valuable suggestion. "vat for you dig mit all dot vork? it vill dake you poys a day und a half to git up unter dot shack. vy not go in und raise dot floor und find dem sticks unter?" leslie tossed up his cap. "three cheers for uncle jake!" he shouted. "that's the very thing to do. we'll get around to that signal blast sooner. come on, ross!" it was leslie who led this time, axe in hand, while ross followed with hammer and shovel. the trail to the tunnel had been unused for days and was so deeply drifted that the boys had difficulty in getting up to the dump even with the aid of the shovel. once on top they were obliged to shovel their way slowly into the tool house. "now," exclaimed ross when they were fairly in, "now for work with these floor boards!" leslie, with many grunts, fell to clearing away the snow from the floor, while ross pulled the big box in which the dynamite had been stored from the center of the shack into one corner. "see here, ross," cried leslie excitedly as he bent to the last shovelful of snow. "we don't need axe nor hammer. the mckenzies have done the work for us. the floor has been taken up and just laid back again without being spiked down. that box held the planks down pretty firmly, you see." the floor consisted of halves of tree trunks, flat above and rounded on the under side. eagerly ross and leslie raised the central plank and both cried out simultaneously, for the dynamite filled the space beneath up to the level of the floor. "and to think!" muttered ross, "that i have not thought of this before--didn't think of it when i saw sandy peering up here." leslie sat back on his heels and mopped his face. "pretty cute of 'em to think of a thing like this," he conceded. "i should have taken the sticks as far away as i could have carried them had i been doing it, and considered that the farther i went the better for my plans." "it's sandy," declared ross. "steele has told me a dozen times that he's the brains of the clan." it did not take the trio long to restore the dynamite to its box, for ross, going down to the cabin, led a delighted weimer through the sunshine up to the tool house, and weimer willingly devoted his great strength to the task. "and," insisted leslie when their task was completed, "now for putting the shot that shall tell miners' camp that we're livelier than ever over here." as long as the trail was closed and the mckenzies could not return, the boys reasoned, it would be a lark to inform them in this way of the failure of their project. "even if they have gone on to cody," suggested ross, "bill travers might get the news to 'em by way of the stages." "but you see," ruefully from leslie, "probably there's no one except themselves that knows of our plight. they may not have told any one of the theft of the sticks." "well, we'll set off a blast that will tell every one that they're found, anyway!" retorted ross. "and we'll do it in the morning before the storm comes on," for the brilliancy of the sunlight had long been dimmed by heavy banks of clouds rolling in from the northwest. weimer entered into the project with the abandon of a child, and it was he who suggested the location of the "shot." "nicht on crosby," he said shaking his head. "dot might upset dot tunnel. put it mit soapweed ledge und see vat comes." the boys did not ask what weimer meant. anything they did not understand they laid to his "dutch lingo," but they immediately adopted the suggestion concerning soapweed ledge, and in the morning carried enough sticks across the valley to plant a respectable "mine," as ross called it, beneath one of the huge rocks which jutted out from the side of the mountain that bounded the valley on the north. this mountain rose four thousand feet above meadow creek, its head lost in the snow clouds that now threatened to submerge the valley. on the face of the mountain lay a great body of snow, especially heavy above the timber-line, which here, because of the great elevation of the valley itself, was only a few hundred feet above the base of any mountain. weimer, lured out of the shack by the dimness of the light and the enjoyment of the undertaking, went with the boys and did his share in the "packing" of the sticks unurged. it was he who, with an accession of unusual keenness, planted the charge in a shallow cave with a mass of rock perilously overhanging the entrance. "ve vant ein noise," he chuckled, "ein pig racket. it shall pe heard in miners'." a few moments later they had the noise, all they had planned for, and then a noise that no one had foreseen save weimer, and he had not explained his expectations. while the long fuse was burning, the three spectators had retreated to the middle of the valley and faced about expectantly. there came a fearful detonation which awakened the echoes on every hand and the vast rock with a dozen of its neighbors was lifted like lumps of clay and hurled into the valley amid a cloud of snow and ice. some of the fragments landed almost at the feet of the spectators. the echoes had not died away before weimer, yelling, "ve may not pe out of de vay far," turned and made his clumsy but rapid way on snow-shoes further from the scene of the explosion. the boys were following him blindly and excitedly when, in the clouds fairly over their heads, came a sound that neither had ever heard before, a wrenching, grinding, tearing sound which caused ross's hair to stir under his cap. "can th-that be thunder?" he stammered running. weimer looked over his shoulder at the mountain. "you haf neber an avalanche seen, hein!" he cried, and stopping, faced the other way again. down into view below the low hanging clouds it swept its terrible way, that avalanche which the trembling of the mountain had caused, the work of the dynamite. with a swift overwhelming rush it crumbled the rocks and, uprooting great trees, bore them easily on its bosom. into the valley it debouched, carrying with it the wreckage from the mountainside. ross and leslie looked at each other with white faces when the roar and grind and rush finally ceased. "suppose," suggested ross huskily, "we had set that blast off on old crosby." both boys looked at the mountain overhanging the tunnel above their shack, and ross shivered. "it would have been good-bye to the tunnel and the shack and us too, i guess," muttered leslie. "i told you," declared weimer, "vat vould happen, hein? i told you last nicht. now ein avalanche you haf seen." neither boy contradicted his first statement. with the last they agreed rather breathlessly, for an avalanche they surely had seen! "i hope," said ross carelessly as they entered their shack, "that the mckenzies are still in miners' and that they heard that blast!" chapter xiv a perilous journey the following morning the three inhabitants of meadow creek valley began work again in the tunnel. the air was filled with a smother of snow which fell unaccompanied by wind. when, the following day, the sky cleared, over the path of the avalanche and over the ruins of soapweed ledge lay a concealing blanket of snow three feet deep. "whew!" shivered ross as he led the goggled weimer over the snow to the tunnel that morning. "wish we had a thermometer up here. this is some cold. must be minus zero by a long way." "mine nose ist my thermometer," complained weimer, rubbing that whitening member. "aber dis weather it holds nicht. anoder snow falls in dree, four days." the third day proved the truth of this prophecy. the atmosphere became many degrees warmer and the sky lowering. "more snow," sighed leslie, looking over the silent, white sheeted valley with homesick eyes. "und den more," added weimer complacently. "more und more till june." that noon it chanced that weimer, being afflicted with a headache, left the tunnel early. a little later, ross, pushing the little car out to the dump, called back to leslie at work with the drill: "guess i'll go down and rustle the grub for uncle jake. that headache of his is genuine." "all right," assented leslie, "i'll be down in half an hour or so. i want to put this shot before i go." ross found weimer in a state of great excitement, the headache forgotten. he stood at the door of the shack, peering up toward the tunnel, both hands shielding his blinking eyes. "who vas dot man?" he demanded in a high, eager voice. "what man, uncle jake?" ross stopped short, staring at weimer as though he were bereft of his senses. "i see him!" declared weimer. "he vas shust startin' up dot trail py de tunnel. i see his pack. he vore ein pag on it. he vore ein cap mit goggles. i see him." ross looked up the mountainside incredulously. "why, uncle jake, i just left the tunnel and there was no one there but leslie. i guess," jocosely, "your headache has made you 'see things at night,' hasn't it? no one can get into the valley now, you know." excitedly protesting and expostulating, half in english and half in german, uncle jake retreated inside the door, and taking up his position beside one of the little windows watched the trail to the tunnel while ross, smiling at his partner's hallucination, built up the fire, cheerfully banging the covers of the stove as he filled the fire-box with dry pine sticks. in the midst of this racket there entered the sound of crunching footsteps on the side opposite the shack from that occupied by weimer. "hein!" yelled the latter springing up. "was sagen sie? it ist somepody!" a rap thundered on the door, and it was thrust open at the same time unceremoniously, while a low, gruff voice inquired abruptly: "is there a young doctor here?" a man a little above medium height stood on the threshold. he wore buckskin trousers and a buckskin coat over a heavy sweater, giving him a bulky appearance. he had on snow-shoes, and strapped over his shoulder, a large leather game pouch sagged. behind smoked goggles his eyes were blinking, like weimer's, almost closed. his head and ears were covered with a shaggy fur cap, which met his turned-up coat collar. his face was smooth above a fringe of black stubby whiskers, which ran from ear to ear under the chin. his voice, though gruff, was not unpleasant as he explained. "of course 'twas a month and more ago since they told me over t' red lodge that----" his eyes fell on ross. "you're him they call doc tenderfoot, ain't ye?" "why--yes," answered ross. there was a pause between the two words caused by the speaker's amazement at seeing a man drop in from--where? "come in," invited weimer, "und set down." "don't care if i do," assented the stranger. he unbuckled his snow-shoes, and, leaving them outside, entered the shack. turning down his coat collar, he loosened his cap, pushing it back on his head, thereby revealing the ends of short black hair. "haf you peen up to dat tunnel, hein?" demanded weimer with a triumphant glance at ross. the stranger nodded, "yep. didn't see no signs of livin' here and i did see some signs up t' the mouth of the tunnel, but i didn't see no good way of gittin' up t' it. when i got there i was over t' other side of the dump and when i got up on top of it i heard voices down here, so down here i put agin!" "did you come up from miners' camp?" asked ross eagerly. the stranger shook his head. "no, i live toward the divide on----" the stranger interrupted himself to ask, "know the country over there, do you?" weimer shook his head. "only py hearsay." "well, we located on sagewood run, my pal and me, and----" "didn't know dere vas a soul livin' in dem parts," exclaimed weimer. "me and my pal," returned the stranger. "we hain't got no neighbor near enough to throw kisses to, that's sartain. you're the nighest." "prospector?" asked weimer. "coal," returned the stranger. "we're tryin' to hold down half a dozen claims." he turned from weimer, and changed the subject in his queer, abrupt way. "pard's sick--hurt. guess he'll pass up his checks afore long if he don't git help." he squinted through his goggles at ross. "over t' red lodge they said you fixed up a feller down in dry creek good's new. so i come after ye fer a couple of days." instantly weimer became alarmed. "ross, he can't go und leave us, hein! when the sun pe shinin', i can't get 'round. ross, he must pe here to work. he can't go mit you." ross drew a long, perplexed breath, and said nothing. the stranger looked attentively at weimer for the first time. "got a touch of the sun, too, have ye?" he asked. weimer removed his goggles, and pressed his hands over his eyes. "yah, dot i has, a touch und more dan a touch. ross here, he ain't leavin' us to go mit you." still ross stood silent. the stranger made no response to weimer's protestations, but, bending forward, regarded him closely. "what?" he burst out. "are you dutch weimer?" "dot ist vat dey call me," assented weimer, turning his bloodshot eyes on the stranger. the latter persisted in an incredulous voice, "the dutch weimer who used to run a miners' supply store down in butte?" "dot same," assented weimer. "und who might you pe?" the stranger grinned, a one-sided grin which sent his right cheek up under the smoked goggles. "well, uncle jake, do you remember a little black-headed rascal that uster hang his chin on the edge of yer counter about once a day and get a nickel's worth of candy?" weimer wrinkled his brow in perplexity. "dere vas so many plack-heads," he muttered, scratching his head. the stranger grinned delightedly, and again his right cheek was pushed up under the goggles. "of course there was. i wa'n't the only calf running around loose, i know. well, do you remember marvin miller?" "hein!" cried weimer. he held out his hand impulsively. "und are you marvin miller's poy?" "the same," declared the stranger, grasping the hand. "and didn't you have a younger pard by the name of grant?" "yah!" weimer fairly shouted. "dot i did, and he's my pard yet." "uster git his eyes about shut, and tighten his lips, when things didn't go to suit 'im," grinned marvin miller's son. "that's my father all right!" cried ross. the stranger drew back and whistled. "your dad!" he exclaimed. "sho, now; that's not so?" "it ist so," weimer broke in. "his fader sends him to help me mit der vork in dese claims, und den dis consarned gang of mckenzies go and pack off der sticks----" and weimer was launched on an account of their troubles, feeling perfectly at home with the man who as a boy had hung over his counter in the old days when he was merchant and not prospector. ross, too, felt his heart warm toward the man who had known his father; and for an instant the present faded, and he was back east again among the old familiar surroundings. he was being looked over by the father who "got his eyes about shut" when the son did not please him; he was being affectionately scolded by aunt anne and advised by dr. grant--but the thought of the doctor brought ross up sharply against the purpose of the stranger's visit. a sick partner, miller had said: but he, ross, also had a sick partner, although the sickness was more of the mind than the body; and that partner objected to his going. what should he do? his training with his uncle would leave him no choice if he had only himself to consult in the matter. he was better than no doctor at all, and he was called on for help; therefore he must obey the call. but there was weimer, who had learned to depend on him, and who, he feared, might relapse during his absence, however brief, into his former irresponsible state, for leslie was, of course, a stranger to the methods which ross had been obliged to employ to keep weimer busy. nor was leslie, who had acted under wilson's direction, accustomed to going ahead with the work as ross had been obliged to do. but if the trip would occupy only a couple of days--well, he could not refuse to go. here he became conscious that miller was addressing him, and that uncle jake was leaning eagerly toward him. "if doc here is willin'," miller was saying, "we might go into cahoots this way: if my pard needs 'im longer than a day 'r two, i'll come along back and buckle down t' work here 'n' help you out while he's there a-nussin'----" "yah, yah!" consented weimer eagerly. "den he may mit you go. you could do more vork dan doc. you come pack und mit us vork." ross, relieved, turned to the peg where hung his cap. "i'll go up to the tunnel and get leslie, uncle jake, and you take hold of the dinner." "leslie," repeated miller carelessly. "who's he?" ross, leaving weimer to relate leslie's history, hurried up to the tunnel. he wanted to see leslie alone and give him numerous suggestions and directions beyond the reach of weimer's ears. "of course, less," he ended as the two finally started toward the shack together, "even if i do have to stay, and miller comes back, he won't know how to manage uncle jake in case he has a relapse into the state that i found him in. and miller looks like a strong willing fellow to work, so guess we won't lose anything by my going. anyway i've got to go, for he says his partner is in a bad way." miller's partner, it seemed, had been caught under a log they were "snaking" down to the cabin. his arm was crushed and in bad shape. "some way, ross," leslie burst out uneasily, "i mightily hate to have you go. i'll be deadly lonesome up here without you even for a couple of days." "but if i'm not back then this miller will be," returned ross hopefully, "and he shows up rather agreeably." after a hasty dinner, ross selected from his chest all that he considered would be required. some of the articles miller put into his game pouch, ross making up a bundle himself to bind on his own back and so divide the load. at one o'clock they started, with weimer and leslie standing in the doorway, the former urging them on with many expressions of hope for a speedy return that they might get ahead of "dose consarned gang." ross walked after miller easily. those past few days on the mountainsides had accustomed him to the use of snow-shoes. almost in silence they crossed the valley and began the ascent of what remained of soapweed ledge. during the last hour the light had faded, and snow began to fill the air. from the base of the ledge the cabin on the other valley was barely visible, and ross could scarcely make out the figures standing in front of the door. suddenly miller turned with an exclamation. "there! i forgot something that i wanted t' tell uncle jake. wait here a minute, will ye? it'll not take me long t' go back." he walked rapidly over the snow across the valley, and disappeared into the cabin. five minutes passed. he reappeared, and made his way more slowly back again. "all right," he shouted from the foot of the ledge. "turn to the right, and go along above them rocks. that's the trail." at the top of the mountain miller again took the lead. he had shifted the pouch to the front, and eased its weight with one hand. ross noticed that it seemed much heavier than when he entered the cabin, but thought nothing further of the matter. half an hour later he was on totally unfamiliar ground among a labyrinth of "sugar loaf" peaks which they skirted and climbed, miller pushing on steadily and without words. "hold yer wind," he directed ross; "ye'll have need of it before we reach camp." the sky and earth were nearly blotted out now by the falling snow. ross could see scarcely a dozen paces ahead. he could not tell whether they were headed east or west, north or south. they twisted and turned and turned again. the boy became leg-weary; but miller pressed on, seemingly unexhausted, the heavy game pouch dragging at his shoulder. "we--we can't reach there to-night, can we?" ross gasped at last. miller turned his head but did not pause. "yep," he answered, "about dark." again in silence they went on. finally, at five o'clock, they began to climb the gentle slope of a mountain which seemed to have no summit. here for the first time his guide stopped to allow ross to rest. then he advanced slowly, step by step, prodding the snow deeply at the left of the blind trail he was following. "what's the matter?" ross called the first time he saw miller taking measure of the snow in this way. "gorge somewhere here," miller had replied. "wind's filled it up even from bank t' bank. if we sh' step off--why, there's a hundred feet or so below made up of spruces and snow. i don't want t' go down int' no such landscape." ross involuntarily hugged the upper side of the mountain. he longed for their journey's end. as they neared the top, the wind became active, cutting their faces and forcing ross to turn his back and gasp for breath. then came the descent, the storm thickening about them. occasionally miller threw a direction or a warning over his shoulder, which always caused ross's heart to leap fearfully. "don't go outside my tracks here. there's a flat rock on the down side that ends in a ledge. not a pretty slide t' take," he shouted once. again it was: "be careful ahead here under that rock. brace toward the inside of the trail. we may get a few pounds of snow on our heads." for half an hour longer they tramped on steadily. ross ached in every muscle. his feet were beginning to cramp. they almost refused to raise the snow-shoes and push them forward. miller slackened his speed when he saw that ross was nearly played out. "a few minutes more, and we're there," he explained. "keep up your courage." and at that moment ross thought he had need of courage. they had been descending the mountain gradually above timber-line, zigzagging back and forth across the face in such a way as would enable them to use their snow-shoes to the best advantage. now the storm lightened just enough to enable ross to see they were traveling along the edge of a cliff with an overhanging fringe of trees, and the cliff appeared to the boy to be the jumping off place into space. right and left as far as the falling snow permitted him to see the cliff extended. above was the white bulk of the mountain; below was nothing but storm. along this cliff miller had walked slowly, pausing occasionally to look up into the trees. finally he gave a grunt of satisfaction, and, throwing his staff and the heavy pouch on the rock, took from the snow-laden branches of a pine a coil of slender new rope. "nerves good?" he asked jokingly. "for what?" was ross's startled response. miller explained. ross saw that for the first time the colored goggles were no longer astride the other's nose. his cap was drawn down over his eyes, however, and his coat collar was turned up so that not much of his face was visible save his nose. "if it was summer," began miller, busying himself with the rope, "we could get around this here little rock. but now there's nothin' t' do but go over it, because the mountain on each side shelves down so steep now we couldn't git down on snow-shoes or off 'em to save our necks. we'd bring down a load of snow on our heads if we should try." as he talked, he knotted the rope securely around a tree standing near the edge of the rock. "right here the cliff slopes so i can just slide you down," miller's gruff voice ran on in jerks, "and then i can slide after ye. but i take it you ain't used to mountains and this sort of game, and so i guess ye'd better hitch the end round yer waist." he tossed the end of the rope to ross. "take off yer shoes, and pack 'em in your hand," he directed when with numb, trembling fingers the boy had knotted the rope. "forty feet down," miller continued, "you'll come to a ledge. stop there, and free the line." a moment more, snow-shoes in hand, ross was on his back sliding down an almost perpendicular wall, his hair doing its best to raise his cap from his head. slowly he was let down, down, so far as he could see, into space. then suddenly, just as he had closed his eyes in dizzy terror, his feet struck snow into which he sank to his knees, and the rope above slackened. the ledge had stopped him, but it seemed to ross but an insecure footing hung between heaven and earth. it was a mere path across the face of the cliff not more than three feet wide at the widest part. ross untied the end; and then, as he felt it jerked from behind him, he covered his eyes with his hand and stood shivering, crowding back against the cliff. it was the work of a moment only for miller to slide down the rope and stand beside him. "hug the cliff," directed ross's conductor shortly, "and follow me. no, don't put on your shoes. i'll break the trail fer ye." slowly they crawled across the face of the cliff, the ledge leading downward. at the base they were in a winding cañon scarcely twenty yards wide. here they buckled on their snow-shoes again. "if," said miller, bending over the straps, "we see it's best fer you t' stay a few days with my pard and let me go back and help uncle jake, i wouldn't do much investigatin' of the premises around here if i was you." ross shuddered, and looked up at the face of the cliff, obscured now not only by the storm, but by the coming darkness. "no investigating for me!" he exclaimed forcefully. then they began the tramp up the cañon, the shadow from the wooded mountains deepening every moment. finally, miller made a sharp turn around a group of seven spruces standing at the foot of a peak, and cautiously approached a log shack that stood half buried in the snow, and had as its corner posts four tall trees. the snow was shoveled away from the door and window, and a light smoke arose from the joint of stovepipe projecting from the roof. at the door miller stopped and listened. "guess he's asleep," he whispered. "take off yer shoes out here." ross stooped, and unbuckled his snow-shoes. "guess the fire must be low," whispered miller. "wisht you'd go round the corner there, and load up with wood while i go in and see what he's up to. but don't come in till i tell ye to. i'll sort of prepare him to see ye." ross did as he was bidden. he found the path to the pile of pine chunks partly broken; but, with his numb fingers incased in huge mittens, it was not easy work to dig out the wood frozen under its covering of snow. but finally, his arms full, he staggered around the corner of the shack, and stood again in front of the door. so busy had he been at the wood-pile that he had not thought of listening for sounds within the shack. now, as he stood in the dusk before the door, he was surprised at the stillness within, and also by the fact that the window beyond the door showed no light. with a growing but vague uneasiness he waited, chilled to the bone by the wind, which had begun to suck through the cañon and whistle along the sides of the mountains. the few moments during which he waited seemed to him like years. then he raised the wooden latch softly, and opened the door. darkness and silence greeted him. "mr. miller," he whispered. no reply. "miller!" his voice rose sharply. the wind soughed through the branches over his head; and a sharp flurry of snow, forerunner of the blizzard, assailed him, while from the open door came a whiff of warmth. ross dropped the wood outside, and, stepping within the shack, closed the door, and groped his way toward the stove, from the front of which came a faint glow. pulling off his mittens, he held his hands over the heat, at the same time holding his breath that he might hear the breathing of the sick man. but all he heard was the beating of the blood in his own ears. working some life into his fingers, he tore open the front of his fur-lined coat, and, pulling a match out of his pocket, lighted it, and held it above his head. in the further corner of the cabin was a bunk, from beneath the blankets of which the straw protruded. trembling so that he could scarcely walk, ross started across the floor. half-way to the bunk his match burned out. he retreated to the stove, and lit another. this time he succeeded in reaching the bunk. several blankets were spread over a foundation of straw. otherwise the bunk was empty. a panic seized ross. "miller!" he shouted, "miller!" the wind howled through the cañon. the trees above the shack swayed and grated their interlocked branches together. striking a third match, ross observed a candle stuck into a hole in a piece of wood which lay on the table. he lighted it, and sank into a chair beside the table. what had happened? where was miller? where was the sick partner? ross took off his cap, and laid it on the table. in bewilderment he ran his fingers through his hair. suddenly his eyes fell on something in the shadow beside the door. he went to it. it was the heavily loaded game pouch. evidently miller had opened the door, dropped that inside, and vanished into the night. ross was reaching for the pouch when another thought struck him so forcibly that he jerked himself to a standing posture with a loud exclamation. hastily opening the door, he stopped and, throwing the wood about, peered through the darkness, searching the open space where he had parted from miller. his snow-shoes were gone. chapter xv a new camp the disappearance of the snow-shoes, instead of proving to ross that he had been hoaxed, at first, only deepened his bewilderment. finally, the idea found lodgment in his brain that miller's partner had wandered off in the storm delirious, and miller, having found him gone, had followed, forgetting ross. the boy was too confused to weigh the probabilities of such forgetfulness, especially in view of the missing snow-shoes. therefore, the moment the idea occurred to him he acted on it, hurrying out into the storm with the intention of going to miller's assistance. but, without snow-shoes, he found himself helpless. he had not gone a dozen yards from the door before he sank half-way to his waist in the snow. scrambling hastily back again, he ran around the cabin where the snow was not so deep, and struggled up the mountainside. "miller!" he shouted desperately. "miller, where are you?" here and there among the trees he plunged frantically until the fear that he could not find his way to the shack drove him back. he filled the stove with wood, snuffed the candle mechanically, and looked about him. then for the first time he realized that there was but one bunk. "if two men lived here, there would be two bunks," he said slowly; and then came the conviction that miller had decoyed him here and deserted him, taking the snow-shoes along. but ross's brain was too numb to pursue the thought. exhausted by his long tramp and by his fruitless battle with the snow, he filled the stove with chunks, closed the draughts, and, without stopping to blow out the candle, rolled into the bunk, and was asleep before he had pulled all the blankets over him. when he awoke, the shack was filled with a light, which, although exceedingly dim, was unmistakably daylight. outside, the snow was piled to the top of the window. the candle was burned out and the fire low. ross crawled out stiffly, every muscle aching and sore. filling the stove, he looked at his watch. twelve o'clock! he had slept away the morning. outside the blizzard raged in unabated fury, but so sheltered was the shack by scrub hemlocks and banks of snow roof-high, that but little wind found its way through the mud-chinked log walls. standing over the fire, ross looked at the dark outlines of the one bunk, and considered his situation. his heart sank when he thought of the miles which miller and he had put between themselves and meadow creek valley. and who was miller? ross's suspicions, of course, had fastened to the mckenzies. but why had they considered it necessary to have him marooned so far from meadow creek? how did they know that the dynamite had been found? when they left meadow creek---- "oh!" cried ross aloud at this point. he brought the stove poker down vigorously on top of the stove. "that blast under soapweed ledge! i wanted 'em to hear it--guess they didn't fail!" ruefully he turned from the stove. he was certainly paying for his little triumph. but who was miller? the lack of wood in the cabin soon turned his attention from the answer to the necessity for immediate action. he found a large wooden snow-shovel behind the stove; and, opening the door cautiously in order to prevent a mass of snow from following it, he cleared away a space in front of the door and the two windows, and shoveled his way to the wood-pile. it was not until he was struggling around the corner of the shack with an armful of wood that he realized that his weakness and tremors were due not only to anxiety, but to hunger; and with that realization came a fear which nearly induced another panic. was there food in the cabin? so great had been his absorption that he had not noticed the contents of the shack beyond those things which he had required for immediate use. throwing the armful of wood down beside the stove, he proceeded to make a hurried search, the results of which quieted his fears. the cabin was as well stocked with provisions as weimer's. a portion of these supplies, the canned milk, vegetables, and fruits, he found in boxes beneath the bunk. sacks of flour and meal were suspended from the roof logs to protect them from the "pack" rats. having investigated these provisions, ross opened a second door at the back of the shack, supposing it led out-of-doors. but he was agreeably surprised to find it led to a little lean-to of logs, where were suspended a large ham, strips of bacon, jerked meat, and quantities of fresh venison all frozen. the door protected these from the heat inside the shack, while the logs, unchinked, gave protection from timber wolves and coyotes, but not from the snow, which had sifted in over everything. ross at once set about getting breakfast. he found every necessary cooking utensil at hand. the cabin was--as such cabins go--completely furnished and, it appeared, must have been inhabited not long ago by a stout man; for in a box at the head of the bunk he found some clothing much too large for him or for the man who had brought him there. "but," he thought, as he sat down to venison steak and flapjacks, "whoever owns the cabin, miller must have gone from here to meadow creek, because there was a fire here last night when i came in; and it was a fire fixed to keep some hours, too." as he finished eating, his eyes fell on the game pouch still bulging beside the door. he had not looked inside. with a piece of steak balanced on his fork he crossed the floor. then: "books!" he cried aloud. "_my_ books!" the fork fell from his hand. he dropped to his knees and emptied the pouch. besides the appliances which he had given to miller to carry there were all his books, the medical text-books which he had left in the emergency chest in weimer's shack. he could scarcely believe his eyes. he sat back on his heels, and stared. "weston!" he finally shouted. "miller is weston!" suddenly rising, his eyes narrowed and his lips compressed, he kicked the game pouch across the floor in a gust of anger caused by an illumination of certain circumstances which explained the events of the previous day. "i'm slow," he muttered between clinched teeth. "any one can get the better of me." he recalled weston's imitation of different people the night he and waymart had come to weimer's together and sandy's displeasure at the exhibition. sitting down in an armchair beside the table--the only chair in the shack--he followed his chain of evidence link by link. the conversation which he had overheard between waymart and sandy the night of the latter's return from cody was fully explained--the some one whose assistance they might need in meadow creek valley, but who would not come unless some one else had left. "weston would not come with leslie there for fear he'd be recognized," thought ross. "therefore, sandy took steps to remove leslie and--yes--in spite of the mess i made of it, i blocked the game!" then, despite his anxiety, ross grinned. of course the mckenzies had not expected leslie to return any more than they had expected the dynamite to be found. but after hearing his signal of discovery they had sent weston, the skilful impersonator, to maroon him here--where? ross dropped forward his head on the table and groaned. "they brought me here to get rid of me entirely," he finished; "and i came voluntarily!" presently he picked up the pouch, intending to hang it on a nail in the logs beside the door. it was not quite empty; and, lifting the flap he looked in. at the bottom lay a few wads of newspaper. ross concluded that the pouch had been stuffed with these when weston came to weimer's. then, when he went back after the books, he had thrown out the paper, the presence of which had prevented his companion from noticing much difference in the pouch after the books were put into it. ross picked up one of the pieces, and glanced at it listlessly. it was a page of the cody "gazette." he dropped it back into the pouch. "i wonder what he told uncle jake and leslie when he got the books," thought ross, hanging up the bag. leslie was the only comfort the situation held for him, and this merely came from the knowledge that weimer was not alone. for, of course, weston having seen the boy in meadow creek would return and block the work somehow, probably steal the dynamite again, and convey it farther than the tool house. here ross started up in a sort of frenzy, and, putting on his top-coat and cap, rushed out-of-doors. he would find a way out. there must be a way, for miller had gone back--ross felt sure he had returned--and if miller had he could! he would save the claims yet. the first plunge into the snow, waist-deep now, with the whip-lash of the blizzard in his face, brought him to his senses. "this is folly," he thought as he dropped once more into the chair beside the table, "when i have no idea where i am." but, even if he did know, his snow-shoes were gone; and without them he could not safely venture--nor with them, either, he decided, recalling with a sick shudder the snow-filled ravines against which miller had warned him--_miller_, indeed! his bitterness came back with a rush. after all he had done for weston this was the final reward. weston had shaved his beard, recolored his hair and the fringe of whiskers left beneath his chin, covered his deep brown eyes with goggles, and brought his benefactor of dry creek here to spend months in this deadly loneliness! that was the thanks he gave "doc tenderfoot" for saving his life. that night the storm ceased and a warm wind arose. the next morning ross again shoveled out the doorway, window, and wood-pile. the sky was clear, but the sun did not swing over the towering peak which rose almost perpendicular, opposite the cabin, until ten o'clock. but, when it did show its face, it looked down on a bewildering mass of snow. ross gazed longingly down the cañon, which wound like a serpent between the overhanging mountains. down there not half a mile away a ledge ran diagonally across the face of a cliff; and ross felt impelled to go to the foot of that cliff, and find out whether or not the rope still dangled from its summit. but well he knew that even so short a journey would be impossible without the aid of snow-shoes. however, if the warm wind continued and the sky remained unclouded, perhaps in a day or two there would be a crust on the snow of sufficient strength to bear his weight. then he would investigate. meanwhile he tried to force himself calmly to the business of living and planning. he was there. so far as he could see there was no escape. he would make the best and the most of the months of his banishment. when he arrived at this conclusion, he found himself relenting a trifle toward weston on account of the books. it had been no light load to pack across the mountains on a tramp which had lasted many hours. "perhaps weston has a piece of heart, after all," ross mused the following morning, "but so thoroughly is he under sandy's control that he dare not show it." before him on the table lay piersol's "histology," although he was totally unable to focus his scattered thoughts on the contents. he was anxiously watching the weather. the warm wind had continued, but the sky was lowering. another storm was brewing. finally ross left piersol and going to the door, looked out anxiously over the cañon. "the snow is settling finely," he decided, "and if the cold comes before the storm the crust will hold me up." he went back to the armchair and began drumming nervously on the arms. he wondered how it had chanced to be packed so far over the narrow trails. a chair, a "store chair," that is, was an uncommon sight among the mountains. from which point had it been brought, cody or red lodge? the latter, he knew, was more than one hundred miles from the shoshones, while cody was but eighty. however, nearness depended not so much on miles as on accessibility, and for the thousandth time ross wondered where he was. he could not reason from the memory of the tortuous windings of that stormy afternoon's journey, with no view of the sun's face to guide him; but his strong impression was that he was many miles northwest of meadow creek, with at least three chains of peaks between him and weimer. then he fell to wondering again about the shack. did it belong to one of the mckenzie relatives? who had given it over to his use for the winter? he suspected that, while the furnishings and the clothing had been left there by the owner, the mckenzies had planned for his winter's residence, and had partially, at least, stocked his larder, as the owner would not be likely to desert such a supply of meat, especially the fresh venison. perhaps the venison was due to weston's forethought. ross liked to think that weston had done all that he dared do for the comfort of "doc tenderfoot." "he's a bigger man," mused "doc"; "and yet he seems more than half afraid of sandy. wonder what the trouble is." that night the wind changed, the temperature dropped, and the next morning snow began to fall, lightly, however. again and again ross went out for trial trips on the fast freezing crust, but not until afternoon did he venture on the journey to the cliff. the shack stood among the trees on the mountainside about ten feet above the level of the cañon. taking with him a long pole with a sharpened end, which he found in the shack, ross slid from tree to tree until he gained the level of the cañon. then, hugging the foot of the mountain closely, that he might judge of the lay of the land by the trees, and so avoid the dreaded creeks and gorges, he turned down the cañon toward the cliff. it was difficult walking, the crust being smooth and slippery. several times one foot broke through, and each time ross's heart seemed to rise in his throat when he considered that he was walking on a body of snow deeper than he was high. the cañon had no distinguishing features. it might have been any one of a dozen located among the shoshones, and all of them unfamiliar to the young man lost in their midst. on either side, the mountains, dreary and lonely and lifeless, arose precipitately. it was windless in the cañon, but on top of the mountains a white, cold cloud of snow played perpetually. but ross's eyes were eagerly searching the mountain at the left for the cliff; and presently he recognized it despite the curtain of snow drifting across its face. there it was, stretching up until his neck ached in the effort to scan the top, where in an unbroken line along the edge hung a great body of snow, the undisturbed accumulations of the last blizzard. the steep side of the cliff, however, was bare, and ross failed to discover a rope dangling over its surface. [illustration: the snow hid it from view] he thought he had not expected to see it there, and so could not account for the sinking of his heart when he found it gone. for a few moments he stood looking down the cañon hemmed in by its great mountain barriers. he fully realized the fact that he was a prisoner within those barriers, perfectly helpless until released by the brief summer. with bent head he turned his back to the cliff and cautiously retraced his steps while a wildly whirling "squall" suddenly caught him in its clutches. he had gone but a short distance before a sound in the rear caused him to wheel about and listen sharply. only a smother of snow, swirling up the cañon, met his eyes and a blast of the rising wind his ears. hesitating, he struggled back a few steps and turned his face up toward the cliff. the snow hid it from view. he stood listening again, and, presently, the sound, above him and a little in advance, again mingled with the roar of the wind. ross broke into a run, panting through the storm, breaking through the crust, struggling to his feet and tumbling on again. it was certainly the call of a human voice, although no words were distinguishable because of the noise of the wind. ross, obsessed by one idea, raised his voice: "miller--weston!" he yelled frantically. "i'm here--below here! where are you?" but the wind swooped down on him, seized his words and bore them down the cañon. then it suddenly died away, and again the snow fell quietly, mistily, and ross, looking up, saw, as in a nightmare, a rope dangling across the face of the cliff. in bewildered joyousness he pressed his hand against his eyes and looked again. "it's there!" he cried, "but it certainly wasn't ten minutes ago. that's the queerest--i know i saw straight before----" he opened his lips to call again, but the call was checked by the discovery of a man half-way down the cliff, creeping along on what looked to be a thread of snow fastened diagonally across the dark surface of the rock, but which ross at once recognized as the narrow ledge he himself had trod only three days before. slowly the figure was progressing, its feet kicking away the snow lodged on the ledge, its hands clinging to the bare face of the cliff. then, faintly into the lull of the storm a nervous voice floated down to ross from the thread-like path. "i'm almost down, i guess, miller. hope i can get to the cabin before another squall strikes us." then, from the top of the cliff, the barely distinguishable words behind the veil of falling snow, "all right. remember you'll find doc not half a mile straight ahead. the cabin's on the right, as i've told ye. it's above a bunch of seven spruces. ye won't need yer snow-shoes--crust'll hold down there." ross waited to hear no more. "leslie!" he yelled joyously. "ho, leslie! i'm down here. come on! hurray for that rope again!" but even as the hurray ascended the side of the cliff, so did the rope. snakily, jerkily, the knotted end traveled upward until it disappeared in the cloud of snow that hid the mountain tops. from this cloud came a faint and far-away voice: "good luck t' ye! tell doc ye're in the same boat as he is. he'll savvy!" chapter xvi the ingratitude of weston the presence of leslie without snow-shoes, the disappearance of the rope, and weston's voice caused ross to "savvy" immediately in impotent anger and bitter disappointment. but not until the two boys had reached the cabin and leslie was warming himself beside the hot stove, did he fully comprehend the trick that had been played on him. "weston!" he exclaimed stupidly in answer to ross's explanation. "why, this isn't the man you told about at sagehen roost--it's the miller that you went away with. i saw that weston fellow, you know. they're not the same!" "it's evident that when you've seen weston you've seen any number of men that he cares to imitate. this miller is weston, the mckenzies' cousin and the man you----" here ross checked himself, as leslie had not yet connected the dark-haired weston with the light-haired oklahoma man of the same name. finally, after supper, leslie recovered from his bewilderment sufficiently to tell connectedly the story of the days that had intervened between ross's departure from meadow creek and his own. "begin at the beginning," urged ross finally, putting a pine chunk in the stove and snuffing the candle. he had seated the newcomer in the armchair beside the fire, while he sat on an overturned box in front of the stove door and within reach of a heap of wood. on the table at his elbow lay the gun which steele had insisted on adding to his equipment the day he arrived in meadow creek and which he had not since touched. leslie had brought it strapped across his shoulders and with it all the ammunition which steele had provided. this was another proof of weston's strangely curious good will that continued to puzzle ross. how the unsuspecting leslie was prevailed on to bring the limited arsenal was a part of the story which ross was demanding. while the storm raged outside and the dim candle-light flickered and cast long uncanny shadows within, and the pine chunk flamed and cracked cheerily filling the room with a warmth grateful to the chilled narrator, leslie complied with the request to "begin at the beginning." "i'd no sooner seen your back, ross, as you followed miller out of the door, than i had an awfully uncomfortable feeling of responsibility. by the time the storm had swallowed you two up, the whole outfit there at weimer's was sitting hard on my shoulders. we watched you out of sight, uncle jake and i, and then we went back into the cabin and, ross, if that cabin seems to uncle jake now as--well--as--when you left----" leslie paused and stared at the candle. ross drew his seat nearer the stove and cleared his throat. "uncle jake has stayed there a lot in the winter all alone, you must remember. he was telling me about it not long ago, how the----" above the cabin, through the roaring and soughing of the wind among the spruce, came the long drawn yelling, harassed, pitiful cry of a coyote. from the cañon the cry was answered. again and again the two human-like voices wailed despairingly at each other while the boys involuntarily drew nearer together and ross laid a caressing hand on the gun and finished his speech: "that's exactly what uncle jake told me--how the coyotes and wolves prowled around, and he didn't mind them nor the loneliness at all." leslie nodded. "i noticed that he didn't seem to mind your being away in the same way i did. he just took to his pipe and his bunk and seemed settled for a rest until you got back again. that didn't add any to my restfulness, i can tell you, for what could i do up in the tunnel without him? i rustled around a bit trying to decide what to do when the door opened and there was miller again, or weston rather. i was as surprised as they make 'em until he said: "'say, young feller, doc he sent me back t' round up a book on medicine that he may need. it'll be layin' round loose som'ers, maybe in that hair covered chist of hisn.'" leslie went on to say that when he had opened ross's emergency chest weston professed to have forgotten the name of the book he had been directed to fetch, and, consequently, had taken all the books, stuffing them carelessly into his game pouch. then the storm had again swallowed him up. "after he went away," said leslie, "i got to thinking pretty strongly about the dynamite. if it was so easy for one man to get into the valley from the land only knew where, why couldn't the mckenzies make their way back and spirit the dynamite off for good and all? we'd gone and touched off that charge under soapweed ledge to make 'em understand that we had it again, you know." "yes, i know!" affirmed ross grimly. "geese that we were!" "well, those sticks got on my nerves, and i made up my mind to fasten them up if such a thing were possible. so i put on my snow-shoes and began to rattle around in the storm to see what i could do. i thought no one could come up into the tool house from under because of the mass of snow all around, and because the dynamite box was so heavy with all of your and our and the mckenzies' sticks in it that it held the floor boards down with a vengeance. but i wasn't taking any chances after seeing what our 'friends the enemy' were capable of doing, so i got all the spike nails that weimer had and nailed down the floor. then i plowed through the storm up to wilson's shack, shoveled my way in, collected all the tools that could be used to pry or hammer with and brought 'em back to our tool house. and with them, ross, i brought a great padlock and chain that i recollected seeing up there rusty and unused. i oiled it and put a bar across the tool-house door and padlocked it. and if i do say it, it would cost a man some time and strength and racket to get into that shack. it would also take some tools, and there's none in the valley except what are behind that locked door, for before night came i had raided the mckenzie cabin and brought over all their tools. then," continued leslie, "i went to sleep feeling some better." "i'll bet you," cried ross eagerly, "that it's because you fastened up the dynamite that you're here! i do believe that when weston went back it would have been easier to cache that if he could have got it than to have brought you here." "i don't know, ross." leslie gave a short laugh. "it was easy enough to get me here, as easy as to get you. i--but you want the story as it comes." "every word of it. go on. the next day----" the next day, leslie continued, so furious a blizzard was raging that he didn't work in the tunnel but spent the time keeping open the trails to the dump, the wood-pile and the spring. but the second day, the sky having cleared, he tried his best to get weimer to work. "ich vill vork mit doc," was uncle jake's declaration of independence, "mit you, nein!" "you can imagine, ross, how much work i did alone, not used to going ahead with the blasting. when i came down at noon the old fellow had dished up a capital dinner. he washed the dishes, but not one step would he budge to the tunnel. said that you were likely to drop in any time that day and he'd stay in and watch for you. said it would be work enough for him to do to fill you up after your long tramp through the snow! he simply boiled over with ready excuses. when i went up to the tunnel i left him with his goggles on, swinging open the door about once in two minutes for a look over on soapweed ledge. you know it was clear that day and----" here leslie suddenly paused and sat up with a jerk. he gripped the arms of the chair and gave a startled exclamation. "see here, ross, that clearness business has reminded me of something that i noticed in the morning, and, because i thought it couldn't be true, i paid but little attention. but now i know--well, this is what it was: when i reached the dump i glanced across the valley at the mckenzie shack. it seemed completely buried in snow except the roof and the chimney stovepipe, and at first i imagined that i saw heat coming out of that stovepipe! you know how, after a hot fire, the heat will crinkle the air above a chimney and no smoke in sight?" "that's so!" exclaimed ross. "and you think----" "at the time i thought it was a mere notion of mine, but now i believe i saw correctly, and that weston was there waiting to dispose of my case." "that's the idea," agreed ross excitedly. "there all the time after he left me, probably. he had likely got him a hot breakfast before you were up and then let the fire die." leslie nodded. "same as i did when i was hiding down in miners' camp. but, anyway, i didn't investigate and forgot all about that chimney until this minute." here leslie broke off to ask abruptly, "another thing, ross, right here before i forget. the day you left, you remember uncle jake was sick and you went down to get dinner and left me in the tunnel?" "yes." "well, only a few minutes after you left i looked out and you, as i supposed then, stood in the mouth of the tunnel----" "nope, 'twas weston," interrupted ross. "he said he went up there first. he came to the shack from that direction." "then he got a squint at the work and the dynamite and your assistant right then! i thought it was queer i didn't get an answer when i yelled to know if you had dinner ready. but just as i spoke, the figure took a sneak, and i supposed you had just stopped a bit to look things over." "weston was attending to that, evidently," retorted ross promptly. "but now let's see--you've brought the happenings up to to-day, haven't you?" "not quite," leslie answered. "i'll be there in a minute, though. yesterday i got as uneasy as weimer over your not getting back, and miller, or weston, i mean, not coming as he promised. i confess i was in a blue funk by afternoon, and i saw things were shaping for another storm. i went slipping and sliding out beside the dump a dozen times where i could look over to soapweed ledge while uncle jake tramped around outside the shack continually watching for you." "poor uncle jake!" muttered ross stirring uneasily. "well, that brings me to to-day," leslie began after a pause. "i was down beside the dump looking for you about eleven o'clock this morning when i saw him coming over the ledge--weston, i mean. same goggles, same cap drawn down over his ears, same outfit except the game pouch. i noticed as soon as he came near that the pouch was gone. tell you what, ross, i made tracks down the trail, got my snow-shoes on and went to meet him. i would have hurried to meet a hottentot! uncle jake stayed behind jabbering in german, and fairly dancing up and down in his excitement because you had not come with weston." ross, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, staring at leslie, saw in a flash the latter as he had appeared at sagehen roost, overbearing and dictatorial. then he saw him running across the lonely valley of meadow creek eager to meet any one on a fraternal footing. "weston must have left his shack and made a long trip behind it up the mountain and around over the summit to have come in on the ledge; don't you think so?" asked ross. "he probably didn't want to run any risk of being seen." leslie assented and went on with his story. he had gone to meet weston with a demand as to ross's whereabouts and return. "don't ye worry none about doc," weston declared heartily. "he's fixin' things fine over our way. doc's all right!" "so he is," leslie agreed, "and for that reason we want him right here, uncle jake and i!" "wall," weston drawled good-naturedly, "he says the same about you even t' wantin' ye where he is now for a day." "what do you mean?" leslie asked. the two had been walking back toward the shack and the frantic weimer, and weston did not explain until he had assured uncle jake of ross's safety and health, and was seated beside the stove. "not once while he was there," leslie told ross, "not even when he was eating dinner, did he take off his cap--merely pushed it back a little. uncle jake urged him to shed it, but he just grinned and said he had a bald spot on the top of his head, and had got into the habit of wearing his cap all the time to keep that spot warm. said he guessed he wouldn't 'bust into that habit now.' i thought he was an odd dick to get into such a habit, and with a fur cap, too, but it was all so plausible, ross, everything he said was said with such an air of truth, that i didn't once suspect." "no more did i," confessed ross. "and then, of course, i was awfully interested in what he had to tell, and ask me to do. he told a clever lie, ross. he said that you had brought down an elk with his gun and wanted me to come back with him and the sled you had made to help the mckenzies haul supplies, and help pack the venison over the mountains for our winter meat. it was all the more clever because i knew that meat was all we needed to make our winter's supplies good. the story hit uncle jake in the right spot, too. he hurried up dinner for us to be gone before the big snow came. weston thought we could reach his cabin that night and make it back again to-morrow morning with the elk meat. he said it would be a pretty good pull for the three of us, but as there was a good crust we could make it with that sled. why, doc, there wasn't a suspicion of deceit in his manner. he said you had fixed his pard up all right and would leave some stuff for him, and so didn't need to stay any longer. so i went up to the tool house and got the sled out and we started----" "the gun," interrupted ross. "did you think of the gun?" "not much i didn't! that was weston. just as we were starting off he turned back and said: "'see here, young feller. doc said as how ye was t' bring his gun along and mebby he could bring down a mountain sheep as we come back. they is a lot of them animals over with us.'" so the two had turned back and leslie strapped ross's gun across his shoulders. he carried the ammunition. weston insisted on taking all of it along as he and his partner had run short, and ross had promised them a share of his! then they had started out, and, screened by the veil of gently falling snow, entered on the same tortuous, winding, upward trail that ross and weston had taken a few days previously. "and all the way," leslie continued, "whenever the trail let us walk together, he was telling me a long yarn about the day you and he had spent chasing that elk whose meat we were going after. i listened, ross, with my mouth opened half the time, and wished a dozen times, if i did once, that i had been with you. "well, as the afternoon passed, the storm became heavier, and part of the way we couldn't see a dozen feet before us, and finally i think weston himself was uncertain of our way although he said he wasn't. it must have been about four o'clock when we came to the head of the ledge. weston searched and groped along until he came to a tree where a rope was already tied. "'it's the one i used fer doc and me,'" he explained and slung it over the cliff. "he had been hauling the sled along, while all i had to carry was the gun and ammunition. now he said that i had better leave my snow-shoes on top of the cliff and tie the end of the rope around my waist and he would let me down to the ledge. that i was to kick clear of snow and then go up the cañon and get you to come down and help heave the sled over and get it down to the cañon. he said you would know better than i how to do that. he kept giving me directions about where to find the cabin, for the snow had thickened until we couldn't see the ledge, to say nothing of the cañon. you see, ross, i'll confess i was too nervous about going over into space attached to that rope to think that his proceeding was queer. i just didn't question a thing, but shut my eyes and went over. it didn't occur to me to wonder why my snow-shoes, instead of that gun, weren't tied on my shoulders. well, i struck the ledge and untied the rope and felt my way along that ticklish shelf until the squall lifted and then--you know the rest. if i live to be a hundred i'll never forget how i felt when that rope was drawn up and he yelled down that i was to tell you i was in the same boat that you were!" it was late and leslie was too tired to talk longer. ross gave him the bunk and, waiting only long enough to fill the stove with wood, close the draughts and blow out the candles, wrapped up in a blanket and lay down beside the stove, his coat for a pillow. he did not fall asleep at once, but lay staring up at the flicker of firelight dancing about on the mud-chinked logs overhead. after all his planning and working, he thought, his mission in the mountains was doomed to failure. the claims would pass into the mckenzies' hands, and, besides, he would have missed one year of the preparation for the work he had chosen. he rolled over and half groaned. "awake, ross?" came from the bunk. "i'm so tired i haven't dropped off yet and, besides--say, ross, here i am and there's dad waiting for me to turn up with that missing five hundred--and then your claims--we're not exactly in luck, are we? i feel as though i'd like to get my hands on that weston-miller fellow's throat." "there's one thing i can do, though--study," muttered ross. "that i've got to hold myself to." conversation languished then, and both boys fell asleep, ross's last thought being of weimer watching for their return in the lonely valley of meadow creek. by daylight the following morning the two were up, full of plans for living and doing during the long months of their imprisonment. "there are some nails, but no hammer," said ross. "but we can drive 'em with a stick of wood and fix up another bunk out of these two boxes. they're the longest, and i think they'll fill the bill for my five feet ten. then we'll divide the straw and the blankets, and by keeping up the fire all night, i guess we won't freeze to death." on the floor in the corner back of the stove they built the bunk. there were not nails enough nor were the boxes strong enough to allow of making a substantial bunk such as the owner of the shack had built against the side logs. until the bunk was completed, leslie, while working docilely enough under the older boy's direction, regarded the more comfortable bunk as his permanent possession. he had never been taught to be unselfish. he had from his motherless childhood demanded what he wished and received it until the question arose of his continued attendance in school. there he had taken the course he wished and was now paying for it dearly. it was not until he was dividing the straw in his bunk and had come across ross's watch and pocketbook that the idea smote him hard that the other had vacated the easier bunk in a wordless generosity that he, leslie, had never practiced, and that he had not even thanked the bunk's former occupant. "see here, ross," he began brusquely, "you needn't think that you're going to rest your old bones in the new bunk all the time, for you ain't! i shall try it myself half the time." "week and week about, then," ross agreed. "and this brings us up against a calendar. i brought my watch, thank fortune! but what about a calendar? i want to be sure that i know when the th of july gets here, for steele says you'd never know it except by the calendar, there's so much snow." "snow!" groaned leslie. "snow! there's never a time when there isn't snow in these mountains, it seems. well, i know what day to-morrow is, and--have you a pencil?" ross slapped the breast pocket of his slicker. "yep, a long one. and there's one in the pockets of the trousers you'll find in that box," nodding toward the repository of the shack owner's clothing. "guess we will keep a record of the days up on the side logs. i know how many in each month when i say that old jingle, 'thirty days hath september,' etc." but the need of a calendar was not so pressing as the need of wood. the few days that ross had spent in the shack had caused an alarming shrinkage in the pile of chunks already cut; and ross, commencing to shovel his way to the nearest pine tree, now ran across a number of logs which had been "snaked" down the mountainside before the snow came, and lay ready for the axe and saw. "i guess if aunt anne were here, she'd not complain that i took no exercise," he muttered grimly, shouldering a short cross cut saw. while he sawed leslie got dinner. after dinner leslie took his turn at the saw and axe while ross considered the matter of the calendar. looking about the shack, his glance fell on weston's game pouch. he had hung it on a peg driven between two side logs and had forgotten it. "the very thing!" he exclaimed aloud. "we can mark the days on the margin of the old newspapers that are in the bottom of that pouch." taking the bag down he dumped the crushed papers out on the table, and sitting down, began to smooth them out, glancing over the contents idly. he found nothing which interested him until he reached the last wad. when he spread this out, he found, stuck to the newspaper by candle-drippings, a scrap of coarse note paper which at once riveted his attention. it contained only the latter part of one sentence and the first part of another. "----come and help us out, and no fooling about it, either. if you back out i will turn you over to old man quinn----" over and over ross read these words. they were few and short, but to him now they were the intelligible index to a whole volume. the scrap was stuck to a "gazette" bearing a date which was just previous to weston's appearance in meadow creek. there was no name to show that sandy had written the letter, but ross knew weston had escaped from oklahoma. no doubt sandy possessed the knowledge that compelled his obedience. ross drew a long breath. "strange what parts of two sentences may tell a fellow!" "tell a fellow what?" demanded leslie's curious voice at his elbow. a hand came over his shoulder and pinned the paper down to the table while leslie read the contents aloud. "'old man quinn,'" he finished excitedly. "why, that is my father, but--lon weston--say, what does that mean, ross?" chapter xvii a random shot for an instant ross made no reply. he sat with his back to the door and had not heard leslie enter. turning slowly he looked up with puzzled eyes. "less, there's something that i've not told you before--because--i guess because i've thought it wasn't fair to tell. but after weston has brought us away off here and dumped us in this wilderness--even if he has done it out of fear of sandy--well, it seems to me that about now he has forfeited all right to my silence." leslie fell back in astonishment, the scraps of the letter still in his hand. "doc, are you getting luny? what are you talking about?" ross laughed ruefully. "just thinking out loud, that's all. now i'll get right down to business about weston. you said you knew a fellow in oklahoma by his name--lon weston." leslie pursed his lips incredulously. "yes, but as i said, our lon weston had light hair and didn't murder the king's english like this man, and he hadn't a husky voice." "just so!" cried ross triumphantly. "neither does this lon weston murder the english language when he is talking like himself, nor has he a husky voice naturally nor has he dark hair! it's colored dark--near the roots, as i found out, it's light." "jiminy crickstones!" cried leslie excitedly. "if that's true, it's one on me! come to think of it, weston was forever imitating folks, but i never have seen him in such a serious imitation as this. how do you know all about him, anyway?" from this ross proceeded to tell what he knew except weston's connection with the note laid under the electric bulb in the bedroom of "the irma." that much he felt himself pledged not to relate, but its omission, really, in no way detracted from the proof of weston's identity. furthermore, ross, concerned only with that identity, began his recital with sheepy's talk about weston forgetting the photograph which had revealed the injured man's name. "you can see," ross concluded, "by putting together all the evidence, that he is the fourth man your father is after, and that sandy has come it over him completely, knowing that he is the fourth. the more i think of it the more i'm convinced of sandy's power. sandy holds this cudgel over his head and makes him do the dirty work. but, no matter how big the cudgel is, he had no business to play this low-down trick on us." "wait till we get out of here!" declared leslie wrathfully, "and i'll make him pay for his trick!" suddenly his face lighted. "ross, see here! dad has been hunting for that fourth man for two years, and if i can go to him and tell him who it is and set him on the right track, well--i'll stand in better with dad, that's all! the five hundred that i can't begin to earn until next summer won't be in it beside that information!" then, as suddenly as it had come, the light died out of the boy's face. he sat down on the table and rubbed his forehead in perplexity. "but, ross, there's another side to this. for me to do that would knock things endwise with sue." "sue," repeated ross, "who is sue?" "i've got a sister," explained leslie. "she's four or five years older. she keeps house for us. she's an awfully good girl, sue is, although," turning his head shamefacedly away, "she'd be surprised to hear me say so, for we, dad and i, have made her a lot of trouble. dad's as up and down with her as with me and i--say, ross, i've been a nuisance at home!" leslie choked. he looked slowly around the cramped, dirty, ill-lighted room, so unlike the neat, pleasant home presided over by sue, and swallowed hard. ross industriously made notches in the edge of the table with his pocket-knife. finally leslie, clearing his throat, continued, "i guess all this serves me about right. i know i ought to be kicked--and i am being--in a way. well, it's always been up to sue to put up with us both, and she has. and then three years ago lon weston came. you see, ross, dad is a sheep owner, and north bend is on the edge of the range between sheep and cattle, and that always means war. about three miles away is a cattle ranch, and peck, the owner, and dad are always by the ears. it was at peck's that lon was foreman, and he used to come over to north bend to see my sister whenever dad would let 'im, but things were never very smooth for 'em. of course, i didn't see much of him because i was off at school most of the year. i was away when the cattlemen had their big round-up two years ago in the fall. after each had cut out his own bunch of cattle and shipped 'em, a lot of the boys went on a drunk and dad lost his sheep. naturally he went up in the air at the loss and was at the throat of every cattle owner and cowboy for miles around. and, first thing, of course he came down on sue about lon's coming to the house and forbid 'er to see him again, not because he suspected lon, but just because he was peck's foreman and a cowboy. "well, lon cleared out right off and sue cried herself sick. she never said anything, but i've guessed that lon never has written to 'er and i'm afraid she's foolish enough," tolerantly, "to think a lot of him. "but i never suspected that lon was in the bunch that sent dad's sheep over, and i know that no one else around the ranch suspects it, because of lon's coming to see sue right along. still--there were times when he was a pretty rough customer, and--it's a mixed up mess, ain't it, ross, along with sue?" ross had been leaning forward on the table listening eagerly. two or three times he had started to interrupt, and had checked himself with difficulty. now he burst out: "i had forgotten the girl's photo in lon's pocket, leslie. i know now it's sue's picture, because it looks like you. it fell out of his pocket at sagehen roost, and both hank and i saw it, and then, when you came, you puzzled hank because he thought he had seen you before!" "the very idea!" exclaimed leslie indignantly when ross had told him about the name on the photograph. "how dare he carry my sister's picture around with him after doing dad such a dirty trick. oh, i have it in for him all right! i don't wonder the mckenzies knew they had to get rid of me before they could make lon come over to meadow creek! i see now! i presume he thinks that dad has been on his track these two years. i wonder if sandy and waymart were with peck at the same time lon was?" for a long time the boys talked over the affair in all its bearings, and as the long lonely days passed, they recalled every incident that had occurred since they left oklahoma and pennsylvania. their conversations mostly took place in the evening by the light of one dim candle, or in the darkness relieved only by the flicker of the firelight, as candles were not plenty. it was at that dreary time between day and night with the wind and the coyotes howling outside that the homesickness that they could fight successfully in daylight had its inning. "but what if i were here alone!" ross exclaimed periodically. his gratitude at having leslie there softened his anger at weston, although he knew that the bringing of leslie had been no philanthropic move on weston's part. soon, however, the boys settled to a routine of work, exercise and study planned by ross and acquiesced in by leslie, all, at first, save the study. in that ross began with no thought of aid from the other or partnership with him until one day when he sat with a book on anatomy before him industriously absorbing the pages. presently, turning his book over on its face, he resolutely closed his eyes against the outer world, and his ears against leslie's lively whistle, mentally reviewing the facts he had been conning. suddenly leslie, who had been lying in the bunk, came over to the table and, picking up the text-book, lazily bade ross think aloud. "it's so deadly lonely, ross, with you poring over those dull books," complained leslie, "that i'd rather hear you recite than not to hear anything at all!" from this trifling beginning, a student partnership grew up. at first the task meant to leslie only a form of passing the time away, of hearing a human voice instead of the crackle of the fire and the sough of the wind. then, gradually, his interest in the subject of anatomy was awakened. he began to look at himself with a new interest. "i say, ross," he burst out one day when he was frying bacon, "i never have thought of myself before as being made up of parts that must work together smoothly--and i never considered how they must work and that some one or other must know just how they ought to work so that he can put 'em together if they fall out of place. now, about that femur, and ball and socket joint at the hip here----" immediately ross plunged into a lively description which soon led both boys to the books for proof and illustration, and leslie's interest grew. from being merely the holder of the book while ross recited and explained what he had studied, leslie, the "hater" of studies, began to study also, at first, in a fitful way, and then more steadily as ross proved himself an enthusiastic teacher. neither, however, became so absorbed in his studies as to become reconciled to his enforced residence above the seven spruces. day after day they ventured out and up and down the cañon, or up the side of the mountain on the side of which their shack was located, but no discoveries resulted. the absence of snow-shoes made travel impossible except on top of a strong crust, and even then a realization of a constantly increasing danger resulted in making such trips shorter and shorter. the danger was this: blizzard succeeded blizzard until the willows, ten feet tall, which grew thickly in the cañon, were completely concealed, also the scrub hemlocks and quaking asp on the mountainside. the tops of the bushes, lashed by the wind until they became finally snow covered, formed each a dangerous hollow under a crust thinner and weaker than the surrounding surface. this painful discovery was made by leslie. one bright day, leaving ross to cut off the branches of a tree that he had felled for fire-wood, leslie took the gun and started down the cañon on a tour of exploration. "the crust is stout enough to hold up an ox, doc," he declared, bringing the butt of the gun down on it hard, "and i'm going out to see what there is to see--and shoot." "shoot!" echoed ross, poising the axe in air. "i'd like to see something shootable up here beside coyotes, and we never see them--only hear 'em!" and the axe descended with a thud. leslie laughed, shouldered the gun and tramped briskly down the cañon, while ross wielded the axe and, whistling cheerfully, thought of the progress he was making in his studies. presently, he rested on his axe handle and chafed his cheeks and nose briskly with the shaggy mittens he had found in the box of clothing left in the shack. "i don't want any more frost bites in mine!" he muttered. he had had several experiences of the kind that winter, the altitude being so great that he did not realize the intense cold until nose or cheek or ear had become frost nipped. he was resuming his axe when a faint sound traveled up the cañon on the wings of a slow south wind. ross straightened himself and listened. again came the wind and the sound. with the axe in his hand he slipped and slid down the mountainside until he stood in the cañon below the seven spruce trees. there he paused long enough to distinguish in the sound the faint muffled cry, "ross!" and "help!" "coming!" yelled ross frantically. "where are you?" he did not await a reply but, slipping unsteadily along the icy crust, he hurried down the cañon in the general direction of leslie's voice, yelling intermittently, "coming--here i am! where are you, less?" as he came to the cliff over which he had been lowered into the cañon, he heard leslie's voice again, still curiously muffled, although evidently only a little way in advance. it seemed to rise from beneath the ground. "hold on, ross. don't come fast. i've fallen through among the willows." cautiously ross advanced toward the voice, testing the strength of the crust at every step until it gave under the stamping of his heel. then he stopped and found himself looking down a section of shelving crust into a hole filled with loose snow, willow tops--and leslie. "great guns!" cried ross. "what are you doing in there?" leslie attempted to respond nonchalantly, but his face was nearly as white as the bed of snow he was occupying, and his teeth chattered with cold and fright. "i've been flopping around here for half an hour yelling," he explained jerkily, "and have only managed to sink deeper and break off more crust and more willow tops." "rub your nose and face the next thing you do," advised ross immediately, "or you'll be a mass of frost bite." he rubbed his own nose meditatively. then grasping the axe he cried cheerfully, "hold the fort a while longer down there, less, and relief will arrive. see here! i hadn't finished the wood and i ran off with the axe. now i'll skiddoo and cut a pole and help you out. and don't forget to rub your face!" laboriously and fearfully--lest he meet with leslie's fate--ross climbed the side of the mountain until he stood among the branches of a sturdy spruce, the depth of snow raising him to that height. cutting and trimming a long limb, he dragged it back to the cañon. projecting one end over the hole he sat hard on the other. then leslie, by jumping and seizing the projecting end, and bracing against the sloping sheet of crust, climbed, breathless but relieved, to the surface of the snow. "i tell you what, ross," he said emphatically as they made their way gingerly back to the shack, "i've done all the research work i want to in this cañon!" he shivered and slapped his hands smartly together. "without snow-shoes we are helpless here, and the mckenzies know it!" to make snow-shoes without boards or small nails or a hammer was impossible to workmen of their inexperience. they broke up some boxes and put in all their spare time for days experimenting, but to no purpose. "even if we did succeed, less," ross comforted himself one day as he looked gloomily at their latest failure, "we couldn't escape from here. we have no idea where we are, whether we are nearer red lodge or cody or timbuctoo. we would merely start out and leave a half-way comfortable certainty for a mighty ticklish uncertainty." "that's right," agreed leslie, "and we couldn't pack enough food on our backs to last many days, nor can we tell when a storm is coming." in fact, storms were the order of the day. by the middle of february immense masses of snow curled out over the cliffs on the side of the mountain opposite the shack waiting for the warm chinooks of spring to send them hurtling down into the cañon. fortunately, the mountain above the shack was lower than its neighbors, and the face, heavily wooded, sloped back more gently until it reached a great elevation. "the trees here prove that there have been no snowslides within the memory of this generation, at any rate," ross broke out one day as they were sawing the branches from a spruce on the mountainside above the shack. "now, if the shack were on the other side----" "but it wouldn't be built on the other side," interrupted leslie. "no cabin builder would do such a thing unless he built when he first struck this country as young and green as we were!" ross laughed and started the branch he had trimmed down the mountainside on the crust. it skidded along rapidly until it wedged itself into a great snow bank which had drifted from the shack to the trees on either side, and through which the boys had tunneled. with the last branch sent home in this convenient fashion, ross shouldered the axe and picked up the saw, while leslie took the gun from a near-by branch where it had been slung, and followed down the mountainside. with the increase in the depth of the snow, the coyotes and gray wolves had grown bolder, and without the gun the boys never went now outside of their dooryard, as they called the spaces they had cleared around the shack. so far, however, the coyotes had only skulked near the strongly built lean-to, attracted by the smell of the meat, while the wolves contented themselves by howling at night from the rocks far above the cabin, and being answered from the mountainside opposite. "i have always heard that the gray wolf is a coward," commented leslie as the two entered the shack. "we have not had a glimpse of one yet." "uncle jake said they are far more afraid of people than sensible people are afraid of them," returned ross, "but i'd rather not be called sensible than to meet one face to face!" that night the boys turned in early, tired with their exertions at the wood-pile. about midnight they were both awakened by a mysterious noise. leslie, in the wall bunk, came up on his elbow before he was fairly awake. ross, on the floor, sat up instantly, whispering sharply: "leslie, is that you?" "what?" asked leslie bewildered. "is it you? what was that?" before ross could reply again, the noise was repeated. it came from above their heads, a soft padding and crunching on the roof logs. suddenly there was added a whining sound and a scratching at the side and then an increase in the crunching on the roof. "wolves!" cried ross and leslie simultaneously. "they smell the meat in the lean-to," added leslie. "tell you what, less," said ross, "i'm glad we're inside a stockade. i'll put my trust in logs rather than boards with those fellows around." ross's voice was decidedly husky, leslie was glad to note. his own was almost beyond control while cold chills ran up and down his spine. he grunted assent and tried to yawn aloud but was unsuccessful. then, as the soft padding and eager sniffing continued, he found his voice in a frightened quaver, "ross, can they get into the window, do you think?" "or break into the door?" added ross equally uncertain as to tone. "one thing i know, less, they're afraid of fire." at that both boys came out of their bunks and began to fill the stove with wood. but at these sounds from below, the wolves departed hastily and put in the remainder of the night howling from the side of the mountain a safe distance away. "guess uncle jake is right. they seem as afraid of us as we are of them!" exclaimed leslie, lighting a candle and setting it in the window. then he turned on ross with a sheepish grin. "say, doc, is my hair standing straight up?" ross passed his hand over his own. "i don't see it stand, but if it feels like mine it won't lie down again in a week. to-morrow, less, we'll let studies go by the board and have that window and the door barricaded. then, if a wolf or two chance to stumble against them we can turn over and laugh in our sleep." there was no more sleep in the shack that night, however, and before daylight the boys were up planning the proposed barricade. they finally hit on two cross poles for the door, fitted into crudely carved stanchions nailed to either side. these bars were removed by day, but when night came, it was with a feeling of relief that the boys dropped the bars into their stanchions and knew the device could foil any wolf that prowled about the mountains. the window, also, was similarly barricaded. but, secure behind these protections, the boys soon became accustomed to their midnight visitors, and even began to look eagerly for them during the day, leslie being a fair shot. "i would like to get a skin or two, ross," he said one evening. "sue would like 'em as rugs, you bet!" it was after supper, and the boys, having washed the dishes, had blown out the candle and were sitting beside the stove. the draft in front was open, and the blazing chunks within sent a cheerful glow dancing past the window and flickering on the bunk and the side wall beyond. outside, the wind soughed among the branches of the seven spruces, whipping them savagely. it was densely dark, darker than it would be an hour later when the moon swung over the tops of the mountain opposite the shack. there had been no storm for several days, but severe cold, so that on top of a strong crust a light snow drifted about continually. "i'm satisfied to leave the skin on the brutes if they'll agree to leave mine on me!" laughed ross in answer to leslie. "guess you're a better sport, less, than i am." leslie shook his head. "aw, i'm no sport," he disclaimed in a pleased tone. "if i ever think i am i shall remember the first night the wolves came." he was rubbing his head reminiscently when, suddenly, there came an unexpected sound from the neighborhood of the window. there was a thump against the outer logs, followed by the splinter of glass and the inward rush of cold air. this was immediately succeeded by a hasty scraping noise in the midst of which leslie sprang to his feet shouting: "wolves! quick, ross, the door!" while leslie sprang to the gun hung on pegs against the logs near the door, ross fumbled at the door fastenings and, in a moment, both boys were out in front in the clearing that they had shoveled in front of the door and window. the sound was rapidly retreating down the side of the slope toward the seven spruces. eagerly the boys ran toward the spruces, which, in the darkness, merely made a darker spot below them. from the midst of the trees came the scratching sound on the crust. throwing the gun to his shoulder leslie excitedly fired again and again in the direction of the rapidly receding sounds. "there!" he exclaimed when the chambers of the gun were emptied. "of course i haven't hit anything, but i have the satisfaction of knowing i've shot at a wolf, at least!" chapter xviii a humiliating discovery returning to the cabin, the boys excitedly split up a box and, binding the dry splinters together, thrust one end into the stove. a moment later, ross, brandishing this improvised torch, and followed by leslie, bearing the gun in hands none too steady, ran down to the seven spruces. this group of trees, full grown and broad limbed, interlocked their branches at the foot of the mountain in the path of the high winds which roared through the cañon as through a funnel between the high mountains. the trunks formed a windbreak for the storms that left their load of snow heaped to the branches on the upper side at the expense of the lower side where the crust was swept as clear of loose snow as though by a broom. here, in the shadow of these trees, leslie, despite his earnest protest to the contrary, half expected to see a wolf dead or wounded, but no wolf appeared. lowering the torch, the boys made their way warily around the trees and the drifts heaped to leeward. the pile of snow had not been disturbed, nor did they discover any tracks. "less, i'm not satisfied," exclaimed ross finally. "something broke that window and something ran down here. there's enough loose snow over this crust to show traces if----" here the speaker hastily interposed his body between a gust of wind and the flaring torch. "that's true," asserted leslie, "but the snow is so light that this wind has probably moved every particle of it since that window was broken, and this crust is too hard to show a track." ross uttered a sudden exclamation and plunged forward, the torch's head flaming against the crust. "quick, less, see here!" leslie sprang forward and bent over the torch. "blood!" he shouted. "i did hit him for sure! there is a--no, see here, ross, here are some more drops, a neat little collection! i must have hit hard. oh, we can track him now easily!" the telltale drops were scattered on the glistening face of the crust just below the trees. there was one splash of red and a few inches further along scattering drops. sweeping the crust with the torch the boys cautiously crossed the cañon taking care to test the crust with the heels of their shoes as they advanced. but, to their disappointment, no more blood appeared, and no further signs of life. slowly they zigzagged back and forth, searching and listening, but to no purpose. "he got away all right," said leslie in a voice of deep chagrin. "guess, after all, i must only have scratched him." "yes, but it's queer that a scratch would have produced that much blood and not another drop," returned ross puzzled. "such a wound would keep on bleeding for a few moments at least. we ought to find more traces right around here." convinced of the soundness of this reasoning, leslie urged another search. stopping long enough to make a fresh torch they returned to the blood spots and with them as a center carefully enlarged the circle of their search until they had again covered the surface, inch by inch, for yards around. "he must have stopped and licked the wound clean right here and then streaked it for the mountains," said leslie at last. ross shook his head obstinately. "i don't believe it. with your shots pattering around him he'd likely streak it for the mountains and attend to his wounds later--only in that case there would be more blood." discouraged and cold, the searchers returned to the cabin. nailing a box cover over the window, and barring the door again, they went to bed. the following morning dawned bright and still in the cañon of the seven spruces as the boys had named their home. tired out with the excitement and exertion of the previous night they overslept, and not until the sun had appeared above the eastern peaks were they ready for a further examination of the neighborhood of the blood spots. they searched as they had the previous evening and with no better results, until noon. then the unexpected happened! they had given up the hunt disgustedly and were returning to the shack for dinner, when passing to windward of the seven spruces, leslie chanced to pause beside the trunk of the outermost sentinel in the group. ross, in advance, turned and, simultaneously, the gaze of both boys fell on another evidence that leslie's gun had drawn blood the night before. half of each tree trunk was covered with snow and on the white envelope of the spruce beside which they stood appeared four red streaks lying parallel and a couple of inches away around the curve of the trunk a faint red blotch. the second of the four streaks contained the deepest stain. "i say, ross!" cried leslie. "less, here you are again!" ejaculated ross. for an instant they both stared at the tree trunk motionless. then ross, with a sudden narrowing of his eyes and upward tilt of his square chin, strode forward, drew off his mitten and extended his arm. the marks were shoulder high. leslie gave an exclamation as ross grasped the trunk, his four fingers covering the four streaks of blood, his thumb pressed on the fainter blotch. then his hand fell to his side. "a man!" gasped leslie. his face turned white. "ross, did i shoot a man?" "that would account for things," said ross slowly. he looked back. only a few feet intervened between the tree and the blood on the crust. "if you hurt his hand--and he steadied himself here at this tree, and then ran on--perhaps before he realized that he was hurt--and then staunched the flow in his mittens or on his clothes--anywhere----" "it was sandy!" exclaimed leslie. his voice was weak, also his knees. "or weston," added ross and scowled. "he--they were looking in the window----" began leslie. "and slipped and fell against the glass," added ross. only one more proof was needed to convince them that leslie had drawn human blood, and that proof they found where they had not thought to look previously--beneath the window. there, in the loose snow blown against the side of the shack, was the blurred impression of a snow-shoe. "i believe," said ross with conviction that night as they sat beside the fire with their door barred and the window securely shuttered, "i believe, less, that it was sandy and perhaps waymart, coming to see if weston had done his duty by us." "but where did they come from?" questioned leslie. "where are we? can they get over to meadow creek and from there here? or is there another way of getting here?" it was months before that persistent question was answered, months of a dull routine wherein the boys turned with more and more zeal to their studies. nights now, behind their barred door and shuttered window, they listened, not for wolves, but for the return of their human caller, but he did not come again. day after day they looked sharply for prints of snow-shoes, but looked in vain. gradually as the spring advanced, the wolves and coyotes retreated until the boys no longer carried the gun on their wood-cutting excursions. "i guess sue will not see a wolf skin this year," leslie complained in march. "even in that i have failed." ross, standing over the stove frying bacon, glanced over his shoulder. "brace up, less," he gibed. "there's one thing you haven't failed in, nor i either. we've got outside of more anatomy and physiology and----" "that's so," leslie interrupted brightening. "i've found out what i want to do--after i've made my peace with father," soberly. "i guess he'll not make any objections to a doctor in the family. it strikes me," lugubriously, "that he'll be pleased to find out that i want to be anything!" march gave place to april, finally; but in the mountains april showers do not have the effect they are popularly supposed to have elsewhere, the showers being great downfalls of snow alternating with thaws which threatened to turn the entire cañon into a river and brought to their ears daily the thunder of the snowslides. by the first of may the tops of the tallest willows began to appear, but the boys knew that the roots would not be visible for six weeks yet, so long does winter linger among the shoshones. on the mountainside above timber-line bowlders began to push aside their dense white covering. but with the softening of the great body of snow, the inhabitants of the cañon became more closely confined than ever. it was well that the hot sun did away with the necessity for a fire during the day, because the boys were able to cut and shovel their way only to the nearest trees. "things are getting worse instead of better," said leslie gloomily one day when may was two weeks old. the boys sat in the doorway in the red glow of a warm sunset. at their feet, only a few yards away, the narrow cañon was transformed into a river choked with ice and snow and mud flowing sluggishly among the willows. for weeks the boys had looked in vain for the subsidence of the water. on the steep slope of the mountain opposite lay a mass of wet heavy snow waiting for its turn to come to plunge into the cañon. ross, his eyes on this slope, gave a rueful laugh. "less, if only we had such a charge of dynamite now as we set off under soapweed ledge we might have a little fun across there." "fun!" echoed leslie miserably. "never connect that piece of foolishness with the word 'fun.' if it hadn't been for that shot we probably would have been in meadow creek valley now hard at work." ross gazed gloomily up the river-like cañon. he wondered whether the trail from miners' camp to meadow creek was clear yet, and whether the mckenzies had returned to the valley; for in three weeks weimer's fifth year of work on the claims would close. he chafed with impatience at the delay necessitated by that slowly moving stream. with the cañon clear, the boys had determined to start out and follow its windings until they came to--somewhere. late one afternoon of that same week ross sat studying beneath the window while leslie was out trying to force a path to a fine spruce tree that promised good fire-wood. the sun had long since hidden his face behind the mountain against which the cabin rested, but his rays turned the snow on the peaks opposite to gold. the day had been warm. the door stood open, and the fire was almost out. near the doorway, and only a few feet from a solid bank of ice, blossomed a profusion of forget-me-nots and yellow wild asters. the breeze which rocked their petals was the breeze of summer that, nevertheless, carried the tang of the ice and snow over which it passed. suddenly ross, deep in his book, heard a sound, the crunching of the pine cones and boughs with which the ground was strewn. a moment later a shadow moved across his book. he sprang to his feet, the book falling to the floor, and confronted a man in the doorway. the man was middle-aged, large, and stoop-shouldered. his face was burned and bearded and furrowed, but astonishment was stamped on every feature and furrow. "hello!" he greeted ross, as one familiar with his surroundings greets a stranger. he stepped inside with that air of assurance which proclaims ownership. his eyes left ross, and swept the shack. "what----" he began, and suddenly stopped, his gaze traveling back curiously to the boy. "what----" he began again, but got no further. ross was the first one to complete a question, and it was an eager one. "where did you come from?" "cody," returned the stranger, reciprocating with "and you?" "meadow creek." "meadow creek!" in surprise. "is the trail open now?" ross shook his head. "i don't know. i came last january." "january!" the stranger stared, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "do ye mean t' tell me ye've been here sence january?" "ever since then." briefly but excitedly ross told the story of his coming. the stranger, listening, leaned back against the door-post. successively he removed his cap, scratched his head, and contracted his bushy eyebrows. when ross finished he was grinning in grim humor. "young man," he began slowly, "this here is wood river cañon. ye're only seven miles from miners' camp. ye could 'a' hoofed it down t' gale's ridge in two hours on top of any crust that would 'a' held ye up." stepping to the door ross raised a chagrined voice, "leslie, ho, less! come here!" the boy's unexpected and welcome visitor was terry brown, the owner of several adjacent coal claims. he had gone out of the mountains the first of december, his preparations for departure consisting merely in closing the door of his shack. he had expected to open it in june on the same furnishings and provisions which he had left. "i see how it was," brown began as the three talked things over that evening. "that 'ere weston waits fer a storm a-purpose. then he takes ye a pretty chase around and up and among them little peaks over at the head waters of meadow creek until he gits ye so mixed up that ye don't know east from west. then he slides ye over the cliff, and lands ye in here; and you, thinkin' ye're miles away from ye don't know where, with a heap o' danger spots between ye and anywheres, jest naturally sets down here and behaves yerself. it was the only sensible thing to do," added brown approvingly. "but in the face of the facts it doesn't look sensible now!" ross burst out. [illustration: "the crooked trail that deceived ross"] "no," meditatively, "but without knowin' any of the facts, and with no way t' know 'em, you acted with sense, plain hoss sense. but that 'ere weston, he sure done you dirt, all right." ross's fists doubled involuntarily. seeing this, brown's voice changed. "better fergit it, son. chuck the hull matter. ye've lost and they've won; and, if what i hear of the mckenzies is true, it won't do ye no good t' keep thinkin' of this. and when ye git down t' camp i wouldn't tell the first man i seen about this, nuther----" "because," leslie broke in hotly, "they'd laugh at us for staying here so near camp all winter." brown made no reply, but a slow grin expressed his opinion. "i say, less," ross broke out, "we don't look any bigger to ourselves than we did when we found out what that blast under the ledge had done for us, do we?" but leslie did not hear. he sat with his elbows on his knees scowling down at the floor. "if we're that near camp," he reasoned, "it was surely one of the mckenzies that came up to see if we were here yet that night that i fired. he chose a night, you remember, when the snow was light and the crust icy. no tracks left for us to follow." their visitor asked for no explanation to this. he was studying ross's face intently as the boy sat leaning forward, his hands clasped around his knees. "i say!" the older man broke out suddenly. "ye look almighty like a feller that rode up in the stage from meeteetse yisterday--almighty like 'im. they was two of 'em. they got out at amos steele's." "where did they come from?" asked ross absently. "i dunno. sheepy luther said they was easterners." "sheepy luther!" exclaimed ross. "i know sheepy. his wagon set on the hill just back of the stage camp when i was there with weston." "is that so? wall, sheepy is down on his luck. he's too old t' chase sheep, and last winter he lost five hundred or thereabouts; so he got his walkin' papers. he come up yisterday. stopped at steele's t' try t' git a job with the gale's ridge company. steele may take 'im on to wrangle the hosses, but he can't do more'n a boy's work. he's done fer; only he don't know it." in the pause which followed brown again studied ross. "this feller," he began again suddenly, "was a bigger man than ye be; but i vum, ye're alike even t' the way ye squint up yer eyes and mouth, 'n'----" ross came to his feet alertly, his interest at last aroused. "his name?" he demanded eagerly. brown shook his head. "didn't hear no names except the front ones. they called each other 'ross' 'n' 'fred.'" "uncle fred and father!" shouted ross excitedly. "they came up yesterday, you say, and stopped at gale's ridge!" chapter xix an unexpected victory the boy's first feeling of joy was immediately succeeded by a deep chagrin. probably his father had come on to complete the legal process for securing a clear title to the claims, and had brought dr. grant with him, and ross must confront them with news of failure rather than victory. he winced when he thought of the expression of disappointment which he felt sure would sweep over his father's face, especially when his father learned that the way to failure had lain in part through the boy's exercise of his medical knowledge. "there's my snow-shoes," he heard brown saying, and the words brought him out of his reverie back to the present at once. "to-morrer ye better hoof it down t' camp and meet up with yer relation." "that's right, ross," urged leslie. "i'll stay here until you can bring more shoes back. in that case," cheerfully, "you see i'll get the better bargain because you'll have to take the brunt----" he paused abruptly. "yes, the brunt of the ridicule," added ross grimly. "we may as well look the thing squarely in the face. i'm pretty hot inside, and i shall probably boil over at sight of the mckenzies, but--they've made us ridiculous instead of laying themselves open to prosecution." "except weston," leslie burst out significantly. "wait till i get hold of father!" according to the plans laid, ross set out the following morning on the snow-shoes. following brown's directions, to keep to the side of the mountain, he threaded the windings of the cañon on reluctant feet, past the cliff whose dark face mocked him, over the treacherous rotting ice and packed snow, and finally emerged into the broader portion of the cañon which contained miners' camp. the cabins, deserted the previous december, were inhabited again. the sound of the woodchopper was in the air; and, as ross came into camp, a dull reverberating boom from the heart of dundee told that the mountain company's mining operations were resumed. but so intent was he on the thought of meeting his father and uncle that these sights and sounds did not fill him with the joy he had imagined they would give. he even failed to notice a man standing in the doorway of a shack, scanning crosby, on whose steep face the snow still hung in loosening masses. toward the shack came bill travers, the stage-driver between meeteetse and miners' camp. "wall, beat me," cried the man in the doorway, "if here ain't doc!" ross flashed around and faced sandy mckenzie. sandy's hands were rammed into his pockets; but his sun-burned face was smiling an unruffled welcome, and his voice rang pleasantly. "how," sandy inquired, "did ye get over here from medder creek?" ross instantly "boiled over" as he had feared he should, and said the very thing he had not intended to say. "you know how i got here! you know where i came from!" the stage-driver, joined by a second man, came nearer and paused. sandy pushed his hands yet deeper into his pockets, and looked amazingly innocent. "me!" he drawled. "what d'ye mean?" at the insolent tone ross's blood boiled. it hummed through his ears, deafening him to the sound of his own voice. what he said he never could recall beyond the general knowledge that he accused sandy of the theft of the dynamite and of his own and leslie's abduction across the mountains. and, when he paused to catch his breath and steady his voice, sandy was looking him over with an amused grin which maddened him. "now, ain't that a likely story?" he inquired. "kept ye a prisoner fer six months not five miles from camp on a trail that can be follered at any time in the year! ha, ha!" bill travers grinned faintly. the other man turned away with the corners of his mouth twitching, while sandy went on: "and as fer weston, he went to missoury the day after we left medder creek, and there he is now fer all i've heard." again sandy's laugh rang out as he added: "that story won't hold water. why didn't ye make up a----" here waymart appeared in the doorway of the shack. he scowled at ross, but his peremptory words were aimed at sandy: "see here! if we're goin' t' send that bundle down by grasshopper we've got t' make lively tracks in here, and ye ought t' know it!" "keep yer hair on tight, mart," laughed sandy. he turned, nevertheless, toward the door. as he did so, he mechanically withdrew his hands from his pockets and ross saw something which at once arrested his attention. the middle finger of sandy's right hand was gone! in a flash, memory showed ross the four blood streaks on the trunk of the spruce with the second streak the deepest in color. [illustration: you've paid for it.] with his anger still burning he snatched off his glove and held up his right hand triumphantly, the middle finger projecting. "well, anyway," he cried, "leslie ain't a bad shot. we may never prove that you put us in that hole, but you've paid for it, nevertheless!" sandy involuntarily doubled his right hand into a fist. he caught his under lip between his teeth and sent ross a black look as, wordlessly, he entered the shack and slammed the door behind him, leaving ross to tell the story of leslie's shot to two interested and excited men. "that accounts fer it," confirmed bill travers. "sandy and waymart they come up from cody along in february and when they clumb int' th' stage goin' back, sandy's hand was tied up. next thing i knowed when they come up with me t' other day, that finger was off clean to the hand, but sandy hain't never spoken of it." ross, leaving bill to talk the matter over with his companions, went on rapidly now down the cañon, his eyes narrowed and his chin protruding doggedly. one disagreeable scene was ended, and he was, perhaps, facing another. "i ought to be sorry that sandy lost a finger but--hanged if i am!" he burst out loud. he was anxious to have leslie know the result of his random shot. rounding a shoulder of gale's ridge, he came in sight of steele's shack. steele sat in the doorway. beside him, leaning against the logs of the shack's side, was a man in shirt-sleeves and cap, beneath which a rim of woolly gray hair projected. facing steele were two well dressed men, one in a tall silk hat, which appeared incongruous against its background of log shack and pine tree. ross, with narrowed eyes and compressed lips, plodded on. "i've done my best," he muttered defensively. "it's all a fellow can do; but, when that best is failure, why, it's not much consolation." then he raised his head, squared his shoulders, and doggedly faced the four in front of steele's cabin. ross grant, senior, had not come west to look after his claims, but after his son, with whom he felt he had but just begun an acquaintance. he had no difficulty in getting dr. grant to accompany him, reënforced as he was by an anxious aunt anne. it was true that both ross and steele had written that all communications with the former would be shut off for months. but, when the hot days of june came and brought no letter from the boy, as aunt anne said, "something must be done." that something was represented in the persons of the grant brothers in miners' camp. after the first greetings, tinged with amazement on the part of the four, ross backed up against a spruce, and, facing the others, proceeded to answer the questions with which they bombarded him. in half an hour they were in possession of the main facts in his life during the last six months. "the mckenzies all through," commented steele finally; "but--prove it!" "i've got to prove it!" declared ross violently; "i shall!" "ross,"--dr. grant's comment carried with it the pride and honor of his profession,--"if you're called upon to attend the sick, you must go. that's the duty of a physician, even before he receives his diploma. you did right." "i felt that way myself, uncle," returned ross quietly. "as soon as weimer opened the way, i never thought of not going, so long as there was no regular doctor within reach." ross grant, senior, looked his son over. there was no expression of disapproval on his face as he took the measure of this full-blooded, broad-shouldered, erect young man whose muscles had been hardened by wind and sun and work in the open. having completed his survey, ross, senior, smiled. "well, my boy," he remarked characteristically, "it took three good sized men to down you two boys, didn't it? and it must have cost them a heap of thinking into the bargain. shake, ross; i'm proud of you!" and ross, bewildered, shook hands with his father, his cheeks reddening with pleasure. "i--i never thought of it in that way before," he stammered. "but--that doesn't save the claims, and the fifth year is up next week, and uncle jake----" "don't you worry about uncle jake," interrupted his father meaningly. "we may lose the claims, but uncle jake will be provided for." "the first thing to do," interpolated steele, "is to root him out of meadow creek valley. i've never known the snow to hang so late to the side of crosby." that very night it ceased to "hang." at midnight every one in the shack was awakened. there was a cracking of trees, a long steady rush, and then a mighty and prolonged roar as the snow, under the influence of a swift warm wind, swept down the side of old crosby, and took the thousand-feet plunge into the ravine at the foot of the falls. the roar echoed against the sides of dundee and spar and sniffle, starting other though lesser slides until the cañon was filled with the confusion of sound. the following morning, steele, after investigation, found the trail around the shoulder of crosby swept clean, and at once proposed that they follow it to meadow creek. ross objected to starting until leslie reached them. steele had sent society bill up the cañon the previous evening with snow-shoes for the boy. but neither society bill nor leslie had appeared. ross's objections were, therefore, overruled by the older men. "leave word in the upper camp for him to follow us when he comes," steele suggested, "and we'll start right away. we shall have to foot it, too, for no horse can make it yet." the sheep-herder, who had shared steele's hospitality over night, shouldered his blankets, observing that he was going over with them to see his friend weimer, and find out what was "doin' on the creek." there were others of the same mind also, as the party from steele's shack found when they reached the foot of crosby. just ahead of them, so engrossed in their climbing that they did not look back, were sandy and waymart. slowly, to accommodate the older grants, the party moved up the trail, slippery with mud and snow, their way obstructed by rocks and tree trunks. sandy and waymart, ahead, were obliged to move slowly also; for to their lot fell the removal of any obstacles too large to surmount, and the snow and landslide of the previous night had left many such. around the shoulder, however, the trail was intact, the mountain being so steep at this point that the slide had leaped clear of the trail and projected itself headlong into the gorge below. an hour later ross called back to his father and uncle, who were puffing along, breathless and tired and dizzy: "we'll be in sight of the dump in ten minutes. it's just around the spur of the mountain there." then, unable to restrain his impatience and anxiety longer, he ran on ahead of steele, keeping a short distance between himself and the mckenzies. the mckenzies, however, seemed no more anxious to enjoy his society than he did to enjoy theirs. sandy, for once, omitted his usual pleasantries, an omission easy to account for whenever ross thought of the missing middle finger of his right hand. hearing footsteps behind him, ross glanced around. steele had left the others, and was following on a run. the mckenzies pushed on without looking back, and neither steele nor ross spoke. in silence, then, the four approached the spur. but before they reached the dump that silence was most unexpectedly broken. out of the open mouth of the tunnel rolled a volume of sound, then another and another. ross in his surprise, his head thrown back as he scanned the dump, nearly fell over a mass of newly mined ore which blocked the main trail. then he caught a glimpse of weimer shielding his eyes from the sun with both hands, waiting for the effects of the explosions in the tunnel to subside. and, leaning against the tool house, his hands in his pockets, his head bent forward, was another man, the sight of whom caused a great illumination in ross's mind. "weston!" he shouted. "weston!" the two men on the dump came to the edge, and looked over. the mckenzies on the trail ahead halted. the grants with the sheep-herder drew nearer. weimer, squinting, recognized ross. he took off his cap, and waved it as wildly as a boy. "the vork," he yelled, "ist done! it ist done dese two veeks. me und miller here, ve ist vorkin' now joost for de fun!" weston gave one glance at sandy and waymart, and without speaking went back to the tunnel. ross was after him with a bound, scrambling up over the dump, followed by the others, who were infected by his excitement. he ran to weston with both hands outstretched. "weston," he shouted, "you did this!" "veston!" exclaimed uncle jake. "dot ist miller. he has been mit me all der spring." "i told him," muttered weston, extending his hand to ross, but turning away shamefacedly, "that you two boys had taken my place with my sick pard, while i was to stay by him." ross pumped the big hand up and down. "father," he cried excitedly, "he has saved our claims." weston tried to liberate his hand. he stole a glance at sandy and waymart, who had stopped just beyond the dump. "doc here"--he spoke to the group who surrounded him--"saved me first. i had that little business to pay for, but"--his tone sank to a mutter--"i thought i could pay it and git away to missoury before sandy found out what i was up to here----" he was interrupted by sandy's voice from the trail, and the voice was harsh and vengeful. "better come over to our shack, lon. i want a little talk with ye about old man quinn. he's wantin' t' see ye powerful bad." at the name the sheep-herder, who had been standing stupidly staring at weston, woke up. "old man quinn," he began. "a feller in cody told me----" but no one was paying any attention to him. sandy and waymart moved on slowly toward their cabin, talking and gesticulating excitedly, evidently in disagreement. for the present no one undeceived weimer in regard to miller. "he come pack in all dot storm," weimer exulted, "und mit me vas." weston looked away, but steele cried, "good work, man," clapping him warmly on the shoulder. then he added boyishly: "i'm hungry as a bear! got any grub left?" "yes," answered weston quietly, "plenty. come on down all of you, and i'll rustle some flapjacks and coffee." they started down the trail, weston and ross in advance. at the mention of "old man quinn" ross's elation had subsided. he looked at weston out of the corner of his eye. the other's eyes were downcast and his face pale beneath its sunburn. his hair was of a peculiar color, light at the roots and dark at the ends. he had evidently forgotten to bring his hair dye to meadow creek. the older man spoke first. his voice was low and his words halting. "i had to take you across the mountain and leave you there," he explained briefly. "sandy was behind the cabin when we got there. i couldn't fool 'im about you, but i did about myself; and, if you all had put off comin' over a day longer, i could have got away out of sandy's reach." as he spoke, weston's hand involuntarily crept up to his breast pocket. it fell again, however, as he added in a mutter as though to himself: "and less--i had to take 'im over too--for my own good. but it's all up now and i've got to face it out." just behind them came the sheep-herder, his thoughts reverting to a subject on which he had tried once to speak. now he saw an opportunity. "ye must 'a' known of old man quinn then," he called to weston. "didn't ye?" weston stumbled. he caught himself, but the movement saved him from the necessity of an answer. "wall," the sheep-herder went on, almost running in order to keep up with the pace weston had set, "i met happy in cody t' other day, and happy said old man quinn had pinched the fourth puncher that druv his sheep----" "what?" shouted weston. he swung around so suddenly that the sheep-herder ran full tilt against him. "what?" weston shouted again. he seized the amazed and terrified sheepy, and held him by the arms in a vise that made the man wince. "say that again." "s-say what?" faltered sheepy. "what about the fourth? tell me!" with every word weston, his eyes ablaze, his lips drawn back over strong white teeth, gave the old sheep-herder a convulsive shake. "w-why," the old man quavered, "happy, he said that a feller down in oklahomy, name of burns, went and give himself up to old man quinn. he said he was the feller the old man was after--that he was the fourth who done the business with the sheep. but because he owned up the jedge give 'im only six months----" weston suddenly pushed the sheep-herder from him, his face working convulsively. "then i wasn't in it!" he cried. "sandy said i was, but i wasn't!" offering no further explanation to his astonished hearers, he turned toward the mckenzie shack on a run; and for a couple of hours they saw no more of him. it was a busy time for ross, who promptly took weston's place "rustling grub." but, as he worked, his thoughts wonderingly circled around weston's strange actions. the fourth man was found and it was not weston--yet weston, it would appear, had believed himself to be the guilty party! it was too deep a puzzle for ross. as the boy worked he kept a watchful eye on the trail for leslie. surely the latter would come down to camp that morning and receive the word ross had left him at the post-office. steele, who had stayed behind long enough to examine the tunnel, confirmed weimer's statement that more than enough work had been done to cover the requirements of the law. weimer, jubilant, sat and talked to his old-time "pard," whose voice answered him, but whose satisfied gaze followed ross. but it was to the man who had stood in the place of a father to him that ross's eyes turned most frequently. dr. grant sat, appropriately, on the emergency chest, looking affectionately at his energetic nephew. suddenly ross picked up a tin cup full of water from the table, and held it out at arm's length toward his uncle. dr. grant smiled. "all right, ross," he said quietly. ross, senior, looked from one to the other inquiringly. ross, junior, answered; but he turned his back on his father, and spoke hesitatingly. "i was showing uncle, father, that my hand is still steady enough to be the hand of a first class--surgeon." promptly and heartily came the unexpected response from the elder grant. "i'm glad of that, ross, for i shall look to see you as successful in your profession as you have been in my business," and he turned at once to weimer, and went on speaking. "suppose," he was saying, "as long as you want to stay here, you get your friend"--he indicated the sheep-herder--"to come and live with you. i'm going to buy out ross's interest in the shares, and i'll look to you to keep 'em in good shape--you and your friend--until we get a chance to sell well. of course," he added carelessly, "i'll grub-stake you and more, both of you." sheepy's eyes lighted, and weimer grinned and slapped his knee. they were the only signs necessary to complete the bargain. after dinner, as ross arose from the table, he saw leslie hurrying down the trail. ross went to meet him. "hello, ross!" leslie called in a voice which he tried to make matter-of-fact, but which bubbled over with jubilation. "i stopped in at the post-office and got your word and a letter from dad. it's only a month old! he thinks we're mewed up over here, you know, working your claims. and he says he and sue want me to come home as soon as i get this letter. he says if i'm willing to work he'll give me better wages than i can get anywhere else! he doesn't know yet," here leslie grinned broadly, "that i want to do now the very thing he has fought all my life to make me do--go to school. that doctor business has sort of sunk in. but say, ross, here's a thing that bothers me." leslie pulled the letter from his pocket and read: "'a few days ago i got hold of the fourth man that ran my sheep off into the river two years ago. the fellow came and gave himself up to me.'" the reader looked up tentatively. "ross, if it was weston dad would have said----" ross's hand descended on the other's shoulder in a mighty whack as he shouted: "it isn't weston. now you listen and give me an inning on the talk!" for half an hour they stood outside the shack while ross got his inning--sandy's hand, the work, weston's strange actions were all reviewed hurriedly and listened to excitedly. then, seeing weston approaching, the boys went inside. weston crossed the valley slowly, looking down at something which he held in the palm of his hand, something in a small gilt frame that he slipped into his breast pocket when he entered the shack. completely absorbed in his own thoughts--cheerful thoughts too, apparently--he went directly to his bunk, and began gathering his few possessions together not noticing that the group had been augmented by leslie. "i guess," he explained abstractedly, "that i'll go on at once--i'm going to oklahoma and not missouri." then he looked over his shoulder at the sheep-herder, adding abstractedly: "waymart says i ain't the fourth, and never was. he's been makin' up his mind to tell me this good while." the blank expression on the sheep-herder's face brought weston back to a sense of his surroundings. "i forgot," he muttered turning to ross, who stood beside the bunk, "that you may not know about this quinn business." leslie stepped forward quickly, but paused as he saw weston was oblivious of his presence. "i know a good deal about it," exclaimed ross impulsively, "and i wish i knew the rest--your part of it." weston leaned against the bunk, his back toward the silent room, his eyes downcast. he made the explanation with visible reluctance. "you see, doc, i used to drink; and when i had two or three glasses down, i'd go out of my head; and when i had come to myself again i wouldn't know a blooming thing that had happened while i was drunk. but all the time i could ride straight and talk straight and shoot straight." he paused to moisten his lips. leslie came a step nearer. "well," weston continued, "to make a long story short, i was foreman on a cattle ranch in oklahoma two years ago. sandy and mart came around wanting a job, and i gave 'em one on the same ranch. then came the big round-up at north fork--and there was trouble between the sheep and cattle men." weston hesitated and looked down. he raised his hand to his breast pocket and let it fall at his side. "the night the round-up ended most of us--got drunk." he paused, shook himself impatiently, and hurried on: "i didn't go with the rest intending to drink--but i did, what with treating and all that. and when i come to myself, sandy told me i was one of the men who had done the job on the quinn sheep. and, knowing what i am when drunk, i believed him and cleared out with him and mart over the texas line, and----" his hand traveled to his hair completing the sentence. "i see!" exclaimed ross excitedly; "and since then sandy has held that over you." weston nodded. "i was sick of drink, but i got sick of it too late, you see. i'd put a lasso round my own neck just when i most wanted to be free." his hand again wandered toward his breast pocket. "but now," he added, "i am free." he lifted his head proudly and turning, was aware for the first time of leslie's presence. as the hands of the two met ross strode across the room and began speaking loudly and at random to the others, leaving sue's lover and sue's brother to talk alone. presently, however, unable to restrain the question longer, ross turned again on weston. "sandy stole our sticks, didn't he?" he demanded, "and planned the whole thing to get rid of me?" weston turned slowly back to his bunk. for a moment he fumbled among the blankets in silence. then he faced about again resolutely. "say, doc, you have your claims here secure, haven't you, and sandy has lost 'em?" "yes, thanks to you." "and you've got outside of enough of those books so you can go to college next year, eh?" "yes, again thanks to you!" "and," here weston glanced at leslie, "sandy has dropped a finger somewhere in the game." leslie could not restrain a look of exultation. "yes." "well, then, let this thing drop, will you? sandy hain't all to the bad. he's pulled me out of as many holes as he's chucked me into; and i--well, i--say, doc, call it square, will you?" ross glanced from his father to his uncle and then at steele. a glance satisfied him. stepping forward, he extended his hand. "it's square, weston, and i'll let everything go except--i can't forget that you've pulled me out of a pretty big hole--the worst one i ever dropped into." the books of this series are: ross grant, tenderfoot ross grant, gold hunter frank merriwell's triumph or the disappearance of felicia by burt l. standish author of _the world-renowned "merriwell stories"_ published exclusively in paper-covered edition in the new medal library street & smith, publishers - seventh ave., new york city copyright, by street & smith frank merriwell's triumph all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian. publisher's note very few of our readers have any idea of the task that the growing popularity of the s. & s. novel imposes upon us. we don't refer to the mere manual labor of manufacturing, but to the vast expenditure of time, money and energy necessary to keep the quality of our lines up to the high standard that we have educated our readers to demand. in order that the s. & s. novel may continue to be all that we claim for it, we have invaded cloth-book fields and have made arrangements with several well-known publishers to print exclusive editions of books by famous authors--books about whose great merit there is not a single doubt. the s. & s. novel has prospered mightily and for that reason we can well afford to give our readers that literature that is acceptable to every man and woman who seeks mental relaxation after a hard day's work at the office, store or factory. the s. & s. novels are great popular educators, reaching, as they do, every city and hamlet in this vast country of ours, instilling a desire to read in thousands of persons who would have cared nothing for literature if they had not become aware of the wholesome, unalloyed pleasure that the s. & s. novels afford. please send for our complete catalogue showing the s. & s. . street & smith, publishers new york "alger" what a pleasant sound the name of horatio alger, jr., has to boys who read clean, wholesome stories of adventure! his name on a book means that it is a "good one"; that the money invested in it is well invested. street & smith publish the most complete list of his works in their famous s. & s. novels--it contains nearly all of them. if you want your boys to read helpful books, buy the "algers" in the medal and new medal libraries. price, c. and c. per copy at all newsdealers if sent by mail, add four cents per copy to cover postage. complete catalogue upon request. street & smith, publishers, new york contents i. a compact of rascals. ii. days of retribution. iii. the map vanishes. iv. the night watch. v. wiley's disappearance. vi. wiley meets miss fortune. vii. a startling telegram. viii. felipe dulzura. ix. what the monk told them. x. three in a trap. xi. ruffians at odds. xii. a lively fistic bout. xiii. macklyn morgan appears. xiv. the messenger. xv. a desperate situation. xvi. crowfoot makes medicine. xvii. how the medicine worked. xviii. a bunch of prisoners. xix. the valley of desolation. xx. the finding of the babes. xxi. the lottery of death. xxii. an act of treachery. xxiii. new riches promised. xxiv. what happened to dick. xxv. how was it done? xxvi. forced to write. xxvii. complete triumph. frank merriwell's triumph. chapter i. a compact of rascals. they were dangerous-looking men, thirty of them in all, armed to the teeth. they looked like unscrupulous fellows who would hesitate at no desperate deed. some of them had bad records, and yet they had served frank merriwell faithfully in guarding his mine, the queen mystery, against those who tried to wrest it from him by force and fraud. frank had called these men together, and he now stood on his doorstep in mystery valley, arizona, looking them over. bart hodge, frank's college chum and companion in many adventures, was behind him in the doorway. little abe, a hunchback boy whom merriwell had rescued from ruffians at a mining camp and befriended for some time, peered from the cabin. merry smiled pleasantly as he surveyed the men. "well, boys," he said, "the time has come when i shall need your services no longer." some of them stirred restlessly and looked regretful. "to tell you the truth," frank went on, "i am genuinely sorry to part with you. you have served me well. but i need you no more. my enemies have been defeated, and the courts have recognized my rightful claim to this property. you fought for me when it was necessary. you risked your lives for me." "that's what we is paid for, mr. merriwell," said tombstone phil, the leader. "we tries to earn our money." "you have earned it, every one of you. i remember the day we stood off a hundred painted ruffians in the desert; i remember the hunting of jim rednight; and i don't forget that when hodge and i stood beneath a tree near phoenix, with ropes about our necks, that you charged to the rescue and saved us. have i paid you in a satisfactory manner?" "sure thing!" "you bet!" "that's whatever!" "you don't hear us kick any!" "we're satisfied!" these exclamations were uttered by various men in the gathering. "i am glad to know, boys," declared frank, "that you are all satisfied. if you must leave me, i like to have you leave feeling that you have been treated on the square." "mr. merriwell," said mexican bob, a wizened little man, "i ken chew up the galoot what says you ain't plumb on the level. thar's nary a critter in the bunch whatever makes a murmur about you." "you can see, boys," frank went on, "that i have no further use for you as a guard to my property. if any of you wish to remain, however, i shall try to find employment for you. there's work enough to be done here, although it may not be the sort of work you care to touch. i need more men in the mine. you know the wages paid. it's hard work and may not be satisfactory to any of you." the men were silent. "as we are parting," merry added, "i wish to show my appreciation of you in a manner that will be satisfactory to you all. for that purpose i have something to distribute among you. hand them out, hodge." bart stepped back and reappeared some moments later loaded down with a lot of small canvas pouches. "come up one at a time, boys," invited merry, as he began taking these from bart. "here you are, phil." he dropped the first pouch into tombstone phil's hand, and it gave forth a musical, clinking sound that made the eyes of the men sparkle. one by one they filed past the doorstep, and into each outstretched hand was dropped a clinking canvas pouch, each one of which was heavy enough to make its recipient smile. when the last man had received his present, they gathered again in front of the door, and suddenly tombstone phil roared: "give up a youp, boys, for the whitest man on two legs, frank merriwell!" they swung their hats in the air and uttered a yell that awoke the echoes of the valley. "thanks, men," said merry quietly. "i appreciate that. as long as you desire to remain in mystery valley you are at liberty to do so; when you wish to depart you can do so, also. so-long, boys. good luck to you." he waved his hand, and they answered with another sharp yell. then they turned and moved away, declaring over and over among themselves that he was the "whitest man." one of those who repeated this assertion a number of times was a leathery, bowlegged, bewhiskered individual in greasy garments known as hull shawmut. if anything, shawmut seemed more pleased and satisfied than his companions. the only one who said nothing at all was kip henry, known as "the roper," on account of his skill in throwing the lariat. henry was thin, supple, with a small black mustache, and in his appearance was somewhat dandified, taking great satisfaction in bright colors and in fanciful mexican garments. he wore a peaked mexican hat, and his trousers were slit at the bottom, mexican style. several times shawmut glanced at henry, noting his lack of enthusiasm. when the thirty retired to their camp down the valley and lingered there, henry sat apart by himself, rolling and smoking a cigarette and frowning at the ground. "what's the matter, pard?" asked shawmut, clapping him on the shoulder. "didn't yer git yer little present?" "yes, i got it," nodded the roper. "then what's eating of yer?" "well, shawmut, i am a whole lot sorry this yere job is ended. that's what's the matter. it certain was a snap." "that's right," agreed kip, sitting down near the other. "we gits good pay for our time, and we works none to speak of. it certain was a snap. howsomever, such snaps can't last always, partner. do you opine we've got any kick coming?" "the only thing i was a-thinking of," answered kip, "is that here we fights to keep this yere mine for him, we takes chances o' being called outlaws, and--now the job is done--we gits dropped. you knows and i knows that this yere mine is a mighty rich one. why don't we have the luck to locate a mine like that? why should luck always come to other galoots?" "i ain't explaining that none," confessed shawmut, as he filled his pipe. "luck is a heap singular. one night i bucks jimmy clerg's bank down in tucson. i never has much luck hitting the tiger, nohow. this night things run just the same. i peddles and peddles till i gits down to my last yeller boy. if i loses that i am broke. i has a good hoss and outfit, and so i says, 'here goes.' well, she does go. jim's dealer he rakes her in. i sets thar busted wide. when i goes into that place i has eight hundred in my clothes. in less than an hour i has nothing. "clerg he comes ambling along a-looking the tables over. i sees him, and i says: 'jim, how much you let me have on my hoss and outfit?' 'what's it wurth?' says he. 'three hundred, cold,' says i. 'that goes,' says he. and he lets me have the coin. then i tackles the bank again, and i keeps right on peddling. yes, sir, i gits down once more to my last coin. this is where i walks out of the saloon on my uppers. all the same, i bets the last red. i wins. right there, kip, my luck turns. arter that it didn't seem i could lose nohow. pretty soon i has all the chips stacked up in front of me. i cashes in once or twice and keeps right on pushing her. i knows luck is with me, and i takes all kinds o' long chances. well, pard, when i ambles out of the place at daylight the bank is busted and i has all the ready coin of the joint. that's the way luck works. you gits it in the neck a long time; but bimeby, when she turns, she just pours in on yer." "but it don't seem any to me that my luck is going to turn," muttered the roper. "mebbe you takes a little walk with me," said shawmut significantly. "mebbe i tells you something some interesting." they arose and walked away from the others, so that their talk might not be heard. "did you ever hear of benson clark?" asked shawmut. "clark? clark? why, i dunno. seems ter me i hears o' him." "i knows him well once. he was a grubstaker. but his is hard luck and a-plenty of it. all the same, he keeps right on thinking sure that luck changes for him. something like two years ago i loses track of him. i never sees him any since. but old bense he hits it rich at last. somewhere in the mazatzals he located a claim what opens rich as mud. some indians off their reservation finds him there, and he has to run for it. he gits out of the mountains, but they cuts him off and shoots him up. his luck don't do him no good, for he croaks. but right here is where another lucky gent comes in. this other gent he happens along and finds old bense, and bense he tells him about the mine and gives him a map. now, this other lucky gent he proposes to go and locate that mine. he proposes to do this, though right now he owns two of the best mines in the whole country. mebbe you guesses who i'm talking about." "why," exclaimed henry, "you don't mean mr. merriwell, do yer?" "mebbe i does," answered shawmut, glancing at his companion slantwise. "now, what do yer think of that?" "what do i think of it?" muttered the roper. "well, i will tell yer. i think it's rotten that all the luck is to come to one gent. i think mr. merriwell has a-plenty and he can do without another mine." "just what i thinks," agreed shawmut. "i figgers it out that way myself. but he has a map, and that shows him where to find old bense's claim." "see here," said kip, stopping short, "how do you happen to know so much about this?" "well, mebbe i listens around some; mebbe i harks a little; mebbe i finds it out that way." "i see," said henry, in surprise; "but i never thinks it o' you. you seem so satisfied-like i reckons you don't bother any." "mebbe i plays my cards slick and proper," chuckled shawmut. "you sees i don't care to be suspected now." "what do you propose to do?" "well, partner, if i tells you, does you opine you're ready to stick by me?" "share even and i am ready for anything," was the assurance. "mr. merriwell he proposes hiking out soon to locate that thar claim o' benson clark's. i am none in a hurry about getting away from here, so i lingers. when he hikes i follers. when he locates the claim mebbe he has to leave it; mebbe i jump it; mebbe i gits it recorded first. if he don't suspect me any, if he don't know i'm arter it, he don't hurry any about having it recorded. that gives me time to get ahead of him. if you're with me in this, we goes even on the claim. it's a heap resky, for this yere merriwell is dangerous to deal with. is it settled?" "yere's my hand," said kip henry. shawmut clasped the proffered hand, and the compact was made. chapter ii. days of retribution. when merry had dismissed the men, he turned back into the cabin and sat down near the table. "well, that's the end of that business, bart," he said. "yes," nodded hodge, sitting opposite. "i congratulate you on the way you handled those men, merry. no one else could have done it as well. if ever i saw a collection of land pirates, it was that bunch." frank smiled. "they were a pretty tough set," he confessed; "but they were just the men i needed to match the ruffians sukes set against me." milton sukes was the chief conspirator against frank in the schemes to deprive him of the queen mystery mine. "sukes will hire no more ruffians," said hodge. "i should say not. he has perpetrated his last piece of villainy. he has gone before the judgment bar on high." "and the last poor wretch he deluded is an imbecile." "poor worthington!" said merry. "i fear he will never be right again. it was his bullet that destroyed sukes, yet no man can prove it. what he suffered after that during his flight into the desert, where he nearly perished for water, completely turned his brain." "you want to look out for him, frank. i think he is dangerous." merry laughed. "ridiculous, hodge! he is as harmless as a child. when i let him, he follows me about like a dog." even as frank said this, a crouching figure came creeping to the door and peered in. it was a man with unshaven, haggard face and eyes from which the light of reason had fled. "there he is!" exclaimed this man. "there is my ghost! do you want me, ghost?" "come in, worthington!" called frank. the man entered hesitatingly and stood near the table, never taking his eyes from merry's face for a moment. "what you command, ghost, i must obey," he said. "you own me, body and soul. ha! ha! body and soul! but i have no soul! i bartered it with a wretch who deceived me! i was an honest man before that! perhaps you don't believe me, but i swear i was. you must believe me! it's a terrible thing to be owned by a ghost who has no confidence in you. but why should my ghost have confidence! didn't i deceive him? didn't i kill him? i see it now. i see the fire! it is burning--it is burning there! he has found me as i am setting it. he springs upon me! he is strong--so strong! ha! his feet slip! down he goes! his head strikes! he is unconscious!" the wretch seemed living over the terrible experiences through which he had passed on a certain night in denver, when he set fire to merriwell's office and tried to burn frank to death. he thought he had accomplished his purpose, and the appearance of his intended victim alive had turned his brain. as he listened hodge shivered a little. "never mind, worthington," said frank. "he is all right. he will escape from the fire." "no, no, no!" gasped the man, wringing his hands. "see him lying there! see the fire flashing on his face! see the smoke! it is coming thick. i must go! i must leave him. it is a fearful thing to do! but if he escapes he will destroy me. he will send me to prison, and i must leave him to die!" he covered his eyes with his hands, as if to shut out a terrible spectacle. "no one sees me!" he whispered. "here are the stairs! it is all dark--all dark! i must get out quick, before the fire is discovered. i have done it! i am on the street! i mustn't run! if i run they will suspect me. i will walk fast--walk fast!" merry glanced at hodge and sadly shook his head. "now the engines are coming!" exclaimed the deranged man. "hear them as they clang and roar along the streets! see the people run! see the horses galloping! they are coming to try to put out the fire. what if they do it in time to save him! then he will tell them of my treachery! then he will send me to prison! i must see--i must know! i must go back there!" "he shall not send you to prison, worthington," asserted merry soothingly. "he shall be merciful to you." "why should he? here is the burning building. here are the engines, panting and throbbing. see! they pour streams of water on the building. no use! it is too late; you cannot save him. he is dead long before this. who shall say i was to blame? what if they do find his charred body? no man can prove i had a hand in it. i defy you to prove it!" shaking his trembling hands in the air, the wretch almost shrieked these words. "this," muttered bart hodge, "is retribution." "i must go away," whispered worthington. "i must hide where they can't see me. look how every one stares at me! they seem to know i have done it! these infernal lights betray me! i must hide in the darkness. some one is following me everywhere. i am afraid of the darkness! i will always be afraid of the darkness! in the darkness or in the light, there is no rest for me--no rest! did you hear that voice? do you hear? it accuses me of murder! i am haunted! my god! haunted, haunted!" with this heartbroken cry he sank on his knees and crept toward frank. "you're the ghost that haunts me!" he exclaimed. "it is my punishment! i must always be near you, and you must haunt me forever!" merry touched him gently. "get up, worthington," he said regretfully. "your punishment has been too much. look at me. look me straight in the eyes, worthington. i am not dead. you didn't kill me." "no use to tell me that; i know better." "it is hopeless now, hodge," said merry, in a low tone. "the only chance for him is that time will restore his reason. you may go, worthington." "i must stay near by, mustn't i?" "you may stay outside." with bowed head and unsteady steps the man left the cabin and disappeared. little abe had remained speechless and frightened in a corner. now he picked up his fiddle, and suddenly from it came a weird melody. it was a crazy tune, filled with wild fancies and ghostly phantoms. "he is playing the music of that deranged soul," murmured frank. the sound of the fiddle died in a wail, and the boy sat shivering and silent in the corner. "this is a little too much of a ghostly thing!" exclaimed merry as he arose and shook himself. "let's talk of something else, hodge. to-morrow we start for the mazatzals, and i have everything ready. if we can locate that mine, one-half of it is yours." he took from his pocket a leather case and removed from it a torn and soiled map, which he spread on the table. together he and bart examined the map once more, as they had done many times before. "there," said frank, "is clear creek, running down into the rio verde. somewhere to the northwest of hawley peak, as this fellow indicated here on the map, in the valley shown by this cross, is benson clark's claim." "the location is vaguely marked," said bart. "we may search for it a year without discovering it." "that's true; but we know approximately somewhere near where it is." "well," said hodge, "we will do our best. that's all any one can do. it is your fortune, frank, to be lucky; and for that reason we may be successful." "something tells me we shall be," nodded merriwell. the start was made next day, and the journey continued until one afternoon merry and bart hodge stood looking down into a deep, oblong valley in the heart of the northern mazatzals. with them was cap'n walter wiley, a former seafaring man, who had been frank's friend in many thrilling adventures in the west. little abe had come with them from mystery valley, as had worthington, but they were at the camp merry had established some distance behind. "i believe this valley is the one," merry declared; "but how are we going to get into it? that's the question that bothers me." "there must be an inlet or outlet or something to the old valley," said hodge. "it cannot be just a sink hole dropped down here like a huge oval basin in the mountains. there is a stream running through it, too. it is wooded and watered, and there is plenty of grass for grazing." "i am almost positive this valley is the one benson clark told me of. i am almost positive it is the one marked on my map. clark was shot and dying when i found him. he didn't have time to tell me how to get into the valley." "we seem to have struck something that impedes navigation and investigation and causes agitation," put in cap'n wiley. "i would truly love to have the wings of a dove that i could fly from these heights above. poetry just bubbles from me occasionally. i must set my colossal intellect at work on this perplexing problem and demonstrate my astounding ability to solve entangling enigmas. (webster's dictionary does contain the loveliest words!) let me think a thought. let all nature stand hushed and silent while i thunk a think." his companions paid little heed to him; but he continued to discuss the problem of descending into the valley. "i have visited the northern end and the southern end," said frank, "and i have explored this side and surveyed the other side through my field glasses. there seems no break in these perpendicular walls. this valley seems like one of those southwestern mesas inverted. they rise sheer from the plains, and it is impossible to reach the top of many of them. this drops straight down here, and it seems impossible to reach its bottom." "the more difficult it is," said bart, "the greater becomes my desire to get down there." "same here," smiled frank. "the difficulty makes it something of a mystery. scientific expeditions have spent thousands of dollars in reaching the top of the mesa encantada, in new mexico. by americans it is called the enchanted mesa. now, the mere fact that we can't seem to get down into this valley throws an atmosphere of mystery over it, and to me it is an enchanted valley." "hush!" whispered wiley, with one finger pressed against his forehead. "a mighty thought is throbbing and seething in my cohesive brain. if i only had my gravity destroyer here! ha! then i could simply jump down into the valley and look around, and, when i got ready, jump back up here. by the way, mates, did you ever know why it was that santos-dumont retired from this country in confusion and dismay? you know he came over here with his old flying machine, and was going to do stunts to amaze the gaping multitudes. you know he suddenly packed his kenebecca and took passage to foreign shores. the secret of his sudden departure has never been told. if you will promise to whisper no word of it to the world, i will reveal the truth to you. "just before santy arrived in the united states i succeeded in perfecting my great gravity destroyer. as i have on other occasions explained to you, it was about the size of an ordinary watch, and i carried it about in my pocket. by pressing a certain spring i immediately destroyed the force of gravity so that, by giving an easy, gentle sort of a jump into the air, i could sail right up to the top of a church steeple. when i got ready to come down, i just let go and sailed down lightly as a feather. when i heard that santy was going to amaze this country with his dinky old flying machine, i resolved to have a little harmless amusement with him. "with this object in view, i had a flying machine of my own invented. it was made of canvas stretched over a light wooden frame, and along the bottom, to keep it upright, i had a keel of lead. my means of expulsion was a huge paddle wheel that i could work with my feet. that was the only thing about the machine that i didn't like. there was some work connected with it. to the rear end of the arrangement i attached a huge fanlike rudder that i could operate with ropes running to the cross pieces, like on ordinary rowboats. "mates, there never was a truer word spoken from the chest than that the prophet is not without honor save in his own country. i had this flying machine of mine constructed in cap'n bean's shipyard, down in camden, maine, my home. the villagers turned out in swarms, and stood around, and nudged each other in the ribs, and stared at my contrivance, and tried to josh me. even billy murphy gave me a loud and gleeful ha-ha! they seemed to think i had gone daffy, but i kept right on about my business, and one day the _snowbird_, as i called her, was finished. she was a beauty, mates, as she lay there, looking so light and airy and fragile. "by that time i had become decidedly hot under the collar on account of so much chaffing from the rustic populace. says i to myself, says i: 'cap'n, these rubes don't deserve to see you fly. if you let them see you fly you will be giving every mother's son of them two dollars' worth of entertainment free of charge.' now, it isn't my custom to give anything free of charge. therefore i advertised in the _herald_ that on a certain day i would sail the aërial atmosphere. i stated that before doing so i would pass around the hat, and i expected every person present to drop two dollars into it. i thought this was a clever idea of mine. "on the day and date the people came from near and far. they journeyed even from hogansville, south hope, and stickney's corner. when i saw them massed in one great multitude in and around that shipyard and on the steamboat wharf, i made merry cachinnation. "but alas! when i passed through that crowd with my hat and counted up the collection, i found i had a lead nickel, a trousers button, and a peppermint lozenger. that was all those measly, close-fisted people donated for the pleasure of seeing me navigate the ambient air. although i am not inclined to be over-sensitive, i felt hurt, and pained, and disappointed. i then made a little speech to them, and informed them that over in searsmont there was a man so mean that he used a wart on the back of his neck for a collar button to save the expense of buying one, but i considered him the soul of generosity beside them. i further informed them that i had postponed sailing. i minded it not that they guffawed and heaped derision upon me. i was resolute and unbending, and they were forced to leave without seeing me hoist anchor that day. "in the soft and stilly hours of the night which followed i seated myself in the _snowbird_, applied my feet to the mechanism, pressed the spring of the gravity destroyer, and away i scooted over penobscot bay. when the sun rose the following morning it found cap'n bean's shipyard empty and little walter and his flying machine gone. "i was on hand when santos-dumont arrived in new york. i sought an interview with him, and i told him i proposed making him look like a plugged quarter when he gave his exhibition. i challenged him to sail against me and told him i would show him up. santy didn't seem to like this, and he made remarks which would not look well in the _sabbath school herald_. indeed, he became violent, and, though i tried to soothe him, i discovered myself, when the interview ended, sitting on the sidewalk outside of the building and feeling of my person for bumps and sore spots. "you can imagine with what dignity i arose to my feet and strode haughtily away. more than ever was i determined to make old santy look like an amateur in the flying business. however, he took particular pains while in new york to scoot around in his machine when he knew i was not informed that such was his intention. with a great deal of craft and skill he avoided coming in competition with me. one day some part of his jigger got out of gear and he had it removed into the country to fix it. i located him and followed him up. i have forgotten the name of the village where i found him; but the people were getting much excited, for he had stated that at a certain time he would show them what he could do. "he had gathered scientific men from oshkosh, skowhegan, chicago, and other centres of culture and refinement. among them was professor deusenberry, of the squedunk elementary college of fine fatheads. i succeeded in getting at professor deusenberry's ear. he had a generous ear, and there was not much trouble in getting at it. i told him all about my _snowbird_, and informed him that i had her concealed near at hand and proposed to show up santos when he broke loose and sailed. i took him around to see my craft; but when he looked her over he shook his head and announced that she'd never rise clear of the skids on which i had her elevated above the ground. "well, mates, the great day came around, and promptly at the hour set santos rose like a bird in the air. i was watching for him, and when i saw him gliding about over the village i promptly started the _snowbird_ going. the moment i shut off the power of gravitation i scooted upward like a wild swan. i made straight for dumont's old machine, and there before the wildly cheering people, whose shouts rose faint and sweet to my ear, i proceeded to do a few stunts. i circled around santos when he was at his best speed. i sailed over him and under him, and i certain gave him an attack of nervous prostration. in his excitement he did something wrong and knocked his machine out of kilter, so that he suddenly took a collapse and fell into the top of a tree, where his old craft was badly damaged. i gently lowered myself to the ground, and as i stepped out of the _snowbird_ professor deusenberry clasped me to his throbbing bosom and wept on my breast. "'professor wiley!' he cried, 'beyond question you have solved the problem of aërial navigation. professor wiley----' 'excuse me, professor deusenberry' said i, 'but i am simply plain cap'n wiley, a salty old tar of modesty and few pretensions. i have no rightful claim to the title of professor.' "'but you shall have--you shall have!' he earnestly declared. 'i will see that you're made professor of atmospheric nullity at the squedunk elementary college of fine fatheads. your name shall go ringing down through the corridor of the ages. your name shall stand side by side in history with those of columbus, pizarro, and richard croker.' "that night i was wined, and dined, and toasted in that town, while santos-dumont stood outside and shivered in the cold. the scientific men and professors and men of boodle gazed on me in awe and wonderment and bowed down before me. professor deusenberry was seized with a determination to own the _snowbird_. he was fearful lest some one else should obtain her, and so he hastened to get me to set a price upon her. i was modest. i told him that i was modest. i told him that in the cause of science i was ready to part with her for the paltry sum of five thousand dollars. in less than ten minutes he had gathered some of the moneyed fatheads of his college and bought my flying machine. "i suggested to them that the proper way to start her was to get her onto some eminence and have some one push her off. the following morning they raised her to the flat roof of a building, and, with no small amount of agitation, i saw that professor deusenberry himself contemplated making a trip in her. when they pushed her off he started the paddle wheels going, but without the effect of my little gravity destroyer to keep her from falling. she dropped straight down to the ground. when they picked the professor up, several of his lateral ribs, together with his dispendarium, were fractured. i thought his confidence in me was also broken. at any rate, i hastened to shake the dust of that town from my feet and make for the tall timber. "nevertheless, mates, my little experience with santos-dumont so disgusted and discouraged him that he immediately left this country, which explains something that has been puzzling the people for a long time. they wondered why he didn't remain and do the stunts he had promised to do. even now i fancy that santy often dreams in terror of cap'n wiley and his _snowbird_." chapter iii. the map vanishes. while cap'n wiley had been relating this yarn merriwell seemed utterly unconscious of his presence. having produced his field glasses from the case at his side, he was surveying the impregnable valley. suddenly he started slightly and touched bart's arm. "look yonder, hodge," he said, in a low tone. "away up at the far end of the valley where the timber is, i can see smoke rising there." "so can i!" exclaimed hodge. "what does it mean?" "there is but one thing it can mean, and that is----" "there's some one in the valley." "sure, sure," agreed cap'n wiley. "somebody has found a passage into that harbor." "do you suppose," asked hodge, in consternation, "that there are other parties searching for that mine?" "it's not unlikely." "but you were the only one told of its existence by benson clark." "still, it's likely others knew he was prospecting in this vicinity." "it will be hard luck, merry, if we find that some one has relocated that claim ahead of us." "that's right," nodded frank. "the fact that there is smoke rising from that part of the valley proves it is not impossible to get down there. it's too late to-day to make any further effort in that direction. we will return to the camp and wait for morning." "and if you find other men on the claim, what will you do?" "i haven't decided." "but it belongs to you!" exclaimed hodge earnestly. "clark located it, and when he died he gave you the right to it." "nevertheless, if some one else has found it and has registered his claim, he can hold it." "not if you can prove clark staked it off and posted notices. not if you can prove he gave it to you." "but i can't prove that. clark is dead. he left no will. all he left was quartz in his saddlebags and some dust he had washed from the placer, together with this map i have in my pocket. you see, i would find it impossible to prove my right to the mine if i discovered other parties in possession of it." bart's look of disappointment increased. "i suppose that's right, merry," he confessed; "but it doesn't seem right to me. the consolidated mining association of america tried to take your queen mystery mine from you on a shabbier claim than you have on this mine here." "but i defeated them, bart. you must not forget that." "i haven't forgotten it," hodge declared, nodding his head. "all the same, you had hard work to defeat them, and, later, milton sukes made it still harder for you." "but i triumphed in both cases. right is right, bart; it makes no difference whether it is on my side or the other fellow's." "that's so," hodge confessed. "but it would be an almighty shame to find some one else squatting on that claim. i'd like to get down into that valley now!" "it can't be done before nightfall, so we will go back to camp." they set out, and an hour later they reached their camp in a small valley. there they had pitched a tent near a spring, and close at hand their horses grazed. as they approached the tent, little abe came hobbling up to them. "i am glad you're back," he declared. "that man has been going on just awful." "who? worthington?" questioned merry. "yes; he said over and over that he knew his ghost would be lost. he declared his ghost was in danger. he said he could feel the danger near." "more of his wild fancies," said hodge. "mates," observed cap'n wiley, "if there's anything that upsets my zebro spinal column it is a crazy gentleman like that. i am prone to confess that he worries me. i don't trust him. i am afraid that some morning i will wake up and find a hatchet sticking in my head. i should hate to do that." "i am positive he is harmless," declared merry. "where is he, abe?" "i don't know now. a while ago he just rushed off, calling and calling, and he's not come back." frank looked alarmed. "he promised me he would stay near the camp. he gave me his word, and this is the first time he has failed to obey me implicitly in everything." "he said he'd have to go to save you." "it was a mistake bringing him here, frank," asserted hodge. "but what could i do with him? he wouldn't remain behind, and i knew the danger of leaving him there. any day he might escape from the valley and lose himself in the desert to perish there." "perhaps that is what will happen to him now." merry was sorely troubled. he made preparations to go in search of worthington without delay. but even as he was doing so the deranged man came running back into the camp and fell panting at his feet. "i have found you again, my ghost!" he cried. "they are after you! you must beware! you must guard yourself constantly!" "get up, worthington!" said merry. "i am in no danger. no one can hurt a ghost, you know." "ah! you don't know them--you don't know them!" excitedly shouted the lunatic. "they are wicked and dangerous. i saw them peering over those rocks. i saw their evil eyes. abe was asleep. i had been walking up and down, waiting for you to return. when i saw them i stood still as a stone and made them believe i was dead. they watched and watched and whispered. they had weapons in their hands! you must be on your guard every minute!" "i have heard about crazy bedbugs," muttered wiley; "but i never saw one quite as bad as this. every time i hear him go on that way i feel the need of a drink. i could even partake of a portion of easy street firewater with relish." worthington seized frank's arm. "you must come and see where they were--you must come and see," he urged. "never mind that now," said merry. "i will look later." "no! no! come, now!" "be still!" commanded merry sharply. "i can't waste the time." but the maniac continued to plead and beg until, in order to appease him, merry gave in. worthington led him to a mass of bowlders at a distance, and, pointing at them, he declared in a whisper: "there's where they were hiding. look and see. there is where they were, i tell you!" more to pacify the poor fellow than anything else, frank looked around amid the rocks. suddenly he made a discovery that caused him to change countenance and kneel upon the ground. bart, who had sauntered down, found him thus. "what is it, frank?" he asked. "see here, hodge," said merry. "there has been some one here amid these rocks. here's a track. here's a mark where the nails of a man's boot heel scratched on the rocks." hodge stood looking down, but shook his head. "you have sharper eyes than i, frank," he confessed. "perhaps worthington has been here himself." "no! no!" denied the deranged man. "i was afraid to come! i tell you i saw them! i tell you i saw their wicked eyes. this is the first time i have been here!" "if he tells the truth," said frank, "then it is certain some one else has been here." behind worthington's back bart shook his head and made signals expressive of his belief that whatever signs frank had discovered there had been made by worthington. "now, you see," persisted the madman; "now you know they were here! now you know you must be on your guard!" "yes, yes," nodded merry impatiently. "don't worry about that, worthington. i will be on my guard. they will not take me by surprise." this seemed to satisfy the poor fellow for the time being, and they returned to the tent. there a fire was again started and supper was prepared. shadows gathered in the valley and night came on. overhead the bright stars were shining with a clear light peculiar to that southwestern land. after supper they lay about on the ground, talking of the enchanted valley, as merry had named it, and of the mysterious smoke seen rising from it. later, when little abe and cap'n wiley were sleeping and worthington had sunk into troubled slumber, through which he muttered and moaned, frank and bart sat in the tent and examined the map by the light of a small lantern. "beyond question, merry, the mine is near here. there is not a doubt of it. here to the east is hawley peak, to the south lies clear creek. here you see marked the stream which must flow through that valley, and here is the cross made by clark, which indicates the location of his claim." they bent over the map with their heads together, sitting near the end of the tent. suddenly a hand and arm was thrust in through the perpendicular slit in the tent flap. that arm reached over frank's shoulder, and that hand seized the map from his fingers. it was done in a twinkling, and in a twinkling it was gone. with shouts of astonishment and dismay, both frank and bart sprang up and plunged from the tent. they heard the sounds of feet running swiftly down the valley. "halt!" cried merry, producing a pistol and starting in pursuit. in the darkness he caught a glimpse of the fleeing figure. "stop, or i fire!" he cried again. there was no answer. flinging up his hand, he began shooting into the gloom. he did not stop until he had emptied the weapon. having run on some distance, he paused and listened, stopping bart with an outstretched hand. silence lay over the valley. "did you hit him?" asked bart. "i don't know," confessed frank. "i can hear nothing of him." "nor i." "you may have dropped him here." "if not----" "if not, my map is gone." as he was talking, frank threw open his pistol and the empty shells were ejected. he deftly refilled the cylinder. "by george, merry!" whispered bart, "worthington may have been right when he told you he saw some one beyond those bowlders." "he was." "then we have been followed! we have been spied upon!" "no question about it." "who did it?" "that's for us to find out." together they searched for the man at whom frank had fired in the darkness. they found nothing of him. from the tent little abe began calling to them. then worthington came hurrying and panting through the darkness seeking them. "they have gone!" declared the man wildly. "they were here! in my sleep i felt them! in my sleep i saw them!" "we must have a light, hodge," said frank. "bring the lantern." bart rushed back to the tent and brought the lantern. with it frank began examining the ground. "poor show of discovering any sign here," he muttered. after a time, however, he uttered an exclamation and bent over. "what have you found?" questioned hodge excitedly. "see here," said frank, pointing on the ground before him. on a rock at their feet they saw fresh drops of blood. "by jove, you did hit him!" burst from bart's lips. "if we can follow that trail----" "we will find the man who has that map," said merry grimly. "i wonder how badly he is wounded." "blood!" moaned worthington. "there is blood on the ground! there is blood in the air! there is death here! wherever i go there is death!" "keep still!" said frank sharply. "look out for abe, bart." then he began seeking to follow the sanguine trail with the aid of the lighted lantern. it was slow work, but still he made some progress. "we're taking big chances, merry," said bart, who had a pistol in his hand. "it's the only way we can follow him." "beware!" warned worthington, in a hollow whisper. "i tell you there is death in the air!" they had not proceeded far when suddenly a shot rang out and the bullet smashed the lantern globe, extinguishing the light. hodge had been expecting something of the sort, and he fired almost instantly in return, aiming at the flash he had vaguely seen. "are you hurt, merry?" he asked. "no; the lantern was the only thing struck. did you see where the shot came from?" "i caught a glimpse of the flash." then a hoarse voice hailed them from the darkness farther down the valley. "you gents, there!" it called. they did not answer. "oh, frank merriwell!" again came the call. "it's somebody who knows you," whispered hodge. "what is it?" called merry, in response. "you holds up where you are!" returned the voice, "or you eats lead a-plenty." "who are you?" "that's what you finds out if you come. if you wants to know so bad, mebbe you ambles nearer and takes your chances o' getting shot up." "it's sure death to try it," warned hodge, in a whisper. "death and destruction!" worthington screamed. "it is here! come away! come away!" he seized merry and attempted to drag him back. frank was forced to break the man's hold upon him. "i must save you!" the deranged man panted. "i knew it would come! once i left you to perish in the flames; now i must save you!" he again flung himself on frank, and during the struggle that followed both hodge and wiley were compelled to render assistance. not until the madman had been tripped and was held helpless on the ground did he become quiet. "it's no use!" he groaned; "i can't do it! it is not my fault!" merry bent close and stared through the gloom at the eyes of the unfortunate man. "you must obey me," he said, in that singular, commanding tone of his. "you have to obey me! go back to the tent!" then he motioned for hodge to let worthington up, and bart did so. without further resistance or struggling, the man turned and walked slowly back to the tent. "go with him, wiley, and take abe with you." although wiley protested against this, frank was firm, and the sailor yielded. then, seeking such shelter as they could find amid the rocks and the darkness, bart and frank crept slowly toward the point from which that warning voice had seemed to come. a long time was spent in this manner, and when they reached the spot they sought they were rewarded by finding nothing. "he has gone, frank," muttered hodge. "while we were struggling with worthington, he improved the opportunity to escape." "i fear you are right," said merriwell. further investigation proved this was true. in vain they searched the valley. the mysterious unknown who had snatched the map and who had been wounded in his flight by frank had made good his escape. chapter iv. the night watch. they were finally compelled to give up the search, although they did so with the greatest reluctance. "unless it aids the other fellow to locate the claim first," said bart, "the loss of the map cannot be much of a disadvantage to you, merry. it could give us no further assistance in finding the claim." "that's true," muttered frank. "but the fact that mysterious men have been prowling around here and one of them has secured the map seems to indicate there are others who are searching for benson clark's lost claim. if they locate it first----" "it's rightfully yours!" growled hodge. "no one else has a real claim to it. clark gave it to you." "but he made no will." "all the same, you know he gave it to you." "we have discussed all that, hodge," said merry as they returned to the tent. "if other parties find the claim first and begin work on it, they can hold it." wiley was teetering up and down in front of the tent, apparently in an uneasy state of mind. "i have faced perils by sea and land!" he exclaimed, as they approached. "it doesn't behoove any one to shunt me off onto a lunatic and a cripple when there is danger in the air. my fighting blood is stirred, and i long to look death in the mouth and examine his teeth." neither merry nor bart paid much attention to the spluttering sailor. they consulted about the wisdom of changing their camping place for the night. "i don't think it is necessary," said frank. "whoever it was, the prowler secured the map, and i fancy it will satisfy him for the present. something assures me that was what he was after, and we have nothing more of interest to him now." after a time they decided to remain where they were and to take turns in guarding the camp. the first watch fell on bart, while frank was to take the middle hours of the night, and wiley's turn came toward morning. it was found somewhat difficult to quiet worthington, who remained intensely wrought up over what had happened; but in time merry induced him to lie down in the tent. little abe crept close to frank and lay there, shivering somewhat. "you have so many enemies, frank," he whispered. "who are these new enemies you have found here?" "i don't know at present, abe; but i will find out in time." "why must you always have enemies?" "i think it is the fortune of every man who succeeds to make enemies. other men become jealous. only idiots and spineless, nerve-lacking individuals make no enemies at all." "but sometime your enemies will hurt you," muttered the boy fearfully. "you can't always escape when they are prowling about and striking at your back." "of course, there is a chance that some of them may get me," confessed frank; "but i am not worrying over that now." "worthington frightens me, too," confessed the boy. "he is so strange! but, really and truly, he seems to know when danger is near. he seems to discover it, somehow." "which is a faculty possessed by some people with disordered brains. i fancied the fellow was dreaming when he declared he saw some one hiding behind those rocks to-day; but now i know he actually saw what he claimed to see." "oh, i hope they don't get that mine away from you! you have taken so much trouble to find it!" "don't worry," half laughed merry. "if they should locate the mine ahead of me, i can stand it. i have two mines now, which are owned jointly by myself and my brother." "your brother!" exclaimed abe, in surprise. "why, have you a brother?" "yes; a half-brother." "where is he?" "he is attending school far, far away in the east. i received some letters from him while you were in denver." "is he like you?" "well, i don't know. in some things he seems to be like me; in others he is different." "he is younger?" "yes, several years younger." "oh, i'd like to see him!" breathed abe. "i know i'd like him. what's his name?" "dick." "perhaps i'll see him some day." "yes, abe, i think you will. by and by we will go east, and i will take you to see him at fardale. that's where he is attending school." "it must be just the finest thing to go to school. i never went to school any. what do they do there, frank?" "oh, they do many things, abe. they study books which prepare them for successful careers, and they play baseball and football and take part in other sports. they have a fine gymnasium, where they exercise to develop their bodies, which need developing, as well as their brains. in some schools, abe, the development of the body is neglected. scholars are compelled to study in close rooms, regardless of their health and of their individual weaknesses. and many times their constitutions are wrecked so that they are unfitted to become successful men and women through the fact that they have not the energy and stamina in the battle of life, at which successes must be won. "i don't know that you understand all this, abe, but many parents make sad mistakes in seeking to force too much education into the heads of their children in a brief space of time. it is not always the boy or girl who is the smartest as a boy or girl who makes the smartest and most successful man or woman. some of the brightest and most brilliant scholars fail after leaving school. although at school they were wonders in their classes, in after life others who were not so brilliant and promising often rise far above them." "i don't know nothing about those things, frank," said the boy. "you seem to know all about everything. but i want you to tell me more about the school and the games they play and the things they do there." "not to-night, abe," said merry. "go to sleep now. sometime i will tell you all about it." long after merry's regular breathing indicated that he was slumbering, little abe lay trying to picture to himself that wonderful school, where so many boys studied, and lived, and prepared themselves for careers. it was a strange school his fancy pictured. at last he slept also, and he dreamed that he was in the school with other boys, that he was straight, and strong, and handsome, and that dick merriwell was his friend and companion. he dreamed that he took part in the sports and games, and was successful and admired like other lads. it was a joyful dream, and in his sleep he smiled and laughed a little. but for the poor little cripple it was a dream that could never come true. in the night frank was aroused by bart, who lay down, while merry took his place on guard outside the tent. the night was far spent when frank awakened wiley to take a turn at watching over the camp. "port your helm!" muttered the sailor thickly, as merry shook him. "breakers ahead! she's going on the rocks!" "turn out here," said frank. "it's your watch on deck!" "what's that?" mumbled the sailor. "who says so? i am cap'n of this ship. i give off orders here." merry seized him by the shoulders and sat him upright. "in this instance," declared frank, "you're simply the man before the mast. i am captain this voyage." "i deny the allegation and defy the alligator," spluttered wiley, waving his arms in the dark. "i never sailed before the mast." frank was finally compelled to drag him bodily out of the tent, where at length wiley became aware of his surroundings and stood yawning and rubbing his eyes. "this is a new turn for me, mate," he said. "it has been my custom in the past to lay in my royal bunk and listen to the slosh of bilge water and the plunging of my good ship through the billows, while others did the real work. i always put in my hardest work at resting. i can work harder at resting than any man i know of. i have a natural-born talent for it. nevertheless, cap'n merriwell, i now assume my new duties. you may go below and turn in with the perfect assurance that little walter will guard you faithfully from all harm. though a thousand foes should menace you, i will be on hand to repel them." "that's right, wiley; keep your eyes open. there may be no danger, but you know what happened early this night." "say no more," assured wiley. "i am the embodied spirit of active alertness. permit rosy slumber to softly close your dewy eyes and dream sweet dreams of bliss. talk about real poetry; there's a sample of it for you." smiling a little at the eccentricities of the sailor, frank slipped into the tent and again rolled himself in his blanket. rosy dawn was smiling over the eastern peaks when frank opened his eyes. the others were still fast asleep, and merry wondered if wiley had already started a fire preparatory for breakfast. it seemed singular that the sailor had not aroused them before this. stealing softly from the tent, merry looked around for the captain. at first he saw nothing of him, but after some minutes he discovered wiley seated on the ground, with his back against a bowlder and with his head bowed. approaching nearer, frank saw the sailor was fast asleep, with a revolver clutched in his hand. "sleeping at your post, are you?" muttered frank, annoyed. "had there been enemies near, they might have crept on us while you were sleeping and murdered the whole party. you deserve to be taught a lesson." making no noise, he drew nearer, keeping somewhat to one side and behind the sailor, then bent over and uttered a piercing yell in wiley's ear. the result was astonishing. with an answering yell, the sailor bounded into the air like a jack-in-the-box popping up. as he made that first wild, electrifying leap he began shooting. when his feet struck the ground he started to run, but continued shooting in all directions. "repel boarders!" he yelled. "give it to them!" frank dropped down behind the bowlder to make sure that he was protected from the bullets so recklessly discharged from the cap'n's revolver. peering over it, he saw wiley bound frantically down the slope toward the spring, catch his toe, spin over in the air, and plunge headlong. by a singular chance, he had tripped just before reaching the spring, and he dived into it, splashing the water in all directions. this termination of the affair was so surprising and ludicrous that merry was convulsed with laughter. he ran quickly out, seized the sailor by the heels, and dragged him out. wiley sat up, spluttering and gurgling and spouting water, very stupefied and very much bewildered. this sudden commotion had brought hodge leaping from the tent, a weapon in hand, while abe and worthington crawled forth in alarm. merry's hearty laughter awoke the echoes of the valley. "why do you disturb the placid peacefulness of this pellucid morning with the ponderous pyrotechnics of your palpitating pleasure?" inquired wiley. "did it amuse you so much to see me take my regular morning plunge? why, i always do that. i believe in a cold bath in the morning. it's a great thing. it's a regular thing for me. i do it once a year whether i need it or not. this was my morning for plunging, so i plunged. but what was that elongated, ear-splitting vibration that pierced the tympanum of my tingling ear? somehow i fancy i heard a slight disturbance. i was dreaming just at that moment of my fearful encounter with chinese pirates in the indian ocean some several years agone. being thus suddenly awakened, i did my best to repel boarders, and i fancy i shot a number of holes in the ambient atmosphere around here." "you did all of that," smiled merry. "i found it necessary to get under cover in order to be safe. cap'n, you certainly cut a queer caper. it was better than a circus to see you jump and go scooting down the slope; and when you plunged into the spring i surely thought you were going right through to china." "well," said the sailor, wiping his face and hands on the tail of his coat, "that saves me the trouble of washing this morning. but i still fail to understand just how it happened." "you were sleeping at your post." "what? me?" "yes, you." "impossible; i never sleep. i may occasionally lapse a little, but i never sleep." "you were snoring." wiley arose, looking sad and offended. "if i did not love you even as a brother i should feel hurt by your cruel words," he muttered, picking up an empty pistol that had fallen near the spring. "but i know you're joking." "you just said you were dreaming, wiley," reminded frank. "is this the way you are to be trusted? what if our enemies had crept upon us while you were supposed to be guarding the camp?" "don't speak of it!" entreated the marine marvel. "it hurts me. in case i closed my eyes by accident for a moment, i hope you will forgive me the oversight. be sure i shall never forgive myself. oh, but that was a lovely dream! there were seventeen pirates coming over the rail, with cutlasses, and dirks, and muskets, and cannon in their teeth, and i was just wading into them in earnest when you disturbed the engagement. "in that dream i was simply living over again that terrible contest with the chinese pirates in which i engaged while commanding my good ship, the _sour dog_. that was my first cruise in eastern waters. the _sour dog_ was a merchantman of nine billion tons burthen. we were loaded with indigo, and spice, and everything nice. we had started on a return voyage, and were bound southward to round the cape of good hope. i had warned my faithful followers of the dangers we might encounter in the indian ocean, which was just literally boiling over with pirates of various kinds. "one thing that had troubled us greatly was the fact that our good ship was overrun with rats. i set my nimble wits to work to devise a scheme of ridding us of those rats. i manufactured a number of very crafty traps, and set them where i believed they would be the most efficacious. you should have seen the way i gathered in those rats. every morning i had thirty or forty rats in those traps, and soon i was struck with a new scheme. knowing the value of rats in china, i decided to gather up those on board, put about, and deliver them as a special cargo at hongkong. with this object in view, i had a huge cage manufactured on the jigger deck. in this cage i confined all the rats captured, and soon i had several hundred of them. these rats, mr. merriwell, saved our lives, remarkable though it may seem to you. bear with me just a moment and i will elucidate. "we had put about and set our course for the sunda islands when an unfortunate calm befell us. now, a calm in those waters is the real thing. when it gets calm there it is so still that you can hear a man think a mile away. the tropical sun blazed down on the blazing ocean, and our sails hung as still and silent as willie bryan's tongue after the last presidential election. the heat was so intense that the tar in the caulking of the vessel bubbled and sizzled, and the deck of the _sour dog_ was hot as a pancake griddle. suddenly the watch aloft sent down a cry, 'ship, ho!' we sighted her heaving up over the horizon and bearing straight down on us." "but i thought you said there was no wind," interrupted merry. "how could a ship come bearing down upon you with no wind to sail by?" "it was not exactly a ship, mr. merriwell; we soon saw it was a chinese junk. she was manned with a great crew of rowers, who were propelling her with long oars. we could see their oar blades flashing in the sun as they rose and fell with machine-like regularity. i seized my marine glasses and mounted aloft. through them i surveyed the approaching craft. i confess to you, sir, that the appearance of that vessel agitated my equilibrium. i didn't like her looks. something told me she was a pirate. "unfortunately for us, we were not prepared for such an emergency. had there been a good breeze blowing, we could have sailed away and laughed at her. as there was no breeze, we were helpless to escape. it was an awful moment. when i told my crew that she was a pirate they fell on their knees and wept and prayed. that worried me exceedingly, for up to that time they had been the most profane, unreligious set of lubbers it was ever my fortune to command. i told them in choice language just about what i thought of them; but it didn't seem to have any effect on them. i told them that our only chance for life was to repel those pirates in some manner. i warned them to arm themselves with such weapons as they could find and to fight to the last. we didn't have a gun on board. one fellow had a good keen knife, but even with the aid of that we seemed in a precarious predicament. "the pirate vessel came straight on. when she was near enough, i hailed her through my speaking trumpet and asked her what she wanted. she made no answer. soon we could see those yellow-skinned, pigtailed wretches, and every man of them was armed with deadly weapons. having heard the fearful tales of butcheries committed by those monsters, i knew the fate in store for us unless we could repulse them somehow. again i appealed to my men, and again i saw it was useless. "the pirate swung alongside and fastened to us. then those yellow fiends came swarming over the rail with their weapons in their teeth, intent on carving us up. the whole crew boarded us as one man. just as they were about to begin their horrid work a brilliant thought flashed through my brain. i opened the rat cage and let those rats loose upon the deck. as the chinamen saw hundreds of rats running around over the deck they uttered yells of joy and started in pursuit of them. "when they yelled they dropped their cutlasses and knives from their teeth, and the clang of steel upon the deck was almost deafening. it was a surprising sight to see the chinks diving here and there after the rats and trying to capture them. to them those rats were far more valuable than anything they had expected to find on board. for the time being they had wholly forgotten their real object in boarding us. "seeing the opening offered, at the precise psychological moment i seized a cutlass and fell upon them. with my first blow i severed a pirate's head from his body. at the same time i shouted to my crew to follow my example. they caught up the weapons the pirates had dropped, and in less time than it takes to tell it that deck ran knee-deep in chinese gore. even after we had attacked them in that manner they seemed so excited over those rats that they continued to chase the fleeing rodents and paid little attention to us. "if was not more than ten minutes before i finished the last wretch of them and stood looking around at that horrible spectacle. with my own hand i had slain forty-one of those pirates. we had wiped out the entire crew. of course, i felt disappointed in having to lose the rats in that manner, but i decided that it should not be a loss, and straightway i began shaving the pigtails from the chinamen's heads. we cut them off and piled them up, after which we cast the bodies overboard and washed the deck clean. "when i arrived in new york i made a deal with a manufacturer of hair mattresses and sold out that lot of pigtails for a handsome sum. it was one of the most successful voyages of my life. when congress heard of the wonderful things i had done in destroying the pirates, it voted me a leather medal of honor. that's the whole story, mr. merriwell. i was dreaming of that frightful encounter when you aroused me. perhaps you may doubt the veracity of my narrative; but it is as true as anything i ever told you." "i haven't a doubt of it," laughed frank. "it seems to me that the most of your wonderful adventures are things of dreams, cap'n. according to your tell, you should have been a rich man to-day. you have had chances enough." "that's right," nodded the sailor. "but my bountiful generosity has kept me poor. in order to get ahead in this world a fellow has to hustle. he can't become a rockefeller or a morgan if he's whole-souled and generous like me. i never did have any sympathy with chaps who complain that they had no chance. i fully agree with my friend, sam foss, who wrote some touching little lines which it would delight me to recite to you. sam is the real thing when it comes to turning out poetry. he can oil up his machine and grind it out by the yard. listen, and i will recite to you the touching stanzas in question." in his own inimitable manner wiley began to recite, and this was the poem he delivered: "joe beall 'ud set upon a keg, down to the groc'ry store, an' throw one leg right over t'other leg, an' swear he'd never had a show. 'o, no,' said joe, 'hain't hed no show;' then shift his quid to t'other jaw, an' chaw, an' chaw, an' chaw, an' chaw. "he said he got no start in life, didn't get no money from his dad the washing took in by his wife earned all the funds he ever had. 'o, no,' said joe, 'hain't hed no show;' an' then he'd look up at the clock, an' talk, an' talk, an' talk, an' talk. "'i've waited twenty year--let's see---- yes, twenty-four, an' never struck, altho' i've sot roun' patiently, the fust tarnation streak er luck. 'o, no,' said joe, 'hain't hed no show;' then stuck like mucilage to the spot, an' sot, an' sot, an' sot, an' sot. "'i've come down regeler every day for twenty years to piper's store; i've sot here in a patient way, say, hain't i, piper?' piper swore. 'i tell yer, joe, yer hain't no show; yer too dern patient'----ther hull raft just laffed, an' laffed, an' laffed, an' laffed." "that will about do for this morning," laughed frank. "we will have breakfast now." that day frank set about a systematic search for some method of getting into the enchanted valley, as he had called it. having broken camp and packed everything, with the entire party he set about circling the valley. it was slow and difficult work, for at points it became necessary that one or two of them should take the horses around by a détour, while the others followed the rim of the valley. midday had passed when at last merry discovered a hidden cleft or fissure, like a huge crack in the rocky wall, which ran downward and seemed a possible means of reaching the valley. he had the horses brought to the head of this fissure before exploring it. "at best, it is going to be a mighty difficult thing to get the horses down there," said bart. "we may not be able to do it," acknowledged merry; "but i am greatly in hopes that we can get into the valley ourselves at last." when they had descended some distance, frank found indications which convinced him that other parties had lately traversed that fissure. these signs were not very plain to bart, but he relied on merry's judgment. they finally reached a point from where they could see the bottom and look out into the valley. "we can get down here ourselves, all right," said hodge. "what do you think about the horses?" "it will be a ticklish job to bring them down," acknowledged merry; "but i am in for trying it." "if one of the beasts should lose his footing and take a tumble----" "we'd be out a horse, that's all. we must look out that, in case such a thing happens, no one of us is carried down with the animal." they returned to the place where wiley, worthington, and little abe were waiting. when frank announced that they could get into the valley that way, the deranged man suddenly cried: "there's doom down there! those who enter never return!" "that fellow is a real cheerful chap!" said the sailor. "he has been making it pleasant for us while you were gone, with his joyful predictions of death and disaster." they gave little heed to worthington. making sure the packs were secure on the backs of the animals, they fully arranged their plans of descent and entered the fissure. more than an hour later they reached the valley below, having descended without the slightest mishap. "well, here we are," smiled merry. "we have found our way into the enchanted valley at last." "never to return! never to return!" croaked worthington. "it's too late to do much exploring to-night, merry," said hodge. "it's too late to do anything but find a good spot and pitch our tent." "where had we better camp?" after looking around, merriwell suggested that they proceed toward the northern end of the valley, where there was timber. "it's up that way we saw smoke, frank," said hodge. "i know it." as they advanced toward the timber they came to a narrow gorge that cut for a short distance into the side of a mighty mountain. the stream which ran through the valley flowed from this gorge, and further investigation showed that it came from an opening in the mountainside itself. beside this stream they found the dead embers of a camp fire. "who built it, frank?" asked bart, as merry looked the ground over. "was it indians, do you think?" merriwell shook his head. "no; it was built by white men." hodge frowned. "it makes little difference," he said. "one is likely to be as dangerous as the other." "we will camp here ourselves," decided merry. the animals were relieved of their packs, and they busied themselves in erecting a tent and making ready for the night. little abe was set to gathering wood with which to build a fire. darkness came on ere they had completed their tasks, but they finished by the light of the fire, which crackled and gleamed beside the flowing stream. wiley had shown himself to be something of a cook, and on him fell the task of preparing supper. he soon had the coffeepot steaming on a bed of coals, and the aroma made them all ravenous. he made up a batter of corn meal and cooked it in a pan over the fire. this, together with the coffee and their dried beef, satisfied their hunger, and all partook heartily. "now," said wiley, as he stretched himself on the ground, "if some one had a perfecto which he could lend me, i would be supinely content. as it is, i shall have to be satisfied with a soothing pipe." he filled his pipe, lighted it, and lay puffing contentedly. bart and merry were talking of what the morrow might bring forth, when suddenly worthington uttered a sharp hiss and held up his hand. then, to the surprise of all, from some unknown point, seemingly above them, a voice burst forth in song. it was the voice of a man, and the narrow gorge echoed with the weird melody. not one of them could tell whence the singing came. "where dead men roam the dark the world is cold and chill; you hear their voices--hark! they cry o'er vale and hill: 'beware! take care! for death is cold and still.'" these were the words of the song as given by that mysterious singer. they were ominous and full of warning. "that certainly is a soulful little ditty," observed wiley. "it is so hilariously funny and laughable, don't you know." frank kicked aside the blazing brands of the fire with his foot and stamped them out, plunging the place into darkness. "that's right," muttered hodge. "they might pick us off any time by the firelight." a hollow, blood-chilling groan sounded near at hand, and wiley nearly collapsed from sudden fright. the groan, however, came from the lips of worthington, who was standing straight and silent as a tree, his arms stretched above his head in a singular manner. "the stars are going to fall!" he declared, in a sibilant whisper that was strangely piercing. "save yourselves! hold them off! hold them off! if they strike you, you will be destroyed!" "say, worth, old bughouse!" exclaimed wiley, slapping the deranged man on the shoulder; "don't ever let out another geezly groan like that! why, my heart rose up and kicked my hair just about a foot into the air. i thought all the ghosts, and spooks, and things of the unseen world had broken loose at one break. you ought to take something for that. you need a tonic. i would recommend lizzie pinkham's vegetable compound." "keep still, can't you!" exclaimed hodge, in a low tone. "if we hear that voice again, i'd like to locate the point from whence it comes." "oh, i will keep still if you will guarantee to muzzle worth here," assured the sailor. the deranged man was silent now, and they all seemed to be listening with eager intentness. "why doesn't he sing some more, merry?" whispered bart. after some moments, the mysterious voice was heard again. it seemed to come from the air above them, and they distinctly heard it call a name: "frank!" merry stood perfectly still, but, in spite of himself, bart hodge gave a start of astonishment. "frank merriwell!" again the voice called. "great cæsar's ghost!" panted hodge in merry's ear. "whoever it is, he knows you! he is calling your name. what do you think of that?" "that's not so very strange, bart." "why not?" "since we came into the valley, either you, or wiley, or abe have spoken my name so this unknown party overheard it." "frank merriwell!" distinctly spoke the mysterious voice; "come to me! you must come! you can't escape! you buried me in the shadow of chaves pass! my bones lie there still; but my spirit is here calling to you!" "booh!" said wiley. "i've had more or less dealings with spirits in my time, but never with just this kind. now, ardent spirits and _spritis fermenti_ are congenial things; but a spooky spirit is not in my line." "i tell you to keep still," whispered hodge once more. "i am dumb as a clam," asserted the sailor. "do you hear me, frank merriwell?" again called the mysterious voice. "i am the ghost of benson clark. i have returned here to guard my mine. human hands shall never desecrate it. if you seek farther for it, you are doomed--doomed!" at this point worthington broke into a shriek of maniacal laughter. "go back to your grave!" he yelled. "no plotting there! no violence--nothing but rest!" "now, i tell you what, mates," broke in cap'n wiley protestingly; "between spook voices and this maniac, i am on the verge of nervous prostration. if i had a bottle of doctor brown's nervura, i'd drink the whole thing at one gulp." having shouted the words quoted, worthington crouched on the ground and covered his face with his hands. "what do you think about it now?" whispered bart in frank's ear. "whoever it is, he knows about benson clark and his claim. he knows you buried clark. how do you explain that?" "i can see only one explanation," answered frank, in a low tone. "this man has been near enough at some time when we were speaking of clark to overhear our words." "this man," muttered wiley. "why, jigger it all! it claims to be an ethereal and vapid spook." "don't be a fool, wiley!" growled hodge. "you know as well as we do that it is not a spook." "you relieve me greatly by your assurance," said the sailor. "i have never seen a spook, but once, after a protracted visit on easy street, i saw other things just as bad. i don't think my nerves have gained their equilibrium." "what will we do about this business, merry?" asked hodge. "i don't propose to be driven away from here by any such childish trick," answered frank grimly. "we will not build another fire to-night, for i don't care to take the chances of being picked off by any one shooting at us from the dark. however, we will stay right here and show this party that he cannot frighten us in such a silly manner." "that's the talk!" nodded hodge. "i am with you." "don't forget me," interjected the sailor. "you!" exclaimed frank sharply. "how can we depend on a fellow who sleeps at his post when on guard?" "it's ever thus my little failings have counted against me!" sighed wiley. "those things have caused me to be vastly misunderstood. well, it can't be helped. if i am not permitted to take my turn of standing guard to-night, i must suffer and sleep in silence." having said this in an injured and doleful manner, he retreated to the tent and flung himself on the ground. frank and bart sat down near the tent, and listened and waited a long time, thinking it possible they might hear that voice once more. the silence remained undisturbed, however, save for the gurgle of the little brook which ran near at hand. chapter v. wiley's disappearance. night passed without anything further to disturb or annoy them. the morning came bright and peaceful, and the sun shone pleasantly into the enchanted valley. wiley turned out at an early hour, built the fire, and prepared the breakfast. "seems like i had an unpleasant dream last eve," he remarked. "these measly dreams are coming thick and fast. night before last it was pirates; last night it was spooks. it seems to be getting worse and worse. if this thing keeps up, i will be in poor condition when the baseball season opens in the spring." "then you intend to play baseball again, do you, cap'n?" asked merry. "intend to play it! why, mate, i cannot help it! as long as my good right arm retains its cunning i shall continue to project the sphere through the atmosphere. to me it is a pleasure to behold a batter wildly swat the empty air as one of my marvelous curves serenely dodges his willow wand. i have thought many times that i would get a divorce from baseball and return to it no more. but each spring, as the little birds joyfully hie themselves northward from their winter pilgrimage in the sunny south, the old-time feeling gets into my veins, and i amble forth upon the turf and disport myself upon the chalk-marked diamond. yes, i expect to be in the game again, and when little walter gets into the game he gets into it for keeps." "what if some one should offer you a prominent position at a salary of ten thousand a year where you would be unable to play baseball?" inquired merry, with a sly twinkle in his eye. "you'd have to give it up then." "not on your tintype!" was the prompt retort. "what would you do?" "i'd give up the position." frank laughed heartily. "cap'n, you're a confirmed baseball crank. but if you live your natural life, there'll come a time when your joints will stiffen, when rheumatism may come into your good arm, when your keen eye will lose its brightness, when your skill to hit a pitched ball will vanish--then what will you do?" the sailor heaved a deep sigh. "don't," he sadly said, wiping his eye. "talk to me of dreadful things--funerals, and deaths, and all that; but don't ever suggest to me that the day will dawn when little walter will recognize the fact that he is a has-been. it fills my soul with such unutterable sadness that words fail me. however, ere that day appears i propose to daze and bewilder the staring world. why, even with my wonderful record as a ball player, it was only last year that i failed to obtain a show on the measly little dried-up old new england league. i knew i was a hundred times better than the players given a show. i even confessed it to the managers of the different teams. still, i didn't happen to have the proper pull, and they took on the cheap slobs who were chumps enough to play for nothing in order to get a chance to play at all. "i knew my value, and i refused to play unless i could feel the coin of the realm tickling my palm. i rather think i opened the eyes of some of those dinky old managers. but even though selee, mcgraw, and others of the big leagues have been imploring me on their knees to play with them, i have haughtily declined. what i really desire is to get into the new england league, where i will be a star of the first magnitude. i had much rather be a big toad in a little puddle than a medium-sized toad in a big puddle. the manager who signs me for his team in the new england league will draw a glittering prize. if i could have my old-time chum, peckie prescott, with me, we'd show those new england leaguers some stunts that would curl their hair. "speaking of peckie, mr. merriwell, reminds me that there is a boy lost to professional baseball who would be worth millions of dollars to any manager who got hold of him and gave him a show. play ball! why, peckie was born to play ball! he just can't help it. he has an arm of iron, and he can throw from the plate to second base on a dead line and as quick as a bullet from a rifle. as a backstop he is a wizard. and when it comes to hitting--oh, la! la! he can average his two base hits a game off any pitcher in the new england league. to be sure, the boy is a little new and needs some coaching; but give him a show and he will be in the national or american inside of three seasons." "are you serious about this fellow, cap'n?" asked frank. "i am aware that you know a real baseball player when you see him, but you have a little way of exaggerating that sometimes leads people to doubt your statements." "mr. merriwell, i was never more serious in all my life. i give you my word that everything i have said of prescott is true; but i fear, like some sweet, fragile wild-woods flower, he was born to blush unseen. i fear he will never get the show he deserves. while these dunkhead managers are scrabbling around over the country to rake up players, he remains in the modest seclusion of his home, and they fail to stumble on him. he is a retiring sort of chap, and this has prevented him from pushing himself forward." "you should be able to push him a little yourself, cap'n." "what! when i am turned down by the blind and deluded managers, how am i to help another? alas! 'tis impossible! coffee is served, mr. merriwell. let's proceed to surround our breakfast and forget our misfortunes." after breakfast frank and bart discussed the programme for the day. they decided to make an immediate and vigorous search for the lost mine. it was considered necessary, however, that one of the party should remain at the camp and guard their outfit. neither abe nor worthington was suitable for this, and, as both frank and bart wished to take part in the search, wiley seemed the only one left for the task. "very well," said the sailor, "i will remain. leave me with a winchester in my hands, and i will guarantee to protect things here with the last drop of my heroic blood." in this manner it was settled. the sailor remained to guard the camp and the two pack horses, while the others mounted and rode away into the valley. late in the afternoon they returned, bringing with them a mountain goat which merry had shot. as they came in sight of the spot where the tent had stood they were astonished to see that it was no longer there. "look, frank!" cried bart, pointing. "the tent is gone!" "sure enough," nodded merriwell grimly. "it's not where we left it." "what do you suppose has happened?" "we will soon find out." not only had the tent and camping outfit disappeared, but the two pack horses were missing. nor was wiley to be found. hodge looked at merry in blank inquiry. "where is this fellow we left to guard our property?" he finally exclaimed. "you know as well as i," confessed frank. "as a guard over anything, he seems to be a failure." "we can't tell what has happened to him." "what has happened to him!" cried bart. "why, he has taken french leave, that's what has happened! he has stolen our horses and piked out of the valley." merry shook his head. "i don't believe that, hodge," he said. "i don't think wiley would do such a thing." "then, why isn't he here?" "he may have been attacked by enemies." "if that had been the case, we would see some signs of the struggle. you can see for yourself that no struggle has taken place here." "it's true," confessed merry, "that there seem to be no indications of a struggle." "do you know, frank, that i never have fully trusted that chap." "i know, bart, you made a serious mistake on one occasion by mistrusting him. you must remember that yourself." "i do," confessed hodge, reproved by merry's words. "all the same, this disappearance is hard to explain. our tent and outfit are gone. we're left here without provisions and without anything. in this condition it is possible we may starve." "the condition is serious," frank acknowledged. "at the same time, i think it possible wiley decided this location was dangerous and transferred the camp to some other place. that's a reasonable explanation of his disappearance." "a reasonable one perhaps; but if that had happened! he should be here on the watch for our return." "perhaps we have returned sooner than he expected." "well, what's to be done, merry?" "we will sit here a while and see if he doesn't turn up. at least, we can make some sort of a meal off this mountain goat." "a mighty poor meal it will be!" muttered hodge disgustedly. a fire was built, however, and the mountain goat served to appease their hunger somewhat, although without salt it was far from palatable. there was plenty of feed and drink for the horses, therefore the animals did not suffer. in vain they waited for wiley to return. afternoon faded into nightfall and the sailor came not. "do you propose to remain here all night, merry?" inquired bart. frank shook his head. "i don't think it advisable. we will find another spot." with the gloom of night upon them, they set out, frank in the lead. he had taken notice of a clump of thick timber in another part of the valley, and toward this he rode. in the timber they ensconced themselves and prepared to pass the night there. worthington was strangely silent, but seemed as docile and as harmless as a child. when all preparations to spend the night in that spot were made, frank announced to bart that he proposed to go in search of their missing companion. "what can you do in the night?" questioned hodge. "you can't find him." "perhaps not," said merry; "but i am going to try." "i hate to have you do it alone." "you must remain here to look out for abe and worthington." when this was settled, merry set out on foot. during their exploration of the valley he had observed a deep, narrow fissure near the southern extremity, into which the stream plunged before disappearing into the underground channel. to him on discovering this it had seemed a possible hiding place for any one seeking to escape observation. something caused him to set his course toward this spot. an hour later, from a place of concealment high up on a steep bank, frank was peering into the fissure. what he discovered there surprised and puzzled him not a little. on a little level spot close by the stream a tent had been pitched. before the tent a small fire was burning, and squatted around this fire were three persons who seemed to be enjoying themselves in fancied security. the moment merry's eyes fell on two of them he recognized them as having been members of the terrible thirty. they were the ruffians hank shawmut and kip henry. the third person, who seemed perfectly at his ease as he reclined on the ground and puffed at a corn-cob pipe, was cap'n wiley! was wiley a traitor? this question, which flashed through frank's mind, seemed answered in the affirmative by the behavior of the sailor, who was chatting on intimate terms with his new associates. of course frank had decided at once that shawmut and henry had somehow learned of his expedition in search of benson clark's lost mine and had followed him. henry's left hand was swathed in a blood-stained bandage, the sight of which convinced the watching youth that it was this fellow who had snatched the map and who afterward had been winged in the pursuit. in spite of appearances, frank did not like to believe that cap'n wiley had played him false. from his position he was able to hear the conversation of the trio, and so he lay still and listened. "we sartain is all right here fer ter-night," observed shawmut. "we will never be disturbed any afore morning." "perchance you are right, mate," said the sailor; "but in the morning we must seek the seclusion of some still more secure retreat. my late associate, the only and original frank merriwell, will be considerable aroused over what has happened. i am positive it will agitate his equipoise to a protracted extent. my vivid imagination pictures a look of supine astonishment on his intellectual countenance when he returns and finds his whole outfit and little walter vanished into thin, pellucid air." shawmut laughed hoarsely. "i certain opine he was knocked silly," he said. "but he is a bad man," put in henry. "to-morrow he rakes this valley with a fine-toothed comb. and he is a heap keerless with his shooting irons. look at this yere paw of mine. he done that, and some time i'll settle with him." the fellow snarled the final words as he held up his bandaged hand. "yes," nodded the sailor, "he has a way of shooting in a most obstreperous manner. the only thing that is disturbing my mental placitude is that he may take to the war path in search of my lovely scalp." "confound you!" thought frank, in great anger. "so you are a traitor, after all! hodge was right about you. you're due for a very unpleasant settlement with me, cap'n wiley." "what binds me to you with links of steel, mates," said the sailor, "is the fact that you are well supplied with that necessary article of exuberancy known to the vulgar and unpoetical as tanglefoot. seems to me it's a long time between drinks." "you certain must have a big thirst," observed shawmut, as he produced a cold bottle and held it toward the sailor, who immediately arose and clutched it with both hands. "mates, it has been so long since i have looked a drink in the face that it seems like a total stranger to me. excuse me while i absorb a small portion of mountain dew." his pipe was dropped, and he wiped the mouth of the bottle with his hand after drawing the cork. he then placed the bottle to his lips and turned its bottom skyward. "so it is for that stuff you sell your friends, is it?" thought frank. having remained with his eyes closed and the bottle upturned for some moments, the sailor finally lowered it and heaved a sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret. "my only sorrow," he said, "is that i haven't a neck as long as a giraffe's. if the giraffe should take to drink, what delight he would enjoy in feeling the ardent trickle down his oozle! have something on me, boys." he then returned the bottle, and the ruffians drank from it. "there," said wiley, picking up his pipe, "my interior anatomy glows with golden rapture. i am once more myself. oh, booze, thou art the comforter of mankind! you cause the poor man to forget his sorrows and his misfortunes. for him you build bright castles and paint glorious pictures. for him you remove far away the cares and troubles of life. you make him a king, even while you make him still more of a pauper. you give him at first all the joys of the world and at last the delirium tremens. "next to women, you are the best thing and the worst thing in this whole wide world. mates, you see i am both a poet and a philosopher. it's no disparagement to me, for i was born that way, and i can't help it. ever since my joyful boyhood days on negro island i have looked with a loving eye on the beauties of nature and on the extracted fluid of the corn. but what of this world's riches has my mighty intellect and my poetic soul brought me? i am still a poor man." "but you won't be long arter we diskeevers this mine," said shawmut. "if you sticks by us, we gives you a third share." "your generosity overwhelms me. but it must not be forgotten that we yet have frank merriwell to dispose of. it is vain for you to try to frighten him away from this valley. last night you attempted it with your spook trick, but it didn't work." "what's that?" exclaimed henry. "what are you talking about?" "oh," said the sailor, "you can't deceive little walter. we heard you doing that spook turn. but it was time wasted." henry and shawmut exchanged puzzled looks. "you certain will have to explain what you are driving at," growled shawmut. "don't you know?" "none whatever." "i fear you are still seeking to deceive me." "not a bit of it," averred henry. "whatever was yer talking about, wiley?" "why, last eve, after we had partaken of our repast and were disporting ourselves in comfort on the bosom of mother earth, there came through the atmosphere above us a singing voice which sang a sweet song all about dead men and such things. afterward the voice warned us to hoist anchor, set sail, and get out of this port. it claimed to be the voice of benson clark, the man who first found the mine here, and who was afterward shot full of holes by some amusement-seeking redskins. i surely fancied you were concerned in that little joke, mates." both the ruffians shook their heads. "we has nothing to do with it," denied shawmut. "well, now it is indeed a deep, dark mystery," observed the sailor. "do you suppose, mates, that the spook of benson clark is lingering in this vicinity?" "we takes no stock in spooks," asserted henry. "and thus you show your deep logical sense," slowly nodded the sailor. "i congratulate you; but the mystery of that voice is unsolved, and it continues to perplex me." the listening man high up on the embankment was also perplexed. if shawmut and henry knew nothing of the mysterious warning voice, the enigma was still unsolved. as he thought of this matter, merry soon decided that these ruffians had spoken the truth in denying all knowledge of the affair. these men talked in the rough dialect of their kind. the unseen singer had not used that dialect; and, therefore, the mystery of the valley remained a mystery still. frank continued to watch and listen. "it's no spook we're worried about," declared henry. "if we dispose of this yere merriwell, we will be all right. with you ter help us, wiley, we oughter do the trick." "sure, sure," agreed the sailor. "thar is three of us," said shawmut, "and that certain makes us more than a match for them. the kid and the crazy galoot don't count. we has only merriwell and hodge to buck against." "they are quite enough, mates--quite enough," put in the sailor. "we will have to get up early in the morning to get ahead of them." "this yere merriwell certain is no tenderfoot," agreed shawmut. wiley arose and slapped the speaker on the shoulder in a friendly, familiar manner. "now you're talking," he nodded. "he is a bad man with a record longer than your arm. i have dealt with hundreds of them, however; and i think my colossal brain will be more than a match for him. did you ever hear how i got the best of bat masterson? it's a thrilling tale. listen and i will unfold it to you. you know bat was the real thing. beyond question, he was the worst bad man that ever perambulated the border. yet i humbled him to his knees and made him beg for mercy. that was some several years ago. at that time--" wiley was fairly launched on one of his yarns, but at that moment frank merriwell heard a slight movement and attempted to turn quickly, when he was given a thrust by a powerful pair of hands, which hurled him forward from the embankment and sent him whirling down toward the tent below. frank struck on the tent, which served to break his fall somewhat, but he was temporarily stunned. when he recovered, he found himself bound hand and foot and his three captors surveying him by the light of the fire. "well, wouldn't it jar you!" exclaimed the sailor. "it was almost too easy. why, mates, he must 'a' been up there listening to our innocent conversation, and somehow he lost his hold and took a tumble." shawmut laughed hoarsely. "it was a mighty bad tumble for him," he said. "he falls right into our paws, and we has him foul. now we're all right. talk about luck; this is it!" kip henry shook his wounded and bandaged hand before frank's eyes. "you did that, hang you!" he snarled. "now you gits paid fer it!" as the ruffian uttered these words he placed a hand on his revolver and seemed on the point of shooting the helpless captive. "wait a minute, mate," urged wiley. "let's not be too hasty. there are three of us here, and i have a sagacious opinion that any one of us will take morbid pleasure in putting mr. merriwell out of his misery. i propose that we draw lots to see who will do the little job." "you seem mighty anxious to take a hand at it!" growled henry. "i wish to prove my readiness to stand by you through thick and thin," asserted the sailor. "in this way i shall win your absolute confidence. should it fall on me to do this unpleasant task, you will see the job most scientifically done." as he made this assertion wiley laughed in a manner that seemed wholly heartless and brutal. "i didn't think it of you, cap'n!" exclaimed frank. "that's all right," returned the sailor brazenly. "i'm a solicitor of fortune; i am out for the dust. these gents here have assured me that i shall have a third interest in the mine when it is located. every bird feathers its own nest. i have a chance to feather mine, and i don't propose to lose the opportunity. if the task devolves upon me to transport you to the shining shore, rest easy in the assurance that i'll do a scientific job. i will provide you in short order with a pair of wings." "that's the talk!" chuckled shawmut. "how does we settle who does it?" "have you a pack of cards?" inquired wiley. "sartin," said shawmut, fishing in his pocket and producing a greasy pack. "we has 'em." "then i propose that we cut. the one who gets the lowest does the trick." that was agreed to, and a moment later the cards had been shuffled and placed on a flat stone near the fire. henry cut first and exposed a king. "that lets you out," said the sailor. "i can beat that. come ahead, mate shawmut." shawmut cut and turned up a trey. "i reckon i'm the one," he said. then wiley cut the cards and held up in the firelight a deuce! both henry and shawmut uttered exclamations. "well, you has your wish," said the latter. "now it's up to you to go ahead with the business." wiley actually smiled. "let me take your popgun, mate," he said, extending his hand toward henry. "mine is a little too small to do the trick properly." henry handed over his pistol. wiley examined it critically, finally shaking his head. "it's a mighty poor gun for a man of your standing to carry, mate," he asserted. "perhaps you have a better one, shawmut? let me see." shawmut also gave up his pistol. having a revolver in each hand, cap'n wiley cocked them both. "they seem to be in good working order," he said. "i should fancy either of them would kill a man quicker than he could wink his eye." "you bet your boots!" said henry. "that being the case," observed wiley, "i will now proceed to business." then, to the surprise of the two ruffians, he leveled the pistols straight at them. "now, you double-and-twisted yeller dogs!" he cried, "if you so much as wiggle your little finger, i will perforate both of you! i have the pleasure to inform you that i am a fancy pistol shot, and i think i can soak you with about six bullets each before you can say skat." the astounded ruffians were taken completely by surprise. "what in blazes does you mean?" snarled shawmut. "i mean business," declared the sailor. "did you low-born whelps think that cap'n wiley would go back on his old side pard, frank merriwell? if you fancied such a thing for the fraction of a momentous moment, you deceived yourselves most erroneously. now you keep still where you are, for i give you my sworn statement that i will shoot at the first move either of you make." as wiley said this he stepped close to frank, beside whom he knelt, at the same time keeping the ruffians covered. he placed one of the revolvers on the ground and drew his hunting knife. with remarkable swiftness he severed the cords which held frank helpless. "pick up that shooting iron, merry," he directed. "i rather think we have these fine chaps just where we want them." frank lost no time in obeying, and the tables were completely turned on shawmut and henry. "stand up, you thugs!" ordered merry. "stand close together, and be careful what you do." infuriated beyond measure, they obeyed, for they were in mortal terror of their lives. "take those ropes, wiley, and tie their hands behind their backs," directed frank. "with the greatest pleasure," laughed the sailor. and he proceeded to do so. when the ruffians were thus bound merry turned to wiley, whose hand he grasped. "cap'n, forgive me!" he cried. "i was mistaken in you. i couldn't believe it possible; still, everything was against you. how did it happen?" "a few words will clear up my seeming unworthiness," said the sailor. "when you departed to-day i found everything calm, and peaceful, and serene about the camp, and, after smoking my pipe a while, i fell asleep beside the tent. when i awoke these fine gentlemen had me. they proceeded to tie me up to the queen's taste. seeing my predicament, i made no resistance. i permitted them to do just as they liked. i depended on my tongue, which has never failed me, to get me out of the predicament, i saw them gather up the outfit, pack it on the horses and prepare to remove it. during this i craftily assured them that i would gleefully embrace the opportunity to join issues with them. "it's needless to enter into details, but they decided that it was best to let me linger yet a while on this mundane sphere while thinking my proposition over. so i was brought thither, along with the goods and chattels, and i further succeeded in satisfying them that they could trust me. it was my object, when i found they were well supplied with corn juice, to get them both helplessly intoxicated, after which i hoped to capture them alone and unaided. your sudden tumble into this little nest upset my plans in that direction, but everything has worked out handsomely." chapter vi. wiley meets miss fortune. when they returned with their captives and the stolen horses and outfit to the timber in which frank had left hodge and the others it was learned that worthington had disappeared. in vain they searched for him. he had slipped away without attracting hodge's attention, and he failed to answer their calls. in the morning the search was continued. they returned to their former camping place at the head of the valley where the mysterious voice had been heard, and there frank finally discovered some rude steps in the face of the cliff, by which he mounted to an opening which proved to be the mouth of a cave. there were evidences that this cave had been occupied by some person. merry saw at once that this unknown person might have been in the mouth of the cave at the time the mysterious voice was heard, and that beyond question he was the singer and the one who had warned them. it was midday when worthington was found. they discovered him in a thicket, locked fast in the arms of another man, whose clothes were ragged and torn, and who looked like a hermit or a wild man. the thicket in that vicinity was smashed and broken, and betrayed evidences of a fierce struggle. worthington's hands were fastened on the stranger's throat, and both men were stone-dead. "i know that man!" cried merry, in astonishment. "i met him in holbrook last spring. i told him of benson clark's death. he was once clark's partner. since that time he must have searched for clark's mine and made his way to this valley. this explains the mystery. this explains how he knew me and knew of benson clark." "yes, that explains it," nodded hodge. "but now, frank--what are we to do?" "we will give these poor fellows decent burial, and after that----" "after that--what?" "shawmut and henry must be turned over to the law. we must dispose of them as soon as possible. then there will be plenty of time to return here and locate benson clark's lost mine." and that plan was carried out. in a few days frank merriwell, bart hodge, cap'n wiley and little abe rode into prescott, arizona, escorting their captives, whom they turned over to the officers of the law. merry was ready to make a serious charge against the men, but, after listening to his story, the city official said: "better not trouble yourself about it, mr. merriwell. those chaps are old offenders! they have been wanted for some time for stage robbing, horse stealing, and for the malicious murder of a man in crown king and another in cherry. did you ever hear of spike riley?" "seems to me," said frank, "i have heard of him as a bad man who was associated with the kid grafton gang." "well, sir, this chap you call shawmut is spike riley. since then little has been heard from him. i am glad to get my hands on him." "then i'll leave him to your gentle care," said frank, with a smile. "you will relieve me of further bother on his part. as for henry----" "henry!" laughed the official. "why, he's got a record pretty nearly as bad as that of riley. he is known down in northern mexico as one lobo, and he has been concerned with juan colorado in some few raids. i think there is a reward offered for both of these men. in that case i presume you will claim it, sir." cap'n wiley, who had listened with his head cocked on one side and a peculiar look in his eyes, now coughed suggestively. frank glanced at the sailor and smiled. "in case there is a reward, sir," he said, "it belongs to this gentleman." as he rested a hand on wiley's shoulder the latter threw out his chest and swelled up like a toad taking in air. "thanks, mate," he said. "my modesty would have prevented me from mentioning such a trifling matter." "oh, i will give you all the credit that's your due, cap'n," assured merry. "you pulled me out of a bad pickle and tricked those ruffians very handsomely." "that will do, that will do," said the sailor. "let it go at that, frank, old side partner. it is as natural for me to do such things as for the sweet flowers to open in the blooming spring. i never think anything about them after i do them. i never mention them to a soul. why, if i were to relate half of the astounding things that have happened to me some people might suspect me of telling what is not strictly true. that's what binds my tongue to silence. that's why i never speak of myself. some day my history will be written up, and i shall get great glory even though i do not collect a royalty." "this is a pretty good thing, merry," said hodge. "it relieves you of all responsibility in regard to those ruffians, and you can now go about your business." in this manner it was settled, and frank left the two ruffians to be locked up in the prescott jail. rooms were obtained at the best hotel in the place, and both frank and bart proceeded without delay to "spruce up." having bathed, and shaved, and obtained clean clothes, they felt decidedly better. it was useless for cap'n wiley to indulge in such needless trouble, as he regarded it. "this is not my month to bathe," he murmured, as he sat with his feet on the sill of frank's window and puffed leisurely at a cigar. "besides, i am resting now. i find myself on the verge of nervous prostration, and therefore i need rest. later i may blossom forth and take the town by surprise." later he did. although he had jocosely stated that it was not his month to bathe, he indulged in such a luxury before nightfall, was shaved at a barber's shop and purchased a complete outfit of clothes at a clothing store. he even contemplated buying a silk hat, but finally gave this up when he found that silk hats of the latest style were decidedly scarce in prescott. when he swaggered into frank's room, where merry and hodge were holding a consultation, they both surveyed him in surprise. "i am the real thing now," he declared. "what has brought about this sudden change on your part?" questioned frank. "hush!" said the sailor. "breathe it softly. when i sat by yonder window musing on my variegated career i beheld passing on the street a charming maiden. i had not fancied there could be such a fair creature in this town. when i beheld her my being glowed. i decided that it was up to me to shed my coat of dust and grime and adorn myself. i have resolved to make my ontray into the midst of society here." "but aren't you going back with us to the mazatzals?" questioned merry. "when do you contemplate such a thing?" "we expect to leave to-morrow." "why this agitated haste?" "you know we've not definitely located benson clark's lost claim, although we feel certain it must be in the enchanted valley or in that vicinity. we're going back to prospect for that mine. if you return with us and we discover it, of course you will have an interest in it." "thanks for your thoughtful consideration, mate. at the same time, it seems to me that i have had about enough prospecting to do me for a while." "do you mean that you're not going with us?" exclaimed hodge, in surprise. "why, if we discover that mine it may make you rich!" "well, i will think the matter over with all due seriousness," said wiley easily. "i know you will miss my charming society if i don't go." "it may be the chance of your lifetime," said merry. "i'm not worrying about that. wherever i go, dame fortune is bound to smile upon me. i have a mash on that old girl. she seems to like my style." "i think you will make a mistake, wiley, if you don't go," asserted frank. "possibly so; but i've made so many mistakes in the brief span of my legitimate life that one or two more will hardly ruffle me. if i have to confess the truth to you, that valley is to me a ghastly and turgid memory. when i think of it i seem to hear ghostly voices, and i remember worthington raving and ranting about death and destruction, and i picture him as we discovered him in the thicket, dead in the clutch of another dead man. these things are grewsome to me, and i fain would forget them." "all right, cap'n," said frank; "you are at liberty to do as you like." then he and bart continued arranging their plans. that evening wiley disappeared. frank and bart left little abe at the hotel and went out to "see the sights." in the biggest gambling place of the town they found the sailor playing roulette. wiley had a streak of luck, and he was hitting the bank hard. around him had gathered a crowd to watch his plunging, and the coolness with which he won large sums of money commanded their admiration. "it's nothing, mates," he declared--"merely nothing. when i was at monte carlo i won eleventeen thousand pesoses, or whatever they call them, at one turn of the wheel. such a streak of luck caused the croupier to die of apoplexy, broke the bank, and put the prince of monte carlo out of business for twenty-four hours. the next day the prince came to me and besought me to leave the island. he declared that if i played again he feared he would die in the poorhouse. as it was, he found it necessary to mortgage the casino in order to raise skads to continue in business. to-night i am merely amusing myself. five thousand on the red." "well, what do you think of that?" asked hodge in frank's ear. "i think," said frank, "that it is about time for cap'n wiley to cash in and stop playing." he pushed his way through the throng and reached the sailor. "now is the time for you to stop," said frank in wiley's ear, speaking in a low tone, in order not to attract attention, for he knew such advice would not be relished by the proprietor and might get him into trouble. "never fear about me, mate," returned the sailor serenely. "ere morning dawns i shall own this place. talk about your gold mines! why, this beats them all!" "it's a wise man who knows when to stop," said frank. "it's a wise man who knows how to work a streak clean through to the finish," was the retort. "i have my luck with me to-night, and the world is mine. in the morning i shall build a fence around it." "red wins," quietly announced the croupier. "you observe how easy it is, i presume," said wiley, smiling. "i can't help it. it's as natural as breathing." frank saw that it was useless to argue with the sailor, and so he and hodge left him still playing, while they strolled through the place. there was a dance hall connected, which provided amusement for them a while, although neither danced. barely half an hour passed before frank, who was somewhat anxious about wiley, returned to note how wiley was getting along. luck had turned, and wiley was losing steadily. still he continued to bet with the same harebrained carelessness, apparently perfectly confident that his bad luck could not keep up. "he will go broke within twenty minutes if he sticks to it, frank," said hodge. merry nodded. "that's right," he agreed; "but he won't listen to advice. if we attempt to get him away, we will simply kick up a disturbance and find ourselves in a peck of trouble. even if he should cash in now and quit ahead of the game, he'd come back to it and lose all he's won. therefore we may as well let him alone." they did so, and bart's prophecy came true. the sailor's reckless betting lowered his pile so that it seemed to melt like dew before the sun. finally he seemed to resolve on a grand stroke, and he bet everything before him on the red. the little ball clicked and whirred in the whirling wheel. the spectators seemed breathless as they watched for the result of that plunge. slower and slower grew the revolutions of the wheel. the ball spun around on its rim like a cork on the water. at length it dropped. "he wins!" panted an excited man. "no--see!" exclaimed another. the ball had bobbed out of its pocket and spun on again. "lost!" was the cry, as it finally settled and rested securely in a pocket. wiley swallowed down a lump in his throat as the man behind the table raked in the wager. "excuse me," said the sailor, rising. "i hope you will pardon me while i go drown myself. can any one direct me to a tub of tanglefoot?" as he left the table, knowing now that it would cause no disturbance, frank grasped his arm and again advised him to leave the place. "i admit to you," said wiley, "that i was mistaken when i stated that i had a mash on dame fortune. i have discovered that it was her daughter, miss fortune. leave me--leave me to my fate! i shall now attempt to lap up all the liquids in the place, and in the morning i'll have a large aching head." frank insisted, however, and his command led wiley reluctantly to permit them to escort him from the place. "i might read you a lecture on the evils of gambling, cap'n," said merry; "but i shall not do so to-night. it strikes me that you have learned your lesson." "it is only one of many such lessons," sighed the sailor. "by this time i should have them by heart, but somehow i seem to forget them. i wish to tell you a secret that i have held buried in my bosom these many years. it is this: "somewhere about my machinery there is a screw loose. in vain i have sought to find it. i know it is there just as well as i know that i am cap'n wiley. now, you are a perfect piece of machinery, with everything tight, and firm, and well oiled, and polished. as an example you are the real thing. perhaps to-morrow i may conclude to follow in your footsteps. just tuck me in my little bed and leave me to dreamy slumber." after being left in his room, however, wiley did not remain long in bed. knowing they would not suspect such a thing of him, he arose, and dressed, and returned to the gambling house. when morning came he was not only broke, but he had pawned everything of value in his possession and was practically destitute. "well," said merry, having discovered the cap'n's condition, "i presume now you will return with us to the mazatzals?" "no use," was the answer; "i shall stay here in prescott. i have my eye on a good thing. don't worry about me." it was useless to urge him, for he persisted in his determination to stay there. and so before leaving frank made some final arrangements with him. "i have wired for my mail to be forwarded here, wiley," he said. "if anything of importance comes, anything marked to be delivered in haste, i wish you would see that it reaches me. cannot you do so?" "depend upon me, frank," assured the sailor. "i will not fail you in this. but before departing it seems to me that you should make arrangements that any such message be delivered into my hands." "i will do so," said merry. "now, see here, cap'n, i don't like to leave you strapped in this town. at the same time, i don't care to let you have money of mine to gamble with. if i provide you with some loose change, will you give me your word not to use it in gambling?" "your generosity is almost ignoble!" exclaimed wiley. "however, i accept it in the same manner that it is tendered. i give you my word." "well, that goes with me," nodded merry. "before leaving i shall see that you are fixed with ready money." chapter vii. a startling telegram. sunset in the enchanted valley. below the little waterfall which plunged down into the fissure at the southern end of the valley frank and bart had toiled hard all through the day. their sleeves were rolled up and their clothes mud-bespattered. there they had worked in the sandy soil near the stream, and there they had found the shining stuff for which they sought. every panful was carefully washed in the stream, showing dull yellow grains in the bottom when the last particles remained. not far away, on the level of the valley above them, set near the stream, was their tent. in front of it little abe was building a fire and was seeking to prepare supper for them, knowing they would be ravenously hungry when they quit work for the night. at intervals the cripple hobbled to the brink of the fissure and looked down at them as they toiled. no one had troubled them since their return to the valley. no longer did the place seem enchanted or mysterious. all the mysteries were solved, and it lay sleeping and silent amid that vast mountainous solitude. "well, bart," said frank, as he dropped his spade, "it seems to me that the thing is done to our satisfaction. at the northern end of the valley we have found clark's quartz claim, and the specimens we have taken from it seem decidedly promising. here we have located this placer, and we know from what we have washed out that it is rich and will prove extremely valuable while it lasts. now it's up to us to register our claims and open them for operation in the proper manner. we ought to be satisfied." "satisfied!" exclaimed bart. "you bet i am satisfied! what if i had remained in boston, merry? why, i would be plugging away to-day on a poor paying job, with decidedly poor prospects ahead of me. it was a most fortunate thing for me when i decided to stick by you and come west." frank smiled. "it was lucky, hodge," he agreed. "but i don't forget that you came without a selfish thought on your part. you came to help me in my fight against milton sukes. i am far better pleased for your sake than for my own that we have had this streak of luck. let's knock off for the night, old man. there's no reason why we should stick to it longer." as they were climbing from the fissure by the narrow and difficult path, little abe came rushing excitedly to the brink above and called to them. "come quick! come quick!" he cried. "what's the matter, abe?" asked frank, alarmed by the boy's manner. "somebody's coming," said the hunchback; "a man on a horse. he is coming right this way. he has seen the tent!" "we may have some trouble after all, merry," said hodge. ere they could reach the head of the path near the waterfall they plainly heard the thudding hoofs of the horse coming rapidly in that direction. when they had reached the level ground above they beheld the horseman approaching. it seemed that he observed them at the same time, for he suddenly waved his hat in the air and gave a yell. "by jove!" exclaimed merry, "i know him! it is wiley!" "right you are!" agreed hodge. "what the dickens could have brought him here at this time?" "perhaps he has some message for me. you know i made arrangements with him to bring any message of importance." the sailor drew up his horse as he approached. "ahoy there, mates!" he cried. "at last i have struck port, although i'd begun to wonder if i'd ever find it. this confounded old valley has moved since i was here last. i thought i knew just where it was, but i have spent two whole days cruising around in search of it." "hello, cap'n!" said frank. "you're just in time for supper." "supper!" exclaimed the sailor. "say it again! supper! why, i have been living on condensed air for the last twenty-four hours. look at me! i am so thin and emaciated that i can't cast a shadow. hungry! mates, a bootleg stew would be a culinary luxury to me. i will introduce ravage and devastation among your provisions. this morning i found an empty tomato can and another that once contained deviled ham, and i lunched off them. they were rather hard to digest, but they were better than nothing." he sprang down from his horse, which betrayed evidence of hard usage. "how did you happen to come?" asked merry. wiley fumbled in his pocket and brought forth a telegram. "i believe i made arrangements to deliver anything of importance directed to you," he said. "this dispatch arrived in prescott, and i lost no time in starting to fulfill my compact." merry took the telegram and quickly tore it open. there was a look of anxiety on his face when he had read its contents. "anything serious the matter?" asked hodge. "it's a message from my brother, dick," answered frank. "you know i wired him to address his letters to prescott. he didn't stop to send a letter. instead he sent this telegram. you know felicia delores, dick's cousin, with whom he was brought up? the climate of the east did not agree with her, therefore i provided a home for her in san diego, california, where she could attend school. dick has learned that she is ill and in trouble. he wants me to go to her at once." "what will you do?" asked hodge. "i must go," said frank quietly. * * * * * frank mounted the steps of a modern residence, standing on a palm-lined street in san diego, and rang the bell. he was compelled to ring twice more before the door was opened by a sleepy-looking mongolian. "i wish to see mr. staples at once," said merry. "is he home?" "mistal staple not home," was the serene answer, as the chinaman moved to close the door. frank promptly blocked this movement with a foot and leg. "don't be so hasty," he said sharply. "if mr. staples is not home, where can i find him?" "no tellee. velly solly." "then i must see mrs. staples," persisted merry. "she velly sick. velly solly. she can't slee anyblody." "well, you take her my card," directed merry, as he took out a card-case and tendered his card to the yellow-skinned servant. "no take cald. she tellee me no bothal her. go 'way. come bimeby--to-mollow." "now, look here, you son of the flowery kingdom," exclaimed merry, "i am going to see mrs. staples immediately, if she's in condition to see anyone. if you don't take her my card, you will simply compel me to intrude without being announced." "bold, blad man!" chattered the chinaman, with growing fear. "i callee police; have you 'lested." "you're too thick-headed for the position you hold!" exasperatedly declared merry. "take my card to mrs. staples instantly, and she will see me as soon as she reads my name, frank merriwell, upon it." "flank mellowell!" almost shouted the celestial. "you flank mellowell? clome light in, quickee! mladam, she expectee you." the door was flung open now, and frank entered. "well, you have come to your senses at last!" he said. "you no undelstand. blad men velly thick. blad men make velly glate tloubal. little glil she glone; mladam she cly velly much, velly much!" "hustle yourself!" ordered frank. "don't stand there chattering like a monkey. hurry up!" "hully velly flast," was the assurance, as the mongolian turned and toddled away at a snail's pace, leaving frank in the reception room. a few moments later there was a rustle of skirts, and a middle-aged woman, whose face was pale and eyes red and who carried a handkerchief in her hand, came down the stairs and found him waiting. "oh, mr. merriwell!" she exclaimed, the moment she saw him. "so it's really you! so you have come! we didn't know where to reach you, and so we wired your brother. he wired back that he had dispatched you and that he thought you would come without delay." her agitation and distress were apparent. "felicia," questioned frank huskily; "what of her?" "oh, i can't tell you--i can't tell you!" choked the woman, placing the handkerchief to her eyes. "it's so dreadful!" "tell me, mrs. staples, at once," said frank, immediately cool and self-controlled. "don't waste time, please. what has happened to felicia? where is she?" "she's gone!" came in a muffled voice from behind the handkerchief. "gone--where?" the agitated woman shook her head. "no one knows. no one can tell! oh, it's a terrible thing, mr. merriwell!" "where is mr. staples?" questioned frank, thinking he might succeed far better in obtaining the facts from the woman's husband. "that i don't know. he is searching for her. he, too, has been gone several days. i heard from him once. he was then in warner, away up in the mountains." merry saw that he must learn the truth from the woman. "mrs. staples," he said, "please tell me everything in connection with this singular affair. it's the only way that you can be of immediate assistance. you know i am quite in the dark, save for such information as i received from my brother's telegram. it informed me that felicia was in trouble and in danger. what sort of trouble or what sort of danger threatens her, i was not told. in order for me to do anything i must know the facts immediately." "it was nearly a month ago," said mrs. staples, "that we first discovered anything was wrong. felicia had not been very well for some time. she's so frail and delicate! it has been my custom each night before retiring to look in upon her to see if she was comfortable and all right. one night, as i entered her room, light in hand, i was nearly frightened out of my senses to see a man standing near her bed. he saw me or heard me even before i saw him. like a flash he whirled and sprang out of the window to the veranda roof, from which he easily escaped to the ground. "i obtained barely a glimpse of him, and i was so frightened at the time that i could not tell how he looked. felicia seemed to be sleeping soundly at the time, and didn't awake until i gave a cry that aroused her and the whole house as well. i never had a thought then that the man meant her harm. she was so innocent and helpless it seemed no one would dream of harming her. i took him for a burglar who had entered the house by the way of her window. after that we took pains to have her window opened only a short space, and tightly locked in that position, so that it could not be opened further from the outside without smashing it and alarming some one. i was thankful we had escaped so easily, and my husband felt sure there would be no further cause for worry. he said that, having been frightened off in such a manner, the burglar was not liable to return. "somehow it seemed to me that felicia was still more nervous and pale after that. she seemed worried about something, but whenever i questioned her she protested she was not. the doctor came to see her several times, but he could give her nothing that benefited her. i continued my practice of looking in at her each night before retiring. one night, a week later, after going to bed, something--i don't know what--led me to rise again and go to her room. outside her door i paused in astonishment, for i distinctly heard her voice, and she seemed to be in conversation with some one. i almost fancied i heard another voice, but was not certain about that. i pushed open the door and entered. felicia was kneeling by her partly opened window, and she gave a great start when i came in so quickly. a moment later i fancied i heard a sound as of some one or something dropping from the roof upon the ground. "i was so astonished that i scarcely knew what to say. 'felicia!' i exclaimed. 'what were you doing at that window?' "'oh, i was getting a breath of the cool night air,' she answered. 'with my window partly closed it is almost stuffy in here. sometimes i can't seem to breathe.' "'but i heard you talking, child,' i declared. 'who were you talking to?' "'i talk to myself sometimes, auntie, you know,' she said, in her innocent way. she always called me auntie. i confess, mr. merriwell, that i was completely deceived. this came all the more natural because felicia was such a frank, open-hearted little thing, and i'd never known her to deceive me in the slightest. i decided that my imagination had led me to believe i heard another voice than her own, and also had caused me to fancy that some one had dropped from the roof of the veranda. after that, however, i was uneasy. and my uneasiness was increased by the fact that the child seemed to grow steadily worse instead of better. "often i dreamed of her and of the man i had seen in her room. one night i dreamed that a terrible black shadow was hanging over her and had reached out huge clawlike hands to clutch her. that dream awoke me in the middle of the night, and i could not shake off the impression that some danger menaced her. with this feeling on me i slipped out of bed, lighted a candle, and again proceeded to her room. this time i was astonished once more to hear her talking as if in conversation with some one. but now i knew that, unless i was dreaming or bewitched, i also heard another voice than her own--that of a man. my bewilderment was so great that i forgot caution and flung her door wide open. the light of the candle showed her sitting up in bed, while leaning on the footboard was a dark-faced man with a black-pointed mustache. i screamed, and, in my excitement, dropped the candle, which was extinguished. i think i fainted, for mr. staples found me in a dazed condition just outside felicia's door. she was bending over me, but when i told her of the man i had seen and when she was questioned, she behaved in a most singular manner. not a word would she answer. had she denied everything i might have fancied it all a grewsome dream. i might have fancied i'd walked in my sleep and dreamed of seeing a man there, for he was gone when my husband reached the spot. "she would deny nothing, however, and what convinced us beyond question that some one had been in her room was the fact that the window was standing wide open. after that we changed her room to another part of the house and watched her closely. although we persisted in urging her to tell everything, not a word could we get from her. then it was that mr. staples wired richard, your brother. "three days later felicia disappeared. she vanished in the daytime, when every one supposed her to be safe in the house. no one saw her go out. she must have slipped out without being observed. of course we notified the police as soon as we were sure she was gone, and the city was searched for her. oh! it is a terrible thing, mr. merriwell; but she has not been found! mr. staples believes he has found traces of her, and that's why he is now away from home. that's all i can tell you. i hope you will not think we were careless or neglected her. she was the last child in the world to do such a thing. i can't understand it. i think she must have been bewitched." frank had listened quietly to this story, drinking in every word, the expression on his face failing to show how much it affected him. "i am sure it was no fault of yours, mrs. staples," he said. "but what do you think has happened to her? she was too young to be led into an intrigue with a man. still, i----" "you mustn't suspect her of that, mrs. staples!" exclaimed merry. "whatever has happened, i believe it was not the child's fault. when i placed her in your hands, you remember, i hinted to you of the fact that there was a mystery connected with her father's life, and that he was an outcast nobleman of spain. where he is now i cannot say. i last saw him in fardale. he was then hunted by enemies, and he disappeared and has never been heard from since. i believe it was his intention to seek some spot where he would be safe from annoyance and could lead his enemies to believe he was dead. i believe this mystery which hung like a shadow over him has fallen at last on little felicia. i would that i had known something of this before, that i might have arrived here sooner. i think felicia would have trusted me--i am sure of it!" "but now--now?" "now," said frank grimly, shaking his head, "now i must find her. you say you heard from your husband, who was then in a place called warner?" "yes." "then he may have tracked her thus far. it's a start on the trail." mrs. staples placed a trembling hand on frank's sleeve. "if you find her--the moment you find her," she pleaded, "let me know. remember i shall be in constant suspense until i hear from you." "depend upon me to let you know," assured frank. a moment later he was descending the steps. he walked swiftly along the palm-lined streets, revolving in his mind the perplexing problem with which he was confronted. seemingly he was buried in deep thought and quite oblivious of his surroundings. as he passed around a corner into another street he glanced back without turning his head. already he had noted that another man was walking rapidly in the same direction, and this sidelong glance gave him a glimpse of the man. three corners he turned, coming at length to the main street of the city. there he turned about a moment later and was face to face with the man who had been following him. this chap would have passed on, but frank promptly stepped out and confronted him. he saw a small, wiry, dark-skinned individual, on whose right cheek there was a triangular scar. "i beg your pardon," said merry. "_si, señor_," returned the man with the scar, lifting his eyebrows in apparent surprise. "you seem very interested in me," said merry quietly. "but i wish to tell you something for your own benefit. it is dangerous for you to follow me, and you had better quit it. that's all. _adios!_" "_carramba!_" muttered the man, glaring at frank's back as merriwell again strode away. chapter viii. felipe dulzura. frank did not find rufus staples at warner. he had been there, however, and gone; but no one seemed to know where. the afternoon of a sunny day found merry mounted on a fine horse, emerging from the mountains into a black valley that was shut in on either side by savage peaks. through this valley lay a faint trail winding over the sand and through the forests of hideous cactus and yucca trees. he had not journeyed many miles along this trail ere he drew up. turning his horse about, he took a powerful pair of field glasses from a case and adjusted them over his eyes. with their aid he surveyed the trail behind him as far as it could be seen. "i thought i was not mistaken," he muttered, as his glasses showed him a mounted man coming steadily along from the foothills of the mountains. "i wonder if he is the gentleman with the scarred cheek. i think i will wait and see." he dismounted and waited beside the trail for the horseman to approach. the man came on steadily and unhesitatingly and finally discovered frank lingering there. like merry, the stranger was well mounted, and his appearance seemed to indicate that there was spanish blood in his veins. he had a dark, carefully trimmed van dyke beard and was carelessly rolling a cigarette when he appeared in plain view. his clothing was plain and serviceable. merry stood beside his horse and watched the stranger draw near. frank's hand rested lightly on his hip close to the butt of his holstered revolver, but the unknown made no offensive move. instead of that he called, in a pleasant, musical voice: "good-day, sir. i have overtaken you at last. i saw you in advance, and i hastened somewhat." "did you, indeed?" retorted merry, with a faint smile. "i fancied you were coming after me in a most leisurely manner. but, then, i suppose that's what you call hurrying in this country." "oh, we never rush and exhaust ourselves after the manner of the east," was the smiling declaration, as the handsome stranger struck a match and lighted the cigarette. although frank was confident the man was a spaniard, he spoke with scarcely a hint of an accent. in his speech, if not in his manner, he was more like an american. "seems rather singular," questioned frank, "that you should be traveling alone through this desolate region." "the same question in reference to you has been troubling me, sir," retorted the stranger, puffing lightly at his cigarette. "to me it seems altogether remarkable to find you here." "in that case, we are something of a mystery to each other." "very true. as far as i am concerned, the mystery is easily solved. my name is felipe dulzura. i am from santa barbara. i own some vineyards there." having made this apparently frank explanation, the man paused and looked inquiringly at merry, as if expecting at least as much in return. frank did not hesitate. "my name is frank merriwell," he said, "and i am a miner." "a miner?" "yes, sir." "you can't have any mines in this vicinity." "possibly i am looking the country over for an investment." "it's possible," nodded dulzura. "but from your intelligent appearance, i should fancy it hardly probable." "thanks for the compliment. in regard to you, being a planter, it seems quite unlikely that you should be surveying this region in search of a vineyard. it seems to me that i have been fully as frank, sir, as you have." felipe dulzura lifted an objecting hand. "i have not finished," he protested. "i didn't mean to give you the impression that i was seeking vineyards here. far from it. on the contrary, having a little leisure, i am visiting the old missions in this part of the country. they interest me greatly. there was a time, long ago, you know, when this land belonged to my ancestors. my grandfather owned a vast tract of it. that was before gold was discovered and the great rush of 'forty-nine occurred. "i presume it is needless to state that my grandfather's title to his lands was regarded as worthless after that and he lost everything. he died a poor man. my father was always very bitter about it, and he retired to old mexico where he spent his last days. i am happy to say that he did not transfer his bitterness toward the people of this country to me, and i have found it to my advantage to return here and engage in my present occupation. you should see my vineyard, mr. merriwell. i think i have one of the finest in the state." the manner in which this statement was made seemed frankly open and aboveboard. to all appearances, felipe dulzura had nothing to conceal and was unhesitating in telling his business. "i, too," declared merry, "am interested in the old spanish missions. they remind me of the days of romance, which seem so far removed." "ah!" cried dulzura, "then it may happen that we can journey a while in company. that will be agreeable to me. i confess that the trail has been lonely." the planter was most agreeable and friendly in his manner, and his smile was exceedingly pleasant. in every way he seemed a most harmless individual, but experience had taught merry the danger of always trusting to outward appearances. "company of the right sort will not be disagreeable to me," assured frank. "good!" laughed dulzura. "i am sick of talking to myself, to my horse, or to the landscape. i am a sociable chap, and i like some one to whom i can talk. do you smoke, mr. merriwell? i have tobacco and papers." "thank you; i don't smoke." "ah, you miss one of the soothing friends of life. when i have no other company, my cigarette serves as one. this beastly valley is hot enough! the mountains shut it in and cut off all the cool breezes. however, ere nightfall we should get safely out of it and come to san monica mission. it lies yonder near the old indian reservation. i have heard my father tell of it, and it has long been my object to see it." for some little time they chatted, dulzura seeming to be in the most communicative mood, but finally they prepared to go on together. when they were ready frank suggested that his companion lead the way, as it was far more likely that he knew the trail better. "no, no, mr. merriwell," was the protest. "there is but one trail here. like you, i have never passed over it. you were in advance; it would scarcely be polite for me to take the lead." frank, however, had no thought of placing himself with his back turned on the self-styled planter, and, therefore, he insisted that dulzura should proceed in advance, to which the latter acquiesced. as they rode on through the somewhat stifling heat of the valley, the spaniard continued to talk profusely, now and then turning his head and smiling back at merry. "next year," he said, "i mean to visit spain. i have never been there, you know. years and years ago my ancestors lived there. i trust you will pardon the seeming egotism, mr. merriwell, if i say it's not poor blood that runs in my veins. my ancestors far back were grandees. did you ever hear of the costolas? it's likely not. there were three branches of the family. i am a descendant of one branch." "costola?" murmured frank. "the name seems familiar to me, but i presume there are many who bear it." "quite true. as for our family, however, an old feud has nearly wiped it out. it started in politics, and it divided the costolas against themselves. a divided house, you know, cannot stand. my grandmother was a costola. she was compelled to leave spain. at that time another branch of the family was in power. since then things have changed. since then that powerful branch of the family has declined and fallen. it was not so many years ago that the sole surviving member was compelled, like my grandmother, to escape secretly from spain. he came to this country and here lived under another name, taking that of his mother's family. i don't even remember the name he assumed after reaching america; but i did know that the surviving costolas hunted him persistently, although he managed to evade and avoid them. what has become of him now is likewise a mystery. perhaps he is dead." the speaker suddenly turned so that he could look fairly into frank's face, smiling a little, and said: "it's not likely this interests you, sir." "on the contrary," merry smiled back, "i find it quite interesting. to me spain is a land of romance. being a plain american, the tales of those deadly feuds are fascinating to me. i presume the costolas must have possessed large estates in spain?" "once they did." "and the one you speak of--the one who was compelled to flee from the country--was he wealthy?" "i believe he was reckoned so at one time." "and now," said frank, "if this feud were ended, if any offense of his were pardoned, could he not claim his property?" "that i don't know," declared dulzura, shaking his head. "well, then, if he has any descendants, surely they must be the rightful heirs to his estate." "i doubt, sir, if they could ever possess it. it must eventually be divided among his living relatives." "ah!" cried merry. "i understand, mr. dulzura, why you must have a particular interest in visiting spain. it seems probable that you, being distantly related to this exiled nobleman, may finally come into possession of a portion of his property." "it's not impossible," was the confession, as the man in advance rolled a fresh cigarette. "but i am not counting on such uncertainties. although my grandfather and my father both died poor, i am not a pauper myself. to be sure, i am not immensely rich, but my vineyards support me well. i have lived in this country and in mexico all my life. in fact, i feel that i am more american than anything else. my father could not understand the democracy of the americans. he could not understand their disregard of title and royalty." frank laughed. "had he lived in these days," he said, "and associated with a certain class of degenerate americans, he would have discovered that they are the greatest worshipers of titles and royal blood in the whole world." "i think that may be true," agreed the spaniard, puffing at his cigarette. "i have seen some of it. i know that many of your rich american girls sell themselves for the sake of titles to broken-down and rakish noblemen of other countries. i think most americans are ashamed of this." "indeed they are," seriously agreed merry. "it makes them blush when a rich american girl is led to the altar by some broken-down old _roué_ with a title, who has spent his manhood and wrecked his constitution in dissipation and licentiousness. almost every week we read in the papers of some titled foreigner who is coming to america in search of a rich wife. we don't hear of the scores and scores of american girls with wealthy parents who go abroad in search of titles. but we have forgotten the costolas. can you tell me anything more of them?" "you seem strangely interested in them," said dulzura, again glancing back. "it almost seems as if you had heard of them before." "and it almost seems so to me," confessed frank. "i think i must have heard of them before. sometime i shall remember when it was and what i have heard." but, although they continued to talk, the spaniard told merry nothing more of interest in that line. finally they relapsed into silence and rode on thus. frank's thoughts were busy when his tongue became silent. he remembered well that the most malignant and persistent enemy of little felicia's father was a man who called himself felipe costola. this man had made repeated efforts to get possession of felicia, but had been baffled by delores and had finally lost his life in fardale. beyond question, felipe costola was dead, and what had become of juan delores no man seemed to know. putting two and two together, frank began to wonder if delores might not be a costola who had assumed the name of his mother's family while living in spain, thus arousing the everlasting enmity of all the costolas, and who had finally been compelled to flee to america. in many respects the history of this man agreed with that told by juan delores himself. he had once told frank the name and title by which he was known in spain, but never had he explained the fierce enmity of felipe costola. now merry was speculating over the possibility that delores must have once been a costola. if this was true, then little felicia was, by the statement of dulzura, the rightful heir to the estate in spain. meditating on this possibility, frank fancied he obtained a peep behind the curtain which hid the mystery of felicia's disappearance. with the child out of the way, a false heir might be substituted, and the schemers behind the plot would reap their reward. the shadows of evening were thickening in the mountain when merry and his companion passed from the valley and reached the abrupt foothills. here the trail was more clearly defined, and soon they were startled to see standing beside it an aged indian, who regarded them with the stony gaze of the sphinx. dulzura drew up and asked the indian in spanish if the san monica mission was near. the reply was that it was less than half a mile in advance. they came to it, sitting on a little plateau, silent and sad in the purple twilight. it was worn and battered by the storms of years. on its ancient tower the cross stood tremblingly. a great crack showed in its wall, running from base to apex. in the dark opening of the tower a huge bell hung, silent and soundless. merry drew up and sat regarding the ancient pile in almost speechless awe and reverence. it was a monument of other days in that sunny land. here, long before the coming of the gold seekers, the spanish priest had taught the indian to bow his knee to the one true god. here they had lived their calm and peaceful lives, which were devoted to the holy cause. "come," urged dulzura, "let's get a peep within ere it becomes quite dark. there must be an indian village somewhere near, and there, after looking into the mission, we may find accommodations." frank did not say that he was doubtful if such accommodations as they might find in an indian village could satisfy him; but he followed his companion to the stone gate of the old mission, where dulzura hastily dismounted. even as frank sprang from his horse he saw a dark figure slowly and sedately approaching the gate. it proved to be a bare-headed old monk in brown robes, who supported his trembling limbs with a short, stout staff. dulzura saluted the aged guardian of the mission in a manner of mingled worship and respect. "what do ye here, my son?" asked the father, in a voice no less unsteady than his aged limbs. "we have come, father, to see the mission," answered the spaniard. "we have journeyed for that purpose." "it's now too late, my son, to see it to-night. on the morrow i will take you through it." "you live here alone, father?" "all alone since the passing of father junipero," was the sad answer, as the aged monk made the sign of the cross. frank was deeply touched by the melancholy in the old man's voice and in the lonely life he led there in the ruined mission. "what is the mission's income?" questioned merry. "our lands are gone. we have very little," was the reply. "still father perez has promised to join me, and i have been looking for him. when i heard your horse approaching i thought it might be he. it was but another disappointment. still, it matters not." "let us take a peep inside," urged dulzura. "just one peep to-night, father." "you can see nothing but shadows, my son; but you shall look, if you wish." he turned and moved slowly along the path, aided by the staff. they followed him through the gate and into the long stone corridor, where even then the twilight was thick with shadows. in the yard the foliage grew luxuriantly, but in sad neglect and much need of trimming and attention. at the mission door they paused. "let's go in," urged dulzura. "to-morrow will be time enough," answered frank, a sudden sensation of uneasiness and apprehension upon him. at this refusal dulzura uttered a sudden low exclamation and took a swift step as if to pass merry. frank instantly turned in such a manner that he placed his back against the wall, with the door on his left and the old monk close at hand at his right. suddenly, from beyond the shadows of the foliage in the yard, dark forms sprang up and came bounding into the corridor. out from the door rushed another figure. dulzura uttered a cry in spanish and pointed at frank. they leaped toward him. merry's hand dropped toward the holster on his hip, but with a gasp he discovered that it was empty. instead of grasping the butt of his pistol, he found no weapon there with which to defend himself. for all of the shadows he saw the glint of steel in the hands of those men as they leaped toward him, and he knew his life was in frightful peril. how his pistol had escaped from the holster, whether it had slipped out by accident, or had in some inexplicable manner been removed by human hands, frank could not say. it was gone, however, and he seemed defenseless against his murderous assailants. in times of danger frank's brain moved swiftly, and on this occasion it did not fail him. with one sudden side-step, he snatched from the old monk's hand the heavy staff. with a swift blow from this he was barely in time to send the nearest assailant reeling backward. the others did not pause, and during the next few moments frank was given the liveliest battle of his career. "cut him down! cut him down!" cried dulzura, in spanish. they responded by making every effort to sink their knives in frank. they were wiry, catlike little men, and in the gloom their eyes seemed to gleam fiercely, while their lips curled back from their white teeth. merriwell's skill as a swordsman stood him in good stead now. he took care not to be driven against the wall. he whirled, and cut, and struck in every direction, seeking ample room for evolutions. he knew full well that to be pressed close against the wall would put him at a disadvantage, for then he would not have room for his leaps, and swings, and thrusts, and jabs. the fighting american bewildered and astounded them. he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. when one leaped at him from behind to sink a knife between his shoulders frank suddenly whirled like lightning and smote the fellow across the wrist, sending the steel flying from his fingers to clang upon the stones. the old monk lifted his trembling hands in prayer and tottered away. what had happened seemed to him most astounding and appalling. "come on, you dogs!" rang frank's clear voice. "come on yourself, felipe dulzura, you treacherous cur! why do you keep out of reach and urge your little beasts on?" the spaniard uttered an oath in his own language. "close in! close in!" he directed. "press him from all sides! don't let one man beat you off like that!" "you seem to be taking good care of your own precious hide," half laughed frank. then, as the opportunity presented, he made a sudden rush and reached dulzura with a crack of the staff that caused the fellow to howl and stagger. it did not seem, however, that, armed only with that stick, merry could long contend against such odds. soon something must happen. soon one of those little wretches would find the opportunity to come in and strike swift and sure with a glittering knife. the racket and uproar of the conflict startled the echoes of the mission building, and in that peaceful, dreamy spot such sounds seemed most appalling. frank knew the end must come. had he possessed a pistol he might have triumphed over them all in spite of the odds. suddenly in the distance, from far down the trail toward the valley, came the sound of singing. as it reached merry's ears he started in the utmost amazement, for he knew that tune. many a time had he joined in singing it in the old days. although the words were not distinguishable at first, he could follow them by the sound of the tune. this is the stanza the unseen singers voiced: "deep in our hearts we hold the love of one dear spot by vale and hill; we'll not forget while life may last where first we learned the soldier's skill; the green, the field, the barracks grim, the years that come shall not avail to blot from us the mem'ry dear of fardale--fair fardale." "fair fardale!"--that was the song. how often frank had joined in singing it when a boy at fardale military academy. no wonder frank knew it well! by the time the stanza was finished the singers were much nearer, and their words could be plainly distinguished. dulzura and his tools were astounded, but the man urged them still more fiercely to accomplish their task before the singers could arrive. the singing of that song, however, seemed to redouble merry's wonderful strength and skill. he was now like a flashing phantom as he leaped, and dodged, and swung, and thrust with the heavy staff. his heart was beating high, and he felt that he could not be defeated then. finally the baffled and wondering assailants seemed to pause and draw back. frank retreated toward the wall and stood waiting, his stick poised. the musical voices of the unseen singers broke into the chorus, and involuntarily frank joined them, his own clear voice floating through the evening air: "then sing of fardale, fair fardale! your voices raise in joyous praise of fardale--fair fardale! forevermore 'twixt hill and shore, oh, may she stand with open hand to welcome those who come to her-- our fardale--fair fardale!" it was plain that, for some reason, dulzura and his band of assassins had not wished to use firearms in their dreadful work. now, however, the leader seemed to feel that there was but one course left for him. merry saw him reach into a pocket and felt certain the scoundrel was in search of a pistol. he was right. even as dulzura brought the weapon forth, frank made two pantherish bounds, knocking the others aside, and smote the chief rascal a terrible blow over the ear. dulzura was sent whirling out between two of the heavy pillars to crash down into the shrubbery of the yard. that blow seemed to settle everything, for with the fall of their master the wretches who had been urged on by him took flight. like frightened deer they scudded, disappearing silently. merry stood there unharmed, left alone with the old monk, who was still breathing his agitated prayers. from beyond the gate came a call, and the sound of that voice made frank laugh softly with satisfaction. he leaped down from the corridor and ran along the path to the gate, outside which, in the shadows, were two young horsemen. "dick--my brother!" exclaimed merry. "frank!" was the cry, as one of the two leaped from the horse and sprang to meet him. chapter ix. what the monk told them. "by all that's wonderful!" exclaimed merry, as he beheld his brother. "i thought i must be dreaming when i heard you singing. dick, how did you come here?" "i heard nothing from you, frank," was the reply. "i didn't know for sure that you had received my message. i did know that felicia was in trouble and in danger, and so i resolved to hasten to her at once. when i reached san diego i found she was gone and that you had been there ahead of me. i have been seeking to overtake you ever since. this afternoon we saw you far away in the valley, although we could not be certain it was you. you had a companion. we thought it might be bart hodge." dick had made this explanation hastily, after the affectionate meeting between the brothers. "it was not hodge," said frank; "far from it! it was a man i fell in with on the trail, and a most treacherous individual he proved to be." then he told of the encounter with dulzura's ruffianly crew, upon hearing which dick's companion of the trail uttered a cry. "whoop!" he shouted. "that certain was a hot old scrimmage. great tarantulas! why didn't we come up in time to get into the fracas! howling tomcats! but that certain would have been the real stuff! and you beat the whole bunch off, did you, mr. merriwell? that's the kind of timber the merriwells are made of! you hear me gently warble!" "hello, buckhart!" exclaimed frank, as the chap swung down from the saddle. brad buckhart and dick merriwell were chums at the fardale military academy, and frank knew him for one of the pluckiest young fellows he had ever met. buckhart was a texan through and through. "put her there, mr. merriwell," said brad, as he extended his hand--"put her there for ninety days! it does my optics a heap of good to rest them on your phiz. but i'll never get over our late arrival on the scene of action." "we knew you were here somewhere, frank, when we heard you join in 'fair fardale,'" said dick. "and by that sound the greasers knew i had friends coming," added merry. "it stopped them and sent them scurrying off in a hurry." "where are they now?" asked brad. "why don't they sail right out here and light into us? oh, great horn spoon! i haven't taken in a red-hot fight for so long that i am all rusty in the joints." "where is felicia, frank?" anxiously asked dick. merry shook his head. "i can't answer that question yet," he confessed. "i have followed her thus far; of that i am satisfied, for otherwise i don't believe these men would have attacked me." through the shadows a dark figure came slowly toward them from the direction of the mission building. "whoever is this yere?" exclaimed buckhart. "it's the old priest," said merry, as he saw the cloaked and hooded figure. the old man was once more leaning on his crooked staff, which merry had dropped as he hastened to meet his brother. even in the gathering darkness there was about him an air of agitation and excitement. "my son," he said, in a trembling voice, still speaking in spanish, "i hope you are not harmed." "whatever is this he is shooting at you?" inquired buckhart. "is it choctaw or chinese?" paying no attention to brad, merry questioned the monk, also speaking in spanish. "father," he said, "who were those men, and how came they to be here?" "my son, i knew not that there were so many of them. two came to me to pray in the mission. the others, who were hidden outside, i saw not until they appeared. why did they attack you?" "because they are wicked men, father, who have stolen from her home a little girl. i am seeking her, hoping to restore her to her friends." "this is a strange story you tell me, my son. who is the child, and why did they take her from her home?" "there's much mystery about it, father. she's the daughter of a spanish gentleman, who became an exile from his own country. there are reasons to suppose she may be an heiress. indeed, that seems the only explanation of her singular abduction. i have traced her hither, father. can you tell me anything to assist in my search?" the old man shook his hooded head, his face hidden by deep shadows. "nothing, my son--nothing," he declared, drawing a little nearer, as if to lay his hand upon frank. "i would i could aid you." suddenly, to the astonishment of both dick and brad, merry flung himself upon the monk, grasping his wrist and dropping him in a twinkling. he hurled the agitated recluse flat upon his back and knelt upon his chest. "frank! frank!" palpitated dick. "what are you doing? don't hurt him!" "strike a match, one of you," commanded merry. "give us a look at his face." the man struggled violently, but frank's strength was too much for him, and he was pinned fast. dick quickly struck a match and bent over, shading it with his hands, flinging the light downward upon the face of the man merry held. "just as i thought!" merry exclaimed, in satisfaction, as the light showed him, not the features of the old monk, but those of a much younger man, with dark complexion and a prominent triangular scar on his right cheek. "this is not the holy father. he couldn't deceive me with his attempt to imitate the father's voice. i have seen this gentleman on a previous occasion. he dogged my steps in san diego after i left rufus staples' house." it was, in truth, the same man merry had warned on the street corner in san diego. the little wretch swore savagely in spanish and glared at his captors. "spare your breath, my fine fellow," said frank. "profanity will not help you." "well, whatever was the varmint trying to do?" cried buckhart. "i certain thought he was going to bless you." "he would have blessed me with a knife between my ribs had i been deceived by him," asserted merriwell. "in my saddlebags you will find some stout cord. give it to me." a few moments later, in spite of his occasional struggles, the captured rascal was securely bound. "there," said merry, "i think that will hold you for a while. now, boys, i am going to see what has become of the holy father. this is his cloak." "you're not going back there alone," protested dick, at once. "not on your life!" agreed buckhart. "we are with you, frank." they followed him into the yard, where the darkness was now deep, and came together to the entrance of the mission, but without discovering anything of the aged monk. standing in the corridor, they peered in at the yawning door, but could see or hear nothing. frank called to the monk, but only echoes answered him from the black interior of the mission. "here's where you may get all the fight you want, buckhart," he said grimly. "be ready for anything, boys." "i am a heap ready, you bet your boots!" answered the texan, who had a pistol in his hand. "same here," said dick. frank struck a match on the cemented wall. a cold wind from the interior of the building came rushing through the open door and blew it out. it was like the breath of some dangerous, unseen monster hidden within the mission. merry promptly struck another match. this time he shaded it with his hands and protected it until it sprang into a strong glow. then, with his hands concaved behind it, he advanced through the doorway, throwing its light forward. almost immediately an exclamation escaped his lips, for a few feet within, lying on the cold floor, he discovered a human form. as he bent over the figure, he saw to his dismay it was the monk from whose body the brown cloak had been stripped. then the match went out. "is he dead, frank?" whispered dick. "i can't tell," answered merry. "i didn't get a fair look at him. we will know in a moment." he lighted another match and bent over the prostrate man. the light showed him the eyes of the monk fixed stonily on his face. it also showed him that a gag had been forced between the old man's teeth and fastened there. the father was bound securely with a lariat. "he is far from dead!" exclaimed merry, in satisfaction. "here, dick, cut this rope and set him free. get that gag out of his mouth, while i hold matches for you to do so." soon the rope was cut, the gag removed, and together they lifted the old man to his feet. frank then picked him up and carried him out into the open air. "you seem to have met with misfortune, father," he said. "i sincerely hope you are not harmed much." "my son," quavered the agitated monk, "it is not my body that is harmed; it is my spirit. against no living creature in all the world would i raise my hand. why should any one seize me and choke me in such a manner? much less, why should any who profess to be of the holy faith do such a thing?" "they were frauds, father--frauds and rascals of the blackest dye." "but two of them came here to pray," murmured the priest, as if he could not believe such a thing possible. "have we not suffered indignities enough? our lands have been taken from us and we have been stripped of everything." "they were infidels, father. you may be sure of that." "infidels and impostors!" exclaimed the old man, with a slight show of spirit. "but i couldn't think men who spoke the language of old spain and who prayed to heaven could be such base creatures." "what they certain deserve," growled buckhart, unable to repress his indignation longer, "is to be shot up a whole lot, and i'd sure like the job of doing it." "i don't understand it--i cannot understand it!" muttered the monk. "it's far beyond me to comprehend. why did they set upon me, my son?" he questioned, his unsteady hand touching frank's arm. "why did they seek to slay you?" "wait a minute, father, and i will explain," said merry. he then told briefly of the abduction of felicia and his pursuit of her captors. as he spoke, the aged listener betrayed some signs of excitement. "my son, is all this true?" he solemnly questioned. "you are not one of our faith, yet your words ring true." "i swear it, father." "then i have been twice deceived!" cried the old man, with surprising energy, shaking his hands in the empty air. "yesterday there came here two men and a sweet-faced child. they told me they were taking her home. i believed them. with her they knelt at the shrine to pray. i blessed them, and they went on their way." "at last!" burst from merry's lips. "now there's no question. now we know we're on the right trail! father, that little girl is a cousin of my half-brother here. he will tell you if i have spoken the truth." "every word of it is true," affirmed dick, who spoke spanish as fluently as frank. "if you can tell us whither they were taking her, father, you may aid us greatly in our search for her." "alas! it is not possible for me to tell you! i know that they were bound eastward. beyond these mountains are the great san bernardino plains, a mighty and trackless desert. where they could go in that direction i cannot say." "is it possible to cross the desert?" questioned dick. "it is a waste of burning sand. who tries to cross it on foot or mounted is almost certain to leave his bones somewhere in that desert." "then if they kept straight on----" "if they kept straight on," said the old monk, "i fear greatly you will never again behold the child you seek." "they are not fools!" exclaimed frank. "it is not likely they will try to cross the desert. the fact that they have taken so much trouble to endeavor to check pursuit here is proof they felt hard pushed. is there no town, no human habitation beyond these mountains?" "no town," declared the father. "straight over to the east you will come to the el diablo valley. it is deep and wild, and in it are some ruined buildings of stone and cement. tradition says they were built long ago by joaquin murietta, a californian outlaw, who waged war on all americans. he expected to retreat there some day and defend himself against all assailants. at least, so the legend runs, although i much doubt if he built the castle which is now called castle hidalgo. of late it has another occupant, who has taken the name of joaquin--black joaquin he is called." "well, this is somewhat interesting, too," declared merry. "is this new joaquin endeavoring to follow in the footsteps of his predecessor?" "i believe there is a price upon his head." merry turned to dick with sudden conviction. "our trail leads to castle hidalgo," he asserted. "i am satisfied of that. i am also satisfied that i have here encountered some of black joaquin's satellites." "and i will wager something," dick added, "that we have one of them this minute, bound hand and foot, a short distance away." "that's right," said frank, "and we may be able to squeeze a little information from him. father, the man who has your cloak is outside the gate. perhaps you may know him. come and look at him." together they left the yard and came to the spot where the man with the scar was supposed to be. on the ground lay the old monk's cloak, but the man was gone. undoubtedly he had been set free by some of his comrades. chapter x. three in a trap. the day was declining when frank, dick, and brad came down into el diablo valley. it was, indeed, a dark, wild place, and for some time it seemed almost impossible of access. no plain trail led into it. on an elevation in the valley they had seen a ruined pile that bore a strong resemblance to a crumbling castle. the very appearance of these buildings belied the tale that joaquin murietta had built them there. had they been so recently constructed their ruined condition was unaccountable. it seemed certain that at least a hundred years had passed since their erection. about the valley and the castle appeared hanging an air of mystery and romance. that any one should choose such a remote and desolate spot to rear those buildings was beyond comprehension to the three young americans who now beheld the ruins for the first time. somehow those crumbling stones reminded them of the march of cortez and his conquering treasure hunters. what spaniard of that day, left behind in mexico and supposed to be dead, had enriched himself with the treasures of the aztecs and had escaped northward, only to find himself imprisoned in the new land, and to finally use a part of his treasures to erect this castle? during the middle hours of the day alone did the southern sunshine fall soft and golden in el diablo valley. therefore, they descended into the shadows and approached the castle, which seemed to lie silent and deserted in the midst of the valley. "it's a whole lot strange we never heard of this place before," observed buckhart. "of course, others have seen it." there was a cloud on dick's face. "do you think, frank," he questioned, "that there is any hope of finding felicia here? since leaving the mission we have seen nothing to indicate that we were still on the right trail." "it's a good deal like hunting for a needle in a hay-stack," confessed merry. "maybe those galoots who have her doubled back on us," suggested brad. "maybe they turned on us there at the mission." "it's not impossible," was merry's regretful admission. "however, we are here, and we will find what there is to find." there were no echoes in the valley. it seemed a place of silence and gloom. as they approached the ruins they surveyed them with increasing wonder. there were old turrets and towers, crumbling and cracked, as if shaken by many earthquakes. the black windows glared at them like grim eyes. "i will bet my boots that there is no one around this yere ranch," muttered buckhart. "perhaps that old priest fooled us a whole lot." merry shook his head. "i am sure not," he said. they mounted the rise on which the castle was built and passed through a huge gate and dark passage, coming into a courtyard, with the crumbling ruins all around them. here they paused. suddenly at one of the narrow, upper windows of the old turret a face appeared. some one was there looking out at them. frank's keen eyes were the first to discover it. then to their ears came the cry of a voice electrifying them. the face at the window pressed nearer, and, together with the voice, it was recognized. dick gave a shout of joy. "felicia!" he exclaimed. "there she is, frank. can you see her in that window up there? felicia! felicia!" but even as he called to her thus she suddenly vanished. as they stared at the window, another face showed for a moment and another pair of eyes looked down at them. then these also disappeared. "waugh!" exploded brad buckhart. "here's where we get into action." "she's there," declared frank. "she's there--a captive!" "it's sure to be a red-hot scrimmage," said buckhart, looking at his revolver. "take care that your guns are ready for action." they leaped from their horses and swiftly approached the ruins, leaving the animals to wander where they might in the valley, well knowing they would not leave it. up the stone steps they bounded, coming to the deepset door, which by its own weight or by the working of time had fallen from its hinges. nothing barred them there, and they entered. as they dashed in, there was a sudden whirring sound, and they felt themselves struck and beaten upon as by phantom hands. this was startling enough, but frank immediately comprehended that they were bats and the creatures were fluttering wildly about them. from one dark room to another they wandered, seeking the stairs that should lead them up into the turret. "we need a light," said merry. "that certain is correct, pardner," agreed buckhart. "we are a heap likely to break our necks here in the dark." "but we have no light," panted dick, "and no time to secure a torch. if we waste time for that we may lose her." "where are those pesky stairs?" growled the texan. their search led them into a huge echoing room that seemed windowless. frank was exasperated by the aimlessness of their search. had they not seen felicia's face at the window and heard her voice, the silence and desolation of the place must have convinced them that it was in truth deserted. but now, of a sudden, there was a sound behind them. it was a creak on the rusty stairs. it was followed by a heavy thud and absolute silence. "what was that?" asked dick. "it sounded to me," muttered merry, "like the closing of a massive door." a moment later he struck a match, and by its light they looked around. holding it above his head, it served to illumine the chamber dimly. "wherever did we get into this hole?" asked brad. "i fail to see any door." the repeated lighting of matches seemed to show them only four bare walls. at last frank found the door, but he discovered it was closed. more than that, he discovered that it was immovable. "boys," he said grimly, as the match in his fingers fluttered out and fell into a little glowing, coal at his feet, "we are trapped. it's plain now that we did a foolish thing in rushing in here without a light. that glimpse of felicia lured us into the snare, and it will be no easy thing to escape." "let me get at that door!" growled buckhart. he flung himself against it with all his strength, but it stood immovable. they joined in using their united strength upon it, but still it did not stir. "well, this certain is a right bad scrape," admitted the texan. "i don't mind any a good hot fight with the odds on the other side, but i admit this staggers me." "what are we to do, frank?" whispered dick. "easier asked than answered," confessed merry. "it's up to us to find some means of escape, but how we can do so i am not ready to say." "pards," said the texan, "it seems to me that we are going to get a-plenty hungry before we leave this corral. we are some likely to starve here. the joke is on us." "hush!" cautioned merry. "listen!" as they stood still in the dense darkness of that chamber they heard a muffled voice speaking in english. it seemed to be calling to them derisively. "you're very courageous, frank merriwell," mocked the voice; "but see what your courage has brought you to. here you are trapped, and here you will die!" "hello!" muttered merry. "so my friend, felipe dulzura, is near at hand!" the situation was one to appall the stoutest heart, but frank merriwell was not the one to give up as long as there was the slightest gleam of hope. indeed, in that darkness there seemed no gleam. it is not wonderful that even stout-hearted brad buckhart began to feel that "the jig was up." in most times of danger, perplexity, or peril, dick relied solely on himself and his own resources; now, however, having frank at hand, he turned to him. "is there any chance for us to escape?" "boys," said merry, "we must not think of giving up until we have made every effort in our power. the first thing to be done is to sound the walls. you can help me in this. go around the walls, rapping on them and listening. see if you can find a hollow place. this is not the donjon, and it may have been originally intended for something different from a prison room." directed by him, they set about their task, sounding the walls. hopeless enough it seemed as they went knocking, knocking through the darkness. when the room had been circled once and no discovery made, buckhart seemed quite ready to give up the effort in that direction. frank was not satisfied, but continued feeling his way along the walls, rapping and listening as he went. finally he remained a long time in one place, which aroused the curiosity of his boy comrades. "have you discovered anything?" asked dick. before replying merry struck a match. "here, boys," he said, "you will see there is a crack in the wall. that may be the cause of the hollow sound i fancied it gave. but, look!" he added, holding the match high above his head, "see how the crack widens as it rises toward the ceiling. by jove, boys! it's almost wide enough up there for a cat to get through." then the match burned too short to be held longer, and he dropped it. several moments he stood in silence, paying no heed to the words of dick or brad. his mind was busy. finally he said: "get up here, boys, both of you. face this wall and stand close together. i want to climb on your shoulders. i am going to examine that crack. it may be our only hope of salvation." they followed instructions, and merry mounted to their shoulders, on which he stood. in this manner he was high enough to reach some distance into the crack in the wall. he found nothing but crumbling bits of cement and stone, which was a disappointment to him. "keep your heads down," he said. "i am going to see if i can loosen some of this outer coat of cement here. it may rattle down about your ears." he pulled away at the cement, cleaving it off easily and exposing the fact that the wall was somewhat shabbily built above a distance of eight feet from the floor. an earthquake or convulsion of nature, or whatever had caused the crack in the wall, had seriously affected it, and it seemed very shaky and unstable indeed. several times he shifted about on the boys' shoulders to give them rest, as his heavy boots were rather painful after remaining in one position a few moments. they were eager to know what progress he was making. "i can't tell what it amounts to, boys," he declared. "this crack may lead nowhere, even if i can make an opening large enough to enter." at length he was compelled to descend in order to give them a chance to rest. three times he mounted on their shoulders and worked at the cement and stones until the skin of his fingers was torn and his hands bleeding. he was making progress, nevertheless, and it seemed more and more apparent that, if given time enough, an opening might be made there at that height in the wall. in his final efforts he loosened a mass of the stuff, that suddenly gave way and went rattling and rumbling down into the wall somewhere. to his intense satisfaction, this left a hole large enough for a human being to creep into. "brace hard, boys," he whispered. "i am going to make a venture here. i am going to crawl into this place." "be careful, frank!" palpitated dick. "what if you get in there and the old wall crumbles on you! you will be buried alive! you will be smothered, and killed!" "better that than starvation in this wretched hole," he half laughed. "we will have to take chances if we ever escape at all. steady now." they stiffened their bodies, and he gave a little spring, diving into the opening as far as he could and slowly wiggling and dragging himself forward. in this manner he gradually crept into it, although it was no simple matter. there was barely room enough for him to accomplish this feat, and when it was done he lay still a few moments to rest. as he lay thus he heard some of the stones and cement rattling and falling beneath him, and felt the whole wall seem to settle. his heart leaped into his throat, for it seemed, indeed, that he was about to be smothered and crushed to death in that place. still he did not retreat. instead of that, he squirmed and crawled forward as fast as possible. suddenly a mass of the wall came down upon his back and shoulders, and he was pinned fast. trying to squirm forward still farther, he found himself held as if in the jaws of a vise, and never in his adventurous career had his position seemed more desperate and helpless. dust filled his eyes and nostrils, and he seemed smothered. summoning all his wonderful strength, merry made a mighty effort. suddenly, as he did so, the wall beneath him seemed to give way, and downward he fell, amid showers of stones and cement, which rained upon him. he had fallen into some sort of open space, and, although somewhat dazed and stunned, he quickly crept forward to escape the falling mass of stuff. in this he was successful, and, although the air of the place seemed dense and stifling, he was practically uninjured. as soon as possible, he sought to learn what kind of a place he had dropped into so unexpectedly. there were yet a few matches left in his match safe, and one of these he lighted. its light showed him a small, narrow passage, leading away he knew not where. behind him there was a mass of fallen debris where the top of the passage had caved in. even then still more was threatening to fall, and he quickly moved away. "i have heard of secret passages in old castles and mansions," frank muttered, "and this must be one of them. where will it lead me? it must take me somewhere, and this is better than remaining in the chamber where we were trapped." for a long time he felt his way cautiously onward along the passage. he came in time to its end. his hand could feel nothing but the bare stones, and it seemed that the passage terminated there. once more he struck a match, the light of which revealed to him nothing of an encouraging nature. "well," he said, "i seem to be in a trap still. it can't be possible this was simply a blind passage. why was it constructed? there must be some way of getting out of it." again at the end of the passage he fell to sounding the wall and listening. his hands roamed over it, feeling every protrusion or irregularity. finally he touched something that was loose. immediately he pressed it with considerable vigor, upon which there was a faint muffled click, and a heavy door that had been skillfully covered by cement swung slowly against his hands. frank's wonderful command of his nerves kept him from uttering an exclamation of satisfaction. he quickly seized the edge of the door and pulled it wide open. fresh air rushed in upon him, and he filled his lungs with a sensation of satisfaction and relief. he now thought of returning and seeking to assist dick and brad in following him, but after a few moments he decided to investigate still further. soon he found himself on a high terrace, which opened into an inclosed courtyard of the ruins. as he leaned there, looking down, the ring of ironshod hoofs came through the arched gate, reaching his ears. a moment later two horsemen rode into the courtyard, leading behind them three animals. the clank and clang of the horses' feet upon the flagstones echoed in the inclosure. merry drew back, watching and listening. "three fine beasts," said a voice in spanish. "and they are ours, comrade. the chief said we were to have them if we captured them." "why not?" sullenly returned the other man. "are we to have nothing? is the chief to get it all?" "hush, jimenez!" hastily warned the first speaker. "better not let him hear you utter such words." "at least one can think, monte," retorted jimenez. "we take all the risks, and what do we get? not even when we faced that young devil americano at the mission did the chief put himself in peril. he urged us on, but he took good care of his precious self, i noticed." "if you talk more in this manner, jimenez," exclaimed monte, "with you i will have nothing whatever to do!" "bah! you are a coward," snarled the other. "now, be not hasty in your movements, for i, too, am armed." "fly at it!" whispered frank, in satisfaction. "go at each other, and do your prettiest. cut each other's throats, and i will applaud you, you rascals!" but the two scoundrels did not engage in an encounter. after growling a little at each other, they proceeded with the horses to a part of the courtyard where the stables seemed to be, and there disappeared. merry did not have to watch long for their return. they again crossed the open space below and disappeared; but, listening where he stood, he heard their voices, and they seemed ascending stairs not far away. his curiosity now fully aroused, with a pistol in his hand, frank stole onward as swiftly as possible in an attempt to keep track of them. he left the terrace and came to the stairs by which they ascended. even as he stole like a panther up those stairs, he caught the hum of voices and the flash of a light. thus it was that the daring young man at last reached a dark nook, from which sheltered spot he could peer through an open door into a lighted room where several men were gathered. beyond doubt these were the members of black joaquin's band, several of whom had set upon him at san monica mission. chapter xi. ruffians at odds. some of the men were idly lounging about as they smoked, while others were playing cards. the card players were gambling, and money clinked on the table before them. a picturesque and desperate-looking group they were, yet merriwell felt and knew by experience that they were far more dangerous in appearance than in actual fact. he had met a number of them face to face, and succeeded in holding them in check with no more than the crooked staff of the old monk for his weapon of defense. they were the kind to strike at a man's back and cower before his face. the card players did not always get along amicably. at times they quarreled excitedly, over their game. finally one of them lost everything and flew into a passion, roundly berating his more lucky companions. they laughed at him as they puffed their cigarettes. "what matters it, pachuca?" cried one. "it is only a little. soon you will have more." "oh, yes, much more!" smiled another. "the chief has promised you plenty when he shall get the girl safely away." "i much prefer money to promises," solemnly retorted pachuca. "it's an honest game i play. why should i win with you?" "now, it's best that you have a care with your tongue," rather hotly returned one of the winners. "yesterday it was your luck to win; now it is mine." "is it luck you call it?" sneered pachuca. "ha! ha!" "yes, luck. what was it when you won?" "it was my skill," declared pachuca loftily. "but even skill is no match for some methods." at this the little fellow who had won the most sprang up and struck the table with his fist, glaring across at pachuca. "do you dare say to my face that i cheat?" he sharply cried. "speak it out, if you do!" merry was quite satisfied by the course events seemed to be taking, for he felt that it might be much to his advantage if a quarrel between these two men followed. pachuca, however, shrugged his shoulders and showed his teeth, as he rolled a cigarette. "you have won, ramon," he returned. "keep the money. my turn comes." "any time you like," was the defiant challenge. "when i lose it is not like a stuck pig that i squeal." then ramon sat down as if quite satisfied, and the game proceeded without pachuca participating further. merry was disappointed. still he saw there was bad blood among the men, and he felt that what he had heard in the courtyard and since indicated dissension and dissatisfaction. as the gamblers continued they again fell to speaking of "the girl." suddenly behind him, toward the stairs, merry heard a soft footfall. he pressed himself closer into the darkness of his niche and scarcely breathed as a man brushed past. this man halted in the door, hearing something of the words of the gamblers. suddenly he stepped forward. "what is this?" he demanded angrily. "again you are talking too much. i have warned you before. you are not to speak at all of the girl. you know she's here; let that be enough, and hold your tongues!" "hello, my fine friend!" whispered frank to himself, as the light fell on the face of the newcomer and he saw that there was a scar on the man's cheek. "so it's you?" sudden silence fell upon the men. the man with the the scar singled out ramon, at whom he pointed. "you are always talking too much," he declared. "when will you learn better?" as he stood behind the table, ramon's hand slipped down to his sash, where it touched the hilt of a knife, and the look on his face was far from pleasant. "it's me you always single out, carlos!" he exclaimed. "why do you never talk thus to the others?" "because it is you who make trouble. it is you i have been compelled to caution. what think you the chief would say should he hear you?" "the chief!" cried ramon. "where is he? it is easy to make promises, carlos. how know we that we are to receive all that is promised?" "have you not been satisfied in the past?" "not always," was the bold retort. "i am not the only one; there are others here who have not been satisfied. it is time to speak plainly. when all danger is over----" "it is already," was the assertion. "how so?" "you know the three dogs who followed the trail have been trapped. they are secure, and never from this place will they go forth." "but there may be others. there was another who followed us far." "what of him?" sneered carlos, snapping his fingers. "he has long lost the scent. it is only these three fellows who tracked us here, and better for them had they never come. here their bones will rot!" "if that is true, there is now nothing to prevent the chief from carrying the girl whither he likes. who is she? that you have not told us, carlos." "that is nothing to you. it is a matter to concern the chief alone." "ah! we know she must be of great value to him, else he would have never taken so many chances. why was she deceived with the tale that she was to be carried to her father?" "how know you so much?" grimly demanded carlos. then suddenly he wheeled on jimenez. "it's you who talk a great deal likewise!" he snarled. up to this point jimenez had been silent. now, like a flash, he sprang up and advanced to the side of ramon. "my tongue is my own," he harshly said. "on it no one has placed a lock. what harm has the child done that she should be deceived? we are the men who did the work; why should not we be trusted? answer that--if you can. i know that she was told that she should find her father here. i know, too, that he is a fugitive and has long hidden from his enemies. however, i know that she was led to believe that he had sent for her. where is this man?" "you fool!" burst from carlos. "i knew that it was a mistake when you were placed to guard her. i knew it was unsafe that she should tell you too much. wait until the chief learns of this." "let him pay us what he has promised," said ramon. "we will take it and be silent. he may then go where he pleases and carry the girl. carlos, we are not the only ones here who demand to see this money and to hear it clink in our hands. comrades, it is time we show our colors. let those who are with me stand forth." at this there was a stir. some of the men seemed to hesitate, but a moment later two more men came over to the side of ramon and jimenez. "this is not all," ramon declared. "there are still others who are not satisfied with bare promises. let the chief satisfy us. where is he?" merry had been so deeply interested that he failed to hear a step behind him, and had not he been cautiously pressed in the shadows of his nook he might have been observed. the approaching man, however, had heard sounds of a quarrel in that room, and he strode past frank and entered by the door. "who calls for me?" he demanded, in a clear, steady voice. "why all this uproar?" "joaquin!" muttered one, while others exclaimed, "the chief!" and frank recognized felipe dulzura! sudden silence fell upon them. dulzura, whom frank now knew to be black joaquin, stood boldly looking them over. despite the assertion made by one of the men that the chief was one who avoided danger, his bearing now seemed that of utter fearlessness and command. "speak!" he exclaimed. "what is the meaning of this?" "ask ramon," said carlos. "he will tell you--perhaps." ramon drew himself up. the time had come that he must face the matter unflinchingly. "it is this," he said; "we have been promised much and have received little. some of us are not satisfied." "indeed!" exclaimed black joaquin. "and you are one of the dissatisfied, i see." "i am," was the admission; "but i am not alone. you will find that there are many more. ask them. you will find nearly all are dissatisfied." the chief glanced them over, and what he saw in their faces convinced him that ramon spoke truly. suddenly he smiled on them in that pleasant manner of his, and his voice was soft and musical as he spoke again. "i would not have any of my faithful fellows dissatisfied," he declared. "if there is anything i can do in justice, let them name it." carlos seemed disappointed by this unexpected manner of their leader. "it is that you have promised us a great deal we have not received," said ramon. "and is it yet time?" was the placid question. "why not? you said the time would come when the girl was safely yours, with no danger of pursuit. to me it seems that time has come. the three americans who pursued you are captured and cannot escape. the girl is now yours to do with as you like. is it strange we suspect she is a prize of great value? if she were not, why should black joaquin put himself to so much trouble?" "you are right," smiled the man merry knew as dulzura. "but you are hasty. it is only lately the pursuers i most feared have fallen into my hands. had you waited a little it might have given me more satisfaction. you were always too hasty, ramon." the rebuke was of the mildest sort, and ramon accepted it without a show of anger. "however," continued the chief, "i can pardon you this once, but you shall be satisfied. i have not at hand all i have promised you, but it is where i can soon secure it. nevertheless, i have something here, and it shall be divided among you." as he said this, he drew forth a leather pouch, which he flung with a careless gesture upon the table. it struck with a heavy thud and a slight clanking sound. "i call upon you," he said, "to see that it is divided equally and fairly. the rest shall be paid you soon. carlos, i would speak with you." he then turned toward the door, and carlos followed him. outside, in the shadows, they halted not fifteen feet from frank. "carlos," said joaquin, "not one coin more will those dogs get. i have no further use for them. you and i must abandon them and get away before the coming of another day. it is no longer well for us to remain in this land. as black joaquin my work is done. can we reach spain in safety with the girl, our fortunes are made. but those snarling curs will object if they suspect we are contemplating leaving them behind. you i depend on. you know where the wine is kept. take this which i give you and with it drug the wine. when you have done so, bring it for them to drink. make merry with them, and encourage them to drink deeply. they will sleep soundly after that, and we shall have no trouble. i will get the girl ready. before those fools awaken i shall be far from here, and we can laugh at them." "good!" said carlos, having accepted from joaquin's hand the bottle proffered him. "it shall be done. leave it to me." the chief clapped his trusted comrade upon the shoulder. "faithful carlos!" he said. "with me you shall share the reward. lose no time, for time is precious now." "the americans," questioned carlos, "what of them?" "leave them where they are. let them starve there." little did they dream when they turned away that they were followed by frank merriwell, who observed the greatest possible caution. they separated, and it was black joaquin whose footsteps led frank through many winding ways and up long flights of stairs into one of the turrets. when joaquin unbarred the door and entered the little room up there frank was near at hand. merry stole forward and peered into that room, from which the light shone forth. "she's there!" he told himself, in deep satisfaction, as he beheld felicia. the captive girl had been weeping. when joaquin saw this he spoke to her in a voice that seemed full of tenderness and compassion. "my dear child," he said, "why do you shed these foolish tears?" "oh, sir!" exclaimed felicia, "where are the friends i saw from the window? why are they not permitted to come to me?" "they are near and you shall see them soon," was the treacherous promise. "how am i to believe you?" cried the girl. "you told me i should find my father here. you told me he was hiding here to escape his enemies. you told me he had sent for me to come to him, longing to see my face once more. i believed you. i trusted you. at your command i even deceived the good friends i knew in san diego. now i fear it was wrong and wicked for me to do so. now i know it was wrong! but what was i to do? you told me, over and over, that my father would be placed in awful peril if i breathed a word of the truth." "which clears up that part of the mystery," thought frank, as he listened outside. "i told you nothing but the truth," declared joaquin. "your father sent that message to you by me." "but he is not here--he is not here!" panted the distressed child. "you said i should find him here. if you deceive me in that, why not in everything?" "your father was here, but ere we could reach this place he found it necessary to depart. enemies were searching for him, and he was forced to flee; but he left a message for me, telling me whither he went and directing me to bring you. trust me, felicia, and you shall soon see him." frank quivered a little with rage as he listened to the lying wretch. felicia drew a little nearer and looked earnestly into the face of the man. "oh, i can't believe you are deceiving me!" she said. "you do not seem so terribly wicked." he laughed pleasantly. "i know it must seem suspicious to you, child; but trust me a little longer." "if you had only let my friends come to me!" "within two hours you shall be with them. some of my men, i regret to say, i cannot trust, and so i hastened to send your friends away. they are not far from here, and we will join them. are you ready to go, child?" "quite ready," she answered. "then give me your hand and trust me in everything." she placed her hand confidingly in his, and they turned toward the door. then black joaquin found himself face to face with a great surprise, for in that doorway stood frank merriwell, a cocked pistol leveled straight toward the scoundrel's heart. "up with your hands, joaquin!" commanded merry sharply. "one moment of hesitation on your part and i shall pull the trigger. i will send your black soul to the bar of judgment as true as my name is frank merriwell!" the villain paled and was utterly dumfounded by the marvelous appearance of the man he believed secure in the dungeon. "put up your hands!" palpitated frank, and in that second command there was something that caused black joaquin to quickly lift his hands above his head. "one cry, one sound, even a murmur from your lips, will cause me to shoot you on the spot," declared the young american. felicia had been spellbound, but now she started forward, uttering a cry. "be careful," warned frank, not taking his eyes off joaquin for an instant. "don't touch me! keep out of the way!" she paused and hastened to say: "you must not hurt him, frank. he is taking me to my father." "he has lied to you from start to finish, like the treacherous snake he is," asserted merry. "he doesn't mean to take you to your father." then he advanced two steps, and another command came from his lips. "face about, joaquin," he said, "and walk straight toward that wall. be quick about it, too." now, for all of the complaints of his followers that he seldom placed himself in danger, black joaquin was not a coward. nevertheless, in those terrible, gleaming eyes of the american youth he had seen something that robbed him of his usual nerve and convinced him beyond doubt that unless he obeyed to the letter he would be shot on the spot. this being the case, he turned as directed and advanced until his face was against the wall. "stand thus," said frank, "and don't move for your very life." one glance around showed him a blanket upon a couch. behind joaquin's back he quickly took out and opened a knife. "here, felicia, take this and cut that blanket into narrow strips. hasten as much as possible." she was, however, too trembling and excited to make the needed haste. seeing this, frank lost no time in searching joaquin's person and disarming him, removing every dangerous weapon he found upon the man. when this was done, he directed felicia to bring the blanket, and, holding his pistol ready in his left hand, he gave her directions and assistance in cutting and tearing it into strips. as soon as one good, strong strip had been removed from the blanket frank took it, seized joaquin's hands, twisting them downward and backward behind his back, and tied them thus. after this he was able to remove from the blanket further strips he needed, although as he worked his pistol was ready for instant use. all the while he kept joaquin with his face toward the wall, three times cautioning the man against turning his head in the slightest. with the strips removed from the blanket joaquin's ankles were securely tied. then frank unceremoniously kicked the fellow's feet from beneath him and lowered him to the floor upon his back. the rage, fury, and hatred in the conquered fellow's eyes was terrible to behold, but merriwell heeded it not in the least. deftly he rolled a wad of the blanket and forced it between joaquin's teeth. with another piece of the torn blanket he fastened it there, knotting a strip behind the man's head. he took pains to make this as secure as possible, so that it would require no simple effort to remove it. "now, black joaquin, otherwise known as felipe dulzura," said frank, standing over the man and looking down on him, "we will bid you good-night. you can rest easy here until your comrades recover on the morrow and release you. perhaps they will find you. i hope, for your sake, that you do not smother before they awaken and come here. you have my best wishes for a short life and a speedy hanging." with felicia he left the chamber, closing and barring the door behind them. thus far frank's success had been enough to astonish himself, but now he thought with dismay of dick and brad still confined in the chamber from which he had escaped. as with felicia he descended the stairs he paused, hearing in some distant portion of the ruins the sound of singing. "carlos is doing his work," he thought. "he has brought them the wine. thanks, carlos; you have given me great assistance." merry decided that it would be necessary to conceal felicia somewhere while he sought to return to dick and brad by means of the secret passage. he found his way back to the terrace from which he had first looked down into the courtyard after his escape. as they reached that place, merry heard beneath him some slight sound that caused him to again look downward. he was surprised to see a dark figure coming from the direction of the stables and leading three horses. his surprise increased when the feet of the horses gave forth no more than a faint, muffled sound on the courtyard flagging. "what's up now?" he asked himself. "that must be carlos preparing for flight. whoever it is, he has muffled the feet of those horses. more than that, i believe they are our horses." the human being and the horses crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the arched passage that led outward. "keep close behind me, felicia," whispered merry. "be courageous. i may have to leave you for a short time; but i will return as soon as possible." he had decided to conceal her in the secret passage while he endeavored to return to the prison chamber. the door of the passage he found to be slightly ajar. swinging it open, he entered, with felicia at his heels. barely had he advanced ten feet into the passage before he felt himself suddenly clutched by a pair of strong hands. "keep still, felicia!" called frank, knowing she would be greatly frightened by the struggle. instantly the hold of these hands slackened and a joyous voice exclaimed in his ear: "frank! frank! my brother, is it you?" "dick!" gasped frank; "how did you get here?" "we managed to pry open a hidden door which was disclosed when a part of the wall fell after you crept into that opening," said dick. "where is brad?" "that's what i'd like to know. we separated to search for you. he was to meet me here. we agreed on a signal. when you entered the passage without giving the signal i thought you must be an enemy." "it's up to us now," said merry, "to find brad and get away from here in a hurry. we have a fine chance to do so. i can't explain everything, but i will tell you later. here is felicia." "felicia!" gasped dick. she uttered a low cry of joy, and the cousins were clasped in each other's arms. "come," said merry. "moments are precious." "but brad----" "we will hope that luck may lead us to him." but it was something more than luck, for brad buckhart was returning to meet dick as he had promised when they encountered him. he heard them, and, thinking it might be dick, whistled the soft signal agreed upon. immediately dick answered, and when the texan found them all together, he came very near throwing up his hat and giving a cowboy yell. "oh, great jumping horned toads!" he whispered. "if this don't beat the record you can have my horse, saddle, and the whole blamed outfit! talk about your miracles! so help me davy crockett, this is the greatest on record. you hear me gurgle!" "there is yet danger in the air," said merry. "as we were seeking the passage i saw a man, leading three horses with muffled feet, crossing the courtyard below. it must have been carlos, black joaquin's lieutenant, for they planned a flight to-night, and joaquin's wretched gang has been drugged." "guess again," advised the texan, chuckling. "the gent you observed was yours truly, bradley buckhart." "you?" gasped frank, astonished. "precisely, pard--precisely. i was it. in my perambulations i discovered our horses, and it struck me as being something a whole lot proper to get them outside and have them where we could straddle them in a hurry when we took to our heels. i muffled their feet with the aid of blankets, and i can lead the way straight to them." "brad, you're a dandy!" laughed frank softly. "watch out for carlos and lead on, you son of the lone star state." they had come down into the courtyard when somewhere above, amid the ruins, there was a sudden sound of high-pitched voices, followed by a single pistol shot. then came silence. "if fortune is still with us," said merry, "the bullet from that pistol lodged in the carcass of carlos. evidently he has kicked up some sort of trouble, and i fancy a little chap by the name of ramon fired that shot." outside the ruins they came upon the horses where buckhart had concealed them. they were not long in mounting. frank took up felicia behind him, and away they rode into the night, with no hand raised to stay them. chapter xii. a lively fistic bout. three days later they arrived in san diego, where felicia was returned to the home of mr. and mrs. staples, the former having given up the search in despair. it was frank who led a party of americans to the castle hidalgo, in el diablo valley. the only human being found there was a man who had been shot and left where he fell in one of the chambers of the ruins. as merry looked at the body, he grimly said: "retribution, swift and terrible, overtook you, carlos, on that dark night. who can say the hand of providence was not in it? you were the only one who might have given us trouble, for your chief was bound and gagged, and your mates were drugged by your own hands. it is likely that black joaquin yet lives; but it is certain he must in time meet his just deserts." fearing that black joaquin would not give up his scheming to get possession of the girl, frank decided that it was unsafe to leave her in san diego. therefore, when he started on his return to arizona, accompanied by dick and brad, he took felicia along. the railroad journey to prescott was made without any incident worth recording. having arrived there, merry secured accommodations at the best hotel, for he expected to remain in the place a day or more before setting out for his new mines in the enchanted valley, where he had left wiley and hodge. little abe was found safe in prescott, where he had been left by merry. but for the fact that what she had passed through had shaken felicia's nerves and left her in a very excited frame of mind, the whole party would have been in high spirits. dick was anxious to visit the mines, and the prospect was also attractive to buckhart. imagine frank's surprise, on leaving the hotel an hour after his arrival, to encounter cap'n wiley on the street. the sailor looked somewhat battered and weather-worn, and there was an unnatural flush in his cheeks and a suspicious odor upon his breath. the moment his eyes fell on merry he stopped short and made a profound salute. "mate merriwell!" he cried, "it is with a sensation of the most profound satisfaction that my eyes again behold your unexpected reappearance." "cap'n," said frank soberly, shaking his head, "i fear you have been looking on the corn juice. there is something suspicious about your breath and your heightened color." "hush!" said the marine marvel. "the dreadful ordeal through which i have lately promulgated myself made it necessary for me to take something in the way of medicine. mr. merriwell, there have been riotous doings since you departed." "any trouble in regard to the new mine?" asked merry, somewhat anxiously. "oh, no; nothing of that sort. i have been tending strictly to business. at the suggestion of mate hodge, i gathered up in cottonwood, central butte, stoddard, bigbug, cherry and elsewhere a score of hale and hearty laborers and piloted them safely to the valley, where they now are. he then sent me hither for supplies and other needed articles. i have secured half a dozen more good men, who will journey with us to the valley." "now, wiley," said frank, "tell me about these men you say you have engaged. what sort of men are they?" "they are charming," assured the sailor. "you remember your terrible thirty." "yes." "well, they are men of the same class. they are the real thing." "but i am afraid such men are not just what we want, cap'n." the sailor looked surprised. "why not?" he questioned. "what we need are miners, not fighting men. it happened that i was able to control the thirty, and they proved valuable to me at that time. you remember that as miners i couldn't retain one of them. you say you have picked up some more men here?" "sure, sure." "i'd like to look them over, cap'n. where are they?" "if you will perambulate with me, i will present you to the bunch. i have them corralled not far away." "lead on," said frank. "i will look them over." wiley led the way straight to a saloon, which they entered. as they walked in, several men were drinking at the bar, and merry distinctly heard one of them, a huge, pockmarked fellow, say: "it sure is ten chances to one the gent loses his mine afore he ever sets eyes on it again." frank recognized the fellow at a glance. he was a desperado with a bad reputation, and was known as spotted dan. "there they are," said wiley. "those fine boys i have collected. you can see at a glance that they are the real thing." "altogether too real!" muttered frank. he was confident that the words of spotted dan referred to him, and in a twinkling his mind was made up. "mates," said wiley, calling the attention of the ruffians, "it gives me untold pleasure to introduce you to mr. merriwell, the owner of the mines i told you about." they turned and looked frank over. his youthful appearance seemed to surprise them, and it was evident that they regarded him as a tenderfoot. frank lost no time. "it's my duty to inform you, gentlemen," he said, "that cap'n wiley has made a slight mistake. i shall not need you." this seemed to astonish them. "what's that?" cried spotted dan hoarsely. "whatever is this you says, mister?" frank quietly repeated his words, upon which one of the ruffians swore. "i reckons you is the one mistaken," said spotted dan, stepping out. "i opines, sir, that you does need us." "then you opine wrong." "we has been engaged all fair and square, and we sticks by it. we proposes to see that you sticks by it, too." "cap'n wiley had no authority from me to engage anybody," declared merry. "that being the case, you can see at once that no agreement made with him counts for anything." "say you so?" sneered dan. "well, now, we thinks a heap different." "what you think is a matter of indifference to me," said merry, looking the ruffian straight in the eyes. "whatever does you take us fer?" snarled the pox-marked fellow. "we're no kids to be fooled with this yere way. you shakes us none whatever. if you tries it----" "what then?" asked merry, in a low tone. "what then? well, by the everlasting, i chaws you up! i flattens you out! there will be a funeral in prescott to-morrow!" "there may be," said frank; "but, if there is, you will be highly interested, and yet you will know nothing about it." spotted dan glared at merry in his fiercest manner. it seemed to astonish him that the smooth-faced young man was not in the least awed by this fierceness. "look a here, mr. merriwell," he said, "do yer know who yer dealing with in this yere piece of business?" "from all appearances, i should say that i am dealing with a thoroughbred ruffian," was the serene answer. "yer dealing with a bad man with a record, and don't yer forget it," snarled dan. "my record is as long as my arm. and whar i goes i leaves graves in my footsteps. i adds to the population of the cemeteries." "you're plainly a big bluffer and a blowhard," said frank. then, as spotted dan made a suspicious movement, quick as a flash of light a pistol appeared in merriwell's hand. "don't try to pull a gun on me, you big duffer!" exclaimed the youth. "if you do, i will run a couple of tunnels in you." "correct in the most minute particular," chipped in cap'n wiley. "he will do it scientifically and skillfully. when it comes to shooting, he is a shooter from shooterville. say, you oughter see him shoot out a pigeon's eye at four thousand yards! why, he can shoot with his feet better than any man in this bunch! at the same time i happen to be provided with a couple of large-bore fowling pieces, and i shall feel it my duty to shed real gore in case any of you other gents take a notion to chip in to this little circus." while speaking the sailor had produced a pair of colt's revolvers, which he now flourished with reckless abandon. "oh, that is the way yer does it, is it?" sneered spotted dan. "mebbe yer thinks this settles it. well, wait and see. you has the drop now; but our turn comes. it's a good thing fer you, young feller," he declared, still glaring at frank, "that i don't git my paws on yer. ef i'd ever hit yer a crack with my maul you would sprout wings instanter. sometimes i gits at yer, tenderfoot, and i hammers yer all up." "you think you will," retorted merry. "you might find yourself up against a snag." "waal, ef i can't knock you stiff in less than one minute, i'll take to my hole and stay thar for a year." "i presume you would consider this engagement ended in case you fail to put me down and out in short order?" said merry. "if you were the one whipped, you would call all dealings off?" "sartin sure. i'd be so ashamed of myself i'd never look a dog in the face again." "give your weapons to one of your pards there," directed merry. "i will pass mine to wiley, and i'll agree to take off my coat and give you a chance to do me up right here." "i think i smell smoke," murmured the sailor, sniffing the air. "i think i smell fire and brimstone. i think there will be doings around here directly." "whoop!" cried spotted dan. "it's a go! say, i makes you look like a piece of fresh beefsteak in just about two shakes." then he turned to one of his companions and handed over a pistol and knife. he wore no coat, and when he had cast his old hat on the floor and thrust back his sleeves, exposing his brawny, hairy arms, he declared he was ready. the barkeeper had remonstrated. merry was known in prescott, and to the man behind the bar he said: "whatever damage is done i will pay for. i will set 'em up for every one who comes in for the next hour besides." then he placed his revolver on the bar and coolly drew off his coat, which he lay beside the pistol. "keep your ellipticals parabolically peeled," warned cap'n wiley. "the gent with the dented countenance looks like a peruvian dog. i don't know as there is a peruvian dog, but i judge so, because i have heard of peruvian bark." merry said nothing. his face was calm and grim as he thrust back the sleeves of his woolen shirt. he had a handsome forearm, finely developed and finely moulded, with the flesh firm and hard and the supple muscles showing beneath the silken skin. "come on!" cried spotted dan eagerly. "step right out yere and git yer medicine." the ruffian's friends were chuckling and muttering among themselves. "dan paralyzes him the first time he hits him," declared one. "you bet your boots he does!" put in another. "i seen him break bill goddard's neck with a blow down in buckeye," said a third. frank removed his wide-brimmed hat and laid it on the bar, tossing back his head with a slight shaking motion to fling a lock of hair out of his eyes. then he suddenly advanced to meet his antagonist, his arms hanging straight at his sides and his hands open. it seemed as if he invited annihilation, and spotted dan improved the occasion by making a strong swinging blow with his huge fist, aiming straight at the face of the fearless youth. quick as a flash of light, merry ducked just the slightest and tipped his head to one side. dan's fist shot over frank's shoulder. with a quick movement of his foot, merriwell struck the ruffian's feet from beneath him, and the giant crashed to the floor so heavily that the glasses and bottles rattled on the shelves behind the bar. with a roar of surprise, spotted dan made a spring and landed on his feet. before him stood merriwell, still with his hands hanging at his sides, regarding him with just the faintest suggestion of an amused smile. that smile was enough to infuriate the bruiser beyond description. "dodges, does yer!" snarled the man. "well, dodge this if yer ken!" again he struck, and again merry escaped by simply tipping his head like a flash over upon his shoulder and crouching the least bit. he did not lift a hand to ward off the blow. like a panther he leaped to one side, and his outstretched toe caught his enemy's ankle as the force of that blow, wasted on the empty air, sent dan staggering forward. a second time the fellow went crashing to the floor. a second time he sprang up with amazing agility for one so huge and ponderous. "whatever kind of fighting does yer call this?" he shouted, in a rage. "why don't yer stand up like a man and fight? is that all yer can do? does yer know nothing else but jest ter dodge?" "you're too easy," declared frank. "i hate to hurt you--really i do. it seems a shame." "yah!" shouted the infuriated man. "you would hurt nobody if yer hit um." "i beg you to pause a moment, daniel," put in wiley. "have you made your will? if not, i entreat you to do so. if he ever hits you--oh, luddy, luddy! you'll think you've been kicked by a can of dynamite." the ruffian's companions had been astonished by the ease with which merriwell escaped dan's blows; but they, too, believed the fight would quickly end if merry stood up and met his enemy. spotted dan slyly edged around frank, seeking to force him into a corner. apparently without suspecting the fellow's object, merry permitted himself to be driven back just as dan seemed to desire. getting the young mine owner cornered, as he thought, the bruiser quickly advanced, seeking now to seize him with one hand, while the other hand was drawn back and clinched, ready for another terrible blow. with a snapping movement, frank clutched the wrist of dan's outstretched arm. there was a sudden twist and a whirl, and although the ruffian struck with all his force, he felt his shoulder wrenched in the socket and knew he had missed even as he delivered the blow. that twisting movement turned the fellow about and brought his arm up behind him on his back. then merry sent him forward with a well-directed and vigorous kick. "it is too easy!" sighed cap'n wiley, sadly shaking his head. "it isn't even interesting. i fancied possibly there might be some excitement in the affair, but i am growing sleepy, and i fear i shall miss the finish while i take a nap." spotted dan was astonished now. never had he encountered any one who fought in such a singular manner, and he could not understand it. just when he felt certain that he had the youth where he wanted him, merry would thwart his design and trip him, or, with the utmost ease, send him staggering. "dern yer! what makes yer fight with yer feet?" rasped the ruffian. "that ain't no way whatever ter fight. fight with yer fists on the squar, and i will annihilate yer." "i don't believe that anything was said about the style of fighting," retorted merry pleasantly. "however, if you don't like my methods i will agree not to use my feet any more." "that settles it!" roared dan. "i will fix yer in thirty seconds now." "dear, dear!" yawned wiley, leaning on the bar. "how sleepy i am! i think this bout should have been pulled off under marquis of deusenbury rules. i, too, am against the use of feet. cut it out, mates, and come down to real business." "very well," said frank. "you kick no more?" questioned the ruffian. "not to-day." "then i thumps the head off you right away." spotted dan sailed into it then, and for a few moments the fight was rather lively, although the ruffian was doing all the hitting. that is, he was trying to do all the hitting, but he was wasting his blows on the air, for frank parried them all or ducked and dodged and escaped by such cleverness as none of dan's comrades had ever before witnessed. still the bruiser was the aggressor, and they were confident he would soon weary the youth, when a single blow would bring about the finish of the encounter. indeed, one thing that led dan on and made him force the fight harder and harder was the fact that merry seemed to be panting heavily and betrayed signs of great exhaustion. the desperado was sure the youth was giving out, and so, although he was likewise somewhat winded, he continued to follow merry up. at length, quick as a flash, frank's manner changed. he no longer retreated. he no longer sought to escape his enemy. he made dan parry two heavy blows aimed at him. then he countered, and the big fellow was sent reeling. like a wolf frank followed the bruiser up, hitting him again and again until he went down. cap'n wiley roused up a little at this and observed: "that's somewhat better. now it grows slightly interesting. but he hasn't oiled his machinery and started in earnest yet. wait a few moments, gents, and see him cut parabolical circles through the diametrical space around daniel's dizzy cranium." spotted dan sat up, astonished beyond measure at what had happened. he saw frank standing at a little distance, with his hands on his hips, smiling down at him and showing not the least sign of exhaustion. the man who had seemed winded a few moments before and ready to drop was now as fresh and unwearied as if nothing had happened. through the bruiser's dull brain crept a suspicion that he had been deceived by this handsome, smooth-faced young man. he knew now that merriwell could fight in the most astounding manner. this, however, enraged him to such an extent that he banished reason and coolness and rose to charge on merry, with a roar like that of a mad bull. frank avoided the rush, but hit the ruffian a staggering blow on the ear as he went past. dan turned quickly and charged again. four times the big bruiser charged, and four times merry avoided him and sent him reeling. the fourth time frank followed him up. he gave spotted dan no chance to recover. blow after blow rained on the man's face and body. dan was driven back until he was close upon the card table that sat in the rear of the room. then, with a swinging upward blow, merriwell's fist hit the fellow on the point of the jaw, and the ruffian was actually lifted off his feet and hurled clean over the table against the wall. he fell to the floor and lay there in a huddled, senseless heap, literally knocked out. frank turned toward the bar, rolling down his sleeves. "watch his pards like a hawk, wiley," he said. "now is the time they may try treachery, if ever." "depend on me," nodded the sailor. frank quickly slipped on his coat and placed his hat upon his head. then he turned to the amazed ruffians, saying, quietly: "gents, you heard the agreement between us. if i whipped that fellow, the engagement which he claims to have made for himself and for you through cap'n wiley was off. i think you will acknowledge that he is whipped. that settles it." he backed toward the door of the saloon, followed by the sailor, also backing in the same manner and keeping his pistols ready. when the door was reached merry turned and disappeared, and wiley followed him. chapter xiii. macklyn morgan appears. "mate," said cap'n wiley, as they hurried along the street on their way back to the hotel, "you are in every minute particular the finest specimen of exuberant manhood that it has ever been my fortune to associate with. of course, i felt sure you would do up that fellow, but you came through the seething and turgid fray without so much as a scar. i don't believe he even touched you once." "yes, he did," said merry, "a couple of times. he hit me on the shoulder, but the blow was spent, and he caught me a fair one over the heart. i leaped away just in time to spoil the effectiveness of that." "but you are certainly the supreme fighter of this period of scrappers. if you chose to enter the ring, you might be champion of the world. it would delight my soul to be able to put up a real fight like that." "it disgusts me," returned merry. "wha-a-at?" gasped the sailor. "i think i fail to catch your meaning." "it disgusts me," repeated merry. "if there is anything that makes me feel degraded, it is being compelled to take part in a fight of that sort. i was practically forced into it on this occasion. i saw those fellows meant mischief, and i felt that the only way to settle the affair was to give that big duffer a thumping. it's about the only reasoning a man can use on men of his calibre. words and arguments fail to affect them, and a good thrashing moves them to respect." "but do you mean to tell me," said wiley, "that you are not an admirer of the manly art of self-defense? do you mean to tell me that you take no interest in the prize ring and the glorious heroes of it?" "if there is anything for which i have absolutely no use," said merry, "it is a professional prize fighter. to me prize fighting is the most degrading of all the so-called sports." "this is more than passing strange," said the sailor. "if such can be the case, will you elucidate to me how it happened that you ever learned to use your little dukes in such a marvelously scientific manner?" "i think it is the duty of every american youth to learn to defend himself with his fists. no matter how peacefully inclined he is, no matter how much of a gentleman he is, no matter how much forbearance he may have, there is bound to come a time in his life when he will be forced to fight or suffer insults or bodily injury. as a rule, i never fight if i can avoid it. in this instance i might have avoided it for the time being, but i was certain that if i did so the matter would culminate in something more serious than a fistic encounter. had i escaped from that saloon without meeting spotted dan, he and all his partners would have regarded me as afraid of them, and you know very well that they would have sought to force trouble on me at every opportunity. the easiest way to settle the whole matter was to fight then and there, and therefore i did so." "well, you oughter feel proud of the job you did!" "instead of that, i feel as if i had lowered and degraded myself. i'll not throw off the feeling for some time. to make the matter still worse, it was a saloon fight. however, i do not go there to drink. out in this country the man who does business with the men he finds here is sometimes compelled to enter a saloon." "that's true--quite true," sighed wiley. "i sometimes find it necessary to enter one myself." by this time they had reached the hotel, and as they entered the office merry suddenly paused in surprise, his eyes fastened on a man who stood before the desk. this man was tall and well dressed, with a somewhat ministerial face and flowing grayish side whiskers. he was speaking to the clerk. "i see here the name of mr. frank merriwell on the register," he was saying. "can you tell me where to find him?" "mr. merriwell!" called the clerk. "here is a gentleman inquiring for you." the man at the desk turned and faced frank. "is that so?" muttered frank. "it is macklyn morgan!" morgan, one of the money kings of the great consolidated mining association of america, looked merriwell over with a glance as cold as ice. "how do you do, sir?" he said, in a calm, low voice. "it seems that i have found you at last." "from your words," returned merry, "i should fancy you had been looking for me for some time?" "i have." "indeed?" "yes, i have looked for you in denver, in holbrook, and at your queen mystery mine." "it appears that i have given you considerable trouble?" "not a little; but i was determined to find you." "you have done so." "yes; you can't hide from me." "i have not the least desire in the world to hide from you, mr. morgan." "you say so," returned the man, with a cold sneer; "but i am certain you have taken pains to keep out of my way for the last two weeks." "you are utterly mistaken. i would not take pains to keep out of your way for two minutes. what do you want of me?" "i have a little matter to talk over with you--some private business." "i was not aware that there could be business dealings of any sort between us, macklyn morgan." "be careful!" warned morgan, lifting a thin finger. "you are putting on a very bold face." "and is there any reason why i should not? i know, mr. morgan, of your methods at the time of my affair with the c. m. a. of a." "i have not forgotten that." "nor i. nor do i regret that, although the c. m. a. of a. was compelled to give up its unlawful efforts to rob me, you entered into a combination with another moneyed rascal to accomplish the work." "be careful!" again warned morgan. "i am not the man to whom you can talk in such a manner." "like any other man, you are one to whom i can tell the truth. if the truth cuts, so much the worse for you, sir." "don't get on your high horse, young man; it will be better for you if you refrain. don't be so free with your accusations, for you will soon find that there is an accusation against you of a most serious nature." "what new game are you up to, mr. morgan? it seems to me that the failures of the past should teach you the folly of your plots and schemes." "i have told you that i wish to have a private talk with you, young man. perhaps you had better grant me the privilege." "as far as i am concerned, there is no necessity of doing so; but really i am curious to know just what you're up to. this being the case, i will not object. i have a room, and we may go there." "your record indicates that you are a desperate character, merriwell. i should hesitate to place myself alone with you in any room unless you were first disarmed. if you will leave your weapons here at the desk we will go to your room." "i am quite willing in case you leave your own revolver, sir." "i never carry a revolver, merriwell." "but you have one in your pocket now," declared frank positively. he seemed to know this to be a fact, and, after a moment's hesitation, morgan took out a small revolver, which he laid upon the desk. "i thought it best to provide myself with such an article while in this part of the country," he said. "there it is. i will leave it here." immediately frank walked to the desk and placed his own pistol upon it. "come," he said. "you may follow me to my room." in frank's room, with the door closed behind them, merry motioned to a chair. "sit down, mr. morgan," he said, "and make whatever statement you choose. i will listen." morgan took the chair. "first," observed morgan, "i wish to speak of milton sukes." "i thought likely." "you know the interests of mr. sukes and myself were closely allied." frank laughed. "yes; although sukes was at the head of the concern, i know that you conspired with him to defraud me." "have a care!" again warned morgan. "you are now dealing with a man of power and influence." "i have dealt with such men before. as a bugaboo, the mere fact that you have money does not frighten me in the least, mr. morgan. if, like sukes, you fancy that money gives you power to commit any fraud, like sukes, you are to learn your mistake." "i know all about your scandalous attack on mr. sukes in denver. i know of your attempted blackmailing of him, merriwell. you did try to blackmail him, and you can't deny it." "you lie, morgan!" retorted frank, with perfect control of himself. "then what was the meaning of your threat to expose his mining operations?" "morgan, milton sukes pitted himself against me and attempted to rob me of my mine. when he did so he aroused my fighting blood. he was defeated in every effort he made against me, and the decision against him in the courts of the territory was the final blow that upset his plans. in the meantime i had learned that his great northwest territory mining company was a swindle of the most outrageous sort. i had threatened to expose him, and, when he found himself whipped to a standstill, he sought to enter into a compact with me, by which i was to remain silent and let him go on with his dishonest work. "he sent one of his tools to me with a contract for me to sign. i tore it up. as i say, my blood had been aroused, and i warned him then that neither cajolery nor money could silence me. i warned him that i would expose and disgrace him, so that every honest man in the country would regard him with scorn and aversion. had it been mere blackmail, sukes could have silenced me with money. he sought to do so, but found he was barking up the wrong tree. he threatened libel suits and all that; but i kept on at my work. as a last desperate resort he paid an employee of mine to fire my office in denver, and the result of that affair was that the treacherous fellow who betrayed me fancied i had perished in the fire. it drove him insane. he pursued sukes relentlessly, and it is certain that sukes was finally killed by that man's hand." "so you say, merriwell; but i hold quite a different opinion--quite a different opinion." "whatever your opinion may be, morgan, it is a matter of absolute indifference to me." macklyn morgan showed his teeth. "you may think so just now, young man, but you will change your mind. i have been investigating this matter thoroughly. i have followed it up faithfully. i know how and where sukes was shot. i have taken pains to secure all the evidence possible. you were present at the time. you were there in disguise. why did you pursue and hunt him in disguise? it looks black for you, mr. merriwell--it looks black. these things will count against you at the day of reckoning, which is surely coming. how will you explain your behavior to the satisfaction of the law?" "that's no matter to worry you, macklyn morgan," calmly returned merriwell. "if there is anything of explanation, i shall have the explaining to do. don't trouble yourself over it." "you have a great deal of nerve just now, young man; but it will weaken--it will weaken. wait until you are arrested on the charge of murder. had you killed an ordinary man it might have been different; but milton sukes was a man of money, a man of power, a man of influence. all his money, if necessary, will be used to convict you. you cannot escape. just as true as this case is put into the hands of the law you will eventually be hanged." in his cold, calm, accusing way, morgan was doing everything in his power to unsettle frank's nerves. as he spoke, he watched the youth as a hawk watches its prey. "i fail to see your object in coming to me with this," said merry. "it seems most remarkable. if you intend to push such a charge against me, why don't you go ahead and do it? why do you tell me what you contemplate doing? the proper method is to secure every scrap of evidence and then have me arrested without warning and thrown into jail." "i have all the evidence i need," asserted the money king. "merriwell, i have men who will swear that you fired that shot." "did they see me do it?" "they did." "most amazing, morgan! are you aware of the fact that sukes was shot in the dark? are you aware that every light in the place had first been extinguished by other shots? will you explain to me how any one could have seen me shoot him under such circumstances?" "one of the men was standing within two feet of you. he saw the flash of your weapon, as did the other man, who was a little farther away." frank smiled derisively. "wonderful evidence!" he said. "i doubt a great deal if a jury anywhere in this country would convict a man on such proof. at the time, as i think you will acknowledge, there was another man who did some shooting. i deny that i fired the shot. but even had i done so, who could say that it was not i who shot out the lights and the other man who killed milton sukes?" "did you know that you left a pistol with your name upon it in a hotel where you stopped in snowflake?" "i did nothing of the sort." "you did, merriwell! the bullet that killed sukes is in my possession. it is a bullet such as would have been fired from that pistol. the pistol is in my possession, merriwell! i have the evidence against you, and you can't escape!" "although you are lying in every particular, morgan, i am curious to know what your game may be. what is behind this singular procedure of yours?" macklyn morgan seemed to hesitate for a few moments, and then, leaning forward on the edge of his chair and holding up one finger, he suddenly exclaimed: "there is only one escape for you!" "and that is----" "if i abandon the case you may escape. if i drop it there will be no one to push it." "and you will drop it?" questioned merry, with pretended anxiety. "on what inducements?" "now you're coming to your senses," nodded the man. "now i fancy you comprehend just where you are. you possess several mines, and they are of considerable value. i have spent some money to get possession of one of those mines, having, as both milton sukes and i believed, a good claim to it. i speak of the queen mystery. frank merriwell, the day you deed over to me the queen mystery and give me possession of it i will abandon my determination to prosecute you for murder. i will even place such proofs as i have in your hands and you may destroy them. of course there will remain the two men who are ready to swear they saw you fire the shot, but they may be easily silenced. that's my proposition. and it is by that method alone you can save your neck. now give me your answer." "i will!" exclaimed merriwell suddenly. and then, with a spring, he seized macklyn morgan by the collar. immediately he ran the man to the door, which he hurled open. "that is my answer!" he cried, as he kicked morgan out of the room. chapter xiv. the messenger. as morgan was hurled headlong from merry's room he collided with a man outside, who was very nearly upset. this young man caught a glimpse of frank in the act of violently ejecting the man of money, and what immediately happened to morgan was the result of this discovery. "what's the meaning of this great agitation by which you seek to overthrow my corporosity?" savagely demanded cap'n wiley, for it was he. "this insult to my indignity is several degrees beyond my comprehension, and without waste of verbosity or the expenditure of violent language, i feel called upon to precipitate your corporosity on its journey." saying which, he sprang, catlike, on the millionaire, seized him, ran him swiftly along the corridor and flung him head over heels down the stairs. as morgan crashed to the bottom, wiley stood at the head of the stairs, his arms akimbo, nodding with satisfaction, and remarked: "possibly that jarred you some." morgan was not seriously hurt, but he arose in a terrible fury. "i will land you both where you belong for this outrage!" he declared, white to the lips. "i will place you both behind iron bars!" then he limped away. merriwell had followed, and his hand fell on the sailor's shoulder. "why do you mix up in this, wiley?" he demanded sternly. "it was not your quarrel." "if i have offended by my impulsive and impetuous demeanor, i entreat pardon," said the sailor. "when the gent bumped me and i saw that he had been scientifically ejected by you, i couldn't resist the temptation to give him another gentle boost." "and by doing so you may find yourself in a peck of trouble," said frank. "that man has power and influence, and he will try to make good his threat, which you heard. he is a money king." "what is money?" loftily returned wiley. "i scorn the filthy stuff. but, regardless of his money, it seems to me that you unhesitatingly elevated his anatomy with the toe of your boot." "it was my quarrel, wiley; and there is no reason why you should pitch in." "my dear comrade, i ever feel it my duty to stand by my friends, and your quarrel in some degree must be mine. i inferred that in some manner he offended you most copiously." "he did arouse my ire," admitted merry, as he walked back to his room, followed by the sailor. "but he is the sort of a man who will seek to make good his threat and place us behind bars." "it will not be the first time your humble servant has lingered in endurance vile. in connection with that, i might mention another little nannygoat. on the last occasion when i indulged too freely in western jag juice i was living in regal splendor in one of those hotels where they have lots of furniture and little to eat. i started out to put a red stripe on the city, and somewhere during my cruise i lost my bearings. i didn't seem to remember much of anything after that until i awoke with my throat feeling as dry as the desert of sahara and my head splitting. "just where i was i couldn't tell. i had some vague remembrance of whooping things up in glorious style, and knew i had been hitting the redeye. in a somewhat dormant condition i stretched my hands above my head, and, to my horror, they encountered iron bars. this aroused me slightly, and i looked in that direction and beheld before me, to my unutterable dismay, the bars i had touched. 'cap'n,' says i, 'you have again collided with the blue-coated guardians of the peace, and you are pinched.' "i noted, however, that these iron bars seemed somewhat frail and slender, and it struck me that my colossal strength might be able to bend them. with the thought of escape, i wrenched the bars apart and thrust my head between them. by vigorous pushing i injected my shoulders, but there i stuck. in spite of all my desperate efforts, i could not crawl through, and i finally discovered that i couldn't get back. i floundered and kicked a while and then gave it up and yelled for help. my cries finally brought some one, who entered the place and dragged me from the trap, at the same time nearly shaving off my left ear with one of the bars. my rescuer proved to be a hotel attendant, who asked me, in no small astonishment, what i was trying to do. then, to my inexpressible relief, on sitting up and looking round, i found that i was in my own room at the hotel, where i had somehow landed, and that my delusion had led me to endeavor to escape from limbo by crawling through the bars at the head of my iron bedstead. i gave the attendant who had dragged me out seven thousand dollars and pledged him to eternal silence. this is the first time my lips have ever betrayed the tale to mortal ears." in spite of the humor of the sailor's whimsical story, merry did not laugh. this convinced wiley that the affair with macklyn morgan was far more serious than he had at first apprehended. "cap'n," said frank, "i wish you would find dick and send him here. after that, if you can get track of morgan and keep watch of his movements it will be a good thing. i'd like to know just what he means to do." "depend upon me," nodded the sailor. "i will shadow him with all the skill of those heroes about whom i used to read in the yellow-backed literature." saying which, he hastily left the room. within ten minutes dick appeared and found merry walking up and down. "what's the matter, frank?" he asked. "from wiley's words i inferred there was trouble in the air." "there is," merry nodded; and he proceeded to tell his brother the whole story. dick's indignation burst forth. "the unmitigated scoundrel!" he cried. "tried to force you to give up the queen mystery, did he?" "that was his game." "well, you didn't give him half what he deserves. and he threatened to have you arrested for murder--you, frank, arrested for murder!" merry smiled grimly. "that was the threat he made." "but it was a bluff, frank--a bluff pure and simple. he will never try that game." "you can't tell what a man like morgan may try. sukes was desperate and dangerous, but i regard macklyn morgan as even more so. as a rule, he is quiet, cold, and calculating, and he lays his plans well. he would not have started in on this thing had he not been convinced that there was a good prospect of succeeding." "why, he can't succeed! it is impossible!" "i don't propose to let him succeed, but i feel certain i am going to have a hot time with him. i am ready for it; let it come." again frank's fighting blood was aroused, and dick saw it in the sternness of his handsome face and the gleam of his flashing eyes. "that's the talk, frank!" cried the boy, thrilled by the spirit of his brother. "they can't down you. they've tried it and failed too many times. but what are your plans now? you intend to start for the new mines early to-morrow?" "i may alter my plans. i may remain here for a while to face macklyn morgan. for all of his power and his money, i think i have a few friends and some influence in prescott. there is one, at least, whom i can depend upon, and that is frank mansfield. he is white to the bone, and he always stands by his friends." "but you cannot depend upon your friends alone in an emergency like this," said dick. "you will have to rely on yourself. of course, brad and i will stand by you, no matter what happens." while they were talking wiley came rushing in. "the gent who lately descended the stairs with such graceful impetuosity is now in consultation with the city marshal," he declared. "i traced him thither, and i have left one bradley buckhart to linger near and keep an eagle eye upon his movements." "by jove!" exclaimed dick; "i believe he does mean to have you arrested, frank." "his movement seems to indicate something of the sort," was frank's cool confession. "i suppose he will make a charge of personal assault, with the idea of putting me to inconvenience and detaining me until he can again try the effect of his threats of arrest on a more serious charge. were i sure things are all right at the enchanted valley, i would not mind. i am afraid you have made a mess of it, cap'n, in sending those men there." "it seems that i have a clever little way of putting my foot into it," retorted the sailor. "when i seek to do what i supremely consider to be for the best i make a bobble." "yet we will not worry over that now," said merry. "however, in case of emergency, dick, i wish you to have my horse constantly ready for me. if anything happens that i decide to get out in a hurry, you, and brad, and wiley are to take care of felicia and little abe." "all right," nodded dick. "i will see to it at once." ten minutes later frank was standing alone upon the steps of the hotel, when a man on horseback came riding furiously down the street. he was covered with dust, and his horse was so spent that it was only by the most savage urging that the beast was forced into a gallop. behind the man, at a distance, came two more horsemen, who were likewise spurring their mounts mercilessly. plainly they were in pursuit of the man in advance. as merry was wondering what it meant, the horse of the fugitive went down, as if shot, directly in front of the hotel, flinging the rider, who seemed stunned. with a great clatter of hoofs, the pursuers came up and stopped short, leaping from their saddles. as one of them dismounted, he whipped out a wicked-looking knife. both seemed to be desperadoes, and it was evident that their intention toward the fugitive was anything but friendly. now, it was not frank's nature to stand idly by and see two men jump on a third who was helpless and do him up. without a moment's hesitation, merry leaped from the steps and rushed upon those men. a heavy blow sent one of them to the ground. the other had stooped above the fallen man when frank's toe precipitated him headlong and caused him to roll over and over in the dust. at the same time merriwell drew a pistol. "get up and sneak, both of you!" he ordered. "if you linger, i will blow a window in each of you!" muttering oaths, the ruffians rose, but the look they saw in frank's face caused them to decide that the best thing they could do would be to obey. "it's none of your funeral!" cried one, as he grasped the bridle rein of his horse. "but it will be yours if you linger here ten seconds!" retorted merry. "git! if you value your skins, don't even turn to look back until you are out of shooting distance." as the baffled ruffians were retreating, the fugitive sat up, slowly recovering from his shock. "thank you, pard," he said. "it was mighty lucky for me you pitched in just as you did. but for you, they had me dead to rights, and i opine they would have finished me." "what is it all about?" questioned merry. "got a message," answered the man. "got to send it without fail. they meant to stop me. it has been a hot run. they headed me off from bigbug, and i had to strike for this town. they've wasted lots of lead on me; but they were riding too fast to shoot well. and i didn't hold up to give them an easy chance at me." as the man was speaking, merry assisted him to his feet. his horse had likewise risen, but stood with hanging head, completely pegged out. "poor devil!" said the man, sympathetically patting the creature's neck. "it's a wonder i didn't kill you. but even if i did, i was going to send the message to frank merriwell, if possible." "what's that?" shouted frank, in astonishment. "a message to frank merriwell! man, i am frank merriwell!" "you?" was the almost incredulous answer. "why, hodge told me to wire to san diego. he said it might reach you there." "i am just back from san diego. give me the message." the man fumbled in his pocket and brought forth a crumpled piece of paper, which he placed in merriwell's hand. opening the paper, this was what merry read: "if possible, come at once. trouble at the mines. plot to seize them. --hodge." "come into the hotel," said frank, turning to the man who had brought this message. "we will send some one to take charge of your horse." the man followed him. having asked that the horse be cared for, merry instructed his companion to follow, and he proceeded to his room. "what's your name?" he asked. "it's colvin--dash colvin." "well, colvin, you are from the enchanted valley?" "yes, sir." "you were one of the men engaged by wiley, i presume?" "yes, sir." "it seems that hodge trusts you?" "he did, sir." "what's the trouble there?" "those men are plotting a heap to take the mines, sir. hodge discovered it." "how did he make the discovery?" "that i don't know. he discovers it, somehow, and he sends me with this yere message. he picks me out and asks me could he trust me a whole lot. i tells him he could, and he chances it. i plans with him to git out in the night, and i does so." "but you were followed?" "yes. one of the crew sees me a-talking with mr. hodge, and they suspects me. arter that they watches me mighty close. that makes it plenty hard for me to git away. i don't opine i am much more than out of the valley afore they finds out i am gone. i didn't think they'd git on so quick, and so i fails to push as hard as i might at first. shortly after sun-up i sees two horsemen coming miles behind me. even then i'm not dead sure they're arter me. but they was, sir--they was. i had a hard run for it, but i have made good by getting the message to you." "and you shan't lose by it, colvin. be sure of that. did you know about this plot to seize the mines--before hodge discovered it?" "i knows there was something up, sir; but the rest of the gang they don't trust me complete, and so i don't find out just what was a-doing. i sees them whispering and acting queer, and i thinks there's trouble brewing before hodge speaks to me about it." "what sort of men are they?" "a right tough lot, mr. merriwell. they has liquor, too. somehow it's brought to them, but the head one of the bunch, texas bland, he don't ladle it out free at once. he seems to keep it for some occasion later." merry's face wore a serious expression. "how many men do you think there are in this plot?" "fifteen or twenty, sir." "all armed?" "every mother's son of them." "if i had my thirty!" muttered frank. but he was not prepared with an organized force to meet the plotting ruffians, and he felt that it would require precious time in order to get together a band of fighting men. "whatever do you propose to do, mr. merriwell?" asked colvin. "i see it is necessary for me to lose no time in reaching the mines." "but you don't go alone, i judge? you takes some good men with you?" "if possible." "better do it, sir. that gang is a heap tough, and it takes twice as many men to down 'em." "not twice as many of the right sort. i have two or three comrades i can depend upon." "but two or three are no good, mr. merriwell; you hears me." "perhaps not; but if i can get the move on those rascals it will count in my favor." "now, don't you reckon any on holding those mines with the aid of two or three backers," warned dash colvin. "you will never do it." at this juncture dick came in. "your horse is ready, frank," he said. "i have given orders to have it saddled and held prepared for you." "i may have to use it within an hour." dick immediately perceived that some new development had transpired, and he glanced from his brother to the stranger in the room. "what is now, frank?" he anxiously questioned. "read that," said merry, thrusting the message into his hand. "by jove!" exclaimed dick, "this is bad business, frank--bad business! how did you get this?" "it was brought by mr. colvin here. he was pursued and barely reached me with his life." "which i allows i would not have done but for mr. merriwell himself," said colvin. "my horse throws me unexpected, and the two galoots arter me has me down and is about to silence me some when mr. merriwell takes a hand." "are you sure this is straight goods?" questioned dick. "that's bart's writing," declared merry. "i'd know it anywhere." "then there can be no mistake." "certainly not. colvin tells me that there are fifteen or more ruffians in this plot." "do you believe, frank, that it is their scheme?" "i can't say." "perhaps this macklyn morgan is behind it." "he may be." "i believe he is!" cried dick. "somehow i am confident of it, frank. if he detains you here in prescott, you will lose those mines. you must get out of this place without delay." "it certainly looks that way. i shall do so, dick." "but we must go with you." "have you thought of felicia? she is here. some one must remain to look after her." "but, good gracious, frank! i can't stay here, knowing that you are in such difficulties. it is impossible!" "it may seem impossible to you, dick, but you know the peril through which felicia has lately passed. you also know that black joaquin is at liberty and may find her again." "but can't we take her?" "do you think she is prepared to endure the hardships she would be compelled to face? no, dick, it can't be done. you will have to stay with her." "i will be crazy, frank. when i think of you pitting yourself against such odds i will literally explode." dick's cheeks were flushed and he was panting with excitement. it seemed that even then the scent of battle was in his nostrils and he longed for the fray. "don't let your hot blood run away with your judgment, boy," half smiled merriwell. "colvin, do you know anybody in prescott?" "i reckons not, sir." "you don't know a man you can depend upon--a good fighter who will stick by us if paid well?" "nary a one, sir." "then that's not to be reckoned on." merriwell frowned as he walked the floor. of a sudden there came a sound of heavy feet outside and the door burst open. into the room strode brad buckhart, color in his cheeks and fire in his eyes. "waugh!" he cried. "get out your artillery and prepare for action!" "what's up now, brad?" demanded frank. "i certain judge they're after you in earnest," said the texan. "cap'n wiley left me to watch a fine gent named morgan. i did the trick, and i'll bet my shooting irons that morgan has a warrant sworn out for you this minute, and he is on his way here with officers. they mean to jug you, pard, sure as shooting. you hear me gently murmur!" "then," said frank calmly, "it's about time for me to make myself scarce in prescott." "if you're going, you want to get a move on," declared brad. "i am not a whole lot ahead of old morgan and the officers." even as he spoke there reached their ears the sound of many feet outside. "here they come!" said dick. with a leap, the texan reached the door and pressed himself against it. a hand fell on the knob of the door, but the powerful shoulder of buckhart prevented any one from entering. immediately there was a heavy knock. "open this door!" commanded a voice. "who is there? and what do you want?" demanded buckhart. "we want frank merriwell. open this door!" "perhaps you will wait some," retorted brad. then another voice was heard outside, and it was that of morgan himself. "break down the door!" he commanded. "merriwell is in there! break it down!" "remember my instructions, dick," said frank, as he coolly turned and opened a window. "just hold this window a moment." on the door there fell a crashing blow. "that's right!" growled buckhart, who remained immovable. "i hope you don't damage yourself in doing it." frank balanced himself on the window ledge, glancing downward. "remember, dick," he said again. crash, crash! fell the blows upon the door. it could not withstand such shocks, and the hinges began to break clear. "i am good for four seconds more!" grated brad, maintaining his position. frank made a light spring outward and dropped. it was more than fifteen feet to the ground, but he landed like a cat upon his feet, turned to wave his hand to dick, and disappeared round the corner. dick quietly lowered the window. "let them in, brad," he said. the texan sprang away from the door and two men came plunging into the room as it fell. behind them was a third, and behind him was macklyn morgan. dick faced them, his eyes flashing. "what is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "where is frank merriwell?" questioned one of the officers. "he is here! he is here!" asserted morgan, in the doorway. "i know he is here!" "you're a whole lot wise," sneered buckhart. "you certain could have given old solomon a few points! i admire you a great deal--not!" "he is hiding somewhere in this room," asserted morgan, paying no attention to the texan. "if that is so, he may as well come out," said the leading officer. "we will have him in a minute." "go ahead," said dick, beginning to laugh. "pull him out." dick's laughter was tantalizing, and one of the officers became enraged and threatened him. "why, you're real amusing!" said dick. "ha! ha! ha! oh! ha! ha! ha! some one has a door to pay for. there is a joke on somebody here." "who are you?" demanded morgan. dick took a step nearer, his dark eyes fixing on the man's face. "who am i? i will tell you who i am. i am frank merriwell's brother." "his brother? i have heard of you." "not for the last time, macklyn morgan; nor have you heard of frank for the last time. your plot will fizzle. your infamous schemes will fail. you know what the plotting of your partner, milton sukes, brought him to. look out, mr. morgan--look out for yourself!" "don't you dare threaten me, you impudent young whelp!" raged morgan. "you will find, sir, that i dare tell you just what you are. your money and your power do not alarm me in the least. you're an unscrupulous scoundrel! you have trumped up a charge against my brother. he will fool you, and he will show you up, just as he did milton sukes. where is sukes now? look out, macklyn morgan!" although usually able to command his passions and appear cold as ice, the words of this fearless, dark-eyed lad were too much for morgan, and he lifted his clinched fist. quick as thought, his wrist was seized by buckhart, who growled in his ear: "if you ever hit my pard, you will take a trip instanter to join milton sukes down below!" then he thrust morgan aside. in the meantime the officers had been searching the room. they opened the closet, looked under the bed, and inspected every place where a person could hide. "you're mistaken," said one of them. "your man is not here." "he must be!" asserted morgan. "i know it!" "you can see for yourself he is not here." "then where is he?" as this question fell from morgan's lips there was a clatter of hoofs outside. morgan himself glanced from the window and quickly uttered a cry of baffled rage. "there he is now!" he shouted. "there he goes on a horse! he is getting away! after him!" "and may the old nick give you the luck you deserve!" laughed dick. chapter xv. a desperate situation. morning in the enchanted valley. bart hodge was standing in front of a newly constructed cabin. his ear was turned to listen for sounds of labor from the lower end of the valley, where a crew of men was supposed to be at work building other cabins. the valley was strangely still. "they're not working," muttered hodge, a dark frown on his face. "they have quit. what will this day bring? oh, if frank were only here!" finally, as he stood there, to his ears from far down the valley came a faint sound of hoarse voices singing. "i know the meaning of that!" he declared. "they're drinking. at last bland has given them the liquor. they're getting ready for their work." he turned back into the cabin, the door of which stood open. from a peg on the wall he took down a winchester rifle and carefully examined it, making sure the magazine was filled and the weapon in perfect working order. he also looked over a brace of revolvers, which he carried ready for use. tossing the rifle in the hollow of his left arm, he left the cabin and turned toward the end of the valley where the men were engaged. he observed some caution in approaching that portion of the valley. at last he reached a point amid some bowlders from which he could look down into a slight hollow, where stood some half-constructed cabins upon which the men had been working. not one of them was at work now. they were lying around carelessly, or sitting in such shade as they could find, smoking and drinking. several bottles were being passed from hand to hand. already two or three of them seemed much under the influence of liquor, and one bowlegged fellow greatly amused the others by an irregular, unsteady dance, during which he kicked out first with one foot and then with the other, like a skirt dancer. at intervals some of them sang a melancholy sort of song. "the miserable dogs!" grated bart. "they're ready to defy me now and carry out their treacherous plans." a tall man, with a black mustache and imperial, stepped among the others, saying a word now and then and seeming to be their leader. "you're the one, texas bland!" whispered hodge. "you have led them into this!" as he thought of this his fingers suddenly gripped the rifle, and he longed to lean over the bowlder before him, steady his aim, and send a bullet through texas bland. bart was unaware that two men were approaching until they were close upon him. this compelled him, if he wished to escape observation, to draw back somewhat, and he did so. he did not crouch or make any great effort at hiding, for such a thing he disdained to do. he was not observed, however, although the men stopped within a short distance. "well, what do yer think o' this game, dug?" said one of them, who was squat and sandy. "i reckons the boss has it all his own way, bight," retorted the other, a leathery-faced chap with tobacco-stained beard. "the boss!" exclaimed bight. "mebbe you tells me who is the boss?" "why, bland, of course," said dug. "he is the boss." "mebbe he is, and then--mebbe again," returned the sandy one. "well, we takes our orders from him." "sartin; but i reckons he takes his orders from some one else." bight pulled out a bottle. "now," he said, "he furnished plenty o' this. my neck is getting dry. how is yourn, dug?" "ready to squeak," returned dug, grasping the bottle his comrade extended. when they had lowered its contents until very little was left, bight observed: "i s'pose bland he's going to chaw up this yere chap, hodge?" "sure thing," nodded dug. "pretty soon he calls hodge down yere on a pretense o' business or something, and then he kicks up a fuss with him. he has it all fixed for several of the boys to plug him as soon as the fuss starts. that settles his hash." the eyes of bart hodge gleamed savagely. "i wonder how he gits onter it that anything's up?" questioned dug. "mebbe that sneak, colvin, tells him." "mebbe so," nodded bight. "anyhow, nobody trusts colvin none, and i opines he'd been polished off here ef he'd stayed." "and he'll sartin never git very fur," declared dug. "them boys arter him will sure run him down and make buzzard bait o' him." hearing this, hodge knew for the first time that there were men in pursuit of colvin, his messenger, who had slipped out of the valley the previous night. colvin had sworn, if he lived, to carry the message for frank to the nearest telegraph station and send it. but he was pursued by ruffians who meant to slay him. it was doubtful if he reached a telegraph office. if he failed, of course merriwell would remain uninformed as to the situation in the enchanted valley and would not hurry about returning there. even if colvin succeeded, it might be too late. bart believed it probable that merry was in san diego or that vicinity, and therefore it would take him some time to reach prescott and travel by horse from prescott to the valley. long before he could make such a journey the mutineers would be able to accomplish their evil design. "who do you s'pose is back of this yere business, dug?" said bight. "you thinks bland is not behind it, does yer?" "dead sartin. bland he never does this fer hisself. he wouldn't dare. it wouldn't do him no good." "why not?" "because he can't hold this yere mine and work it. somebody locates him, and he has to evaporate, for his record counts agin' him. howsomever, he can jump the mine for some other gent and git paid fer doing the trick, arter which he ambles into the distance and gently disappears. this is his little game, and i will bet on it." "i wonders some who the gent is behind it." "that's nothing much ter us as long as we gits our coin." "does we git it sure?" "you bet i gits mine. ef i don't, there'll be blazes a-roaring around yere." "why, you don't buck up agin' bland none?" half laughed the other. "you knows better than ter do that." "i don't do it by my lonesome; but if i raises a holler there is others does the same thing. but i will git my dust, all right. don't you worry about that." at this point several of the men in the vicinity of the unfinished cabins set up a wild yell of laughter. one of their number had attempted to imitate the awkward motions of the former dancer and had fallen sprawling on his stomach. immediately after this burst of laughter the men began to sing again. "that oughter bring this yere hodge over this way," said dug, with a hoarse laugh. "ordinarily he comes a-whooping to see what is up, and he raises thunder. he sets himself up as a boss what is to be obeyed, and i reckons so far he has had the boys jumping when he gives orders." "if he comes over now," observed bight, "he gits his medicine in a hurry. i don't care any about shooting him up, so i am for staying away from the rest of the bunch." "oh! what ails yer?" growled dug. "it's murder!" said bight. "well, i opines you has cooked yer man afore this?" "ef i ever has," retorted bight, "it certain was in self-defense." "i reckon you're something of a squealer, pard," sneered dug. "you wants to git your share o' the dust without taking no part in the danger. you tells how you raises a roar if you don't git your coin, but what does yer do to earn it?" "well, i fights some when i has to," returned bight, rather savagely. "mebbe you talks too much to me, dug, and you gits yourself into some trouble." bight was ugly now, and his companion involuntarily retreated a step, for the squat chap had a reputation as a fighter. "go slow, pard!" exclaimed dug. "i am not a-picking trouble with you." "all right, all right," nodded bight, "only just be a little keerful--a little keerful. don't think just because a gent don't keer about shooting another gent down promiscuous-like that he is soft and easy. there's texas bland out yander. he has a reputation as a bad man. well, partner, i picks no quarrels with him, but if he stomps on my tail he gets my claws." "what's that?" exclaimed dug, in astonishment. "you ain't a-giving it ter me that you bucks up agin' bland, are yer?" "i am a-giving it ter yer that i does in case i has to. i don't propose any ter have ter do it. i jines in with this yer move because it seems popular with the gang, and i am none anxious ter work myself. this yere is a nice bunch o' miners, now, ain't it? why, the gent what hires this outfit and brings it yere had a whole lot better stick to his sailoring business! he may know how to pick out seamen, but it's right certain he makes a mess of it when it comes to engaging miners." "that's right," agreed dug. "and he certain is the biggest liar it ever were my pleasure to harken unto. the way he can tell things to make a galoot's eyes bug out is a whole lot remarkable. whither he gits his lively imagination i cannot surmise. let's see, whatever was his name?" "wiley--cap'n wiley he calls himself." "well, however does he happen to be hiring men for this yere mine? i don't judge any that he is interested in it." "not a whole lot. the mine is owned by a gent named merriwell, and by this yere hodge. them two locates it." "relocates it, you mean. i onderstand it were located original by another gent what is dead now. and i reckons some that it is through this other gent's action that the man that is back o' this yere jumping movement is going to stake his claim to the mine. i hears one o' the boys say that if bland ain't back o' the game, it sartin is a gent with heaps o' money--one o' them yere money kings we hears about." this conversation was of no simple interest to hodge, for, although it did not reveal the instigator of the movement, it satisfied him that the plot did not originate among the men themselves. some enemy of frank merriwell must be behind it all. as sukes was dead, it was not easy for bart to conjecture who this new enemy was. after a few moments more the two ruffians finished the contents of the bottle and moved slowly away. this gave hodge an opportunity to turn back toward his cabin, and he hastened to get away from that dangerous locality. "it's well for me that i suspected what was up," he muttered, as he hurried along. "under ordinary circumstances, failing to hear the men at work and hearing their singing and shouts, i should have hastened over and demanded to know the meaning of it. as a result they would have finished me in short order. now i am prepared for them. but what can i do? what can i do alone?" the situation seemed desperate and hopeless. another fellow in bart's position, and realizing his desperate peril, might have lost no time in getting out of the valley. even though he happened to be a courageous person, his judgment might have led him to pursue such a course, for certainly it seemed a wild and hopeless plan to think of remaining there alone and contending against those ruffians. bart, however, was an obstinate chap and one in whom fear was an emotion seldom experienced. not that he had always been fearless, for as a boy he had sometimes felt the thrill of terror; but his iron will had conquered, and time after time he had refused to submit to the approach of the slightest timidity, until at last fear seemed banished from his heart. now, as he hastened back to the cabin, he revolved in his mind certain thoughts in regard to the situation; but not once did he entertain the idea of leaving the valley and abandoning it to those desperadoes. "i will stay," he muttered. "i will stay as long as i am able to shoot. while i live they will never gain full possession of the valley. merry left me here to guard this property, and i will do it with my life. but for wiley's carelessness----" he stopped, suddenly struck by a startling suspicion. "was it carelessness?" he asked himself. an instant later he was ashamed of the suspicion, for he remembered how on other occasions he had suspected wiley, and each time had found himself wrong. "no, no," murmured hodge; "it was simply a blunder, on wiley's part. he remembered merriwell's thirty, and thought he was doing the right thing in engaging men of similar calibre. the cap'n is on the level." still troubled and perplexed by his thoughts, he grew, if possible, more fixed in his determination to defend the mines single-handed. he approached the cabin, the door of which was still standing open as he left it. hurrying in, he stopped, suddenly turned to stone as he saw sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall, a human being, who was calmly smoking a long pipe. a moment later the muzzle of bart's revolver covered this figure, which, however, did not stir or lift a hand. coming, as he did, from the bright light outside into the shadows within the cabin, hodge failed at first to note more than that the smoker who sat thus was wrapped in an old blanket. after a moment or two, however, he finally saw that he was face to face with an aged, wrinkled, leathery-skinned indian. the little sharp eyes of the old savage were fixed steadily on bart's face, and he betrayed not a symptom of alarm as hodge brought the rifle to bear upon him. with stoical calmness he deliberately pulled at his pipe. "what in thunder are you doing here?" demanded hodge, in astonishment. "ugh!" was the only reply vouchsafed. somehow that grunt seemed familiar. bart had heard it before, but it simply increased his amazement. lowering the rifle, he stared wonderingly. "great scott!" he breathed. "is it possible? are you old joe?" "heap same," was the curt answer. in a twinkling bart dropped the rifle on the table and strode forward to shake the hand of an old friend. "old joe crowfoot!" he shouted. "where under the stars did you drop from?" "joe he come visit. how, how!" "why, you amazing old nomad!" cried bart, in delight. "you're always turning up just when you're wanted the most, and if ever you were wanted it is now." "frank him not here?" "no." "joe he want see frank." "if that's the case, you will have to wait a while." "strong heart he better be here," declared the aged redskin. "heap lot o' trouble pretty soon." "that's right, joe. but how do you know anything about it?" "joe he know. him no fool. him find out." bart had extended his hand, and now he assisted the old man to his feet. although old joe tried to conceal the fact, he seemed rather stiff in his joints just then. "what's the matter, crowfoot?" questioned bart. "rheumatism troubles you again?" "debble got old joe in his bones," indignantly returned the savage. "old joe him no good any more. make old joe mad when him think he no good." under other circumstances the indignation of the redskin over his infirmities might have been somewhat amusing. "but tell me--tell me how you came to be here at this time," questioned hodge. "we last saw you away up in wyoming. you said then that you'd never travel south again." "heap think so then. when winter he come joe have debble ache in his bones plenty bad. sabe?" "and so the rheumatism and cold weather drove you south, eh?" "one time," said the redskin, drawing his blanket about his shoulders with an air of dignity, "joe him face cold and never feel um. one time him no care how cold. one time he laugh at snow and ice. then all him bones be good. then old joe a heap strong to hunt. now it ain't the same. once joe him hunt the grizzly bear for game; now he hunt poker." in spite of himself, bart was forced to smile. he knew something of the skill of old joe at the white man's game of poker, and the thought of the old indian who had once tracked the grizzly now turned to gambling was both amusing and remarkable. "so that is what brought you south. you turned this way to escape the cold and to find at the same time the kind of game you were after?" "heap so," nodded crowfoot, as he produced from beneath his blanket a greasy pack of cards. "i came to play some. mebbe i find um good players here." "i don't know where, joe," said hodge. "mebbe over yon," suggested the indian, waving his hand toward the southern end of the valley. "see here, joe," said bart, "those men down there are my enemies. they have betrayed me. there are valuable mines in this valley, and they belong to frank merriwell and myself. these ruffians mean to seize them. even now they are ready to shoot me on sight, and intend to drop frank when he appears." "heap bad," observed joe, without betraying the slightest emotion. "bad!" cried hodge. "i should say so!" "too many for you, black eyes," asserted the redskin. "mebbe you pull up stake and lope?" "not by a blamed sight!" grated hodge. "i will stay here and defend these mines as long as i am able to lift a weapon." the indian shook his head. "heap young, heap young," he declared, as if speaking to himself. "blood hot. joe him know. once him blood hot." "well, you don't suppose i'd let them drive me out, do you?" indignantly demanded hodge. "you don't think i'd betray frank like that! he left me here in charge of the property, and here i will remain. i want you to stick by me, joe." "ugh!" grunted the old fellow noncommittally. "mebbe not much difference to old joe. i may croak pretty soon now. mebbe only make it some quicker." "perhaps that's right," said hodge slowly. "i have no right to ask you to lose your life in helping me fight against overwhelming odds. it's not your quarrel, joe. you can do as you please." "joe him think it over," said the indian. "no like to see frank lose um mines, but him have plenty more." bart turned away, not without a feeling of disappointment. as he did so, through the still open door he caught a glimpse of a man who was advancing toward the cabin. instantly he strode toward the door, and his eyes rested on texas bland, who was several rods away. "oh, mr. hodge!" bland called at once. "i want yer ter come over yon. the men has quit work, and they refuse to strike another stroke." trying to repress and conceal his indignation, bart asked, as if wholly unsuspicious of the real situation: "what's the matter, bland?" "i dunno," lied the scoundrel. "i can't make 'em work; perhaps you can, sir." suddenly, almost without being aware of what was happening, bart permitted his hot indignation to get the best of his judgment. instantly, as he stepped out of the cabin, he blazed: "you're lying, bland, and i know it! i am on to the whole dastardly game! you're at the bottom of it, too! you have incited the men to mutiny. i know your plot, you treacherous whelp! i know you meant to get me over there for the purpose of assassinating me. the end of this business will be a rope for you, bland. go back and tell your dogs i am onto their game. go back and bring them here. they will meet a hot reception!" texas bland had been astonished, but now, quick as a flash, he whipped out a revolver for the purpose of taking a shot at hodge, whose hands were empty. rapid though he was in his movements, he was not quick enough, for within the cabin sounded the loud report of a rifle, and the bullet knocked bland's pistol from his hand, smashing two of his fingers. chapter xvi. crowfoot makes medicine. although taken by surprise, the man looked at his benumbed and bleeding hand a moment, then pulled from his neck a handkerchief tied there and wrapped it around the mutilated member. by this time hodge had his own pistol out, and bland was covered. "you're lucky to get off with your life, you treacherous cur!" he cried. "now make tracks, and hurry about it, too." "all right," said the leader of the ruffians, still with amazing coolness. "but you pays dear for this hand--you and the gent inside who fires the shot." with that he turned his back and hastily strode away, the handkerchief already dripping with blood and leaving a red trail behind him. hodge watched until the hurrying man disappeared down the valley. reentering the cabin, he found old joe standing near the table on which still lay bart's winchester. the indian had refilled his pipe and was smoking again in his most imperturbable manner. "crowfoot," said hodge, with sincere gratitude, "i owe you my life. it's lucky for me you fired just when you did. an instant more and bland would have shot me down. how did you happen to be so quick with the shot?" "look um rifle over," grunted the old man. "pick um rifle up. when black eyes him go out, joe think mebbe white man act crooked. joe watch him white man. when white man tries to shoot, joe him shoot." "you're a jewel, crowfoot!" declared bart; "but this thing will bring trouble to the cabin in a hurry. as soon as bland can have his hand cared for, he will lead those ruffians over here to wipe us out. now is your chance to get away." "oh, no great hurry," returned crowfoot. "plenty time, plenty time." "on the contrary, there may be very little time. if you're going, you had better go at once." "plenty time," persisted the old man placidly. "joe too old to hurry. they no come right away. mebbe joe him look around a little." as the old fellow was leaving the cabin, bart called: "here's your own rifle, joe, standing in the corner. don't you want to take it?" "leave him there now," returned the redskin. "take him bimeby." outside the door, leaning against the wall, were a pick and spade. to bart's surprise, the old man picked these implements up and shouldered them; after which he found bland's revolver where it had fallen on being knocked from the man's hand by the bullet, and took that along. crowfoot turned northward toward a tangled wild thicket, into which bart saw him disappear. "well, of all peculiar things for him to do!" muttered hodge, completely puzzled. "what the dickens is he up to?" this question bothered bart not a little, and, after a time, having made sure none of the ruffians were yet approaching from the south, bart caught up his rifle and ran swiftly toward the thicket. on entering the tangled underbrush, he soon came in sight of crowfoot, who, although he must have heard the other approaching, paid no attention whatever. the defender of the mines paused in amazement as he noted the indian's occupation, for old joe was busily at work, engaged with pick and shovel, digging in the ground. "what in the name of all mysteries are you doing, crowfoot?" asked hodge, as he approached and stood nearer. "dig a little," returned the old man, with something like a joking twinkle in his keen black eyes. "mebbe get some exercise. strong heart him great on exercise. crowfoot hear strong heart tell exercise much big thing." now, hodge knew well enough that the aged redskin was not expending so much energy and labor in mere exercise, and he lingered to watch a while longer. pretty soon old joe unearthed a long root that ran beneath the ground, which he immediately seized and dragged forth with considerable grunting. hodge noted then that he had one or two similar roots lying near. "mebbe him be 'nuf," observed crowfoot, as he severed the last root unearthed and placed it with the others. "think him be. joe he get plenty exercise for to-day." then, abandoning the pick and shovel where he had dropped them, the old man gathered up the roots and started to retrace his steps to the cabin. still wondering at crowfoot's strange actions, hodge followed. the sunshine lay warm on the valley, which seemed deserted save for themselves. "man git hand hurt, him no hurry back much," observed crowfoot. "not yet," said hodge. "but he will come and bring his dogs with him soon enough." when the cabin was reached crowfoot stood some moments looking at a little pile of wood lying in a corner near the open fireplace. "you build a fire, black eyes," he said. "joe him cold--him cold." "well, your blood must be getting thin," declared hodge. "you can bake out in the sun to-day if you want to." "no like sun bake," was the retort. "too slow; not right kind. want fire bake." "oh, all right," said bart, ready to humor the old man. "i will have a fire directly." to his surprise, while he was starting the fire, old joe brought in more wood that had been gathered in a little pile outside and threw it down in the corner. several times he came with an armful of wood, but finally, seemed satisfied. "there's a good hot fire for you, joe," said hodge. "now toast yourself, if you want to." "ugh!" grunted the indian. "you keep watch. keep eye open wide. mebbe bad palefaces come soon." bart knew this was a good suggestion, and he proceeded to watch for the possible approach of the enemy. at the same time, he occasionally turned from the open doorway to observe what crowfoot was about. the old indian did not seem very anxious to warm himself at the fire. instead of that, he took the roots he had dug and held them toward the fireplace, turning them over and over and warming them thoroughly, after which he beat off the particles of dirt that clung to them. while he was beating one of the roots by holding it toward the fire, he had the others arranged on the flat stones of the hearth quite near the blaze, where they also would receive warmth from the flames. at last, his curiosity reaching a point where he could repress it no longer, hodge again asked old joe what he was doing. for some minutes the indian did not reply. once or twice he grunted to himself, but finally said: "joe him make medicine. sometime him big medicine maker." "oh, so that's it," said hodge. "you are making medicine for your rheumatism?" "ugh!" was the answer to this. bart was surprised and almost annoyed as the day dragged on and the ruffians failed to appear. it seemed remarkable that they should delay the attack so long; still, he was confident that it must come sooner or later. all through the day after securing his roots old joe worked over them patiently by the fire. he dried them and turned them over and over. and, while he was handling one of them and turning it before the heat like a thing he was toasting, the others remained in a long mound of hot ashes. the patience of the indian over such a trifling task was something to wonder at. as night came on crowfoot paused to say: "now, black eyes, keep sharp watch. bad white men come to-night. mebbe they try to ketch um sleeping." the first half of the night, however, passed without alarm. during these hours the old redskin continued to putter with his roots, which he carefully scraped with a keen knife. at midnight he buried them in the ashes, on which hot coals were heaped, and then directed bart to lie down and sleep. "joe him watch now," said the old fellow. trusting everything to the redskin, hodge rolled himself in a blanket and slept soundly for two hours. he was awakened by joe, who stirred him with a moccasin foot. "get up, black eyes," said the old fellow, in a whisper. "pretty soon we fight." "those ruffians?" questioned bart, as he leaped to his feet. "they coming," declared crowfoot. he was right. bland and his desperadoes were creeping on the cabin, hoping to take its defenders by surprise. crowfoot pointed them out, and when they were near enough, hodge called from the window for them to halt. realizing they were discovered, they sprang up and charged. instantly bart and the redskin opened fire on them, hodge working his repeater swiftly and accurately, while the clear spang of crowfoot's rifle was heard at irregular intervals. the ruffians were unprepared for such a defense, and, as they saw several of their number fall and others were wounded, they halted, wavered, then turned and fled. looking from the window, the starlight showed the defenders a few wounded men dragging themselves away. "pretty good," said joe. "no more bother to-night." with which he turned from the window, uncovered his roots, and replanted them in a fresh pile of hot ashes. chapter xvii. how the medicine worked. having left their horses picketed in a secluded spot, four men came stealing down the steep and narrow fissure that was the one entrance into the enchanted valley. three days had passed since dash colvin stole out of that valley in his desperate attempt to carry the message to frank. the third night had fallen. frank had arrived, and with him were pete curry, of cottonwood, an officer who knew him well and liked him, and two deputies whom curry had called into service. frank had picked these men up at cottonwood after his flight from prescott. the promise of a liberal reward under any circumstances, and possibly of a big capture, had led them to accompany him. before seeking to descend into the valley they had seen from the heights above, far away to the southern end, the glow of two or three bright fires, and had heard at intervals something like singing. frank feared the entrance to the valley might be in the hands of the enemy and guarded. he was relieved on discovering that this was not so, and his satisfaction was great when, with his companions, he found himself in the valley with no one to block the way. "what next, mr. merriwell?" asked curry, in a low tone. "i am for finding out what is going on down there to the south," said frank. "all right, sir. lead on. we're with you." in time they approached near enough to look down upon that portion of the valley where the unfinished cabins were, and saw two or three fires burning there. men were lying around on the ground in the light of these fires. others were staggering about in a peculiar manner. now and then one of them would utter a wild yell and dance about like a crazy man, sometimes keeping it up until, apparently exhausted, he ended by flinging himself on the ground and seemed immediately to fall asleep. as frank and his companions watched these singular movements they saw three men join hands and execute a singular dance in the firelight. "cæsar's ghost!" muttered merry, "am i dreaming?" "what's the matter, pard?" asked curry. "look at those three men--look at them closely. one of them is an indian." "sure thing," said curry. "and i know him!" palpitated merry. "if my eyes don't fail me, it is old joe crowfoot." "who is old joe crowfoot?" "a redskin i have believed to be my friend." "waugh!" ejaculated curry, in disgust. "there never was a red whelp as could be trusted." "but you don't know crowfoot." "i know 'em all. here is this yere crowfoot a-whooping her up with your enemies, mr. merriwell. what do you think of that?" "it's mighty singular," confessed merry. "look! look! they are drinking!" it was true. the dance had stopped and one of the three had flung himself on the ground. crowfoot bent over this fellow and offered him a bottle, which he eagerly seized. the indian snatched it from the man's lips, refusing to let him drink all he seemed to desire. it was then given to the other men, and afterward the old redskin passed from one to another of the reclining men, rousing those he could and offering them the bottle. some drank, but others seemed too nerveless to hold the bottle in their hands. "well, this yere is lucky for us," declared curry. "the whole bunch is paralyzed drunk. we oughter be able to scoop 'em in without any great trouble." "i wonder where hodge is," speculated merry. "i wonder if they have killed him." this possibility so aroused frank that he was determined to seek bart without delay. curry was opposed to this; but frank had his way, and they stole off leaving crowfoot and his newly chosen companions to continue their carousal. as they approached bart's cabin, there came from the window a sharp command for them to halt. merry recognized the voice and uttered a cry of satisfaction. "hodge!" he called. "it is i--frank." from within the cabin there was another cry of joy, and a moment later the door flew open and hodge came running toward them. "merry, thank heaven you're here!" he exclaimed, "thank heaven you're still alive!" returned frank. "i was afraid i might arrive too late. tell me what has happened. how have you managed to stand those ruffians off?" "they attacked the cabin twice," said hodge; "but we were ready for them both times." "we? but aren't you alone?" "i am now; but old joe crowfoot----" "crowfoot--what of him?" "he was with me. i don't know what has become of the old man now. he left to-night as soon as darkness fell, saying he was going to take a look at the ruffians down yonder. the old man is pretty well used up; he is nearly dead with rheumatism. he spent the greater part of the time after coming here in digging roots and making them into medicine by drying them at the fire, scraping them, then grinding them into powder between stones, finally preparing a decoction with water and the powder of the roots." frank then told bart what he had lately seen, and hodge was greatly astonished. "old joe down there with those men?" he muttered. "why, i don't see----" "ugh!" grunted a voice near at hand, and out of the shadows slipped another shadow that unhesitatingly approached. it was crowfoot himself, as they immediately perceived. "how, how, strong heart!" said the old man, extending his hand to frank. "heap glad to see um." "why, you old wretch!" cried merry. "we saw you a short time ago down there with that bunch of claim jumpers drinking and whooping things up. what do you mean by such conduct?" "old joe him got very bad rheumatism," returned the redskin. "him make medicine. him think mebbe um white men down there got bad rheumatism, too. he give um white men some medicine. he find um white man drinking a heap. joe he mix um medicine with drink. they like medicine pretty good. one white man, who lead um, him get shot up a great lot. him in no shape to lead um some more. so white men they wait for more men to come. now they very much tired. they sleep a lot. come down see um sleep. you like it." of a sudden the truth dawned on frank. "why, you clever old rascal!" he laughed. "hanged if i don't believe you've drugged them some way!" "joe he give um medicine, that all," protested the redskin. "sometimes medicine make um sleep. come see." "come on," said frank, "we will follow this slick old rascal and find out how hard they are sleeping." as they approached the cabins at the lower end of the valley they saw the fires were dying down, while from that locality no longer came shouts and singing, and, in truth, all the ruffians seemed fast asleep on the ground, where they had fallen or flung themselves. unhesitatingly crowfoot led them amid the mass of drugged men, and the sinking firelight revealed on his leathery face a ghost of a shriveled smile. "medicine heap good sometimes," he observed. "strong heart find him enemies sleeping. mebbe he takes hatchet and chop um up? joe he get many scalps." "you're a dandy, crowfoot!" laughed frank. "here they are, curry, the whole bunch. you can gather them and escort them to cottonwood, or anywhere you please." "and a great haul it is, pard," nodded curry. "i sees three gents now what has rewards offered for them. it's my opinion that they hangs. get to work, boys, and we will tie up the whole bunch so they can't wiggle when they awake." old joe looked on in apparent dissatisfaction and dismay. "you no chop um up some?" he questioned. "you no kill um a heap. then what joe him get? he no have a scalp." "what do you get, joe?" exclaimed merry. "you have saved my mines for me. you get anything you want--anything but scalps." chapter xviii. a bunch of prisoners. pete curry and his two deputies set off the next morning with their prisoners--thirteen in all. they were taking the ruffians direct to the nearest point where they could be confined and afterward delivered for trial into the hands of certain officers, who would take several of them to different parts of arizona where they had committed crimes. at noon the second day they reached a point in a barren valley where the sun beat fiercely. scorched mountains rose to the east and west. they came to a halt. in the party of sixteen there were only three horses, ridden by the officers. the prisoners had been compelled to tramp over the desert, the mountains, and valleys. the wrists of each captive were bound behind his back. a tough-looking, desperate lot they were, taken all together. there were mexicans and men with indian blood in their veins among them. they had weather-beaten, leathery, bearded faces. many of them had a hangdog expression. their eyes were shiftless and full of treachery. it was a most important capture for curry, as there were among those men desperate characters for whose apprehension rewards had been offered. in short, it was a round-up of criminals that would make curry's name known as that of a wonderfully successful officer of the law. he was proud of his accomplishment, although he regretfully admitted to himself that he deserved very little credit for it. he and his two companions had already been well paid by frank merriwell. now, with his weapons ready, curry was watching the prisoners, while his two companions sought for water in the bed of the creek. "how are you hitting her, bill?" he called. "she's moist, pete," answered one of the diggers. "there's water here." "it takes a right good while for her to gather in the hole," said the other digger. "if we makes a hole big enough, we will have some in an hour or so." curry took a look at the sky, the mountains, and the westering sun. "well, i opines we stops here a while," he said. "we may as well." a big, burly fellow among the captives carelessly stalked toward curry, who watched him with a keen eye. "i say, pete," said the prisoner familiarly, "mebbe you tells me just how this yere thing happens. i am a whole lot bothered over it." "why, bland, i has you--i has you foul," retorted curry, with a grim smile. "that i certain admits," nodded the other; "but how it was did is what puzzles me a-plenty." "you has some bad habits, bland," returned the captor. "you monkeys with firewater, and, for a man like you, with a price on him, it's a keerless thing to do." "no firewater ever lays me out," proudly retorted he of the drooping black mustache. "i knows my capacity when it come to the real stuff. but what i gits against this yere time is different a whole lot." the deputy sheriff smiled again. "mebbe you're right, bland," he admitted. "you thinks yourself a heap clever, but this time you is fooled right slick." texas bland frowned. "i confess, pete, that it cuts me deep to realize it, but it certain is a fact that i gits tripped up. however, how it happened is what i wants ter know. there sure was dope in that booze." "likely you're correct," nodded curry. "how does it git there?" "have you noticed a certain old injun in this bunch sence we started out?" asked the officer. "no," said bland, shaking his head. "i looks fer him some, but he is not yere. does yer mean to insinuate that the old varmint loaded this bunch with dope?" "well, how does it look to you?" "why, ding his old pelt!" exclaimed the captive indignantly. "some of the boys knowed him. some o' them had seen him afore. one or two had seen him to their sorrer. they say to me that he plays poker somewhat slick. when he comes ambling into our camp, seeming a whole lot jagged hisself, i was a bit suspicious; but the boys what knowed him says he is all right, and so i takes a drink with him. arter that i gits a heap sleepy and snoozes. next i knows you is there, pete, and you has us nailed solid." "that's about the way of it," nodded curry. "and the old whelp dopes us, does he!" growled texas bland. "whatever does he do that fer?" "why, bland, that yere old redskin is a friend of mr. merriwell. he gives you the dope to help merriwell. when we comes down into the valley there and finds you all sleeping sweetly, the old injun proposes to scalp you up some. to be course, we objects, and then he seems mighty disappointed-like. he seems to think he is cheated. he seems to reckon that, having done the job so slick, your scalps belong to him." bland listened with a strange look on his face and a vengeful glare in his deepset eyes. "so that's however it is!" he growled. "well, i am some glad i finds it out." "mebbe it relieves your mind some of worry," returned the captor; "but it does you little good." "don't you think it!" returned bland harshly. "i settles with that old injun, you bet your boots!" "first you settles with the law, bland. you roams free a long time with a good price on your head. i am sorry fer you, but i reckons you are due to stretch hemp." texas bland actually laughed. "pete," he said, "the rope ain't made yet what hangs me." "your nerve is good, but i opine you're wrong this yere time. i has you, bland, and i keeps you. i deliver you to them what wants you bad." "that's all right, pete," was the cool retort. "no hard feelings on my account, you understand. i takes my medicine when i has to, and so i swallows this all pleasant and smiling. just the same, you mark what i tells you, the rope ain't made what hangs texas bland. i goes back a-looking for that red skunk later, and i pots him. when i gits a chance, i starts a lead mine in his carcass. the idea of being fooled by a redskin galls me up a heap. but you don't tell me any how it happens you drops down thar and gathers us in just then." "i am some acquainted with frank merriwell. i has done business for him before. when he comes sailing into cottonwood and locates me, he says: 'curry, i am up against it some, and i needs assistance.' 'i am yours to order,' says i. 'whatever is a-doing?' "then he up and tells me that a gent with a whole lot of coin, what calls himself a money king, is trying to get possession of some new mines he has located. this gent, he says, has faked up a false charge against him and gives him a heap o' trouble. this gent's partner once tried mighty hard to get his paws on another mine belonging to merriwell, and in the end he runs up against a bullet and lays down peaceful and calm. this gent's name were sukes. the one what is a-bothering merriwell now is macklyn morgan." "you interest me a-plenty," nodded bland. "now, there were some gent behind this yere deal what says it pays us well if we seizes those mines. just who it were that puts up the coin fer the job i didn't know for sure. all i knows is that it comes straight through a gent what i depends on, and the coin is in sight the minute we delivers the mines over. i reckons, pete, the gent you speak of is the one what lays the job out fer us." curry nodded. "likely that's all correct, bland. but he makes a big mistake if he thinks this yere merriwell is easy. merriwell is a fighter from 'way back." "he is a whole lot young." "in experience he is a whole lot old. mebbe he don't grow whiskers much, but he gets there just the same. whiskers don't always make the man, bland. with all his money, this yere sukes don't get ahead of merriwell any. when morgan he tackles the job he finds it just as hard or harder. it does him no good to fake a charge that merriwell shoots up sukes." "where did this yere shooting happen, pete?" "over yon in snowflake." bland shook his head. "then it's ten to one he gits disturbed none fer it. if he proves conclusive this yere sukes bothers him, why, supposing he did do the shooting, it convicts him of nothing but self-defense down in this yere country!" "sukes was a whole lot wealthy, you understand." "all the same, i reckons it is pretty hard to put murder on a gent yereabouts in case he is defending his rights." "that's so," nodded curry, at the same time lifting his eyes and watching with interest several horsemen who now appeared far up the valley, riding toward them through the heat haze. bland noticed curry's look and turned in the same direction. "who does you allow is coming?" he questioned, with repressed eagerness. instead of answering, curry called to the men who were laboring in the bed of the creek. "oh, bill! oh, abe! come up yere right away." the inflection of his voice indicated that something was wrong, and the two men hastened to join him. curry motioned toward the approaching horsemen. "mebbe we is troubled some," he observed. "we needs to be ready." the horsemen came on rapidly. there were seven of them in all. like curry and his two companions, the captives watched the approaching men with no small amount of anxiety. as the horsemen drew near, having told bill and abe to watch the prisoners closely, curry rode forward. "howdy, gents!" he called. "howdy!" returned one of the men. "is that you, curry?" "surest thing you know," said the deputy sheriff. "somehow i don't seem to recall you any." "that's none strange," said the spokesman of the party. "i am gad hackett. no particular reason why you should know me." "whatever are you doing yere?" inquired the officer suspiciously. "just making a short cut, leaving all trails, from fulton to oxboro." "say you so? seems ter me you're hitting in the wrong direction." "i reckon i know my course," returned hackett. "i have traveled this section a-plenty. there seems to be a good bunch of you gents. whatever are you a-doing?" "we're holding up for water now," answered curry evasively. "mebbe you hurries right along? mebbe you has no great time to waste?" "we look some for water ourselves," returned the other man. "well, you has to look mighty sharp yereabouts. we digs our own water hole, and unfortunately we can't share it any. if you goes down the valley a mile or two, mebbe you finds a locality where water is easier to reach." "seems ter me you're some anxious to hurry us on," laughed hackett. "we're slightly tired, and i reckons we holds up for rest, water or no water." "that being the case," said curry, "let me give you some advice. yander i has a few gents what are wanted for various little doings in different parts, and i am takin' pains careful-like to deliver them over. they're lawbreakers to the last galoot of the bunch. mebbe you bothers them none. i does my duty." "oh--ho!" retorted hackett, "so that's how the wind blows! why, certain, curry, we interferes none whatever with your business. instead o' that, we helps you any we can in running in your bunch of bad men." "thanks," returned the deputy sheriff coolly. "so long as i am not bothered with, i needs no help." hackett laughed again. "i see, pard," he said, "you counts on gathering in the reward money yourself, and proposes to divide it none. all right; you're welcome." then, with his companions, he again rode forward. curry looked them over critically. in his eyes, with one or two exceptions, they appeared little different from the collection of ruffians who were his prisoners. with them he recognized one man, at least, who had an unenviable reputation--a tall, pockmarked individual--no less a person than spotted dan. there was in the party a man who seemed strangely out of place there. his every appearance was that of a tenderfoot, while his face, with his shaven lips and iron-gray beard, looked like that of a stern old church deacon. somehow this person interested curry more than all the others. he wondered not a little at the appearance of such a man in such a party. "who is the parsonish gentleman?" asked the deputy sheriff, as hackett came up with him. he spoke in a low tone and jerked his hand slightly toward the tenderfoot. "that?" said hackett loudly. "why, that is mr. felton cleveland, a gentleman what is looking around some for mining property, and it is him we escorts to oxboro. he engages us to see that he gets there all safe-like, and he is in a hurry." the man indicated did not betray that these words had reached his ears, although he had not missed the statement. "he looks more like a missionary than a mining man," declared curry. as the new arrivals reached the captives and their guards, felton cleveland was soon looking the captives over with an expression of interest, not to say of sympathy. he turned to the deputy sheriff and observed: "it seems hardly possible, sir, that so many men could be lawbreakers; still, their faces indicate that they are desperate characters." "i reckon you're some unfamiliar with this part of the country," returned the officer. "we tries to keep our towns clean, but down along the mexican border there are a few bad men. sometimes they go in bunches." "but it is remarkable that you should capture so many of them at one time. do you mind telling how it happened?" "i am not feeling a whole lot like talking just now," returned the deputy sheriff. "i opines you takes my word for it that they are just what i says." "oh, certainly, sir--certainly," nodded cleveland. "i don't dispute you in the least. i assure you it is not mere idle curiosity on my part, for i have interests in this part of the country, and i wish to be well informed about it and its inhabitants. however, if you don't care to tell me what these men have been doing, we will let it drop." "well, i don't mind saying that they was caught redhanded trying to jump a claim. mebbe that is the charge made agin' a few o' them, but i reckons the most of the bunch is to face things a heap more serious." "trying to jump a claim?" said cleveland. "where was this, if you don't mind giving that much information?" "over yon," answered pete indefinitely, with a wave of his hand. "well, it's truly remarkable that you should be able to capture so many of them. they outnumber you, it appears. if they are such desperate men, it surely is a strange thing that you could take them all." "we has a way of doing things sometimes, mister. let me advise you to keep your own eyes open. mebbe some o' that bunch you has is not to be trusted too far." "there is no reason why they should betray me," was the assertion. "i have nothing on my person that could tempt them. they will be paid well when we reach our destination. that should be enough to guarantee their faithfulness to me." "you're some wise in leaving your valuables behind," nodded curry. some of the captives attempted to converse with the newcomers, but curry's companions promptly put a stop to that. between spotted dan and one or two of them passed significant looks. the horsemen dismounted, as if to take a brief rest and give their animals a breathing spell. gad hackett lighted his pipe and engaged one of curry's comrades in conversation. seeing this, curry approached them and quietly said: "you talks a little, bill--a very little." bill nodded. "i knows my business, pete," he assured. hackett laughed. "why does he seem so mighty suspicious?" he asked. "we don't bother him none." after talking with bill a few moments, however, he turned to abe and engaged him in conversation. he seemed careless and indifferent in his manner, and occasionally a few low words passed between them. after a time, abe examined the water hole and announced that water was rising in it. bill joined him, and they were on their knees beside the hole when a startling thing happened. curry suddenly felt something thrust against the back of his head and heard a harsh voice commanding him to stand still or be shot in his tracks. the voice was that of spotted dan, who held the muzzle of a revolver touching the deputy sheriff's head. curry knew on the instant that he was in for it. he knew better than to attempt the drawing of a weapon, although one hung ready in the holster at his side. hackett, a pistol in his hand, appeared before the officer. "we don't care to shoot you up, curry," he said; "but we has to do it if you gits foolish. put up your hands." "whatever is this game?" exclaimed the startled man. "you arrays yourself agin' the law. you gits yourself into a heap o' trouble." "put up your hands," repeated hackett sharply. "if you delays any, the gent behind you blows off the top of your head." knowing the folly of refusing to obey, curry lifted his empty hands. hackett then removed the revolver from the officer's holster. instinctively curry turned his eyes toward the water hole to see what was happening to his assistants there. he found them on their feet, but covered by drawn weapons of several men. he saw them also disarmed. then one of the newcomers went among the captives and rapidly cut their bonds and set them free. texas bland turned to curry and laughed in his face. "pete," he said, "i tells you a while ago that the rope is not made that hangs me." chapter xix. the valley of desolation. six persons, all mounted, sat on their horses and gazed down the valley. from that elevation they were able to see its full length. the six were dick merriwell, brad buckhart, cap'n wiley, dash colvin, little abe, and felicia delores. being aware that macklyn morgan had started with a number of desperate men in pursuit of frank, in spite of frank's admonition to stay in prescott and care for felicia, dick found it impossible to remain quiet. he knew his brother was in deadly danger, and he longed to be with him when the tug of war came. feeling certain likewise that the men employed by cap'n wiley and taken to the enchanted valley as miners were desperate characters, it did not seem possible to dick that frank and bart unaided could cope with so many and overcome them. dick had not worried long over the matter. calling brad, he said: "buckhart, i am going to follow frank and the men who are in pursuit of him." the eyes of the texan gleamed. "pard," he said, "i observed that you were notified to stay hereabouts and guard your cousin. frank told you to do that. do you let on that you're going to disobey orders?" "i can't stay here, brad. i feel certain frank needs me. his enemies are very powerful and desperate. what would i think of myself if anything serious happened to my brother? i should hate myself forever afterward." the rancher's son nodded. "i allow that's dead right, partner," he agreed. "i am feeling some that way myself. i certain smell smoke in the air, and i have an itching to be in the midst of the fray. but whatever are you going to do with felicia?" "why, i did think of leaving her here with you. i thought of leaving you in charge of her." "what, me?" squealed the texan. "leave me behind when there's a ruction brewing? do you mean, pard, that you propose to cut me out of this yere scrimmage? oh, say, dick, you'd never treat me that low down! i came west to stick by you a heap close, and i am going to do it. why don't you leave your cousin in the care of cap'n wiley?" "i wouldn't dare," answered dick. "wiley is square enough; but he is careless. besides that, how can i find my way to the enchanted valley unless guided by wiley himself?" "that's so. i never thought of that. you've got to take wiley along--unless you can get hold of that man colvin, who brought the message to merry." dick frowned a little, seeming deep in serious thought. "then there's the hunchback boy," he finally muttered. "possibly he might know the trail, but i doubt it." "you can't depend on him none whatever," put in buckhart. "he looks like a good wind would blow him away." dick rose to his feet. "brad," he said, "we will find wiley and talk this matter over." the sailor was found, and he turned an attentive ear to dick's words. "my young mate," he observed, resting a hand on dick's shoulder, "i have been seriously meditating on the problematical problem of hoisting anchor and setting my course for the enchanted valley all by my lonesome. in my mouth danger leaves a sweet and pleasant taste. i love it with all my yearning heart. if you are bound to set sail for the enchanted valley, i am ready to ship with you as pilot. it may be well for me to do so. if i linger here i may dally with the delusive jag-juice. when there is no temptation i can be the most virtuous man in the world. yes, my boy, we will pull out of prescott and cut away toward the valley in question. you may depend on me." "then let's lose no time!" impatiently exclaimed dick, feeling a powerful desire to hasten to his brother's side. "let's make preparations without the least delay." this was done. dick found felicia and little abe together, for the two had become fast friends in a short time. felicia settled the question in regard to herself by immediately declaring that she was ready to accompany them. "it will do me good," she said. "the doctor in san diego told me that what i most needed was more open-air exercise. i am feeling much better now. oh, you will take me with you, won't you, dick? please take me!" "me, too," urged little abe. "you can't leave me behind." it was found necessary to take them both, and when the time for starting came cap'n wiley appeared in company with dash colvin, the messenger. colvin likewise was anxious to return to the enchanted valley, for he declared that there were two of his late companions in the valley with whom he had a score to settle. although they had pursued him into the very heart of prescott, on recovering from the effects of that desperate race he had sought them in vain. he learned, however, that they had joined macklyn morgan's party in the pursuit of frank. thus it may be seen how it happened that dick and his friends were watching to see what transpired in the barren valley amid the mountains at the time when morgan's party released texas bland and his ruffians from the custody of pete curry, of cottonwood. wiley had pressed forward with such restless determination that they were close on the heels of morgan and his men when this valley was reached, although this fact was not known by any of the men in advance. provided with a powerful pair of field glasses, dick watched what transpired, and saw curry and his assistants held up while the captured desperadoes were set free. although he had only his eyes to observe what was taking place, buckhart grew greatly excited and eagerly proposed a dash into the valley for the purpose of aiding curry. "steady, brad, old man!" warned dick. "we're too far away for that. by the time we got there the whole thing would be over. the best we can do is to keep quiet and take care that we are not seen." "who do you suppose those men are?" asked buckhart. "it doesn't seem possible!" dash colvin was muttering to himself. "what is it that doesn't seem possible?" questioned dick. "let me take your glass a moment," requested colvin. dick handed it over. the man took a hasty look through it. "well, of all things wonderful, this is the most remarkable!" he exclaimed. "what is it?" questioned dick impatiently. "yes, whatever is it you're driving at?" demanded buckhart. "speak up, you, and keep us no longer in suspenders!" cried wiley. "those men--those men who have been released----" "what of them?" demanded dick. colvin passed the glass quickly to wiley. "take a look yourself, cap'n," he directed. "you oughter to know some of them." after one glance, the sailor ejaculated: "dash my toplights! shiver my timbers! may i be keelhauled if they ain't that sweet little aggregation i gathered for the purpose of operating the new mines! why, there's texas bland! i recognize his sable mustache and flowing hair." "that's it," nodded colvin--"that's it exactly. they are the very men. what air they doin' here?" "a short time ago they seemed to be in endurance vile. if i mistake not, three gentlemen in that party were escorting them as captives of war to some unknown port. mates, i will stake my life there have been voluminous doings in the enchanted valley. something of a critical nature surely happened there." "but frank is not in that party," said dick. "where can he be?" "at this precise moment," confessed wiley, "i am in no calm and placid frame of mind, therefore i am unable to answer the riddle. one thing, at least, is certain: those gay boys have not seized your brother's property. that should relieve your agitated mental equilibrium to a conclusive susceptibility." "we take chances of being seen here," said dick. "let's retire." they did so, but from a point of partial concealment continued to watch everything that occurred in the valley. within an hour morgan's men, accompanied by the rescued ruffians, turned toward the south, which action assured the watchers that once more they were headed for the enchanted valley. they appropriated the horses of curry and his two assistants, taking also the weapons of the three men, who were left a-foot and unarmed in that desolate region. the trio was warned not to follow and were further advised to make straight for cottonwood or the nearest camp. apparently curry and his assistants decided this was the only course to pursue, for they turned to the north and hurried up the valley. morgan and his men soon disappeared far away to the south. burning with eagerness to know the truth, dick rode forward into the valley the moment the ruffians were beyond view. he was followed closely by buckhart and colvin. cap'n wiley remained long enough to caution abe and felicia to remain where they were, for, knowing nothing of curry and his companions, wiley fancied it possible there might be trouble of some sort. "i will look out for felicia," declared little abe, whose violin was hung over his back by a cord. "i will take care of her." "all right, my noble tar," said the sailor. and then he also rode forward into the valley. curry and his assistants halted in some alarm when they saw four horsemen dashing swiftly toward them. as they were unarmed, they could not think of offering resistance in case the quartette proved to be enemies. being on foot, they could not escape, and, therefore, they did the only thing possible, which was to wait for the approaching riders. dick was the first to reach them. "we have been watching this whole affair," he said. "we don't understand it." "well, we do!" growled curry in disgust, while his companions growled likewise. "we understands that we have lost a bunch of valuable prisoners." "but how did you happen to have such prisoners in the first place?" questioned dick. "that's our business, yonker. why should we be for telling you any?" "because i am interested. because those men are my brother's enemies." "who is your brother, kid?" "frank merriwell." "what?" shouted curry. "whatever are you giving us?" "he is giving you the dead-level truth, stranger," put in brad, "that's right," agreed dash colvin, coming up. "look here, pete curry, you knows me and i knows you. this boy is frank merriwell's brother." "that being the case," said curry, "he wants to get a hustle on and join his brother some lively. that fine bunch you saw hiking down the valley is bound for frank merriwell's new mines, which they propose seizing a heap violent. we counts ourselves some in luck to get off with whole skins from such a measly outfit. all the same, if we had played our hand proper i reckon they'd never set that lot of mavericks loose. i am a-plenty ashamed of myself." "but tell me," urged dick, "how you came to have those men as prisoners?" curry then briefly related the whole story, to which dick and his friends listened with the greatest interest. "that's how it were," finished curry. "i allows to your brother i sure could take that gang to the nearest jail. he and his pard, hodge, stays to guard their mines, leaving the job of disposing of those tough gents to we three. we makes a fizzle of it, and now the whole outfit is bound back for the enchanted valley. they are frothing to get at your brother and do him up. at the same time, they counts on salivating the old injun what fools them a-plenty." "frank will fight to the last," said dick. "we must help him some way. we're all armed, and i think we can furnish you with weapons. are you with us, or are you ready to give up?" "pete curry, of cottonwood, gives up none at all," was the reply. "i counts on hiking somewhar to get weapons and horses and then hustling back for the purpose of doing whatever i can to help your brother." "if you try to do that, you will be too late to render any assistance," declared dick. "then give us some shooting irons and what goes in 'em and we're with yer," said curry. this arrangement was quickly settled on, after which dick rode back for felicia and little abe. when he reached the spot where they had been left, however, he was not a little surprised and alarmed to find they were no longer there. in vain he looked for them. he called their names, but his voice died in the silence of the desolate hollows. there was no answer, and dick's fears grew apace. * * * * * what had become of felicia and little abe? left to themselves, they fell to talking of the singular things which had happened. felicia's horse champed its bit and restlessly stamped the ground. "that horse acts awful queer," said the boy. "he has got a funny look in his eye, just the same as a horse i once saw that was locoed. you know what that is, don't you?" felicia laughed. "i was born in the west," she said. "of course i know what it means when an animal is locoed. they have been eating loco weed and it makes them crazy. but i don't think this horse has been doing that." "never can tell," said the hunchback. "why, it should have shown on him before." "not always. sometimes it breaks out awful unexpected. look how your horse rolls its eyes. say, i'm going to----" abe did not tell what he was going to do, for, starting his own horse forward, he reached for the bridle of felicia's animal. to the horse it seemed that the boy's hand was large as a grizzly bear. the animal started back with a snort of alarm, quivering with sudden terror. "whoa! whoa!" cried abe, hastening in his attempt to seize the creature's bit. these efforts simply served to add to the horse's fear, and suddenly he wheeled and went tearing away, felicia being unable to check its flight. immediately the hunchback pursued, his one thought being to overtake the girl and save her from danger, for he was now confident that something was the matter with the horse. if the creature was really locoed, abe knew it might do the most astonishing and crazy things. to a horse thus afflicted a little gully a foot wide sometimes seems a chasm a mile across, or a great ravine, yawning a hundred feet deep and as many in width, sometimes appears no more than a crack in the surface of the earth. deluded by this distorted view of things, horses and cattle frequently plunge to their death in gorges and ravines, or do other things equally crazy and unaccountable. felicia's horse fled madly, as if in fear of a thousand pursuing demons. the girl was a good rider, and she stuck to the animal's back with comparative ease, although unable to check its wild career. doing everything in his power to overtake the runaway, the hunchback boy continued the pursuit, regardless of the direction in which it took them. the flying horse turned hither and thither and kept on and on until it was in a lather of perspiration and was almost exhausted to the point of dropping. mile after mile was left behind them in this manner, abe finding it barely possible to keep the runaway in sight. at length they came from the hills into a broad plain, and there, in the very midst of the waste, the runaway halted with such suddenness that felicia barely saved herself from a serious fall. what had caused this sudden stopping of the horse was impossible to imagine, but the beast stood still with its fore feet braced, as if fearing to advance another inch. it quivered in every limb and shook all over. felicia heard the clatter of horses' hoofs and turned to see little abe coming with the greatest haste. the boy cried out to her, and she answered him. "oh, felicia!" he panted, as he came up on his winded horse; "i'm so glad you're safe! get down, quick--get down! he might run again!" she slipped from the saddle to the ground, and little abe also dismounted, but now neither of the horses showed the slightest inclination to run. both were in such an exhausted condition that they stood with hanging heads, their sides heaving. "i was afraid you'd be killed, felicia!" gasped the boy. then he saw her suddenly sink to the ground and cover her pale face with her hands. quickly he knelt beside her, seeking to soothe and reassure her. "it's all right--it's all right," he said. "don't you cry, felicia." "where are we, abe?" she whispered. "we're right here," was the answer, which seemed the only one he could give. "where is dick?" "he will come pretty soon. don't you worry." "we must find our way back. can you do that, abe?" "of course i can," he assured stoutly. "just you trust me." then once more he did his best to reassure her, and after a while succeeded in calming her somewhat. to his relief, she did not cry or become hysterical. over and over the boy assured her that he could find the way back without the least trouble, and after a while he must have convinced her this was true. "you're so brave, abe," she half smiled. "brave!" he exclaimed. "me! i reckon you don't know me! why, i ain't brave at all! i'm just the biggest coward that ever lived." she shook her head. "don't tell me that," she said. "i know better. you're just as brave as you can be." "well, i never knowed it before," he said wonderingly. "if i am brave, it is something i never found out about myself. my, but i was scared when i saw that horse run!" "what will dick think when he finds us gone?" "oh, he will foller us, he will foller us," nodded the boy. "don't you worry about that. we'll meet him coming." "but i will never dare mount that horse again." "course you won't. you will take my horse. i will ride that critter. just let him try to run with me!" he said this as if he really fancied he could control the animal in case it attempted to run away with him. the horses were submissive enough while the hunchback removed and changed their saddles. the animal that had lately seemed crazy and frantic with fear was now calm and docile. apparently the furious run had worked off the effect of the loco weed. after a while, abe did what he could to assist felicia to mount, and then managed to scramble and pull himself with no small difficulty to the back of the other horse. they turned their animals to retrace the course over which they had come. this, however, was to prove no small task, for the runaway had twisted and turned in a score of different directions during its flight; and, shortly after entering the hills, abe found himself quite bewildered as to the proper course they should pursue. this fact, however, he tried to conceal from felicia, knowing it would add to her alarm. so they rode on and on until finally they came to a tiny stream that lay in the little hollows of a broad watercourse. there they found water for themselves and horses. now, for the first time, felicia began to suspect that they were not retracing the course over which they had come. "i don't remember this place," she said. "of course you don't," put in abe quickly. "it's a wonder you remember anything. by jing! you must 'a' been awful scart when that horse was running so. course you didn't notice much of anything else." "but are you sure, abe--are you sure we're taking the right course?" "just you leave it to me," nodded the hunchback. "but what if we should miss dick? if we should not find him, what would become of us, abe? we might starve here, perish from thirst, or be killed by indians or something." abe did his best to laugh reassuringly. "don't you go to getting all fussed up that way. we're all right. let's hurry up now, for it is getting late." it was getting late. the sun hung low in the west and the afternoon was far spent. in the boy's heart there was a great fear that night would come upon them and find them alone in that wild region. when they sought to push on, the horses barely crept forward, having been badly used up by the mad flight and pursuit. lower and lower sank the great golden sun. "abe," said felicia, at last, her face pale and drawn, "we're lost. don't try to deceive me; i know it." "mebbe we are turned round some," he admitted. "but that ain't any reason why you should get frightened. there are lots of mining camps pretty near here. and even if we don't find dick--which we shall--we will be just sure to find a town." the girl's chin quivered, and it was with no small difficulty that she kept back her tears. finally, as the sun dropped behind the western ranges, the horses seemed to give out entirely, refusing to proceed farther. "no use, abe!" murmured felicia. "we may as well give up and stop right here to-night." "i am just awful sorry," murmured the boy; "but don't you be afraid. i will guard you. i will watch you all night long. there shan't anything touch you, i tell you that." they were in a long, shallow valley where there was some scanty herbage, and the horses were permitted to find such grazing as they could. the western sky glowed with glorious colors, which gradually faded and passed away, after the bright, silvery stars gleamed forth, and the heat of the day passed before the night was fairly on them. felicia lay down in the silence, gazing up at the millions of stars above them. abe sat near, wondering what he could do to reassure her. at length he thought of his fiddle and pulled it round from his back, where it hung. lifting the loop of the cord over his head, he held the fiddle to his bosom, softly patting and caressing it. after a time, he found his rosin and applied it to the bow. then he put the instrument in tune and began to play. the music was soft, and sweet, and soothing, like the lullaby of a mother over a sleeping child. with this sound throbbing in her ears, felicia finally slept. when he knew she was fast asleep, the boy slipped off his coat and spread it over her shoulders. the silence of the night was awesome, and he felt keenly the lonely desolation of their situation. so again he lifted the fiddle to his chin, and again it throbbed with such a soft, sweet melody that even the twinkling stars seemed bending to listen. chapter xx. the finding of the babes. "get up yere, pard," said one of the two men who were standing guard over macklyn morgan's bivouac. "i sure hears some queer sort of a wild critter a-yowling out yander." morgan himself had been eager to push forward through the night toward merriwell's valley, but the men lately released from the custody of pete curry were exhausted by their tramp and refused at nightfall to proceed farther. therefore, it had been necessary for the party to divide or to stop where they were and make camp. the latter course had been decided upon. not feeling positive that curry and his comrades would not follow them, morgan had given orders for two of the men to remain constantly on guard through the night. of course the guard was to be changed at intervals. now, shortly after nightfall, one of the original two appointed to watch over the camp called his comrade for the purpose of listening to certain strange sounds which came to his ears through the darkness. they advanced cautiously to the top of a ridge, where they halted and stood listening. the sounds could be faintly heard now and then. "whatever does yer make of it, partner?" asked the one who had first heard them. "mighty quar sounds for a wild critter to make," declared the other. "just what i thought. more like some sort o' music." "that's it. dinged if it ain't something like a fiddle!" "mebbe we'd better nose out that way and see if we can diskeever what it is." "we leaves the camp onprotected." "only for a short time. there won't anything happen, partner. this yere standing guard is all foolishness, anyhow." "i reckon you're right." "then come on." together they advanced in the direction from which the strange sounds seemed to proceed. as they made their way slowly and cautiously into the valley they were able to hear those sounds more and more distinctly, and before long both were satisfied that it was indeed a fiddle. "well, wouldn't that chaw yer up!" muttered one. "whoever does yer reckon is a-playing a fiddle out yere?" "you have got me." "well, we will certain find out. have your gun ready, pard, in case we runs into a muss." pretty soon they saw through the starlight two horses grazing unhobbled and unpicketed. "only two," whispered one of the men. "we are as many as they be." "whar are they?" the violin was silent now, and they remained crouching and awaiting until it began again. it led them straight to the spot where little abe sat playing beside the sleeping girl. so absorbed was he in his music, with his head bowed over the violin, that he failed to observe the approach of the men until they were right beside him and one of them stooped and took him by the shoulder. with a cry of terror, the boy sprang up. felicia awoke in great alarm and sat up, staring bewildered at abe and the two men. "oh, ho!" said one of the guards. "what is this we finds? it is a strange bird we diskeevers." "there's two," said the other. "and, by smoke, t'other one is a gal!" "don't you touch her!" shrilly screamed the boy. "don't you put a hand on her!" he endeavored to jerk himself from the grip of the man who had seized him, but the strong hand held him fast. "whatever is the use to jump around this yere way?" said the man. "we ain't a-hurting you none. don't git so excited-like. mebbe it's a right good thing we finds ye yere." "who are they, abe? who are they?" whispered felicia. "i dunno," confessed the boy, filled with regret and despair at his own carelessness in permitting the men to come upon them in such a manner while he was absorbed in his playing. "but they shan't hurt yer. i won't let um." "mebbe you tells us what you're doing yere, you two kids," suggested one of the men. "we're jest lost," said abe. "only that?" laughed the man. "well, that sure is nothing much. perhaps if we don't find yer you stays lost. where did yer get lost from?" "oh, i know you won't hurt us!" said felicia quickly. "why should you? we can't hurt any one. my horse was frightened and ran away. abe tried to catch him. that was how we got separated from dick and the others." "dick! who is this yere dick?" before abe could check her, felicia answered. "why, dick merriwell!" "hey?" ejaculated one of the men. "merriwell! why, i sure opines that name is a heap familiar. dick merriwell! mebbe you means frank merriwell?" "no! no! i mean dick merriwell, his brother." "his brother?" burst from both of the men. "yes," said felicia. "then he has a brother, has he? well, this is right interesting and no mistake." "you bet it is!" ejaculated the other. "where is this yere dick merriwell, hunchy?" it was the old hateful name which abe detested, and his soul revolted against it. "don't you call me hunchy!" he shrilly exclaimed. "i won't be called hunchy!" in his excitement he actually bristled at the ruffian. "ho! ho!" laughed the other man. "what do yer think of that, partner? why, he is going ter soak me one." "ho! ho!" came hoarsely. "that's what he is. don't let him hit yer hard, for he'll sure fix yer!" the one who had addressed abe as "hunchy" now removed his hat and made a profound bow. "i begs yer pardon, your royal highness," he said. "if i treads on the tail of yer coat any, i hopes you excuses me. i am not counting to rile you up any, for i reckon you might be a whole lot dangerous." abe knew this was said in derision, but he muttered: "i won't have anybody calling me hunchy no more. don't you forget that!" felicia was clinging to the cripple now, and he could feel her trembling. he put one of his long arms about her and sought to reassure her by a firm pressure. "if i hasn't offended your highness," said the man who had asked the question, "perhaps you tells me now where this dick merriwell is?" "don't tell him, abe!" whispered the girl. "they are bad men. i'm afraid of them." "i wist you could tell me," said the boy. "i'd like ter find him myself." "then he is somewhere yereabouts?" "don't tell!" breathed felicia again. "i dunno 'bout that," said abe. "mebbe he is two hundred miles away now. i dunno." "ef he is so fur, however is it you expects ter find him in a hurry?" barely a moment, did the boy hesitate, and then he declared: "why, he was a-going through to californy on the train. we live down on the rio verde. our dad, he's got a cattle ranch down there. yesterday we started out to go to flagstaff. they wouldn't let us go alone, so we runned away. we thought mebbe we could find the way there all right, but i guess we can't." the two men looked at each other in the starlight and shook their heads. "sounds fishy," said one, immediately detecting that this statement conflicted with the one made by felicia. "a whole lot," agreed the other. felicia had gasped when she heard abe fabricate so glibly. it was a surprise to her, and she was almost sorry she had cautioned him not to tell the facts to those men. "well, you certain is off the trail, kids, providing you're bound for flagstaff. it's right lucky we finds you. we takes you to the camp, and mebbe your dad what you speaks of pays us well if we returns you to him safe and sound. i opines he runs a pretty big ranch." "you bet," said the boy quickly. "he's got one of the biggest down that way. he has jest heaps of cattle and keeps lots of cowpunchers." "that being the case," chuckled the man who had grasped the boy's shoulder, "he certain pays liberal when he gits his children back. now you two come along with us." he marched them along, one on either side, while his companion set out to catch the grazing horses and bring them. felicia slipped from the man's hand and again sought abe's side, pressing close to him. in his ear she whispered: "i am afraid we're in awful trouble now, abe. you remember the bad men we saw in the valley before my horse ran. perhaps these are two of them." "better be ketched by bad men than starve," he returned, with an effort to reassure her. "i have seen heaps of bad men before this, and i am still alive." one of the horses was easily captured, but, to the surprise of the man, the other one charged viciously at him. when he sought to get at its head, the creature wheeled with a squeal and kicked wildly. the man swore. "what ails ye, drat yer?" he growled. then he released the docile animal and turned his attention to the other. to his astonishment, the creature was fierce as a raging lion. it charged on him repeatedly, and he escaped only by the utmost nimbleness. it squealed, and whirled, and kicked in all directions. apparently it fancied a thousand men were trying to capture it, and its wild gyrations were exceedingly surprising, to say the least. after a little, the man ran away when he found the opportunity and stood at a distance, with his hands on his hips, watching the cavorting creature. "the dinged hoss is sure crazy!" he declared. "why, its a-trying to chew itself up, or kick itself to pieces. never see but one critter act that way before." "it's locoed," said abe to the man with him. immediately this man called to his companion, saying: "let the beast alone. the kid says it's locoed, and ef that's so, i reckon it's no good to anybody." "never see no locoed horse feed nateral like this one was," returned the other. "i opines the critter is just ugly, that's all." but, suddenly uttering snorts and squeals, the horse went dashing off into the distance, as if pursued by some frightful thing. nor did it stop until it had disappeared far, far away. chapter xxi. the lottery of death. men were lying about on the ground, sleeping where they had dropped. picketed horses were grazing at a little distance. the most of the men slept heavily, but one or two routed up as the guards brought the boy and girl and the captured horse to the bivouac. "whatever has you there?" growlingly asked one of the men who had awakened. "some lost children we finds near yere," was the answer. macklyn morgan, wrapped in his blanket, had also awakened. his curiosity was aroused, and he flung off the blanket and got up. "children!" he said. "how does it happen that there are children in this wretched region?" one of the men explained how he had heard the sound of the fiddle, which had led them to the boy and girl. he also repeated abe's story, adding that it sounded "fishy." the interest of morgan was redoubled at once. he immediately turned his attention to the hunchback. "going to flagstaff to meet frank merriwell's brother, did you say?" he questioned, attempting a kindly manner. "seems to me that was rather a crazy undertaking, my lad. and what is frank merriwell's brother doing in flagstaff?" "he jest said he was going there on his way to californy," declared abe, trying to stick to his original story and make it seem consistent. "we hope to see him there." felicia was silent; but she felt that abe's yarn was not believed by the men. "how did you happen to know this dick merriwell?" questioned morgan. abe started to reply, but faltered and stammered a little, whereupon felicia quickly said: "i am his cousin." instantly the man's interest was redoubled. "his cousin, eh?" he exclaimed. "now we're getting at it. curtis, start a fire. i want to look these children over." while the man thus ordered was complying morgan continued to question the girl and boy, but now his interest seemed centred in felicia. "so you are also the cousin of frank merriwell?" he said. "tell me more about these two merriwells. i have heard of frank merriwell, and i consider him a most excellent young man. i admire him very much." he endeavored to make his words sound sincere, but little abe fancied there was a false ring in them. "you know dick is frank's half-brother, sir," said the girl. "he attends school in the east. i was at school in the same place once, but the climate didn't agree with me, and so frank sent me west for my health." "have you seen him lately?" "yes, sir." "when?" "in prescott, a few days ago. he was there, but some bad men made a lot of trouble for him and he left." "this boy is your brother?" asked morgan, indicating abe. "why, yes, sir!" broke in abe, quickly, seeing that felicia would soon be trapped. "i am a sort of brother; an adopted brother, you know." "oh, that's it?" said morgan. "but if you were living on a ranch down on the rio verde, how did you happen to be in prescott when frank merriwell was there?" "why, we jest went there. dad he took us there," hastily asserted the hunchback, seeking to maintain the original deception. "is that true?" asked morgan of felicia. she was silent. "of course it's true!" indignantly exclaimed the boy. "it seems to me that you are somewhat mixed, my child. now, i advise you to trust me. it will be the best thing you can do. i advise you to tell me the truth. at this time we're on our way to join frank merriwell and help him to defend his new mines. he has many enemies, you know. we might take you directly to him." "oh, splendid!" exclaimed the girl, all her suspicions disarmed. "frank will be so glad! we thought, perhaps, you might be his enemy; that's why we were afraid of you." macklyn morgan forced a laugh, which he tried to make very pleasant and reassuring. "you see how wrong you were," he said. "you see now that it's a mistake to try to deceive me. it's best to tell me the truth and nothing else. this story about living on a ranch--how about it?" "oh, abe told you that when he thought you must be frank's enemy," said felicia. "then it wasn't quite true?" "no, no." "and you were not on your way to flagstaff to meet dick merriwell there?" "no; we left prescott in company with dick and some friends, who were on their way to join frank." felicia hastened on and told the entire story. abe listened in doubt as to the wisdom of this, shaking his head a little, but remaining silent. "now we're getting at the facts," smiled morgan, as the fire was started and its light fell on his face. "it's much better for us all." he had assumed a free, benevolent, kindly expression, and to the girl it seemed that he could not be deceiving them. morgan continued to question her until at length he learned everything he desired. "now, my child," he said, "just you rest easy. we will soon join frank merriwell, and, of course, this brother of his with his friends will arrive all right in due time." morgan then stepped over to where one of the sleeping men lay and aroused him. "wake up, hackett," he said, in a low tone. "something mighty important has taken place." he then told the man what had happened, and hackett listened attentively. "it seems to me," he said, "that these yere kids are going to be an incumbrance on us." "that's where you're wrong," asserted morgan. "with the aid of these children we ought to be able to bring frank merriwell to some sort of terms." "i don't see how, sir." "why, it's plain he thinks a lot of this girl. we have her. if that doesn't trouble him some, i am greatly mistaken." "mebbe you're right," nodded hackett. "i reckon i begin to see your little game, mr. morgan. let me look these yere kids over some." he arose and proceeded to the fire, in company with morgan, who cautioned him, however, to say little to the boy and girl, fearing hackett might make some observation that would betray the truth. "she's some pretty, sir," said gad, admiring felicia; "though she's nothing but a kid. i reckon she makes a stunner when she gits older." "hush!" said morgan. "that's nothing to you." "oh, i has an eye for female beauty!" grinned hackett. "it's nateral with me." suddenly, to their surprise, without the least warning, a man seemed to rise from the ground a short distance away and walk straight toward the fire. hackett had his pistol out in a twinkling, but he stood with mouth agape as he saw the newcomer was an old indian, about whose shoulders a dirty red blanket was draped. it was felicia, however, who was the most surprised, and a cry left her lips, for she recognized old joe crowfoot. even as she uttered that cry the eyes of the old redskin shot her a warning look that somehow silenced her. without giving hackett as much as a glance, old joe walked up to the fire, before which he squatted, extending his hands to its warmth. "well, dern me, if that don't beat the deck!" growled hackett. "these yere red wards of the government are a-getting so they makes theirselves to home anywhere. and you never knows when they're around. now, this yere one he pops right out o' the ground like." then he turned savagely on joe. "what are you prowling around yere for, you old vagrant?" he demanded threateningly. "who are you?" crowfoot rolled his little beady eyes up at the man. "heap flying bird," he answered. "go through air; go everywhere. go through ground. white man did him see red snake with horse's head? injun ride on red snake like the wind." "what's this jargon?" muttered morgan. "hark!" warned the indian, lifting a hand. "you hear the flying lizard sing? see that big one up there. see um great green eyes." then he stared straight upward, as if beholding something in the air. involuntarily both men looked upward, but they saw nothing above them save the stars of the sky. felicia, who knew old joe very well, was more than astonished by his singular manner and remarkable words. her first impulse had been to spring up and greet him joyously, but the look from his black eyes had stopped her. now, as if she were a total stranger to him, he gave her no attention. suddenly he thumped himself on the breast with his clinched fist. "injun him all iron!" he declared. "him like pale-face iron horse. when sun he comes up again injun he go on white man's iron track. he blow smoke and fire and shriek same as iron horse." "well, bat me, if the old whelp ain't daffy!" exclaimed hackett. "he's plumb off his nut, sure as shooting." "when injun him lay down to sleep," said crowfoot, "many stars come and jump like antelope over him. no let him sleep. him try to scare um away, but star no scare. bimeby injun he get sick. he get up and run away. then star chase um injun." "you're right, hackett," said morgan, "he's loony, for a fact." at this point one of the guards came walking up to the fire. the moment his eyes fell on crowfoot he uttered a shout that instantly aroused every one of the sleeping men. "by the great horn toads!" he exploded savagely; "that's the old skunk what drugged the whole bunch of us when pete curry nabbed us! whatever is he doing here?" without even looking up, crowfoot began to chant a strange, doleful song in his own language. "the boys will certain salivate him," asserted the guard, as the men were rising and approaching the fire. old joe apparently heard nothing and saw nothing. that singular chant continued. "he is dead loony," said hackett. "then mebbe he's been taking some of his own dope," growled the guard. "the boys will knock some o' his looniness out o' him, you bet!" as the men gathered around, a number of them recognized the aged redskin, and immediately there was a great commotion. several drew their weapons, and it seemed that joe would be murdered on the spot. with a scream of terror, felicia flung herself before the old man, to whom she clung. "no! no! no!" she cried. "you shall not hurt him!" in the excitement old joe whispered in her ear: "keep still, night eyes. um bad men no hurt joe. him touched by great spirit. nobody hurt um man touched by great spirit." this, then, was the old fellow's scheme. this explained how it happened that he dared venture into the nest of desperadoes. among the indians of all tribes a deranged man is regarded with awe as one who has felt the touch of the great spirit. no redskin will harm a deranged person, believing the vengeance of the great father must fall on whoever does such a thing. shrewd as he was, crowfoot had not yet discovered that palefaces did not regard crazed people with such a feeling of awe. "take the girl away," roared several of the men. "let us settle with the old injun." if morgan thought of interfering, he was too late, for rude hands seized felicia and dragged her away, in spite of her struggles. she cried and pleaded, but all her efforts were useless. crowfoot paid no attention to her, nor did he heed the threatening weapons in the hands of the ruffians. rising to his feet, he did a solemn dance around the fire, at the same time continuing his doleful chant. "that yere certain is a death dance for him," muttered hackett, who realized that the men were aroused to a pitch at which they would insist on wiping the fellow out. "the black moon him soon come up," said joe, standing with one hand outstretched as he finished his dance. "then we see spirits of many dead warriors chase um buffalo over it." "you will have a chance to take a chase with the rest o' the bunch," snarled one of the men. "stand back, boys, and watch me cook him." "hold on!" cried another, catching the man's wrist. "i opine i am in this yere." immediately an argument arose as to which of them should have the satisfaction of killing the indian who had once fooled them so thoroughly. while this was taking place joe continued, apparently oblivious of his danger, talking of flying horses and a dozen other impossible creatures. he must have realized that his apparent madness was making no impression on these men, but he seemed determined to play the game through to the finish. at length, he squatted again beside the fire, resuming his doleful chant. by this time it had been settled that some one of the party should have the privilege of shooting the indian, for it was agreed that to waste a number of bullets on him was folly. there was some discussion as to the manner of choosing the slayer, but the desperadoes finally decided on drawing lots. hackett, who took no part in this demand for the indian's life, was chosen to prepare the lots, which he did. then the men eagerly pressed forward to draw. the one who drew the shortest piece was to be the "fortunate" individual. all the while crowfoot was guarded by men with drawn and ready weapons. had he made an effort to get away he would have been riddled immediately. finally the lots were compared, and a half-blood mexican, with leathery skin, drooping mustache, deep-furrowed face, and matted black hair, was the one who held the shortest piece. he laughed as he displayed it. "stand back!" he cried, flashing a pistol and striding forward to within four paces of the indian. "i will settle him with one piece of lead." then, as this wretch lifted his weapon, old joe realized at last that his game had failed utterly. there was no escape for him. his long life had led him at last to this, and he believed he stood at the gateway of the happy hunting grounds. had there been hope of escape he would have made the attempt. now, as he still crouched by the fire, he drew his red blanket over his head, and from beneath its muffling folds came the sad and doleful chant of the redman's death song. the executioner stood fair and full in the firelight. he brought his weapon to a level and a shot rang out. it was not he, however, who fired. from somewhere near at hand a report sounded, and the pistol flew from his hand as the bullet tore through his forearm. a yell of pain escaped his lips. instantly the ruffians were thrown into the utmost confusion. feeling that they were about to be attacked, they hastened to get away from the fire, the light of which must betray them to the enemy. in spite of his age, like a leaping panther, old joe shot to his feet. with one hand he seized little abe, whom he snatched clear of the ground. and the next instant the old savage was running for his life. two or three shots were fired, but in the excitement crowfoot was untouched. they were given no further time to turn their attention on him. from out of the shadows came a single horseman, bearing straight down upon them, his weapons flashing. the recklessness of this charge and the astounding suddenness with which it came was too much for the nerves of those men. felicia had been released by the man who was holding her as the first shot was fired. this man pulled a weapon and fired once at the shadowy horseman, after which he ran like a frightened antelope, for a screaming bullet had cut his ear. it seemed that the horseman meant to ride felicia down. in her fear she stood still, as if turned to stone, which was the best thing she could have done. as he swept past her, the rider swung low to one side in the saddle, and somehow one strong young hand grasped her and snatched her from the ground. she felt herself lifted with such suddenness that her breath seemed snapped away, and then she lay across the horse in front of the rider, who now bent low over her. bullets whined, and whistled, and sang about them, but some good fairy must have guarded them, for they were untouched. on they went. the sounds of irregular shooting fell farther and farther behind them. felicia had not fainted, although her senses swam and she seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. she could not understand just what had taken place. suddenly her rescuer began to laugh, and a strange, wild, boyish laugh it was. it thrilled her through and through. "dick!" she gasped. "oh, dick!" he straightened up and lifted her, holding her before him with one strong arm. "felicia!" he exclaimed, "are you hurt?" "oh, dick! dick!" she repeated, in wonder. "and is it you?" "you are not hurt?" he persisted in questioning. "no, dick--no." "thank goodness!" "but how was it? my head is swimming; i can't understand. i am dazed." "well, i fancy i dazed those fine gentlemen a little," said the boy. "felicia, i have been searching, searching everywhere for you. we followed your trail as well as we could. when night came we had not found you. i couldn't rest. what fate it was that led me to those ruffians i cannot say, but i believe the hand of heaven was in it. in their excitement over crowfoot none of them heard my approach. i was quite near when that brute lifted his weapon to shoot joe. i didn't want to kill him, and i fired at his arm. it was a lucky shot, for i hit him. he stood between me and the firelight, so that the light fell on the barrel of my pistol. crowfoot took his cue quickly enough, for i saw him scamper." "how brave you are! how brave you are!" murmured the girl, in untold admiration. "oh, dick, i can't believe it now." "it was not such a brave thing, after all," he said. "i suppose most people would call it folly. but i had to do it. why, old joe saved my life a dozen times when i used to hunt with him years ago. he loved me as a father might love a son. you see it was impossible for me to keep still and see him murdered. i had to do something to save him. he can hide like a gopher on the open plain." "but abe, dick--abe?" "i saw crowfoot snatch him up as he ran. we must leave abe to old joe." "listen, dick! are they pursuing us?" "we have the start on them, felicia, and i don't believe they will be able to overtake us if they try it." through the night they rode. at the first opportunity dick turned from his course and doubled in a manner intended to baffle the pursuers. "it will be a long pull back to bart and the others, felicia," he said; "but i think we can make it all right. for all of the time i have spent at school, i have not forgotten the lessons taught me by crowfoot when i was a mere kid. he taught me to set my course by the stars, the wind, the trees, by a score of things. to-night our guide shall be the stars." brad buckhart was worried and troubled greatly over dick's long absence, and was on guard where they had camped as night fell. the texan tramped restlessly up and down, now and then pausing to listen. the others slept. wiley snored lustily and muttered in his sleep. "avast, there!" he mumbled. "put her to port, you lubber!" then, after snoring again in the most peaceful manner, he broke out: "right over the corner of the pan, breck, old boy. let's see you make a home run off that bender!" brad moved still farther away that he might listen without being disturbed by the sailor. far in the night he seemed to hear a sound. kneeling, he leaned his ear close to the ground and listened attentively. "horseman coming," he decided. "it must be dick--it must be!" finally the hoofbeats of the approaching horse became more and more distinct. then through the still, clear night came a clear, faint whistle. "dick it is!" exclaimed the texan joyously. dick it was, and with him he brought felicia safely back to them. they did not arouse the others, but she was wrapped in blankets and left to sleep, if possible, through the remainder of the still, cool night. young merriwell's story filled the texan with unbounded astonishment and admiration. he seized dick's hand and shook it with almost savage delight. "talk about a howling terror on ten wheels!" he exclaimed. "why, you simply beat the universe. you hear me gurgle! now you just turn in, for i reckon you're a whole lot pegged out." "well, sleep won't hurt me if i can corral some of it," acknowledged dick. brad continued to stand guard, thinking that later he would arouse one of the others to take his place. his restlessness and worry had passed somewhat, and after a time he sat down, thinking over the startling things that had happened. it was thus that, exhausted more than he knew, he finally slid to the ground and also slept. the night passed without any of them being disturbed. but in the morning the first man to awaken was pete curry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes, and uttered a shout of astonishment. the remaining sleepers awoke and started up. what they saw astounded them no less than it had curry, for on the ground near at hand lay little abe, with joe crowfoot's dirty red blanket tucked about him, and within three feet sat the redskin, calmly and serenely smoking his pipe. dick flung off his blanket and was on his feet in a twinkling. "crowfoot!" he joyously cried, rushing forward with his arms outstretched. for one who complained of rheumatism and advancing age the redskin rose with remarkable quickness. usually stolid and indifferent in manner, the look that now came to his wrinkled, leathery face was one of such deep feeling and affection that it astounded every one but himself. the old man clasped dick in his arms as a father might a long-lost son. to curry and his companions this was a most singular spectacle. curry had seized a weapon on discovering crowfoot. he did not use it when the old fellow remained silent and indifferent after his shout of astonishment and alarm. that the boy should embrace the indian in such an affectionate manner seemed almost disgusting to curry and his assistants, all three of whom held indians in the utmost contempt. for a moment it seemed that the old man's heart was too full for speech. finally, with a strange tenderness and depth of feeling in his voice, he said: "injun heart, great spirit heap good to old joe! he let him live to see you some more. what him eyes see make him heart swell with heap big gladness. soon him go to happy hunting ground; now him go and make um no big kick 'bout it." "joe, i have longed to see you again," declared dick, his voice unsteady and a mist in his eyes. "sometimes my heart has yearned for the old days with you on the plains and amid the mountains. i have longed to be with you again, hunting the grizzly, or sleeping in the shade by a murmuring brook and beneath whispering trees. then you taught me the secrets of the wild animals and the birds. i have forgotten them now, joe. i can no longer call the birds and tiny animals of the forest to me. in that way i am changed, joe; but my heart remains the same toward you, and ever will." now the old redskin held dick off by both shoulders and surveyed him up and down with those beady eyes, which finally rested on the boy's handsome face with a look of inexpressible admiration. "heap fine! heap fine!" said the old man. "joe him know it. joe him sure you make great man. joe him no live to see you have whiskers on um face, but you sure make great man. joe him getting heap close to end of trail. rheumatism crook him and make um swear sometime." "don't talk about getting near the end of the trail, crowfoot," laughed dick, whose heart was full of delight over this meeting. "you old hypocrite! i saw you last night! i saw you when you took to your heels after i perforated the gentleman who contemplated cutting your thread of life short. rheumatism! why, you deceptive old rascal, you ran like a deer! if your rheumatism was very bad, you couldn't take to your heels in that fashion." crowfoot actually grinned. "injun him have to run," he asserted. "bullets come fast and thick. if injun him run slow mebbe he get ketched by bullet." little abe had risen on one elbow, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and watched the meeting between dick and the old savage. felicia also was awakened, and now she came hastening forward, her dark eyes aglow and a slight flush in her delicate cheeks. "joe! joe! have you forgotten me?" she asked. the redskin turned at once and held out his hands to her. "night eyes," he said, with such softness that all save dick and felicia were astonished, "little child of silent valley hid in mountains, next to injun heart, old joe him love you most. you good to old joe. long time 'go joe he come to valley hid in mountains and he sit by cabin there. he see you play with injun heart. warm sun shine in valley through long, long day. all joe do he smoked, and sat, and watched. bimeby when night eyes was very tired she come crawling close up side old joe and lean her head 'gainst joe, and sleep shut her eyes. then old joe him keep still. when injun heart he come near old joe, him say, 'sh-h!' he hold up his hand; he say, 'keep much still.' then mebbe night eyes she sleep and sleep, and sun he go down, and birds they sing last good-night song, and stars shine out, and old joe him sit still all the time. oh, he no forget--he no forget!" somehow the simple words of the old redskin brought back all the past, which seemed so very, very far away, and tears welled from felicia's eyes. "oh, those were happy days, joe--happy days!" she murmured. "i fear i shall never be so happy again--never, never!" "oh, must be happy!" declared the old fellow. "dick him make um night eyes happy. him look out for night eyes." "just the same," she declared, "i would give anything, anything, to be back in that valley now, just as i was long, long ago." with his head cocked on one side, cap'n wiley had been watching the meeting between the indian and his young friends. wiley now turned to buckhart and remarked: "i am learning extensively in this variegated world. as the years roll on my accumulation of knowledge increases with susceptible rapidity. up to the present occasion i have been inclined to think that about the only thing a real injun could be good for was for a target. it seems to my acute perception that in this immediate instance there is at least one exception to the rule. although yonder copper-hued individual looks somewhat scarred and weather-beaten, i observe that richard merriwell hesitates in no degree to embrace him. who is the old tike, mate?" "why, old joe crowfoot!" answered brad. "the only indian i ever saw of his kind." immediately wiley approached old joe, walking teeteringly on the balls of his feet, after his own peculiar fashion, made a salute, and exclaimed: "i salute you, joseph crowfoot, esquire, and may your shadow never grow less. may you take your medicine regularly and live to the ripe round age of one hundred years. perhaps you don't know me. perhaps you haven't heard of me. that is your misfortune. i am cap'n wiley, a rover of the briny deep and a corking first-class baseball player. ever play baseball, joe, old boy? it's a great game. you would enjoy it. in my mind's eye i see you swing the bat like a war club and swat the sphere hard enough to dent it. or perchance you are attempting to overhaul the base runner, and i see him fleeing wildly before you, as if he fancied you were reaching for his scalp locks." "ugh!" grunted old joe. "no know who um be; but know heap good name for um. joe he give you name. he call you wind-in-the-head." at this the others, with the exception of wiley himself, laughed outright. the sailor, however, did not seem at all pleased. "it's plain, joseph," he observed, "that you have a reckless little habit of getting gay occasionally. take my advice and check that habit before it leads you up against a colossal calamity." "wind-in-the-head he talk heap many big words," said the indian. "mebbe sometime he talk big words that choke him." "that's a choke, wiley," laughed dick. "and that certainly is the worst pun it has ever been my misfortune to hear," half sobbed the sailor. "one more like that would give me heart failure. did you ever hear of the time i had heart failure in that baseball game with the cleveland nationals? well, mates, it was----" "we can't stand one of them before breakfast, wiley," interrupted dick. "it may prove too much for us. after breakfast we will endeavor to listen while you relate one of your harrowing experiences." "but this thing is burning in my bosom. i long to disgorge it." "you have to let it burn, i think. we should be on the move by this time." thus wiley was repressed and prevented from relating one of his marvelous yarns, not a little to his disgust. chapter xxii. an act of treachery. it was past midday. guided by wiley, who seemed to know the way well, the party had pushed on into the mountains and followed a course that led them over ragged slopes and steep declivities. finally the sailor paused and turned. "there, mates," he said, stretching out his hand, "barely half a mile away lies the enchanted valley. i have a tickling fancy that we have reached it ahead of that delectable crew we sought to avoid." even as he said this, pete curry uttered an exclamation and pointed toward the mouth of a ragged ravine or fissure, from which at this moment several horsemen suddenly debouched. they were followed closely by a band of men on foot. "that's the whole bunch!" exclaimed curry. "and they're coming as fast as they can chase theirselves. they are heading to cut us off." "that's right!" burst from dick. "we've got to make a dash for it. lead the way, wiley, and be sure you make no mistake." a hot dash it was for the fissure that led into the enchanted valley. the enemy, yelling like a lot of savages, did their best to cut the party off. seeing they would fail at this, they opened fire, and a few bullets sang dangerously near the fugitives. "oh, bilge-water and brine!" muttered the sailor. "there'll certainly be doings when we attempt to scurry down that crack into the valley! it's going to be a very disagreeable piece of business for us." nearer and nearer they came to the fissure for which they were heading. straight toward the beginning of it they raced, wiley telling dick it would be necessary for several of them to halt there and try to stand off the enemy while the rest of the party descended. but as they reached the beginning of the fissure, from behind some bowlders two young men opened fire with repeating rifles on the pursuers. in a moment the hail of bullets sent into the ranks of the enemy threw them into confusion. a horse dropped in its tracks, and another, being wounded, began bucking and kicking. one man was hit in the shoulder. this unexpected occurrence threw the pursuers into consternation, so that they wheeled immediately and sought to get beyond rifle range. "avast there, my hearties!" cried wiley, as he caught sight of the youths who knelt behind the bowlders. "permit me to lay alongside and join you in the merry carnage." "hello, wiley!" called frank, who, aided by hodge, had checked the ruffians. "it seems that we happened up this way at just about the right time." "at the precise psychological moment," nodded the marine marvel. "this being just in time is getting habitual with you." while the enemy was still in confusion frank and bart hastened to join the new arrivals and greet them. of course they were surprised to see curry and his companions, and the story told by the deputy sheriff, who explained everything in a few words, made clear the cause of his unexpected reappearance at the valley. "a ministerial-looking gentleman who called himself felton cleveland, eh?" said frank. "he was with the gang that cut loose your prisoners, was he? well, i am dead sure felton cleveland is----" "macklyn morgan!" cried dick. "i saw him last night. he is the man." "and macklyn morgan is the instigator of this whole business," said frank. "wiley, get abe and felicia down into the valley without delay. we have got to stand this gang off right here. we can't afford to let them reach this entrance to the valley. we're in for a siege. you will find provisions down there at the cabin. bring supplies when you return. abe and felicia will be safe down there as long as we hold this passage." "ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor. "i am yours to command." fortunately near the mouth of the fissure there were heaped-up bowlders which seemed to form something of a natural fortress. behind these rocks the defenders concealed themselves, their horses being taken down into the valley one after another. for a long time the enemy made no offensive move. it seemed to frank and his friends that the ruffians had been dismayed by their warm reception, and they seemed disagreeing. "if they will only chew the rag and get into trouble among themselves, it will be greatly to our advantage," said hodge. "let them sail right into us if they are looking for a warm time!" exclaimed brad buckhart, who seemed thirsting for more trouble. "i opine we can give them all they want." wiley brought a supply of provisions from the valley, and the defenders satiated their hunger while ensconced behind the bowlders. "this is even better than salt horse," declared wiley, munching away. "one time when shipwrecked in the south atlantic, longitude unty-three, latitude oxty-one, i subsisted on raw salt horse for nineteen consecutive days. that was one of the most harrowing experiences of my long and sinuous career." "spare us! spare us!" exclaimed frank. "we have got to stand off those ruffians, so don't deprive us of our nerve and strength." "look here!" exclaimed the sailor, "this thing is getting somewhat monotonous! whenever i attempt to tell a little nannygoat somebody rises up and yells, 'stop it!' pretty soon i will get so i'll have to talk to myself. there was a man i knew once who kept a bowling alley and the doctor told him he mustn't talk; but he kept right on talking. he talked everybody deaf, and dumb, and black, and blue, and stone-blind, so at last there was nobody left for him to talk to but himself. then he went to talking to himself in his sleep, which disturbed him so that he always woke up and couldn't sleep. the result was that he became so utterly exhausted for the want of rest that it was necessary to take him to the hospital. but even in the hospital they couldn't keep him still until they gagged him. that was the only thing that saved his life. what a sad thing it would be if anything like that should happen to me!" late in the afternoon the enemy made a move. protected by rocks and such cover as they could find, they attempted to close in on the defenders of the valley. frank was keenly alert, and he discovered this move almost as soon as it began. immediately he posted his companions where they could watch, and they agreed on a dead line, across which they would not permit the ruffians to creep without firing on them. as the ruffians drew nearer the cover was less available, and when the dead line was crossed the defenders opened fire on them. within three minutes several of the enemy had been wounded, and the advance was not only checked, but the ruffians were filled with such dismay that the greater part of them took to their heels and fled. several of these might have been shot down, but frank would not permit it. "i opine that just about gives them all they want for a while," said brad buckhart. it seemed that he was right. the besiegers disappeared amid the rocks, and the afternoon crept on with no further effort in that direction to enter the valley by assault. some of the defenders were beginning to wonder if the enemy had not given up when, with the sun hanging low, a man appeared in the distance, waving a white handkerchief, attached like a flag to the end of a stick. "whatever's up now?" muttered pete curry. "it is a flag of truce," said merry. "look out, frank!" exclaimed bart. "it may be a trick." merry rose and stood on a mound of bowlders, drawing out his own handkerchief and waved it in return. "what are you going to do?" asked hodge. "i am going to find out what they are up to," was the answer. "i tell you it may be a trick." "we will see." the man in the distance with the flag of truce immediately advanced alone. barely had he walked out into full view when merry said: "it is macklyn morgan, or my eyes are no good!" "old joe he fix um," said the aged indian, carefully thrusting his rifle over the rocks and preparing to take aim. "stop him!" exclaimed merry. "don't let him fire on a man with a white flag!" the old savage seemed greatly surprised and disappointed when he was prevented from shooting. "when um morgan man he is killed that stop all trouble," said joe. "good chance to do it." "watch him close, dick," directed frank. "i am going out there to meet morgan." "let me go with you." "no; he's alone. i will go alone. he is taking his chances. if anything happens to me, if one of those ruffians should fire on me, morgan knows my friends here will shoot him down. still, there may be some trick about it, and i want every one of you to watch close and be on the alert." "depend on us, frank," said dick. "only i'm sorry you won't let me go with you." a few moments later merriwell strode out boldly from the rocks, with the white handkerchief still fluttering in his hand, advancing to meet morgan, who was slowly coming forward. they met in the centre of the open space near the little heap of bowlders. in grim silence, regarding his enemy with accusing eyes, merry waited for morgan to open the conversation. "this is a very unfortunate affair, young man," said the hypocritical money king. "i am sorry it has happened." "are you?" asked frank derisively. "i am, i am," nodded morgan. "it's very bad--very bad." "if you feel so bad about it, sir, it's the easiest thing in the world for you to bring it to an end." "but you are the one to terminate it, young man." "how do you make that out?" "you know how you can settle this affair without delay. you heard my proposition in prescott." "i believe i did. it was very interesting as the proposition of a thoroughly unscrupulous man." "don't get insulting, mr. merriwell. i am doing my duty. milton sukes was my partner. do you think i can conscientiously ignore the fact that he was murdered?" "i fail to understand what that has to do with me." "you know i have proofs," said morgan sternly. "you know they will convict you." "i know nothing of the sort. you have no proofs that are worth being called that." "everything points accusingly and decisively at you. you were mr. sukes' bitter enemy. it was to your advantage that he should be put out of the way. he annoyed you. he gave you great trouble." "and i fancy, macklyn morgan, that i annoyed him a little. but why do you pretend that it is on his account you are carrying out this lawless piece of business? you know its nature. you know in your heart that you are a hypocrite. you have even offered, if i turn over my property to you here, to make no proceeding against me. is that the way you obtain justice for your dead partner? is that the sort of justice you are looking for, morgan? don't talk to me of justice! i know the sort of man you are! i know you from the ground up!" "be careful! be careful! you are making a mistake, young man. mr. sukes annoyed you and harassed you because he believed you held property that he should possess--property that rightfully belonged to him. he obtained no satisfaction from you. if i am willing to settle with you by securing possession of this undeveloped mine here, which i now offer to do, you ought to think yourself getting off easy. it is not often that i enter into an affair of this sort. it is not often that i take hold of it personally. i allow my agents to carry such things through under my directions. in this case, however, i have considered it best to see the matter to an end myself. i confess that it seemed probable that you might be too slick for my agents." "no thanks whatever for the compliment. have you anything new to propose, mr. morgan?" "my proposition is this: that you and your companions retire at once from this vicinity, and if you do i give you my word that you will not be molested. it is an easy and simple way to settle this whole affair. if you comply, we will let the sukes matter drop where it is. you will escape prosecution for murder. think well of it--think well. it is the best thing you can do. you are trapped now. you are penned in here and you can't get out. if we see fit, we can lay siege to this place and keep you here until we starve you out. in the end you will be compelled to surrender. in the end you will lose everything. if you force me to such a course, not only will i obtain possession of this undeveloped mine, but i tell you now that i shall do my best to see you hanged for the murder of milton sukes." frank laughed in the man's face. "it's plain," he said, "that even now, macklyn morgan, you don't understand me. it's plain that you still fancy it possible to frighten me. you are wasting your time, sir. go ahead with your siege and see what comes of it." this seemed to enrage morgan, for suddenly he violently shook the flag at frank and cried: "then take the result of your obstinacy!" instantly there were several puffs of white smoke from beyond the distant rocks and frank pitched forward upon his face. at the same moment macklyn morgan made a spring and dropped behind a little pile of bowlders, where he was fully protected from the defenders of the valley. apparently frank had been treacherously shot down in cold blood while under the flag of truce. the watchers of the defense were horrified as they saw frank fall. dick uttered a savage cry and would have rushed out from behind the rocks had he not been seized by brad buckhart. "steady, pard--steady!" warned the texan, finding it difficult to detain young merriwell. "let go!" panted dick. "don't you see! my brother! the dastardly wretches have shot him!" "and do you propose to prance out there and let them shoot you up, too? do you propose to let these measly galoots wipe out the merriwell family in a bunch? cool down, pard, and have some sense." bart hodge had been no less excited than dick, and nothing could have prevented him from rushing forth to frank had he not suddenly made a discovery as he sprang up. his eyes were on his chum of school and college days, and he saw frank quickly roll over and over until he lay close against a bowlder, where he would be protected in case the enemy fired again. then, as he lay thus, merry lifted the hand that still clutched the white handkerchief and waved it in a signal to his friends. hodge was shaking in every limb. "he is not killed!" he exclaimed. "heap keep still," came from old joe. "no shot at all. him all right. him see gun flash, him drop quick, bullets go over um. him fool bad palefaces a heap." "what's that?" fluttered dick. "do you mean that he wasn't hurt, joe?" "no hurt him much," asserted the old savage, "strong heart he have keen eye. he watch all the time. he see gun flash. he see smoke. he drop quick." it was not easy to make dick believe his brother had not been hurt, but frank managed to convey to them by signals that he was all right. their relief was unbounded. indeed, dick's eyes filled with a mist of joy, although his anxiety was intense, for he feared that his brother might still be in a position where the enemy could get further shots at him. frank, however, hugged the rocks closely, and there was no more shooting. on the other side of the bowlders lay macklyn morgan, his evil heart filled with triumph, for he believed merriwell had been slain. his astonishment was unbounded when he heard frank's voice calling his name. "morgan," called merry, "can you hear me?" "yes, i hear you," answered the astounded villain. "so they didn't kill you outright, did they?" "hardly that," returned merry. "they didn't even touch me." "what did you say?" burst from morgan. "why, those men were the best shots in our party! they were carefully chosen for this piece of business." "a fine piece of business, macklyn morgan!" contemptuously retorted merry. "and you planned it, i presume! you are a smooth-faced, hypocritical man of wealth, known far and wide and greatly respected because of your riches. yet you have descended to a piece of business like this! sukes was bad enough, morgan; but you're a hundred times worse. you have failed in your most dastardly plot, just as you will fail in everything. lie still, macklyn morgan. keep close to those rocks where you are, for if you show yourself you will be riddled by my watching friends. from this time on your life will not be worth a pinch of snuff if they get a chance at you." so the two men, the fearless youth and the treacherous money king, lay each sheltered by the bowlders while the sun sank in the west and day slipped softly into night. when the shadows had deepened sufficiently, frank crept away on his stomach toward the valley, taking the utmost pains not to expose himself, and, through his skill in this, returned at last in safety to his friends, who welcomed him joyously. "heap well done!" grunted old joe. "but now strong heart him know more than to trust um bad men. no do it some more." dick was able to repress his emotion, although frank read in the few words his brother said the intense anxiety he had felt. "what will be their next move?" exclaimed hodge. "they will attempt to overpower us by some sudden move to-night," said frank. "we must remain on the alert every moment." the stars came out bright and clear, as they always do in that southwestern land, and, if possible, their light seemed more brilliant than usual. the night advanced, and still the enemy before them remained silent. it was curry who discovered something down in the valley that attracted his attention and interested him. he called the attention of frank, who saw down there a light waving to and fro and then in circles. "whatever does yer make of that, pard merriwell?" asked curry. "it's a signal," said frank--"a signal from abe and felicia. they are seeking to attract our attention. i must go down there at once." "there's trouble of some sort down there, frank," said dick, who had reached his brother's side. "let's go quickly." merry found bart and directed him to take charge of the defense at that point and be constantly on the alert. with dick close behind him, he hastened down the fissure leading into the valley. in the narrow place through which they descended the starlight was dim and uncertain, yet they hastened with reckless speed. reaching the valley, they made straight for the cabin, where the signal light was still waving. as they drew near, they saw the grotesque figure of little abe swinging a lighted torch over his head and then waving it round and round. the flaring torch revealed felicia, who stood near. "what's the matter, abe?" demanded frank, as he dashed up. "i am glad you saw it! i am glad you came!" said the boy. "frank, those men are trying to get into the valley another way." "where? how?" "felicia saw them first. some of them are on the other side." "but there is no entrance save the one we are defending." "they are planning to get in by descending the face of the precipice. we saw them creep down over the rocks, three or four of them, and it took them a long time. they have reached a precipice that is perpendicular." "that should stop them." "i watched them through your field glasses, which i found in the cabin. they were letting themselves down with the aid of ropes." "ropes?" exclaimed dick. "a new game," said frank. "can they descend that way?" questioned the boy. "it's possible," admitted frank. "show us where they are, abe. drop that torch and lose not a moment." the hunchback led the way, running on before them, and they followed him closely. as they came at length to the vicinity of the precipice, they saw through the pale starlight that abe had spoken truly, for already long lariats had been spliced together, and, by the aid of these, which now dangled from the top of the precipice to the bottom, one of the men had already begun to descend. they saw the shadowy figure of his companions waiting above, and it seemed that the men did not dare trust themselves more than one at a time upon the spliced rope. "we've got to stop that, frank!" panted dick. "we will stop it," said merry. "don't attract attention. let's get nearer." they stole forward still nearer, watching the man as he came down slowly and carefully. this man had descended almost half the distance when a sudden rifle shot broke the stillness of the valley. immediately, with a cry, the dark form of a man dropped like a stone. frank and his companions had been startled by the shot, but merry instantly recognized the peculiar spang of the rifle. "old joe!" whispered merry. as they stood there a silent figure came slipping toward them, and the old indian stopped close at hand. "bad men no come down that way," he said quietly. "joe him shoot pretty good--pretty good. joe him think mebbe he shoot four, five, six times, he might cut rope. joe him shoot once, him cut rope. joe him got rheumatism. him pretty old, but him shoot pretty good." "was that what you fired at?" asked merry, in astonishment. "you didn't shoot at the man on the rope?" "plenty time to shoot man when joe him find out he no cut rope," was the retort. "when rope him cut one man he come down pretty fast. him strike, bump! mebbe it jar him some." "the fall must have killed him instantly," said frank. "if you cut that rope, joe, you have spoiled their attack on this side of the valley. stay here. watch sharp, and make sure they don't resume the attempt. if they do, abe can signal again." "all right," said crowfoot. "me watch." with this assurance, frank felt safe to return again to the defenders above, and dick returned with him. when he told what had taken place in the valley cap'n wiley observed: "i had it in for joseph crowfoot, esquire, for calling me wind-in-the-head; but i will overlook the insult. evidently the old boy is a whole army in himself." as they lay waiting for the attack they fully expected must take place, there came to their ears from the direction in which the enemy was supposed to be the sounds of shots, followed immediately by hoarse yelling and more shooting. "well, what do you make of that, merry?" cried hodge. "there seems to be a ruction of some sort going on over there." frank listened a few moments. the sound of the shooting receded, and the yelling seemed dying out in the distance. "it may be a trick," he said; "but i am in hopes those ruffians have quarreled among themselves. if it is a trick, we will keep still and wait. time will tell what has happened." time did tell, but all through the rest of the night they waited in vain for the attack. when morning finally dawned the mountains lay silent in the flood of light which poured from the rising sun. nowhere was the enemy to be discovered. old joe came up to them from the valley and declared that the men on the other side had been driven away. the fate of their comrade seemed to dishearten them, and they had crept back like snails over the rocks and vanished during the night. it was the old indian who set out to find what had happened among the besiegers led by morgan. he slipped away among the rocks and brush and vanished like a phantom. he was gone an hour or more when he suddenly reappeared and beckoned to them. "come see," he invited. they knew it was safe to follow him, and they did so. where the enemy had been ensconced they found one man, sorely wounded and in a critical condition. that was all. the others, to the last rascal of them, had vanished. "where have they gone, joe?" exclaimed frank. "ask him," directed the indian, motioning toward the wounded man. "mebbe he tell." this man was questioned, and the story he told surprised and satisfied the defenders beyond measure. disgusted over their failure to get into the valley, the ruffians had plotted among themselves. a number of them had devised a plan which to them seemed likely to be profitable. knowing macklyn morgan was a very rich man, they had schemed to take him personally, carry him off, and hold him in captivity until he should pay them handsomely for his freedom. not all the ruffians had been taken into this plot, and when the schemers started to carry morgan off there was an outbreak and some shooting, but they got away successfully. with morgan and the leading spirits of the affair gone, the others quickly decided to give up the assault on the valley, and that was why they had departed in the night, leaving the wounded man behind to such mercy as merriwell and his friends might show. "well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed dick. "think?" said frank, with a laugh. "why, i think macklyn morgan has been caught in his own trap. now let him get out of it!" chapter xxiii. new riches promised. when a week had passed frank and his friends began to feel that all their troubles were over, for the time being, at least. old joe crowfoot, who had been scouting in the vicinity, reported that he found no signs of probable marauders and himself settled down contentedly to smoke and loaf in the warm sunshine of the valley. with dick and felicia near, where he could watch them occasionally or hear their voices, the peaceful happiness of the old fellow seemed complete. cap'n wiley likewise loafed to his heart's content and if ever a person could make a whole-souled and hearty success of loafing it was the cap'n. he became so friendly with crowfoot that old joe even permitted him sometimes to smoke his pipe. one beautiful morning the entire party was gathered in front of merriwell's cabin talking things over. "there seems nothing now, frank, to prevent us from securing miners and opening up this new claim," said hodge. "macklyn morgan seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth." "perhaps he has learned that it is dangerous for a man like him to attempt dealing with the ruffians of this part of the country," put in dick. "it seems certain now that he was actually carried into captivity by the very gang he employed to seize these mines." "but he will get free all right," declared frank. "he will turn up again sometime." "if they don't kill him any," said buckhart. "they won't do that," asserted merriwell. "they can make nothing out of him in that fashion; but they might make a good thing by forcing him to pay a large sum for his liberty." "well, now that everything seems all right here, frank," said dick, "i suppose brad and i will have to light out for the east and old fardale." "waugh! that certain is right!" exclaimed the texan. "we must be on hand, pard, when fardale gets into gear for baseball this spring." "baseball!" cried wiley, giving a great start. "why, that word thrills my palpitating bosom. baseball! why, i will be in great shape for the game this season! my arm is like iron. never had such a fine arm on me before. speed! why, i will put 'um over the plate like peas! curves! why, my curves will paralyze 'um this year!" "ugh!" grunted old joe. "wind-in-the-head blow a heap. him talk a lot with him jaw. mebbe him jaw git tired sometime." "look here, joseph," expostulated wiley, "i don't like sarcasm. if i didn't love you as a brother, i might resent it." "great horn spoon!" cried buckhart, scratching vigorously. "these fleas are the biggest and worst i ever saw. you hear me murmur!" "what, these?" squealed wiley, in derision. "why, these little creatures are nothing at all--nothing at all. they just tickle a fellow up a bit. fleas! say, mates, you should have seen the fleas i have beheld in my tempestuous career. you should have seen the fleas i met up with in the heart of darkest africa. those were the real thing. don't 'spose i ever told you about those fleas?" and he told them a long and wonderful story about african fleas. "ugh!" grunted the old indian, when wiley had finished. "wind-in-the-head biggest blame liar old joe ebber see." some days later, with the exception of hodge and crowfoot, frank and the rest of his party arrived in prescott. hodge and the aged redskin were left, together with one of pete curry's men, to guard the valley after a fashion. besides going to prescott for the purpose of seeing his brother and buckhart off, frank had several other objects in view. with him he brought considerable ore, taken from the quartz vein they had located in the valley, and also a small leather pouch that was nearly filled with dull yellow grains and particles washed from the placer mine. with these specimens frank proceeded direct to an assayer, who was instructed to make an assay and give a report. following this, frank set about picking up some genuine miners who knew their business and who could be relied on. it was his purpose to keep a few men at work on the claims while he completed the plans talked over by himself and hodge and arrange for the transportation to the valley of such machinery as they needed to work the mines. as far as the placer was concerned, this was not such a difficult problem. with the quartz mine, however, it was quite a serious matter, as the valley was far from any railroad and extremely difficult of access. frank knew very well that it would cost a big sum of money to begin practical operations on the quartz claim, and already, for a young man of his years, he had his hands pretty full. hodge, however, had been enthusiastic, and merry felt that bart would, with the greatest readiness and satisfaction, remain where he could oversee everything and carry all plans out successfully. merry felt that he was greatly indebted to wiley, and he saw that the sailor had one of the best rooms in the best hotel of prescott and was provided with every comfort the house could afford. this was not the only way in which frank intended to reward the captain. wiley himself was somewhat "sore" because he had declined to accompany frank and bart at the time they had returned to the valley and successfully located benson clark's lost mines. "'tis ever thus," he sighed wearily, when the matter was spoken of. "i will bet eleventeen thousand dollars that i have lost more than a barrel of good opportunities to become rotten with wealth during my sinuous career. not that i haven't felt the salubrious touch of real money to an extensive extent, for sometimes i have been so loaded down with it that it rattled out of my clothes every step i took. when i sauntered carelessly along the street in days past i have shed doubloons, and picaroons, and silver shekels at every step, and i have often been followed by a tumultuous throng, who fought among themselves over the coin that rained from my radiant person. still to-day here i am broke, busted, while the world jogs on just the same, and nobody seems to care a ripityrap. excuse these few lamentations and wails of woe. by and by i will take a little medicine for my nerves and feel a great deal better." "don't worry over it, wiley," said frank, laughing. "it will all come out in the wash. i don't think you will die in the poorhouse." "not on your tintype!" cried the sailor. "i propose to shuffle off this mortal coil in a palace." "wiley," cried frank, "i believe you would joke in the face of old death himself!" "why not? i regard life as a joke, and i don't propose to show the white feather when my time comes. i will have no mourning at my funeral. i propose to have my funeral the gayest one on record. everybody shall dress in their best, and the band shall play quicksteps and ragtime on the way to the silent tomb. and then i shall warn them in advance to be careful, if they want to finish the job, not to pass a baseball ground where a game is going on, for just as sure as such a thing happened i'll kick off the lid, rise up, and prance out onto the diamond and git into the game." "don't you worry about what will become of you, cap'n," advised merry. "for all that you failed to stick by us in relocating those claims, i fancy we shall be able to make some provisions for you." "that's charity!" shouted wiley. "i will have none of it! i want you to understand that little walter is well able to hustle for himself and reap his daily bread. not even my best friend can make me a pauper by giving me alms." "oh, all right, my obstinate young tar," smiled merry. "have your own way. go your own course." "of course, of course," nodded wiley. "i always have, and i always will. now leave me to my brooding thoughts, and i will evolve some sort of a scheme to make a few million dollars before sundown." wiley's schemes, however, did not seem to pan out, although his brain was full of them, and he had a new one every day, and sometimes a new one every hour of the day. knowing they were soon to be separated again, dick and felicia spent much of their time together. it was merriwell's plan, of which he had spoken, to take felicia to denver and find her a home there where she could attend school. the assay of the quartz merry had brought to prescott showed that the mine was marvelously rich. beyond question it would prove a good thing, for all of the great expense that must be entailed in working it. on the day following the report of the assayer, merry was writing letters in the little room of the hotel provided for such use when a man entered, approached him, and addressed him. "excuse me," said this man, who was middle-aged and looked like a business man from the ground up. "i suppose you are mr. frank merriwell?" "that's my name." "well, my name is kensington--thomas kensington. perhaps you have not heard of me?" "on the contrary, i have heard of you, mr. kensington. i believe you have a mine in this vicinity?" "yes, and another in colorado. i hear that you have lately located a promising quartz claim. i understand that the assay indicates it is a valuable find." "perhaps that's right," admitted merry; "but i am at a loss just how you acquired the information." "my eyes and ears are open for such things. i am in prescott to have a little assaying done myself, and i happened, by the merest chance, to hear mr. given, the assayist, speaking with an assistant about the result of his investigation of your specimens. you understand that it was barely a chance." "i presume so," said merry. "i don't suppose that given would talk of such matters publicly." "and he did not, sir--he did not. i assure you of that. i have also learned, mr. merriwell, that you have other mines?" "yes, sir." "and this new claim of yours is inconveniently located at a distance from any railway town?" "that is correct." "now, i am a man of business, mr. merriwell, and if you care to have me do so, i would like to investigate your property with the possibility of purchasing this new mine of yours." frank was somewhat surprised. "i am not at all certain, mr. kensington, that i wish to sell. besides that, i have a partner who would have to be consulted in the matter." "but we might talk it over, sir--we might talk it over. are you willing to do so?" "i have no objections to that." kensington then drew up a chair and sat down close by the desk at which merry had been writing. "if i were to make you an offer for your property, on being satisfied with it as something i want," he said, "would you consider it?" "it's not impossible. but you must remember that my partner is to be consulted in the matter." "of course, of course." "he might not care to sell. in that case i can do nothing." "you might use your influence." frank shook his head. "i wouldn't think of that, sir. i would leave the question entirely to hodge, and he could do as he pleased." "do you fancy that there is a possibility that he might be induced to sell in case the offer seemed an advantageous one?" "yes, i think it possible." "good!" nodded kensington. "that being the case, we can discuss the matter further. do you mind showing me the report of the assayer?" "not at all. here it is." merry took the paper from his pocket and handed it to kensington, who glanced over the figures and statements, lifted his eyebrows slightly, puckered his lips, and whistled softly. "do you mean to tell me, mr. merriwell, that this assay was made from an average lot of quartz from your mine, or was it from specially chosen specimens?" "mr. kensington, i had this assay made for myself, and not for the public. i had it made in order that i might find out just how valuable the mine is. that being the case, you can understand that i would not be foolish enough to pick what appeared to be the richest ore. on the contrary, sir, i took it as it came." again kensington whistled softly, his eyes once more surveying the figures. "how far is this mine from the nearest railroad point?" "just about one hundred miles." "and in a difficult country as to access?" "decidedly so," was merry's frank answer. "it will cost a huge sum to open this mine and operate it." "there is no question on that point." "still, this report shows it will be worth it, if the vein pans out to be one-half as promising as this assay of your specimens." merry laughed. "mr. kensington," he said, "it is my belief that we have not fully uncovered the vein. it is my conviction that it will prove twice as valuable as it now seems when we get into it in earnest." for some moments kensington continued to whistle softly to himself. it seemed to be a habit of his when thinking. "are your other mines valuable, mr. merriwell?" "yes, sir." "as valuable as this one?" "i believe they are." "and you have them in operation?" "i have one of them in operation." "that is the queen mystery, i believe?" "then you have heard of it, sir?" "there is not much going on in mining matters in arizona that i have not heard of. it's my business to keep posted. you have never thought of selling the queen mystery?" "mr. kensington, the mystery is opened and is in operation. i have not contemplated selling it, and i do not think i shall do so. if you wish to talk of this new mine, all right. i can listen. nothing whatever may come of it, but i see no harm in hearing whatever you have to say." "now we're getting at an understanding, mr. merriwell. of course, i wouldn't think of making you any sort of an offer for your mine unless thoroughly satisfied as to its value. i should insist on having it inspected by men of my own choice, who are experts. their report i can rely on, and from that i would figure." "that would be business-like," merry nodded. "and you would have no objections to that, of course?" "certainly not, sir. still, you must not forget that i have a partner who might object. it will be necessary to consult him before anything of the sort is done." "all right, all right. where is he?" "he is at the mine." kensington seemed somewhat disappointed. "i was in hopes he might be in prescott." "he is not." "another point, mr. merriwell. are you certain your title to this property is clear?" "absolutely certain, sir." "i am glad to hear that. of course, i should look into that matter likewise. unless the title was clear, i wouldn't care to become involved." "in that case," said a voice behind them, which caused them both to start slightly, "i advise you, mr. kensington, to let that property alone." merriwell turned quickly and found himself face to face with macklyn morgan! "morgan!" exclaimed frank. to the ministerial face of the money king there came a smile of grim satisfaction, for he knew he had startled frank. "yes, mr. kensington," he said, "you had better be careful about this piece of business. there are some doubts as to the validity of this young man's claim to that mine." kensington did not seem pleased, and immediately he demanded: "how do you happen to know so much about it, sir?" "because i am interested. my name is macklyn morgan. it is barely possible you have heard of me?" "macklyn morgan!" exclaimed thomas kensington. "why, not--why, not----" "exactly," nodded morgan. "i belong to the consolidated mining association of america. you may know something of that association; it's quite probable that you do." "i should say so!" exclaimed kensington, rather warmly. "i know that it's a trust and that it has been gobbling up some of the best mines in the country." "very well. you know, then, that the c. m. a. of a. makes few mistakes. as a member of that association i warn you now that you may involve yourself in difficulty if you negotiate with this young man for this mine which he claims." frank rose to his feet, his eyes flashing with indignation. "that will about do for you, morgan!" he exclaimed. "i think i have stood about as much from you as i am in the mood to stand. mr. kensington, this man does belong to the consolidated mining association. that association attempted to get possession of my queen mystery and san pablo mines. i fought the whole bunch of them to a standstill and made them back water. they have given up the fight. but after they did so this mr. morgan, in conjunction with another one of the trust, did his level best to wring the queen mystery from me. "the matter was finally settled right here in the courts. they were beaten. it was shown that their claims to my property were not worth a pinch of snuff. since then sukes, this man's partner, met his just deserts, being shot by one of his tools, a half-crazed fellow whom he led into an infamous piece of business. this morgan is persistent and vengeful. he has trumped up some silly charge against me and tried to frighten me into giving up to him my queen mystery or my new mine. it is a pure case of bluff on his part, and it has no further effect on me than to annoy me." both kensington and morgan had listened while frank was speaking, the latter with a hard smile on his face. "you can judge, mr. kensington," said morgan, "whether a man of my reputation would be the sort to take part in anything of that kind. when it comes to bluff, this young fellow here is the limit. i tell you once more that you will make a serious mistake if you have any dealings with him. any day he is likely to be arrested on the charge of murder, for there is evidence that he conspired in the assassination of my partner. it even seems possible that he fired the fatal shot. that's the kind of a chap he is." "mr. kensington," said frank, with grim calmness, "this man, morgan, has done his level best in trying to blackmail me out of one of my mines. this murder charge he talks about he has trumped up in hopes to frighten me; but i fancy he has found by this time that i am not so easily frightened. i can prove that he employed ruffians to jump my claim--to seize these new mines. we were forced to defend it with firearms. morgan himself tried to have me treacherously shot, but he was not the kind of a man to deal with the ruffians he had employed, and he fell into a trap, from which he has now somehow escaped. he was captured and carried off by those same ruffians of his, whose object it was to hold him until he should pay a handsome sum for his liberty. either he has managed to escape or he has paid the money demanded by those rascals." morgan laughed. "it is not possible, mr. kensington, that you will believe such a ridiculous story. i give you my word--the word of a gentleman and a man of business and honor--that the whole thing is a fabrication." "morgan," said frank, "i propose to make this statement public just as you have heard it from my lips. if it is not true, you can have me arrested immediately for criminal libel. i dare you to have me arrested! if you do, i shall prove every word of what i have just said and show you up as the black-hearted rascal you really are. instead of having me arrested, it is more than likely that you will employ some ruffian to shoot at my back. i'll guarantee you will never try it yourself. if i were to step out here now and make a similar charge against mr. kensington, what would be the result?" "by thunder!" burst from kensington, "i'd shoot you on sight!" "exactly," nodded frank. "and so would macklyn morgan if the statement were false and if he dared." morgan snapped his fingers. "i consider you of too little consequence to resort to any such method. i am not a man who shoots; i'm a man who crushes. frank merriwell, you may fancy you have the best of me, but i tell you now that i will crush you like an eggshell." as he said this his usually mild and benevolent face was transformed until it took on a fierce and vengeful look, which fully betrayed his true character. quickly lifting his hand, merry pointed an accusing finger straight at morgan's face. "look at him, mr. kensington!" he directed. "now you see him as he is beneath the surface. this is the real macklyn morgan. ordinarily he is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and it is only the clothing he reveals to those with whom he has dealings." instantly the look vanished from morgan's face, and in its place there returned the mild, hypocritical smile he sometimes wore. "i acknowledge that my indignation was aroused," he said. "and i know it was foolish of me. i have said all i care to. i think mr. kensington will have a care about making any negotiations with you, merriwell. good day, mr. kensington." bowing to frank's companion, morgan coolly walked away and left the room. chapter xxiv. what happened to dick. just at dusk a horse came galloping madly up toward the front of the hotel, bearing on its back an excited, frightened, pale-faced girl. it was felicia. brad buckhart happened to be leaving the hotel as the girl pulled up her sweaty horse. "oh, brad!" she cried, and her voice was filled with the greatest agitation and distress. the texan made a bound down the steps. "what is it, felicia?" he asked. "whatever is the matter? my pard--he went out to ride with you! where is he now?" "oh, where is he? oh, where is he?" cried felicia. "you don't know? is that what you mean? oh, say, felicia, don't tell me anything has happened to my pard!" "brad! brad!" she gasped, swaying in her saddle, "a strange thing has happened. i can't account for it." in a moment he lifted her down in his strong arms and supported her, as he tumultuously poured questions upon her. "what's this strange thing, felicia? what has happened? where is dick? tell me, quick!" "oh, i wish you could tell me!" she retorted. "he went out with you?" "yes, yes!" the texan made an effort to cool down. "look here, felicia," he said. "we're both so excited we don't hit any sort of a trail and stick to it for shucks. if anything whatever has happened to my pard, i want to know it right quick. keep cool and tell me all about it. what was it that happened?" "but i tell you i don't know--i don't know," came faintly from the girl. "we rode some miles to the south. it was splendid. we laughed, and chatted, and had such a fine time. then, when we turned to come back, i challenged dick to a race. my horse was just eager to let himself out, and we raced. i had the lead, but my horse was so hard-bitted that i couldn't look back. two or three times i called to dick, and he answered. i heard his horse right behind me, and felt sure he was near. once i thought he was trying to pass me, and i let my horse out more. "i don't know how far i went that way, but it was a long, long distance. after a while his horse seemed letting up. he didn't push him so hard. then i pulled up some and called back to him again, but he didn't answer. i had to fight my horse, for he had the bit in his teeth and was obstinate. after a while i managed to turn, and then i saw something that gave me an awful jump. dick's horse was a long distance away, and was going at a trot, but dick was not in the saddle. the saddle was empty, and dick was nowhere to be seen." "great tarantulas! great horned toads! great panhandle!" exploded buckhart. "you don't mean to tell me that my pard let any onery horse dump him out of the saddle? say, i won't believe it! say, i can't believe it! why, he can ride like a circus performer! he is a regular centaur, if i ever saw one! whatever is this joke you're putting up on me, felicia?" "no joke, no joke!" she hastily asserted. "it's the truth, brad--the terrible truth! dick was not on the horse. i don't know what happened to him, but he wasn't there. as soon as i could i rode back to find him. i rode and rode, looking for him everywhere. i thought something must have happened to him that caused him to fall from the saddle. i wondered that i had heard no cry from him--no sound." "and you didn't find him?" she shook her head. "i found nothing of him anywhere. i rode until i was where we started to race. after that i had called to him, and he had answered me more than once. i know that, at first, he was close behind me." "jumping jingoes!" spluttered brad. "this beats anything up to date! you hear me warble! you must have missed him, somehow." "it is not possible, brad. i stuck to the road and followed it all the way through the chaparral, beyond which we had started to race this way." "then you raced through a piece of woods, did you?" "yes, yes." "do you remember of hearing him answer any to your calls after you had passed through those woods?" "i don't remember." "oh, brad, what if he was thrown from his horse and some wild animal dragged him into the chaparral after he fell senseless on the road! you must find him! where is frank? tell frank at once!" "that's good sense," declared the texan. "but wherever is dick's horse?" "i don't know where the animal is now. i paid no further attention to it after i found dick was missing." by this time the texan had heard enough, and, lifting felicia clear off her feet, he strode into the hotel with her, as if carrying a feather. just inside the door he nearly collided with cap'n wiley. "port your helm!" exclaimed the sailor. "don't run me down, even if you are overloaded with the finest cargo i ever clapped my eyes on." "hold on, wiley!" commanded brad. "just you drop anchor where you are. i want you." "ay, ay, sir!" retorted the marine. "i will lay to instantly. ever hear the little story about the captain who ran out of provisions and, getting hard up, decided to have eggs for breakfast and made his ship lay two?" "cut your chestnuts out, now!" growled the texan. "where is frank?" "i last saw his royal nibs in close communion with a gentleman who is literally rotten with money." "not macklyn morgan?" "well, hardly. he is not chumming with old mack to any salubrious degree. it was thomas kensington." "do you know where frank is now? if you do, find him instantly and tell him something has happened to dick." "ay! ay!" again cried wiley. "just you bear off and on right where you are, and i will sight him directly and bring him round on this course." the sailor hurried away, leaving brad to question felicia still further about the road they had taken outside of prescott. fortunately frank was easily found, and wiley came hurrying back with him. "what is it, brad?" asked merry, controlling his nerves and betraying little alarm, for all that he saw by the appearance of felicia that some serious thing had occurred. "oh, frank--dick!" she panted. "you must find him--you must!" the texan quickly told merry what had happened as related by felicia. frank's face grew grim and paled a little--a very little. his jaw hardened, and his eyes took on a strange gleam. "i opine i know just the road they took," said buckhart. "she has told me all about it. i am dead certain i can go straight back over that trail." "wiley," said merry, still with that grim command of himself, "get a move on and have some horses saddled and made ready." "leave it to me," cried the sailor, immediately taking to his heels and dusting away. by this time others in the hotel knew what had happened, and a number of people had gathered around. unmindful of them, frank took felicia on his knee as he sat on a chair and questioned her. "oh, frank!" she suddenly sobbed, clasping him about the neck. "you will find dick, won't you?" "as sure as i am living, felicia," he asserted, with that same confident calmness. "don't you doubt it for a moment, dear. rest easy about that." "you don't think some wild animal has got him?" "i hardly fancy anything of that sort has happened to my brother." merry called for the housekeeper, who soon came and he turned felicia over to her, saying: "look out for her, mrs. jones. take care of her and don't let her worry more than can be helped." "lord love her sweet soul!" exclaimed the housekeeper, as she received the agitated girl from frank and patted and petted her. "i will look after her, mr. merriwell. don't you be afraid of that. there, there, dear," she said, softly stroking felicia's cheek. "don't you take on so. why, they will find your cousin all right." "you bet your boots!" muttered brad buckhart, who was examining a long-barreled revolver as he spoke. "we will hit the trail and find him in less than two shakes of a steer's hoof." wiley now came panting back into the room, struck an attitude, and made a salute. "our land-going craft are at the pier outside." frank paused only to kiss felicia and whisper a last word in her ear. as he turned to leave the room, he came face to face with macklyn morgan near the door. morgan looked at him in a singular manner and smiled. "excuse me, sir. you seem to be in a great hurry about something." merry stopped short and stood looking straight into the eyes of his enemy. "what is your next low trick, morgan?" he said. "let me tell you here and now, and don't forget it for an instant, if ever any harm comes to me or mine through you, you'll rue it to the last moment of your miserable life." with which he strode on out of the hotel. away out of prescott they clattered, and away into the gathering darkness of a soft spring night. the cool breeze rushed past their ears and fanned their hot cheeks. frank was in the lead, for wiley had taken pains to see that merriwell's own fine horse was made ready for him. "is this the road, buckhart?" the young mine owner called back. "this is the one felicia told us to take, isn't it?" "sure as shooting!" answered the texan. "we don't want to make any mistake in our course," put in the sailor. "that would be fatal to the aspirations of our agitated anatomy. at the same time we want to keep our optical vision clear for breakers ahead. we may be due to strike troubled waters before long." "that's what we're looking for!" growled buckhart, who seemed hot for trouble of some sort. onward they rode along the brown trail. beneath them the ground seemed speeding backward. the lights of the town twinkled far behind them. frank's keen eyes detected something that caused him to drop rein and swerve from the road. at a short distance from the trail a horse was grazing. this animal shied somewhat and moved away as merry approached, but frank's skill enabled him, after a little, to capture the creature, which proved to be saddled and bridled. "dick's horse," he said. "hold him, buckhart. i want to make an examination." brad took the creature by the head, and a moment later frank struck a match, which he protected in the hollow of his hand until it was in full blaze. he then examined the saddle and the creature's back. several matches were used for this purpose, while both buckhart and wiley waited anxiously for the result. "what behold you, mate?" inquired the sailor. "nothing," answered frank. and it seemed there was relief in his voice. "whatever did you expect to find?" questioned the texan. "i hoped to find nothing, just as i have," was the answer. "still, i thought it possible there might be blood stains on the horse. it is not likely there would be hostile savages in this vicinity. indeed, such a thing is almost improbable; yet it was my fancy that dick might have been silently shot from his saddle." "how silently?" asked brad. "shooting is pretty certain to be heard, i opine." "not if done with an arrow." "but the injun of this day and generation is generally provided with a different weapon." "that's true; but still some of them use the bow and arrow even to-day." "i don't reckon a whole lot on anything of that sort happening to my pard," asserted the texan. "nor i," admitted frank. "but i thought it best to investigate." the horse was again set at liberty. they had no time to bother with it then. once more they found the trail and rode on. before them loomed the dark chaparral, into which wound the road they followed. on either hand the tangled thicket was dark and grim. "a right nasty place for a hold-up!" muttered buckhart, whose hand was on his pistol. "if any one tries that little trick," observed cap'n wiley, "it's my sagacious opinion that they are due to receive a surprise that will disturb their mental condition and throw their quivering nerves into the utmost agitation. i am ready to keep the air full of bullets, for in that way something will surely be hit. reminds me of the time when i went gunning with johnny johnson. we came to a promising strip of forest, and he took one side and i took the other. pretty soon i heard him banging away, and he kept shooting and shooting until i grew black in the face with envy. i reckoned he was bagging all the game in that preserve. in my seething imagination i saw him with partridges, and woodcock, and other things piled up around him knee-deep. "for just about an hour he kept on shooting regular every few seconds. at last i came to him, for i didn't find a single measly thing to pop at. imagine my astonishment when i found him idly reclining in a comfortable position on the ground and firing at intervals into the air. 'john, old man,' says i, 'what are you doing?' 'wiley,' he answered, 'i am out for game. i haven't been able to find any, but i know where there is some in this vicinity. i arrived at the specific conclusion that if i could keep the air full of shot i'd hit something after a while, and so i am carrying my wise plan into execution.' oh, i tell you, john was a great hunter--a great hunter!" "better cut that out," said frank. "this is a first-class time for you to give your wagging jaw a rest, cap'n." "thanks, mate; your suggestion will be appropriated unto me." through the chaparral they went, their eyes searching the trail and noting every dark spot on the ground. at length they came to the farther border of the thicket, but without making any discovery. "here's where felicia said the race began," said brad. "we haven't found a thing, frank--not a thing." still merry led them on a little farther before halting and turning about. "what's to be done now?" anxiously inquired the texan. "we will follow the trail back through the chaparral," said frank. "we will call to dick. that's the only thing it seems possible for us to do." having decided on this, they rode slowly back; calling at intervals to the missing lad. the thick chaparral rang with their voices, but through it came no answer. the cold stars watched them in silence. by the time they had again debouched from the chaparral brad was in such a state of mind that reason seemed to have deserted him. he actually proposed plunging into the thicket and attempting to search through it. "you couldn't make your way through that tangle in broad daylight," declared merry. "don't lose your head, buckhart." "but, frank--my pard, we must find him!" "we will do everything we can. we may not find him to-night. but i will find him in time." "what has become of him?" groaned the texan. "it's my belief," said merry, "that he is in the hands of my enemies. this is a new blow at me. i saw something of it in the eyes of macklyn morgan when i faced him in the hotel just before we started. there was a look of triumph on his face." "whoop!" shouted brad. "then he's the galoot we want to git at! it's up to us to light on him all spraddled out and squeeze the truth out of him in a hurry. just let me get at him!" "and you would simply make the matter worse than it is. you must leave this thing to me, buckhart. you must hold yourself in check unless you want to injure dick. i will deal with macklyn morgan." "you," said wiley. "i fancy you have hit on the outrageous and egregious truth. i don't know just what egregious means, but it sounds well there. morgan has scooped richard and proposes to hold him hard and fast until he can bring you to terms." "i think very likely such is his plot," nodded merry. "he ought to be shot!" exploded brad. "it was a whole lot unfortunate that the ruffians who carried him off did not keep him." "how do you think the trick was done?" questioned wiley. "i haven't decided yet," admitted frank. "but i feel sure my brother is nowhere in this vicinity now. it's my object to see morgan again without delay." with this object in view merriwell lost no further time in riding straight toward prescott. when the town was reached he set out immediately to find morgan, having first told brad to see felicia and do his best to soothe her fears. felicia was waiting. she started up as the texan tapped on her door. "there, there, child!" exclaimed mrs. jones, who was still with her. "sit down and keep quiet. i will see who it is." when the door was opened and buckhart entered, felicia cried out to him: "dick--you have found him?" "well, not exactly that," said the texan; "but i opine frank will find him pretty quick now." the girl was greatly disappointed. "then you know what has become of him?" she asked. "i opine we do," nodded buckhart. "he is safe?" "you bet he is. he is all right, felicia. we know well enough that he isn't hurt a bit." she seized his hands. "tell me," she pleaded, "tell me all about it." brad was placed in an awkward position, and he felt that it was necessary to draw on his imagination. "why, there is not a great deal to tell," he said. "i reckon dick's horse must have stumbled and thrown him. it stunned him some, of course. then there were some gents what happened along and picked him up, and that's about all." she looked at him in doubt and bewilderment. "but i didn't see any one. why didn't i see them?" buckhart coughed behind his hand to get a little time for thought. "why, these yere gents i speak of," he said, "were afraid to be seen, for they have been up to some doings that were not just exactly on the level. that being the case, they took him up all quietlike and stepped into the chaparral with him, and doctored him, and fixed him o. k. of course, they will want to be paid for that little job, and that's why they are keeping him. you leave everything to frank. he will settle with them and bring dick back as sound as a nut. you hear me chirp?" having made this statement, the texan felt greatly relieved. he had managed to get through it some way, although it was a hard strain on him. still, felicia was not entirely satisfied, and her fears were not fully allayed. "if these men are bad men," she said, "won't they harm dick some way?" "ho! ho! ho!" laughed brad. "what a foolish notion to get into your head, felicia. whatever good would it do them to harm him? what could they make out of that? it's up to them to take the best care of him, so frank will feel like coughing up liberal when he settles. you can see that easy enough. so don't worry over it any more." "no, don't worry over it any more, child," put in mrs. jones. "just go to bed. the strain on you has been severe, and you must rest." "oh, i'm afraid i can't rest until i see dick! don't you think i may see him soon? don't you think frank will bring him here right away?" "oh, mebbe not," said brad. "it may take some time, for frank thought likely dick had been carried to goodwin, or bigbug, or some place. you see, we didn't find out just where they had taken him. all we found out was that he had been taken somewhere and was all right. you let mrs. jones tuck you in your little bed, and you just close your peepers and get to the sleeps. that's the best thing for you to do." fearing she might suspect that he had not stuck by the truth if she questioned him further, brad now made the excuse that he had to hurry away, and quickly left the room. in the meantime frank had been searching for morgan. he fully expected to find morgan without trouble, and in this he was not disappointed. the money king was talking with thomas kensington in the hotel bar. "i beg your pardon, mr. kensington," said merry. "if i'm not interrupting an important matter, i'd like a word or two with this man." morgan lifted a hand. "you will have to excuse me, sir," he said. "i am quite busy now." "on the other hand," said kensington, "we have finished our business. mr. morgan followed me here and wished to talk of mining matters. i am in no mood to discuss such matters to-night." he bowed to frank and turned away. morgan gave merriwell a defiant look. "i cannot waste my time on you, young man," he said. "it's altogether too valuable." "you have wasted considerable time on me in the past, and i have been compelled to waste some on you. this night has brought matters to a climax. i know your game; but it will fail, just as every trick you have tried has failed. i have a few words to say to you. my brother is missing." "what's that to me? i care nothing about your brother." "yet you attempted not so very long ago to hold him as a hostage. it was your scheme to force me into dealing with you by holding my brother a prisoner in the hands of your ruffians." "be careful, young man! don't accuse me of anything like that! if you do, i'll----" "you'll what?" demanded merry, grim as flint and cold as ice. "now, what will you do, macklyn morgan?" "i'll make you smart for it!" "it's about time you learned, sir, that your threats have no effect on me whatever. as i have said, my brother is missing. if he is not in prescott to-morrow morning, it will be the worse for you. do you know how i dealt with milton sukes? do you know that i investigated his business methods and found out about his crooked dealings, so that when i was ready to expose him he was driven desperate? macklyn morgan, are you immaculate? do you mean to tell me that your career as a maker of millions has been unspotted? do you mean to tell me that you never have been concerned in any crooked schemes? i know better, morgan. i know how a man like you makes his money. as i dealt with sukes, so i will deal with you! i will investigate. i will learn the truth, and then i will expose you. to-day you may be concerned in several questionable projects. if those schemes are rotten, the world shall know it. i shall take hold of this thing in earnest, and i'll do for you what i did for sukes." "that's a threat on my life!" cried morgan, turning to the others who were near. "gentlemen, i call on you to bear witness that this man has threatened my life." "you know better, sir, i have threatened nothing but your crooked business. your life is safe as far as i am concerned. but you will see that my brother is in prescott to-morrow, or i'll hold you up for the inspection of the whole country and show people what a thoroughbred scoundrel you are! that's all i have to say to you, sir. good night." frank turned his back on morgan and walked out of the room. chapter xxv. how was it done? what had happened to dick? intentionally he had permitted felicia to keep the lead in the race through the chaparral. it is possible he might have overtaken her had he tried. he had no thought of danger, and he was wholly unprepared when out from the shadows of the chaparral shot a twisting, writhing coil, the loop of which fell over his shoulders and jerked him like a flash from the saddle. the shock, as he struck the ground, drove the breath from his body and partly stunned him. before he could recover he was pounced upon by two men, who quickly dragged him into the edge of the thicket, where a third man--a half-blood mexican--was coiling the lariat with which the boy had been snatched from the horse's back. these men threatened dick with drawn weapons. "make a sound or a cry, kid," growled one of them, "and we sure cuts you up!" the boy's dark eyes looked fearlessly at them, and he coolly inquired: "what's your game? i have not enough money on me to pay you for your trouble." "ho, ho!" laughed one of the trio. "we gits our pay, all right, younker. don't worry about that. tie his elbows close behind him, mat. mebbe we best gags him some." "no, none of that," declared the one called mat. "if he utters a cheep, i'll stick him sure." but the other insisted that dick should be gagged, and this they finally and quickly did. with his arms bound behind him and a gag between his teeth, he was lifted to his feet and forced into the depth of the thicket. the mexican, who was called tony, seemed to know a path through the chaparral, although it was dim and indistinct, and this they followed. thus it happened that when felicia missed dick and turned back she found no trace of him. on through the thick chaparral they threaded their way, now and then crouching low to push through thorny branches, their progress necessarily being slow. for a long time they tramped on, coming finally to an opening. several horses were grazing there. no time was lost in placing the captive boy on the back of a horse and fastening his feet together beneath the animal's belly. already it was growing dusky, but those men knew the course they would pursue. the mexican and mat mounted one animal and followed dick, while the biggest man of the party, who had once been addressed as dillon, now took the lead. starry night came as they still pushed on, but they had left the chaparral behind and were on the trackless plain. finally it was decided that the captive should be blindfolded. by this time his jaws were aching, and he was greatly relieved when the gag was removed. they seemed to think there was little danger of his cries being heard should he venture to shout for help. dick did not shout; he felt the folly of it. long hours they rode, and the bandage over the boy's eyes prevented him from telling what course they followed. at last they halted. the cords about his ankles were released, and he was unceremoniously dragged from the saddle to the ground. following this, he was marched into some sort of a building. there at last the bandage was removed from his eyes, and even his arms were set free. dillon and mat were with him. the mexican had been left to care for the horses. "now, kid," said the big man, "you makes yourself comfortable as you can. don't worry none whatever; you're all safe here. nothing troubles you, and we looks out for you. oh, yes, we looks out for you." "why have you brought me here?" asked dick. "we lets you guess at that a while. it amuses you perhaps, and passes away the time." "if my brother finds out who did this----" "now, don't talk that way!" cried mat. "we don't bother with your brother any. we does our business with other parties." "so that's it--that's it!" exclaimed dick, "my brother's enemies have paid you for this piece of work." "that's one of the little things you has to guess about," hoarsely chuckled dillon. "thar's a bunk in the corner. i sure opines this place is stout enough to hold you, and all the while mat or i sits in the next room. if we hears you kick up restless-like, we comes to soothe you. we're great at soothing--eh, mat?" "great!" agreed mat. "if you has a good appetite," continued dillon, "in the morning we gives you a square feed. oh, we treats you fine, kid--we treats you fine. we has orders to be ca'm and gentle with you. we're jest as gentle as two playful kittens--eh, mat?" "jest so," agreed mat. "of course, you being young, it disturbs you some to be introduced to us so sudden-like. still, you seems to have a lot of nerve. you don't git trembly any, and you looks a heap courageous with them fine black eyes of yours. by smoke! i almost believes you has it in yer ter tackle us both, kid; but you'd better not--you'd better not. it does no good, and it ruffles our feelings, although we is so ca'm and gentle. when our feelings is ruffled we are a heap bad--eh, mat?" "sure," agreed mat. "that's about all," said dillon. "now we bids you a pleasant good night, and we hopes you sleeps sweet and dreams agreeable dreams--eh, mat?" "we does," nodded mat. then they backed out through the door behind them, which led into the front room of the building, leaving dick in darkness, as the door was closed and barred. dick knew there was very little chance for him to escape unaided from the clutches of those ruffians. still, he was not the sort of a boy to give up, and he resolved to keep his ears and eyes open for any opportunity that might present itself. left without a light, there was no hope of making a satisfactory examination of his prison room until the coming of another day. he flung himself down on the couch and meditated. but for the fact that he was in fine physical condition, his fall when jerked from the saddle might have injured him seriously. as it was, he had simply been somewhat shaken up. he felt a slight soreness, but regarded it as of no consequence. of course, he understood the game the ruffians were playing. beyond question he was to be held as a hostage in order that frank's enemies might force merry into some sort of a deal concerning the mines. his one satisfaction lay in the belief that felicia had escaped. as he lay there on the bunk, he could hear the mumbling voices of his captors in the next room. after a time his curiosity was aroused, and he felt a desire to hear what they were saying. silently he arose and stole over to the partition between the rooms. this partition was strangely thick and heavy for a building in that part of the country. seemingly it had been constructed for the purpose of safely imprisoning any one who should be thrust into that room. although he pressed his ear close to the partition, he was unable for some time to understand anything the men were saying. he moved softly about, seeking a place where he might hear better, and finally found it in a crack beneath the massive door, through which shone a dim light. lying flat on his back, with his ear near this crack, the boy listened. to his satisfaction, he was now able to hear much of the talk that passed between the men. plainly but two of them, mat and dillon, were in the outer room. "this piece of work certain pays us a good thing, mat," said dillon. "the gent what has it done is rotten with coin, and we makes him plank down a heap liberal." "what does yer know about him, pard?" inquired mat. "whoever is he, anyhow?" "why, sure, i hears his name is morgan, though i deals with him direct none at all myself." "well, partner, this is better and some easier than the railroad job." "all the same, dan gets a heap sore when he finds we has quit t'other job. and, as for this being less dangerous, i am none certain of that." "why not?" "well, this yere frank merriwell they say is a holy terror. dan hisself has had some dealings with him, you know. he knocks the packing out of dan down at prescott not so long ago." "down at prescott," thought the listening boy; "down at prescott. why, i supposed it was up at prescott. if it's down, prescott must be to the south. in that case these fellows doubled and turned north after scooping me in." this was interesting to him, for one thing he desired to know very much was just where he had been taken. as he was meditating on this, dick missed some of the talk between the men, for in order to understand what they were saying it was necessary for him to listen with the utmost intentness. "do you allow, dillon," he finally heard mat say, "that dan will stick to his little plan to hold up that train?" "i opine not. he won't be after trying it all by his lonesome. one man who holds up a train and goes through it has a heap big job on his hands." "so that's the kind of a railroad job they were talking about!" thought dick. "they surely are a tough lot." "mebbe he comes searching for us," suggested dillon. "mebbe so. ef he does, we has to deceive him." "he gits a whole lot hot, i judge." "you bet he does. and when he is hot we wants to keep our eyes peeled for a ruction." "that's whatever." although dick listened a long time after this, the conversation of the ruffians seemed of no particular importance. finally they ceased talking, and evidently one of them at least prepared to sleep. dick arose and returned to the bunk, where he lay trying to devise some possible method of escape. scores of wild plans flittered through his brain, but he realized that none of them were practical. "if i could get word to frank," he thought. "but how can it be done--how can it be done?" such a thing seemed impossible. at last he became drowsy and realized that he was sinking off to sleep, in spite of his unpleasant position. he was fully awakened at last by sudden sounds in the outer room. there came a heavy hammering at the door, followed by the voice of one of dick's captors demanding to know who was there. dick sat upright on the bunk, his nerves tingling as he thought of the possibility that the ruffians had been followed by a party of rescuers, who were now at hand. the one who was knocking seemed to satisfy the men within, for dick knew the door was flung open. he swiftly crossed the floor and lay again with his ear near the crack beneath the door. "well, you two are a fine bunch!" declared a hoarse voice that seemed full of anger. "you keeps your dates a heap well, don't yer! oh, yes, yer two nice birds, you are!" this was the voice of the newcomer. "howdy, dan?" said mat. "we thinks mebbe yer comes around this yere way." "oh, yer does, does yer?" snarled the one called dan. "why does yer think that so brightlike? why does yer reckon that when you agrees ter meet me at win'mill station i comes here to find you five miles away? that's what i'd like to know." "windmill station," dick said to himself. "five miles from windmill station, and windmill station is some twelve or fifteen miles north of prescott." "you seems excited, dan," said mat, in what was intended to be a soothing manner. "mebbe we has reasons why we didn't meet you any." "reasons! if you has, spit 'em out." "yes, we has reasons," quickly put in dillon. "dan, we finds we is watched a whole lot. we finds somebody suspects that little game we plans." "is that so?" demanded the newcomer, with a sneering doubt in his voice. "that's what it is," asserted mat. "we don't have a chance to move much without being watched, and so we reckons we does best to drop this little job for the time being." "is that so?" sneered dan. "didn't we say it was?" indignantly demanded dillon. "you hears us, i judge." "now, who is it what watches you so closelike?" questioned the dissatisfied man. "mebbe you tells me that." "we don't know just who it is, but we has been followed for the last two days. you know a hold-up down on the southern pacific gits people suspicious. mebbe they thinks we had a hand in that." "which we didn't have any at all," hastily put in mat. "so you two fine chaps takes water?" contemptuously cried dan. "you throws up a chance to make a good thing? why, it was a snap! we could 'a' stopped the train, gone through her, and then hiked it for mexico hot foot, and the old boy hisself wouldn't 'a' ketched us." "mebbe not," admitted one of the other men. "but we opines it would 'a' been a whole lot bad for us if the holding up had been expected. look here, dan, we thinks it right and proper to put this thing off some. we thinks mebbe in a week or so we is in fer it." "oh, that's how you figgers. why didn't you let me know about it any? that's what i'd like ter have yer explain. you leaves me a-waiting and a-watching fer yer while you bunks down yere all ca'm and serene-like. that's what sores me to the limit." "we thinks," said mat, "if we goes to meet you, mebbe we is seen, and that makes more suspicions. we thinks the best thing to do is to lay low. we're right sorry that we couldn't keep the app'intment, but it happens that way, and there is nothing else fer it." "well, it is evident ter me that you two are squealers. you both lack nerve, and i quits you cold. the whole business is off, understand that." "well, if you gits hot and quits us that way, we can't help it," said dillon. "well, i does quit. what i wants is my blanket i leaves in yar. i takes that an' gits out, and you two goes to blazes for all of me." evidently dan started for the back room at this moment, and the listening boy prepared to spring away from the door. at the same time dick was seized by a sudden determination to attempt a dash for freedom the moment the door was opened. he knew he might not succeed, but there was a slim chance of it, and he decided to take that chance. both the ruffians on guard, however, were startled when dan proposed getting his blanket from the back room. quickly dillon interposed. "hold on, dan!" he cried. "never mind that blanket. we fixes that all right with you. yere is mine. you take that." had dick been able to see them he would have beheld the newcomer, a huge, pockmarked individual, standing in the centre of the floor, staring at the men before him in no small surprise. "why, whatever is this?" asked dan. "i opine i takes my own blanket." "but mine is worth more than yours," hastily asserted dillon. "and you're a heap anxious ter give it up in place of mine, i sees. that's right queer. i don't just understand your generosity. it seems mighty curious." "it's all right, dan," declared mat. "take the blanket." "not by a blamed sight," roared the big man. "i takes my own blanket. i goes into that room. i sees what you has in there." as he said this, he suddenly whipped out a long revolver, with which he menaced the man who attempted to bar his progress. "get out of the way," he commanded, "or i furnishes funeral stock for the undertaker." "he's coming!" whispered dick. "they can't stop him!" the boy rose to his hands and knees, where he listened a moment more. he heard the men on guard protesting, but their protestations availed nothing, and a moment later a hand was on the door. dick sprang up. the bar that held the door fell, and it was flung open. with a spring, dick was out into the lighted room, bending low and striking the man with the revolver like a battering-ram full and fair in the pit of the stomach, bowling him over. as dan went down, his fingers contracted on the trigger of the pistol, and a shot rang out. chapter xxvi. forced to write. dick's daring and reckless break for liberty might have been successful but for the fact that the outer door had been closed and securely fastened after the entrance of spotted dan. dan went down with a shock that jarred the whole building, and the boy leaped toward the door. both dillon and mat uttered cries of astonishment and grabbed at him. he avoided their hands and reached the door, but as he was trying to unfasten it they fell on him. young merriwell's fighting blood was up, and for at least five minutes he gave the ruffians the hardest sort of a struggle. using hands and feet in unison, he made them howl as he repeatedly hit and kicked them. with all his force, he drove his knee into mat's stomach and doubled the fellow up like a jackknife. at this juncture the boy had nearly whipped both the men. dillon was panting and dazed, but he had drawn a pistol and reversed it in his hand, so that he gripped the barrel. with the butt of the weapon he struck a blinding blow at the fighting boy's head, and by chance the blow landed full and fair. down dick dropped and lay stunned on the floor. dillon stood looking down at the lad, muttering savagely, while mat gasped for breath and held both hands on his stomach. spotted dan had recovered from the first shock, and now stood, with his hands on his hips and his feet wide apart, watching what transpired. he had not even lifted a hand to take part in the struggle. "well, drat the kid!" snarled dillon. "he sure comes nigh slipping right through our fingers." "confound him!" panted mat, still gasping for breath. "he soaks his knee inter my solar plexus and pretty nigh puts me out." "haw! haw! haw!" laughed spotted dan, throwing back his head. "well, you two gents sure has a highly interesting time of it. so that was why yer didn't want me to go for my blanket! so that's what yer had in the back room yer didn't want me ter see! well, i reckons i has clapped my peepers on this yere youngster before. i opines i smells your little game. i rather jedge i understands why you drops the railroad job. you seems ter strike another job that interests you a heap more." without paying any attention to the pockmarked fellow, dillon bent over the motionless boy, muttering: "i wonder if i cracks his skull? that certain was a good rap i gave him." blood was trickling down from dick's hair, and on one side of his head was a cut. "i don't care ef you did finish him!" grated mat. "well, i does," asserted dillon. "we knocks ourselves out of a good thing ef that happens." "a good thing," laughed spotted dan. "well, gents, you counts me in on that good thing. you plays no game like this on me, none at all!" dick stirred and opened his eyes. "he is all right," said mat. the boy looked up at the two ruffians near him and then struggled to his elbow, his black eyes full of defiance. "give me a fair show and i'll try it again!" he weakly exclaimed. "if i'd a fair show then i wouldn't be here now. i was weaponless. you were three to one against me, and still you had to use a weapon to put me down and out." "haw! haw! haw!" again roared spotted dan. "these yere merriwells sure is fighters." mat turned on him hotly. "i reckon you found that out in prescott the first time you met frank merriwell," he said. dan suddenly stopped laughing and scowled blackly. "don't git so personal!" he cried. "mebbe i don't like it any!" dick lifted his hand to his head and saw blood on his fingers when he looked at them. then from his pocket he took a handkerchief, which he knotted about his head. "better put your bird back into the cage," advised dan. "ef yer don't, mebbe he flutters some more. when he flutters he is dangerous." "that's right," nodded dillon, laying hold of dick. "we will chuck him back there in a hurry." "take your hands off me, you brute!" panted the boy. "i will go back of my own accord. let me alone." dillon dragged him to his feet, but, with a wrench, he suddenly tore free. if the ruffians expected him to resume the effort, they soon found he had no such intention, for, with a remarkably steady step, he walked across the floor to the open door of his prison room. in the doorway he turned and faced them, the handkerchief about his head already showing a crimson stain on one side. his dark eyes flashed with unutterable scorn and contempt. "i know you all three!" he exclaimed. "wait till my brother finds out about this business. the whole southwest won't be large enough to hide you in safety." then he disappeared into the room, scornfully closing the door behind him. "gents," said spotted dan, "for real, genuine sand, give me a kid like that!" then the bar was once more slipped into its socket, and the door was made secure. with throbbing head and fiery pulse, dick lay on the bunk in that back room as the remainder of the night slipped away. with the coming of another day he heard the faint hoofbeats of a horse outside, and knew some one had ridden up. then the muttering of voices in the next room came to him, and his curiosity, in spite of his injury, caused him to again slip to the door and listen at the crack beneath it. he heard the voice of a strange man saying: "i am to take the letter back myself. the youngster must be forced to write it. leave it to me; i will make him do it." "partner," said the hoarse voice of spotted dan, "i opines you takes a mighty big contract when you tries to force that kid inter doing anything of the sort." "leave it ter me," urged the stranger. "let me in there, and i will turn the trick." a few minutes later dick hastily got away from the door and pretended to be sleeping on the bunk, his ears telling him the bar was being removed. a flood of light shone in, for there was no window to that dark room to admit daylight. the four men entered, one of them bringing a lighted lamp in his hand. the boy pretended to awaken and then sat up. he saw that the newcomer had a mask over his face, making it plain he feared recognition by the captive. "yere," said spotted dan, "is a gent what wants ter see you some, my young gamecock. he has a right important piece of business to transact with yer, and i reckons it pays yer ter do as he tells yer." the masked man came and stood looking at the boy. "kid," he said, in what seemed to be an assumed manner of fierceness, "you've got to write a letter to your brother, and you will write it just as i tells yer. understand that? if you refuse, we will stop bothering with you any by wringing your neck and throwing you out for buzzard bait. we can't afford to waste time fooling, and we mean business. time is mighty important to us." "what do you want me to write?" asked dick. "we wants you to write a letter telling your brother that you are in the hands of men who proposes to carve you up piecemeal unless he makes terms with a certain gent who wants to deal with him for some of his property. no need to mention this gent's name, mind that. don't put it into the letter. you tells your brother nothing whatever about us save that we has you all tight and fast. but you tells him that, onless he comes to terms immediate, we sends him to-morrow one of your thumbs. in case he delays a while longer, we sends him t'other thumb. then, if he remains foolish and won't deal any, we kindly sends him your right ear. if that don't bring him around a whole lot sudden, we presents him with your left ear. arter that we gits tired when we waits twenty-four hours, and we shoots you full of lead and lets it go at that. mat, pull over that yere box right close to the kid's bunk, where he can sit all comfortable-like and write on it." a box was dragged out of a corner and placed before young merriwell, who sat on the edge of the bunk. then a sheet of paper was produced and spread in front of the lad, while the stub of a lead pencil was thrust into his fingers. "now write," savagely ordered the masked man--"write just what i tells yer to a minute ago!" dick hesitated, but seemed to succumb. through his head a wild scheme had flashed. it bewildered him for a moment, but quickly his mind cleared and he began to write. he did so, however, with the utmost slowness, as if the task was a difficult and painful one. spotted dan was surprised to see the boy give in so quickly. he had fancied dick would have obstinately refused until compelled to obey. "don't put in a thing but just what i tells yer to," commanded the masked man. "if yer does, youngster, you has ter write another letter, for we won't deliver this one any at all. if you wants to get free, you has good sense and obeys all peaceful-like." "all right," muttered dick, as he slowly labored over the beginning of the message to frank. "why, seems ter me this yer boy's eddication has been a heap neglected," said dillon. "he finds it a whole lot hard to write." the masked man resumed his position where he could read what was being written. somehow it didn't seem to please him, for of a sudden he seized the sheet of paper and tore it up. "why for do you ramble around that yere way?" he demanded. "you puts it down plain and brief, with no preliminaries. understand that?" then he produced another sheet of paper and laid it upon the box. immediately dick flung down the pen and lay back on the bunk. "you go to halifax!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "i will write it just as i want to, or i won't write it at all." the man instantly whipped out a long, wicked-looking knife. "then i slits your oozle!" he snarled. "slit away!" defiantly retorted the boy. spotted dan broke into a hoarse laughter. "what did i tell yer!" he cried. "i certain knowed how it would be." the masked man seized dick and held the knife menacingly before his eyes. "will you do as i tell you?" he hissed. "i will do as i choose," retorted the nervy lad. "i don't propose to write anything save what you order, but i will write it in my own way. if i can't, then i won't write at all." the man hesitated, then straightened up. "well, you sure has sand, or you're the biggest fool for a kid i ever saw," he declared. "go ahead and write her out, and then i'll examine her and see that she's all right." so once more dick took the pencil and began to write. he preserved the same deliberate slowness in constructing the early portion of the missive, but finally began to write faster and faster, and finished it with a rush, signing his name. "well, the kid's eddication seems to be all right, arter all," observed mat, as he admiringly watched the boy speedily scribble the last sentence. "mebbe he is out of practice some, to begin with, and so he writes slow till he gits his hand in." the masked man took the letter and carefully read it over. "why were you so particular to say, 'no house shelters me?'" he asked. "that yere is dead crooked. is you trying to fool your brother up some?" dick actually laughed. "i put that in just to help you out, gentlemen," he declared. "you have been so very kind to me i should hate to see anything happen to you." the masked man wondered vaguely if the boy was mocking them, but decided almost immediately that he had really frightened dick to such an extent that the young captive had put those words in to show his willingness to hold to the demands made upon him. "well, this will do," nodded the wearer of the mask, folding the paper and thrusting it into his pocket. "now, pards, just keep the boy all ca'm and quiet, and mebbe his brother comes to his senses and settles the deal, arter which we evaporates and leaves them to meet up with each other and rejoice." then he strode out of the room, and his three companions followed, closing the door and leaving dick once more to gloom and solitude. chapter xxvii. complete triumph. frank found the letter thrust under the door of his room at the hotel in prescott. he was reading it over and over when brad buckhart, wearing a long, doleful face, came into the room. "you don't find no trace whatever of my pard, do you, frank?" he asked. "i have a letter from him here," said frank. "what?" shouted the texan, electrified by merry's words. "a letter from him?" "yes." "why should he write a letter? why didn't he come himself, instead of doing that?" "well, from what he says in the letter, i fancy it is impossible for him to come," said merry. "here, buckhart, read it and see what you make of it." he handed the missive to brad, who read it through, his excitement growing every moment. this is what the texan read: "dear frank: i now am held fast in hands that care little for my life. no house shelters me. i am not near prescott. if you search, you will find wind and nothing more. have had a hot mill with my captors, but to no use whatever. s.tay here i must. brad will worry, so don't fail to show him this. "the men who have me swear to mutilate and finally kill me unless you come to terms immediately. you are to settle with the man who has demanded from you your mines and has threatened you with arrest for murder. as soon as you make terms with him, i am to be set free. if you refuse to make terms, this man swears to chop me up by inches. to-morrow you will receive one of my thumbs; next day the other thumb. then, if you still delay, an ear will follow, and its mate will be delivered to you twenty-four hours later. if you remain obstinate, i shall be killed. "your brother, dick." "great horn spoon!" shouted buckhart, flourishing the missive in the air. "great jumping tarantulas! this certain is a whole lot tough! why, frank, what are you going to do about it? you've got to rescue him, or else give in to old morgan, for they will chop him up if you don't." "how am i going to rescue him," said merry, "when i don't know where to find him?" brad now stood quite still, with his hands on his hips, a look of perplexity and distress on his face. "that's so, frank," he muttered, shaking his head. "i am afraid they've got you." "do you notice anything peculiar about that letter?" questioned merry. "peculiar? why, i dunno. somehow it don't sound just like dick, though i'll swear it's his writing. i know his writing." "yes, i am certain it is his writing; still, the first part of it sounds peculiar. i suppose that's because he was ordered to write certain things and had to take them down from dictation. but look here, brad," merry continued, taking the letter from the texan's hand. "notice that word, 'sta.y.' why do you suppose he dropped a period into the midst of it?" "accident," said brad. "must have been." frank shook his head. "somehow i don't think so," he declared. "somehow there seems to me there is a hidden meaning in this letter. i am half inclined to believe it is a cipher letter." "gee whilikins!" cried the texan. "mebbe that's so!" together they puzzled over it a long time, and the texan grew more and more excited. finally he shouted: "let me have it, frank--let me have it! that's why he wanted you to show it to me. see, he says for you to show it to me. he opined i'd tumble to the cipher and read it all right." the boy's hands were shaking as he held the letter. from head to feet he quivered with the excitement he could not control. "steady, buckhart," said merry, laying a calming hand on his shoulder. "then you believe there is a cipher in it, do you?" "sure as shooting! i know there is! you hear me shout! once on a time, at fardale, he studied out right before me a cipher letter that was written this same way by one of his enemies. he reckoned i would remember that. he reckoned i would tumble and read the cipher in this letter." although frank must have been excited also, he still restrained himself. "if that's the case," he said, "you should be able to read this with ease. go ahead and do so." "gimme a pencil," panted the texan. frank did so, and then brad began by underscoring the first word of the letter after frank's name, following with the second word, having skipped one, then he skipped two, and underscored the next word. then skipped three, underscoring the next, and so on through the greater part of the first paragraph. when this was finished, the words underscored read as follows: "i am in little house near windmill sta.y." "there she is!" brad almost yelled, waving it wildly around his head. "that's the message. i followed her up further, but it ends right there. after that he just writes what they tell him to." "'i am in little house near windmill sta.y,'" read frank, having taken the paper from the texan's hand. "are you certain that 'sta.y' comes into it?" "well, part of her comes into it," averred brad. "she comes into it up to the period, at least. i reckons that's why the period comes in there. 'sta.'--what does that stand for, frank?" "station," said merry at once. "he has written that he is in a little house near windmill station. that's it, brad, my boy. we know where to find him at last, thanks to you." "no, frank; thanks to that fine head of his. what are we going to do?" frank walked over to a corner of the room and picked up a winchester rifle, which he examined, a resolute grimness on his handsome face. "we're going to find that little house near windmill station," he said, in a calm, low voice. "and when we find it, buckhart, there will be something doing." * * * * * another night had fallen when a party of at least a dozen persons, all armed and ready for anything that might take place, surrounded and crept up to the little house where dick was held a prisoner near windmill station. frank led this party, and when the house was thoroughly surrounded, he advanced without hesitation to the door, buckhart at his side, carrying in his hand an axe. "give me the axe!" whispered merry, as he extended his rifle to brad. a moment later a crashing blow fell on the heavy door. when of a sudden frank swung the axe and made blow after blow at the door, it shook, and cracked, and splintered before the attack upon it. "lay on! lay on!" urged cap'n wiley, who was close at hand and ready for the encounter. "knock the everlasting jimblistered stuffing out of her!" within the hut there was no small commotion. dick had been waiting. he heard the first blow, and it brought him to his feet with a bound. he heard the ruffianly guards in the outer room uttering excited exclamations. then he shouted: "beat it down, frank--beat it down! here i am!" he could not be sure his words were heard above the sounds of the assault on the door, but at this moment, with a great splintering crash, the door fell. then came shouting, and shots, and sounds of a struggle. it was over quickly, and dick was waiting when the door of his prison room was flung wide and his brother sprang in. "hello, frank!" he cried laughingly. "you're on time. they haven't begun chopping me up yet." "where's my pard?" shouted buckhart, as he came tearing into the room. "here he is!" he whooped joyously, clasping dick in his arms. "say, pard, you're a dandy! but i don't believe i'd tumbled to it that there was a cipher message in that letter if frank hadn't suspected such a thing." at this moment cap'n wiley appeared at the door. "mate merriwell," he said, "there's a fine gent out here who has a shattered knee and says he's bleeding to death. perhaps you had better take a look at him." frank turned back, followed by dick and brad. in the outer room both mat and dillon were prisoners in the hands of merriwell's comrades, one of them having a bullet in his shoulder. but on the floor lay another man, who had been found there with them, having arrived a short time before the appearance of the rescuers. it was macklyn morgan, and his knee, as wiley had declared, was shattered by a bullet. "i am dying, merriwell!" said morgan, his face ghastly pale. "you have triumphed at last. i will bother you no more." frank quickly knelt and ripped open the man's trousers leg with a keen knife. then he called sharply for a rope, which he tied loosely about morgan's leg above the knee, thrusting through a loop in it a strong stick supplied him by wiley. with this stick he twisted the rope until it cut into the flesh and stopped the profuse bleeding. "now, morgan," said merry, "we will do our best to save your life by getting you to the nearest doctor in short order." "why should you do that?" whispered the money king wonderingly. "i don't care to see even my worst enemy die in such a manner," was the answer. macklyn morgan did not die, although he must have done so but for the prompt action of frank at that critical moment. he lost his leg, however, for it was found necessary to amputate the limb at the knee. it was some days after this operation that morgan called for frank, begging his attendant to bring merry to him. when merry stood beside the cot on which the wretched man lay, morgan looked up and said: "i have been thinking this thing over, mr. merriwell, and the more i think about it the greater grows my astonishment at your action. the doctor has told me that you saved my life. i can't do much to even up for that; but from this time on, frank merriwell, i shall never lift a hand against you." the end. proofreading by users emil, lscribe, brianjungwi, rikker, wyaryan, netnapit.tasakorn, saksith. pgt is an affiliated sister project focusing on public domain books on thailand and southeast asia. project leads: rikker dockum, emil kloeden. (this file was produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) notes of a journey on the upper mekong, siam. by h. warington smyth, of the royal department of mines and geology, bangkok. with maps and illustrations. published for the royal geographical society by john murray, , albemarle street, london. . [illustration: the rapids at the gates of chieng kong, mekong river.] preface. i have put together the following account of a recent journey made for the siamese government to the mekong valley, chiefly for the reason that at the present moment, when the french have "rectified" their boundaries on the north and east of siam to the extent of some , square miles, more interest than usual will probably be felt in the character of the country and the people, of whom there are not too many reliable accounts to be found. at the same time, i feel very strongly that there are others whose descriptions will be far more valuable than my own, owing to their longer residence in the country, and the greater extent of their explorations. i refer especially to messrs. mccarthy, archer, and beckett, who have done difficult and extensive work in all parts of siam and the laos states; and there is certainly no european, and probably no siamese, that knows so much of the configuration of the north-east as does mr. mccarthy, who, carried on by an apparently deep love of jungle-life, has aroused the admiration of the siamese and laos at luang prabang by his hardihood and energy, and the results of whose work were a constant source of admiration to me, as i went on and saw the wildness and difficulty of the country. the object of my journey was primarily the examination, for the siamese government, of a supposed very rich deposit of gems (rubies and sapphires), lately discovered on the left bank of the mekong, opposite chieng kong. my orders were to return by luang prabang, nongkhai, and khorat, and to visit and report on all mineral deposits of which i could get information, gathering all geological data which were possible. the time allowed was six months, and i was not to leave the general line of march prescribed by more than miles. i need hardly say--and every one who knows what jungle-travelling is will understand--that my programme, to be thoroughly carried through over the large extent of country marked out, might well occupy six years instead of months; and that such a hurried exploration in a country covered densely with forest--which, next perhaps to snow, is the greatest enemy to the science of geology--could not but be unsatisfactory to one's self. h. warington smyth. glossary. pak = mouth of a river; _e.g._ pak oo, mouth of river oo. nam = river; _e.g._ nam oo, river oo (_a_ always long, as in _barn_). hoay = mountain torrent. keng = rapid; _e.g._ keng fapa, fapa rapid. luang = great or chief; _e.g._ keng luang, the great rapid. doi _or_ puh = siam word kao = hill. ban _or_ bang = house or village (used indiscriminately). sala = rest-house. muang = town or township, often district or province. chow muang = literally, chief of the township = governor. klong = stream or canal. contents. part i. bangkok to muang nan part ii. muang nan to muang chieng kong part iii. muang chieng kong to muang luang prabang part iv. luang prabang (march, ) part v. nongkhai to khorat and bangkok (april and may, ) appendix maps and illustrations. the rapids at the gates of chieng kong, mekong river the meinam below chainat loaded rice-boats lying in bangkok rua pet rua nua rua nua from fore end boat hollowed out of trunk ready to be soaked in river boat opened out over fire, ribs and knees in rice-boats and floating house, paknam pho a rice-boat, flying light rice-raft, nam oo wat chinareth (central tower from west) a sala in the nan forests khorat plateau. entrance to forest dong phya yen gorge nam pgoi the paddy-fields, hin valley wat ben yeun, m. sa east gate of nan laos bag, of striped cloth kao neo wicker baskets axe for hollowing boats dipper for water a hill monastery, m. le view from m. le, looking north-west across the nam nan and watershed of meinam khong map--route from muang ngob on the nam nan to muang chieng kong on the mekong river a gem-digger's clearing, chieng kong camp at the fa pa rapids one of our elephants, with howdah on the leading mule a head man--stern view a head man--side view a haw--packs dismounted laos boat illustration of oar and steering-gear double boat village above paku, mekong forty-five feet boat, nam oo map--part of the mekong khache hill clearings; rapids above pak beng, mekong dhâp and sheath jungle knives mouth of nam suung, above luang prabang approach to luang prabang from north wat chieng tong pa chom si, luang prabang plan of luang prabang and river stone implements government offices, luang prabang keng kang, nam oo. the plunge off the left bank keng luang ascending keng luang, nam oo fishing stakes and shelters, nam oo rudder boats fishing last of the hills above wieng chan the ruins of wat prakaon, wieng chan niche and statue south-west angle, wat susaket, wieng chan bell bell-clapper and joint bamboo bell four-sok kan ( inch to feet) two-sok kan air-chamber kien the north gate and nam nun, khoraat map--the central part of the kingdom of siam notes of a journey on the upper mekong, siam. part i. bangkok to muang nan. early in december, , we left bangkok--myself, three siamese assistants, and a sergeant's guard as escort, and coolies. at muang chainat, owing to the rapid fall of the river, i had to send back the navy launch, which was drawing feet inches; a month earlier she might have got nearly up to m.[ ] pechai. at paknam pho, where the nam pho and meiping meet, after a good deal of bargaining i secured a _rua nua_, or north-land boat, to take me on. boat-travelling in siam is much the same everywhere; and in their boat-life, it may be said, the siamese have attained a high degree of civilization. very often the boat is the home of the family, and after the rains they moor alongside the bank and cultivate tobacco, cotton, or melons on the slope on which the rich loam of the floods has settled down; after the rice harvest they will set out laden with paddy for bangkok, returning later on with salt or other luxuries from the south. the chinese, who are the most energetic people in the country, carry on extensive trading in this way. they use a very large double-ended kind of boat, known as "rice-boat," which has a long cylindrical roof of closely plaited work impervious to rain, extending from just before the helmsman to within feet of the bows, where the two or three oarsmen toil at the long oars. as in all the siamese boats, the oar is slung in a grommet, which is turned round the top of a small pole firmly let into the gunwale at the lower end. this gives the end of the oar sufficient height inboard, and the oarsman stands to his work facing forward, the outer hand on a small handle turned at right angles to the oar, as in the chinese sampans one sees in the straits. with a big heavy boat, the action, with a sharp jerk at the end of the stroke, is not pretty; but in the small _rua chang_ (or sampan) of the city the motion is exactly that of the gondolier, and with the swaying motion of the inside leg, which is often quite free, is extremely pretty. it must be confessed the grommet principle, which at least keeps the oar in its place, makes the work much easier than the slippery crutch in which the gondolier at venice works his long oar, and which proves a great source of difficulty to the beginner in the art. this method is known by the siamese as "chaw"- (or "chow"-)ing. [illustration: the meinam below chainat.] [illustration: loaded rice-boats lying in bangkok.] next in size and usefulness to the "rice-boats" (which are generally about feet long, feet inches beam, with feet inches extreme draught when loaded, and carry twenty koyans of rice) comes the _rua pet_, which is a great favourite with the siamese. it is cleaner lined than the rice-boat, the cabin arrangement being the same; that is, the long roof, the deck at the level of the gunwale going fore and aft, and the storage-room all below, reached by taking out the neatly fitting pieces of deck, which are made to fit into the main cross-beams. the helmsman has a slightly raised attap roof over his head, and he (or she, for the wife and the children down to six years old can steer as well as the father) looks out from under this and over the long low roof in front. the steering is done with a rudder shipped in the usual way on the stern-post, while in the big rice-boat it is generally on the quarter (if under sail, on the lee quarter), kept in position by a rope grommet at the head, and another lanyard put through an eye bored lower down. in both kinds of craft a finely peaked calico lugsail is used with a fair wind--the matting, of which the junks and local coast-luggers make their sails, being never seen inland. the size of the _rua pet_ is generally feet over all, feet inches beam, and feet inches draught loaded; a new one will cost to ticals, say £ . teak is largely used in the construction, and when finished the whole is covered with a coating of _chunam_, a mixture of oil from the mai yang (a magnificently proportioned tree common in the forest), with dammar oil, which gives a beautiful red varnish to the hull. [illustration: rua pet.] a third distinct type of boat is the _rua nua_ ("nua" meaning north, and "rua" boat), which seems to be rather a laos than a siamese form. it is hardly accurate to call them distinctively "laos boats," as is often done, as the real "laos boat," used both on the mekong and in the laos states proper on the meinam, is simply a long dug-out canoe, feet long, with an extreme beam of feet. the _rua nua_ is a much more highly developed type, and is in construction as elaborate as those above mentioned. it is generally longer than the _rua pet_. my boat was feet inches over all, with a beam of feet, and carried the owner and his crew of four men, with myself and twenty siamese. at night a few of us slept on shore, in the salas or rest-houses of the monasteries, or on the banks of sand. the stem and stern posts are made of huge chocks of teak, the bottom flat of three or four huge planks running the whole length of the boat if possible. right aft is a high-roofed and very comfortable house in which the steersman lives; sitting on his high stool, and looking over the usual plaited roof along the centre of the boat, he turns his long steering-oar, which reaches far out astern over the port quarter. the fore-deck of the boat is outrigged on each side to a considerable distance, while a gangway runs round the centre roof outside for the man to pole along. up the meiping these boats are generally ornamented with a long high snout of timber out forward, and a high forked tail astern. [illustration: rua nua.] of small craft the variety is endless--from the small canoes which hawk _kanoms_, or cakes of rice, sugar, and coconut, to the small roughly roofed boats which will just hold the owner and his wife and child if they balance carefully, or the long snake-like boats which are favourites with the monks at the monasteries. the people usually build their own boats, and are very good hands at it; and one may see them in all states of construction,--hollowed out with laborious chipping ready for opening out over the fire, or already heated and opened up, with knees and ribs being put in and pegged with wood (for, like the norwegians, they never use nails, and the result is great durability); or ready with a six-inch "wash-streak" all round, and the light deck at the gunwale level, which is the feature of the smallest, if we except the _sampans_ and canoes of the capital. the fittings of the large species of craft above described are often elaborate and almost yacht-like. a brass trimming to the gunwale, and bright red prayer-papers, are generally to be seen on board of john chinaman. there will be pretty balustrades round the quarters where the helmsman is, partly for show, partly to keep the small fry from falling overboard. curtains of plaited bamboo are hinged to the attap roof above the helmsman, and when shut down will keep out rain or sun. at the fore end the deck will shine with the polish given it by the constant sitting or reclining of the crew, and inside the long low roof, if there were only sufficient head-room, the floor would be declared perfect for a dance. all round are lockers, in which cotton stuffs are stored to take up-country, or betel-box, teapot, and crockery are stowed; the comfort and luxury of some of these boats could not be surpassed. [illustration: rua nua from fore end.] [illustration: boat hollowed out of trunk ready to be soaked in river.] [illustration: boat opened out over fire, ribs and knees in.] and how they do all enjoy life! there is no hurry; if going down stream, they take it easy enough; and if going up, why overwork? a week earlier or a week later makes no difference; and so, why not stop and have some tea and chat as they pass some friendly village, or a boat with whom last year perhaps they travelled in company for a month? if the sun gets hot, they will tie up to the bank, and all hands bathe, the children diving overboard like the best of them. if it rains, tie up again, light up the fire and cook the rice and mix the curry for supper; then out cigarettes all hands, and from the cloud, to which even the stout five-year-old boy, who is the pet of the ship, contributes his share, gaze complacently out into the damp evening, where all the myriad life of jungle is piping shrilly in the swaying bamboo clumps. no wonder these people are happy and hospitable, ever ready with a joke. [illustration: rice-boats and floating house, paknam pho.] the journey to muang pechai took our _rua nua_ days, and owing to the falling state of the river, our old skipper had to lighten his ship by selling off a lot of his salt; and even then she drew feet, and all hands had frequently to go overboard and haul over shallows. [illustration: a rice-boat, flying light.] above the junction of the meinam yome and the pechai river, the villages which had thronged the bank gave way to a wild uninhabited country--the villages few and poor, the paddy-fields far apart and small. the river winds tortuously between clay banks feet high and crowned with the prickly bamboo or long grasses, or in places with deep forests of fine timber. here and there on the inside of the bend would be extensive sandbanks, and on these, as being safer from wild animals or fever, often three or four boats' crews would be camping at night. on the concave side of the bend would be evidences of huge falls of stuff, the result of the recent floods, with large trees or bamboo clumps sticking out of the water. of animal life there was plenty--the apparently sluggish crocodile, which at the crack of a rifle would leap his own length into the water; the familiar and friendly long-tailed monkeys; or the white-headed fish-eagle, and another big dark-coloured eagle with peculiarly hoarse cry. the order herodiones is well represented, and i shot specimens of the common heron (_ardea cinerea_), and the great white heron or great egret (_ardea alba_); and in the low state of one's larder, which is the normal condition in siam, they were excellent eating. of kingfishers i saw two distinct forms--the smaller one (?), the pied kingfisher of india; the larger with a stronger bill, black and white, without the high colouring of the other. all these birds are very common, and there are many smaller thin-legged birds running along the sands. [illustration: rice raft, nam oo.] as in all the rivers of siam during and just after the rains, the water is alive with fish, the most remarkable that i saw being the "pla reum," a creature often over feet long and the same in depth--very broad-bodied, with a covering of large scales, the fins, tail, and gills of a pinky red; head large and broad, with wide mouth lined with fine rows of diminutive teeth, of which there are two lines in the upper jaw. the tail is enormously powerful in the water, and, until he is tired out, the drift-net used for catching him has a very hard time of it. after reaching muang pichit, the villages occur more frequently again, and are often palisaded; this is necessary for the protection of the cattle, which are the favourite prey of the dacoits who wander about in the valley of the meinam all too freely, often with fine boats, which in the daytime are peaceful trading craft to the eye, but at night suddenly bristle with men. at the present time this kind of business is an actual danger to the traders as well as to the peaceful villagers; and at the time i went up, though the minister of the north (prince damrong) had just been on a tour to pechai, they were extremely bold all over the country. once north of lat. ° ', and in the laos country, property is safer than in eaton square. one word as to the "wats," or monasteries, and the monks who inhabit them. they are often misnamed "temples" and "priests;" but, as all who know the customs of the buddhist countries around will be aware, there is no "priesthood" proper. these men are really retired from the world for the purpose of such meditation as shall bring them as near to the purity of their master and pattern buddha as possible. wherever there are villages there are wats, supported by the contributions of the inhabitants, who are bent on gaining merit by their good deeds to these holy men. like the monks of "merrie england" in years gone by, there are good, bad, and indifferent; in many cases the prior is a keen pâli student and good musician, and a man of some ideas. the yellow robe and the shaving of head and eyebrows is not exactly fascinating at a close view, but among the monks i used to see many very fine thoughtful faces; while i shall, i hope, always remember the friendly evenings i spent after the day's voyage, sitting perched on the bamboo flooring of the sala, high above the quiet stream, listening to a duet played on their simple two-stringed fiddles. the body is made of half a coconut-shell, over which the sounding-board is placed. the string of the bow is between the two strings, and the execution is wonderful. the airs, which are all handed down by ear, are a very fast weird music, distinctly catchy, and one, "the trotting pony," is a wonderfully sweet and descriptive air. another instrument is the _toka_, a hollow teak sounding-box with two strings stretched over a number of bridges, on which the fingers of the left hand work while the right twangs the strings: this joined in very well with the fiddles. the intervals are not the same as ours, and the european ear takes some time to get accustomed to the novelty; after a time, however, one can sufficiently interpret the airs to get them on a flute, whereon the proper intervals seem to enable one to get a correct version of what before seemed rather a jargon. another favourite pursuit with the youthful monks is _tetakvoa_, a football of open wicker-work, which is kept going by the dozen or so players taking "full volleys" with knee or foot, and often "heading" the ball. this, of course, is common in the villages too, but i did not see it in the laos states. it is the custom to bring up for the night, whenever possible, alongside one of these wats, both on account of the convenience of finding a good sala, and the greater security against robbers. there is always a wide clear space beneath the trees which shade the buildings of the monastery, and some of these quiet spots, from which, as one walks up and down in the evening, one sees the long reach of river reflecting the last light in the west, or, in the chilly morning, the first streaks of dawn, are almost ideal places for retirement and meditation. they, and the life which goes on within, have been admirably described by shway yoe, in his book 'the burman,' one of the completest pictures which has ever been drawn of any people; and the monastery life of siam is almost identical. as the monotonous but almost weird chant of the monks floated out across the stream at sunset, we used to tie up for the night beneath: often it would go far on into the night; and then long before day the great gong would begin its clanging, and once more the chant rise among the mists, and for us another day's poling would commence. in the laos states there are many points of difference in the wats, not only in the architecture (and the hill-wats become very simple, with a few roughly baked bricks for the low walls, and a thatch roof in place of the red or wood tiled roofs of siam), but also in the _régime_. every boy, for instance, who goes to do his schooling at the wat wears the yellow robe, which assumes thus almost the character of the college gown at home, and until he has so worn it he has no title to the name of "man." as in siam, besides his letters, he learns the elementary precepts taught by buddha; but, as not in siam, he often goes out with his superiors into the jungle, with robe tucked up, to hew wood or do other work for the support of the wat, which the laymen, being too few or too poor, cannot do. during this month of december the north-east monsoon was blowing, but we had curiously cloudy cool days nearly all the time, with, at the start, slight rain at times. the minimum reading of the thermometer was ° fahr. on the nd, just before sunrise. the two following mornings we had ° fahr.; the maxima in the shade of the steersman's house being °, °, and ° on those days. °, . °, °, °, °, °, °, and ° were the minima for the next eight days, and the maximum recorded was ° at p.m. at a.m. the thermometer was never above °. at muang phitsanulok, which stands along a very pretty sweep of water, hid deep in its areca and banana palms, i spent a morning at wat chinareth. this was the nearest approach to a real piece of effective architecture that i had seen since leaving, and i once more experienced the feeling of exultation which one used to know at home, when enjoying the lights and shadows of some old building where the mind of man had worked with great result. an additional charm was the colouring. the coloured tiles of the roofs of the wats are remarkable in bangkok; but far in the jungle, when the eye has become accustomed to green for weeks, the wonderful yellow-red, picked off with green borders, and the light-red lower buildings of the cloisters, were most striking. the building was once very extensive, cruciform in shape, in four distinct sections round the great central tower. the western building is the only one in any sort of preservation, and south of it, and at its south-western end, still stand the cloisters. brick and laterite blocks are the material used, the former in some cases, as in the wall and the pillars of the cloister, being stuccoed. these little pillars are only feet high, and the roof is gabled, supported on simple uprights, which rise from horizontal cross-beams resting on the pillars; and so a very pretty and simple cloister walk is obtained. the remains of such walks lie in every direction round the centre. as for the western building itself, i was much delighted with the interior. one enters a monk's doorway at the south-east corner from a cloister, and is at first lost in gloom. at last the great black columns, with their elaborate gilt ornamentation (the one decoration they understand in siam), grow out in the feeble light from the little narrow windows in the low side walls. the lofty peaked roof, which rises far into blackness, comes down gradually, sloping less steeply to the columns, of which there are two rows, and so to the low walls, thus as it were covering a nave and side aisles. at the eastern end are placed the usual gilt statues of buddha, of all shapes and sizes--of which in one cloister alone i saw over thirty-six over feet high. until these force themselves upon one's notice with all the tawdry wreckage with which they are ornamented, the air of retirement about the place is quite captivating. the central tower is some feet high, covered with niches, in which stand more "prahs," or statues, and on the eastern side is a staircase up halfway to a dome-shaped chamber. the entrance to this was in its day very prettily panelled and gilded; now, alas! cobwebs and bats are legion. but the whole effect, there almost lost in jungle, is memorable. [illustration: wat chinareth (central tower from west).] at a smaller wat to the southward (wat boria) there is a very fine buddha, on whose head and shoulders the light is thrown from a small window in the roof. the effect is quite impressive, and does great credit to the architect who designed it. this is by no means the only place in siam where the light is dexterously managed. [illustration: a sala in the nan forests.] [illustration: korat plateau. entrance to forest dong phya yen.] throughout this country the rivers, streams, and canals (or klongs) are the highways, and the villages are built on their edge; the banks, owing to the accumulations, the houses, and the preservative effect of the palms in which the villages nestle, are often the highest points in the country round--which in the rains becomes a series of vast lakes, with islands here and there, and the houses standing out of the water gaunt upon their long stilt-like piles of teak. in many parts the buffaloes and oxen have to be driven away for miles to higher ground; and one may meet whole villages moving with as many as forty ox-carts in a gang, with spare oxen trotting behind their masters' carts. we had met a good deal of teak being rafted down the lower part of the river. the small rafts come through the innumerable klongs and creeks from all directions, and then below pichit and paknam pho the big rafts are made up, and go off downwards with their crew of men, the cock crowing merrily on the roof of the little bamboo shelter which is their "deck-house." passing sandbanks and shallows is often a very difficult operation. some three or four men go overboard astern with long -feet stakes, to which the end of a long hawser is fast. the sharpened ends they drive into the bottom, clinging on to the top end as the strain comes on, till at last often it is too great, and the stake is pulled over man and all. however, by degrees they will bring the great floating mass to a standstill for the night, or, as the case may be, they succeed in checking the after end sufficiently to keep it to the current, while three or four more hands are working the long transverse-set oars at the fore end in the direction required, and two or three more will be using long poles to keep off the shallows; all hands shout lustily the whole time. by this process, repeated hour by hour, they travel slowly to bangkok with the current. [illustration: gorge nam pgoi.] above pichit we met but few rafts, and those only consisting of bamboo and "mai kabao," which is much used for small work, such as tables, and is brought down in small pieces, generally about feet long. muang pechai is the chief town of a very extensive and important province, which to the north-east reaches to the mekong at chieng kan. the governor, phya pechai, is a fine, tall young man, who is (and this is not too often the case in siam) extremely popular with the people. his evident honesty of purpose was apparent the first moment he spoke. we had to stay here a few days to get the elephants together and buy rice. twelve _kanan_ (a coconut-shell) were selling at a _tical_, and on the average each man consumes one _kanan_ per day. we laid in a stock of _thang_ (of _kanan_), and were shortly after glad to get off on our journey towards the distant hills. i should add that this place is the starting-point for paklai, on the mekong, the trail between these two places being the route generally followed by the officials going to luang prabang. apart from this it is not of much importance, and, situated in the uninteresting plain, is subject to high floods in the rains, as the water-marks on the piles of the post-office and the school and court houses attest. two days, passing through scrub jungle, brings the traveller to ban nam pi, where there are some iron "mines"--a series of shallow diggings on an extensive deposit of limonite, which seems to be "derivative" from surface decomposition. the quartz rock, which generally underlies it, is probably a quartz sand which has been metamorphosed under pressure into the hard material we now find. in, or in close connection with the latter, the iron nodules are not to be found, but near the surface, where the quartz has softened and looks almost like a sandstone, the nodules occur in abundance. the great difficulty was to get any one to do any work, even in clearing away _débris_, such is the fear of the "pi," or spirits, who are said to guard the mineral. without the offer of a white bullock, who ought first to be slain for their benefit, it was asserted that the spirits would certainly interfere with any one attempting to do any work. i was also told that when the iron ore is removed it brings bad luck to any house in which it is stored, and that, if hung up on a tree (certainly an odd place for stowing ores), it invariably causes the death of the tree. an iron-shod bamboo is the only tool used, but no work has been done for ages, and the small furnace which once existed at the village is quite dilapidated. it was quite vain setting to work myself, and giving out that i had made a permanent arrangement with all the "pi," even the most vicious, before leaving bangkok; nothing less than a royal proclamation will ever give the people confidence enough to make the opening up of these places possible. on january we were fairly under way for the north, high in hope and spirits, as a party always is when the scenery begins to change, and weary plains give way to lofty hill-ranges and distant peaks, with cool clear streams splashing in the rocky watercourses. at muang fang we came down to the meinam once more, and camped in a very fine wat, which none of us will ever forget; for we marched in, parched and dusty, to find ourselves under orange trees loaded with fruit, and then and there all hands almost bathed in the delicious cool juice. to the south is a lovely semicircle of hills of schist, which turn the river away to the west. to the north, the timber-clad heights rose shoulder upon shoulder, far into the peaks of kao luet and kao taw, dim with distance. we were at last fairly in the mountains and in the laos country. i do not wish to give what would perhaps be a wearying account of our marches day after day, full of pleasure, of changing beauties, and of memorable incidents as they were, but as succinctly as possible to speak of the configuration of the country we passed through. we next day forded the river at ban taluat, and were in the province of nan. the trail on to cherim (north-east) crosses a number of small hills of clay slate, which form the outlying buttresses of the rougher country to the north; the strike which i observed here and all the way up on our northerly journey is pretty regularly north and south, the dip westerly at about °, sometimes steeper. water is scarce here, and when we stopped for breakfast in the bed of a _hoay_ (or mountain-stream) at , after about three hours' going, even the holes in the sandy bed only gave us two or three pints of water; but, of course, in january this is to be expected. to avoid the rough country northward the trail crosses the meinam once more, where its direction is southerly, to cherim, whence the march to m. faek is a very long and hilly one, over high ridges of clay slate, which carry one up over feet above the river. some of the glimpses we got in the early mornings, as we climbed upwards among the tall trunks, were quite magnificent. these forests, in their winter clothing of reds and yellows, with the tall grey trunks standing out clear against the deep shadows behind, are, with the early morning or evening sun upon them, perfectly gorgeous. as day dawns the rays climb down the heights above you into the mists, which forthwith whirl and melt; and then, as you rise above it all, there lies below on all sides a billowy sea of wild forest, high on jagged ridges in the sunlight, or darkened in shadows far down in the deep torrent valleys; in the blue distance eastward the nam pat range lies dim, and north and west the eye loses itself among endless cloud-capped ranges. the sala at muang faek is on the west side of the river, and consists of a number of separate bamboo shelters; here we had to rest our elephants, all eighteen of which were tired out by the climb from cherim, and we had to engage two more to reduce the weights on our tired beasts. elephants in siam are never idle, and the animals i got from pechai, which belonged to the minister of the mining department, had all been hard at work hauling teak and such things before our arrival. at muang faek there are a good many, and the two which now joined us were a male and female of magnificent proportions. they had a swinging gait, with which they travelled much faster than the others, evidently not being accustomed to dragging heavy timber, but to light weights and hard climbing. at first they didn't like their new surroundings at all, and it was most curious to see how, when the one began to trumpet and back out of the crowd, the other rushed up, caressing him with her trunk all over, and even pushing it into his mouth, and stood by him till he was pacified; but if she left his side for a moment, round he whirled in search of her, and the mahout could do nothing to stop him. i never saw them separated by more than twenty yards the whole time they were with us; they had always to be loaded and unloaded together, as they stood side by side, entwining their trunks lovingly, and in the evening, after the march, they bathed together and squirted one another in huge enjoyment. the howdahs are simply rough saddles like big baskets, and are generally fitted with a close plaited roof with a long peak before and behind, like those fitted on the _kiens_, or ox-carts, of the plains. from m. faek the trail, which is well trodden, passes along the steep wooded banks of the meinam, which, however, is here known as the nam nan. the clay slate dips ° w., and makes long black ridges in the river-bed, which can be seen deep down in the clear water, or rising in sharp crags above it, and forming the rapids, which make the river a difficult highway at the best, and only navigable by the long narrow dug-outs. it is a short march to hoay li, where there is a sala kept, as they all are in nan, in excellent condition; but there is a stream close by. the next day's march was a heavy one, over more lofty ridges without water, and it is, therefore, a good stopping-place. leaving at sunrise, the laos guide and myself reached the small shelter at hoay nai at one o'clock, the rest of my siamese straggling in well blown an hour later, and the elephants climbing down the steep watercourse at three. this is generally the extent of a day's march, and the average rate of jungle-travelling, allowing for stoppages, is never over ½ miles an hour, and a six hours' march is as much as the siamese can do; in these hills the elephants certainly do not do more than miles an hour. to the laos trotting along on foot there is, however, no limit that i ever discovered, even with the heavy loads which they carry swung on a pole across the shoulder. with a couple of handfuls of _kao nëo_, the hill-rice, which they steam over a pot into a glutinous mass, very handy and portable for the day's march, and with some dried fish and a banana, and a long pull at the fresh stream water once in the day, they will go cheerily from morn till night, swinging when necessary their long _dhâp_ (a sword of burmese style, which every man over sixteen carries if he be a man at all), to cut and lop the branches and jungle which are for ever blocking the tracks. this stopping-place was one of the wildest we were ever in; nothing but jungle and mountains all around, the place itself a tiny clearing in the bottom of a deep narrow ravine, where the monster trunks climbed far above us, leaving only one little space of open sky, from which at three o'clock the sun was shut out, and where at half-past five night had fairly set in. a number of gangs going south from nan were camped here with us. another, easy, march brought us to muang hin, over feet above sea-level. imagine a number of lovely villages clustering among their coconut and areca palms, in a beautiful wide valley surrounded by forests and hills, the glistening yellow paddy-stalks bright in the afternoon sun, with the black backs of the buffalo moving lazily about; the homely red of the little oxen, and the moving islands the elephants make whisking the paddy in their trunks; with the village sounds drifting down the quiet air--the distant drum at the monastery, whose grey roof stands above the other houses, or the far-off "poot, poot" of the "nok poot" in the jungle (a black bird, by the way, with a long pheasant-like tail and light red wings)--and you have an idea of the lovely scene which spread before us that evening as we emerged from the hills. this valley runs parallel to the nam nan valley to the eastward, but drains in exactly the opposite direction, the water running north and turning into the nam nan considerably north of m. sisaket. three days going down this lovely valley brought us through a rough piece of limestone country to muang sa, where i stayed some days visiting several places in the neighbourhood. this township is important, and stands by the nam nan in a very fine paddy-growing plain, and is better supplied with inhabitants than the country we had come through; but even here the tigers are very bold, and often come right into the villages. small irrigation canals extend in all directions. [illustration: the paddy-fields, hin valley.] like the quarrymen in north wales, whenever there is a cry of "gold" at clogan, the laos take every piece of yellow copper pyrites or iron pyrites for gold, and we had several very hard days' travelling both east and west after gold-mines of this description. the minimum readings for the last five days were °, °, °, °, and ° fahr., and going on one day's march over the plain to muang nan, the capital of this great province, we had ° as minimum for several days. the salas stand outside the red-brick walls of nan, and are only a few hundred yards from the river, and here was every sign of prosperity; every other family seems to own an elephant or two. the houses are well built and enclosed in stout palisades; and besides the town inside the walls, there is a very large number of houses between them and the river. i saw numbers of dug-outs arriving with cotton, and many too going away south. there are a few burmese shopkeepers along the east wall, their principal stock consisting of check-patterned _panungs_ and _sarongs_ and small knickknacks, betel boxes, and a little silver-work. a mule caravan of haws from the north--as dirty and ugly as the dirtiest chinamen--were also anxious to sell chinese slippers, sheepskin coats, walnuts and sandals, and shortly after left for the south, like others we had met at muang sa. from m. sa i gathered they were going to make westward toward m. pray. some of the burmese brought me some sapphires from chieng kong, and there were some fine stones, but i was at the time surprised to find they had no rubies. coloured quartzes are also found in this neighbourhood, and are cut for ornament. the rupee is the current coin, and the burmese shopkeepers and a chinaman or two were the only people who would exchange our money for us--at the rate of three salung to the rupee. [illustration: wat ben yeun, m. sa.] [illustration: east gate of nan.] the sight of nan is the early morning market, to which before sunrise the women are seen coming from all directions, wrapped in their long plaids--for such, indeed, the lao cloak is, both in pattern and mode of wearing. the market is held within the walls in the open space, in which stands the _sanam_, or court-house; this is surrounded on three sides by wats, and on the west by the palace, a large house with no very striking features. the women crouch along the sides in rows with their baskets in front of them, as at luang prabang and at all the markets one sees in this part of the peninsula. fruit, biscuits, and cakes, ready rolled cigarettes and flowers, are for sale, but the quantities are very small. there is a muffled sound of subdued chatter and laughter, and the scene is a very pretty one--till at last the mists are gone, the sun is well up in the heavens, and the crowd melts away as silently as it came. once inside the walls the town may be described as countrified, the houses standing in their own enclosures among their palms, where the elephants twirl their trunks among the cocks and hens. very fair roads run at right angles to one another, but are always quiet and shady, like country lanes. the chief business seems to be outside the town, villages extending on all sides, and especially along the road to the north, past the "old city," which is about one mile in that direction, and where there are some very good substantial palisades still standing, with the remains of a deep ditch and massive wall on the north-west side, all of course very much grown over. the custom of shaving the head all round, with the exception of the tuft at the top which stands bristling straight on end, and gives a good grip to the light-red or white turban which is often worn, is a cool and cleanly one, and gives the men a smart appearance; the black tattooing, which extends from the knee up to the middle of the body, is the other distinctive feature throughout the province of nan. they seldom wear more than the panung and a short blue jacket, except in the early mornings, when, with the thermometer at °, they shiver inside their long plaids; as the day becomes warmer, the plaid is rolled up and stowed in the bag, which is as indispensable as the _dhâp_, and goes over one shoulder, carrying its owner's all--consisting of a small basket of _kao neo_ for the day, some tobacco, and betel-nut, with often a long-stemmed pipe and flint and steel. [illustration: laos bag, or striped cloth.] [illustration: kao neo wicker baskets.] the women tie their long hair up on the top of their heads, and when i first got among them i was reminded of the same fashion at home, as also by other points of resemblance one had not seen among the siamese--a light springy step, a pleasant-sounding voice, a well-cut figure, and a rosy cheek. in some of the districts in the hills the women suffer severely from goitre, and up the nam wa, a wild torrent which joins the nam nan from the east, just below muang sa, three out of every four of the women i saw had it. up that river, too, i noticed a lack of expression in the faces of the men and lads when in repose; but they are rare hands at a joke, and then their faces light up wonderfully. these men all wore short jackets to the waist, of blue cloth, leaving a strip of tattooing between it and the blue panung. i was astonished at the number of children i saw there, too, every man we met in the jungle having some four or five of his sons with him. ten or even fifteen children is a number not uncommon for one woman, while in siam, as a rule, the number three is not exceeded. i imagine the population must be now recovering from the effects of the continual warfare which existed before siam made its rule felt in the north, and which no doubt accounts for the meagre population throughout the entire peninsula. [illustration: axe for hollowing boats.] [illustration: dipper for water.] of the joyful, kindly, and hospitable character of the laos of nan one cannot say too much; i never saw a surly face or heard an angry word. their honesty is proverbial, and they are singularly temperate: drinking _lao_ (which is distilled from rice to a large extent in siam itself), smoking opium, theft, and malice seem to have no attractions for them. i believe every one who has travelled with and among them will say the same, and will ever keep their memory stowed away in a warm corner of the heart. the rachawong was the official i saw most of--an upstanding, refined, and gentlemanly looking man, with a touch of iron grey in his hair, a firm step, a strong mouth, and high clear forehead. he gave me the story of some recent trouble with chow sa (the prince of sa) without any of that repetition, detail, or tinge of animosity one expects from an uneducated or inferior mind when speaking of an enemy. preparations were beginning for the cremation of the late "king" who was just dead, but we left before the ceremony began. the punishment of death, which was inflicted for opium-smoking, elephant-killing, or theft, has been replaced during the last few years by a milder form; but it is noteworthy that in two years only one man has been put in the prison at nan. the music is a great contrast to that of the siamese. at a dinner to which i was invited at m. sa, we had, to an accompaniment of three bamboo flutes with very sweet low tones, a kind of duet sung by two girls, each taking a verse in turn. the rather nasal notes would soar up quite independently of the flutes, and then suddenly return to the keynote, which was a lovely minor, and was sustained; then would come a pause, with the delightful subdued refrain on the flutes again, ere the other began. the subject was a war-song, on which they both extemporized; but even my siamese could not follow the words at all. after a solo from one of the flutists, who, as usual, sang falsetto (which is especially affected by the siamese too in love-songs), he and one of the damsels lighted tapers, and though in no dress but their ordinary open dark blue jackets of panung, they performed another kind of duet, accompanied by waving of hands and arms, and a certain amount of not ungraceful attitudinizing. it seemed to be a kind of sacred affair, with a slow dignified air, and they quite lost themselves in it, though some of my siamese were making running comments in the usual style of the vulgar all over the world. as far as music goes, it was far more expressive and peaceful than anything i had heard in siam, as the others owned. i had with me as assistant-surveyor a very accomplished young siamese, who is an excellent specimen of the best that siam produces; he is a capital musician after the fashion of his country, and used continually to warble languishing love-airs to our great amusement, and also good marching airs. he had a good ear, and soon picked up some of the laos tunes, and so one had good opportunities of comparing them. it was curious, too, how he and several of the others took to english airs they heard from me, even copying the sounds of the english words. the proficiency of the siamese "service" bands in bangkok shows, too, that they can master and appreciate our music. i have heard the laos called "savages," which can only be said in ignorance. they respect superiors, are devoted to their "chows," to whom they are united by feudal ties, are obedient to their parents, extremely hospitable, and perfectly honest. the stranger to them is no enemy, but a creature that needs kindness, and invariably gets it. quarrelling is unknown. they respect their women, and, unlike the siamese, walk behind them and bear the heaviest load. they do the jungle-work, and the women stay at home, weaving their silk panungs or their horizontally striped petticoats at the loom beneath the house; while the dogs, no longer vile pariahs, but cared for well, and of a breed something like a sheepdog, sit by and watch the children play. surely there is something besides savagery here. [footnote : m.= muang.] part ii. muang nan to muang chieng kong. from muang nan my orders were to find the best route i could over the watershed to m. chieng kong in the mekong valley. as usual, the information obtainable was very meagre. one trail goes west from nan till the valley of the nam ing is reached, when that stream is followed down north; a second follows the nam nan northward, and crosses the range north-north-westerly up the stream flowing down from m. yao; the third, which i selected, as showing one more of the nam nan valley, follows that river up as far north as m. ngob (lat. ° '), when the direction becomes north-westerly over the rough country which brings one to m. chieng hon and m. chieng kob. leaving nan on february , we followed a good tract among low but precipitous and picturesque limestone hills, into a curiously disforested country, where the only growth was bamboo, until we dropped suddenly upon the river once more at pak ngao, where we camped on the sandbank. we had by this time picked up, as one does in the east, a considerable following. a commissioner had been sent across from chieng mai to accompany me up to chieng kong. what his actual duties were i never discovered; he was very useful, however, in helping me in various ways, but i would willingly have done without him, for he was evidently one of that class of officials who grind the people very tight when their superiors are out of sight. another, the brother of chow sa, by name chow benn yenn, who was with me all the time from muang sa until i reached bangkok again, was the greatest contrast to the former. he was a small, neatly made fellow of about twenty-one, a splendid forest man, who, though a great swell in these parts, travelled with only three or four lads with him, and could walk the whole expedition off their legs. he knew and could imitate exactly every forest sound, and as he trotted along the trail he gathered all kinds of unlikely looking plants, which in the evening made excellent additions to our curry. he was a born sportsman, and far more at his ease sleeping out at night under his plaid, with his lads stretched round him, than under any form of roof. the lads with him--for they were mere boys--were like him, and treated him with the usual freedom and familiarity peculiar to the laos, but which if an order was given, disappeared before complete obedience; and if the chow wanted a drink of water or half a handful of _kao neo_, they would go miles or give their last crumbs to supply him, and many were the generous and willing kindnesses i had to thank them for. we had also an official with his sons and a few men to carry their loads from nan, who acted as guides and a kind of walking letter of introduction everywhere. they were a remarkably handsome lot, but the old fellow himself used to come in very done up after the day's march. yet, like all the rest, he was never put out by hunger or weariness, and would take his bag off his shoulder, throw down his long dhâp, and squat on his heels and laugh again to think that he should be tired and the youngsters not. from pak ngao, where we saw a few dug-outs shooting past down the rapids, we next day passed over more of this disforested limestone country, the dip of the rocks being westerly and very steep ( ° to °), until we forded the river below m. saipum. we passed through a number of villages, with very pretty whitewashed monasteries, and high palisades round them; the view to the north-east was a novel one, for the usual foreground of yellow fields, with its dykes and ditches, and its many watch-houses reared high on piles, was backed not by forest, but by open expanses, with trees here and there, or low bamboo scrub, and a dwarf range of bare hills behind. there is a red sandstone which seems to underlie the limestone, and wherever that rock outcrops, the soil is excessively thin and poor, and the denuding power of the rains is very marked. that often accounts for low scrub jungle; but where that is not present, as in the limestone country we had just crossed, the absence of forest must, i fancy, be due to fires; and no doubt when a fire is lit for the purpose of clearing ground for the hill rice, it will, with a good breeze, clear square miles instead of acres. i saw a great deal of this burning going on subsequently in the mekong valley, and i never saw results commensurate with the destruction caused. the sala at m. lim, where we slept, is on the east bank, the town being opposite, and the "chow muang" or governor came wading over with the water up to his neck, and his clothes in a bundle on his head. there are numbers of very fine ducks here, but, as usual, we had great difficulty in getting any in exchange for money. they have not great use for money here, as they themselves say, and they prefer their ducks. this happens constantly, especially when buying rice. each village has enough for its consumption for the year, and very often no more; and naturally they prefer to keep the necessaries of life to having comparatively useless silver buried under their house. as the country is opened up, this will no doubt change, but at present it is not worth their while to grow more than they can consume themselves. again, a few irresponsible travellers have been in the habit of provisioning themselves at the expense of the villages without paying, and the consequence is that when a european appears (or, indeed, often a siamese official), there is a general stampede into the jungle, and everything is hidden away, for they expect nothing but robbery at his hands. until, after infinite pains, they are persuaded that they will be dealt honestly by, and treated with the consideration which the wildest from their own hills would never fail to show, you can get nothing but negatives, and small blame to them. it is humiliating in the extreme, after travelling with men for some weeks, to be asked one night over the camp fire why the _nai farang_ (the foreign master) doesn't kick and thrash the men on the march, or flog the chow muang into handing over all the rice in the village, and do other not less objectionable things. yet such is the conduct expected of one, as a matter of course, from the past repute of the _farang_ which travels far, and no doubt also does suffer from exaggeration. still, it shows what our methods too often have been. with these people you get the measure you mete to them; firmness is first of all necessary, but brutality is lowering to all concerned, and never has done anything but harm, and is more far-reaching than the contemptible authors of it understand. another day's march through a good deal of evergreen brings one, after crossing the nam pur, flowing in from the east, to m. chieng kan. an hour further north is m. chieng klan; and the confusion of the two names is endless. the latter is the better stopping-place, though the former is very prettily situated, on the bank of the nam nan, among very fine clumps of bamboo and a great many banana palms and sugar-cane plantations. of the latter every man slings a couple of stalks over his shoulder for the day's journey, and most refreshing they are. the cakes of brown sugar made from them, of which one generally takes a piece or two to give a taste to the _kao neo_, are not considered good for the digestion, and quite rightly, and so only, just enough is taken at a time to give a taste. the sugar from the sugar palm of the plains, however, never has any evil results, and as it has a pleasant flavour, when we got back to it in the khorat plateau, we consumed large quantities. [illustration: a hill monastery, m. le.] the next day m. le was reached over sandy, undulating jungle country. on foot one could easily have reached m. ngob, but the elephants could not do it, being, as i mentioned before, in bad condition. i was not loth to rest the night here, it being one of the most beautiful of the hill-enclosed valleys we had been in. from the sala we looked out over the terraced paddy fields, with the winding silver of the river below, and abruptly beyond it shoulder upon shoulder of heavily timbered ranges rising into the peaks which divided us from the chieng hon plain to' the west and north-west. eastward, and just over us, were low steep hills, on a spur of which was a small hill monastery, whence the bells on the gables sent down a gentle tinkling as they were swayed by the strong south-westerly breeze which was sweeping a watery rustling sound out of the bamboos and coconut palms. the salas being small, the people of the village ran up in half an hour one of their bamboo lean-to shelters for the men, but the laos as usual seemed to prefer lighting a fire and lying out in the open round it m their cloaks, there being always one man sitting up on watch and supplying fuel when necessary. m. ngob is in a narrow hollow, which i should not care to visit in hot weather, for the wind hardly gets into the place. we had nearly a whole day's rest here. a mule caravan of haws came in from the north and rendered the otherwise peaceful air hideous with their loud, hoarse talking. but for them a laos village is singularly quiet; no sounds but the quack, quack of the fat ducks who share the pools in the stream with a few laughing children, the grunts of a family of pigs, the occasional trumpet of an elephant who has been up to some playful game or other of which the master does not approve, and the steady thump, thump of the small foot rice mills, which the women work apparently from morn till night. before sunrise, as the sonorous chant rises from the wat, these mills are at work too, and often the last thing at night one hears them still. mr. mccarthy has described them, but i may just mention that they consist of a piece of tree-trunk hollowed into a funnel-shape, into which the rice is put, and a long lever worked at the outer end by the foot, the woman stepping on and off, fitted with a hammer-head of wood, of which several of different sizes are used. and while the mother works her loom close by, the two daughters will work the mill and chat and chaff the passers-by. minimum readings for the last four days, °, °, °, ° fahr. the maximum in one of these salas is generally about ° for this month at to p.m. the winds were now south-westerly, very strong, with bright fierce sun, but cumuli lying on the higher peaks after p.m., sometimes a slight shower falling from them. one mile north-west from m. ngob, the nam nan,[ ] here known as the nam ngob (and actually the people did not know that it was the same river as the nam nan below), runs over shallow pebble beds, where we forded to the west side. this day's march is a very good example of the kind of travelling to be done. the tracks over the hills are either in the bed of the "hoays," or streams, far down in a perpetual night, where the coldness of the water chills the feet and legs through and through; or, after a steep climb, high up on narrow spurs leading to the central range, where the forest is thick enough to keep off all the wind but not the rays of the sun after a.m. once on these ridges no water is to be had for half a day, and the stick of sugar-cane or water-bottle of cold tea, the best of all beverages, is worth its weight in gold. however, drinking on the march is a ruinous habit. the laos sensibly rinse the mouth when they can, and only drink at the end of the day. [illustration: view from m. le, looking north-west across the nam nan and watershed of meinam khong.] following up hoay sakeng over red sandstone rocks, the track then climbs on to a long ridge, leading, with many rises and falls, to a small gap in the range, about feet above the river. we met on the way four pack oxen coming, with their pretty deep-toned bell, down the path, and on reaching the summit had a most glorious view of the thick forests of the chieng hon valley, with the small clearings here and there and surrounded on all sides, as far as one could see in the dim haze which accompanies the south-west wind, by hill ranges. twenty minutes down a steep drop at a run brought us into a different climate and the most perfect valley i was ever in. far above, the sun glistened here and there on the wide-spreading fronds of huge tree-ferns; for the rest; we were almost in darkness, with orchids and great twisted creepers climbing on the tree-trunks dim above us. the stream is known as hoay tok, and down its bed we stumbled, cutting ourselves about on the rough outcrops, the strike of which, with a steep westerly dip, was at right angles to our course, and made most unpleasant travelling. two hours more across a partially cultivated plain, and we passed another haw caravan encamped, and reached the sala. the elephants did not arrive until p.m., it having taken them twelve hours to reach m. chieng hon. at m. pechai i had bought some ponies. there are not many there, and the choice was limited, while the price, forty to sixty ticals, was heavy. these animals, as long as we were in flat country, were useful, but they were not good mountaineers, and i found travelling on foot much pleasanter, while, as a general rule, the more exercise men get in these jungles, the healthier they are. on this day each one of my siamese assistants had a fall, for they, as a rule, stuck to their ponies' backs, whatever the trail was like; this often means getting one's face and hands tremendously knocked about, frequent dismountings, slow progress, and endless bother, while it also stands in the way of surveying or careful observation of the lie of the ground. there was a very heavy, damp mist when we pushed on next day through the dong choi, a magnificent forest, which almost covers this plateau with the scenery of hoay tok continued, only on a larger and more imposing scale. the size of the ferns, and especially of the hart's-tongues, which clung in masses, with clumps of orchids, far up on the bare trunks of the trees which form the roofing of branch and leaf above, was quite astonishing to me. camp was made by a small sala in a wild clearing at sala pangue, from which the sun was early excluded by the hills and forest on the west, which we were to cross on the morrow. the tired elephants had a well-earned afternoon's rest. to give them time to get in before sunset, next day we got under way at . a.m., every six or eight men having a torch about eight feet long of split bamboo. these early marches are a sort of scrambling dream, and should not be resorted to except under compulsion, as, although the cool morning air is pleasant for the first hour, every one soon gets very done up, and stumbles on hazily. sunrise puts new life into one, but the want of the early morning sleep makes one feel the heat of the day far more. moreover, of course, nothing of the country is seen. we rose for an hour and a half up over hills, and one or two of the ponies had some tremendous falls, and were soon left struggling behind. at sunrise we were descending once more among the wildest and most rugged scenes into the valley of nam pote, and were now fairly in the mekong drainage. this was another of the wonderful valleys which are so common here; and the temperature was just over ° fahr. below that of the hill ridges when we left them at a.m. about . , after crossing and recrossing the stream about thirty times, and being regularly chilled, i stopped at a small sala, and was glad to bask in the sun. an hour and a half later the others came up, and we breakfasted. chow benn yenn's sharp eyes had seen some deer and two tigers, but they were off in a moment. where the former is the latter follows, but neither will stay when he detects the sound of man coming through the forest. the tiger takes the greatest trouble to avoid a man, unless very famished. often then he is rendered bold enough to attack a solitary man, when squatting down to eat his _kao neo_, and it is thus that accidents occur; but he will seldom face two men, and that is why one always meets the laos in couples, if not in greater numbers. at . we continued down the valley; rock apparently red sandstone, but so decomposed at its outcrop as to give no clue of reliable character. passed numbers of wild banana trees, which do not bear fruit. they are very aggravating to tired men, who hear the cry of a jungle fowl, and coming round a corner see the broad leaves of the bananas; naturally we jump forward, thinking to get a rest and a bunch of bananas, and, perhaps, a fowl or some eggs for the evening's supper, but find nothing and no sign of man or fowl. the course is roughly north-west until the hills fall back, and the valley opens on a flat piece of paddy land, bounded north and south by lofty limestone rocks, with, to the west, a barrier caused by a steep north and south ridge, over which lies m. kob, but round which a long _detour_ has to be made to the north-west, down the nam pote valley, to where the nam kob meets it. passing ban tam, ban prow, and ban faek, prosperous-looking villages, we reached the junction at one o'clock. after a brief rest in the shade, in another hour and a half, after fording nam kob pretty frequently (making about the ninetieth time we had been in the water that day), we reached the sala of m. kob. the others began to arrive about four o'clock, and the elephants at . , looking very sorry; and we had to give them a complete rest next day. [illustration: map--route from muang ngob on the nam nan to muang chieng kong on the mekong river from a compass survey by h. warington smyth, f.g.s. .] from the character of the scenery here, and at the top of the nam pote, where we struck it, i imagine the hills we came down among were limestones overlying the sandstone again; all round the muang are the wildest and most fantastic peaks, and, with the steep heights hanging immediately over it, it was more like a norwegian valley than anything i have seen. the wats here are very simple, the houses neat, but small; bricks are baked in the valley, and the rice-mills thump cheerily and echo off the hills all day. there were some pack oxen, which came over from the westward; but the laos who drove them, whether from distrust of us or not, i do not know, would not converse with any of us. the bells of these caravans as they go trotting down the valleys are beautiful. first goes a large, deep-toned bell, swinging between the packs of the leader; the next is a third above it; and the rear is brought up by a treble bell. the little oxen trot in their order without other guidance than that of the bells and an occasional shout, one man leading, another to every five animals, and one to bring up the rear. the baskets are hung on each side of the hump, with often an ornamental erection between them; there are fore and aft stays of leather, and these prevent the packs coming off when the animals are climbing. we had met some before--and met and used others afterwards; however pretty they look as they trot along, their bells tinkling far over land and forest, they are not pleasant to travel with, especially in the rains, when streams are all in flood, for it is impossible to keep anything they carry at all dry. while we were resting here a fire occurred, and two houses were burnt to the ground in about seven minutes. my siamese, i must say, worked very well and pluckily, the laos seeming quite dazed by the catastrophe. we cut down a row of banana palms, split up the trunks, and threw them on the flames, by the water and moisture in them beating down the fire, so that two neighbouring houses were saved, with the outhouses, in which, in huge bins, the rice was stored. for this last the poor fellows who only arrived home at night to find their houses burned, were most grateful; they came to thank us, and i was very much struck with the conduct of my people, who, beginning with my boat-boy, a mon, or peguan (who at the fire and on every other occasion had shown himself a very smart, handy, and good-hearted fellow), selected what clothes they could spare, and sent the two laos men away loaded with raiment, and with tears of thankfulness in their eyes. it gives an additional pleasure to work with men who can act like that. thermometer readings on the march from sala pangue were-- a.m., ° fahr.; . a.m., on the hills, °; . a.m., in nam pote valley, °; a.m., ditto, °; noon, in the shade. ban faek, ° fahr. my aneroids had both been injured by my careless people, and i could get no reliable heights. from m. kob the trail follows up the nam tan in a general south-south-west direction, and crosses a low watershed into the bed of the hoay chang kong, another rocky stream disastrous to foot gear. it then crosses low ridges and jungle, passing several small villages to ban ton kluay, ½ hours' walk, though most of the people took , and the elephants over . thermometer minimum-- ° at sunrise in heavy damp mist; strong south-westerly breeze at noon; thick haze all day. six hours from here, over flat country, past m. chieng len, and in a general north-north-west direction from that place is m. ngau, which gives its name to the nam ngau flowing north-north-east to the mekong, and meeting it half a day's boat journey below chieng kong. we met a number of traders from the north carrying their loads; they were smoking long-stemmed pipes, and looked very burmese in face. they wore blue sailor-looking trousers, with red trimmings round the ankle, where they were very loose, and small blue jackets with bead trimmings, while some had marvellously wide straw hats; with their uniformity of dress and its high colouring they made a very pretty picture crossing the yellow paddy fields. the chet muang at chieng len was in trouble with the nan authorities because he is, unfortunately, under the disaffected chow sa, and far away from there as he is, and utterly ignorant, as he protested, of his proceedings, it seemed likely that he would be involved in the disgrace of his chief. from m. ngau the trail crosses the upper end of the long range which forms the watershed of the nam ing and nam ngau, along the western side of which for three days we travelled, sleeping at muang ing and ban pakeng. from the latter place, leaving at a quarter to two in the morning. ban lung was reached at a quarter to seven. here we forded nam ing, and crossed a burning plain almost entirely devoid of vegetation for four hours more, and then in a huge and very comfortable sala disposed of the contents of our haversacks with the pleasant feeling of having reached our goal. chow benn yenn meanwhile had left us for a day or two's visiting at some other villages east of nam ing which owed allegiance to chow sa. consequently, when i got in, there were only the laos guide, my mon boatman, and two lusty young siamese servants who had kept up; and, absurd as it may seem to western ideas, the chieng kong people took some hours to believe that i was come on genuine government business; for a man is measured in these parts according to the number of his following, and until the men and elephants turned up i was often looked at askance. this was sometimes very amusing and sometimes not, especially when trying to procure coconuts or bananas! the sense of hospitality was, however, generally quick to prevail. the three days from muang ngau were through forest, the villages lying mostly on our west in the flat land nearer the river. we passed several forest fires, which where they approached the trail made very hot travelling. the barrenness of the country between the nam ing at ban lung and chieng kong seems to have been originally caused by fires. the only cultivation was by a muddy stream at ban satan, a name which struck me as particularly appropriate in such a wilderness. there is an absence of water, i was afterwards told, which prevents cultivation of any value, and owing to this the burmese gem-diggers have given up trying to follow indications of stones on this side. the first view of the mekong fairly took one's breath away, the water here spreading out into a wide placid river of half a mile in width, winding slowly away among a few sandbanks until lost in the hills to the south-east. across, on the north, lies a long low series of hills, from which the gem-bearing hoays seem all to take their rise. thermometer minimum last four days-- °, °, °, °; maximum in sala, °, very thick haze all day, with strong breezes from south towards noon. [footnote : the river evidently takes its rise from doi luang (a large hill mass south of m. hongsawadi), ° ' n., ° ' e.] part iii. muang chieng kong to muang luang prabang. muang chieng kong became our head-quarters for ten days, and from there i made a boat expedition to the chieng sen boundary, north-west; and also one north and east inland, the object being the examination of the gem deposit, its extent, character, and, if possible, its value. from the chieng sen boundary at hoay nam kung, extending for some miles towards chieng kong, is a rapid piece of river tearing through a series of gneissose and schistose rocks, which form high hills on either bank. the gem-bearing gravel is not found until several basalt sheets are encountered below nam ngau, a largish tributary flowing in from the north. the hills on the left bank then become lower and more distant, and these, consisting of a dark crystalline rock, the exact mineralogical character of which has not yet been determined, seem to be the source of all the stone-bearing gravels which are found deposited in the streams flowing from them. the average thickness of the gravel is to inches, and consists of quartz and fragments of the crystalline rock above mentioned. the overburden is a reddish clay soil of an average depth of feet, through which the burmese, who are found wherever there are gems, sink large pits some feet square. a sharpened bamboo will be often first driven down to ascertain if the gravel underlies the spot, it having been found very capricious. explorations were made in the neighbourhood for many years before--about two years ago--the first paying gravel was found; the burmese relying all the time on the presence of what is known as _nin_, small black stones which have turned out to be black spinel, and are always to be found in close proximity to the sapphire. when washing gravel in a stream these little water-worn crystals are found; it will only need industry and time to find the gem gravel, which will be somewhere near, although in part perhaps denuded away. the _nin_ have been followed for years, and now there are over two hundred men reaping the reward of their indefatigable patience. i found _nin_ and struck gravel in all the streams flowing in on the left bank between nam ngau and hoay pakham, which is the main scene of the operations at present, and lies about mile below chieng kong. on the right bank there are apparently no signs whatever, except at hoay duk, a stream exactly opposite hoay pakham; but only a few _nin_ are to be seen here, and there is no water for washing purposes. east and north of hoay pakham, again, are half a dozen more streams flowing, from that side of the range i have spoken of as the source of the gravel, into the nam hau, which eventually reaches the mekong. some of these have been found to be rich, and on one the burmese built their bamboo villages and made their clearings; but after a fortnight's work the places were abandoned as being terribly unhealthy, sunk deep in the jungle valleys, and very difficult to get stores to. [illustration: a gem-digger's clearing, chieng kong.] when the present large workings are exhausted, both those and the streams towards nam ngau will get their fair share of attention, no doubt. the distance between the extreme points where the gravel exists and the limit of our present knowledge is over miles, but within that area it is not by any means continuous, and any attempt at estimating the probable output and the extent of reserves could only result in the most erroneous conclusions. owing to the secrecy observed by the burmese in the matter among themselves, and the fact that they usually travel long distances to find a market for their better stones, the output up to the present of saleable stones is merely a matter of conjecture, and is variously estimated by the headmen as from to catties, say, over , carats perhaps. one man showed me what he declared was the result of his year's work--three good stones of rich colour and good water, for which he expected to get , , and rs. respectively, and some forty small ones (some of them of very poor colour), which after an hour's bargaining one could certainly have got for rs. he had, besides, of course, numberless fragments and scraps which were valueless. the chances are, from what i saw, that this is a fair example of what the average digger obtains; but it must be remembered that no information voluntarily given by the burmese on this head is ever reliable. they invariably keep something in reserve, for they never feel quite certain what the englishman may be up to with his questioning; and even among themselves the dodges resorted to to hide the exact truth are very amusing. in buying stones one always has the worst produced first, and after an exhaustive pick out of them all, presently, slowly, out of infinite wraps of paper and cotton, come some better ones, and after an hour or so the best are produced, and probably this is the real extent of the man's stock; but if through impatience one closes the bargains too early, the best are never produced, but will be kept for the future, and will eventually be taken over to rangoon, or even calcutta. in a few years' time there will, no doubt, be more men at work, and larger areas of pits in work. at the present moment the ground in hoay pakham has only been dug out for a distance of half a mile from the flood level of the mekong, with a breadth averaging yards. work is only carried on in the morning, when the pit will be bailed out dry; at noon the digging and washing ceases, and the men return home, and sit all the afternoon in their houses chaffing, talking, and picking over and enjoying the sight of their stones, in which they find great delight. the washing consists simply of cleaning the basket of muddy gravel with water, and picking over the remains twice by hand. the operation is very quick, and the eye never misses the faintest sign of colour. with regard to the rubies i had expected to find, from my own observation, and subsequently from conversation with the diggers, i soon saw that not only have none been ever found, but none of the signs of the ruby as known at chantabun or in burma have been seen. a siamese official who had been sent here a year ago by the government to test and report on the place, seeing some small garnets, thought they must be rubies, and thinking to advance himself at head-quarters, bought a very fine burmese ruby for rs., and sent it down with his report as having been found in chieng kong! from this, of course, very large hopes of the character of the find had been entertained: i fear now he is somewhat in disgrace. fever, due to the thick forest standing high overhead all around, and the peculiar sickliness always caused by the upturning of new soil, especially in the damp beds of the streams, is very prevalent. the burmese houses are very different from the siamese and laos--mere bamboo shanties only lifted some feet off the ground, but with all sorts of handy little shelves, window-shutters, doors and lockers, which are generally absent from the others; and in these, as being easily and quickly constructed, the men always live at their diggings. i do not know the character of the burmese in this respect at home, but in this country they are always overflowing with friendliness and hospitality to any englishman; and the headmen at chieng kong, especially one by name monghu, who became a general favourite with my people, and who accompanied us and worked with us everywhere, i can never forget. the chow muang here was lately dead, and just before we left the cremation ceremonies began in the big square before the principal wat. at night the place all round the funeral pyre was lighted with candles; three or four of the head monks were reading in a kind of chant from their pali manuscripts from the tops of temporary bamboo pulpits, and among the booths standing round; the people squatted in their cloaks, listening to music or hearing descriptive songs and stories, which now and then produced roars of laughter. in the day sports were going on, and there was some very good boxing between the champions of neighbouring villages, who at the end each got three rupees, victor and vanquished alike. the men strip, and their names and the places they hail from are given out. they then salute the master of the ceremonies in the ordinary laos fashion, touching the ground with their forehead on bended knees, raising the clasped hands to the head, and proceed to business. for some moments they warily watch one another, stepping and dancing round with a good deal of attitudinizing of an alarming description, by the extravagance of which we can generally tell the best man. the blows are rather round-armed, it is true, and kicking is allowed; but it is wonderfully quiet and masterful, and when they warm to it, very hard rounds are fought. the umpires squat round ready to separate the men, call time, and generally see fair play, and at the end of each round the two men squat down, and are offered water out of silver bowls, the bearer respectfully on his knee handing them the ladle. the keenness of the onlookers is tremendous, especially when the men are well matched; but what produced most enthusiasm was a fight between boys of about ten years old. the little fellows showed, i must say, a great deal of pluck and more science than most of us did at that age at school; they kept their tempers well, and at the end of each round their seconds, stalwart fathers and uncles, were beside themselves with delight, stroking their heads and dancing round them with tears of laughter running from their eyes. there were some sword and sword-and-spear dances by two men in slow time to music, with silver-handled weapons, and accompanied by the gestures in which all these nations take such pleasure. during the time i was in chieng kong district the weather was getting warmer. up the river we had the minimum ° three days running, just after sunrise, at which time heavy mists shrouded the river valley, and subsequently °, °, ° were the minimum at the same time. the maximum in the shade at the sala or under the coverings in the boats was ° at p.m.--the average °. but in the jungle, where the south-west winds could not reach, the heat was very great, and the sun was very fierce, especially on the great banks of sand, which are so characteristic of the river. the height i make feet from the sea. these sands, over which we used to trudge for miles from stream to stream, got so hot after a.m. until about sunset, that the men could not bear walking on them, and took to the water; the glare is tremendous to the eyes. after sunset the rocks retained their heat so that some long-haired shan dogs we had with us would not lie or walk upon them. there is a great deal of mica, iron pyrites, and magnetic iron ore in these sands; and washing among the bushes, which in many places fringe the higher parts, or some feet down, where a larger gravel lies, one seldom fails to find a small speck or two of gold. the water itself, at this season, rushes through a deep gorge between the rocks and sandbanks, which form its flood-bed, a narrow but very deep column of water, working out for itself, where a bluff rock sends a huge eddy whirling inwards, broad bays often yards across. while the distance between the high-water level on the opposite sides of the valley will be nearly half a mile, the stream itself will often work through its deep channel only yards, and even less in width. the scale of things here is not so large as that below, where the volume of water has increased; but the character of the river is much the same. [illustration: camp at the fa pa rapids.] the camps we formed on the sand spits, lulled at night by the thunder and roaring echoes from the rapids, were wild and beautiful in the extreme. the jungle, too, was full of night sounds--the bark of the deer or the "peep, peep" of the tiger, of which we often heard three or four at a time; and in the morning their tracks were everywhere upon the sands. it is curious and worth remarking that when one got or miles inland on the left bank no traces of tiger were to be found; while, on the other hand, the elephant tracks became very numerous, and were really useful in threading the jungle; the destruction they work among the trees is wonderful. they seem, however, to avoid the tiger zone near the river, as the tigers in turn prefer the waterside, the latter probably finding greater facility for hunting deer there. there is no doubt that any one who has the inclination, and no work and plenty of time, might have excellent sport by watching for tigers at the drinking-places, which are generally well marked, and are in retired bays, among rocks and bushes. bananas and coconuts are very scarce at chieng kong; and on the third day after our arrival i had to send the elephants on their way home, owing to want of wholesome young green food. this all points, with the barrenness we noticed coming across the nam sug valley, to a bad soil. they complain that in the hot months, may and april, it is terribly hot and dry, and that "nothing grows;" meaning thereby, no doubt, things do not grow well. [illustration: one of our elephants, with howdah on.] the departure of our elephants was a day of mourning to all of us. the mahouts, very rough siamese, burnt as black as hindus, with long locks of hair hanging round their necks, had been very good fellows, and, however long their days, had never complained. all those who have travelled with elephants feel the fascination of the beasts, with their quiet, patient, and sagacious way of treating life; the merry twinkle which sparkles from the small, sharp eyes, and the endless little pranks they are ever ready for; and after some weeks of travelling many a tired and weary day together, this becomes quite an affection; and be sure, if you are fond of an elephant he knows it, and reciprocates it very soon. so we were all very sorry to see them swing off for the south again. the voyage from chieng kong down to luang prabang (or muang luang, the "great town," as it is usually called) occupies five days if there are no interruptions; the return journey takes from ten to fifteen days against the current, there being a number of bad rapids. the scenery is magnificent, and far surpasses anything i saw on the mekong below. the river has cut its way almost at right angles to the strike of the rock, a series of schists which appear to have been considerably distorted, until the neighbourhood of the nam oo is reached, when the limestones which form the splendid scenery of that river come in. the latter rocks are also seen on the right bank of the big river, where it takes its southerly course south of ban soap ta (one day from chieng kong), and there seems to be on the top of a synclinal. they are always characterized in this country by the peculiar dense forests, like the dong phya yen in lower siam, the dong choi round chieng hon, and another one we touched in the valley of the nam ngau, east of the nam ing, known as pa kung ngau, where the sun never enters owing to the dense foliage, and the elephant tracks form the only paths. we took twelve days going down, making on the way some short expeditions into the country. the inactivity in the boats soon made itself felt, and after five days there were ten men sick out of the twenty siamese, six with fever and the others with sores, to which they are very liable, any scratch or wound of the slightest description, especially about the feet or legs, always giving rise to them; in fact, i kept one knife on purpose for lancing these things. wherever we go sick people are brought, and the chief ailments among the laos were fever, affections of the eyes, and dysentery. the latter is generally taken in hand too late, and ends fatally. the first day from chieng kong we brought up on the south bank, at the mouth of the nam ngau i have already mentioned; and i was two nights away with only two or three men visiting some gold washings in the bed of the river. the percentage is extremely small, and is the same in character though not so rich as in the mekong sands. the usual small fee of two rupees a year is paid by each man. they work waist deep in the cold rushing stream, and cannot go on for more than ten minutes at a time. a basket is sunk under water with one foot upon it, and the gravel from the bank prized out into it with the usual iron-shod bamboo; it is then lifted out, carried ashore, and washed. this operation, here and throughout the mekong district, is done by a man standing in the water, with a wooden tray in front of him, shaped like a chinaman's peaked hat, the diameter inches, and depth at the centre inches. as it floats on the water, moored by a string to a stone, the basket of gravel is emptied into it, and the larger stones picked out. a rotary motion is given to the pan by the continual shifting of the hands from right to left; at the same time the water is expelled, or dipped up, and sent running round the edge by a depression of the rim being sent round "against the sun," until all the light material is gone. what remains is usually a little magnetic iron ore, with a speck or two of very fine "float" gold for every four baskets of inches diameter and ½ inches depth. it is then washed carefully into a small oblong box, in which it is carried home and handed over to the women who, i am told (for i never saw it done), use mercury obtained from chinese merchants for the subsequent freeing of the gold. on the way to nongkhai we met several gangs of men, generally seven or eight in number, living in their boats and engaged in washing in this way in the sands of the river, in which, according to all i could gather, the gold seems to be redeposited in small quantities by every year's flood season. [illustration of chinese peaked hat] what the gold prospects of the country are, there have been no sufficient trials to show, but with the advent of the french on the banks of the river we may soon know something more on this head. the laos consider they do very well if they get hun per man in a day ( hun = fuang or / tical); but their work is very intermittent, and the search for gold seems to have the proverbial effect upon them, for in several cases i found their assertions were not over-truthful. up such rivers as the nam beng, nam ngau, nam oo, and nam suung, the gold seems to be in old water deposits which extend beyond the present stream beds, and will probably be found to cover considerable areas in the valley bottoms. both calcite and quartz exist in great abundance in the mountain ranges we came in contact with, and to the denudation of these two minerals a great deal of the alluvial gold presumably owes its origin, as well as perhaps from the crystalline limestones. i was, however, unable ever to lay hands on an undoubted gold-bearing vein of either character, nor could i get any information of occurrence of the metal, except in alluvial sands and gravels. some large nuggets have been found up the nam beng and nam oo, and up the former river a chinaman from luang prabang had tried systematic working of a kind. after six months' work he lost ticals; and when a chinaman loses money, especially in a country where money will go so far, the chances are that no one else will make their fortunes. i subsequently found at pak beng that the kache he had employed had swallowed all the decent-sized gold obtained! this is another instance of the difficulties the miner has to meet with in siam; and with fevers, superstition, robbery, and physical difficulties, the list is a rather alarming one. this valley of the nam ngau is inhabited by people known as lus. they wear their heads shaved, except for the top tuft, like all the nan men, with enormously loose and wide blue trousers, often trimmed round the ankle with red; short blue jackets with beads and touches of red; and red, green, or white turbans. they are magnificently made men, with very pleasant countenances, tattooed as usual from knee to waist, but, when clothed, more like the stage-pirate; in fact, a gang of them, with the long dhâps and an old flintlock or two among them, standing chatting, laughing, and smoking their long-stemmed pipes, would make an ideal buccaneer's crew. at ban muang, where we slept each night, the people were the most friendly i had met; some fifty of them came out to greet us on our arrival, and we had an orchestra of four flutes in the evening to play us to sleep. the children and women were extremely pretty. some distance south of this place the forest already mentioned as pe kung ngau begins. men travelling in it, and even the people living on its skirts, are subject to a very violent fever, which causes complete prostration in a few hours, and is generally fatal. the face and breast become quite yellow, presumably owing to the stoppage of the bile-duct. a big dyke has lately been cut from the nam ngau to take the water to the eastern side of the valley for purposes of irrigation. its depth and width are about feet, and it must be some miles long. all the men from the villages turned out to work, and it proved a heavy undertaking. this valley seems to be all under muang sa, and chow benn yenn found himself among his friends. [illustration: the leading mule.] we met another gang of haws, who made night hideous by discovering the mules had strayed, and every man and boy among them shrieking, howling, beating gongs, and firing guns by way of attracting them back to the camp. it was a pleasant night, with one of my men raving and shouting with fever till dawn. [illustration: a head man--stern view.] [illustration: a head man--side view.] at ban soap ta, or pak ta, we were in the province of luang prabang. the village is most beautifully situated on the left bank of the river, just below where the wild torrent of the nam ta falls into it. there is a regular street all down the village, with deep ditches on each side, between the road and the scattered houses. we met numerous kache from inland--a perfectly wild people, wearing only the smallest strip of cloth, with a long metal hairpin stuck through the hair rolled up behind, and often a flower in the lobe of the ear. they are short and fleshy, and, though not prepossessing, we subsequently found some of them to be good hard workers, and quiet, simple creatures. the inhabitants of the village were not so smart as our southern laos or the lus we had just left; some of them wore slight whiskers, and one or two had thin beards, and there are a good many stout men among them. [illustration: a haw--packs dismounted.] [illustration: laos boat.] we here changed boats, our other craft returning with their crews to chieng kong. these boats are mere dug-out canoes, some feet long as a rule, with feet beam. they are fitted all along amidships with a light framework of split bamboos, standing up from the gunwale in a barrel shape. on and tied to these are rectangular-shaped pieces of bamboo plaiting, of a primitive character, stuffed with dead leaves, about feet by feet, of which two form the sides, and a third the roof, overlapping them. two lots together give a good long cabin, and sitting on the light bamboo decking fitted at the level of the gunwale, one has to feet of head room. one's gear goes in underneath, and the men's cooking and camping gear will be stored aft. two-thirds of the way aft an open space is left, and the decking is discontinued, and here, going through a rapid, bailing is resorted to. for going down river the most distressingly primitive oars are used, two or three men pulling at them, working in a grommet. the steersman stands aloft astern, with a rudder or feet in length, which he places in a loop on one quarter or the other. to help the speedier turning of the boat in rapids, a long oar is fitted to work athwart-ship out over the stern, and the power of these two is very great, but not too much for the places they are sometimes in. but the most important and ingenious part is the fitting of bundles of long bamboos round the gunwale outside. three of these bundles will go to the length of the boat, and they not only give the boat ½ or feet more beam, and therefore great steadiness, but they act as breakwaters outside her in the rapids, and as air-tight compartments when she is swamped. they are turned up at the ends with the boat's run; but they hide her very effectually, so that she looks more like a bamboo raft than a boat. [illustration: illustration of oar and steering-gear.] in going up stream, these bamboo bundles are cut adrift, and long bamboos are used for poling from the fore-deck; the boats winding in and out among the rocks upon the edges, using the swift back currents with such effect that, except on the very rapid parts of the river, the upward journey averages a rate of miles an hour. at the rapids, the boats must be often unloaded and hauled over, this occupying a whole day. in the flood season, from june to october, the whole river valley is a sea of swift turbid water, often feet above the level of the dry season, as is attested by the hulls of wrecked boats, gigantic tree stems, and water marks, which one sees to that height upon the crags among the sandbanks. then the boats work their way up among the trees and bushes on the jungle edge. below luang prabang, a double boat is used for going down river, and one gets a wide deck upon it of feet beam; in these, besides the crew of five men, seven men could live comfortably, while in the single boats, with the crew of four men, four more make rather close quarters. [illustration: double boat.] a great deal of rice goes clown the mekong and nam oo for the supply of luang prabang from the hills, that town not being able to supply itself. this rice goes down in tremendously big bamboo rafts, which look like floating villages; they are often some feet long and feet beam. they are allowed to go almost entirely with the current, there being eight or ten long oars rigged out ahead and astern, worked by as many men, for canting the craft in either direction to avoid rocks or eddies. there is a drawing in mr. colquhoun's book (which, i believe, is taken from garnier's work) which gives a good idea of a small one shooting a rapid. they are very unwieldy, bad to steer, and not too easy to take down these places. [illustration: village above paku, mekong.] small dug-outs of a pretty shape are used in great numbers for fishing purposes; the boat drifts down broadside to the stream, one man being at either end with a paddle gently working in one hand, the foot often helping, and the other holding a line to the net. in these the famous _pla bûk_ are caught. the weight of an average one is over lbs. the laos say they are not common below nong khai, and that they believe them to breed in the retired spots between there and luang prabang. m. pavie considers they come all the way from the sea, but i do not at present know his data; they are certainly known at bassac. the _pla reum_ is another large fish, often over lbs. in weight, which is also known on the meinam. both are caught extensively, and are sold cut up in steaks in the markets. [illustration: forty-five feet boat, nam oo.] [illustration: part of the mekong.] leaving pak ta, the river turns south among a series of schists, until, after passing the very fine lofty peak of pa mon, it resumes its easterly direction among a lot of wild rapids. we reached for the night a temporary village on the north bank, where a number of laos, engaged in buying rice from the khache, were encamped. a very wild night of thunderstorms and squalls of wind. the next day was the grandest we had on the mekong, for the hills close in and form a magnificent gorge, the effect of which was heightened by the wild rain mists which were whirling among the mountains, as the sun rose ahead of us with almost indescribable greens, yellows, and reds. this wonderful scene, and the presence here and there of the little wooden houses, perched high up in their clearings by the khache where the big trees lay in all directions, or of small villages clustering in apparently inaccessible places, again carried one back to the wilds of norway. we shot the big rapids of keng la, and reached ban pak beng that evening. in another day, passing three difficult rapids, ban tanun is reached; from which in three days, sleeping at bans kokare and lataen, muang luang was in sight ahead at sunset, with the fantastic limestones of the nam oo over the stern, and wrapped in thick mists. our slow speed was due to the constant change of boats and crews. [illustration: khache hill clearings; rapids above pak beng, mekong.] from ban tanun i made a three-days' tramp south-west over to the plain of muang hongsawadi, to visit the volcanoes marked on mr. mccarthy's map. the track is very rough, up the bed of the hoay tap for some hours, and then over the watershed, from the summit of which, owing to fires having cleared away the jungle, a magnificent view was to be had to the south-west over the valley. the contrast between the rugged uncompromising character of the mekong valley behind, and the peaceful expanse of cultivation nestling below us was delightful. the villages are all of substantially built houses; the people are a smart, tidy, and pleasant race of laos, and they are very rich in cattle and elephants; rice is cheap, and oranges, pomaloes, and other fruit were plentiful. the governor, who was subject to luang prabang, is said to be a hundred and twenty years of age, and as his house is some miles from the sala, he sent a message asking me to excuse his calling. [illustration: dhÂp and sheath.] [illustration: jungle knives.] west-north-west about miles is the pak fai mai, as the laos call the two volcanic vents which, elevated at not more than feet above the plain, are situated in a thin bamboo jungle. each of the vents is about yards long, sloping slightly in a direction ° east of south, and to yards wide; the southerly one is the least inactive of the two. slight smoke rises in several places, but for the most part one can walk about on the bottom anywhere, except at the south-eastern end, where there is a series of largish cracks, whence smoke and free sulphurous acid rise in small quantities; here the ground is very hot, and feet in the cracks are red hot, and one can light a bamboo at them. there were traces of the action of sulphuretted hydrogen or of carbonic acid, and the crust of sulphur at the openings may be due to the decomposition of the former gas. i could neither hear nor see of there having been any great activity at any time in the past, but the existence of a present dormant volcanic action is evident. why this vent has occurred in the position it has is not obvious; there is no apparent line of dislocation, nor has it chosen the valley proper.[ ] in the rains there is, i was told, a good deal of steam rising, as is natural, and more spluttering and activity than we saw. at the northern end there were traces of elephants on the slag (which is everywhere highly coloured from iron chloride); they are proverbially afraid of fire, so it may be inferred that the activity is not great. southward the vent, which from the slag surface to the top of its sides is not more than feet, is advancing, and the blackened stumps of newly fallen trees and bamboo clumps lie about, with marks of recent falls in the bank. [illustration: mouth of nam suung, above luang prabang.] the weather was now getting hot, march being the worst month in this district. thermometer minimum (for three days south of ban tanun) °, maximum in the sala °. distant thunder in the evenings muttering continually. this weather continued, with thick haze air, till we reached luang prabang. we had fresh south-westerly winds blowing very hot, and at night rain squalls. our first impression of the town was not good; after a long day's pulling, helping the men, who were very tired with the heat, we got in at dusk. the temperature ashore, in the streets, or on the sand slope, was oppressive; but when, after some supper, we went up to call on phra prasada, the commissioner appointed from bangkok, and there enjoyed some real coffee and the luxury of a punkah, in the fine new government offices he had just finished building, and heard the bugles ringing out all round, and the weird march music of the kans, which are more played in this province than almost any other, we forgot the heat in the pleasures of the change of life. [illustration: approach to luang prabang from north.] throughout my stay in this locality, the help we received from the commissioner, who is full of energy, was enormous. he has undoubtedly done a great deal, practically, for the welfare of the people here, and was most popular; and he has also made extensive collections of the produce of the province, which will soon be in bangkok. he is a man of observation and ideas, absolutely straight, and without any humbug in his disposition. i was surprised to find that he could read english well, and talk it moderately, and still more to find this has all been acquired since he came to the north as commissioner seven years ago. this of itself shows an unusual man, and i record it because it is not often realized that there are such men among the siamese. his time was up, and phya pechai was appointed to the post just before i left, and he came south before the trouble with france reached its climax lately. [footnote : this valley drains into the nam ngum, and so into the mekong. the big mass of doi luang to the south is the division between the meinam and mekong drainages here.] part iv. luang prabang (march, ). making expeditions in various directions, luang prabang was our head-quarters for about three weeks. of all the country round, the town itself seems to be the hottest place, and to be away in the jungle was infinitely preferable to staying in the bungalow, where at sunset the thermometer was generally still at °. unlike nan, chieng mai, or korat, there is no wall around the town, which is the usual collection of substantial teak houses, and large roomy monasteries, of which one-half are in ruins. the latter, however, show signs of some fine gilding and decorative work, and a good deal of architectural effort has been expended upon them. they have been allowed, after the strange custom of the buddhists, to fall to rack and ruin without an attempt being made to save them; because, one would think, by some strange mistake, the repairing of a monastery makes no merit, though building a brand-new one, however third-rate in style or bad in finish, is one of the highest of merit-making acts. the chief points one notices in which these wats differ from those in nan are, the generally low effect, the roofs rising less strikingly than that, for instance, at muang sa; the raising at the centre of the roof of what at a distance looks not unlike the lantern of a college hall, which is merely an exterior addition, and does not admit light or air; the small-scale[ ] buildings, of which there are often several in the enclosure, which are best described as being like tiny chapels with vaulted roof, in which, of course, innumerable "phras" stand at the inner end, and which are usually about feet in length, and beautifully proportioned; the small pedestals, which are disposed about on all sides, in a niche in which the small phra is always to be seen; and, finally, the substantial character of the stone enclosure which surrounds the monastery buildings, with often an effective porch at the entrance. in the curves of roof and eaves they show a real artistic sense. the materials used are brick, covered with stucco, timber, and wood tiles; and, where an arch is attempted, it is always supported by a horizontal beam in the chinese fashion, with the space above usually filled in, or else a perpendicular goes up from it. it is curious that there are no signs of any knowledge of true arches in these states. [illustration: wat chieng tong.] the main feature of the muang is the central hill known as kao chom pu si, a bluff of limestone standing up out of the red sandstone plain on which the town is built; its longer axis is parallel with the river, from which it is less than a quarter of a mile distant. on the summit is a small wat, with a lofty pagoda pinnacle visible for miles round; a huge drum hung here is struck every hour by a monk, and its boom rolls down all over the valley. what with it and the bugles and other wats' gongs, one is never at a loss to know the time. the town is clustered round the hill, and, except on the south, there is water in almost each direction, the nam kan coming winding into the big river from the east, just to the north. [illustration: pa chom si, luang prabang.] the people, among whom slavery was abolished a few years ago by phya surasak, who went up as the siamese general to quiet the black flags, are a very independent race, and, possibly mindful of a powerful past, think somewhat of themselves, and do very little manual labour. the men, i regret to own, are very much addicted to opium; stealing is not absolutely unknown, and generally the code of morals is not as severe as in nan. the women, instead of the timidity and shyness to which we had been accustomed so far (so that, when they could, we always found the women bolt into the jungle at the sight of strangers, or at least retire), showed a very free and easy manner, and are much addicted to giggling and chatter. [illustration: plan of luang prabang and river.] the industrious sounds of the foot rice-mills are hardly ever to be heard in the town; and the market, instead of taking place in the early dawn, that the day's work may not be interfered with, lasts roughly from dawn to sunset, with the exception of an hour or two at noon. all down the main street, which runs between the hill and the river, the ladies sit behind their baskets, flirting with the men, who cruise up and down with apparently not much else to do. this market is a very big affair, and besides the usual endless fruit, cigarettes and flowers, there are huge steaks of pla reum, ducks, ducks' and hens' eggs, pigs dead and alive, opium lamps, japanese matches, needles and pins, cotton, coarse cotton cloth, tobacco, and a fair sprinkling of manchester goods. among the people one sees besides the laos of the place, are nan laos, lus, or khache, and various hill tribes remarkable for their scanty clothing,[ ] chinese, shan traders from up the nam oo, haws, and burmese. at the time of my visit, the french consulate was across on the other side of the river, m. ducant being in charge there. there is also a french store with all sorts of french goods, connected with the "syndicat du haut laos." these goods i found most unpopular with the people, and when i bought one or two things for my men (päs, as they call them, for throwing over the shoulder like a mantle, or for sarongs), they refused to have them, saying the people had told them they were "no good,"--one reason being they would not wash. the imports of this store, brought by boat down the nam nua and nam oo from tongking, amounted in february and march, , to , francs' worth. the commissioner, and my own observation in part confirmed it, told me that the store has to be heavily subsidized, and is not successful, the goods not being wanted by the laos, who make their own rough cotton stuffs for hard work, and their own silk finery, and find these more lasting and efficient for the work for which they are wanted. the frenchmen told me they often lose valuable cargoes in the rapids in the nam oo. while on this subject, i may say that small tricolours and medals are freely given in all directions to any native who will take them. i found at nong khai that the commissioner had some hundreds of these small flags which had been brought him by the laos there at different times as having been given them by the frenchmen, naively remarking that they could "find no use for them," and so they would give them to the commissioner, if any good to him. these flags are also given largely to the monks, to ornament their wats with, with "vive la france!" inscribed across them. [illustration: stone implements.] beyond these, i saw no signs of french commerce among the people. the nam nua and nam oo route over from jonking, though a rough one, no doubt answers its purpose on the whole, and to m. pavie, the minister at bangkok, who has travelled the country extensively, and has left kindly memories behind him, belongs the credit of it. another frenchman who has done good work in the neighbourhood is dr. massé, who lately died of fever going down the mekong. for years he carefully and enthusiastically studied the geology of the district, and he has been able to determine the age of the luang prabang series; all his specimens (including some coal and beautifully sharp stone implements) and his papers are, i believe, in m. pavie's hands, and will prove of enormous interest. the party at the french consulate, whether owing to their mode of life, or the climate, did not look well at all; and from the headaches and fevers which laid hold of the people with me while at m. luang i am not surprised. in justice to the place, it must be owned, march is the hottest month. i did not see any cases of the famous luang prabang fever, which has carried off so many. like that usual in dong choi, the temperature rises very fast and very high, and, if fatal, is generally so after two or three days. [illustration: government offices, luang prabang.] there is, or was, a police force in the town recruited from the laos, but their duties are very light. fights or quarrelling are unknown, whatever other faults there may be, and the most important part of the police duties is to keep a watch for fires. only one occurred while we were there, and the promptitude with which the buglers went sounding out the alarm from all the guard-stations and the men turned out was most creditable; luckily there was no wind, and it was got under very quickly. the head-quarters, as far as the siamese government was concerned, were in a newly built set of offices, standing in a large drill-ground; the whole thing was done by the soldiers and the people of the place under prah prasadah's orders and watchful eye. it is built of teak, with red-tiled roofing, and consists of a front hall, long offices on both sides, and at the back sleeping-rooms and more offices. here, in the evenings, took place regular concerts, to several of which we went for an hour or two. the people of luang prabang are undoubted music-lovers to a high degree, and night after night, after the major and lieutenants had messed, the musicians arrived in the hall, squatted down, and began, sometimes the wailing laos music, sometimes the quick jig tunes of siam. the instruments consisted of two two-stringed violins, a high-pitched flageolet, and one or sometimes two _kans_, a kind of reed-organ carried about by the player, who is the bellows. sometimes the bamboo reeds are over feet in length, but they are light; the mouth is applied at a mouthpiece toward the lower end, where the fingers play on each side, there being two sets of reeds side by side. the instrument is held upright in front or slightly inclined over the shoulder, and the sweetness of the tones is wonderful. this usually forms a bass, and smaller ones with shorter reeds accompany the voice well. it would be no exaggeration to say that nearly every household in luang prabang possesses one, sometimes two. a most striking thing it is at night, far into the early hours, to hear the distant kans from all sides playing in the houses, now and then drowned by the nearer approach of one whose master has been out calling late, and goes striding down the road with perhaps three or four more friends in single file behind, playing a march tune with all his lungs like any highland piper. one of my pleasant memories of life will ever be those evenings when turning in, after the hot day in the verandah, one listened to the sound of the _kans_ passing homeward, and rising and falling on the night-air. what with the evening bugles, too, and the drum upon the hill, and the cocks and _nok poots_, who never fail to announce the hours p.m., midnight, a.m., and a.m., whether in the jungles or among the dwellings of man, a light sleeper would complain bitterly. in the concerts at the new offices there were often _kan_ solos; while the orchestra, when in full swing, was accompanied by clapping of hands and the tinkle of metal; the songs, albeit curious, were not to me so enjoyable, though very much so to the laos. a number of pretty damsels, in their most gorgeous silks, sat round busily chewing betel-nut; these would be asked to give a subject, and one with a good deal of blushing would give in a loud tone her subject. the orchestra struck up, and the singer had to make the best he could of it on the spot; and judging by the laughter and general approbation after each verse, he was generally successful. but we all failed signally to understand the words--the language here differing very much from that of nan, of which we had begun to pick up some; while, when sung, it is even more incomprehensible. what with the attractions of music, their love and battle songs, and perhaps other things, the laos of luang prabang keep late hours, and are late to turn out. the chow luang and chow huanar, with whom i exchanged visits, are pleasant, open-countenanced men, and after a second visit became quite jovial. the latter helped me a great deal in my work, and i was sorry to say good-bye. their houses were large teak buildings, but the chow luang is building one of brick. [illustration: keng kang, nam oo. the plunge off the left bank.] our longest expedition from here was up the nam oo, which comes in from the north-east. the scenery of this river is very fine, as all the way from muang ngoi, to which we went, it winds through abrupt limestone peaks and ranges, covered with dense forest, and often overhanging the deep quiet river below. but the rapids scattered along its course are furious, and, owing to the shallow water and innumerable sunken rocks, are very dangerous, while quite a high sea runs in them. they differ from most of the big mekong rapids in that they are caused by rough sloping bottoms of rock ridges, over which the water tears its way. in the great river the majority of the rapids are simply owing to the narrowing of the channel, with possible big rock obstructions rising out of a depth which, with a -fathom line, often gave no bottom (this in low-water season). in these the acceleration of speed and commotion are caused by the enormous pressures behind, and the frictions below, and the force of the back eddies, which go tearing in toward any little or big opening in the banks of rock, and come sweeping back again in wave-like rushes or in whirlpools. "rapid" is often a misnomer; for what with whirlpools, the sudden capricious rushes of water boiling up in a mound of spray, and flowing wildly in apparently any direction but the one by which it will eventually get out, and the great back eddies and counter currents below, the boat, alternately dragged to the right bank, spins round on the edge of a whirlpool, hurries over on a mass of foam to the left side, and there caught and hurried up the side again, or swirled off downwards into another whirlpool, spends several minutes in passing down a hundred yards, though every hand is straining at the oars, and steersman and bow-oar are lugging for dear life to keep her straight, and save her ends from being caught up on the rocks at which she is hurled. such are many of the worst of the mekong rapids, which will prove too much for any number of steamers, extending often, as they do below chieng kan, for miles. even the great rushes of solid water, and converging lines of breakers of the rapids, where, as in the keng luang below luang prabang, the already compressed water has to fight its way over a shelving bank of huge shingle, of which each stone is often as big as an average laos house, will prove easier to navigate. but in the nam oo the shallowness of the water is the danger, and there is often, as in keng luang two days up, a fall straight over a dioritic ledge of feet. this class of rock it is which forms the rapids, and when the limestone hills retire from the river edge, and low-lying, round-topped hills less densely jungled, come in, one may look out for a rapid and change of formation. [illustration: keng luang.] the villages up this river are very poor, except in ducks, which are seen swimming merrily about in all the quiet reaches, and not a few of the rapids. as to buying them, it was almost impossible, though it was the only form of fresh food obtainable. we could hardly get the people to take money, and had to barter, though we were rather short of things ourselves. it is odd how difficult it is to get tea, and as our bangkok tea had given out, hot water, with sometimes a few herbs[ ] picked by chow benn yenn, had to take its place. he also produced a dish of butterflies' bodies one evening with the curry, but they had, to my mind, not much flavour. he also had a weakness for a species of cricket, which he cooked by throwing on the fire, and then devoured. frogs, too, are eaten by the laos, they going to the extent of eating the body as well as legs of the _ongan_ when the rains begin. the siamese also eat the _kob_, a small frog, of which the legs are certainly very good; and when the french gunboats were in bangkok they were not to be got in the markets for love or money. up and down this river a considerable trade in hill rice takes place between the hill villages and luang prabang, and we met greater numbers of boats than on the mekong; they were most of them ascending at the time, with three men, or in the longer craft four, poling. the bamboo is placed against the outside shoulder; the man, facing aft and leaning low, runs the boat up till he reaches the deck-house; he then brings in the pole hand-over-hand until he has it about the middle, and then with the arms straight up above his head, to keep the bamboo over the head of his fellow, goes forward again. this business, continued for hour on hour, is very hard work indeed, as any one who tries it will discover; and the light narrow boat rolls a good deal, making foothold at times very difficult, and no one wearing shoes could stay on board for two minutes. going up the rapids is far more dangerous than descending, for the boat has to be poled and often hauled round right angles of rock just outside which a tall hollow sea is jumping in a roaring cataract. if the bows be once caught, away she goes broadside, and nothing will stop her, and all hands at the tow-line go too. it is in this way that all the swampings, as a rule, take place; but, except in keng kang, it is seldom that any one is drowned. it is really astonishing at what a rate these fellows run their boats with their poles up the most difficult places, and then, holding on for a moment under the lee of a rock, all hands but the steersman go overboard with the rope, and fight from rock to rock in any speed or depth of current, avoiding always the big waves. one soon learns to have a respect for these exploits, for they mean having one's breath knocked out of one pretty frequently, and a few good bumps and cuts, which, sad to say, have a way of leaving some discomfort behind. but laos and siamese alike are never known to grumble, and after a bout of the kind they squat down above the rapid, light cigarettes, and laugh with enjoyment. fishing on the nam oo is very largely practised, the best time being at the end of the rains, when the fish swarm. across the heads of the rapids are rows of stakes, and every twenty yards will be a fishing shelter, just above a gap in the stakes, through which the fish are expected to find their way. these shelters are light constructions, built on groups of stakes, ballasted with stones, and strongly buttressed on the lower sides. notwithstanding these precautions, however, when the river rose after heavy rains, which had already (in march) begun higher up, and which delayed us very seriously, we saw several of these shelters carried away bodily down stream. on the upper side is a platform, on which the inhabitants (for they often live, a whole family of them, in these places) may take the air. a single bamboo with a handrail forms a connection with the long line of stakes, by which they may reach the other shelters or get on shore; but a small dug-out always lies moored below as well. step inside the house and all is dark, the light being carefully excluded, except where it enters through a large hole in the floor; the _yah kah_, a long jungle grass, with which the houses are always roofed, is carried on each side right down to the water level, and the light thus only enters through the water. thus every fish for twelve feet down is clearly seen, and there two men will sit smoking silently and gazing intently by the hour into the water, every now and then hoisting out a broad dip-net, spread by bamboos, with their prey. a spear is also sometimes used. it is curious to see these people, with wife and family, living on the narrow strip of flooring which goes round the hole--in fact, the latter occupies most of the house; but they seem very comfortable, and smoke, and cook, and feed, and sleep on a strip feet wide with great complacency. the women were very much like the little shy ka kaws, and smoked their long pipes and dressed just as elaborately in their dark blue, with the same ornamented head-dresses. however, most of these houses at this time of year were not inhabited, and i only saw one or two families at home. [illustration: ascending keng luang, nam oo.] [illustration: fishing stakes and shelters, nam oo.] muang ngoi, at which there was a siamese military station, is most beautifully situated among precipitous hills; it is one of the prettiest places we saw, well-built, tidy, with a street (as generally in towns in the province of luang prabang) running parallel with the river. immediately over it almost hang the limestones, all round except on the east, up which the people grow their rice in the narrow valley. up here goes the trade route toward the black river, and down the track i met coming staggering in under their heavy loads many ka kaws--women, girls, and boys. i call them ka kaws[ ] for want of a more accurate name; the siamese called them all khache, or khamus, which they are not. no one can discriminate among the infinite numbers of these tribes, nor can they do it themselves, except with neighbours of the next valleys. they wore the prevailing blue; the women's head-gear often a tall, blue cloth, with a little red showing at top, beads and shells. large rings, of four and more inches in diameter, hang from the ears, of which the lobes are made very big. the weights they carry are enormous; from casually lifting them i should say they were to pounds. the basket is held by a band which passes over the forehead; the result is a stooping gait, the arms being swung across the body, as a sailor's, as they walk or almost jog along. two or three men usually accompany the carriers; and the latter, even boys and girls, have a terribly worn appearance. yet greet them with the usual questions: "where are you bound for?" or "where are you come from?" "how many days out?" "are you tired?" etc., and they reply with the merriest laugh and smile, which is almost touching. their faces have very little of the laos in them, or of the chinese or haws, and are round and kind in expression. the siamese troops, only some twenty-five in number, were of fine physique; but it is a fact (not a political statement) that "aggression" and "advance" are utterly contrary to the purposes of the frontier stations kept up by the siamese government. we obtained bananas at one or two places and sugar-cane, and on the way down, as the latter does not grow at luang prabang, we loaded our boats deep with the canes, which were, however, short and not very juicy. however, we kept the larder going with cormorants, which were in great numbers both here and down the mekong. this brings me to the birds i was able to identify[ ] while in the mekong drainage. commonest were these same _cormorants_, which the laos call "crow duck," owing to their black colour and love for the water. the large cormorant was continually to be seen sitting on isolated rocks, often with his wings hung up to dry, in which position he would suffer us to come very close. the small cormorants were common in flocks, seldom singly, and, on our approach, would dive away out of sight, not one remaining. not expecting to see them, it was a great pleasure to come across the beautiful little _terns_ swooping and rushing over the water. one was either the whiskered tern or the white-winged black tern--i think probably the latter, as the greyish colour predominated with the dull-red bill and legs. they were generally in back waters and temporary lakes formed in the sandbanks by the fall of the river, and were in flocks. i did not secure any. the black-billed tern--larger than the former, with its easily distinguished orange-yellow bill and red feet, i got a specimen of. they were fairly common, but even in march and april i found no nests. of the kingfishers i only saw on the mekong one or two specimens of the pied bird. crossing from the meinam, however, there was a very small one we frequently met in the mountain streams flowing down to that river, which would suddenly fly off up stream with a low whistle. i did not procure any, but from its size it was probably the little three-toed kingfisher. another we constantly saw perched on a bamboo overhanging the water, or poising in the air, must have been, from its high colouring, the little indian kingfisher. of herons, i saw, and shot, the large white heron (as on the meinam), singly and in flocks, on the sand-banks; the common heron, generally stalking singly on the sand-spits, and hard to get near; the purple, of which i saw two couples in the lowlands: the little black-billed white heron, in flocks on the flat by the paddy fields; the cattle egret, walking about with the buffaloes, or perched on their backs; and the pond heron, which one would almost stumble upon, so invisible was he on the ground, till away he sped aloft, and then the white wings were clear cut against the blue sky overhead. of eagles, there was the osprey, with his white head, hovering after fish, and a larger bird in swamps near the jungle, with white and darting broad tail, and the upper plumage and breast brown, presumably the bar-tailed fishing eagle. i saw some small species too, but never shot any, and, except the black eagle in the forest-covered hills soaring above us on the wing, and a large, slow, sluggish bird, like that we saw on the meinam, with a hoarse cry (qu. steppe eagle), i seldom got a good view of them. adjutants, which they call _nok karien_, i saw in flocks of four, six, or eight in the paddy fields of the chieng kong, nam ngau, and khorat plains. they were fairly tame, but with the rifle i could not get nearer than yards; the whistle of a bullet sent them sluggishly flopping their great wings yards or so on, and to follow them was an endless pursuit. pea-fowl are very common here and on the nam nan. often and often, far overhead above the jungle, would come the measured sound which the great pied hornbill makes with each sweep of the wings, an indescribable sound, half a "whirr" and half the "whistle of a sword swept through the air." they were always in couples, and flew high. the white ibis, walking about in flocks in shallow water, and the little cotton teal goose, also in flocks, in swampy back waters, who would dive and disappear to a man, i saw several times. two specimens of the large grey-headed imperial pigeon, with chestnut back and wing coverts, were shot by my tuon boatman in the hills above the meinam. the common "wood pigeon" is seen and heard all through siam. in the open plains and jungles a dove, of which i shot many for breakfast, was very common; this seems to be the malay spotted dove. there are other doves common in different parts of siam, and wagtails and sandpipers innumerable, but i cannot now name them. as to the _nok poot_, with his slight crest, dull red-wing coverts and long dark green tail feathers, and his habit of drinking where he finds water, and of running swiftly off into the low jungle, he must, i think, be a pheasant. this is absolutely the commonest bird in the country, and that "poot, poot" sound is never silent for long; at night i have often heard a chorus of this sound from out the jungle all round, and always at the hours of cock crow, _i.e._ p.m., midnight, , and a.m., as mentioned above. the cock in this country is used for a timepiece at night, as well as a fighting champion by day, and not a boat or an ox-cart, caravan, or a cottage in the whole country but has its cock. one result of this cockfighting mania is very funny: the birds become pets, as dogs and cats do with us, and the small boys go out walking with these things carried lovingly in their arms; you may see them stroking them and looking longingly into their ugly faces as if they found some expression therein. but their end is generally in a curry, and very tough they make it. this form of sport is on the whole most outrageously general in siam proper. the total population of luang prabang, including that portion of the province on the right bank, was just over , . in the town itself there cannot be more than about ; this only includes the laos proper, and not lus, la was, or khache.[ ] it is difficult to judge of the town, which straggles along the three or four main roads that have recently been made around the central hill, and far beyond them out into the plain, both inland, up the nam kan, and down the mekong. north of the town are also numbers of fairly large and prosperous villages. the broadening out of the river here, the absence of rapids, and the retirement to the eastward of the hill range, which forms a sort of amphitheatre around the little plain, seems to have attracted settlers from an early time. still, either owing to the laziness of the inhabitants or, as i think more probably, to the poverty of the soil (which is the same barren red sandstone mentioned above), there is certainly not much cultivation done here or on the other side of the big river, where there is low-lying land behind the small range which immediately abuts on the river there. the jungle, too, is itself very thin and dwarfed. i hardly think laziness will account for this, for peaceful tending of rice crops would be far easier work than poling and struggling up nam oo rapids, which is the way the people get their rice at present, going right up into the hills for it. some really beautiful silver-work is done, but fishing and killing pigs seem to be the chief industry. there is a breed of the finest-shaped and fiercest goats i have ever seen, which wander about the streets and hill, and give the pariah dogs a rough time; but i did not see that any other use was made of them. the day we left, a letter arrived from the king in bangkok, and was received in great state by the chow luang; it was carried in state down the road with gorgeous umbrellas above and flutes playing before. this was _re_ the appointment of phya pechai as commissioner--the last. the minimum temperature for these three weeks[ ] was ° up the nam oo; the average minimum for ten days up that river, °; the average maximum in the deck-house of the boat, °. the lowest maximum for any day was °, but it was a "saft" day, with a solid deluge for thirty-six hours. (the laos cannot work in the rain; they shiver to such an extent that the whole boat vibrates, so we spent a day sitting in the boats. in this case i had feet inches head-room, feet inches extreme elbow-room, the boat being only feet long.) the maximum in luang prabang i did not get, being there very little by day; the temperature in the jungle is much lower. strong, hot winds from south-west and thick haze was the rule except before the storms, when the air became sultry, and then it blew a gale of wind from north-west to north. the rains were beginning. aneroid, which was unreliable, . inches to . before squalls. the first day out, going south from luang prabang, one of our double boats filled and sank, ruining maps, notes, and other things. we awaited the arrival of another at pak si, from whence one of our laos boatmen had also to be sent back. he had apparently abscess in the liver; i could do nothing for him, and he sank rapidly. the stream hoay si, a few miles inland, comes tumbling over a fine fall, where a number of beautiful travertine terraces have been formed below, in which the pools are of intense blue. all the trees, branches, twigs, and leaves within reach of the foam are being encrusted with carbonate of lime, and the effect is very beautiful, with the luxuriant growth around. five days brought us to paklai, whence the trail goes over to m. pechai on the meinam. the journey up takes a fortnight, for this long north and south reach is full of serious rapids. two days and three days below luang prabang are the rapids of keng seng and keng luang. in the former, which tears over a rough bottom, my boat was completely swamped, but was kept afloat by her bamboos. the latter is a very fine sight, and is a narrow contraction, with a rough, inclined bottom; the water tumbles off the bluff domes of the east bank in cascades of foam, and from the west it is driven off in three hollow ridge-like waves. in the centre, at first quietly, and with accelerating pace goes the main mass, getting narrower, until with three huge undulations, which send a boat half her length out of water as she jumps down them, it tears into the embrace of the two raging, broken currents coming off the banks, and there it leaps and foams and thunders, echoing off the big black crystalline rocks from age to age. many boats are lost here, and just below lay the battered remains of a fine craft of feet, smashed from stem to stern. the laos show considerable sense in always taking breakfast before they try one of these rapids, however early in the morning. south of keng luang the river bed is narrow, and flows very fast among slate rocks, dipping very steeply ( °, °, and upwards), west for many miles, limestone hills lying back some way from the river. these long reaches are very wild, with no sign of man. birds, crocodiles, and tigers, with occasional pig, "sua pah" or leopard, and deer reign and fight and feed along the jungled banks. above paklai begin the first wooded islands, of which there are many below, and the whole river widens out and hills fall back. here i was able to get soundings with a -fathom line, and above the fine limestone mass which distinguishes ban liep, we had , , , , , , and fathoms as the river spread out; below it it narrowed down a bit, and we had over fathoms most of the way to paklai, with now and then and . paklai is a pretty little place, and is the official port of departure for the north. there are good salas and elephant stables, and a clearing by the river, a good landing in a creek among the rocks, and plenty of boats and people. but here for the first time we had the abominable little "luep," small black flies, which are a far more irritating torture than mosquitos, and attack one's hands and face by thousands. they are worst just about sunset as a rule, and smoke or a strong breeze are the only things to keep them away, and to sleep in a curtain of linen is absolutely necessary. the rains bring them and most other jungle plagues. from here the river begins to turn away to the south-east, with quite a new phase of mekong scenery--placid reaches half a mile wide, with gently sloping banks, the hills low and gentle in their curves, more like some upper reaches in the meinam, or a bit of thames. the change was delightful, as it always is, and continued for two days to chieng kan, with only one break at keng mai, a rapid over a shallow, shelving bank, where the water storms with a bar of white crests right across, like sea breaking on a reef. decks were cleared and the hands set baling, and we all went through in style, but the cook's boat, which got the least bit athwart the current, was caught in the rough water, and swamped with our rice. the depths down to the town are , , up to fathoms. chieng kan is built along the southern bank (for here the river begins an east-north-east course), with a fine paddy-growing plain behind it, and is about a mile long, with an indifferent road passing along it. the most remarkable things about the place are the immense numbers of coconut palms, and the cheapness of the fruit;[ ] the number of burmese british subjects (who out of the kindness of their hearts supplied one with any amount of provisions); and the fact that the laos women cut their hair short like the siamese. the people are a friendly, pleasant race. a good deal of fishing is done here, and in poling the small craft up stream, a small rudder is used over the outside (in this case starboard) quarter to prevent the boat running round, as also at luang prabang and nongkhai. these rudders are fixed, and do their work alone as a rule, but are sometimes in bigger boats fitted with a yoke and long bamboo tiller (as used together in norwegian boats), the latter reaching to the fore deck. sometimes in the evening, as the people lie tending their fish-baskets, the boats look, with their up-turned ends and small shelter (in which the man's clothes or his net, with its weights and buoys, may be put) which stands almost amidships, like a distant gondola. [illustration: rudder.] [illustration: boats fishing.] this province, which is under pechai, is undoubtedly very rich in mineral, but the distances and difficulties of transport are at present against its development. there is a rich, alluvial gold deposit northward, and a variety of ores occur south toward m. loey, including massive iron-ore beds. after some stay, we set out with fresh boats and crews, and were five days passing the wild rapids between here and wieng chan. the river finds its way among low hills in a narrow, deep channel between clay-slate rocks alternating with sandstones and conglomerates with a general easterly dip. the rapids are of the whirlpool and eddy character, and extend for miles on end; the water is in places confined to a width of feet, and the rushes, boilings, spinnings, and general deafening pandemonium which results is astounding; not one place is like another, nor one whirlpool like the next. numbers of boats never get through here, as they, in spinning round in a whirlpool or sudden explosion of water, get their ends ashore and smashed on the rocks. it was a most tiring time for the men, deep down in the heat of this great rock ditch, with no wind to cool the air, and above on either hand a good half-mile of rocks and vast spaces of sand shimmering in the hot sun. [illustration: last of the hills above wieng chan.] just above wieng chan the hills disappear. the last of them are a flat-bedded red sandstone, passing into a conglomerate, the huge slabs lying in rows beside the water. the river opens out between them into a beautiful wide lake, known as the hong pla buk, from the numbers of those big fish caught here. the scene on a quiet evening was beautiful, with the terns dipping and darting about us. here in the deep still water, we heard again, as we used to do in the meinam, the "talking" of the _pla liu ma_ (dog's-tongue fish) beneath the boat; it is a grunt similar to that of the gurnard, only very much louder and more sonorous, and you may hear several at a time chattering away under you. camped on some of these huge sandstone blocks, we had a good opportunity of watching the polishing power of the wind-swept sand, which, next to the rushing water, with its enormous burden of sediment, is the agent by which all the rock surfaces of the mekong get the wonderful polish which makes them so peculiar. the exterior appearances are often entirely deceptive, and the sun glistens off them as off a looking-glass. yet the points and pinnacles, especially among the schists, are terribly sharp, often cutting the feet like knives. the polish the red granite takes just west of this, and the beauty of the veined limestone boulders further north, are a delight to look at. at wieng chan, on the north bank, hardly a hill is in sight; all round plains, bamboos, and palms. the site of the old city, which was destroyed in by the siamese for rebellion, is a mass of jungle-covered ruins. the remains of the old brick wall, and of the great wat prakaon, are very fine; the latter rises from a series of terraces, up which broad flights of steps lead, and is of large proportions. the effect of height is increased by the perpendicular lines of the tall columns, which support the great east and west porticos, and which line the walls along the north and south; the windows between the latter being small, and narrower at top than at the bottom, also lead the eye up. a second outer row of columns once existed, and the effect must have been very fine. now the roof is gone, and the whole structure crowned by a dense mass of foliage, as is the case with all the remains of smaller buildings not yet destroyed. one very beautiful little pagoda at the west end is now encased in a magnificent peepul tree which has grown in and around it, and has preserved it in its embrace. there are remains of several deep-water tanks, and the grounds, which were surrounded by a brick wall, must once have been beautiful. but the best thing at wieng chan, or the old city, as they call it, is the gem of a monastery known as wat susaket. it is a small building, the wat itself, of the usual style, with the small lantern rising from, the central roof, as at luang prabang. the walls are very massive, and, with the height inside, the place was delightfully cool; all round the interior from floor to roof the walls are honeycombed with small niches in rows, in which stand the little gilt "prahs," looking out imperturbably, generally about inches in height. [illustration: the ruins of wat prakaon, wieng chan.] [illustration: niche and statue.] round this building outside runs a rectangular cloister, which faces inwards, and here, at one time, the monks were living among the statues which stand round the walls, many of these and more feet high, while the walls too are ornamented with niches similar to those inside the main building. in the centre of each side there is a gateway surmounted by a gable, there being also similar ornaments at each corner. the beauty and the retired air of the court inside could not be surpassed, and the effect of the green grass, the white walls, the low-reaching red-tiled roofs, and the deep shadows is charming; there is nothing flat, nothing vulgarly gaudy, and very little that is out of repair. and here, as is most noticeable in the remains of the other buildings about, the proportions are perfect. in this the ruined remains of wieng chan surpass all the other buildings i have seen in siam, and bear witness to a true artistic sense in the builders. though the old city is not inhabited, and the site thereof seems under a curse, the villages along the bank of the river, both above and below, have a flourishing appearance, and the paths along the river, with their cool shade, were full of people. [illustration: south-west angle, wat susaket, wieng chan.] leaving wieng chan, we had our last and most curious experience of the meinam kong and its wanton ways. a vast mass of heavy thunderclouds lay to the east, south-east, and south, and into this, as happens in the rainy season, a strong draught of air, first from south-west, then west, and then north-west, was blowing. this began to freshen, and with two square sails i got rigged to my ship we made very good way, until it began blowing really hard and a sea got up, the water being here over half a mile in width, with , , and -fathom soundings; we then had to strike sail, while astern a vast cloud of sand, twigs, leaves, and even pebbles, came sweeping along with a roar. the other three boats were, when we saw them last, just broaching to, all close together. the laos, who face rapids or elephants with composure, quite lost their heads, and the only use to be made of them was to set them to hang on to the deck-house, which was being carried out of the ship. she tried very hard to swamp herself, for when the squall came up the strength was terrific, and the seas hollow and breaking solidly. however, by keeping her stern to it, we shot on through the thick darkness, frequently belaboured with missiles, and after a great deal of difficulty in weathering a lee shore we got round a point and brought up, after two rattan ropes had been carried away. meantime many dug-outs passed us waterlogged and adrift, and when at last the wind got to the north and fell not a boat was in sight. except our own, every other craft in the river had been swamped, including our other three boats, which were carried broadside into the lee shore we had got round, and had a handsome battering. everything in them was full of water, while the men escaped and sat on shore till it was all over, and when they arrived at ban bar, where we lay for the night, they did not seem to have enjoyed the fun at all. this village is more siamese than laos in appearance; there are numbers of chinamen of unprepossessing appearance and manners, who kept shops and pariahs. the latter was a nuisance we had been comparatively free from; in fact, on the upper river, at chieng kong, there were very decent breeds to be seen, and chow benn yenn got from one of his villages a beautiful black-and-tan collie, exactly like a good specimen at home, with the exception that he had a short tail like a manx cat. it was a beautiful dog and a capital sporting animal. the long black-haired and black-tongued "chow" dog we saw several times, and also small, brown, long-haired animals with high, curled tails. a peculiarity about these dogs was that, being accustomed to the laos _kao neo_, when we got back to siam and _kao chow_ (the ordinary rice), they would have none of it. the next day we reached nongkhai, and were very cordially welcomed by krom prachak, a brother of the king, who is commissioner. the town owes its existence to the fall of wieng chan, and is scattered along the south bank; there is a considerable number of chinamen keeping shops here, and to them and its character as the official centre, it owes its importance. the houses extend all along the river-side for a mile and a half, mostly well shaded by areca and coconut palms. here once more, on the great plain lying to the south, we saw the tall, gaunt sugar palms standing against the sky, and again saw the _kiens_, or ox-carts, with their long, black hoods, wending their slow way in single file, the groaning, grunting, and shrieking, which accompanies their every movement and jerk, coming slowly down the wind. here once more, sad to say, we came across a character most of us have known in siam--the _kamoë_, or thief--and we hadn't been an hour in the place before he had begun work. here, too, we again heard the horrid sound of chains, dragged along the hot, dusty road by wretched, emaciated creatures carrying water--hardly strong enough to lift the chains at their ankles. and here, again, were, among the decent houses, dirty, squalid cottages and drunkenness. the fact is, the cattle-driving people of the plains become by their occupation different in character to the mountaineers; it was very noticeable, striking right upon them here, how much more stolid and less expressive their faces are, how black and muddy--or dusty if the rain keeps off--they become in their long, slow rides upon their carts, and, in general, how like their own sleepy, blinking buffaloes they become--as, too, one may see in the great plains of india. the circumstances and conditions of life are all different; and drinking slow-running mud, which they euphemistically call water, sloshing laboriously through seas of reeking bog and swamp, and enduring the tormenting bites of innumerable huge flies, which attack elephants, buffaloes, oxen, horses, and men indiscriminately, but untiringly, must result in a differently developed man from that built up by mountain marches, high aloft on dry hillsides or deep down in cold stream beds, leaping from rock to stone or plunging into the rushing water, where life is a perfect fight. not that the plains are always so disagreeable; given the dry, cool months of december and january, travelling in them becomes a luxury; but there is never the same exhilarating air or the same pure water. the commissioner's house is at the western end of the town, surrounded by the sheds of the military detachment. at the back a very pretty garden is being made; and this and a new straight road, inland of the present street and parallel with it, are the works of construction on hand. the ground on each side of the new road--which, by its unlovely straightness, carried one far away to similar ugliness in civilized lands, and was the only unnatural thing we saw--is being eagerly applied for by the chinese; but a great drawback must for some time be the absence of shade. the river is undoubtedly cutting into the soft laterite bank here, and in a few years the old site will go down with a run. prince prachak is a reformer; he is very keen in "reforming the laos," but is grieved to find they don't want to be reformed. he says--what is very true--that their work is always desultory (one month they plant rice, another they go fishing, another they wash gold in the sands), and that they will not settle down into trades. they prefer, too, to play music on their kans in the evenings to doing more useful things, and are, in fact, lazy. but i fear it is not surprising, and that it will be some time before the laos take to trades. the chinese shopkeepers import their goods from bangkok through khorat, and the journey, in the matter of shoes or felt hats from london, increases the price about one _salung_ at the first place, and two by the time they reach nongkhai. they show for sale calico goods of all colours and patterns (as one sees in bangkok for "panungs," "pahs," etc.), shoes, sandals, belts, pots and pans, matches, chinese umbrellas, and teapots, the first mostly english, and as they sell these well, they tell you with a grin they soon make their fortunes and retire. the wats are wretched little places, ill built and ill kept, the most interesting thing being the bell of the principal wat, which is a huge hollowed timber, some feet in diameter and feet high, hung to a crossbar at the top. struck end on with a stout pole, the sound is deep and sonorous. this form, but usually smaller, is often used in siam, and for attaching to the necks of elephants or oxen (which invariably have a bell), there are clappers hung on a string on each side, which keep up a continual tinkle. fixed on a bent bamboo, the same form of bell is used by fishermen on the shore end of their set lines to give warning of a big fish or other disturbance. there is always a slit up, about a quarter of the way, slightly wider at the top, on each side. [illustration: bell.] the weather from the time we left luang prabang to the time we reached nongkhai had the unsettled character of the beginning of the rains, though it was only april month. south-westerly winds and haze by day, low heavy clouds in the evenings, and thunderstorms of great violence, with strong squalls of wind shifting round by west and north-west to north at night, making sleep impossible while they lasted, and generally driving into the boats everywhere. the lowest and highest readings of the thermometer were, on the same day when we arrived at chieng kan, after some heavy storms, ° fahr. at sunrise, ° at p.m. in the boats. for the rest of the time, the average minimum was °, generally half an hour before sunrise. the average maximum in the shade, ° (in the boats). in the shady sala, on the tree-covered bank at nongkhai, we never had over °, and, whether owing to the advent of the rains or not i do not know, it was much cooler and pleasanter than luang prabang had been, and all our sick men, with one or two exceptions, mended entirely; while at the former place (as too in the case of mr. archer's party) everyone had had turns of fever or bad headaches. [illustration: bell-clapper and joint.] [illustration: bamboo bell.] the coinage here was once more the tical, with only an occasional rupee. at luang prabang the two, with their small silver subdivisions, are both taken; but in nan no siamese money would pass, strings of areca nut being used for small change, as cowries are at luang prabang. _note on the "kan."_ the kan, the reed-organ used so much among the northern lao tribes, is remarkable for the sweetness of its tones, and the fact that the intervals of the notes are correct according to our musical ideas, and have a true key-note, the pitch of the instrument depending on its length. thus the five-sok kan ( feet inches long) is in the key of g--one sharp. the four-sok kan ( feet inches) in the key of d--two sharps. the two-sok kan ( feet inches) in the key of f--one flat. these are the lengths most usual, but six soks is sometimes used; it possesses very fine low tones, but requires powerful lungs, although the notes are produced by inspiration and respiration. the number of reeds never exceeds fourteen, and the arrangement of notes is as follows, numbering the reeds in couples from the mouth of the little air-chamber:--the two reeds, , are played with the thumb; left being the key-note; right being the lower octave of the same. the octave thus goes from right , to , , and left (or right , which is the same) on to right , , and back to the thumb note on left . [illustration: four-sok kan ( inch to feet).] [illustration: two-sok kan.] below the key-note right come left and right , and above the upper key-note, right and and left ; thus, in the d kan of four soks, we get-- [illustration: notes on a musical stave, denoted as "left." and "right."] there are no sharps or flats possible, and only half filling the holes, as in a fife, will not produce them, the note being got by the vibration of small tongues of metal fitted in the side of the reed. hence, possibly, the epithet "monotonous," which has been generally given them; and hence the fact that a good player generally has more than one. their playing is very fast and effective, but is at first hard to follow or properly understand. the mouth-piece is made of the fruit of the _mai lamut_, and being very hard, takes a lot of work in being hollowed out, and will receive a good polish outside; two parallel slits are cut along the top and bottom, and the two rows of bamboos fitted in, and the whole made airtight with beeswax. in case of damage to one of the reeds, it is quite simple to undo the grass bands which are put round at intervals, to remove the beeswax, and take out the reed; often a gentle flick on the reed will set the metal tongue vibrating again when momentarily out of order. the reeds, by being put over the fire, are often very prettily marked. [illustration: air-chamber.] they can hardly be obtained in siam, except where laos are situated. the wieng chan men, who are all over the country since the city was destroyed and they were sent south, are the best makers and players, and a few colonies of them are to be met with in the neighbourhood of bangkok. this fact of their love for this highest of indo-chinese instruments, coupled with the fine remains of the old city, certainly support the idea that at wieng chan there was civilization and taste ahead of those of the surrounding places. with regard to the music, it is impossible, without a long study of it, to say more than that they are very fond of the minor, that they use the octaves very much in playing, that the key-note may often be heard down for a long time, and the time is generally a rapid horse's trot, or quick march. at nongkhai, i heard two men play a most beautiful and stately march which made one's flesh creep; it was all in the major, and in some parts irresistibly reminded one of the famous march in _saul_. one of these was a six-sok instrument, and the effect surpassed anything i've heard in the country. they were on their way to a marriage-festival when i met them in the road; they had no fiddles or flutes with them, and were followed by a number of people marching with them to their airs. they willingly stopped, squatted down, and gave us half an hour's concert in the shade. [footnote : called "weehan," or shrine.] [footnote : such as the ka hoks.] [footnote : termed, when so drunk, "yah," or medicine. it is slightly pungent, and is said to be good in dysentery, and especially for keeping off fever in malarious places.] [footnote : probably they were kuis.] [footnote : by the help of e. w. oates' capital handbook to the 'birds of british burmah.'] [footnote : the khache, or khamus, are very much confused with the lawas, and are much like them.] [footnote : to the end of march.] [footnote : eight for a fuang = one-eighth of a tical, or ½ cents of a dollar. at pechai we got one for a fuang.] part v. nongkhai to khorat and bangkok (_april and may_, ). from nongkhai we left in regular rainy weather for khorat, with "kiens" or ox-carts, there being two oxen and a driver to each. twelve of these are about equal in carrying capacity to sixteen elephants as loaded for hilly country--two extra we had for sick men, of whom we still had two unable to walk; and these two, moreover, were the best protected with charms of all the men with us. these charms were small wooden _prahs_, very roughly cut, which they sew up in a bag of calico and wear round the neck and arm. no amount of chaff will persuade them that these things will not protect them from falling trees, and _dhâp_ (or sword) cuts, as well as the _pi_ of the forest or river. another danger from which they declared these things protected the whole party, were the mermaids in the mekong. against these creatures i was constantly warned when having a swim, especially above luang prabang; they described them as the "women of the water," who would drag a man down and drown him. where could this notion have come from, so singularly like our own stories?[ ] south of luang prabang, one heard very little of these damsels, and much more of the _pla bûk_. on one occasion i pitched one of these charms overboard, and the owner, who was sick, promptly got well next day, to his no small astonishment. following the telegraph line, the great trail to khorat is miles or so, but _detours_ have often to be made in search of villages which are generally off the main track some little distance, and this is necessary for commissariat purposes. for traders, the journey generally occupies to days, according to the condition of the oxen and state of the weather. when it rains, no advance is possible, as, unlike the buffaloes, the oxen cannot work in rain, and hate it, and seem to lose all their pluck; besides which, the yoke working on the damp neck tends to produce bad sores. the _kiens_, of which we frequently met long caravans, are the ships of this desert--for such this plain is often for days at a time. nothing but wood is used in the construction, as the bumping and straining is too great for any metal fastenings. the body of the carriage proper is very light, like a cariole in shape; the pole to which the yoke is attached spreading and passing along to the rear underneath. the wheels, which are very broad, and the heaviest things in the whole, turn on an axletree of hard wood (_mai kabao_, sometimes _mai deng_), which is fitted in a socket of solid wood under the car, at the inner end, and at the outer to an "outrigger," which is lashed at its end to cross-pieces firmly placed at right angles at the front and rear ends of the car. thus the weight is distributed on many points; a few ready-cut extra pieces of mai kabao are taken, and when with a lurch and a dive one of the axletrees gives way, the "outrigger" is unlashed at one end, and pulled outwards till the axletree comes out of its socket; it is then pulled out of the wheel, and a new one fitted in in a quarter of an hour. similarly, lashings may now and then give way, but a new one is put on in five minutes. over all a closely plaited cover is fitted, with a long peak forward, reaching out over where the driver sits on the pole; and in this a man may sleep protected from sun and rain. the length of the car is about feet and feet wide. travelling in it is only possible to a person who is accustomed to it, the jerking being so tremendous. if there were roads it would be possible with some degree of comfort, and, though dusty, they keep cool inside. [illustration: kien.] the oxen are capital animals for their purpose, and when tired and hungry can be turned loose with a certainty that in a quarter of an hour they will have satisfied themselves; the moment they have had enough, even of the rankest grass, they are ready to go on; their patience and perseverance, even in the worst swamps, pestered with flies and leeches, is wonderful. a frisky one, however, can do no end of damage, and can kick and plunge and drag the _kien_, even when loaded, at a gallop over any kind of country, and even the rein in his nose will not hold him. on occasions of this sort, some damage is often done to the cart, and delay occasioned. their kick is very quick, and pretty severe. they are always used by the laos, though seldom used by the siamese of the south. the buffalo, which wallows in the water all over siam, is generally kept for working the rice or sugar mills, and is only occasionally used by the laos in a larger cart of the same kind; but he is very surly, wilful, and erratic. large droves of them are taken south from the nongkhai neighbourhood, where their price is to ticals, to khorat, where their price is double; the demand for them and oxen being very great in that neighbourhood. the best ponies come from the neighbourhood of m. chulabut, but they are also very cheap round khorat. at the former place, i saw some capital beasts, and from that neighbourhood and the south at pachim the cheapest ponies are obtainable. prices for a good carrier range from to ticals, though an average pony of three years old, which will carry one fairly well in ordinary jungle work, may be obtained for to ticals. they are very small, and have a peculiar fast trot, which makes rising in the saddle impossible; the siamese or laos always sit tight in the saddle, legs almost touching the ground. at chulabut, i saw a small creature of ten hands which was very wild, and the owner wanted to get rid of him for ticals; he was a wonderful little beast, and very fiery. another i was offered for , and another for ; but they would be useless for europeans. for two days we travelled fairly easily, leaving the slight cultivation near nongkhai, and travelling through low, shadeless jungles, passing here and there salt-boiling pans, at which the most work is done after the rainy season, there being at other times no water. the salt covers the ground in an efflorescence, and that produced by the villages is coarse and bitter. the soil in the jungles is sandy, there being gentle undulations on the northern side, on which the sand is deepest; on the southern the trail going over rough laterite. in the depressions occur the _nongs_, or swamps, of which the plateau is full, and which in the wet weather, with their mud and deep water, make travelling almost (and in most places quite) impossible. in the neighbourhood of the main streams, which all run from west to east to the mekong, villages are established, and the scrub jungle gives place to the welcome bamboo clumps and the high betel and coconut palms, which, like church spires at home, announce to the traveller far away that he is approaching the habitations of men. the absence of good water, and the change in it, made several of the men very ill, and on the third morning i found one of the original invalids, who had had a lot of fever on the mekong, had every sign of abscess in the liver. i knew at khorat there might be a doctor, so took two men with me, with three _kiens_ and their drivers, pushed on, and arrived in nine days. the man recovered there, and was well enough to go on with us from khorat afterwards. i had heard so much of the goodness of the trail following the telegraphic clearing all the way, and of the bridges and salas, that i was very much surprised at the reality. it was the worst track we had followed, and there were only two salas which had roofs on them the whole way, one having been put up at his own expense by an officer at chulabut. the rest were blackened stumps, and solitary corner posts, from which every bit of roofing and flooring had been removed; two of these having just roof enough to keep out the dew, but no more. cheerless places enough to reach an hour after sunset, after having marched all day in the scorching morning sun and the deluge of rain which came every afternoon and continued most of the night. however, though after the hill laos, their "white-bellied" brethren of the plains were in some ways disappointing, i am bound to say that the men who were driving our kiens behaved splendidly; one of them was formerly a sergeant, and knew his drill and the english words of command once used in the siamese army well. he was the lightest and warmest-hearted man i ever travelled with, besides being, what is not too common in the east, a really smart man. he was the headman of our caravan, and i had told him that i must get on as fast as was possible to khorat, and he must help; he jumped at it. i asked him how quick we could do it from soug prue. "ten days." i told him, in that case we could also do it in nine, and he was delighted, and used to turn us out at four o'clock with his loud _sawang lëo_ (daylight come), long before there was a sign of light, and then laugh and say, "nine days, master." and so, whatever the weather, however long we stood waiting in the rain for the oxen to rest their necks before goading them on again, none of these men with me ever thought of growling; and the siamese were the same. the pony i had brought on soon got a sore back, so there was not much riding, except when it came to swimming a stream. the bridges were three in number only; one was possible, the other two were unfortunately not connected with the southern bank, so that in one case at meinam chieng kun, the waggons, after having the oxen taken out, are hauled over the loose flooring of the bridge and dropped at the end into five feet of mud and water; in the other every one avoids the bridge altogether. now, at very small expense, for the labour can be obtained for the necessary time from the neighbourhood, good bridges might be erected all along this route; as it is, the journey, as soon as the waters begin to rise, is of the most difficult and arduous kind for all these caravans. krom prachak is very eager for a light railway from khorat to nongkhai. at least years must elapse before it can be done, but in three months a good cart-road might be made, pile bridges put up, and salas repaired; then it would be possible to judge of the chances of such a railway, and the groundwork for it would be already laid. at the present moment this undulating country, which should be easy to travel, is worse provided with communications than the greater part of the hill villages in nan, and infinitely worse provided with shelter than in the most out-of-the-way mountain valleys north. yet, wherever we went, the same kindly laos welcome was given us, except in places where there were siamese settlements near by, and friction had probably occurred among the petty officials. some of the villages, to which we went slightly off the trail, such as ban tum, between the nam puang and meinam si (both big streams, very deep and swift when the water rises, flowing through extensive paddy plains and swamps), chulabut one day south of it, and ban bodibun just north of khorat, were perfect gem villages, rich in palms, rice, and cattle, with kindly people, who did all in their power to overfeed us before we started. at the former places, where there were siamese officials, everything was very neat, and the relations between them and the laos seemed to be most happy. this is, naturally, not always the case; but i am bound to say that, wherever the official is one of some standing, this state of things is the usual one. cultivation goes on round the villages; but as soon as one gets a couple of miles away, the sandy jungle or the _nongs_ resume their sway. the latter are the most peculiar feature of the region, and cover a vast area, which is larger to the eastward. some of them are merely small swamps, with shallow water and long reeds, extending over a surface of one or two square miles; others, again, are extensive areas, in which water and reeds are the only object the eye meets for miles, with here and there a little green island, where trees exist, and, in the distance, the low, long, green line of the jungle along its edge; an ideal home for the various herons, and other long-legged waders, but, alas! also tenanted by leeches and by flies, who attacked us all. the poor little oxen, at the end of a few miles, especially if the sun came out for a little in the burning way it does between rains, were covered with clouds of the latter, their necks and nose, humps and legs, smeared with blood. no resting is possible, for every moment a stop is made the deeper everything sinks into the mud; so it is plunging and struggling to the next little island, where we would stop and cook breakfast with a score of other weary mud-bespattered carts. besides these, we also met some pack-oxen going north to get salt; but as the water was out everywhere, they would have to wait before returning south. one may roughly say that the salt efflorescence occupies the low grounds, between the slightly higher laterite jungle ridges, which are yet just higher than the surface of the _nongs_. the villages in the neighbourhood are generally wretchedly dirty and untidy in appearance; the growth is only stunted bamboo, and the whole place uninviting enough. the cold weather, with its advantages of dryness and absence of insects, has also the disadvantage that water is very scarce. when we crossed, the whole low-lying area may be said to have been under water, but water of such a description that it was only here and there that it was fit for man to drink; while in the sandy forests the water, all perforating through, drained off at once, and the lower ends of the track, where it began to rise toward the ridges, were, on the other hand, lakes of mud. thus, between endless seas of bad water and long miles of sand, the water question remains almost as serious in the rains as in the dry weather. the villages, as a rule, have a well, and the water from the wells is fair. the method of travelling usually adopted with the _kiens_ is an early start at dawn, and a journey of some sen ( ½ miles), when a stop is made to feed man and beast; and, if going easily, a start will not be made until or p.m., when another sen will be done before night--a speed of miles a day, occupying about hours, at about sen ( ½ miles) an hour. this is very fair work for ox-carts over a well-worn track, which is, of course, much rougher and harder to travel than the jungle itself, the ruts spreading wide for a breadth of yards or so, and being of any depth that a _kien_ wheel can dig to. but this exceeds the average. being in a hurry, we did about miles a day for nine days, but had three relays of oxen. this involved--at about to hours' travelling by day, with the delays necessary to get new oxen, two half-day rests, and fording the streams (where the waggons had to be often carried over on the men's shoulders)--a good deal of night travelling, which in rain, and heavy trails full of pitfalls, does not commend itself as a rule. it will be seen, therefore, that the rate of travelling is slow, and would be sufficiently increased for all present purposes by improvements in the trail, and at the crossing of the rivers. men who are walking have, of course, the advantage, and sometimes do or miles a day with their packs. the latter are usually carried on the two ends of a long bamboo, and are fitted with legs below, so that, stooping down, the weight is at once taken off the shoulder. when he wants to rest, out of one of his panniers the man takes his mat to sit on, and lays it between the panniers, and over the pole above he places the _bai larn_ (a covering of palm leaves sewn together, some feet by feet) to keep off the sun or rain, and this is his house while he is on his journey. _dhâps_ are rare here, and heavy knives are used for cutting down jungle to place round at night, or leaves to place under the bed. from travellers of this sort, going south, we often bought wild honey, in long bamboos-- feet of a -inch diameter bamboo selling for a fuang. they sometimes set traps, and are successful in catching rabbits. there are a few deer to be heard, and tigers are rare, except round chulabut, where a man was killed after we had left, the day the main body arrived there. we picked up a rather curious fellow-traveller when about six days from khorat, and he accompanied us to within a day of the town. this was a rather decent-looking pariah dog, of quite remarkable character. unasked he joined us, and trotting often with me in advance, or half a mile ahead, or right behind us all, his short sharp bark might be continually heard in the jungle to right or left as he hunted his breakfast. of what this consisted i never knew, but he kept himself in fair condition, for he got very little from us, poor thing, as we did not want to encourage him; he got more kicks than ha'pence. but he stuck to us, and even when we overhauled other parties going south, instead of stopping and going leisurely with them, he always came on with us. he was evidently accustomed to travelling, and knew the trail, for he was often absent half a day, but would turn up in the evening, and lie near us for the night. when we halted, and placed the waggons round us, and the men put their sleeping-mats underneath them, he would come as near the fire as he dare to get dry and warm. sometimes in the heat at noon, when the sun had been blazing upon us in the sandy jungle, we would come upon him lying in a _nong_, with only his eyes nose, and mouth out of water; while in the rain he plodded stolidly along, and would sit down and wag his dripping tail when he saw we were going to camp. [illustration: the north gate and nam nun, khorat.] at length we saw the high line of foliage topped by palms which marks khorat, and through seas of mud, arrived on the bank of the nam nun, which flows along the northern wall of the city. across the ford were groups of waggons encamped to the number of about fifty, and by an old wat under the shade a busy market was going on. the commissioner here, phra prasadit, is the same stamp of man as the commissioner at luang prabang: one of those energetic, warm-hearted, and cheerful men who make such excellent governors. he was kindness itself to us, and all the men under him reflected it. in siam, where every man has in proportion to his importance numbers of others attached to him by a kind of feudal relationship, and where his office clerks and his lieutenants all have a personal connection with him, and almost form part of his family, the influence which can be exerted is unbounded, and by the expressions of face of the inferiors the superior may be judged. moreover, the commissioner in khorat is a man of ideas, has been in europe, and has a good knowledge of english and a fair knowledge of french, and in all political questions in these countries he takes a great interest; and thus his company was very pleasant. the centre of the town we found not yet recovered from an extensive fire; all round the four sides run the lofty red-brick walls, with gates in the centre of each side, protected by round towers at the flanks, in which laterite blocks have been extensively used. the whole is much dilapidated and overgrown, and the moat outside has become nearly filled up. the commissioner had then men at work clearing it out again. this will probably enormously benefit the town, which at present may be described as an accumulation of houses, mainly in ruins, jungle patches, and swamps, on every side of which rises the great mound on which the walls stand, and which effectually shuts in every drop of water, and in the rains transforms the whole area into a lake. with openings made under the walls to drain off the water into the moat, and with a raising of the level inside, an enormous improvement will be effected. as the town stands well on a slight rise above the plain level, and is surrounded with similar ridges covered only with beautiful turf going miles towards the south, south-west, and south-east, it may become a healthy and attractive place. the plain around is dotted with villages; for many miles the soil certainly produces a fine clean rice and abundance of fruit. going out in the morning along any of the great trails to the west, north, or east, one passes among crowds of camped _kiens_, and among villages and markets, the latter always held along one side of the road. at the time we were there mangoes were in full swing, and all the women's baskets full of them, bananas, coconuts, ready-rolled cigarettes, brown cakes of palm sugar of an excellent quality, and very often the fruit of the sugar palm, which is very much enjoyed. to the south and west the trails are really like beautiful roads, for they go through a pretty red sand soil, leading to the flat-bedded sandstones of the hills, which makes good walking, and, even when swamped with a foot of water, never causes mud. on the north and east, however, on slightly lower ground, these sandy ridges are less frequent; the villages, when possible, are built on them for health and convenience, while the paddy is grown below. the trails on these sides, passing chiefly through this low land, are in the rains two or three feet deep in thick, clinging mud. if the houses of the thai (in which for the moment we may include the siamese and laos together) are in the city badly situated in swamp and jungle, and badly kept in repair, the houses of the chinese are very different; they are the flourishing part of the community. there are some thousands of them here and in the neighbourhood, nearly all shopkeepers, and outside the west gate, and along the main trail on each side, they have a regular village. the street is narrow between the open shop-fronts, and the road paved with baulks of timber. they drive a large trade among the people coming in from the distant parts, in calico stuffs, coloured sarongs and panungs, brasswork for betel boxes, trays, etc., umbrellas, sandals (the latter soles of leather with a strap coming up inside the great toe, and dividing and passing off on each side, which are used all over the north); hats of straw, felt, or strips of palm leaf; bells for oxen, tins of swiss milk, matches, needles and threads, wire and nails, cheap chains, a few tools of european type, coloured yarns, white jackets and singlets, towels, and even soap: all are imported from bangkok. yet, with the present difficulties of transport through the dong phya yen, the chinamen are doing a flourishing business. [illustration: sandal] the chinese houses are peculiar; a rectangular building being first built of large unbaked mud bricks, with pillars rising like chimneys at each end. outside, several feet higher, and resting on these pillars, is constructed a _yah kah_, or grass roof. big fires are kindled inside to dry the place; and the result is a very cool dwelling. the grass roofing is brought very often far out, overhanging the front, and this makes a shop front with the house behind. these houses are usually on the roadsides, the two principal ones running north and south, and east and west, connecting the gates, and meeting about the centre. the latter road is about a mile long, the former less. the central market is carried on all day in a large roofed building near the centre of the city, and all up the road sit the yellow-faced chinamen smoking their long-stemmed pipes in the shop fronts, and with the aid of their wives (generally siamese, and good business women) bargaining with the long-haired, dark burned men from the plains, to whom the beauties of the shops in khorat are a great delight. from these main roads one may have quite an extensive ride or walk without going outside the walls, in lovely lanes, lying deep down between high banks of shrubs and grasses (and sometimes feet deep in water). these lanes are quite a feature of the country outside, too, and, with the long grassy slopes referred to above, would make khorat the centre of delightful excursions in the cool months. the journey from khorat to saraburi on the nam sak, whence bangkok can be reached in two days, occupies as a rule six or seven days only. but when, after the main body had come up and had a day's rest, we bade good-bye to the unceasing kindness of the commissioner, and at the end of the first day's march, which had begun pleasantly through lanes and villages, found ourselves up to our necks in water, it was evident we should take longer. we had to trend to the southward to get upon the high ground out of the water, and with constant delays, owing to the impassable state of the rivers, it was fourteen days before we got to saraburi. leaving the beautiful villages outside khorat, deep in their thick clusters of areca palms, which in places form perfect forests of tall stems supporting the arched roof of leaves far overhead, and making a perpetual cool shade, we had two days alternately over flat sandstone beds and flooded lowlands, where the water was for hours at a time up to our thighs, and at one place for half a mile up to our necks. our nights were wretched, as the rain was perpetual, and the waggons could not arrive at the monasteries, where we put up, till long after midnight; the men lay sleeping round, hungry and damp, lots of them too tired to eat their supper when we got it ready, about a.m. these monasteries, built, as they were in days of old in our own fen country, upon little islands, are often the only things above the vast surrounding lakes of water. the houses in the villages, built high on piles, keep dry. raised above the ground some two or three feet, are generally long timber walks, made of solid felled trees, the top side being slightly shaved down, on which the monks may walk out dry and clean in the morning rounds to get their food. these walks are attached to the wats in all the plains of the country, and when the traveller strikes one, he knows a wat, with its welcome sala or resthouse, is near. the trail follows the khorat river to nearly its source in the limestones of the "dong phya yen" forest; it then strikes across the forest, descending the spurs of the plateau to the elbow made by the nam sak, which turns away at keng koi in a west-south-westerly direction to the meinam. this trail in the forest is greatly worn by the pack oxen, by which alone the thick forest can be penetrated, and in the rains is a series of narrow tracks winding in and out between the trees, consisting of frightfully slippery mud. the oxen have a way of walking in each other's footsteps, and the result is a series of ridges, like those on a sandbank at low water; but the ridges are greasy mud, and the depressions deep pitfalls. thus in the wet weather the oxen constantly have heavy falls, and no one can get through without finding himself often on his nose or on his back. the forest proper begins at chanteuk, a small village, in the neighbourhood of which are some copper mines. these are open works, and as no one has worked there lately, were, when we passed through, brim full of water. on the khorat side of this place are two fords, to cross which huge tree-trunks lie over the water, the growth along the bamboo being extraordinarily dense. between them is a sala, which fortunately was in moderate condition, as we were delayed there two days in pouring rain, the river having risen ten feet in one night, as i measured next morning. our quinine was nearly at an end; one man was quite prostrated with fever; and our eight days' store of rice was nearly done, all our chickens gone, the horses useless with sore backs, and the thirty-eight oxen carrying the packs suffering with coughs and sores. to get out we built two rafts; one was carried away on her first journey, the ropes going; and the other proved so slow that, as the distance was some hundred yards in the then state of the water, it would have taken us two days to get all over. but, to our great satisfaction, the river fell. at chanteuk we got some rice and _platieng_, salt-fish, which the siamese eat with their rice, and can live on for any length of time. then, instead of going down the great trail, where a party of two men and a woman we met had just left two of their number dead of fever in the road, i took a drier, if longer route to the south. our resting-places were ban kanong pra, ban tachang, hoay sai, and muak lek nua, whence we reached keng koi. the scenery of this forest is most peculiar, and by no means inviting, especially in the continuous heavy rain, when the traveller is attacked by ticks and leeches, flies, and red ants seeking a dry place. the villages are the wretchedest collections of huts, the people mostly very poor; and one constantly wondered how any soul could live in these tiny clearings in the midst of a vast area where, for the most part, the sun never comes, when he might be in healthy, open country. we could seldom get even a banana. undulating in all directions lies the forest, with now and then a sheet of limestone precipice towering among the drifting rains; the paths,[ ] just wide enough for an ox, continually obstructed by lately fallen trees, round which a _detour_ must be cut in the semi-darkness; and all the while the dull roar of the rain upon the leaves, with the prospect of a camp, wet through, in long six-feet grasses for the night. at ban mai we emerged from the forest, and found a clean village with a lot of cheerful, chatty laos, who sent three men on with us to keng koi--the smartest set of men we had seen since leaving the mekong. at pak prio, a morning's walk beyond, we found the embankment of the railway to khorat so far advanced as to have a mile of rails laid above the place, and a locomotive standing almost finished in a shed, to which my men as they came by fell upon their knees and offered the customary siamese "salaam," by raising the clasped hands to the forehead. the oxen, which had reached a stream we crossed with ease a few hours before above keng koi, found it impassable, and were delayed two days there. my poor fellows, soaked through and through, and with no chance of getting snug at night, had to sleep and live for two days of pouring rain in the sala; but, being near home, were as jolly as could be. the temperature was some ° higher at night, and mosquitos, which we had not seen for over five months, were most obnoxious; and from the strong south-west winds blowing, it was evident we were once more near the gulf. one day's pulling and half a day's steaming, and bangkok was in sight, with the french _lutin_ and h.m.s. _swift_ lying off the legations. this was the first evidence we had had of there being political troubles. from fording the swollen streams, from continual tumbles in mud and water, and from constant rain, we found nearly everything on the pack oxen had been ruined that could be--photographs and other things. it is a most clumsy way of travelling, without doubt, and the time and labour spent in loading up every morning is enormous. the weights on the two sides must be adjusted accurately, the two men lifting them on a bamboo, through the middle, to test the balance and spending often ten minutes in getting one pair of panniers ready. then there are constant falls, and often these are not discovered until miles have been traversed, and a careful search has to be made in ditches, streams, and mud for hours at a time. besides this, the pace is wretchedly slow. this belt of the dong phya yen, which can only be passed by animals, thus equipped, is a practical barrier to communication, leaving out of consideration the superstition with which the forest is, with much reason owing to its fevers, regarded, and the badness of the roads within it. the khorat railway becomes thus a work of the greatest importance to the whole plateau. to complete its usefulness, one or two passable cart-roads will do all that is necessary for that piece of undoubtedly hopeful country. the nam sak, which the railway leaves at keng koi, is also a valuable river, inasmuch as, apart from the large tobacco crops towards its source, the valley is one richer in minerals than any other piece of country like it in siam, and in the rainy season the question of transport is a fairly easy one. what struck me very much on descending the nam sak was the thickness of the population all along the banks, as compared with anything we had seen in the north. the beauty of the wats--always built on points of land round which the stream wound its turbid way--was also striking, and quite impressive. in the manners of the majority, and their loud talking, it was also clear that we were no longer among the gentle laos of nan or the musicians of luang prabang; but the comfort and luxury of the people were such as far exceeded anything we had seen since we left the meinam at pechai. the weather all the way from nongkhai to muak lek nua (end of april and may) was south-westerly winds, moderate to fresh, falling at night. mornings fine, with heavy cumuli in the south-west and west, which gradually spread, and became dark flashing thunder-clouds. heavy rain after p.m., beginning with a heavy squall of wind shifting to the west and north-west, and once or twice round to north-east, whence it blew hard for an hour. rain generally lasted most of the night. thermometer--average minimum reading, ° fahr.; maximum, ° in the shade. from muak lek nua we descended into the meinam valley, and found in the plains but slight showers, and fresh south-westerly wind lasting long into the night. thermometer--minimum reading while in pak prio, °. the result of so much wading made itself rather severely felt in a few days on most of us, and we had sores on our legs and feet for some time afterwards, so that it was almost impossible to get shoes on. this was no doubt partly owing to low diet, and partly to the cuts and wounds to the bare feet which every one gets wading where he cannot see his way, made worse by the blistering effect of the occasionally fierce sun, to keep off which palm leaves wrapt round the foot are excellent. with regard to the fevers, i would say, don't give quinine every day, as then in emergency its effect is less powerful, and the constitution is too accustomed to it; keep it until men feel a bit down, or when in very bad places or bad weather. it will last longer, and do more. in the high fevers of the dense forests, which prostrate a man very suddenly, emetics are the most reliable cure. in a country abounding in snakes, it is not a little remarkable that our party only saw four the whole time. again, though often in wild elephant tracks, none of us ever either saw or heard one. two tigers, a few deer, and monkeys (which are not timid) were the only animals which were seen in the forests--a very sufficient proof, where their tracks are to be seen on every hand, and they can be heard around all night, of the care with which they avoid meeting man. of course the great thickness of the vegetation, where the man in front of you is often out of sight even in the path, in great measure also accounts for it, and it is this which prevents siam being such a field for the sportsman as it would otherwise be. there is one subject especially which it struck me often would make an interesting inquiry for any one who understands the subject--the comparison of the patterns and colours, both in the silk and cotton-work of the laos districts; such as the check patterns in the panungs and cloaks in nan, the former remarkable for a large use of a bright yellow, which, to the unaccustomed eye is rather flaring, the latter for its red shades; the horizontal and generally narrow stripes of the luang prabang petticoats (in which, again, the best effect is due to yellow); and the extremely taking panungs of khorat, which are thought very much of by the siamese. they are of one colour, with a border at the ends, blue, a delicate pink flesh colour, and a light red being the commonest. _note on gold and silver at luang prabang._ all over the laos states silver ornaments, as well as such articles as betel-boxes, trays, etc., are very common among the chiefs, and at luang prabang gold is likewise often seen used in place of silver for such things. the question is often raised as to how and where these metals have been obtained in such quantities in the past, that even tribute has been paid in ornaments made of them from olden times. certainly the gold has always been found in alluvial sands, nor did i ever hear of its being known in veins or veags, nor did i ever find any traces of its so occurring. i believe its chief source must be the series of crystalline schists, which is an extensive one, and i incline to the idea, from the smallness of the quantities extracted from the sands, that it is probably sparsely disseminated through these rocks as well as through the quartz and possibly the calcareous veins, and that it will never be found in them in sufficient quantities to pay working. the patient streams have worked away for ages denuding and carrying away these rocks, and separating and depositing the gold, and all they have effected as far as the latter goes is that they have deposited infinitesimal quantities of it only, with larger quantities of the other minerals, such as magnetic iron ore, iron pyrites, etc. decomposition and disintegration of the latter may be in places freeing more gold, and the yearly floods bring down their small addition, but yet even the lao worker hardly finds it worth his while to work the sands, and the apathy displayed in the matter everywhere is partly without doubt accounted for by the poverty of the results obtained. and where the native worker gets such poor results, will the european miner get better? the gold in the mekong is generally extremely fine and much water-worn, and is usually found below a sharp turn in the river, where the water runs strong. as regards the silver, it has been found native, but in such very small quantities that it cannot have supplied the whole country. the whole of siam, however, is rich in galena, often of a very argentiferous character, and it may possibly have been found with other sulphides as well, but there can be little doubt that most of it has been extracted from galena. in some parts of the northern laos states this has been a regular industry. small blast furnaces of baked mud are used, and when reduced the metal is run off in pigs and put in a reverberatory furnace with charcoal. this is sometimes done (but clumsily enough) further south, but little interest is manifested as a rule in these matters. nowadays money is often melted down for working into ornaments. [footnote : it no doubt primarily arises from the danger and strength of the eddies.] [footnote : there are a few elephant tracks.] appendix. at the meeting of the royal geographical society on february , , an account of mr. warington smyth's journey by the president, mr. clements r. markham, c.b., was read by mr. probyn. before the reading of the paper, the president said-- the paper we are to hear this evening is on exploration on the upper mekong, in siam, by mr. herbert warington smyth, who is serving under the siamese government. siam is from many points of view a most interesting country, more particularly for us at the present time, and it is observable that until about nine years ago, when mr. holt hallett read his paper, we had scarcely in this society heard anything of siam except as to the exploration of the mekong by our gold medallist, lieut. garnier. we had only had scattered notices in previous years from sir robert schomburgk and sir harry parkes. but latterly we have received most important communications from lord lamington in and mr. curzon last year, and i think that not only this society, but the nation generally, owes a debt of gratitude to lord lamington and mr. curzon for having so persistently, so patriotically, and so ably kept a question of such importance to england before the government and the public. it was in that mr. mccarthy, after surveying siam for several years, favoured us with a most interesting communication. he was the first to describe to us the geographical and the general features of the country; and i believe i am right in saying it was through the advice and the persuasion of mr. mccarthy that this young and modest explorer, mr. warington smyth, was induced to send us his paper, which we shall listen to this evening. unfortunately, he will be unable to read it himself; he is still--i won't say better employed, because i don't think any one can be better employed than in reading a paper before this society, but he is quite as well employed in preparing in siam for further exploration, and i am glad to say that, as the paper is in manuscript, or the condensed version which we are obliged to use, a friend of mr. warington smyth and an old schoolfellow, mr. probyn, has very kindly undertaken to read it. after the reading of the paper, the following discussion took place:-- lord lamington: i think i may say that if mr. warington smyth had been here he would have considered it a great compliment to have had his lecture listened to by so large an audience, and i may also say you will not think your time wasted while listening to the paper. we owe a debt of gratitude to mr. probyn for having undertaken to read a paper so full of names to which he must be unaccustomed. with regard to the paper, no description i have read has recalled to me so vividly the scenes in that part of the world. mr. smyth has shown himself not only a geologist, but a close observer of natural history and human customs in every variety and form. he has represented to us most fully all the scenery, and given us a vivid description of siamese and laos life. i am glad that he corroborates what i myself would state, the gentleness of the laos tribes. i don't know who has called them barbarians, but i cannot imagine a people less deserving of such a title. i am not quite sure of the definition of civilization, and in their own way it may not be western, but in all kindness and honesty they are as worthy to be called civilized as any that could be found in the human race. i almost wish he had told us more about the mineralogical wealth of the country. i am not certain how far we may gather that the sapphire mines are of any great value, but from the mere fact of these burmans coming over and thinking it worth while to take long journeys to sell their stones, and from their being of the first water, we may assume that when these mines are worked in a more efficacious manner they will prove to be of value. another interesting part of his paper refers to the navigation of the mekong from north of luang prabang and down south as far as nong khai. from chieng kong, where he first touched it, to chieng kan, we may assess its value as a navigable river, that is to say, for any boats of size to carry cargoes. his estimate is borne out by the report of mr. archer, and so also his statement on the commerce of luang prabang gives us a true idea of its worth, which is practically _nil_. of course, we know the french are anxious to obtain possession of that place, as they consider it of first-class importance. both mr. archer and prince henri d'orleans think it, as a commercial centre, valueless for attracting any european capital. that part of the mekong which may be considered navigable is from chang tang to khong, further than mr. warington smyth went. the french have now carried some stern-wheel steamers piecemeal up to these waters; the result of their enterprise only the future can show. with regard to the fishing methods of the natives, i may just say that these arrangements may be very well when you are descending the river, but they are the greatest inconvenience when ascending, as they form a formidable barrier if there is a strong current, and when you have to face this rigid fence of bamboos, it then becomes a matter of great difficulty to force the boat through. mr. warington smyth mentioned the difficulties made by the mud; this, of course, in the wet season renders all travelling impossible. the sliminess of the mud is almost inconceivable, and i can recollect, when between chieng upeng and mung sai, i used when climbing to keep on all fours, and probably slip down until arrested by a twist in the path; and it was amusing to see the efforts made by boys and men to mount the slimy slopes. this was in the dry season; in the wet season travelling with loaded animals becomes impossible throughout the greater part of the indo-china peninsula. mr. archer came across from chieng kong into the nam nan valley; now mr. warington smyth describes the country from nong khai to khorat; and there is an account waiting to be published by, mr. beckett, of the diplomatic service, of a journey still further down the mekong and along the nam mun river to khorat. we are thus in possession of descriptions of a country that, owing to political exigencies, will play an important part in the future, and all information we derive concerning it must be very valuable to us. i apologize for addressing you at such length, and thank you for your kind remarks about my efforts to instruct public opinion about siam. i imagine i must be a lineal descendant of cassandra, because i have noticed that all i have said has been disregarded. i am glad to see mr. curzon has torn himself away from the charms of the allotment question. he has given much information, and has asked many searching questions in parliament with reference to siam, and has been successful in eliciting some valuable information. hon. george curzon: lord lamington has indulged in some amiable chaff at the expense of the house of commons, to which we are accustomed on the part of those noblemen who belong to the upper chamber. i may tell him, in reply, that what concerns us much more than the question of allotments for the parishes in england is the question of the future political allotment of siam. my interest in siam is more than a purely physical or geographical interest in the country; and all those who belong to the country, or have a friendly concern in it, may rest assured that neither lord lamington or i will abate any effort for its fair treatment in the politics of the future. i don't know that i have much right, perhaps none, to address you at all this evening, because, in the first place, i have not been upon these upper parts of the river mekong which have been visited and so admirably described successively by lord lamington and in the paper this evening. my own acquaintance with the mekong is limited to its lower portion, where it flows through cochin-china, cambodia, and at pnom penh, the capital of cambodia, sends northwards a branch that disembogues into the lake tali sap. now, this mekong river is one of the most remarkable rivers in the world, whether contemplated in the lower parts, where it spreads out in broad tranquil reaches from yards to half a mile in width; or whether you examine its middle sections, where, as we have been told this evening, the french are finding furious and stormy rapids; or whether you go northward beyond the exploration of lord lamington and mr. warington smyth, the river pursues its course unknown and unexplored far away, amid the mountain masses of western china and tibet. this river mekong seems to me, during the last twenty-five years, to illustrate a lesson, ever since - , when the french expedition under lagree, garnier, and de la porte went up the river to explore it,--one of the most heroic of expeditions in its conception and execution, and most pathetic in its result, undertaken by pioneers. ever since then it has had an extraordinary fascination for frenchmen--so much so, that they have claimed for themselves a sole right of interest in the mekong, no matter what reports may be brought home by travellers, commercial agents, or explorers, as to the unnavigability of the river. they have maintained these ideas to the present day, and i cannot imagine a more interesting study than that of the parts which the great rivers of asia, the euphrates, oxus, ganges, and mekong, have taken in history not merely by their geographical features or commercial aspect, but by what i may call their moral influences, exercised on the moulding of the peoples and on the destinies of empires. we have heard a most interesting paper from mr. smyth. he has given us a most faithful and vivid account of boat life, raft life, camp life, village life, and jungle life in siam, and, as lord lamington said, has given us not only a faithful, but a singularly attractive, picture of the various tribes who inhabit that country. i was glad to hear what lord lamington said about these laos peoples, because there is too great a tendency in the world to assume that, because the tribes of little-known and comparatively unexplored districts have not all the abominable manners of civilization, they must necessarily be described as barbarians. as he remarked, no more amiable, docile population exists--a people possessed of æsthetic and musical tastes, who are entitled to the epithet, "the greeks of the indo-chinese peninsula." there is another strip south of luang prabang, right down between the mountains and the mekong, into which no englishman has ever been; and, looking to the fact that the french have taken possession of it, i don't suppose we are likely to go there. further down is a curious people called ladans, amongst whom an adventurer, either french or italian, established himself a short time ago, called himself king, and, i believe, wanted to appear in the "almanack de gotha;" but, having retired for a short time, on his return found his subjects unwilling to receive him, and the kingdom has disappeared. the interest to us in this room is not that of acquisition or conquest, but a friendly sympathetic interest in the oriental people who are playing their own part in the world, in proportion as they come into the mesh of british trade. i was interested to hear about manchester goods at luang prabang, seeing the advantages the french have for shipping by hanoi and up the black river. you would never expect manchester goods there, and the fact that they are there means, not only that they ought to be kept there, but ought to be seen all over the peninsula. i am pleased to say that mr. smyth, in the latter part of his journey, travelled over a line that is to be taken by the railway from khorat to bangkok, of which i saw the embankments. it was largely the anticipation of the results of that railway that induced the french to go on, for the flow of trade has been for some time past from the mekong river south-westwards. they want to divest it towards their possessions. conceive how it will be emphasized if you have a railway instead of the carts that take goods laboriously by the way mr. smyth described! i am sorry that there is difficulty about this railway--that the contractor has had a dispute with the siamese government; but i hope that this will be settled, and, at all events, that siam will make the railway. a year ago i was in siam, and the king told me he meant to take the railway to kong khai. it will be the best thing for the salvation of his country, and there is no englishman present who does not wish to see siam strong, independent, and wealthy, and capable of holding its own. for my own part, i shall never cease to feel the greatest and warmest interest in that singularly attractive country, and my own opinion is, that it is the duty of every british government to see that the integrity of that country is not wiped out, and that its vitality is maintained. mr. f. verney: i have the honour of being connected with siam by being a member of the siamese legation. i have watched with intense interest the advance of that country, and have been concerned in its connection with europe even more than with siam itself. i can thoroughly confirm everything that has been said by lord lamington on the one side and mr. curzon on the other, from what i have heard, not from what i have seen. i was in siam for a very short time, and was treated there with the greatest possible kindness and hospitality. to judge fairly the civilization of that country, we should take, not our own standard of civilization only, but a wider standard applicable to communities differing entirely in their origin, their histories, and in their development from our own, and it is very gratifying to hear a man in mr. curzon's position in the house of commons express his opinions in the emphatic and eloquent language to which we have just listened. it is true that only recently england has awakened to the extreme importance of that distant country. it was not until the other day that englishmen had an idea that siam produced anything much besides twins, but this cynical ignorance is rapidly disappearing. you cannot listen to travellers like lord lamington and mr. curzon (and when mr. warington smyth comes back we shall listen to him) without finding out that there is a great deal both of material and what we may call moral progress in that distant country. let me say one word as regards his majesty the king of siam, on whose character and personality so much depends. for many years past the king has been known as a man of wide interests, of a very high order of intelligence, and of an unusual charm of manner. he comes of a family distinguished in the past both for statesmanship and scientific culture. a member of his family was one of the greatest astronomers in the east; another was described to me by one of the greatest oriental travellers, and perhaps the most cultivated linguist in germany, as being the master of more languages than any other man he had met; and you may be assured that the royal family of siam will produce many more distinguished men. there are members studying at oxford, others at our public schools, growing up surrounded by all the best english influences. let us hope that siam and england will go hand-in-hand, and that other countries in europe will come round to see that this is not a country for invasion or annexation, but worthy of support and sympathy, on account of its people, its products, its achievements in the past, and its possibilities for the future. mr. louis: i am afraid i can add very little to what mr. warington smyth has said, because my explorations were in a diametrically opposite direction. i had the pleasure of his company when exploring some diamond and ruby mines in the south-east, and this was more interesting to me as my knowledge of mineralogy was acquired under mr. warington smyth's father. on one point only i have to differ from mr. warington smyth--as to the burmese way of washing rubies and sapphires. it is not at all to my mind the crude, rough way he mentions. their baskets are the most beautifully finished work made of bamboo in thin strips, and handled with all the deftness and practised skill of an australian or californian gold-washer; they scarcely ever miss a gem, so far as i could see, much bigger than a pin's head. as regards the geology of these districts on the east of chantabun, the formation is simply gravel from to feet deep overlying the trap rocks, and these gems have been worn out of the trap rocks by natural agencies. mr. smyth describes the gems as coming from a black crystalline rock very similar to that i have mentioned. this formation seems to be quite different from the white limestone occurring in burma. i should like to mention one thing that must have struck very few when hearing mr. smyth's paper; it not only gives a wonderfully accurate description of the people, but is an accurate reflex of his own plucky and cheery nature; very few can have any idea of the real hardships and difficulties and dangers involved in such an expedition. it takes an englishman to go through such dangers and hardships, and then write such a bright account of everything as mr. smyth has done. the president: i am sure the meeting will agree with me that we have never in this hall heard so graphic and so picturesque an account of this little-known region as is contained in mr. warington smyth's paper. mr. smyth is evidently a keen observer of nature, and has the gift of sympathy--of being able to place himself in the position of the people with whom he travels and whom he comes across, as well as a kindly feeling for the animals serving with him. these are very high qualities. his narrative is so lively and cheery, that we can hardly realize the amount of hardship and danger the journey entailed. these are all admirable qualifications, which are due almost entirely, i have no doubt, to his own individuality; but perhaps we may put something down to his education. mr. warington smyth was a westminster boy, like his father before him, who was a valued member of our council. i cannot help taking this opportunity of saying that there are very few places of learning in this country that have done in times past so much for geography as that glorious old school which nestles round the cloisters of westminster abbey. richard hakluyt, the father of english geography, was a westminster boy; edmund gunter, the first introducers of the use of napier's logarithms; neville maskelyne, to whom we owe the nautical almanac; dr. vincent, one of our greatest comparative geographers, were all westminster boys; and one of the seven founders of this society, and two of your presidents, were also westminster boys. now we find a westminster boy training himself, hereafter to be a great explorer, and perhaps discoverer. let us wish him all success in his career, and i am sure the meeting will desire me to convey to him a hearty and unanimous vote of thanks. [illustration: map--the central part of the kingdom of siam. showing the route of mr. h. warington smyth.] afloat in the forest a voyage among the tree-tops by captain mayne reid published by ticknor and fields, boston. this edition dated . chapter one. the brothers at home. twenty years ago, not twenty miles from the land's end, there lived a cornish gentleman named trevannion. just twenty years ago he died, leaving to lament him a brace of noble boys, whose mother all three had mourned, with like profound sorrow, but a short while before. "squire" trevannion, as he was called, died in his own house, where his ancestors for hundreds of years before him had dispensed hospitality. none of them, however, had entertained so profusely as he; or rather improvidently, it might be said, since in less than three months after his death the old family mansion, with the broad acres appertaining to it, passed into the hands of an alien, leaving his two sons, ralph and richard, landless, houseless, and almost powerless. one thousand pounds apiece was all that remained to them out of the wreck of the patrimonial estates. it was whispered that even this much was not in reality theirs, but had been given to them by the _very respectable_ solicitor who had managed their father's affairs, and had furthermore _managed_ to succeed him in the ownership of a property worth a rental of three thousand a year. any one knowing the conditions under which the young trevannions received their two thousand pounds must have believed it to be a gift, since it was handed over to them by the family solicitor with the private understanding that they were to use it in pushing their fortunes elsewhere,--anywhere except in cornwall! the land-pirate who had plucked them--for in reality had they been plucked--did not wish them to stay at home, divested, as they were, of their valuable plumage. he had appropriated their fine feathers, and cared not for the naked bodies of the birds. there were those in cornwall who suspected foul play in the lawyer's dealings with the young trevannions, among others, the victims themselves. but what could they, do? they were utterly ignorant of their late father's affairs,--indeed, with any affairs that did not partake of the nature of "sports." a solicitor "most respectable,"--a phrase that has become almost synonymous with rascality,--a regular church-goer,--accounts kept with scrupulous exactness,--a man of honest face, distinguished for probity of speech and integrity of heart,--what could the trevannions do? what more than the smiths and the browns and the joneses, who, notwithstanding their presumed greater skill in the ways of a wicked lawyer world, are duped every day in a similar manner. it is an old and oft-repeated story,--a tale too often told, and too often true,--that of the family lawyer and his confiding client, standing in the relationship of robber and robbed. the two children of squire trevannion could do nothing to save or recover their paternal estate. caught in the net of legal chicanery, they were forced to yield, as other squires' children have had to do, and make the best, of a bad matter,--forced to depart from a home that had been held by trevannions perhaps since the phoenicians strayed thitherward in search of their shining tin. it sore grieved them to separate from the scenes of their youth; but the secret understanding with the solicitor required that sacrifice. by staying at home a still greater might be called for,--subsistence in penury, and, worse than all, in a humiliating position; for, notwithstanding the open house long kept by their father, his friends had disappeared with his guests. impelled by these thoughts, the brothers resolved to go forth into the wide world, and seek fortune wherever it seemed most likely they should find it. they were at this period something more than mere children. ralph had reached within twelve months of being twenty. richard was his junior by a couple of years. their book-education had been good; the practice of manly sports had imparted to both of them a physical strength that fitted them for toil, either of the mind or body. they were equal to a tough struggle, either in the intellectual or material world; and to this they determined to resign themselves. for a time they debated between themselves where they should go, and what do. the army and navy came under their consideration. with such patronage as their father's former friends could command, and might still exert in favour of their fallen fortunes, a commission in either army or navy was not above their ambition. but neither felt much inclined towards a naval or military life; the truth being, that a thought had taken shape in their minds leading them to a different determination. their deliberations ended by each of them proclaiming a resolve,--almost sealing it with a vow,--that they would enter into some more profitable, though perhaps less pretentious, employment than that of either soldiering or sailoring; that they would toil--with their hands, if need be--until they should accumulate a sufficient sum to return and recover the ancestral estate from the grasp of the avaricious usurper. they did not know how it was to be done; but, young, strong, and hopeful, they believed it might be done,--with time, patience, and industry to aid them in the execution. "where shall we go?" inquired richard, the younger of the two. "to america, where every poor man appears to prosper? with a thousand each to begin the world with, we might do well there. what say you, ralph?" "america is a country where men seem to thrive best who have _nothing_ to begin the world with. you mean north america,--the united states,--i suppose?" "i do." "i don't much like the united states as a home,--not because it is a republic, for i believe that is the only just form of government, whatever our aristocratic friends may say. i object to it simply because i wish to go south,--to some part of the tropical world, where one may equally be in the way of acquiring a fortune." "is there such a place?" "there is." "where, brother?" "peru. anywhere along the sierra of the andes from chili to the isthmus of panama. as cornish men we should adopt the specialty of our province, and become miners. the andes mountains will give us that opportunity, where, instead of grey tin, we may delve for yellow gold. what say you to south america?" "i like the thought of south america,--nothing would please me better than going there. but i must confess, brother, i have no inclination for the occupation you speak of. i had rather be a merchant than a miner." "don't let that _penchant_ prevent you from selecting peru as the scene of mercantile transactions. there are many englishmen who have made fortunes in the peruvian trade. you may hope to follow their example. we may choose different occupations and still be near each other. one thousand pounds each may give both of us a start,--you as a merchant of goods, i as a digger for gold. peru is the place for either business. decide, dick! shall we sail for the scenes rendered celebrated by pizarro?" "if you will it--i'm agreed." "thither then let us go." in a month from that time the two trevannions might have been seen upon a ship, steering westward from the land's end, and six months later both disembarked upon the beach of callao,--_en route_ first for lima, thence up the mountains, to the sterile snow-crested mountains, that tower above the treasures of cerro pasco,--vainly guarded within the bosom of adamantine rocks. chapter two. the brothers abroad. ralph and richard trevannion. if it were so, a gap of some fifteen years--after the date of their arrival at cerro pasco--would have to be filled up. i decline to speak of this interval of their lives, simply because the details might not have any remarkable interest for those before whom they would be laid. suffice it to say, that richard, the younger, soon became wearied of a miner's life; and, parting with his brother, he crossed the cordilleras, and descended into the great amazonian forest,--the "montana," as it is called by the spanish inhabitants of the andes. thence, in company with a party of portuguese traders, he kept on down the river amazon, trading along its banks, and upon some of its tributary streams; and finally established himself as a merchant at its mouth, in the thriving "city" of gran para. richard was not unsocial in his habits; and soon became the husband of a fair-haired wife,--the daughter of a countryman who, like himself, had established commercial relations at para. in a few years after, several sweet children called him "father,"--only two of whom survived to prattle in his ears this endearing appellation, alas! no longer to be pronounced in the presence of their mother. fifteen years after leaving the land's end, richard trevannion, still under thirty-five years of age, was a widower, with two children,-- respected wherever known, prosperous in pecuniary affairs,--rich enough to return home, and spend the remainder of his days in that state so much desired by the sybarite roman poet,--"otium cum dignitate." did he remember the vow mutually made between him and his brother, that, having enough money, they would one day go back to cornwall, and recover the ancestral estate? he did remember it. he longed to accomplish this design, he only awaited his brother's answer to a communication he had made to him on this very subject. he had no doubt that ralph's desire would be in unison with his own,-- that his brother would soon join him, and then both would return to their native land,--perhaps to dwell again under the same roof that had sheltered them as children. the history of the elder brother during this period of fifteen years, if less eventful, was not less distinguished by success. by steadily following the pursuit which had first attracted him to peru, he succeeded in becoming a man of considerable means,--independent, if not wealthy. like his brother, he got married at an early period,--in fact, within the first year after establishing himself in cerro pasco. unlike the latter, however, he chose for his wife one of the women of the country,--a beautiful peruvian lady. she too, but a short while before, had gone to a better world, leaving motherless two pretty children, of twelve and fourteen years of age,--the elder of the two being a daughter. such was the family of ralph trevannion, and such the condition of life in which his brother's epistle reached him,--that epistle containing the proposal that they should wind lip their respective businesses, dispose of both, and carry their gains to the land that had given them birth. the proposition was at once accepted, as richard knew it would be. it was far from the first time that the thing had been discussed, epistolary fashion, between them; for letters were exchanged as often as opportunity permitted,--sometimes twice or thrice in the year. in these letters, during the last few years of their sojourn in south america, the promise made on leaving home was mutually mentioned, and as often renewed on either side. richard knew that his brother was as eager as himself to keep that well-remembered vow. so long as the mother of ralph's children was alive, he had not urged his brother to its fulfilment; but now that she had been dead for more than a year, he had written to say that the time had come for their return to their country and their home. his proposal was, that ralph, having settled his affairs in peru,-- which, of course, included the selling out of his share in the mines,-- should join him, richard, at para, thence to take ship for england. that instead of going round by cape horn, or across the isthmus, by panama, ralph should make the descent of the great amazon river, which traverse would carry him latitudinally across the continent from west to east. richard had two reasons for recommending this route. first, because he wished his brother to see the great river of orellana, as he himself had done; and secondly, because he was still more desirous that his _own son_ should see it. how this last wish was to be gratified by his brother making the descent of the amazon, may require explanation; but it will suffice to say that the son of richard trevannion was at that time residing with his uncle at the mines of cerro pasco. the boy had gone to peru the year before, in one of his father's ships,--first, to see the great ocean, then the great andes,--afterwards to become acquainted with the country of the incas, and last, though not of least importance, to make the acquaintance of his own uncle and his two interesting cousins, the elder of whom was exactly his own age. he had gone to the pacific side by _sea_. it was his father's wish he should return to the atlantic side by land,--or, to speak more accurately, by _river_. the merchant's wish was to be gratified. the miner had no desire to refuse compliance with his proposal. on the contrary, it chimed in with his own inclinations. ralph trevannion possessed a spirit adventurous as his brother's, which fourteen years of mining industry, carried on in the cold mountains of cerro pasco, had neither deadened nor chilled. the thought of once more returning to the scenes of his youth quite rejuvenated him; and on the day of receiving his brother's challenge to go, he not only accepted it, but commenced proceedings towards carrying the design into execution. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a month afterwards and he might have been seen descending the eastern slope of the cordilleras on mule-back, and accompanied by his family and followers; afterwards aboard a _balsa_,--one of those curious crafts used in the descent of the huallaga; and later still on the _montaria_, upon the bosom of the great river itself. with the details of his mountain travels, interesting as they may be, we have naught to do. no more with his descent of the huallaga, nor his long voyage on the amazon itself, in that up-river portion of the stream where it is called the "maranon." only where it becomes the stupendous "solimoes" do we join ralph trevannion on his journey, and remain with him as long as he is "afloat in the forest," _or making a voyage among the tree-tops_. chapter three. the galatea. on an evening in the early part of december, a craft of singular construction might have been seen descending the solimoes, and apparently making for the little portuguese port of coary, that lies on the southern side of the river. when we say of singular construction, we mean singular to one unaccustomed to the navigation of amazonian waters. there the craft in question was too common to excite curiosity, since it was nothing more than a _galatea_, or large canoe, furnished with mast and sail, with a palm-thatched cabin, or _toldo_, rising over the quarter, a low-decked locker running from bow to midships,--along each side of which were to be seen, half seated, half standing, some half-dozen dark-skinned men, each plying, instead of an oar, a paddle-blade. perhaps the most singular sight on board this embarkation was the group of animated beings who composed its crew and passengers. the former, as already stated, were dark-skinned men scantily clad,--in fact, almost naked, since a single pair of white cotton drawers constituted the complete costume of each. for passengers there were three men, and a like number of individuals of younger age. two of the men were white, apparently europeans; the other was as black as soot could have made him,--unquestionably an african negro. of the young people two were boys, not much differing in size, and apparently not much in age, while the third was a half-grown girl, of dark complexion, raven-coloured hair, and beautiful features. one of the white men appeared to be, and was, the proprietor of the montaria, and the employer of its swarthy crew. he was ralph trevannion. the young girl was his daughter, and bore her peruvian mother's name, rosa, more often pronounced by its diminutive of endearment, rosita. the younger of the two boys--also of dark complexion--was his son ralph; while the older, of true saxon physiognomy and hue, was the son of his brother, also bearing his father's christian name, richard. the second white man was unmistakably of european race,--so much so that any one possessing the slightest knowledge of the hibernian type would at once have pronounced him a "son of the sod." a pure pug nose, a shock of curled hair of the clearest carrot colour, an eternal twinkle in the eye, a volume of fun lying open at each angle of the mouth, were all characteristics by which "tipperary tom"--for such was his _sobriquet_--might be remembered. about the negro there was nothing special, more than that he was a pure negro, with enormously thick lips, flattened nose, long protruding heels, teeth white as hippopotamus ivory, and almost always set in a good-humoured grin. the darkey had been a sailor, or rather ship-steward, before landing in peru. thither had he strayed, and settled at cerro pasco after several years spent aboard ship. he was a native of mozambique, on the eastern coast of africa, to which circumstance was he indebted for the only name ever given him,--mozey. both he and the irishman were the servants of the miner, or rather his retainers, who served him in various ways, and had done so almost ever since his establishing himself among the rocks of cerro pasco. the other creatures of the animated kingdom that found lodgment upon the craft were of various shapes, sizes, and species. there were quadrupeds, quadrumana, and birds,--beasts of the field, monkeys of the forest, and birds of the air,--clustering upon the cabin top, squatted in the hold, perched upon the gangway, the toldo, the yard, and the mast,--forming an epitomised menagerie, such as may be seen on every kind of craft that navigates the mighty amazon. it is not our design to give any description of the galatea's crew. there were nine of them,--all indians,--four on each side acting as rowers, or more properly "paddlers," the ninth being the pilot or steersman, standing abaft the toldo. our reason for not describing them is that they were a changing crew, only attached to the craft for a particular stage of the long river voyage, and had succeeded several other similar sets since the embarkation of our voyagers on the waters of the upper amazon. they had joined the galatea at the port of ega, and would take leave of her at coary, where a fresh crew of civilised indians--"tapuyos"--would be required. and they _were_ required, but not obtained. on the galatea putting into the port of coary, it was found that nearly every man in the place was off upon a hunting excursion,--turtle and cow-fish being the game that had called them out. not a canoe-man could be had for love or money. the owner of the galatea endeavoured to tempt the ega crew to continue another stage. it was contrary to their habit, and they refused to go. persuasion and threats were tried in vain. coaxing and scolding proved equally unavailable; all except one remained firm in their refusal, the exception being an old indian who did not belong to the ega tribe, and who could not resist the large bribe offered by trevannion. the voyagers must either suspend their journey till the coary turtle-hunters should return, or proceed without paddlers. the hunters were not expected for a month. to stay a month at coary was out of the question. the galatea must go on manned by her own people, and the old indian who was to act as pilot. such was the determination of ralph trevannion. but for that resolve,--rash as it was, and ending unfortunately for him who made it,--we should have no story to tell. chapter four. drifting with the current. the craft that carried the ex-miner, his family and following, once more floated on the broad bosom of the solimoes. not so swift as before, since, instead of eight paddlers, it was now impelled by only half the number,--these, too, with less than half the experience of the crew who had preceded them. the owner himself acted as steersman, while the paddles were plied by "tipperary tom," mozey, the old indian,--who, being of the mundurucu tribe, passed by the name of "munday,"--and richard trevannion. the last, though by far the youngest, was perhaps the best paddler in the party. brought up in his native place of gran para, he had been accustomed to spend half his time either in or upon the water; and an oar or paddle was to him no novelty. young ralph, on the contrary, a true mountaineer, knew nothing of either, and therefore counted for nothing among the crew of the galatea. to him and the little rosa was assigned the keeping of the pets, with such other light duties as they were capable of performing. for the first day the voyage was uninterrupted by any incident,--at least any that might be called unpleasant. their slow progress, it is true, was a cause of dissatisfaction; but so long as they were going at all, and going in the right direction, this might be borne with equanimity. three miles an hour was about their average rate of speed; for half of which they were indebted to the current of the river, and for the other half to the impulsion of their paddles. considering that they had still a thousand miles to go before reaching gran para, the prospect of a protracted voyage was very plainly outlined before them. could they have calculated on making three miles an hour for every hour of the twenty-four, things would not have been bad. this rate of speed would have carried them to their destination in a dozen days,--a mere bagatelle. but they knew enough of river-navigation to disregard such data. they knew the current of the solimoes to be extremely slow; they had heard of the strange phenomenon, that, run which way the river might, north, south, east, or west,--and it _does_ keep bending and curving in all these directions,--the wind is almost always met with blowing _up stream_! for this reason they could put no dependence in their sail, and would have to trust altogether to the paddles. these could not be always in the water. human strength could not stand a perpetual spell, even at paddles; and less so in the hands of a crew of men so little used to them. nor could they continue the voyage at night. by doing so, they would be in danger of losing their course, their craft, and themselves! you may smile at the idea. you will ask--a little scornfully, perhaps-- how a canoe, or any other craft, drifting down a deep river to its destination, could possibly go astray. does not the current point out the path,--the broad waterway not to be mistaken? so it might appear to one seated in a skiff, and floating down the tranquil thames, with its well-defined banks. but far different is the aspect of the stupendous solimoes to the voyager gliding through its _capo_. i have made use of a word of strange sound, and still stranger signification. perhaps it is new to your eye, as your oar. you will become better acquainted with it before the end of our voyage; for into the "gapo" it is my intention to take you, where ill-luck carried the galatea and her crew. on leaving coary, it was not the design of her owner to attempt taking his craft, so indifferently manned, all the way to para. he knew there were several civilised settlements between,--as barra at the mouth of the rio negro, obidos below it, santarem, and others. at one or other of these places he expected to obtain a supply of _tapuyos_, to replace the crew who had so provokingly forsaken him. the voyage to the nearest of them, however, would take several days, at the rate of speed the galatea was now making; and the thought of being delayed on their route became each hour more irksome. the ex-miner, who had not seen his beloved brother during half a score of years, was impatient once more to embrace him. he had been, already, several months travelling towards him by land and water; and just as he was beginning to believe that the most difficult half of the journey had been accomplished, he found himself delayed by an obstruction vexatious as unexpected. the first night after his departure from coary, he consented that the galatea should lie to,--moored to some bushes that grew upon the banks of the river. on the second night, however, he acted with less prudence. his impatience to make way prompted him to the resolution to keep on. the night was clear,--a full moon shining conspicuously above, which is not always the case in the skies of the solimoes. there was to be no sail set, no use made of the paddles. the crew were fatigued, and wanted rest and repose. the current alone was to favour their progress; and as it appeared to be running nearly two miles an hour, it should advance them between twenty and thirty miles before the morning. the mundurucu made an attempt to dissuade his "patron" from the course he designed pursuing; but his advice was disregarded,--perhaps because ill-understood,--and the galatea glided on. who could mistake that broad expanse of water--upon which the moon shone so clearly--for aught else than the true channel of the solimoes? not tipperary tom, who, in the second watch of the night,--the owner himself having kept the first,--acted as steersman of the galatea. the others had gone to sleep. trevannion and the three young people under the toldo; mozey and the mundurucu along the staging known as the "hold." the birds and monkeys were at rest on their respective perches, and in their respective cages,--all was silent in the galatea, and around,--all save the rippling of the water, as it parted to the cleaving of her keel. chapter five. the galatea aground. little experienced as he was in the art of navigation, the steersman was not inattentive to his duty. previously to his taking the rudder, he had been admonished about the importance of keeping the craft in the channel of the stream, and to this had he been giving his attention. it so chanced, however, that he had arrived at a place where there were two channels,--as if an island was interposed in the middle of the river, causing it to branch at an acute angle. which of these was the right one? which should be taken? these were the questions that occurred to tipperary tom. at first he thought of awakening his master, and consulting him, but on once more glancing at the two channels, he became half convinced that the broader one must be the proper route to be followed. "bay japers!" muttered he to himself. "shure i can't be mistaken. the biggest av the two ought to be the mane sthrame. anyway, i won't wake the masther. i'll lave it to the ship to choose for hersilf." saying this he relaxed his hold upon the steering oar, and permitted the galatea to drift with the current. sure enough, the little craft inclined towards the branch that appeared the broader one; and in ten minutes' time had made such way that the other opening was no longer visible from her decks. the steersman, confident of being on the right course, gave himself no further uneasiness; but, once more renewing his hold upon the steering oar, guided the galatea in the middle of the channel. notwithstanding all absence of suspicion as to having gone astray, he could not help noticing that the banks on each side appeared to be singularly irregular, as if here and there indented by deep bays, or reaches of water. some of these opened out vistas of shining surface, apparently illimitable, while the dark patches that separated them looked more like clumps of trees half-submerged under water than stretches of solid earth. as the galatea continued her course, this puzzling phenomenon ceased to be a conjecture; tipperary tom saw that he was no longer steering down a river between two boundary banks, but on a broad expanse of water, stretching as far as eye could reach, with no other boundary than that afforded by a _flooded forest_. there was nothing in all this to excite alarm,--at least in the mind of tipperary tom. the mundurucu, had he been awake, might have shown some uneasiness at the situation. but the indian was asleep,--perhaps dreaming of some mura enemy,--whose head he would have been happy to embalm. tom simply supposed himself to be in some part of the solimoes flooded beyond its banks, as he had seen it in more places than one. with this confidence, he stuck faithfully to his steering oar, and allowed the galatea to glide on. it was only when the reach of water--upon which the craft was drifting--began to narrow, or rather after it had narrowed to a surprising degree, that the steersman began to suspect himself of having taken the wrong course. his suspicions became stronger, at length terminating in a conviction that such was the truth, when the galatea arrived at a part where less than a cable's length lay between her beam-ends and the bushes that stood out of the water on both sides of her. too surely had he strayed from the "mane sthrame." the craft that carried him could no longer be in the channel of the mighty solimoes! the steersman was alarmed, and this very alarm hindered him from following the only prudent course he could have taken under the circumstances. he should have aroused his fellow-voyagers, and proclaimed the error into which he had fallen. he did not do so. a sense of shame at having neglected his duty, or rather at having performed it in an indifferent manner,--a species of regret not uncommon among his countrymen,--hindered him from disclosing the truth, and taking steps to avert any evil consequences that might spring from it. he knew nothing of the great river on which they were voyaging. there _might_ be such a strait as that through which the galatea was gliding. the channel might widen below; and, after all, he might have steered in the proper direction. with such conjectures, strengthened by such hopes, he permitted the vessel to float on. the channel _did_ widen again; and the galatea once more rode upon open water. the steersman was restored to confidence and contentment. only for a short while did this state of mind continue. again the clear water became contracted, this time to a very strip, while on either side extended reaches and estuaries, bordered by half-submerged bushes,--some of them opening apparently to the sky horizon, wider and freer from obstruction than that upon which the galatea was holding her course. the steersman no longer thought of continuing his course, which he was now convinced must be the wrong one. bearing with all his strength upon the steering oar, he endeavoured to direct the galatea back into the channel through which he had come; but partly from the drifting of the current, and partly owing to the deceptive light of the moon, he could no longer recognise the latter, and, dropping the rudder in despair, he permitted the vessel to drift whichever way the current might carry her! before tipperary tom could summon courage to make known to his companions the dilemma into which he had conducted them, the galatea had drifted among the tree-tops of the flooded forest, where she was instantly "brought to anchor." the crashing of broken boughs roused her crew from their slumbers. the ex-miner, followed by his children, rushed forth from the toldo. he was not only alarmed, but perplexed, by the unaccountable occurrence. mozey was equally in a muddle. the only one who appeared to comprehend the situation was the old indian, who showed sufficient uneasiness as to its consequences by the terrified manner in which he called out: "the gapo! the gapo!" chapter six. the monkey-pots. "the gapo?" exclaimed the master of the craft. "what is it, munday?" "the gapo?" repeated tipperary tom, fancying by the troubled expression on the face of the indian that he had conducted his companions toward some terrible disaster. "phwat is it, manday?" "da gapoo?" simultaneously interrogated the negro, the whites of his eyeballs shining in the moonlight. "what be dat?" the mundurucu made reply only by a wave of his hand, and a glance around him, as if to say, "yes, the gapo; you see we're in it." the three interrogators were as much in the dark as ever. whether the gapo was fish, flesh, or fowl, air, fire, or water, they could not even guess. there was but one upon the galatea besides the indian himself who knew the signification of the word which had created such a sensation among the crew, and this was young richard trevannion. "it's nothing, uncle," said he, hastening to allay the alarm around him; "old munday means that we've strayed from the true channel of the solimoes, and got into the flooded forest,--that's all." "the flooded forest?" "yes. what you see around us, looking like low bushes, are the tops of tall trees. we're now aground on the branches of a _sapucaya_,--a species of the brazil-nut, and among the tallest of amazonian trees. i'm right,--see! there are the nuts themselves!" as the young paraense spoke, he pointed to some pericarps, large as cocoa-nuts, that were seen depending from the branches among which the galatea had caught. grasping one of them in his hand, he wrenched it from the branch; but as he did so, the husk dropped off, and the prism-shaped nuts fell like a shower of huge hailstones on the roof of the _toldo_. "monkey-pots they're called," continued he, referring to the empty pericarp still in his hand. "that's the name by which the indians know them; because the monkeys are very fond of these nuts." "but the gapo?" interrupted the ex-miner, observing that the expressive look of uneasiness still clouded the brow of the mundurucu. "it's the indian name for the great inundation," replied richard, in the same tranquil tone. "or rather i should say, the name for it in the _lingoa-geral_." "and what is there to fear? munday has frightened us all, and seems frightened himself. what is the cause?" "that i can't tell you, uncle. i know there are queer stories about the gapo,--tales of strange monsters that inhabit it,--huge serpents, enormous apes, and all that sort of thing. i never believed them, though the _tapuyos_ do; and from old munday's actions i suppose he puts full faith in them." "the young patron is mistaken," interposed the indian, speaking a patois of the _lingoa-geral_. "the mundurucu does not believe in monsters. he believes in big serpents and monkeys,--he has seen them." "but shure yez are not afeerd o' them, manday?" asked the irishman. the indian only replied by turning on tipperary tom a most scornful look. "what is the use of this alarm?" inquired trevannion. "the galatea does not appear to have sustained any injury. we can easily get her out of her present predicament, by lopping off the branches that are holding her." "patron," said the indian, still speaking in a serious tone, "it may not be so easy as you think. we may get clear of the tree-top in ten minutes. in as many hours--perhaps days--we may not get clear of the gapo. that is why the mundurucu shows signs of apprehension." "ho! you think we may have a difficulty in finding our way back to the channel of the river?" "think it, patron! i am too sure of it. if not, we shall be in the best of good luck." "it's of no use trying to-night, at all events," pursued trevannion, as he glanced uncertainly around him. "the moon is sinking over the tree-tops. before we could well get adrift, she'll be gone out of sight. we might only drift deeper into the maze. is that your opinion, munday?" "it is, patron. we can do no good by leaving the place to-night. wiser for us to wait for the light of the sun." "let all go to rest, then," commanded the patron, "and be ready for work in the morning. we need keep no lookout, i should think. the galatea is as safe here as if moored in a dry dock. she is _aground_, i take it, upon the limb of a tree! ha! ha! ha!" the thought of such a situation for a sailing craft--moored amid the tops of a tall tree--was of so ludicrous a nature as to elicit a peal of laughter from the patron, which was echoed by the rest of the crew, the mundurucu alone excepted. his countenance still preserved its expression of uneasiness; and long after the others had sunk into unconscious sleep, he sat upon the stem of the galatea, gazing out into the gloom, with glances that betokened serious apprehension. chapter seven. the gapo. the young paraense had given a correct, although not sufficiently explicit, account of the sort of place in which the galatea had gone "aground." that singular phenomenon known as the _gapo_ (or _ygapo_), and which is one of the most remarkable characteristics of the great amazonian region, demands a more detailed description. it is worthy of this, as a mere study of physical geography,--perhaps as pleasant a science as any; and furthermore, it is here absolutely necessary to the understanding of our tale. without some comprehension of the circumstances that surrounded them, the hardships and sufferings endured, the adventures accomplished, and the perils passed by the crew of the strayed galatea, would appear as so many fabulous inventions, set forth to stimulate and gratify a taste for the merely marvellous. young reader, this is not the aim of your author, nor does he desire it to be the end. on the contrary, he claims to draw nature with a verisimilitude that will challenge the criticism of the naturalist; though he acknowledges a predilection for nature in her wildest aspects,--for scenes least exposed to the eye of civilisation, and yet most exposed to its doubting incredulity. there are few country people who have not witnessed the spectacle of a piece of woodland inundated by the overflow of a neighbouring stream. this flood is temporary; the waters soon subside into their ordinary channel, and the trees once more appear growing out of _terra firma_, with the green mead spreading on all sides around them. but a flooded forest is a very different affair; somewhat similar in character indeed, but far grander. not a mere spinney of trees along the bank of a small stream; but a region extending beyond the reach of vision,--a vast tract of primeval woods,--the tall trees submerged to their very tops, not for days, nor weeks, but for months,--ay, some of them forever! picture to your mind an inundation of this kind, and you will have some idea of the gapo. extending for seventeen hundred miles along the banks of the solimoes, now wider on the northern, now stretching farther back from the southern side, this semi-submerged forest is found, its interior almost as unknown as the crater-like caverns of the moon, or the icy oceans that storm or slumber round the poles,--unknown to civilised man, but not altogether to the savage. the aboriginal of amazonia, crouching in his canoe, has pierced this water-land of wonders. he could tell you much about it that is real, and much that is marvellous,--the latter too often pronounced fanciful by lettered _savans_. he could tell you of strange trees that grow there, bearing strange fruits, not to be found elsewhere,--of wonderful quadrupeds, and _quadrumana_, that exist only in the gapo,--of birds brilliantly beautiful, and reptiles hideously ugly; among the last the dreaded dragon serpent, "sucuruju." he could tell you, moreover, of creatures of his own kind,--if they deserve the name of man,--who dwell continuously in the flooded forest, making their home on scaffolds among the tree-tops, passing from place to place in floating rafts or canoes, finding their subsistence on fish, on the flesh of the _manatee_, on birds, beasts, reptiles, and insects, on the stalks of huge water-plants and the fruits of undescribed trees, on monkeys, and sometimes upon _man_! such indians as have penetrated the vast water-land have brought strange tales out of it. we may give credence to them or refuse it; but they, at least, are firm believers in most of the accounts which they have collected. it is not to be supposed that the gapo is impenetrable. on the contrary, there are several well-known waterways leading through it,-- well-known, i mean, to the indians dwelling upon its borders, to the _tapuyos_, whose business it is to supply crews for the galateas of the portuguese traders, and to many of these traders themselves. these waterways are often indicated by "blazings" on the trees, or broken branches, just as the roads are laid out by pioneer settlers in a north american forest; and but for these marks, they could not be followed. sometimes, however, large spaces occur in which no trees are to be seen, where, indeed, none grow. there are extensive lakes, always under water, even at the lowest ebb of the inundation. they are of all sizes and every possible configuration, from the complete circle through all the degrees of the ellipse, and not unfrequently in the form of a belt, like the channel of a river running for scores of miles between what might readily be mistaken for banks covered with a continuous thicket of low bushes, which are nothing more than the "spray" of evergreen trees, whose roots lie forty feet under water! more frequently these openings are of irregular shape, and of such extent as to merit the title of "inland seas." when such are to be crossed, the sun has to be consulted by the canoe or galatea gliding near their centre; and when he is not visible,--by no means a rare phenomenon in the gapo,--then is there great danger of the craft straying from her course. when within sight of the so-called "shore," a clump of peculiar form, or a tree topping over its fellows, is used as a landmark, and often guides the navigator of the gapo to the _igarita_ of which he is in search. it is not all tranquillity on this tree-studded ocean. it has its fogs, its gales, and its storms,--of frequent occurrence. the canoe is oft shattered against the stems of gigantic trees; and the galatea goes down, leaving her crew to perish miserably in the midst of a gloomy wilderness of wood and water. many strange tales are told of such mishaps; but up to the present hour none have received the permanent record of print and paper. be it _our_ task to supply this deficiency. chapter eight. the echente. it would not be true to say that the crew of the galatea were up with the sun. there was no sun to shine upon the gloomy scene that revealed itself next morning. instead, there was a fog almost thick enough to be grasped with the hand. they were astir, however, by the earliest appearance of day; for the captain of the galatea was too anxious about his "stranded" craft to lie late abed. they had no difficulty in getting the vessel afloat. a strong pull at the branches of the sapucaya, and then an adroit use of the paddles, carried the craft clear. but what was the profit of this? once out in the open water, they were as badly off as ever. not one of them had the slightest idea of the direction they would take, even supposing they could find a clear course in any direction! a consultation was the result, in which all hands took part, though it was evident that, after the patron, most deference was paid to the mundurucu. the young paraense stood next in the scale of respect; while tipperary tom, beyond the account which he was called upon to give of his steersmanship, was not permitted to mingle his hibernian brogue in the discussion. where was the river? that was the first problem to be solved, and of this there appeared to be no possible solution. there was no sun to guide them, no visible sky. even had there been both, it would scarce have mended the matter. the steersman could not tell whether, on straying from the channel, he had drifted to the south or the north, the east or the west; and, indeed, an intellect less obtuse than that of tipperary tom might have been puzzled upon the point. it has been already mentioned, that the solimoes is so tortuous as to turn to every point of the compass in its slow course. the mere fact that the moon was shining at the time could be of little use to tipperary tom, whose astronomy had never extended beyond the knowledge that there was a moon. where lay the river? the interrogatory was repeated a score of times, without receiving a satisfactory answer; though every one on board--the little rosita excepted--ventured some sort of reply, most, however, offering their opinion with a doubting diffidence. the mundurucu, although repeatedly appealed to, had taken small part in the discussion, remaining silent, his eyes moodily wandering over the water, seeking through the fog for some clue to their escape from the spot. no one plied the paddles; they had impelled her out of sight of the sapucaya, now shrouded in the thick fog; but, as it was useless paddling any farther, all hands had desisted, and were now resting upon their oars. at this moment it was perceived that the galatea was in motion. the mundurucu was the first to notice it; for his attention had for some time been directed to such discovery. for this reason had he cast his searching glances, now down into the turbid waters, and now out through the murky atmosphere. a thicket was discernible through the fog, but every moment becoming less distinct. of course it was only a collection of tree-tops; but whatever it was, it soon became evident that the galatea was very slowly receding from it. on discovering this, the mundurucu displayed signs of fresh animation. he had been for some minutes lying upon his face, craning out over the gangway, and his long withered arms submerged in the water. the others occupied themselves in guessing what he was about; but their guesses had been to no purpose. equally purposeless had appeared the actions of the indian; for, after keeping his arm under water for a period of several minutes, he drew it in with a dissatisfied air, and once more arose to his feet. it was just then that he perceived the tree-tops, upon which he kept his eyes sharply fixed, until assured that the galatea was going away from them. "_hoola_!" he exclaimed, attempting to imitate the cry he had more than once heard issuing from the lips of tipperary tom. "_hoola_! the river is out there!" as he spoke, he pointed towards the tree-tops. it was the first confident answer to the all-important question. "how can you tell that, munday?" inquired the captain of the craft. "how tell, patron? how tell day from night, the moon from the sun, fire from water? the solimoes is there." the indian spoke with his arm still extended in the direction of the trees. "we are willing to believe you," rejoined trevannion, "and will trust to your guidance; but pray explain yourself." "it's all guess-work," interpolated tipperary tom. "ould munday knows no more av fwat he's talkin' about than judy fitzcummons's mother. i'll warrant ye we come in from the t'other side." "silence, tom!" commanded his master. "let us hear what munday has to say. _you_ have no right to contradict him." "och, awance! an indyen's opinion prefarred before that ov a freeborn oirishman! i wondher what nixt." and as tipperary completed his chapter of reproaches, he slank crouchingly under the shadow of the _toldo_. "so you think the river is there?" said trevannion, once more addressing himself to the mundurucu. "the mundurucu is sure of it, patron. sure as that the sky is above us." "remember, old man! it won't do for us to make any mistake. no doubt we've already strayed a considerable distance from the channel of the solimoes. to go again from it will be to endanger our lives." "the mundurucu knows that," was the laconic reply. "well, then, we must be satisfied of the fact, before we can venture to make a move. what proof can you give us that the river lies in that direction?" "patron! you know the month? it is the month of march." "certainly it is. what of that?" "the _echente_." "the _echente_? what is that?" "the flood getting bigger. the water on the rise,--the gapo still growing,--that is the _echente_." "but how should that enable you to determine the direction of the river?" "it has done so," replied the indian. "not before three months--in june--will come the _vasante_." "the _vasante_?" "the _vasante_, patron: the fall. then the gapo will begin to grow less; and the current will be _towards_ the river, as now it is _from_ it." "your story appears reasonable enough. i suppose we may trust to it. if so," added trevannion, "we had better direct our course towards yonder tree-tops, and lose no time in getting beyond them. all of you to your paddles, and pull cheerily. let us make up for the time we have lost through the negligence of tipperary tom. pull, my lads, pull!" at this cheering command the four paddlers rushed to their places; and the galatea, impelled by their vigorous strokes, once more glided gayly over the bosom of the waters. chapter nine. an impassable barrier. in a few moments the boat's bow was brought within half a cable's length of the boughs of the submerged trees. her crew could see that to proceed farther, on a direct course, was simply impossible. with equal reason might they have attempted to hoist her into the air, and leap over the obstruction that had presented itself before them. not only were the branches of the adjoining trees interlocked, but from one to the other straggled a luxurious growth of creepers, forming a network so strong and compact that a steamer of a hundred horse-power would have been safely brought to a stand among its meshes. of course no attempt was made to penetrate this impenetrable _chevaux de frise_; and after a while had been spent in reconnoitring it, trevannion, guided by the counsel of the mundurucu, ordered the galatea to go about, and proceed along the selvage of the submerged forest. an hour was spent in paddling. no opening. another hour similarly employed, and with similar results! the river might be in the direction pointed out by the indian. no doubt it was; but how were they to reach it? not a break appeared in all that long traverse wide enough to admit the passage of a canoe. even an arrow could scarce have penetrated among the trees, that extended their parasite-laden branches beyond the border of the forest! by tacit consent of the patron, the paddlers rested upon their oars; then plied them once more; and once more came to a pause. no opening among the tree-tops; no chance to reach the channel of the solimoes. the gloomy day became gloomier, for night was descending over the gapo. the crew of the galatea, wearied with many hours of exertion, ceased paddling. the patron did not oppose them; for his spirit, as well as theirs, had become subdued by hope long deferred. as upon the previous night, the craft was moored among the tree-tops, where her rigging, caught among the creepers, seemed enough to keep her from drifting away. but very different from that of the preceding night was the slumber enjoyed by her crew. amidst the boughs of the sapucaya, there had been nothing to disturb their tranquillity, save the occasional shower of nuts, caused by the cracking of the dry shells, and the monkey-pots discharging their contents. then was the galatea "grounded" upon a solitary tree, which carried only its own fruit. to-night she was moored in the middle of a forest,--at all events upon its edge,--a forest, not of the earth, nor the air, nor the water, but of all three,--a forest whose inhabitants might be expected to partake of a character altogether strange and abnormal. and of such character were they; for scarce had the galatea become settled among the tree-tops, when the ears of her crew were assailed by a chorus of sounds, that with safety might have challenged the choir of pandemonium. two alone remained undismayed,--richard trevannion and the mundurucu. "bah!" exclaimed the paraense, "what are you all frightened at? don't you know what it is, uncle?" "i know what it resembles, boy,--the devil and his legions let loose from below. what is it, dick?" "only the howlers. don't be alarmed, little rosita!" the little peruvian, gaining courage from his words, looked admiringly on the youth who had called her "little rosita." any one could have told that, from that time forward, richard trevannion might have the power to control the destinies of his cousin. "the howlers! what are they?" inquired the old miner. "monkeys, uncle; nothing more. from the noise they make, one might suppose they were as big as buffaloes. nothing of the kind. the largest i ever saw was hardly as stout as a deerhound, though he could make as much noise as a whole kennel. they have a sort of a drum in the throat, that acts as a sound-board. that's what enables them to get up such a row. i've often heard their concert more than two miles across country, especially in prospect of an approaching storm. i don't know if they follow this fashion in the gapo; but if they do, from the way they're going it now, we may look out for a trifling tornado." notwithstanding the apparent unconcern with which young trevannion declared himself, there was something in his manner that arrested the attention of his uncle. while pronouncing his hypothetical forecast of a storm, he had turned his glance towards the sky, and kept it fixed there, as if making something more than a transient observation. the fog had evaporated, and the moon was now coursing across the heavens, not against a field of cloudy blue, but in the midst of black, cumulus clouds, that every now and then shrouded her effulgence. a dweller in the tropics of the western hemisphere would have pronounced this sign the certain forerunner of a storm; and so predicted the young paraense. "we'll have the sky upon us within an hour," said he, addressing himself more especially to his uncle. "we'd better tie the galatea to the trees. if this be a _hurricane_, and she goes adrift, there's no knowing where we may bring up. the likeliest place will be in the bottom of the gapo." "the young patron speaks truth," interposed munday, his eyes all the while reading the signs of the heavens; "the mundurucu knows by yonder yellow sky." as he spoke, the indian pointed to a patch of brimstone-coloured clouds, conspicuous over the tops of the trees. there was no reason why ralph trevannion should not give credit to the two weather-prophets, who could have no personal motive in thus warning him. he yielded, therefore, to their solicitation; and in ten minutes more the galatea was secured among the tree-tops, as fast as cords could make her. chapter ten. a tropical tornado. notwithstanding the apparently complete security thus obtained for the craft, the mundurucu did not seem to be easy in his mind. he had climbed up the mast to the yard, and, having there poised himself, sat gazing over the tops of the trees upon the patch of brimstone sky which was visible in that direction. the others all talked of going to sleep, except the young paraense, who counselled them to keep awake. he, too, like the mundurucu, was troubled with forebodings. he understood the weather-signs of the solimoes, and saw that a storm was portending. though the sun had not been visible during the whole day, it was now about the hour of his setting; and as if the storm had been waiting for this as a signal, it now boldly broke forth. a few quick puffs, with short intervals between them, were its precursors. these were soon followed by gusts, stronger, as well as noisier, in their advent; and then the wind kept up a continuous roaring among the tops of the trees; while above the thunder rolled incessantly, filling the firmament with its terrible voice. deep darkness and the vivid glare of the lightning-flashes followed each other in quick succession. at one moment all was obscure around the crew of the galatea,--the sky, the trees, the water, even the vessel herself; in the next, everything was made manifest, to the distance of miles, under a brilliance garish and unearthly. to add to the unnatural appearance of things, there were other sounds than those of the thunder or the storm,--the cries of living creatures, strange and unknown. birds they might be, or beasts, or reptiles, or all these, commingling their screams, and other accents of affright, with the sharp whistling of the wind, the hoarse rumbling of the thunder, and the continuous crashing of the branches. the crew of the galatea were on the alert, with awe depicted on every face. their fear was lest the craft should be blown away from her moorings, and carried out into the open water, which was now agitated by the fury of the storm. almost under the first lashing of the wind, huge waves had sprung up, with white crests, that under the electric light gleamed fiercely along the yellow swell of the turbid water. their anxiety was of short continuance; for almost on the instant of its rising, it became reality. unfortunately, the tree to which the craft had been tied was one whose wood was of a soft and succulent nature,--a species of _melastoma_. its branches were too brittle to bear the strain thus unexpectedly put upon them; and almost at the first onset of the tornado they began to give way, snapping off one after the other in quick succession. so rapid was the process of detachment, that, before fresh moorings could be made, the last cord had come away; and the galatea, like a greyhound loosed from the leash, shot out from among the tree-tops, and went off in wild career over the waves of the gapo. before any control could be gained over her by her terrified crew, she had made several cables' length into the open water, and was still sweeping onward over its seething surface. to turn her head towards the trees was clearly out of the question. the attempt would have been idle. both wind and waves carried her in the opposite direction, to say nothing of the current, against which she had been already contending. the crew no longer thought of returning to the tree-tops, out of which they had been so unceremoniously swept: their only chance of safety appeared to be to keep the craft, as well balanced as circumstances would permit, and run before the wind. even this for a time seemed but a doubtful chance. the wind blew, not in regular, uniform direction, but in short, fitful gusts, as if coming from every point of the compass; and the waves rolled around them as high as houses. in the midst of a chopping, purging sea, the galatea tumbled and pitched, now head, now stern foremost, at times going onward in mad career, and with headlong speed. the parrots and macaws upon the yard had as much as their strong claws could do to keep their perch; and the monkeys, cowering under the shelter of the _toldo_, clung close to its timbers. both birds and beasts mingled their terrified cries with the creaking of the galatea's timbers and the shouts of her crew. the gapo threatened to ingulf them. every moment might be their last! and with this dread belief, scarce for a moment out of their minds, did our adventurers pass the remainder of that remarkable night, the galatea galloping onward, they could not tell whither. all they knew or could remember of that nocturnal voyage was, that the vessel kept upon her course, piloted only by the winds and waves,--at times tossing within deep troughs of turbulent water, at times poised upon the summits of ridge-like swells, but ever going onward at high speed, seemingly ten knots an hour! for a long while they saw around them only open water, as of some great lake or inland sea. at a later hour, the lightning revealed the tops of submerged trees, such as those they had left behind; but standing out of the water in clumps or coppices, that appeared like so many islands. amidst these they were carried, sometimes so close to the trees as to give them hopes of being able to grasp their boughs. once or twice the rigging of the galatea brushed among the branches; and they used every effort to stay their runaway craft, and bring her to an anchorage. but in vain. the storm was stronger than the united strength of the crew. the twigs clutched with eager hands parted in twain, and the storm-driven vessel swept on amid the surging waters. daylight arrived at length, breaking through a red aurora, soon followed by a brilliant sunrise. this somewhat cheered our despairing adventurers. but the tempest was still raging with undiminished fury, the wind as loud and the waves as high as at any period throughout the night. once more they were in the middle of a waste of waters, neither trees nor land in sight. another great lake or inland sea? it could not be that over which they had been already carried? no. the wind was now blowing more steadily; and could it not have shifted? even if it had, they had not returned through the archipelago of tree-top islands. they were in another opening of the gapo. munday was of this opinion, and that was proof sufficient to satisfy his companions. as we have said, the returning day did little to restore the confidence of the galatea's crew. the tornado still continued. despite the sunlit sky, the storm showed no signs of abating; and the crazy craft gave tongue in every timber of her frail frame. the sounds were ominous to the ears of those who listened to them. it was too evident, that, unless there should soon come a lull, the galatea would go to the bottom. she had not been constructed to stand a strain like that to which she had been thus unexpectedly exposed, and an anchorage either to _terra firma_ or the tree-tops would soon become necessary to her salvation. her crew, convinced of this, were one and all upon the lookout, scanning the horizon as closely as the crested billows would admit. the mundurucu had mounted to the top of the mast, where, with one of the monkeys that had perched itself on his shoulders, he clung with the tenacity of despair. all at once he was heard to cry out, the monkey mocking him in mimic tone. "what is it, munday? what do you see?" were the inquiries that reached him from below. "land," was the laconic reply. "land!" went up the echo from half a score of joyous voices. "maybe not land,--i mean the _terra firma_," pursued the observer, in a less confident tone. "it may be only the top of a thick forest like what we tried to penetrate yesterday. whatever it is, patron, it seems along the whole edge of the sky. we are drifting towards it, straight as the wind can carry us." "thank god!" exclaimed trevannion, "anything is better than this. if we can get once more among the tree-tops, we shall at least be saved from drowning. thank god, children. we shall be preserved!" the indian descended from the mast, close followed by the monkey, whose serio-comic countenance seemed to say that he too was satisfied by the observation just made. still careering madly onward before the tempest, the boat soon brought the tree-tops within view, and, after a brief debate, the conclusion was reached that it was only a submerged forest. but even this was better than buffeting about on the open billows,-- every moment in danger of being swamped; and with a universal feeling of joy our adventurers perceived that their craft was drifting toward that dark line. they were powerless to control her course. her rudder had been unshipped during the night, and they could trust only to the tempest still raging to carry them to the confines of the forest. in full hope that this would be the result, they took no measures either to promote or frustrate the steering of the storm. chapter eleven. the galatea treed. tossed by the tempest, the galatea preserved her course towards the tree-tops, thus keeping up the spirits and confidence of her crew. despite some divergences caused by an occasional contrary gust of wind, she kept an onward course, in due time arriving within such distance of the forest, that it was no longer doubtful about her drifting among the trees. in this there was a prospect of temporary safety at the least, and our adventurers had begun to congratulate themselves on the proximity of the event. just then, a gigantic tree--it must have been gigantic to stand so high over its fellows, though it could scarce be fifty feet above the surface of the water--presented itself to their eyes. it stood solitary and alone, about a quarter of a mile from the edge of the forest, and as much nearer to the craft, still struggling through the wind-lashed water. like that in the top of which they had first gone aground, it was a sapucaya,--as testified by the huge pericarps conspicuously suspended from its branches. high as may have been the inundation, its stem rose still higher, by at least ten feet; but half-way between the water's surface and the branches, the colossal trunk forked in twain,--each of the twin scions appearing a trunk of itself. through the fork was the water washing at each heave of the agitated gapo,--the waves with foaming crests mounting far up towards the top of the tree, as if aspiring to pluck the ripe fruit depending from its branches. towards this tree the galatea was now going as straight as if she had been steered by the finger of destiny itself. there was no other power to control her,--at least none that was human. the wind, or destiny,-- one of the two,--must determine her fate. the waves perhaps had something to do with it; since the next that followed lifted the galatea upon its curling crest, and lodged her in the sapucaya in such a fashion that her keel, just amidships, rested within the forking of the twin stems. "thank god!" exclaimed her owner, "we are safe now. moored between two stanchions like these, neither the winds of heaven nor the waves of the great ocean itself could prevail against us. make fast there! make fast to the limbs of the tree! tie her on both sides. these are no twigs to be snapped asunder. hurrah! we are anchored at last!" the gigantic stems of the sapucaya, rising on both sides above the beam-ends of the galatea, looked like the supporters of a graving-dock. it is true the craft still floated upon the bosom of a troubled water; but what of that? once made fast to the tree, she could not be carried farther; therefore was she secure against wind and wave. the tornado might continue, but no longer to be a terror to the crew. these, partly relieved from their fears, hastened to obey the master's commands. ropes were grasped, and, with hands still trembling, were looped around the stems of the sapucaya. all at once action was suspended by a loud crash, which was followed by a cry that issued simultaneously from the lips of all the crew; who, before its echoes could die away among the branches of the sapucaya, had become separated into two distinct groups! the crash had been caused by the parting of the galatea's keel, which, resting in the fork of the tree, had broken amidships, on the subsidence of the wave that had heaved her into this peculiar position. for a few seconds the two sections of the partly dissevered craft hung balanced between the air and the water, the fore-deck with its stores balancing the quarter with its _toldo_. but long before the beam was kicked, the occupants of both had forsaken them, and were to be seen, some of them clinging to the branches of the sapucaya, some struggling beneath against the storm and the current of the gapo. by noble devotion on the part of those who could swim, the whole crew were placed beyond the reach of the waves upon the branches of the sapucaya, where, from their elevated position, they beheld the craft that had so long safely carried them parting in two and sinking out of sight. chapter twelve. a dangerous ducking. before the dismembered vessel quite disappeared under the storm-lashed waves, every individual of her crew had found a foothold upon the branches of the sapucaya. the tree, while causing the wreck of their vessel, had saved them from going with her to the bottom of the gapo. for some time, however, they were far from feeling secure. they were in different parts of the tree, scattered all over it, just as they had been able to lay hold of the limbs and lift themselves above the reach of the swelling waves. scarce two of them were in the same attitude. one stood erect upon a branch with arms around an upright stem; another sat astride; a third lay along a limb, with one leg dangling downwards. the young paraense had taken post upon a stout _lliana_, that threaded through the branches of the trees, and, with one arm around this and the other encircling the waist of his cousin, rosita, he kept both the girl and himself in a position of perfect security. young ralph found footing on a large limb, while his father stood upon a still larger one immediately below. the pets, both birds and beasts, had distributed themselves in their affright, and were seen perched on all parts of the tree. for a time there was no attempt made by any one to change his position. the tornado still continued, and it was just as much as any of them could do to keep the place already gained. there was one who did not even succeed in keeping his place, and this was tipperary tom. the irishman had selected one of the lowest limbs, that stretched horizontally outward, only a few feet above the surface of the water. he had not exactly made choice of his perch, but had been flung upon it by the swelling wave, and, clutching instinctively, had held fast. the weight of his body, however, had bent the branch downward, and, after making several fruitless efforts to ascend to the stem, he had discovered that the feat was too much for him. there was no choice but to hold on to the bent branch or drop back into the boiling gapo, that threatened from below to ingulf him; terrified by the latter alternative, tom exerted all his strength, and held on with mouth agape and eyes astare. soon the tension would have proved too much for him, and he must have dropped down into the water. but he was not permitted to reach this point of exhaustion. a wave similar to that which had landed him on the limb lifted him off again, launching him out into the open water. a cry of consternation came from the tree. all knew that tipperary tom was no swimmer; and with this knowledge they expected to see him sink like a stone. he did go down, and was for some moments lost to view; but his carrot-coloured head once more made its appearance above the surface, and, guided by his loud cries, his situation was easily discovered. he could only sink a second time to rise no more. sad were the anticipations of his companions,--all except one, who had made up his mind that tipperary tom was not yet to die. this was the mundurucu, who at the moment was seen precipitating himself from the tree, and then swimming out in the direction of the drowning man. in less than a score of seconds he was in the clutch of the indian, who grasping him with one hand, with the other struck out for the tree. by good fortune the swell that had swept tipperary from his perch, or one wonderfully like it, came balancing back towards the sapucaya, bearing both indian and irishman upon its crest, landing them in the great fork where the galatea had gone to pieces, and then retiring without them! it seemed a piece of sheer good fortune, though no doubt it was a destiny more than half directed by the arm of the indian, whose broad palm appeared to propel them through the water with the power of a paddle. to whatever indebted, chance or the prowess of the mundurucu, certain it is that tipperary tom was rescued from a watery grave in the gapo; and on seeing him along with his preserver safe in the fork of the tree, a general shout of congratulation, in which even the animals took part, pealed up through the branches, loud enough to be heard above the swishing of the leaves, the whistling of the wind, and the surging of the angry waters, that seemed to hiss spitefully at being disappointed of their prey. tom's senses had become somewhat confused by the ducking. not so much, however, as to hinder him from perceiving that in the fork, where the wave had deposited him and his preserver, he was still within reach of the swelling waters; seeing this, he was not slow to follow the example of the mundurucu, who, "swarming" up the stem of the tree, placed himself in a safe and more elevated position. chapter thirteen. a consultation in the tree-top. it would scarce be possible to conceive a situation more forlorn than that of the castaway crew of the galatea. seated, standing, or astride upon the limbs of the sapucaya, their position was painful, and far from secure. the tempest continued, and it was with difficulty they could keep their places, every gust threatening to blow them out of the tree-top. each clung to some convenient bough; and thus only were they enabled to maintain their balance. the branches, swept by the furious storm, creaked and crackled around them,--bending as if about to break under their feet, or in the hands that apprehensively grasped them. sometimes a huge pericarp, big as a cannon-ball, filled with heavy fruits, was detached from the pendulous peduncles, and went _swizzing_ diagonally through the air before the wind, threatening a cracked crown to any who should be struck by it. one of the castaways met with this bit of ill-luck,--mozey the mozambique. it was well, however, that he was thus distinguished, since no other skull but his could have withstood the shock. as it was, the ball rebounded from the close woolly fleece that covered the negro's crown, as from a cushion, causing him no further trouble than a considerable fright. mozey's looks and exclamations were ludicrous enough, had his companions been inclined for laughter. but they were not; their situation was too serious, and all remained silent, fully occupied in clinging to the tree, and moodily contemplating the scene of cheerless desolation that surrounded them. till now, no one had speculated on anything beyond immediate safety. to escape drowning had been sufficient for their thoughts, and engrossed them for more than an hour after the galatea had gone down. then a change began to creep over their spirits,--brought about by one observable in the spirit of the storm. it was, you remember, one of those tropical tempests, that spring up with unexpected celerity, and fall with equal abruptness. now the tempest began to show signs of having spent itself. the tornado--a species of _cyclone_, usually of limited extent--had passed on, carrying destruction to some other part of the great amazonian plain. the wind lulled into short, powerless puffs, and the comparatively shallow waters of the gapo soon ceased to swell. by this time noon had come, and the sun looked down from a zenith of cloudless blue, upon an expanse of water no more disturbed, and on branches no longer agitated by the stormy wind. this transformation, sudden and benign, exerted an influence on the minds of our adventurers perched upon the sapucaya. no longer in immediate danger, their thoughts naturally turned to the future; and they began to speculate upon a plan for extricating themselves from their unfortunate dilemma. on all sides save one, as far as the eye could scan, nothing could be seen but open water,--the horizon not even broken by the branch of a tree. on the excepted side trees were visible, not in clumps, or standing solitary, but in a continuous grove, with here and there some taller ones rising many feet above their fellows. there could be no doubt that it was a forest. it would have gratified them to have believed it a thicket, for then would they have been within sight and reach of land. but they could not think so consistently with their experience. it resembled too exactly that to which they had tied the galatea on the eve of the tempest, and they conjectured that what they saw was but the "spray" of a forest submerged. for all that, the design of reaching it as soon as the waters were calm was first in their minds. this was not so easy as might be supposed. although the border of the verdant peninsula was scarce a quarter of a mile distant, there were but two in the party who could swim across to it. had there existed the materials for making a raft, their anxiety need not have lasted long. but nothing of the kind was within reach. the branches of the sapucaya, even if they could be broken off, were too heavy, in their green growing state, to do more than to buoy up their own ponderous weight. so a sapucaya raft was not to be thought of, although it was possible that, among the tree-tops which they were planning to reach, dead timber might be found sufficient to construct one. but this could be determined only after a reconnoissance of the submerged forest by richard trevannion and the mundurucu, who alone could make it. to this the patron hardly consented,--indeed, he was not asked. there seemed to be a tacit understanding that it was the only course that could be adopted; and without further ado, the young paraense, throwing off such of his garments as might impede him, sprang from the tree, and struck boldly out for the flooded forest. the mundurucu, not being delayed by the necessity of stripping, had already taken to the water, and was fast cleaving his way across the open expanse that separated the solitary sapucaya from its more social companions. chapter fourteen. a fracas heard from afar. the castaways watched the explorers until they disappeared within the shadowy selvage. then, having nothing else to do, they proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, by selecting for their seats the softest branches of the sapucaya. to be sure there was not much choice between the limbs, but the great fork, across which the galatea had broken, appeared to offer a position rather better than any other. as the swell was no longer to be dreaded, trevannion descended into the fork, taking little rosa along with him, while the others sat on higher limbs, holding by the branches or stout llianas growing above them. at best their situation was irksome, but physical inconvenience was hardly felt in their mental sufferings. their reflections could not be other than painful as they contemplated the future. their shelter in the sapucaya could be only temporary, and yet it might continue to the end of their lives. they had no assurance that they might be able to get out of it at all; and even if they should succeed in reaching the other trees, it might be only to find them forty feet deep in water. the prospect was deplorable and their forebodings gloomy. for nearly an hour they exchanged no word. the only sound heard was an occasional scream from one of the pet birds, or the jabbering of the monkeys, of which there had been five or six, of different kinds, on the galatea. two only had found refuge on the tree,--a beautiful little _ouistiti_, and a larger one, of the genus _ateles_, the black coaita. the others, chained or otherwise confined, had gone down with the galatea. so, too, with the feathered favourites, of many rare and beautiful kinds, collected during the long voyage on the upper amazon, some of which had been bought at large prices from their indian owners, to carry across the atlantic. the caged had perished with the wreck, others by the tornado, and, like the _quadrumana_, only two of the birds had found an asylum on the tree. one was a splendid hyacinthine macaw, the _araruna_ of the indians (_macrocercus hyacinthinus_); the other a small paroquet, the very tiniest of its tribe, which had long divided with the little ouistiti the affections of rosa. about an hour had elapsed since the departure of the swimming scouts, with no signs of their return. the party cast anxious glances towards the place where they had last been seen, listening for any sounds from the thicket that concealed them. once or twice they fancied they heard their voices, and then they were all sure they heard shouts, but mingling with some mysterious sounds in a loud, confused chorus. the coaita heard, and chattered in reply; so, too, did the ouistiti and paroquet; but the macaw seemed most disturbed, and once or twice, spreading its hyacinthine wings, rose into the air, and appeared determined to part from its _ci-devant_ protectors. the call of ralph, whose especial pet it was, allured it back to its perch, where, however, it only stayed in a state of screaming uncertainty. there was something strange in this behaviour, though in the anxiety of the hour but little heed was paid to it; and as the voices soon after ceased, the araruna became tranquillised, and sat quietly on the roost it had selected. once more, however, the shouting and strange cries came pealing across the water, and again the araruna gave evidence of excitement. this time the noise was of shorter duration, and soon terminated in complete tranquillity. nearly two hours had now expired, and the countenances of all began to wear an expression of the most sombre character. certainly they had heard the voices of richard and the mundurucu mingling with those unearthly sounds. there was time enough for them to have gone far into the unknown forest, and return. what could detain them? their voices had been heard only in shouts and sharp exclamations, that proclaimed them to be in some critical, perhaps perilous situation. and now they were silent! had they succumbed to some sad fate? were they dead? chapter fifteen. the jararaca. there are bodily sensations stronger than many mental emotions. such are hunger and thirst. the castaways in the tree-top began to experience both in an extreme degree. by good fortune, the means of satisfying them were within reach. with a "monkey-cup" emptied of its triangular kernels they could draw up water at will, and with its contents conquer the cravings of hunger. at his father's request, and stimulated by his own sensations, ralph began climbing higher, to procure some of the huge fruit-capsules suspended--as is the case with most south american forest-trees--from the extremities of the branches. the boy was a bold and skilful climber among the crags and cliffs of his native cordilleras. still a tree did not come amiss to him, and in a twinkling he had ascended to the top branches of the sapucaya, the macaw making the ascent with him, perched upon his crown. all at once the bird began to scream, as if startled by some terrible apparition; and without losing an instant, it forsook its familiar place, and commenced fluttering around the top of the tree, still continuing its cries. what could be the cause? the boy looked above and about him, but could discover nothing. the screams of the araruna were instantly answered by the little paroquet in a tiny treble, but equally in accents of terror, while both the coaita and ouistiti, chattering in alarm, came bounding up the tree. the paroquet had already joined the macaw, and, as if in imitation of its great congener, flew fluttering among the top branches, in a state of the wildest excitement! guided by the birds, that kept circling around one particular spot, the boy at length discovered the cause of the alarm; and the sight was one calculated to stir terror. it was a serpent coiled around a lliana that stretched diagonally between two branches. it was of a yellowish-brown colour, near to that of the lliana itself; and but for its smooth, shining skin, and the elegant convolutions of its body, might have been mistaken for one parasite entwining another. its head, however, was in motion, its long neck stretched out, apparently in readiness to seize upon one of the birds as soon as it should come within striking distance. ralph was not so much alarmed. a snake was no uncommon sight, and the one in question was not so monstrous as to appear very formidable. the first thought was to call off the birds, or in some way get them out of reach of the snake; for the imprudent creatures, instead of retreating from such a dangerous enemy, seemed determined to fling themselves upon its fangs, which ralph could see erect and glistening, as at intervals it extended its jaws. the little paroquet was especially imprudent, recklessly approaching within a few inches of the serpent, and even alighting on the lliana around which it had warped itself. ralph was ascending still higher, to take the bird in his hand, and carry it clear of the danger, when his climbing was suddenly arrested by a shout from mozey, the mozambique, that proclaimed both caution and terror. "fo' you life doant, mass'r raff!" cried the negro, following up his exclamation of warning. "fo' you life doant go near um! you no know what am dat ar snake? it am de _jararaca_!" "jararaca!" mechanically rejoined ralph. "ya--ya--de moas pisenous sarpin in all de valley ob de amazon. i'se hear de injine say so a score ob times. come down, mass'r! come down!" attracted by the screaming of the birds and the chattering of the monkeys, the others listened attentively below. but upon the negro's quick cry of warning, and the dialogue that ensued, trevannion ascended higher, followed by tipperary tom,--rosa remained alone below, in the fork where her father had left her. trevannion, on coming in sight of the snake, at once recognised it as all that mozey had alleged,--the most poisonous of the amazon valley,--a species of _craspedocephalus_. he knew it from having seen one before, which the mundurucu had killed near coary, and had described in similar terms,--adding that its bite was almost instantly fatal, that it will attack man or beast without any provocation, that it can spring upon its enemy from a distance, and, finally, that it was more feared than any other creature in the country, not excepting the jaguar and jacare! the appearance of the reptile itself was sufficient to confirm this account. its flat triangular head, connected with the body by a long thin neck, its glittering eyes and red forking tongue, projected at intervals more than an inch beyond its snout, gave the creature a monstrous and hideous aspect. it looked as if specially designed to cause death and destruction. it was not of great size,--scarcely six feet long, and not thicker than a girl's wrist; but it needed not bulk to make it dangerous. no one knew exactly what to do. all were without arms, or weapons of any kind. these had long since gone to the bottom of the gapo; and for some minutes no movement was made except by young ralph, who on being warned of his danger, had hastened to descend the tree. the birds were left to themselves, and still continued screaming and fluttering above. up to this time the snake had remained motionless, except his oscillating head and neck. its body now began to move, and the glittering folds slowly to relax their hold upon the lliana. "great god! he is coming down the tree!" the words had hardly left trevannion's lips before the snake was seen crawling along the lliana, and the next moment transferring its body to a branch which grew slantingly from the main trunk. this was soon reached; and then, by means of another lliana lying parallel to it, the reptile continued its descent. all those who stood by the trunk hastily forsook the perilous place, and retreated outward along the branches. the jararaca seemed to take no note either of their presence or flight, but continued down the limb towards the fork of the main stem, where stood little rosa. "o heavens!" cried trevannion, in a voice of anguish, "my child is lost!" the girl had risen to her feet, being already fearful of the danger threatening her friends above; but on looking up, she beheld the hideous reptile coming straight towards her. her situation was most perilous. the lliana by which the snake was descending rose right up from the fork of the sapucaya. the child was even clasping it in her hand, to keep herself erect. the reptile could not pass without touching her. in fact, it must pass over her person to get down from the tree. there was no likelihood of its gliding on without striking her. its well-known character--as the most malicious of venomous serpents--forbade the supposition. the snake was scarce ten feet above her head, still gliding onward and downward! it was at this crisis that her father had given voice to that despairing exclamation. he was about to scramble down to the trunk, with the design of launching himself upon the serpent, and grappling it with his naked hands, reckless of consequences, when a sign from mozey, accompanied by some words quickly spoken, caused him to hesitate. "no use, mass'r!" cried the negro, "no use,--you be too late. jump, lilly rosy!" he continued, calling to the child in a loud, commanding voice. "it's you only chance. jump into de water, an ole mozey he come down sabe you. jump!" to stimulate the child by his example, the negro, with his last word, sprang out from his branch and plunged into the water. in an instant he was upon the surface again, continuing his cries of encouragement. rosa trevannion was a girl of spirit; and, in this fearful alternative, hesitated not a moment to obey. short as was the time, however, it would have proved too long had the snake continued its descent without interruption. fortunately it did not. when its hideous head was close to the child's hand, where the latter grasped the lliana, it suddenly stopped,--not to prepare itself for the fatal dart, but because the negro's heavy fall had splashed much water against the tree, sprinkling child and jararaca too. it was the momentary surprise of this unexpected shower-bath that had checked the serpent, while rosa dropped down into the gapo, and was caught by her sable preserver. chapter sixteen. hold on! mozey's noble conduct elicited a cry of admiration. it was the more noble as the negro was a poor swimmer, and therefore risked his own life. but this produced another effect, and in the shout there was no tone of triumph. the child was perhaps only rescued from the reptile to be swallowed with her preserver by a monster far more; voracious, the ingulfing gapo. nor was it yet certain that she had been saved from the serpent. the jararaca is a snake eminently amphibious, alike at home on land or at sea. it might follow, and attack them in the water. then, too, it would have a double advantage; for while it could swim like a fish, mozey could just keep himself afloat, weighted as he was with his powerless burden. in view of this, trevannion's heart was filled with most painful anxiety, and for some time neither he nor any beside him could think what course to pursue. it was some slight relief to them to perceive that the snake did not continue the pursuit into the water; for on reaching the fork of the tree it had thrown itself into a coil, as if determined to remain there. at first there appeared no great advantage in this. in its position, the monster could prevent the swimmers from returning to the tree; and as it craned its long neck outward, and looked maliciously at the two forms struggling below, one could have fancied that it had set itself to carry out this exact design. for a short time only trevannion was speechless, and then thought, speech, and action came together. "swim round to the other side!" he shouted to the negro. "get under the great branch. ho, tom! you and ralph climb aloft to the one above. tear off the lliana you see there, and let it down to me. quick, quick!" as he delivered these instructions, he moved out along the limb with as much rapidity as was consistent with safety, while tipperary and ralph climbed up to carry out his commands. the branch taken by trevannion himself was that to which he had directed the negro to swim, and was the same by which tipperary tom had made his first ascent into the tree, and from which he had been washed off again. it extended horizontally outward, at its extremity dipping slightly towards the water. though in the swell caused by the tornado it had been at intervals submerged, it was now too far above the surface to have been grasped by any one from below. the weight of trevannion's body, as he crept outward upon it, brought it nearer to the water, but not near enough for a swimmer to lay hold. he saw that, by going too far out, the branch would not bear his own weight, and might snap short off, thus leaving the swimmers in a worse position than ever. it was for this reason he had ordered the untwining of the creeper that was clinging above. his orders were obeyed with the utmost alacrity by tom and ralph, as if their own lives depended on the speed. almost before he was ready to receive it, the long lliana was wrenched from its tendril fastenings, and came straggling down over the branch on which he sat, like the stay of a ship loosened from her mast-head. meanwhile mozey,--making as much noise as a young whale, blowing like a porpoise, spurting and spitting like an angry cat,--still carrying the child safe on his shoulders, had arrived under the limb, and, with strokes somewhat irregularly given and quickly repeated, was doing his very best to keep himself and her above water. it was evident to all, that the over-weighted swimmer was wellnigh exhausted; and had not the end of the long lliana plumped down in the nick of time, the mozambique must indubitably have gone to the bottom, taking his charge with him. just in time, however, the tree-cable came within his clutch, and, seizing it with all his remaining strength, rosa relieved him of her weight by laying hold herself, and the two were drawn up into the tree amidst cries of "hold on! hold on!" ending in general congratulation. chapter seventeen. the paroquet. alas! there was one circumstance that hindered their triumph from being complete. the jararaca was still in the tree. so long as this terrible tenant shared their abode, there could be neither confidence nor comfort. there it lay coiled upon its scaly self, snugly ensconced in the fork below, with skin glittering brightly, and eyes gleaming fiercely in the golden sunlight that now fell slantingly against the tree. how long would the monster remain in this tranquil attitude, was the question that presented itself to the minds of all, as soon as the first transport of their joy had subsided. it was evident it had no intention of taking to the water, though it could have done so without fear. no doubt the sapucaya was its habitual haunt; and it was not likely to forsake it just to accommodate some half-score of strange creatures who had chosen to intrude. surely some time or other it would re-ascend the tree, and then--? but all speculations on this point were soon interrupted. the little paroquet, which had shown such excitement on first discovering the snake, had been quiet while all were engaged in the salvage of mozey and the child. now that a certain quietness had been restored, the bird was seen returning to the jararaca for the supposed purpose of renewing its impotent attack. for some minutes it kept fluttering over the serpent, now alighting upon a branch, anon springing off again, and descending to one lower and nearer to the jararaca, until it had almost reached its head. strange to say, there appeared no hostility in the bird's movements; its actions betrayed rather the semblance of fear, confirmed by the tremulous quivering of its frame whenever it came to rest upon a perch. the spectators' suspicion was further strengthened by the little creature's continued cries. it was not the angry chattering by which these birds usually convey their hostility, but a sort of plaintive screaming that betokened terror. at each flight it approached closer to the serpent's forked tongue, and then retreated, as if vacillating and irresolute. the reptile meanwhile exhibited itself in a hideous attitude; yet a deep interest enchained the spectators. its head had broadened, or flattened out to twice the natural dimensions; the eyes seemed to shoot forth twin jets of fire, while the extensile tongue, projected from a double row of white, angular teeth, appeared to shine with phosphorescent flame. the bird was being _charmed_, and was already under the serpent's fascination. how could the pretty pet be saved? young ralph, noticing the despair upon his sister's face, was half inclined to rush down the tree, and give battle to the jararaca; and tipperary tom--whose general hostility to snakes and reptiles had a national and hereditary origin--purposed doing something to avert the paroquet's fast-approaching fate. trevannion, however, was too prudent to permit any interference, while the negro appeared only anxious that the magic spectacle should reach its termination. it was not cruelty on his part. mozey had his motives, which were soon after revealed, proving that the brain of the african is at times capable of conception equal, if not superior, to his boasted caucasian brother. there was no interruption. the end was not far off. by slow degrees, the bird appeared to grow exhausted, until its wings could no longer sustain it. then, as if paralysed by a final despair, it pitched itself right into the mouth of the reptile, whose jaws had been suddenly extended to receive it! there was a slight flutter of the wings, a tremulous motion of the body, and the self-immolated creature appeared to be dead. the serpent, half uncoiling itself, turned its head towards the tree, and, once more opening its jaws, permitted the now lifeless paroquet to escape from their clasp, and drop quietly into the crotch formed by the forking of the stem. chapter eighteen. the lliana unloosed. the spectators of this little tragedy of animal life had hitherto prudently refrained from taking part in it. curiosity now exerted an equal effect in preventing their interference; and without speech or motion they sat on their respective perches to observe the _finale_ of the drama, which evidently had not ended with the death of the paroquet. that was but the beginning of the end, for the prey was yet to be devoured. though provided with a double row of teeth, it is well-known that animals of the reptile kind do not masticate their food. these teeth, set trenchantly, as is commonly the case, are intended only to capture the living prey, which enters the stomach afterwards by a process termed deglutition. at the spectacle of just such a process, with all its preliminary preparations, were the group in the sapucaya now to be present,--the principal performer being apparently unconscious of, or at all events unconcerned at, their presence. having deposited the dead bird in the fork of the tree, the serpent changed its coiled attitude into one that would give it a chance of filling its belly with less inconvenience. there was not room for it to extend itself fully; and, in default of this, the tail was allowed to drop down along the stem of the tree, at least two thirds of the body remaining in a horizontal position. having arranged itself apparently to its satisfaction, it now directed its attention to the paroquet. once more taking the dead bird between its teeth, it turned it over and over until the head lay opposite to its own, the body aligned in a longitudinal direction. the jaws of the snake were now widely extended, while the tongue, loaded with saliva, was protruded and retracted with great rapidity. the serpent continued this licking process until the short feathers covering the head of the bird, as also its neck and shoulders, seemed to be saturated with a substance resembling soap or starch. when a sufficient coating had been laid on to satisfy the instincts of the serpent, the creature once more opened its jaws, and, making a sudden gulp, took in the head of the paroquet, with the neck and shoulders. for a time no further action was perceptible. yet a movement was going on: and it was to assure himself of this that the mozambique was so attentive. we have said that he had a motive for permitting the pet to be sacrificed, which was now on the eve of being revealed to his companions. they all saw that there was something upon his mind, and eagerly anticipated the revelation. just as the jararaca had succeeded in bolting the anterior portion of the paroquet,--that is, the head, neck, and shoulders,--mozey rose from his seat, stole towards the stem of the tree, and let himself down toward the fork, without saying a word. his purpose, however, was manifest the moment after, for he stretched out his right hand, clutched the jararaca around the small of the neck, and flung the serpent--no longer capable of defending itself-- far out into the waters of the gapo! the monster, with its feathered morsel still in its mouth, sank instantly, to be seen no more; so thought mozey and his associates in the sapucaya. but, as the event proved, they had hastened to an erroneous conclusion. scarce had their triumphant cheer echoed across the silent bosom of the gapo, when the paroquet was observed floating upon the water; and the snake, having ejected the half-swallowed pill, was once more upon the surface, swimming with sinuous but brisk rendings of its body in rapid return to the tree. the situation seemed more alarming than ever. the fiend himself could hardly have shown a more implacable determination. to all appearance the jararaca was now returning to take revenge for the insult and disappointment to which it had been subjected. mozey, losing confidence in his own cunning, retreated up the tree. he perceived, now that it was too late, the imprudence of which he had been guilty. he should have permitted the snake to proceed a step further in the process of deglutition, until the disgorging of the paroquet, against the grain of its feathers, should have become impossible. he had been too hasty, and must now answer the consequences. sure enough, the serpent returned to the sapucaya and commenced reascending, availing itself of the lliana, by which all of its enemies had effected their ascent. in a few seconds it had mounted into the fork, and, still adhering to the parasite, was continuing its upward way. "o heavens!" ejaculated trevannion, "one of us must become the prey of this pitiless monster! what can be done to destroy it?" "dar's a chance yet, mass'r," cried mozey, who had suddenly conceived a splendid thought. "dar's a chance yet. all ob you lay hold on de creepin' vine, an' pull um out from de tree. we chuck de varmint back into the water. now den,--all togedder! pull like good uns!" as the negro spoke, he seized the lliana, by which the serpent was making its spiral ascent, and put out all his strength to detach it from the trunk of the sapucaya. the others instantly understood his design, and grasping the parasite, with a simultaneous effort tried to tear it off. a quick jerk broke the lliana loose; and the jararaca, shaken from its hold, was sent whirling and writhing through the air, till it fell with a plunging noise upon the water below. once more a triumphant cheer went up through the sapucaya branches, once more to be stifled ere it had received the answer of its own echoes; for the jararaca was again seen upon the surface, as before, determinedly approaching the tree. it was a sight for despair. there was something supernatural in the behaviour of the snake. it was a monster not to be conquered by human strength, nor circumvented by human cunning. was there any use in continuing the attempt to subdue it? mozey, a fatalist, felt half disposed to submit to a destiny that could not be averted; and even tipperary tom began to despair of the power of his prayers to saint patrick. the ex-miner, however, as well acquainted with the subterraneous regions as with upper earth, had no superstition to hinder him from action, and, instead of desponding he at once adopted the proper course. catching hold of the creeper, that had already been loosened from the trunk, and calling upon the others to assist him, he tore the creeper entirely from the tree, flinging its severed stem far out upon the water. in a moment after, the snake came up, intending to climb into the sapucaya, as no doubt it had often done before. we wonder what were its feelings on finding that the ladder had been removed, and that an ascent of the smooth trunk of the sapucaya was no longer possible, even to a tree snake! after swimming round and round, and trying a variety of places, the discomfited jararaca turned away in apparent disgust; and, launching out on the bosom of the gapo, swam off in the direction of the thicket,--on the identical track that had been taken by richard and the mundurucu. chapter nineteen. serpent fascination. it was some time before trevannion and his companions in misfortune could recover from the excitement and awe of their adventure. they began to believe that the strange tales told them of the gapo and its denizens had more than a substratum of truth; for the protracted and implacable hostility shown by the snake, and its mysterious power over the bird, seemed surely supernatural. trevannion reflected on the singular behaviour of the jararaca. that a reptile of such contemptible dimensions should exhibit so much cunning and courage as to return to the attack after being repeatedly foiled, and by an enemy so far its superior in strength and numbers, together with its hideous aspect, could not fail to impress him with a feeling akin to horror, in which all those around him shared. the very monkeys and birds must have felt it; for when in the presence of snakes, they had never before exhibited such trepidation and excitement. long after the serpent had been pitched for the second time into the water, the coaita kept up its terrified gibbering, the macaw screamed, and the tiny ouistiti, returning to rosa's protection,--no longer to be shared with its late rival,--sat trembling in her lap, as if the dreaded reptile were still within dangerous proximity. this feeling was but temporary, however. trevannion was a man of strong intellect, trained and cultivated by experience and education; and after a rational review of the circumstances, he became convinced that there was nothing very extraordinary, certainly nothing supernatural, in what transpired. the jararaca--as he had heard, and as everybody living on the amazon knew--was one of the most venomous of serpents, if not the most venomous of all. even the birds and beasts were acquainted with this common fact, and dreaded the reptile accordingly, not from mere _instinct_, but from actual knowledge possessed and communicated in some mysterious way to one another. this would account for the wild terror just exhibited, which in the case of the paroquet had come to a fatal end. there was a mystery about this for which trevannion could not account. the power which the serpent appeared to have obtained over the bird, controlling its movements without any apparent action of its own, was beyond comprehension. whether or not it be entitled to the name given it,--_fascination_, certainly it is a fact,--one that has been repeatedly observed, and to which not only birds, but quadrupeds, have been the victims; and not only by ordinary observers, but by men skilled in the knowledge of nature, who have been equally at a loss to account for it by natural causes. but this link in the chain of incidents, though mysterious, was not new nor peculiar to this situation. it had been known to occur in all countries and climes, and so soon ceased to excite any weird influence on the mind of trevannion. for the other circumstances that had occurred there was an explanation still more natural. the jararaca, peculiarly an inhabitant of the gapo lands, had simply been sunning itself upon the sapucaya. it may have been prowling about in the water when overtaken by the tornado; and, not wishing to be carried away from its haunt, had sought a temporary shelter in the tree, to which an unlucky chance had guided the galatea. its descent was due to the behaviour of the birds, which, after having for a time tantalised it,--provoking its spite, and in all likelihood its hungry appetite,--had temporarily suspended their attack, returning down the tree with ralph and the negro. it was in pursuit of them, therefore, it had forsaken its original perch. the commotion caused by its descent, but more especially the ducking it had received, and the presence of the two human forms in the water below, had induced it to halt in the forking of the tree, where shortly after its natural prey again presented itself,--ending in an episode that was to it an ordinary occurrence. the choking it had received in the hands of the negro, and its unexpected immersion, had caused the involuntary rejection of the half-swallowed morsel. in the opaque water it had lost sight of the bird, and was returning to the sapucaya either in search of its food, or to reoccupy its resting-place. it is well-known that the jararaca has no fear of man, but will attack him whenever he intrudes upon its domain. the indians assert that it will even go out of its way for this purpose, unlike the rattlesnake and other venomous reptiles, which rarely exert their dangerous power except in self-defence. so this jararaca reascended the sapucaya undismayed by the human enemies it saw there, one or more of whom might have become its victims but for the timely removal of the lliana ladder. on this review of facts and fancies, the equanimity of our adventurers was nearly restored. at all events, they were relieved from the horrible thoughts of the supernatural, that for a time held ascendancy over them. their hunger and thirst again manifested themselves, though little rosa and her preserver no longer suffered from the last. in their short excursion both had been repeatedly under water, and had swallowed enough to last them for that day at least. yet they were in want of food, and ralph once more climbed the tree to obtain it. he soon possessed himself of half a dozen of the huge nut capsules, which were tossed into the hands of those below, and, water being drawn up in one of the emptied shells, a meal was made, which if not hearty, was satisfactory. the group could do no more than await the return of their absent companions; and with eyes fixed intently and anxiously upon the dark water, and beneath the close-growing trees, they watched for the first ripple that might betoken their coming. chapter twenty. the water arcade. we must leave for a time the castaways in the tree-top, and follow the fortunes of the two swimmers on their exploring expedition. on reaching the edge of the submerged forest, their first thought was to clutch the nearest branch, and rest themselves by clinging to it. they were no longer in doubt as to the character of the scene that surrounded them, for their experience enabled them to comprehend it. "the gapo!" muttered munday, as they glided in under the shadows. "no dry land here, young master," he added, clutching hold of a lliana. "we may as well look out for a roost, and rest ourselves. it's full ten fathoms deep. the mundurucu can tell that by the sort of trees rising over it." "i didn't expect anything else," rejoined young trevannion, imitating his companion by taking hold of a branch and climbing up. "my only hope is that we may find some float timber to ferry the others across. not that there's much in it if we do. how we're to find our way out of this mess is more than either you or i can tell." "the mundurucu never despairs,--not even in the middle of the gapo," was the indian's proud reply. "you have hope, then? you think we shall find timber enough for a raft to carry us clear of the inundation." "no!" answered the indian. "we have got too far from the channel of the big river. we shall see no floating trees here,--nothing to make a raft that would carry us." "why then did we come here, if not for the purpose of finding dead timber for that object?" "dead timber? no! if that was our errand, we might go back as we've come,--empty-handed. we shall float all the people over here without that. follow me, young master. we must go farther into the gapo. let old munday show you how to construct a raft without trees, only making use of their fruit." "lead on!" cried the paraense. "i'm ready to assist you; though i haven't the slightest conception of what you mean to do." "you shall see presently, young master," rejoined munday, once more spreading himself to swim. "come on! follow me! if i'm not mistaken, we'll soon find the materials for a raft,--or something that will answer as well for the present. come along, there! come!"--and he launched himself into the water. trevannion followed his example, and, once more consigning himself to the flood, he swam on in the indian's wake. through aisles dimmed with a twilight like that of approaching night, along arcades covered with foliage so luxuriant as to be scarce penetrable by the rays of a tropic sun, the two swimmers, the indian ever in advance, held their way. to richard trevannion the mundurucu was comparatively a stranger, known only as a _tapuyo_ employed by his uncle in the management of the galatea. he knew the tribe by rumours even more than sinister. they were reputed in para to be the most bloodthirsty of savages, who took delight not only in the destruction of their enemies, but in keeping up a ghastly souvenir of hostility by preserving their heads. in the company of a mundurucu, especially in such a place,--swimming under the sombre shadows of a submerged forest,--it can scarce be wondered at that the youth felt suspicion, if not actual fear. but richard trevannion was a boy of bold heart, and bravely awaited the _denouement_ of the dismal journey. their swim terminated at length, and the indian, pointing to a tree, cried out: "yonder--yonder is the very thing of which i was in search. hoo-hoo! covered with sipos too,--another thing we stand in need of,-- cord and pitch both growing together. the great spirit is kind to us, young master." "what is it?" demanded richard. "i see a great tree, loaded with climbers as you say. but what of that? it is green, and growing. the wood is full of sap, and would scarce float itself; you can't construct a raft out of that. the sipos might serve well enough for rope; but the timber won't do, even if we had an axe to cut it down." "the mundurucu needs no axe, nor yet timber to construct his raft. all he wants here is the sap of that tree, and some of the sipos clinging to its branches. the timber we shall find on the sapucaya, after we go back. look at the tree, young master! do you not know it?" the paraense, thus appealed to, turned his eyes toward the tree, and scanned it more carefully. festooned by many kinds of climbing plants, it was not so easy to distinguish its foliage from that of the parasites it upheld; enough of the leaves, however, appeared conspicuous to enable him to recognise the tree as one of the best known and most valuable to the inhabitants, not only of his native para, but of all the amazonian region, "certainly," he replied, "i see what sort of tree it is. it's the _seringa_,--the tree from which they obtain caoutchouc. but what do you want with that? you can't make a raft out of india-rubber, can you?" "you shall see, young master; you shall see!" during this conversation the mundurucu had mounted among the branches of the seringa, calling upon his companion to come after him, who hastily responded to the call. chapter twenty one. the syringe-tree. the tree into whose top the swimmers had ascended was, as richard had rightly stated, that from which the caoutchouc, or india-rubber, is obtained. it was the _siphonia elastica_, of the order _euphorbiaceae_, of the amazonian valley. not that the _siphonia_ is the only tree which produces the world-renowned substance, which has of late years effected almost a revolution in many arts, manufactures, and domestic economies of civilised life. there are numerous other trees, both in the old and new world, most of them belonging to the famed family of the figs, which in some degree afford the caoutchouc of commerce. of all, however, that yielded by the _siphonia elastica_ is the best, and commands the highest price among dealers. the young paraense called it _seringa_, and this is the name he had been accustomed to hear given to it. _seringa_ is simply the portuguese for syringe, and the name has attached itself to the tree, because the use which the aborigines were first observed to make of the elastic tubes of the caoutchouc was that of squirts or syringes, the idea being suggested by their noticing the natural tubes formed by the sap around twigs, when flowing spontaneously from the tree. for syringes it is employed extensively to this day by brazilians of all classes, who construct them by moulding the sap, while in its fluid state, into pear-shaped bottles, and inserting a piece of cane in the long neck. the caoutchouc is collected in the simplest way, which affords a regular business to many amazonians, chiefly native indians, who dispose of it to the portuguese or brazilian traders. the time is in august, when the subsidence of the annual inundation permits approach to the trees; for the _seringa_ is one of those species that prefer the low flooded lands, though it is not altogether peculiar to the gapo. it grows throughout the whole region of the amazon, wherever the soil is alluvial and marshy. the india-rubber harvest, if we may use the term, continues throughout the dry months, during which time very large quantities of the sap are collected, and carried over to the export market of para. a number of trees growing within a prescribed circle are allotted to each individual, whose business it is--man, woman, or boy--to attend to the assigned set of trees; and this is the routine of their day's duty. in the evening the trees are tapped; that is, a gash or incision is made in the bark,--each evening in a fresh place,--and under each is carefully placed a little clay cup, or else the shell of an _ampullasia_, to catch the milky sap that oozes from the wound. after sunrise in the morning, the "milkers" again revisit the scene of operations, and empty all the cups into a large vessel, which is carried to one common receptacle. by this time the sap, which is still of a white colour, is of the consistency of cream, and ready for moulding. the collectors have already provided themselves with moulds of many kinds, according to the shape they wish the caoutchouc to assume, such as shoes, round balls, bottles with long necks, and the like. these are dipped into the liquid, a thin stratum of which adheres to them, to be made thicker by repeated immersions, until the proper dimensions are obtained. after the last coat has been laid on, lines and ornamental tracings are made upon the surface, while still in a soft state; and a rich brown colour is obtained by passing the articles repeatedly through a thick black smoke, given out by a fire of palm-wood,--several species of these trees being specially employed for this purpose. as the moulds are usually solid substances, and the shoes, balls, and bottles are cast _on_, and not _in_ them, it may be wondered how the latter can be taken off, or the former got out. king george would have been as badly puzzled about this, as he was in regard to the apples in the pudding. the idea of the amazonian aboriginal, though far more ingenious, is equally easy of explanation. his bottle-moulds are no better than balls of dried mud, or clay; and so too, the lasts upon which he fashions the india-rubber shoes. half an hour's immersion in water is sufficient to restore them to their original condition of soft mud; when a little scraping and washing completes the manufacture, and leaves the commodity in readiness for the merchant and the market. the _seringa_ is not a tree of very distinguished appearance, and but for its valuable sap might be passed in a forest of amazonia, where so many magnificent trees meet the eye, without eliciting a remark. both in the colour of its bark and the outline of its leaves it bears a considerable resemblance to the european ash,--only that it grows to a far greater size, and with a stem that is branchless, often to the height of thirty or forty feet above the ground. the trunk of that on which the mundurucu and his companion had climbed was under water to that depth, else they could not so easily have ascended. it was growing in its favourite situation,--the gapo,--its top festooned, as we have said, with scores of parasitical plants, of many different species, forming a complete labyrinth of limbs, leaves, fruits, and flowers. chapter twenty two. a battle with birds. scarce had the paraense succeeded in establishing himself on the tree, when an exclamation from his companion, higher up among the branches, caused him to look aloft. "hoo-hoo!" was the cry that came from the lips of the mundurucu, in a tone of gratification. "what is it, munday?" "something good to eat, master?" "i'm glad to hear it. i feel hungry enough in all conscience; and these sapucaya nuts don't quite satisfy me. i'd like a little fish or flesh meat along with them." "it's neither," rejoined the indian. "something as good, though. it's fowl! i've found an arara's nest." "o, a macaw! but where is the bird? you haven't caught it yet?" "haven't i?" responded the mundurucu, plunging his arm elbow-deep into a cavity in the tree-trunk; and dragging forth a half-fledged bird, nearly as big as a chicken. "ah, a nest! young ones! fat as butter too!" "all right. we must take them back with us. our friends in the sapucaya are hungry as we, and will be right glad to see such an addition to the larder." but richard's reply was unheard; for, from the moment that the mundurucu had pulled the young macaw out of its nest, the creature set up such a screaming and flopping of its half-fledged wings, as to fill all the woods around. the discordant ululation was taken up and repeated by a companion within the cavity; and then, to the astonishment of the twain, half a score of similar screaming voices were heard issuing from different places higher up in the tree, where it was evident there were several other cavities, each containing a nest full of young araras. "a regular breeding-place, a macaw-cot," cried richard, laughing as he spoke. "we'll get squabs enough to keep us all for a week!" the words had scarce passed his lips, when a loud clangour reverberated upon the air. it was a confused mixture of noises,--a screaming and chattering,--that bore some resemblance to the human voice; as if half a score of punches were quarrelling with as many judys at the same time. the sounds, when first heard, were at some distance; but before twenty could have been counted, they were uttered close to the ears of the mundurucu, who was highest up, while the sun became partially obscured by the outspread wings of a score of great birds, hovering in hurried flight around the top of the seringa. there was no mystery about the matter. the new-comers were the parents of the young macaws--the owners of the nests--returning from a search for provender for their pets, whose piercing cries had summoned them in all haste to their home. as yet, neither the indian nor his young companion conceived any cause for alarm. foolish indeed to be frightened by a flock of birds! they were not allowed to indulge long in this comfortable equanimity; for, almost on the moment of their arrival above the tree, the united parentage of araras plunged down among the branches, and, with wing, beak, and talons, began an instant and simultaneous attack upon the intruders. the indian was the first to receive their onset. made in such a united and irresistible manner, it had the effect of causing him to let go the chick, which fell with a plunge into the water below. in its descent it was accompanied by half a dozen of the other birds,--its own parents, perhaps, and their more immediate friends,--and these, for the first time espying a second enemy farther down, directed their attack upon him. the force of the assailants was thus divided; the larger number continued their onslaught upon the indian, though the young paraense at the same time found his hands quite full enough in defending himself, considering that he carried nothing in the shape of a weapon, and that his body, like that of his comrade, was altogether unprotected by vestments. to be sure, the mundurucu was armed with a sharp knife, which he had brought along with him in his girdle; but this was of very little use against his winged enemies; and although he succeeded in striking down one or two of them, it was done rather by a blow of the fist than by the blade. in a dozen seconds both had received almost as many scratches from the beaks and talons of the birds, which still continued the combat with a fury that showed no signs of relaxation or abatement. the paraense did not stay either to take counsel or imitate the example of his more sage companion, but, hastily bending down upon the limb whereon he had been maintaining the unequal contest, he plunged headforemost into the water. of course a "header" from such a height carried him under the surface; and his assailants, for the moment missing him, flew back into the tree-top, and joined in the assault on munday. the latter, who had by this become rather sick of the contest, thinking of no better plan, followed his comrade's example. hastily he flung himself into the flood, and, first diving below the surface, came up beside the paraense, and the two swam away side by side in silence, each leaving behind him a tiny string of red; for the blood was flowing freely from the scratches received in their strange encounter. chapter twenty three. a contest with cudgels. our discomfited adventurers did not swim far from the seringa, for the birds did not follow them. satisfied with seeing the burglars fairly beyond the boundaries of their domicile, the tenants of the tree returned to their nests, as if to ascertain what amount of damage had been done. in a short time the commotion had almost subsided, though there was heard an occasional scream,--the wail of the bereaved parents; for the helpless squab, after struggling a while on the surface of the water, had gone suddenly out of sight. there was no danger, therefore, of further molestation from their late assailants, so long as they should be left in quiet possession of the seringa, and therefore there was no further necessity for the two swimmers to retreat. a new intention had shaped itself in munday's mind by this time, and he expressed his determination to return, to the surprise of the youth, who asked his purpose. "partly the purpose for which we first climbed it, and partly," added he, with an angry roll of his almond-shaped eyes, "to obtain revenge. a mundurucu is not to be bled in this fashion, even by birds, without drawing blood in return. i don't go out from this _igarape_ till i've killed every arara, old as well as young, in that accursed tree, or chased the last of them out of it. follow, and i'll show you how." the indian turned his face towards the thicket of tree-tops forming one side of the water arcade, and with a stroke or two brought himself within reach of some hanging parasites, and climbed up, bidding richard follow. once more they were shut in among the tops of what appeared to be a gigantic mimosa. "it will do," muttered the mundurucu drawing his knife and cutting a stout branch, which he soon converted into a cudgel of about two feet in length. this he handed to his companion, and then, selecting a second branch of still stouter proportions, fashioned a similar club for himself. "now," said he, after having pruned the sticks to his satisfaction, "we're both armed, and ready to give battle to the araras, with a better chance of coming off victorious. let us lose no time. we have other work to occupy us, and your friends will be impatient for our return." saying this, he let himself down into the water, and turned towards the seringa. his _protege_ made no protest, but followed instantly after. tightly clutching their cudgels, both reascended the seringa, and renewed the battle with the birds. the numbers were even more unequal than before; but this time the advantage was on the side of the intruders. striking with their clubs of heavy acacia-wood, the birds fell at every blow, until not one arara fluttered among the foliage. most of these had fallen wounded upon the water; a few only, seeing certain destruction before them, took flight into the far recesses of the flooded forest. the mundurucu, true to his promise, did not leave a living bird upon the tree. one after another, he hauled the half-fledged chicks from their nests; one after another, twisted their necks; and then, tying their legs together with a sipo, he separated the bunch into two equally-balanced parts, hanging it over a limb of the tree. "they can stay there till ee come back, which will be soon. and now let us accomplish the purpose for which we came here!" laying aside the club that had made such havoc among the macaws, he drew the knife from his girdle. selecting a spot on one of the larger limbs of the seringa, he made an incision in the bark, from which the milky juice immediately flowed. he had made provision against any loss of the precious fluid in the shape of a pair of huge monkey-pots, taken from a sapucaya while on the way, and which had been all the while lying in their place of deposit in a network of parasites. one of these he gave richard, to hold under the tap while he made a second incision upon a longer limb of the seringa. both nutshells were quickly filled with the glutinous juice, which soon began to thicken and coagulate like rich cream. the lids were restored to their places, and tied on with sipos, and then a large quantity of this natural cordage was collected and made up into a portable shape. this accomplished, the mundurucu signified his intention of returning to the castaways; and, after apportioning part of the spoil to his companion, set out on the way they had come. the young paraense swam close in his wake, and in ten minutes they had re-traversed the igarape, and saw before them the bright sun gilding the gapo at its embouchure, that appeared like the mouth of some subterraneous cavern. chapter twenty four. chased by a jacare. a few more strokes would have carried the swimmers clear of the water arcade. richard was already congratulating himself on the prospect of escaping from the gloomy shadow, when all at once his companion started, raised his head high above the surface, and gazed backward along the dark arcade. as he did so, an exclamation escaped him, which only could be one of alarm. "a monster!" cried the mundurucu. "a monster! what sort? where?" "yonder,--just by the edge of the igarape,--close in to the trees,--his body half hid under the hanging branches." "i see something like the trunk of a dead tree, afloat upon the water. a monster you say, munday? what do you make it out to be?" "the body of a big reptile,--big enough to swallow us both. it's the _jacare-uassu_. i heard its plunge. did not you?" "i heard nothing like a plunge, except that made by ourselves in swimming." "no matter. there was such a noise but a moment ago. see! the monster is again in motion. he is after us!" the dark body richard had taken for the drifting trunk of a tree was now in motion, and evidently making direct for himself and his companion. the waves, undulating horizontally behind it, proclaimed the strokes of its strong, vertically flattened tail, by which it was propelled through the water. "the jacare-uassu!" once more exclaimed the mundurucu, signifying that the reptile was the great alligator of the amazon. it was one of the largest size, its body showing full seven yards above the water, while its projecting jaws, occasionally opened in menace or for breath, appeared of sufficient extent to swallow either of the swimmers. it was idle for them to think of escaping through the water. at ease as they both were in this element, they would have proved but clumsy competitors with a cayman, especially one of such strength and natatory skill as belong to the huge reptile in pursuit of them. such a swimming-match was not to be thought of, and neither entertained the idea of it. "we must take to the trees!" cried the indian, convinced that the alligator was after them. "the great spirit is good to make them grow so near. it's the only chance we have for saving our lives. to the trees, young master,--to the trees!" as he spoke, the mundurucu faced towards the forest; and, with quick, energetic strokes, they glided under the hanging branches. most nimbly they climbed the nearest, and, once lodged upon a limb, were safe; and on one of the lowest they "squatted," to await the approach of the jacare. in about three seconds the huge saurian came up, pausing as it approached the spot where the two intended victims had ascended out of its reach. it seemed more than surprised,--in fact, supremely astonished; and for some moments lay tranquil, as if paralysed by its disappointment. this quietude, however, was of short duration; for soon after, as if conscious of having been tricked, it commenced quartering the water in short diagonal lines, which every instant was lashed into foam by a stroke of its powerful tail. "let us be grateful to the great spirit!" said the indian, looking down from his perch upon the tree. "we may well thank him for affording us a safe refuge here. it's the jacare-uassu, as i said. the monster is hungry, because it's the time of flood, and he can't get food so easily. the fish upon which he feeds are scattered through the gapo, and he can only catch them by a rare chance. besides, he has tasted our blood. did you not see him sup at it as he came up the igarape? he's mad now, and won't be satisfied till he obtains a victim,--a man if he can, for i can tell by his looks he's a man-eater." "a man-eater! what mean you by that?" "only that this jacare has eaten men, or women as likely." "but how can you tell that?" "thus, young master. his bigness tells me of his great age. he has lived long, and in his time visited many places. but what makes me suspect him to be a man-eater is the eagerness with which he pursued us, and the disappointment he shows at not getting hold of us. look at him now!" certainly there was something peculiar both in the appearance and movements of the jacare. young trevannion had never seen such a monster before, though alligators were plenteous around para, and were no rare sight to him. this one, however, was larger than any he had ever seen, more gaunt or skeleton-like in frame, with a more disgusting leer in its deep-sunken eyes, and altogether more unearthly in its aspect. the sight of the hidden saurian went far to convince him that there was some truth in the stories of which he had hitherto been sceptical. after all, the gapo might contain creatures fairly entitled to the appellation of "monsters." chapter twenty five. a saurian digression. it would be difficult to conceive a more hideous monster than this upon which richard trevannion and his comrade gazed. in fact, there is no form in nature--scarce even in the imagination--more unpleasing to the eye than that of the lizard, the serpent's shape not excepted. the sight of the latter may produce a sensation disagreeable and akin to fear; but the curving and graceful configuration, either at rest or in motion, and the smooth, shining skin, often brilliantly coloured in beautiful patterns, tend to prevent it from approaching the bounds of horror. with the saurian shape it is different. in it we behold the type of the horrible, without anything to relieve the unpleasant impression. the positive, though distant, resemblance to the human form itself, instead of making the creature more seemly, only intensities the feeling of dread with which we behold it. the most beautiful colouring of the skin, and the gentlest habits, are alike inefficacious to remove that feeling. you may look upon the tree-lizard, clothed in a livery of the most vivid green; the _anolidae_, in the bright blue of turquoise, in lemon and orange; you may gaze on the chameleon when it assumes its most brilliant hues,--but not without an instinctive sense of repugnance. true, there are those who deny this, who profess not to feel it, and who can fondle such pets in their hands, or permit them to play around their necks and over their bosoms. this, however, is due to habit, and long, familiar acquaintance. since this is so with the smaller species of the lizard tribe, even with those of gay hues and harmless habits, what must it be with those huge saurians that constitute the family of the _crocodilidae_, all of which, in form, colour, habits, and character, approach the very extreme of hideousness. of these gigantic reptiles there is a far greater variety of species than is generally believed,--greater than is known even to naturalists. until lately, some three or four distinct kinds, inhabiting asia, africa, and america, were all that were supposed to exist. recent exploration reveals a very different condition, and has added many new members to the family of the _crocodilidae_. it would be safe to hazard a conjecture, that, when the world of nature becomes better known, the number of species of these ugly amphibia, under the various names of gavials, crocodiles, caymans, and alligators, all brothers or first-cousins, will amount to two score. it is the very close resemblance in appearance and general habits that has hitherto hindered these different kinds from being distinguished. their species are many; and, if you follow the naturalists of the anatomic school, so too are the genera; for it pleases these sapient theorists to found a genus on almost any species,--thus confounding and rendering more difficult the study it is their design to simplify. in the case of the _crocodilidae_ such subdivision is absolutely absurd; and a single genus--certainly two at the most--would suffice for all purposes, practical or theoretical. the habits of the whole family--gavials and alligators, crocodiles, caymans, and jacares--are so much alike, that it seems a cruelty to separate them. it is true the different species attain to very different sizes; some, as the _curua_, are scarce two feet in length, while the big brothers of the family, among the gavials, crocodiles, and alligators, are often ten times as long. it is impossible to say how many species of _crocodilidae_ inhabit the waters of the south american continent. there are three in the amazon alone; but it is quite probable that in some of its more remote tributaries there exist other distinct species, since the three above mentioned do not all dwell in the same portion of this mighty stream. the amazonian indians speak of many more species, and believe in their existence. no doubt the indians are right. in the other systems of south american waters, as those of the la plata, the orinoco, and the magdalena, species exist that are not known to the amazon. even in the isolated water deposits of lake valencia humboldt discovered the bava, a curious little crocodile not noted elsewhere. the three amazonian reptiles, though having a strong resemblance in general aspect, are quite distinct as regards the species. in the curious and useful dialect of that region, understood alike by indians and portuguese, they are all called "jacares," though they are specifically distinguished as the _jacare-uassu_ the _jacare-tinga_, and the _jacare-curua_. of the first kind was that which had pursued the two swimmers, and it was one of the largest of its species, full twenty-five feet from the point of its bony snout to the tip of its serrated tail. no wonder they got out of its way! chapter twenty six. treed by an alligator. for a time the two refugees were without fear or care. they knew they were out of reach, and, so long as they kept to their perch, were in no danger. had it been a jaguar instead of a jacare, it would have been another thing; but the amphibious animal could not crawl up the trunk of a tree, nor yet ascend by the hanging limbs or llianas. their only feeling was that of chagrin at being stopped on their way back to their companions in the sapucaya, knowing that their return would be impatiently expected. they could by shouting have made themselves heard, but not with sufficient distinctness to be understood. the matted tree-tops intervening would have prevented this. they thought it better to be silent, lest their shouts might cause alarm. richard hoped that the alligator would soon glide back to the haunt whence it had sallied, and leave them at liberty to continue their journey, but the mundurucu was not so sanguine. there was something in the behaviour of the jacare he did not like, especially when he saw it quartering the water as if in search of the creatures that had disappeared so mysteriously. "surely it won't lie in wait for us?" was the first question put by his companion. "you don't think it will?" "i do, young master, i do. that is just what troubles the mundurucu. he may keep us here for hours,--perhaps till the sun goes down." "that would be anything but pleasant,--perhaps more so to those who are waiting for us than to ourselves. what can we do?" "nothing at present. we must have patience, master." "for my part, i shall try," replied the paraense; "but it's very provoking to be besieged in this fashion,--separated by only a few hundred yards from one's friends, and yet unable to rejoin or communicate with them." "ah! i wish the _curupira_ had him. i fear the brute is going to prove troublesome. the mundurucu can read evil in his eye. look! he has come to a stand. he sees us! no knowing now when he will grow tired of our company." "but has it sense enough for that?" "sense! ah! cunning, master may call it, when he talks of the jacare. surely, young master, you know that,--you who are a paraense born and bred? you must know that these reptiles will lie in wait for a whole week by a bathing-place, watching for a victim,--some helpless child, or even a grown man, who has been drinking too much _cashaca_. ah yes! many's the man the jacare has closed his deadly jaws upon." "well, i hope this one won't have that opportunity with us. we mustn't give it." "not if we can help it," rejoined the indian. "but we must be quiet, young master, if we expect to get out of this fix in any reasonable time. the jacare has sharp ears, small though they look. he can hear every word we are saying; ay, and if one were to judge by the leer in his ugly eye, he understands us." "at all events, it appears to be listening." so the conversation sank to silence, broken only by an occasional whisper, and no gesture even made communication, for they saw the leering look of the reptile fixed steadily upon them. almost two hours passed in this tantalising and irksome fashion. the sun had now crossed the meridian line, and was declining westward. the jacare had not stirred from the spot. it lay like a log upon the water, its lurid eyes alone proclaiming its animation. for more than an hour it had made no visible movement, and their situation was becoming insupportable. "but what can we do?" asked richard, despairingly. "we must try to travel through the tree-tops, and get to the other side. if we can steal out of his sight and hearing, all will be well. the mundurucu is angry with himself; he didn't think of this before. he was fool enough to hope the jacare would get tired first. he might have known better, since the beast has tasted blood. that or hunger makes him such a stanch sentinel. come, young master!" added the indian, rising from his seat, and laying hold of a branch. "we must make a journey through the tree-tops. not a word,--not a broken bough if you can help it. keep close after me; watch what i do, and do you exactly the same." "all right, munday," muttered the paraense. "lead on, old boy! i'll do my best to follow you." chapter twenty seven. an aqua-arboreal journey. it may appear strange, incredible, absurd, that such a journey, for however short a distance, should have been attempted by human beings. no doubt to many it _will_ appear so, and be set down as ludicrously improbable. twenty minutes passed in the shadowy gloom of a south american forest would strip the idea of travelling among the tree-tops of much of its improbability. in many places such a feat is quite possible, and comparatively easy,--perhaps not so "easy as rolling off a log," but almost as much so as climbing to the top of one. in the great _montana_ of the amazon there are stretches of forest, miles in extent, where the trees are so matted and interlaced as to form one continuous "arbour," each united to its immediate neighbours by natural stays and cables, to which the meshes formed by the rigging of a ship are as an open network in comparison. in the midst of this magnificent luxuriance of vegetable life, there are birds, beasts, and insects that never set foot upon the ground;--birds in a vast variety of genera and species; beasts--i mean quadrupeds--of many different kinds; insects of countless orders; quadrumana that never touched _terra firma_ with any of their four hands; and, i had almost added, _man_. he, too, if not exclusively confining himself to the tops of these forest-trees, may make them habitually his home, as shall be seen in the sequel. it was no great feat, then, for the mundurucu and his acolyte to make a short excursion across the "spray" of the forest, since this is the very timber that is so tied together. there was even less of danger than in a tract of woods growing upon the highlands or "campos." a fall into the gapo could only entail a ducking, with a brief interruption of the journey. it does not follow that their progress must be either swift or direct. that would depend upon the character of the trees and their parasites,-- whether the former grew close together, and whether the latter were numerous and luxuriant, or of scanty growth. to all appearance, nature in that spot had been beneficent, and poured forth her vegetable treasures profusely. the indian, glancing through the branches, believed there would be no more difficulty in getting to the other side of the belt of timber that separated them from the open water, than in traversing a thicket of similar extent. with this confidence he set forth, followed by his less experienced companion. both began and continued their monkey-like march in the most profound silence. they knew that it was possible and easy for the alligator to bear them company; for although they were forced to pass through an almost impervious thicket, down on the water it was altogether different. there was nothing to impede the progress of the saurian, huge as it was, except the trunks of the trees. to tell the truth, it was a toilsome trip, and both the travellers were weary of it long before coming within sight of the open water on the opposite side. often were they compelled to carry their own weight on the strength of their arms, by hoisting themselves from tree to tree. many a _detour_ had they to make, sometimes on account of the impenetrable network of creepers, and sometimes because of open water, that, in pools, interrupted their route. the distance to be traversed was not over two hundred yards. at starting they knew not how far, but it proved about this measure. if they had made their calculation according to time, they might have estimated it at half a score of miles. they were a good hour and a half on the journey; but the delay, with all its kindred regrets, was forgotten, when they saw the open water before them, and soon after found themselves on the selvage of the submerged forest. chapter twenty eight. a timely warning. on arriving among the outside frees, our explorers, homeward bound, saw something to cheer them,--something besides the bright sun and the shining waters of the gapo. it was the sapucaya, still bearing its stupendous fruit, the friends they had left behind them. the paraense appeared to be counting them, as if to make sure that all were still safe upon the tree. perhaps he was only intent on the discovery of one, or, having discovered, was feeding his eyes upon her form, slender and graceful in the distance. he would have shouted to apprise them of the safety of himself and companion, had not a sign from the latter, accompanied by a few muttered words, counselled him to hold his peace. "why not, munday?" "not a word, young master. we are not yet out of the woods; the jacare may hear us." "we left it far behind in the igarape." "ah, true! who knows where he may be now? not the mundurucu. the monster may have followed us. who knows? he may be at this moment within twenty yards, waiting for us to come back into the water." as he spoke, the indian looked anxiously behind him. he could discover no cause of alarm. all was still under the shadow of the trees. not even a ripple could be seen upon the sombre surface of the water. "i think we've given it the slip," remarked richard. "it looks so," responded the indian. "the mundurucu hears no sound, sees no sign. the jacare should still be in the igarape." "why should we delay any longer? several hours have elapsed since we left the sapucaya. my uncle and everybody else will be out of all patience. they will be distracted with sheer anxiety. they look as if they were. though we have a good view of them, i don't suppose they see us. if they did, they would be hailing us, that's certain. let us take to the water, and rejoin them." the mundurucu, after looking once more to the rear, and listening for a few moments, replied, "i think we may venture." this was the cue for young trevannion, and, lowering himself from the limb on which he was supported, the two almost at the same instant committed themselves to the flood. scarce had they touched the water when their ears were assailed by a shout that came pealing across the gapo. it neither startled nor surprised them, for they could not fail to comprehend its meaning. it was a cheer sent forth from the sapucaya, announcing their reappearance to the eyes of their anxious companions. stimulated by the joyous tones, the two swimmers struck boldly out into the open water. richard no longer thought of looking behind him. in a hasty glance directed towards the sapucaya, as he rose after his first plunge upon the water, he had seen something to lure him on, at the same time absorbing all his reflections. he had seen a young girl, standing erect within the fork of the tree, throw up her arms as if actuated by some sudden transport of joy. what could have caused it but the sight of him? the mind of the mundurucu was far differently employed. his thoughts were retrospective, not prospective. so, too, were his glances. instead of looking forward to inquire what was going on among the branches of the sapucaya, he carried his beardless chin upon his shoulder, keeping his eyes and ears keenly intent to any sight or sound that might appear suspicious behind him. his caution, as was soon proved, was neither unnatural nor superfluous, nor yet the counsel given to his companion to swim as if some swift and terrible pursuer were after him; for although the indian spoke from mere conjecture, his words were but too true. the swimmers had traversed about half the space of open water that lay between the sapucaya and the submerged forest. the indian had purposely permitted himself to fall into the wake of his companion, in order that his backward view might be unobstructed. so far, no alligator showed itself behind them, no enemy of any kind; and in proportion as his confidence increased, he relaxed his vigilance. it seemed certain the jacare had given up the chase. it could not have marked their movements among the tree-tops, and in all likelihood the monster was still keeping guard near the opening of the igarape. too happy to arrive at this conclusion, the indian ceased to think of a pursuit, and, after making an effort, overtook the young paraense, the two continuing to swim abreast. as there no longer appeared any reason for extraordinary speed, the swimmers simultaneously suspended the violent exertions they had been hitherto making, and with relaxed stroke kept on towards the sapucaya. it was fortunate for both that other eyes than their own were turned upon that stretch of open water. had it not been so, the silent swimmer, far swifter than they, coming rapidly up in their rear, might have overtaken them long before reaching the tree. the shout sent forth from the sapucaya, in which every voice bore a part, warned them of some dread danger threatening near. but for late experience, they might not have known on which side to look for it; but, guided by this, they instinctively looked back. the jacare, close behind, was coming on as fast as his powerful tail, rapidly oscillating from side to side, could propel him. it was fortunate for the two swimmers they had heard that warning cry in time. a score of seconds made all the difference in their favour, all the difference between life and death. it was their destiny to live, and not die then in the jaws of the jacare. before the ugly reptile, making all the speed in its power, could come up with either of them, both, assisted by willing hands, had climbed beyond its reach, and could look upon it without fear from among the branches of the sapucaya. chapter twenty nine. improvised swimming-belts. the huge saurian swam on to the tree,--to the very spot where richard and the mundurucu had climbed up, at the forking of the stem. on perceiving that its prey had for a second time got clear, its fury seemed to break all bounds. it lashed the water with its tail, closed its jaws, with a loud clattering, and gave utterance to a series of sounds, that could only be compared to a cross between the bellowing of a bull and the grunting of a hog. out in the open light of the sun, and swimming conspicuously upon the surface of the water, a good view of the reptile could now be obtained; but this did not improve the opinion of it already formed by richard. it looked, if possible, uglier than when seen in shadow; for in the light the fixed leer of its lurid eye, and the ghastly blood-coloured inside of the jaws, at intervals opened, and showing a triple row of terrible teeth, were more conspicuous and disgusting. its immense bulk made it still more formidable to look upon. its body was full eight yards in length, and of proportionate thickness,--measuring around the middle not less than a fathom and a half; while the lozenge-like protuberances along its spine rose in pointed pyramids to the height of several inches. no wonder that little rosa uttered a shriek of terror on first beholding it; no wonder that brave young ralph trembled at the sight. even trevannion himself, with the negro and tipperary tom, regarded the reptile with fear. it was some time before they felt sure that it could not crawl up to them. it seemed for a time as if it meant to do so, rubbing its bony snout against the bark, and endeavouring to clasp the trunk with its short human-like arms. after several efforts to ascend, it apparently became satisfied that this feat was not to be performed, and reluctantly gave up the attempt; then, retreating a short distance, began swimming in irregular circles around the tree, all the while keeping its eye fixed upon the branches. after a time, the castaways only bent their gaze upon the monster at intervals, when some new manoeuvre attracted their notice. there was no immediate danger to be dreaded from it; and although its proximity was anything but pleasant, there were other thoughts equally disagreeable, and more important, to occupy their time and attention. they could not remain all their lives in the sapucaya; and although they knew not what fortune awaited them in the forest, beyond, they were all anxious to get there. whether it was altogether a flooded forest, or whether there might not be some dry land in it, no one could tell. in the mundurucu's opinion it was the former: and in the face of this belief, there was not much hope of their finding a foot of dry land. in any case, the forest must be reached, and all were anxious to quit their quarters on the sapucaya, under the belief that they would find others more comfortable. at all events, a change could not well be for the worse. munday had promised them the means of transport, but how this was to be provided none of them as yet knew. the time, however, had arrived for him to declare his intentions, and this he proceeded to do; not in words, but by deeds that soon made manifest his design. it will be remembered that, after killing the macaws, he had tapped the seringa, and "drawn" two cups full of the sap,--that he had bottled it up in the pots, carefully closing the lids against leakage. it will also be remembered, that he had provided himself with a quantity of creepers, which he had folded into a portable bundle. these were of a peculiar sort,--the true sipos of the south american forest, which serve for all purposes of cordage, ropes ready made by the hand of nature. on parting from the seringa, he had brought these articles along with him, his companion carrying a share of the load. though chased by the jacare, and close run too, neither had abandoned his bundle,--tied by sipos around the neck,--and both the bottled caoutchouc and the cordage were now in the sapucaya. what they were intended for no one could guess, until it pleased the indian to reveal his secret; and this he at length did, by collecting a large number of nuts from the sapucaya,-- ralph and richard acting as his aides,--emptying them of their three-cornered kernels, restoring the lids, and then making them "water-proof" by a coating of the caoutchouc. soon all became acquainted with his plans, when they saw him bind the hollow shells into bunches, three or four in each, held together by sipos, and then with a stronger piece of the same parasite attach the bunches two and two together, leaving about three feet of the twisted sipos between. "swimming-belts!" cried ralph, now for the first time comprehending the scheme. ralph was right. that was just what the mundurucu had manufactured,--a set of _swimming-belts_. chapter thirty. alligator lore. for an hour the castaways remained in the tree, chafing with impatience and chagrin that their awful enemy still kept his savage watch for them in the gapo below, gliding lazily to and fro, but ever watching them with eager, evil eye. but there was no help for it; and by way of possessing their souls in more patience, and making time pass quicker, they fell to conversing on a subject appropriate to the occasion, for it was the jacare itself, or rather alligators in general. most of the questions were put by trevannion, while the answers were given by the mundurucu, whose memory, age, and experience made him a comprehensive cyclopaedia of alligator lore. the indian, according to his own account, was acquainted with live or six different kinds of jacare. they were not all found in one place, though he knew parts of the country where two or three kinds might be found dwelling in the same waters; as, for instance, the jacare-uassu (great alligator), the same as was then besieging them, and which is sometimes called the black jacare, might often be seen in the same pool with the jacare-tinga, or little alligator. little jacare was not an appropriate name for this last species. it was four feet long when full grown, and he knew of others, as the jacare-curua, that never grew above two. these kinds frequented small creeks, and were less known than the others, as it was only in certain places they were found. the jacares were most abundant in the dry season. he did not suppose they were really more numerous, only that they were then collected together in the permanent lakes and pools. besides, the rivers were then lower, and as there was less surface for them to spread over, they were more likely to be seen. as soon as the _echente_ commenced, they forsook the channels of the rivers, as also the standing lakes, and wandered all over the gapo. as there was then a thousand times the quantity of water, of course the creatures were more scattered, and less likely to be encountered. in the _vasante_ he had seen half-dried lakes swarming with jacares, as many as there would be tadpoles in a frog-pond. at such times he had seen them crowded together, and had heard their scales rattling, as they jostled one another, at the distance of half a mile or more. in the countries on the lower part of the solimoes, where many of the inland lakes become dry during the _vasante_, many jacares at that season buried themselves in the mud, and went to sleep. they remained asleep, encased in dry, solid earth, till the flood once more softened the mud around them, when they came out again as ugly as ever. he didn't think that they followed this fashion everywhere; only where the lakes in which they chanced to be became dry, and they found their retreat to the river cut off. they made their nests on dry land, covering the eggs over with a great conical pile of rotten leaves and mud. the eggs of the jacare-uassu were as large as cocoa-nuts, and of an oval shape. they had a thick, rough shell, which made a loud noise when rubbed against any hard substance. if the female were near the nest, and you wished to find her, you had only to rub two of the eggs together, and she would come waddling towards you the moment she heard the noise. they fed mostly on fish, but that was because fish was plentiest, and most readily obtained. they would eat flesh or fowl,-- anything that chanced in their way. fling them a bone, and they would swallow it at a gulp, seizing it in their great jaws before it could reach the water, just as a dog would do. if a morsel got into their mouth that wouldn't readily go down, they would pitch it out, and catch it while in the air, so as to get it between their jaws in a more convenient manner. sometimes they had terrific combats with the jaguars; but these animals were wary about attacking the larger ones, and only preyed upon the young of these, or the jacare-tingas. they themselves made war on every creature they could catch, and above all on the young turtles, thousands of which were every year devoured by them. they even devoured their own children,--that is, the old males did, whenever the _mai_ (mother) was not in the way to protect them. they had an especial preference for dogs,--that is, as food,--and if they should hear a dog barking in the forest, they would go a long way over land to get hold of him. they lie in wait for fish, sometimes hiding themselves in the weeds and grass till the latter come near. they seized them, if convenient, between their jaws, or killed them with a stroke of the tail, making a great commotion in the water. the fish got confused with fright, and didn't know which way to swim out of the reptile's reach. along with their other food they ate stones, for he had often found stones in their stomach. the indian said it was done that the weight might enable them to go under the water more easily. the _capilearas_ were large animals that furnished many a meal to the jacares; although the quadrupeds could swim very fast, they were no match for the alligator, who can make head with rapidity against the strongest current. if they could only turn short, they would be far more dangerous than they are; but their neck was stiff, and it took them a long while to get round, which was to their enemies' advantage. sometimes they made journeys upon land. generally they travelled very slowly, but they could go much faster when attacked, or pursuing their prey. their tail was to be especially dreaded. with a blow of that they could knock the breath out of a man's body, or break his leg bone. they liked to bask in the sun, lying along the sand-banks by the edge of the river, several of them together, with their tails laid one on the other. they would remain motionless for hours, as if asleep, but all the while with their mouths wide open. some said that they did this to entrap the flies and insects that alighted upon their tongue and teeth, but he (the mundurucu) didn't believe it, because no quantity of flies would fill the stomach of the great jacare. while lying thus, or even at rest upon the water, birds often perched upon their backs and heads,--cranes, ibises, and other kinds. they even walked about over their bodies without seeming to disturb them. in that way the jacares could not get at them, if they wished it ever so much. there were some jacares more to be dreaded than others. these were the man-eaters, such as had once tasted human flesh. there were many of them,--too many,--since not a year passed without several people falling victims to the voracity of these reptiles. people were used to seeing them every day, and grew careless. the jacares lay in wait in the bathing-places close to villages and houses, and stole upon the bathers that had ventured into deep water. women, going to fetch water, and children, were especially subject to their attack. he had known men, who had gone into the water in a state of intoxication, killed and devoured by the jacare, with scores of people looking helplessly on from the bank, not twenty yards away. when an event of this kind happened, the people armed themselves _en masse_, got into their _montarias_ (canoes), gave chase, and usually killed the reptile. at other times it was left unmolested for months, and allowed to lie in wait for a victim. the brute was _muy ladim_ (very cunning). that was evident enough to his listeners. they had only to look down into the water, and watch the movements of the monster there. notwithstanding its ferocity, it was at bottom a great coward, but it knew well when it was master of the situation. the one under the sapucaya believed itself to be in that position. it might be mistaken. if it did not very soon take its departure, he, the mundurucu, should make trial of its courage, and then would be seen who was master. big as it was, it would not be so difficult to subdue for one who knew how. the jacare was not easily killed, for it would not die outright till it was cut to pieces. but it could be rendered harmless. neither bullet nor arrow would penetrate its body, but there were places where its life could be reached,--the throat, the eyes, and the hollow places just behind the eyes, in front of the shoulders. if stabbed in any of these tender places, it must go under. he knew a plan better than that; and if the brute did not soon raise the siege, he would put it in practice. he was getting to be an old man. twenty summers ago he would not have put up with such insolence from an alligator. he was not decrepit yet. if the jacare consulted its own safety, it would do well to look out. chapter thirty one. a hide upon a reptile. after thus concluding his long lecture upon alligators, the indian grew restless, and fidgeted from side to side. it was plain to all, that the presence of the jacare was provoking him to fast-culminating excitement. as another hour passed, and the monster showed no signs of retiring, his excitement grew to auger so intense, as to be no longer withheld from seeking relief in action. so the mundurucu hastily uprose, flinging aside the swimming-belts hitherto held in his hands. everything was put by except his knife, and this, drawn from his _tanga_, was now held tightly in his grasp. "what mean you, munday?" inquired trevannion, observing with some anxiety the actions of the indian. "surely you are not going to attack the monster? with such a poor weapon you would have no chance, even supposing you could get within striking distance before being swallowed up. don't think of such a thing!" "not with this weapon, patron," replied the indian, holding up the knife; "though even with it the mundurucu would not fear to fight the jacare, and kill him, too. then the brute would go to the bottom of the gapo, taking me along. i don't want a ducking like that, to say nothing of the chances of being drowned. i must settle the account on the surface." "my brave fellow, don't be imprudent! it is too great a risk. let us stay here till morning. night will bring a change, and the reptile will go off." "patron! the mundurucu thinks differently. that jacare is a man-eater, strayed from some of the villages, perhaps coary, that we have lately left. it has tasted man's blood,--even ours, that of your son, your own. it sees men in the tree. it will not retire till it has gratified its ravenous desires. we may stay in this tree till we starve, and from feebleness drop, one by one, from the branches." "let us try it for one night?" "no, patron," responded the indian, his eyes kindling with a revengeful fire, "not for one hour. the mundurucu was willing to obey you in what related to the duty for which you hired him. he is no longer a _tapuyo_. the galatea is lost, the contract is at an end, and now he is free to do what he may please with his life. patron!" continued the old man, with an energy that resembled returning youth, "my tribe would spurn me from the _malocca_ if i bore it any longer. either i or the jacare must die!" silenced by the singularity of the indian's sentiment and speech, trevannion forbore further opposition. no one knew exactly what his purpose was, though his attitude and actions led all to believe that he meant to attack the jacare. with his knife? no. he had negatived this question himself. how then? there appeared to be no other weapon within reach. but there was, and his companions soon saw there was, as they sat silently watching his movements. the knife was only used as the means of procuring that weapon, which soon made its appearance in the form of a _macana_, or club, cut from one of the llianas,--a _bauhinia_ of heaviest wood, shaped something after the fashion of a "life-preserver," with a heavy knob of the creeper forming its head, and a shank about two feet long, tapering towards the handle. armed with this weapon, and restoring the knife to his _tango_, the indian came down and glided out along the horizontal limb already known to our story. to attract the reptile thither was not difficult. his presence would have been a sufficient lure, but some broken twigs cast upon the water served to hasten its approach to the spot. in confidence the jacare came on, believing that by some imprudence, or misadventure, at least one of those it had marked for its victims was about to drop into its hungry maw. one did drop,--not into its maw, or its jaws, but upon its back, close up to the swell of its shoulders. looking down from the tree, his companions saw the mundurucu astride upon the alligator, with one hand, the left, apparently inserted into the hollow socket of the reptile's eye, the other raised aloft, grasping the _macana_, that threatened to descend upon the skull of the jacare. it _did_ descend,-- crack!--crash!--crackle! after that there was not much to record. the mundurucu was compelled to slide off his seat. the huge saurian, with its fractured skull, yielded to a simple physical law, turned over, showing its belly of yellowish white,--an aspect not a whit more lovely than that presented in its dark dorsal posterior. if not dead, there could be no doubt that the jacare was no longer dangerous; and as its conqueror returned to the tree, he was received with a storm of "_vivas_" to which tipperary tom added his enthusiastic irish "hoor-raa!" chapter thirty two. taking to the water. the mundurucu merited congratulation, and his companions could not restrain their admiration and wonder. they knew that the alligator was only assailable by ordinary weapons--as gun, spear, or harpoon--in three places; in the throat, unprotected, except by a thin, soft integument; in the hollow in front of the shoulders, and immediately behind the bony socket of the eyes; and in the eyes themselves,--the latter being the most vulnerable of all. why had the indian, armed with a knife, not chosen one of these three places to inflict a mortal cut or stab? "patron," said the indian, as soon as he had recovered his breath, "you wonder why the mundurucu took all that trouble for a _macana_, while he might have killed the jacare without it. true, the knife was weapon enough. _pa terra_! yes. but it would not cause instant death. the rascal could dive with both eyes scooped out of their sockets, and live for hours afterwards. ay, it could have carried me twenty miles through the gapo, half the distance under water. where would old munday have been then? drowned and dead, long before the jacare itself. ah, patron, a good knock on the hollow of its head is the best way to settle scores with a jacare." and as if all scores had been now settled with this fellow, the huge saurian, to all appearance dead, passed unheeded out of sight, the current of the gapo drifting it slowly away. they did not wait for its total disappearance, and while its hideous body, turned belly upward, with its human-like hands stiffly thrust above the surface, was yet in sight, they resumed their preparations for vacating a tenement of which all were heartily tired, with that hopeful expectancy which springs from a knowledge that the future cannot be worse than the present. richard had reported many curious trees, some bearing fruits that appeared to be eatable, strung with llianas, here and there forming a network that made it easy to find comfort among their branches. if there had been nothing else to cheer them, the prospect of escaping from their irksome attitudes was of itself sufficient; and influenced by this, they eagerly prepared for departure. as almost everything had been already arranged for ferrying the party, very little remained to be done. from the hermetically closed monkey-cups the mundurucu had manufactured five swimming-belts,--this number being all that was necessary, for he and the young paraense could swim ten times the distance without any adventitious aid. the others had their share of empty shells meted out according to their weight and need of help. rosa's transport required particular attention. the others could make way themselves, but rosa was to be carried across under the safe conduct of the indian. so when every contingency had been provided for, one after another slipped down from the fork, and quietly departed from a tree that, however uncomfortable as a residence, had yet provided them with a refuge in the hour of danger. chapter thirty three. a half-choked swimmer. munday led off, towing little rosa after him by a sipo, one end fastened to his girdle, and the other around her waist. trevannion followed close behind, ralph a little farther off, with richard keeping abreast of his cousin and helping him along. mozey swam next; tipperary tom, who was last to leave the tree, brought up the rear. the ouistiti had found a berth on the shoulders of young ralph, who, buoyed up by a good supply of air-vessels, swam with his back above water. as for the macaw and coaita, the desperate circumstances in which our adventurers were placed rendered it not only inconvenient, but out of the question, to trouble themselves with such pets; and it had been agreed that they must be abandoned. both, therefore, were left upon the tree. with the macaw it was a matter of choice whether it should stay there. by simply spreading out its great hyacinthine wings it could keep pace with its _ci-devant_ protectors; and they had hardly left the tree, when the bird, giving a loud scream, sprang from its perch, hovered a moment in the air, and then, flying down, alighted on mozey's wool-covered cranium, making him hide his astonished head quickly under water. the arara, affrighted at having wetted its feet, instantly essayed to soar up again; but its curving talons, that had clutched too eagerly in the descent, had become fixed, and all its attempts to detach them were in vain. the more it struggled, the tighter became the tangle; while its screams, united with the cries of the negro, pealed over the water, awaking far echoes in the forest. it was sometime before mozey succeeded in untwisting the snarl that the arara had spun around its legs, and not until he had sacrificed several of his curls was the bird free to trust once more to its wings. we have said, that by some mystic influence the big monkey had become attached to tipperary tom, and the attachment was mutual. tom had not taken his departure from the tree without casting more than one look of regret back among the branches, and under any other circumstances he would not have left the coaita behind him. it was only in obedience to the inexorable law of self-preservation that he had consented to the sacrifice. the monkey had shown equal reluctance at parting, in looks, cries, and gestures. it had followed its friend down to the fork, and after he had slipped into the water it appeared as if it would follow him, regardless of both instinct and experience, for it could not swim. these, however, proved strong enough to restrain its imprudence, and after its protector had gone it stood trembling and chattering in accents that proclaimed the agony of that unexpected separation. any one listening attentively to its cries might have detected in the piteous tones the slightest commingling of reproach. how could it be otherwise to be thus deserted? left to perish, in fact; for although the coaita was perfectly at home upon the sapucaya, and could live there as long as the nuts lasted, there was not the slightest chance of its getting away from the tree. it must stay there till the _vasante_, till the flood fell, and that would not be for months. long before that it must undoubtedly perish, either by drowning or starvation. whether or not these unpleasant forebodings passed through the monkey's wits, and whether they nerved it, may never be known. certainly something seemed to stimulate the creature to determination; for instead of standing any longer shivering in the fork of the tree, it turned suddenly, and, darting up the trunk, ran out upon one of the horizontal branches. to go directly from the sapucaya to the forest, it was necessary to pass under this limb; and tipperary tom, following in the wake of the others, had taken this track. he was already far out from the stem of the tree, almost clear of the overhanging branches, and half oblivions of the painful parting, when a heavy body, pouncing upon his shoulders, caused both him and his empty shells to sink some feet under the water; for just like old munday on the alligator had the monkey come down upon tipperary tom. the affrighted irishman, on rising to the surface, sputtered forth a series of cries, at the same time endeavouring to rid himself of the unexpected rider on his back. it was just at this crisis, too, that the macaw had managed to make good its footing in the fleece of the negro. mozey, however, was the first to get clear of his incubus; and then all eyes were directed towards tipperary tom and the clinging coaita, while peals of laughter resounded from every lip. mozey had enfranchised himself by sacrificing a few tufts of his woolly hair, but the task was not so easy for tom. in fact, it proved altogether impracticable; for the coaita had curled its prehensile tail around his neck in a knot that would have made a hangman envious. the more he tugged at it, the more it tightened; and had the irishman been left to himself, it would have no doubt ended in his being strangled outright, a fate he began to dread. at this crisis he heard the mundurucu shout to him across the water to leave the coaita alone, as then it would relax its hold. fortunately for himself, tom had the prudence to obey this well-timed counsel; and although still half suffocated by the too cordial embrace of his pet, he permitted it to have its own way, until, having approached the forest, the monkey relaxed its hold, and sprang up among the branches. chapter thirty four. a supper of broiled squab. guided by the mundurucu, the swimmers entered the water arcade before described, and proceeded on to the tree that had furnished the caoutchouc for their swimming-belts. the siphonia, so late the scene of strife and querulous complainings, was now silent as the tomb; not a living arara was in sight or within hearing. the few old birds that had survived the club conflict had forsaken the spot, betaking themselves to some distant part of the forest, perhaps out of the gapo altogether, to mourn over nests laid desolate, over chicks seized and instantly destroyed by ruthless hands. only the young were there, suspended in a bunch from the branches. the mundurucu mounted first, taking his charge along with him; and then all the others climbed up into the tree, where the macaw and the monkey--one upon wing, the other by a passage through the tree-tops in speed almost equalling the flight of a bird--had already arrived. farther progress for that night was no part of their purpose. it would have been as idle as imprudent. the sun was already level with their gaze, and to have forsaken their perch at that hour would have been like leaving a good inn for the doubtful chances of the road. the seringa, with its thickly trellised limbs, offered snug quarters. upon its network of parasites it was possible to repose; there were hammocks woven by the hand of nature, and, rude as they might be, they were a pleasant improvement on their couches of the preceding night. the tree contained other proofs of its hospitality. the fat fledglings suspended upon it promised a supper not to be despised; for none of the party was a stranger to macaw flesh, and, as those were young and tender, eyes sparkled and mouths watered on beholding them. no one expected that they were to be eaten raw, though there was more than one in the party whose appetite had become sharp enough for this. the mundurucu would have shown but slight squeamishness at swallowing one of the squabs as it was, while to mozey it would have signified less. even tipperary tom declared his readiness to set about supping without further preparation. the semi-cannibal appetites of his companions were controlled by trevannion, who commenced talking of a fire. how was it to be made? how could the chicks be cooked? his questions did not remain long unanswered. the indian, eager to meet the wishes of his employer, promised that they should be gratified. "wait a bit, patron," said he. "in ten minutes' time you shall have what you want, a fire; in twenty, roast arara." "but how?" asked the patron. "we have no flint nor steel, any of us; and if we had, where find the tinder?" "yonder!" rejoined the mundurucu. "you see yonder tree on the other side of the igarape?" "that standing out by itself, with smooth, shining bark, and hoary, handlike leaves? yes, i see it. what of it?" "it is the _embauba_, patron; the tree that feeds the lazy sloth, the _ai_." "o, then it is that known as the _cecropia peltata_. true, its crown of peltate leaves declares the species. but we were talking of fire, munday. can you obtain it from the cecropia?" "in ten minutes, patron, the mundurucu will draw sparks from that tree, and make a fire too, if he can only obtain from it a dry branch, one without sap, decayed, dead. you shall see." so saying, he swam out towards the cecropia. on reaching this, he scaled it like a squirrel, and was soon among its silvery fronds, that spread palm-like over the water. soon the snapping of a breaking branch was heard, and shortly after the indian came gliding down the tree, and, holding the piece of cecropia above his head, swam with one hand towards the caoutchouc, which he once more ascended. on rejoining his companions, they saw that the stick he had secured was a bit of dry, dead wood, light, and of porous texture, just such as might be easily ignited. not caring to make any secret of his design, he confirmed his companions in their conjecture by informing them that the embauba was the wood always employed by his people, as well as the other tribes in amazonia, when they wished to make a fire; and saying this, he proceeded without further delay to make them acquainted with the proper way. strange to say, it proved to be the friction process, often described as practised in remote corners of the world, and by savage tribes who could never have held the slightest communication with one another. who taught them this curious mode of creating fire? who inducted the indian of the amazon, and the aboriginal of borneo, into the identical ideas of the _sumpitan_ and _gradatana_,--both blow-guns alike? who first instructed mankind in the use of the bow? was it instinct? was it wisdom from on high? while trevannion was reflecting on this strange theme, the mundurucu had shaped a long spindle from a slender branch which he had cut from some hard wood growing near; and, whirling it between the palms of his hands, in less than ten minutes, as he had promised, sparks appeared in the hollowed stick of the cecropia. dry leaves, twigs, and bark had been already collected, and with these a flame was produced, ending in a fire, that soon burned brightly in one of the forks of the seringa. over this the young macaws, supported on spits, were soon done brown; and a supper of roast arara, with parched sapucaya nuts, proved anything but a despicable meal to the party who partook of it. chapter thirty five. once more in the water. our adventurers passed a tolerable night among the sipos of the seringa. they might have slept more soundly but for apprehensions about the future that intruded even into their dreams. morning brought no relief, for then reality itself appeared ruder than the visions of fancy in their slumbers. they had cold macaw for breakfast,--remains of the preceding night's roast, which had been kept up as long as the fire was alight, and carefully preserved, to serve for a future occasion. it was just sunrise, and as soon as the meal was over, they consulted seriously how to extricate themselves from their unpleasant and perilous position,--how to work a deliverance from the jaws of the gapo. whereabouts in this strange region were they? how far had they entered it? they could not even frame a guess of the distance traversed by the galatea before she had come to grief in the fork of the sapucaya. it might be twenty miles, it might be fifty; who could tell? they only knew that the ill-fated vessel had been drifting away from the solimoes, and deep into the solitudes of the gapo. they knew they must be many miles from the banks of the solimoes, and, from his hydrographic knowledge, already tested, the old tapuyo could tell its direction. but it was no longer a question of getting back to the channel of the great river. on the contrary, the object now was to reach solid land. it would be worse than idle to seek the solimoes without the means of navigating it; for, even should the stream be reached, it would be one chance in a thousand to get within hail of a passing vessel. almost as well might such be looked for in the middle of the atlantic ocean. they were now bent on discovering the shortest route to the mainland that bordered this inundated region. this should be found in the direction opposite to that in which the river lay. it might not, but the probabilities were in favour of that hypothesis. they had but little difficulty in determining the way to take. the index already pointed out by the indian was still to be depended upon. the _echente_ was still going on. the current was from the river, if not with absolute directness, yet with enough to point out the bearing of the solimoes. the land might be many miles distant,--farther than the river itself,--but there was no alternative but to reach it or die. but how reach it? that was the question. they could hardly hope to swim the whole distance, for it must be great. a raft? this too was talked of. but how was a raft to be constructed? among the tops of those water-loving trees there could scarce be found a stick light enough to have floated itself, let alone the carrying of a ponderous cargo. out of such heavy timber there would be but little chance of their constructing a raft, and the idea was abandoned almost as soon as broached. but munday's proposal met the approbation of all. the water arcade chanced to continue in the direction they should take. why not once more make use of the swimming-belts, that had already done such good service, and effect a further exploration of the flooded forest? the proposition was too reasonable to be rejected. it was unanimously accepted; and, without more ado, our adventurers descended from the siphonia, and began to traverse the strait. the macaw and monkey kept their company as before, but no longer needed to make themselves a burden to their protectors, since both could travel through the tree-tops as the swimmers passed below. chapter thirty six. the igarape. they needed no pilot to point out their course. there could be no danger of straying from it. the strait they were following was of that kind known as an igarape, which, in the language of the amazonian indian, means literally "the path of the canoe,"--_igarite_ being the name of the craft most used in the navigation of the gapo. the strait itself might have been likened to a canal, running through a thicket, which formed on both sides a colossal hedge, laced together by an impenetrable network of parasitical plants. unlike a canal, however, it was not of uniform breadth, here and there widening into little openings that resembled lakes, and again narrowing until the tree-tops stretching from each side touched one another, forming underneath a cool, shadowy arcade. up this singular waterway our adventurers advanced, under the guidance of the bordering line of verdure. their progress was necessarily slow, as the two who could swim well were compelled to assist the others; but all were aided by a circumstance that chanced to be in their favour,-- the current of the gapo, which was going in the same direction with themselves. herein they were greatly favoured, for the flow of the flood corresponded very nearly with the course of the igarape; and, as they advanced, they might have fancied themselves drifting down the channel of some gently flowing stream. the current, however, was just perceptible; and though it carried them along, it could not be counted on for any great speed. with it and their own exertions they were enabled to make about a mile an hour; and although this rate might seem intolerably slow, they were not discontented, since they believed themselves to be going in the right direction. had they been castaways in mid-ocean, the case would have been different. such tardy travelling would have been hopeless; but it was otherwise in the forest sea that surrounded them. on one side or the other they could not be more than fifty miles from real dry land, and perhaps much less. by going right, they might reasonably hope to reach it, though detained upon the way. it was of the utmost importance, however, that the direction should be known and followed. a route transverse to it might take them a thousand miles, either way, through a flooded forest,--westward almost to the foot of the andes,--eastward to the mouth of the amazon! the experienced tapuyo, knowing all this, was extremely cautious in choosing the course they were now pursuing. he did not exactly keep in the line indicated by the flow of the flood. although the _echente_ was still going on, he knew that its current could not be at right angles to that of the river, but rather obliqued to it; and in swimming onward he made allowance for this oblique, the igarape fortunately trending at a similar inclination. several hours were spent in slowly wending along their watery way, the swimmers occasionally taking a rest, stretched along the surface of the water, supported by hanging llianas or the drooping branches of the trees. at noon, however, a longer halt was proposed by the guide, to which his followers gladly gave consent. all were influenced by a double desire,--to refresh themselves not only by a good rest, but by making a meal on the cold roast macaws, several of which were strapped upon the shoulders of the tapuyo. a tree with broad, spreading branches offered a convenient place, and, climbing into it, they took their seats to await the distribution of the dinner, which was committed to the care of the ex-steward, mozey. chapter thirty seven. about humming-birds. previous to ascending their dining-tree, the swimmers had been more than six hours in the water, and, as nearly as they could guess, had made about that number of miles. they congratulated themselves on having met with no hostile inhabitants of the gapo, for the jararaca and jacare, with the perils encountered while in the presence of these two dangerous reptiles, were fresh enough in their remembrance to inspire them with continual fear. all along the way, the indian had been constantly upon the alert. nothing had occurred to cause them alarm, though many strange sounds had been heard, and strange creatures had been seen. most of these, however, were of a character to cheer rather than affright them. the sounds were mostly musical,--the voices of birds,-- while the creatures seen were the birds themselves, many of beautiful forms and bright plumage, perched upon the tree-tops, or winging their way overhead. conspicuous among them were the tiny winged creatures called humming-birds, with which the gapo abounded. during their swim they had seen several distinct species of these lovely little sprites, flashing like meteors over the surface of the water, or darting about through the tree-tops like sparks of glistening light. they appeared to be the gnomes and elves of the place. while eating dinner, our adventurers were favoured with an excellent opportunity of observing the habits of these graceful and almost microscopic creatures. a tree stood near, whose top was surmounted by a parasite,--a species of bignonia,--in full blossom, that with its array of sweet-scented flowers completely covered the tree, almost concealing the green foliage underneath. over this flowery spot hundreds of humming-birds were hovering, now darting from point to point, anon poised upon swiftly whirring wings in front of an open flower, their tiny beak inserted into the corolla, therefrom to extract the savoury honey. there were several species of them, though none of them of large size, and all looking more like insects than birds. but for the swiftness of their motions, they might have passed for a swarm of wild bees (_meliponae_) disporting themselves among the flowers. ralph and rosa were delighted with the spectacle, though it was not new to them, for the warmer valleys of the andes, through which they had passed in approaching the headwaters of the amazon, were the favourite _habitat_ of the humming-birds, and there a greater number of species exist than in amazonia itself. what was new to them, however, and to the rest of the party as well, was some information imparted by the tapuyo while they sat conversing after dinner. he said that there were two kinds of these birds, which, although alike in size, beauty, bright plumage, and many other respects, were altogether distinct in their habits and ways of life. by two kinds he did not mean two species, for there were many, but two sets of species, or groups, as the indian would have called them, had he been a student of ornithology. one set, he said,--and the several species then before their eyes belonged to it,--lived upon the juice of the flowers, and this was their only food. these frequented such open _campos_ as those on the southern side of the solimoes, and along the rivers running into it from that direction. they were also common in plantations, and other places where clearings had been made, or where the forest was thin and scattering, because there only could they find a sufficiency of flowers. it was only at times that they made excursions into the great water-forest, when some of the sipo plants were in blossom, just as the one before them was at that time. the species they saw did not belong to the gapo. they had only strayed there upon a roving excursion, and would soon return to the mainland,-- the treeless regions. the kinds that frequented the great forest never went out of it, and cared nothing about flowers. if seen hovering around a tree in blossom, it was only because they were in pursuit of insects, which had been attracted thither in search of the sweet juices. upon these the forest humming-birds regularly preyed, making their exclusive diet upon flies, which they caught as much among the foliage as the flowers, darting upon the insects whenever they perched upon the leaves, and snapping them up either from the upper or under side. they built their nests upon the tips of the palm-leaves, choosing the side that was inward towards the tree, from which they suspended them. they were purse-shaped, and composed of fibres closely woven together with a thick lining of a fine, soft silk-cotton, taken from the fruit of a tree called _samauma_. they did not come much into the sun, like the other kinds, but kept more in the shade, and might be often met whirring about in the aisles of the forest. sometimes they would poise themselves in the air, right in front of a person passing through among the tree-trunks, and, after remaining till the intruder's face would be within a few feet of them, would fly on in advance of him, and again come to a pause in the same way, repeating the manoeuvre several times in succession. all these things, averred the observant indian, made the humming-birds that kept constantly to the forest very different from those that only visited it upon occasions, and therefore, in his opinion, they were of two distinct kinds. and his opinion was the correct one, founded on observations already made by the ornithologist, and which have resulted in the classification of the humming-birds into two great groups, the _trochilinae_ and _phaethorninae_. chapter thirty eight. a cul-de-sac. notwithstanding the pleasant theme that formed the subject of their after-dinner discourse, it was not long continued. both those who took part in it and those who listened were too anxious about their situation to enjoy even the most interesting conversation. as soon, therefore, as they felt sufficiently recruited by the rest, they resumed their aquatic journey. for several hours they continued to advance at the same slow rate, without encountering any incident worthy of record. the igarape still trended in a straight line, with only here and there a slight turning to one side or the other, preserving, however, the same general direction, which was northward. this they had discovered on the night before, not by observing the polar star, which is at no time visible at the equator, nor until you have travelled several degrees to the north of it. even when this well-known star should be seen from the low latitudes of the torrid zone, it is usually obscured by the hazy film extending along the horizon. sirius and other northern, constellations had guided them. as the sun had been shining throughout the whole of that day as well as the preceding one, you may suppose there could be no difficulty in discovering the quarter, within a point or two of the compass, at any hour of the day. this might be true to any one travelling in a high latitude, northern or southern, or at certain seasons of the year, anywhere outside the tropics. even within the tropics it might be done by skilful observation, if the observer knew the exact time of the year. trevannion knew the time. he knew, moreover, that it was close upon the vernal equinox, when the sun was crossing the equatorial line, near to which they were wandering. for this reason, in the meridian hours the great orb was right over their heads, and no one--not even a skilled astronomer--could have told north from south, or cast from west. supposing that the igarape should not be trending in the same direction, but imperceptibly departing from it? in that case, during the mid-hours of the day they could have had no guidance from the sky, and must have suspended their journey till the sun should begin to sink towards the west, and once more make known the points of the compass. fortunately they needed not to make this delay. as already observed, the flow of the flood was the pilot to which they looked for keeping them in their course; and, as this still ran with a slight obliquity in the same direction as the igarape, the latter could not have departed from the right line upon which, they had been advancing. the current had been compared with the points of the compass that morning before setting out. it was a little to the east of north. northward, then, was the course of the swimmers. they had drawn further inference from the direction in which the flood was setting. it proved that they had strayed from the solimoes by its left or northern bank, and must now be somewhere among the mouths of the great river japura. it was no consolation to discover this, but the contrary. the old tapuyo only looked graver on arriving at the conviction that such was the case. he knew that in that direction, in the vast delta formed by the unnumbered branches of the japura, the gapo was of great width, extending far back from the banks of this remarkable river, and dry land in that direction might be at the greatest distance. there was no alternative but to keep on, and, by deviating from the course as little as possible, they might in due time reach the limits of the flood. actuated by this impulse and its attendant hopes, they continued their toilsome journey along "the path of the canoe." we have said that for several hours they encountered no incident worthy of note. it was not destined, however, for that day's sun to set before one should arise, whose record is not a matter of choice, but necessity, since it exerted such an influence on the proceedings of the travellers as to cause a complete change in their mode of progression. what they encountered was not exactly an incident, but an obstruction. in other words, their swim was suddenly brought to an end by the ending of the igarape! they had arrived at the termination of this curious canal, which all at once came to a _cul-de-sac_, the trees closing in on both sides, and presenting an impenetrable front, that forbade farther progress. the way was equally obstructed in every other direction; for on neither side of the igarape, throughout its whole length, had any opening been observed. at first they fancied that the water might open again beyond the obstruction, but munday, after penetrating a short distance among the tree-trunks, returned to declare his conviction that the igarape was at an end. nor did it terminate by any gradual convergence of the two lines of trees. on the contrary, they came together in an abrupt circular sweep,--one of colossal size, that rose high above its fellows and spread far out, standing in the centre, like some titanic guardian of the forest, and seeming to say to the igarape, "hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther!" it was of no use remaining longer in the water for that day. even had the obstruction not arisen, it was time to have suspended their exertions. the sun was sinking towards the tree-tops, and by the time they could get themselves snugly stowed away, and something ready for supper, it would be night. leaving other cares for the morrow, and the morrow to take care of itself, they at once proceeded to select their sleeping-place for the night. the colossal tree that had come so unpleasantly across their track seemed to offer the very quarters they were in search of; and, without more ado, they accepted the hospitality of its wide-spreading branches. chapter thirty nine. the brazil-nuts. the tree upon which they had made their roost was one of a species of which they had observed many during the day. it was the true brazil-nut (_bertholletia excelsa_), own cousin to the sapucaya; for both are of the same family,--the _lecythis_,--of which there are many distinct members. like the sapucaya, it is a denizen of the low lands and flooded forests, growing to a stupendous height. it produces large, showy flowers, which are succeeded by huge capsule-like pericarps, each enclosing a score or more of brazil-nuts. but though the flowers are followed by the fruits, these do not all come together; and, like the orange and other tropical trees, bud, blossom, and fruit may all be observed upon the same branch, in various stages of development. it need not be said that the nuts of the _bertholletia_ form one of the commercial staples of amazonia. they are too well-known to need further description; for there are few dwelling-houses in either europe or america where they have not been submitted to the squeeze of the nut-crackers. in the forest, where they are no man's property, they are collected by whoever chooses to take the trouble, but chiefly by the indians and half-breeds who dwell on the borders of the gapo. the time to gather the brazil-nuts is the _vasante_, or dry season, though there are certain tribes of savages that go nutting in their canoes during the season of the _echente_. but the real nut harvest is after the floods have subsided, and the trees once more stand upon dry land. then the whole _malocca_ of indians, or the inhabitants of a village, proceed in a body to the places where the fruits are to be found, scattered around the stems of the tall trees that have produced them. in gathering their crop the gleaners require to observe certain precautions, those who go under the trees covering their heads with a thick wooden cap, resembling a helmet, lest the dropping of the heavy capsules--big as a cannon-ball, and almost as heavy--might crack a skull! for this reason the monkeys of the amazon forest, though crazy for sapucaya and brazil-nuts, always give the _bertholletia_ a wide berth, never going under, but around it, in a circle whose circumference lies outside the tips of the branches. strange to say, these creatures have no fear of the sapucaya, although its pericarps are as large and heavy as those of the brazil-nuts. but the former do not fall to the ground, or when they do, it is only after the lid has sprung open, and the huge cup has scattered its contents, leaving it a light and empty shell. it is for this reason, as much as anything else, that the nuts of the sapucaya are scarce in the market, and command a higher price. having escaped spontaneously from their shell, they are at the mercy of all comers, birds, quadrupeds, and monkeys; whereas the brazil-nuts, protected by their thick woody pericarps, are not so easily accessible. even the monkeys cannot get at them, until some animal with teeth better adapted for chiselling performs for them the service of laying open the box, and giving them a chance at the treasures contained within. this is done by several species of rodents, among which the _cutia_ and _paca_ are conspicuous; and one of the most comical spectacles to be seen in a south american forest is that of a group of monkeys, watching from a distance the proceedings of a paca thus employed, and then springing forward to take forcible possession of the pericarp after it has been sufficiently opened. it was a bit of good fortune that our adventurers found lodgings upon the _bertholletia_. though more hospitality may usually be met with in an inn, it provided them with at least a portion of their supper,--the bread-stuff. they had still left a brace of the macaw squabs that had not been roasted; but munday, as before, soon produced sufficient fire to give them a scorching, and keen appetites supplied salt, pepper, and sauce. chapter forty. a travelling party of guaribas. supper over, our adventurers only awaited the sunset to signal them to their repose. they had already selected their beds, or what was to serve for such,--the spaces of horizontal network formed by the intertwining of luxuriant llianas. at the best, it was no better than sleeping upon a raked hurdle; but they had been already somewhat inured to an uneasy couch on the galatea, and they were every day becoming less sensitive to necessities and hardships. they were all tired with the severe exertions they had made; for although their journey had been but about six miles, it was enough to equal sixty made upon land. they felt as if they could go to sleep astride of a limb, or suspended from a branch. it was not decreed by fate that they should find rest before being made the witnesses of a spectacle so curious, that, had they been ever so much inclined for sleep, would have kept them awake against their will. a noise heard afar off in the forest attracted their attention. there was nothing in it to alarm them, though had they not heard it before, or something similar to it, their fears might have been excited to the utmost pitch of terror. what they heard was the lugubrious chant of a band of howling monkeys. of all the voices of nature that awake the echoes of the amazonian forest, there is perhaps none so awe-inspiring as this. it is a combination of sounds, that embrace the various tones of shrieking, screaming, chattering, growling, and howling, mingled with an occasional crash, and a rattle, such as might proceed from the throat of a dying maniac. and yet all this is often the product of a single _mycetes_, or howling monkey, whose hollow hyoidal bone enables him to-- send forth every species of sound, from the rolling of a bass drum to the sharp squeak of a penny-whistle. "_guaribas_!" quietly remarked the mundurucu, as the distant noise was first heard. "howling monkeys you mean?" interrogatively rejoined trevannion. "yes, patron, and the loudest howlers of the whole tribe. you'll hear them presently. they are coming this way." "they're not far off now, i should say, if one may judge by the loudness of their cries." "all of a mile yet, patron. it proves that the forest stretches more than a mile in that direction, else the guaribas could not be there. if there be open water between us and them, they won't come this way. if not, we'll have them here in ten minutes' time. i wish we could only travel among the tree-tops as they can. we shouldn't stay long in the gapo." "just as the mundurucu expected," continued the tapuyo, after a pause. "the guaribas are coming towards us. i can hear the swishing of the leaves as they pass among them. we'll soon see them." the howling of the guaribas had for some time ceased, but the rustling of leaves, with the occasional snapping of a twig, to which the indian had directed the attention of his companions, told that the troop was travelling through the tree-tops, otherwise observing a profound silence. soon they appeared in sight, suddenly presenting themselves upon a tall tree that stood by the side of the igarape, about a cable's length from that occupied by our adventurers. for some minutes the branches of the tree were seen oscillating up and down, as each black guariba sprang into it: and this continued until not less than a hundred had found lodgement upon the limbs. as the leader of the band, who was evidently chief of the tribe, caught sight of the igarape, he was seen to pause in an abrupt and ambiguous manner, at the same moment giving utterance to a cry, easily intelligible as a word of command. it had the effect of causing those immediately behind him to come to a halt, as also the others, as they sprang successively into the tree. there could be no question as to what had caused the halt. it was the igarape crossing the track which the guaribas were going. with them the only question was, how they were to get over it. at the point where the howlers had clustered together, the strait was narrower than elsewhere within sight. between the branches, extending horizontally from the opposite sides of the igarape, there was a clear space of about twenty feet; and to the spectators it appeared improbable that any animal without wings could leap from tree to tree. the monkeys, however, did not seem to be of this opinion, but were plainly contemplating the leap; and it was evident that some of them were only restrained from taking it by an authoritative command from their chief, which held them in check. for several minutes there was a profound silence among them, undisturbed until the stragglers had all arrived in the tree, and squatted on the branches. it was now observed that among these last were several mothers, each carrying a child upon her back, or embraced between her bare arms; the youngster with face upturned, clinging, not with teeth and toe-nail, but with hands and tail, to the neck of its maternal parent. to these the attention of the whole tribe appeared to be directed; and it was evident that they were the sole cause of the difficulty,--the _impedimenta_ that had interrupted the onward march of the troop. there had been confusion, accompanied by some chattering, after first coming up; but a sign from the leader had put an end to all noise, and then succeeded the silence already mentioned. during its continuance the guariba chief slowly ascended the tree, until he had attained a position elevated above all his followers. then squatting down, with his hams firmly planted upon a branch, his long tail carefully coiled around another, he commenced his harangue with as much ceremony as if he had been chairman of a guild-hall dinner. perhaps there was quite as much sense and eloquence in his speech; at all events, there was more noise: for during the ten minutes taken up by it--it had the advantage of brevity--no other sound could have been heard over the gapo within the circuit of a mile. his address being ended, the chief, by a series of detached speeches, seemed to invite a reply from his followers, coaxing their assent, or daring them to contradiction. there appeared to be no dissent, not one voice. the chattering that responded to the speech was delivered in a tone that spoke unanimous compliance with the proposal--whatever it was--which their chief had offered to their consideration. then ensued another interval of silence, much shorter than before, and again interrupted by the leader of the troop. this time, however, his words were few and to the purpose. they were pronounced in a tone of command, that called for prompt obedience, which was yielded instantaneously and without protest. one of the strongest of the guaribas ran out upon the limb overhanging the igarape, and, stopping at its extremity, braced himself for the leap. in another instant it was made, and the monkey was seen rushing up into the tree on the other side of the igarape. a comrade followed, placing his four hands in the same spot, his body in a similar attitude, and making the leap so exactly like the guariba that had preceded him, that it seemed the same monkey repeating the performance. then went another, and another, so close following, that the creatures appeared more like the links of some colossal but quick-moving chain, pulled by supernatural power across the igarape, than a series of individual and animated beings. chapter forty one. the monkey mother. our adventurers sat in silent wonder watching the movements of the monkeys. it was certainly a spectacle of the most interesting character to see these creatures making the passage of the igarape. perhaps the most singular thing was the similarity of their leaps,--all planting their feet upon the same spot of the branch from which the leader sprang, springing exactly in the same way, and alighting on the opposite side in apparently the same spot and attitude, proving that each and all must have been actuated by the same thought or instinct at the precise moment of passing from one tree to the other. another singular point was, that during its continuance the intervals between each two were almost as regular as the ticking of a clock. as soon as one launched itself out from the branch, another sprang into its place, and was ready to follow so quickly that the air was never for a moment without a monkey; and any one looking straight down the opening between the trees, without glancing to either side, might almost have fancied that it was a single guariba suspended in mid-air! all the males of the tribe had succeeded in making the leap in safety; and all the females, too,--those carrying their "piccaninnies" along with the rest,--except one. this was a mother with a very young child on her back,--in fact a mere infant,--perhaps not nine days old. notwithstanding its extreme youth, it appeared to comprehend the situation, as well as those of more mature age, clinging with its infantile fingers to the shaggy hide of its mother, while its tiny tail was twisted around the root of hers, in a loop that appeared tight as a sailor's knot. but the mother, enfeebled by some sickness,--for monkeys are subject to sickness as well as men,--appeared doubtful of her ability to accomplish the leap; and, after all the others had crossed, she stood upon the branch evidently only half determined about following them. at this crisis occurred a curious incident,--the first of a series. one of those that had crossed, a man-monkey, was seen to separate from the crowd, that had by this time ascended to the top of the tree. returning along the limb to which they had just leaped, he placed himself opposite to the hesitating female and began to chatter, intending to encourage her, as his gestures showed. the mother of the infant made reply; but although the sounds were unintelligible to the human spectators, they might be translated as saying, "it's not a bit of use, my trying; i shall only get a ducking for my pains, and the infant too. it may be drowned." her reply was delivered in a tone of appeal; and, as if affected by it, the male monkey--evidently the father of the child--made no more remonstrance, but bounded back across the open water. it was but the work of six seconds for him to transfer the juvenile to his own shoulders; and in as many more both he and it were on the right side of the igarape. relieved of her charge and encouraged by the cries of those already across, the mother sprang out from the branch. the effort was too great for her strength. with her forefinger she caught the twigs on the opposite side and succeeded in clutching them; but before she could lap the branch with her tail,--a more trustworthy means of prehension,--she had sunk below its level, and, the twigs giving way, she plunged into the water. a universal scream came from the top of the tree, and a score or more of guaribas leaped down upon the limb from which the unfortunate had fallen. there was a scene of confusion,--just as there would have been had the catastrophe happened among human beings,--as when a boat upsets or some one breaks through the ice, and spectators stand speechless, or hurry to and fro, no one knowing exactly what to do,--what order to give, or whom to obey. very like was the scene of surprise, terror, and lamentation among the monkeys,--except that it did not last quite so long. in this respect animal instinct, as it is called, has the advantage of bewildered reason; and, while a crowd upon the sea-beach or the river-bank would have spent ten minutes before taking action to rescue the drowning individual, scarcely so many seconds were allowed to elapse before the guaribas had picked up and safely deposited her trembling person on the fork of a tree. the mode in which this had been accomplished was something to astonish the spectators, and yet it was performed in a very efficient manner. as soon as the screaming would permit, the voice of the guariba chieftain was heard, in a chattering so loud and serious in tone as to indicate command; and some half-score of the number, in obedience, glided out on the limb of the tree under which the female was in imminent danger of being drowned. a bucket could not have descended into a well, or a pulley-tackle come down from warehouse or mill, more promptly and speedily than did that string of monkeys, hooked neck and tail to one another, like the links of a long chain,--the lowest upon the swinging series being the husband of the half-drowned mother, who had hastily deposited his baby in one of the forkings of the tree. neither could the water-bucket have been filled, nor the wheat-sack hooked on, with half the speed and agility with which she was picked up and restored. once more shouldering her "chickabiddy," she took her place in the troop, which, without further delay, moved on amid the tree-tops, keeping in a direct line of march, as if bent upon a journey that was to terminate at some spot already known to them. for a long time their track could be traced by their continuous howling, which then was heard only at intervals, and at length receded to such a distance as to become inaudible. chapter forty two. the mundurucu discourses of monkeys. the sun was just setting as the guaribas disappeared; and from this circumstance it was conjectured that they were on their return to some favourite resting-place. trevannion supposed that they might be on their way to dry land; and, if so, the route they had taken might serve himself and party for a direction. he mentioned this to the mundurucu, who shook his head, not doubtfully, but as a simple negative. "you think it would be of no use our taking the direction in which they have gone?" said the miner interrogatively. "no, patron; not a bit of good in that. they are as like to be going from _terra firma_ as towards it. it's all the same to them whether they sleep over land, or water, so long as they have the trees to cling to. they are now trooping to some roost they have a fancy for,--perhaps some very big tree,--which they use at all times for their night-rendezvous, and where others of the same tribe will be likely to meet them. these have been off to some favourite feeding-ground, where the fruit may be more plenty than in the neighbourhood of their regular dwelling-place; or they may have been upon some ramble for amusement." "what! do monkeys make such excursions?" inquired young ralph. "o yes," replied the mundurucu. "i've often met them trooping about among the trees, where nuts and fruits were in plenty; and have watched them, for hours at a time, without seeing them pluck a single one;--only chattering and screeching and laughing and playing tricks upon each other, as if they had nothing else to do. neither have they when certain sorts of fruit are ripe, especially soft fruits, such as berries and the pulpy nuts of several kinds of palms, as the _pupunha_ and _assai_. it is a little different at other seasons, when they have to live on the brazil-nuts and sapucayas; then they have something to do to get at the kernels inside the thick shells, and at this they employ a good deal of their time." "do they sleep perched on the trees, or have they nests among the branches in which they can lie down at their ease?" "they have nests, but not for that. the females only use them when about to bring forth their young. as to sleeping at their ease, they can do that on the very slenderest of branches. it's no hardship to them, as it is to us. not a bit." "but do they not sometimes fall off in their sleep?" "how could they do that, young master, when they have their tails to hold on by? before going to sleep they take a turn or two of their long tail round a branch, not always the one their body is on, but more commonly a branch a little above it. for that matter they don't need any branch to rest upon. they can go to sleep, and often do, hanging by the tail,--for that is the position in which they are most at ease; just as you would be reclining in a hammock. i've seen them scores of times asleep that way. to prove that they feel most at home when hanging by the tail, they take to it whenever any alarm comes suddenly upon them; and they want to be in readiness for retreat, in case of its proving to be an enemy." "what singular creatures!" said ralph, half in soliloquy. "you speak truth, young master. they have many an odd way, that would lead one to believe that they had as much sense as some kinds of men. you have seen how they picked up the old one that fell into the water; but i've seen them do a still stranger thing than that. it is but the commonest of their contrivances, put in practice every time they want to pluck a nut, or some fruit that grows near the end of a branch too slender to carry their weight. if there's a stronger limb above, they go out upon it; and then, clinging together as you saw them do, they let themselves down till the last in the string can lay hold of the fruit. sometimes there is no branch right over the spot; but that don't hinder them from getting what they have coveted, if they can find a stout limb anyways near. then they make their string all the same; and, by setting it in motion, they swing back and forward, until the lowest of the party is tossed out within reach of the fruit. i've seen them try this, and find that their string was just a few inches too short, when another monkey would glide down upon the others, and add his length to complete it. then i've seen them make a bridge, young master." "make a bridge! are you in earnest? how could they?" "well, just in the same way as they get within reach of the nuts." "but for what purpose?" "to get across some bit of water, as a fast-running stream, where they would be drowned if they fell in." "but how do they accomplish it? to make a bridge requires a skilled engineer among men; are there such among monkeys?" "well, young master, i won't call it such skill; but it's very like it. when on their grand journeyings they come to a stream, or even an igarape like this, and find they can't leap from the trees on one side to those growing on the other, it is then necessary for them to make the bridge. they go up or down the bank till they find two tall trees opposite each other. they climb to a high branch on the one, and then, linking together, as you've seen them, they set their string in motion, and swing backward and forward, till one at the end can clutch a branch of the tree, on the opposite side. this done the bridge is made, and all the troop, the old ones that are too stiff to take a great leap, and the young ones that are too weak, run across upon the bodies of their stouter comrades. when all have passed over, the monkey at the other end of the string lets go his hold upon the branch; and if he should be flung into water it don't endanger him, as he instantly climbs up the bodies of those above him, the next doing the same, and the next also, until all have got safe into the trees." "be japers," exclaimed tipperary tom, "it's wonderful how the craythers can do it! but, misther munday, have yez iver seen them fall from a tree-top?" "no, never, but i've known one to leap from the top of a tree full a hundred feet in height." "shure it was kilt dead then?" "if it was it acted very oddly for a dead animal, as it had scarce touched the ground when it sprang back up another tree of equal height, and scampered to the top branches nearly as quick as it came down." "ah!" sighed trevannion, "if we had only the activity of these creatures, how soon we might escape from this unfortunate dilemma. who knows what is before us? let us pray before going to rest for the night. let us hope that he, in whose hands we are, may listen to our supplications, and sooner or later relieve us from our misery." and so saying, the ex-miner repeated a well-remembered prayer, in the response to which not only the young people, but the indian, the african, and the irishman fervently joined. chapter forty three. two slumberers ducked. it was somewhere among the mid-hours of the night, and all appeared to be as sound asleep as if reclining upon couches of eider-down. not a voice was heard among the branches of the brazil-nut,--not a sound of any kind, if we except the snore that proceeded from the spread nostrils of the negro, and that of a somewhat sharper tone from the nasal organ of the irishman. sometimes they snored together, and for several successive trumpetings this simultaneity would be kept up. gradually, however, one would get a little ahead, and then the two snorers would be heard separately, as if the two sleepers were responding to each other in a kind of dialogue carried on by their noses. all at once this nasal duet was interrupted by a rustling among the boughs upon which rested tipperary tom. the rustling was succeeded by a cry, quickly followed by a plunge. the cry and the plunge woke everybody upon the tree; and while several inquired the cause of the disturbance, a second shout, and a second plunge, instead of affording a clue to the cause of alarm, only rendered the matter more mysterious. there was a second volley of interrogatories, but among the inquiring voices two were missing,--those of mozey and the irishman. both, however, could now be heard below; not very articulate, but as if their owners were choking. at the same time there was a plashing and a plunging under the tree, as if the two were engaged in a struggle for life. "what is it? is it you, tom? is it you, mozey?" were the questions that came thick and fast from those still upon the tree. "och! ach!--i'm chokin'!--i'm--ach--drown--ach--drownin'!--help! help!" cried a voice, distinguishable as the irishman's, while mozey's was exerted in a similar declaration. all knew that tom could not swim a stroke. with the mozambique it was different. he might sustain himself above water long enough to render his rescue certain. with tom no time was to be lost, if he was to be saved from a watery grave; and, almost with his cry for help, richard trevannion and the mundurucu plunged in after him. for a time, trevannion himself and his two children could hear, underneath them, only a confused medley of sounds,--the splashing of water mingled with human voices, some speaking, or rather shouting, in accents of terror, others in encouragement. the night was dark; but had it been ever so clear, even had the full moon been shining above, her beams could not have penetrated through the spreading branches of the brazil-nut, melted and lined as they were with thorns and leafy llianas. it would seem an easy task for two such swimmers as the indian and paraense to rescue tipperary tom from his peril. but it was not quite so easy. they had got hold of him, one on each side, as soon as the darkness allowed them to discern him. but this was not till they had groped for some time; and then he was found in such a state of exhaustion that it required all the strength of both to keep his chin above the surface. mozey was fast becoming as helpless as tom, being more than half paralysed by the fright he had got from being precipitated into the water while still sound asleep. such a singular awaking was sufficient to have confused a cranium of higher intellectual development than that of the mozambique. after having discovered their half-drowned companions, neither richard nor the mundurucu knew exactly what to do with them. their first thought was to drag them towards the trunk of the tree, under which they had been immersed. this they succeeded in doing; but once alongside the stem, they found themselves in no better position for getting out of the water. there was not a branch within reach by which to raise themselves, and the bark was as smooth as glass, and slippery with slime. when first ascending into the great tree, they had made use of some hanging parasite, which now in the darkness they were unable to find. even the two swimmers began to despond. if not their own lives, those of their comrades might be lost in that gloomy aisle, whose pavement was the subtle, deceitful flood. at this crisis an idea occurred to the young paraense that promised to rescue them from their perilous position, and he called out, "the swimming-belts! fling down the swimming-belts!" his uncle and cousin, by this time having a clearer comprehension of what had occurred, at once obeyed the command. richard and the indian were not slow to avail themselves of this timely assistance; and in a trice the two half-drowned men were buoyed up beyond further danger. on getting back into the bertholletia, there was a general explanation. tipperary tom was the cause of the awkward incident. having gone to sleep without taking proper precautions, his limbs, relaxed by slumber, had lost their prehensile power, and, sliding through the llianas, he had fallen plump into the water below, a distance of more than a dozen feet. his cries, and the consequent plunge, had startled the negro so abruptly that he too had lost his equilibrium, and had soused down the instant after. the mundurucu was by no means satisfied with the occurrence. it had not only interrupted his repose, but given him a wet shirt in which to continue it. he was determined, however, that a similar incident should not, for that night, occur,--at least not with the same individuals,-- and before returning to his roost he bound both of them to theirs with _sipos_ strong enough to resist any start that might be caused by the most terrible of dreams. chapter forty four. open water. the next day was spent in explorations. these did not extend more than four hundred yards from their sleeping-place; but, short as was the distance, it cost more trouble to traverse it than if it had been twenty miles on land, across an open country. it was a thicket through which the explorers had to pass, but such a thicket as one acquainted only with the ordinary woods of northern countries can have no conception of. it was a matted tangle of trees and parasitical plants, many of the latter--such as the climbing jacitara palms, the huge cane-briers, and bromelias--thickly set with sharp spines, that rendered it dangerous to come in contact with them. even had there been firm footing, it would have been no easy task to make way through such a network; but, considering that it was necessary to traverse the wood by passing from tree to tree, all the time keeping in their tops, it will not be wondered at that a few hundred yards of such progress was accounted a day's journey. you must not suppose that all the party of our adventurers went even thus far. in fact, all of them remained in the brazil-nut, except the two who had acted as explorers on the former occasion,--richard and the mundurucu. it would have been worse than idle for any other to have accompanied them. it was near sunset when they returned with their report, which to trevannion and his party seemed anything but encouraging. the explorers had penetrated through the forest, finding it flooded in every direction. not an inch of dry land had they discovered; and the indian knew, from certain signs well understood by him, that none was near. the rapid drift of the current, which he had observed several times during the day, was one of these indications. it could not, he declared, be running in that way, if dry land were in the vicinity. so far, therefore, as reaching the shore was concerned, they might make up their minds for a long journey; and how this was to be performed was the question of the hour. one point the explorers had definitely determined. the igarape terminated at their sleeping-place. there was no sign of it beyond. instead, however, they had come upon an opening of a very different character. a vast expanse of water, without any trees, had been found, its nearest edge being the limit of their day's excursion. this open water did not extend quite to the horizon. around it, on all sides, trees could be seen, or rather the tops of trees; for it was evident that the thicket-like bordering was but the "lop and top" of a submerged forest. on returning to the "roost," munday urged their going towards the open water. "for what purpose?" inquired the patron, who failed to perceive any good reason for it. "we can't cross it, there being no sort of craft to carry us. we cannot make a raft out of these green branches, full of sap as they are. what's the use of our going that way? you say there's open water almost as far as you can see,--so much the worse, i should think." "no, patron," replied the indian, still addressing trevannion as respectfully as when acting as his hired _tapuyo_. "so much the better, if you give me leave to differ with you. our only hope is to find open water." "why, we have been all along coming from it. isn't there plenty of it behind us?" "true, patron; but it's not running in the right direction. if we launched upon it, the current would be against us. remember, master, 'tis the _echente_. we couldn't go that way. if we could, it would only bring us back to the river-channel, where, without some sort of a vessel, we should soon go to the bottom. now the open gapo we've seen to-day is landward, though the land may be a good way off. still, by crossing it, we shall be getting nearer to firm ground, and that's something." "by crossing it? but how?" "we must swim across it." "why, you've just said that it stretches almost to the edge of the horizon. it must be ten miles or more. do you mean to say we can swim so far?" "what's to hinder us, master? you have, the monkey-pots; they will keep you above water. if not enough for all, we can get more. plenty of the sapucaya-trees here." "but what would be the object of our crossing this expanse of water? you say there is no dry land on the other side; in that case, we'll be no better off than here." "there is land on the other side, though i think not near. but we must keep on towards it, else we shall never escape from the gapo. if we stay here, we must starve, or suffer greatly. we might search the forest for months, and not find another nesting-place of the araras, or good food of any kind. take my advice, patron. soon as comes the light of to-morrow, let us cross to the open water. then you can see for yourself what is best for us to do." as the perilous circumstances in which they were placed had altogether changed the relationship between trevannion and his _tapuyo_, the latter being now the real "patron," of course the ex-miner willingly gave way to him in everything; and on the morning of the next day the party of adventurers forsook the brazil-nut, and proceeded towards the open gapo. chapter forty five. the jacanas. it will be asked how they proceeded. to swim to the open water would have been next to impossible, even with the assistance of the floats. not only would the thick tree-trunks and drooping llianas have hindered them from making way in any direction; but there would have been nothing to guide them through the shadowy water, and they must soon lose themselves in a labyrinth of gloom. no sign of the sky could have availed them in the deep darkness below; and there were no landmarks to which to trust. the answer is, that they made their way along much as did the monkeys which had passed them the day before, only that their pace was a hundred times slower, and their exertions a thousand times more laborious. in fact, they travelled among the tree-tops, and followed the same track which their explorers had already taken, and which munday, on his return, had taken the precaution to "blaze" by breaking a number of twigs and branches. their progress was of the slowest kind,--slower than the crawl of a cripple; but by dint of perseverance, and the performance of many feats in climbing and clinging and balancing, and general gymnastics, they succeeded at length in reaching the edge of the forest, and gaining a view of the wide watery expanse. it was a relief to their eyes, so long strained to no purpose amidst the shadowy foliage that had enveloped them. "now, munday," asked trevannion, as soon as he had recovered breath, after such laborious exertion, "we are here on the edge of the open water. you talk of our being able to swim across it. tell us how." "just as we swam the igarape." "impossible, as you've admitted it can't be less than ten miles to the other side. the tree-tops yonder are scarce discernible." "we came nearly as far along the canoe-path." "true; but then we had a chance to rest every few minutes, and that gave us strength to go on. it will be different if we attempt to cross this great sea, where there is no resting-place of any kind. we should be a whole day on the water, perhaps more." "perhaps so, patron. but remember, if we do not try to get out of the gapo, we may be three, four, five, or six months among these tree-tops. we may get no food but a few nuts and fruits,--scarcely enough to keep us alive. we may lose strength, and be no longer able to stay among the branches; we may grow faint and fall, one by one, into the water, to go down to the bottom of the gapo or drop into the jaws of the jacares." the alternative thus brought in terrible detail vividly before them produced a strong impression; and trevannion offered no objection to any plan which the mundurucu should propose. he only requested a fuller account of the feasibility of that now suggested,--in other words, an explanation as to how they were to swim a stretch of ten miles without stopping to rest. munday made no mystery of the matter. he had no other plan than that already tried with success,--the swimming-belts; only that two additional sets would now be needed,--one for himself, the other for the young paraense. on the short passage from the sapucaya to the forest, and along the canoe-path, these bold swimmers had disdained the use of that apparatus; but in a pull of ten miles, even they must have recourse to such aid. no further progress was to be made on that day, as the fatigue of their arboreal journey required a long rest; and shortly after their arrival upon the edge of the forest, they set about arranging for the night, having chosen the best tree that could be found. unfortunately, their larder was lower than it had ever been, since the going down of the galatea. of the squab macaws there were no longer any left; and some sapucaya nuts gathered by the way, and brought along by munday, formed the substance of their scanty supper. as soon as it was eaten, the mundurucu, assisted by richard, busied himself in manufacturing the required swimming-belts; and long before the sun disappeared behind the forest spray, everything was ready for their embarkation, which was to take place at the earliest moment of its reappearance. as usual, there was conversation,--partly to kill time, and partly to keep off the shadows that surrounded, and ever threatened to reduce them to despair. trevannion took pains to keep it up, and make it as cheerful as the circumstances would permit, his object being less to satisfy himself than to provide gratification for his children. at times he even attempted to jest; but generally the conversation turned upon topics suggested by the scene, when the indian, otherwise taciturn, was expected to do the talking. the open water became the subject on this particular occasion. "it appears like a lake," remarked the ex-miner. "i can see a line of trees or tree-tops all around it, with no signs of a break or channel." "it is one," rejoined the _tapuyo_. "a real _lagoa_. water in it at all seasons,--both _echente_ and _vasante_,--only 'tis fallen now from the flood. there are no _campos_ in this part of the country; and if it wasn't a lagoa, there would be trees standing out of it. but i see a surer sign,--the _piosocas_." the speaker pointed to two dark objects at some distance off, that had not hitherto been observed by any of the party. on more careful scrutiny, they proved to be birds,--large, but of slender shape, and bearing some resemblance to a brace of cranes or curlews. they were of dark colour, rufous on the wings, with a green iridescence that glistened brightly under the beams of the setting sun. they were near enough to enable the spectators to distinguish several peculiarities in their structure; among others a singular leathery appendage at the base of the beak, stout, spinous processes or "spurs" on the wing shoulders, very long, slender legs, and _tarsi_ of immense length, radiating outward from their shank, like four pointed stare, spread horizontally on the surface of the water. what struck the spectators, not only with surprise, but appeared unaccountable, was the fact that these birds seen upon the water were not seated as if swimming or afloat; but standing erect upon their long tarsi and toes, which apparently spread upon the surface, as if upon ice! stranger still, while they were being watched, both were seen to forsake their statue-like attitude, and move first toward each other, and then apart again, running to and fro as if upon a solid fooling! what could it all mean? munday was asked for the explanation. were they walking upon the water? no. there was a water plant under their feet--a big lily, with a leaf several feet in diameter, that floated on the surface--sufficient to carry the weight of the biggest bird. that was what was supporting the piosocas. on scanning the surface more carefully, they could distinguish the big lily, and its leaf with a turned-up edge resembling the rim of a chinese gong, or a huge frying-pan. they became acquainted for the first time with that gigantic lily, which has been entitled "the royal victoria," and the discoverer of which was knighted for his flattery. "'tis the _furno de piosoca_," said munday, continuing his explanation. "it is called so, because, as you see, it's like the oven on which we bake our cassava; and because it is the favourite roost of the piosoca." by "piosoca" the indian meant the singular _jacana_ of the family _palamedeidae_, of which there are species both in africa and america. the birds had fortunately made their appearance at a crisis when the spectators required something to abstract their thoughts from the cares that encompassed them, and so much were they engrossed by the curious spectacle, that they did not perceive the _tapuyo_, as he let himself gently down into the water, and swam off under the drooping branches of the trees, pausing at a point opposite to where the piosocas were at play. from this point they could not have perceived him, as he had dived under water, and did not come up again until the slender shanks of a jacana, enveloped in the lily's soft leaf, were clutched by his sinewy fingers, and the bird with a shrill scream was seen fluttering on the water, while its terrified mate soared shrieking into the air. the party in the tree-tops were at first amazed. they saw a dark, round object close to the struggling jacana, that resembled the head of a human being, whose body was under water! it was not till it had come nearer, the bird still keeping it close company, that they identified the head, with its copper-coloured face, now turned towards them, as belonging to their guide and companion,--munday. a fire was soon blazing in the branches, and instead of going to sleep upon a supper of raw sapucayas, our adventurers sought repose after a hearty meal made upon roast jacana! chapter forty six. a companion left behind. by daybreak they were once more in the water, each provided with a complete set of swimming-shells. as the voyage was more extensive, and altogether more perilous, the greatest pains was taken to have the swimming apparatus as perfect as possible. any flaw, such as a weak place in the waist-belts or shoulder-straps, or the smallest crevice that would admit water into one of the shells, might be followed by serious consequences, perhaps even drowning. besides making the new belts, therefore, munday had mended the old ones, giving all the shells an additional coating of caoutchouc, and strengthening the sipos that attached them to one another. just as the sun's disk was seen above the tree-tops that skirted the _lagoa_ on the east, our adventurers embarked on their aquatic expedition. but it could not be said that they started in high spirits. they knew not what was to be the sequel of their singular undertaking. where their journey was to end, or whether its end might not be for some of their number--if not all of them--the bottom of the gapo. indeed, the indian, to whom they all looked for encouragement as well as guidance, was himself not very sanguine of success. he did not say so, but for all that trevannion, who had kept interrogating him at intervals while they were preparing to start, had become impressed with this belief. as the mundurucu persisted in counselling the expedition, he did not urge any further opposition, and under the auspices of a glorious tropical sunrise they committed themselves to the open waters of the lagoa. at the very start there occurred a somewhat ominous accident. as the coaita would have been a cumbersome companion for any of the swimmers to carry, it was decided that the creature should be left behind. unpleasant as it was to part with a pet so long in the company of the galatea's crew, there was no alternative but to abandon it. tipperary tom, notwithstanding his attachment toward it, or rather its attachment toward him, was but too willing to assent to the separation. he had a vivid recollection of his former entanglement, and the risk he had run of being either drowned in the gapo, or strangled by the coaita's tail; and with this remembrance still fresh before his fancy, he had taken the precaution at this new start to steal silently off from the trees, among the foremost of the swimmers. everybody in fact had got off, before the coaita was aware of their intention to abandon it, and to such a distance that by no leap could it alight upon anybody's shoulders. on perceiving that it was left behind, it set up a series of cries, painfully plaintive, but loud enough to have been heard almost to the limits of the lagoa. a similar desertion of the macaw was evidently intended, to which no one had given a thought, although it was rosa's pet. the ouistiti had been provided with a free passage upon the shoulders of the young paraense. but the huge parrot was not to be left behind in this free and easy fashion. it was not so helpless as the coaita. it possessed a pair of strong wings, which, when strongly and boldly spread, could carry it clear across the lagoa. conscious of this superior power, it did not stay long upon the trees, to mingle its chattering with the screams of the coaita. before the swimmers had made a hundred strokes, the macaw mounted into the air, flew for a while hoveringly above them, as if selecting its perch, and then dropped upon the negro's head, burying its claws in his tangled hair. chapter forty seven. the guide abandoned. as the swimmers proceeded, their hopes grew brighter. they saw that they were able to make good headway through the water; and in less than an hour they were a full mile distant from their point of departure. at this rate they should be on the other side of the lagoon before sunset, if their strength would only hold out. the voyage promised to be prosperous; and joy sat upon their countenances. shortly after there came a change. a cloud was seen stealing over the brow of the mundurucu, which was the cue for every other to exhibit a similar shadowing. trevannion kept scanning the countenance of the tapuyo to ascertain the cause of his disquietude. he made no enquiry; but he could tell by the behaviour of the indian that there, was trouble on his mind. at intervals he elevated his head above the water, and looked back over his shoulder, as if seeking behind him for the cause of his anxiety. as they swam on farther, munday's countenance lost nothing of its anxious cast, while his turnings and backward glances became more frequent. trevannion also looked back, though only to ascertain the meaning of the tapuyo's manoeuvres. he could see nothing to account for it,--nothing but the tree-tops from which they had parted, and these every moment becoming less conspicuous. though the patron did not perceive it, this was just what was causing the tapuyo's apprehensive looks. the sinking of the trees was the very thing that was producing his despondency. stimulated less by curiosity than alarm, trevannion could keep silent no longer. "why do you look back, munday?" he inquired. "is there any danger in that direction? have you a fear that we shall be followed? i can see nothing except the tree-tops, and them scarcely at this moment." "that's the danger. we shall soon lose sight of them altogether; and then--" "what then?" "then--i confess, patron, i am puzzled. i did not think of it before we took to the water." "o, i see what you mean. you've been hitherto guiding our course by the trees from which we parted. when they are no longer in view we shall have nothing to steer by?" "it is true. the great spirit only can guide us then!" the mundurucu evidently felt more than chagrin that he had expressed himself so confidently about their being able to cross the lagoon. he had only taken into consideration the circumstance of their being able to swim, without ever thinking of the chance of their losing the way. the trees sinking gradually to the horizon first admonished him; and as he continued to swim farther into the clear water, he became convinced that such mischance was not only possible, but too probable. with a sort of despairing effort he kept on with even more energy than before, as if trying how far he could follow a straight line without depending on any object to pilot him. after proceeding thus for two or three hundred yards, he once more raised his chin to his shoulder and looked back. the tree-tops were barely visible; but he was satisfied on perceiving that the one from which they had started rose up directly opposite to him, thus proving that in his trial stretch he had gone in a straight line, inspiring him with the hope of being able to continue it to the opposite side. with renewed confidence he kept on, after uttering a few phrases of cheer to the others. another stretch of about three hundred yards was passed through in silence, and without any incident to interrupt the progress of the swimmers. then all came to a pause, seeing their conductor, as before, suspend his stroke, and again make a rearward reconnoissance. this time he did not appear so well satisfied, until he had raised his head high over the surface, which he accomplished by standing erect, and beating the water with his palms downward, when his confidence was again refreshed, and he started forward once more. at the next stopping-place, instead of raising himself once into the standing poise, he did so several times in succession, each time sinking down again with an exclamation of disappointment. he could not see the trees, even at the utmost stretch of his neck. with a grunt that seemed to signify his assent to the abandoning of their guidance, he again laid himself along the water, and continued in the direction he had been already following; but not before assuring himself that he was on the right course, which fortunately he was still able to do by noting the relative positions of the others. at starting away from this, which he intended should be their last stopping-place, he delivered a series of admonitions intended for every swimmer. they were to keep their places, that is, their relative positions to him and one another, as nearly as might be; they were to swim gently and slowly, according to the example he should set them, so that they might not become fatigued and require to pause for rest; and, above all, they were not to bother him by putting questions, but were, in short, to proceed in perfect silence. he did not condescend to explain these strange injunctions further than by telling them that, if they were not followed, and to the letter, neither he nor they might ever climb into another tree-top! it is needless to say that, after such an intimation, his orders received implicit obedience; and those to whom he had given them swam onward after him as silently as so many fishes. the only sound heard was the monotonous sighing of the water, seething against the hollow sapucaya-shells, now and then varied by the scream of the _caracara_ eagle, as it poised itself for a second over their heads, in surprise at the singular cohort of aquatic creatures moving so mysteriously through the lagoons. chapter forty eight. round and round. for a full hour our adventurers preserved, not only their relative positions, but also the silence that had been enjoined upon them. none of them spoke, even when a dead guariba--that had been drowned, perhaps, by attempting a leap too great for its strength and agility--came drifting along among them. not one of them took any notice of it except the ouistiti upon the shoulders of richard trevannion. this diminutive quadrumanous specimen, on recognising the body of one of its big kinsmen, entered upon a series of chatterings and squeakings, trembling all the while as if suddenly awakened to the consciousness that it was itself in danger of terminating its existence in a similar manner. its cries were not heeded. munday's admonition had been delivered in a tone too serious to be disregarded; and the ouistiti was permitted to utter its plaint, without a single word being addressed to it, either of chiding or consolation. tranquillity was at length restored, for the little ape, seeing that no notice was taken of it, desisted from its noisy demonstrations, and once more the swimmers proceeded in silence. half an hour or so might have elapsed before this silence received a second interruption. it again came in the voice of the ouistiti; which, rearing itself on its tiny hind-legs, having the shoulders of the paraense for a support, craning its head outward over the water, commenced repeating its cries of alarm. in seeking for an explanation of this conduct, they contented themselves with watching the movements of the alarmist, and by turning their eyes towards the object which appeared to attract the ouistiti and cause it such evident alarm. each buoyed himself up to get a good view; and each, as he did so, saw scarce ten paces ahead of him the carcass of a guariba! it was drifting towards them in the same manner as the one they had already met; and before any of them thought of exchanging speech, it was bobbing about in their midst. the reflection that occurred to the swimmers was, that there had been a general drowning among the guaribas somewhere on the shores of the lagoon: perhaps a tribe had got into some isolated tree, where their retreat had been cut off by the inundation. had the tapuyo not been of the party, this theory might have satisfied all hands, and the journey would have been continued, instead of being suddenly interrupted by the tapuyo himself. he was not so easily deceived. on passing the first guariba, although he had said nothing, he had carefully noted the peculiarities of the carcass; and as soon as he swam within distinguishing distance of the second guariba, he saw that the pair were identical. in other words, our adventurers had for the second time encountered the same unfortunate ape. there could be but one conclusion. the carcass could not have changed its course, unless by the shifting of the wind, or the current of the water. but neither would have explained that second _rencontre_. it was only intelligible upon the supposition that the swimmers had been going round and round and returning on their own track! chapter forty nine. going by guess. although their guide was the first to discover it, he did not attempt to conceal the dilemma into which he had been instrumental in leading them. "'tis true, patron!" he said, addressing himself to trevannion, and no longer requiring compliance with his former regulations. "we have gone astray. that's the same monkey we met before; so you see we're back where we were a half-hour ago. _pa terra_! it's crooked luck, patron; but i suppose the great spirit wills it so!" trevannion, confounded, made scarcely any reply. "we mustn't remain here anyhow," pursued the indian. "we must try to get to the trees somewhere,--no matter where." "surely," said the ex-miner, "we can accomplish that?" "i hope so," was the reply of the tapuyo, given with no great confidence. trevannion reflected that they had been _swimming in a circle_. should this occur again,--and there was every possibility of such a thing,--the desired end might not be so easy of accomplishment. for some minutes speculation was suspended. the guide was engaged in action. like a water-spaniel in search of a winged wild-duck, he repeatedly reared himself above the surface, casting glances of interrogation to every quarter of the compass. like the same spaniel, when convinced that the wounded bird has escaped him, he at length desisted from these idle efforts; and, laying his body along the water, prepared to swim disappointedly to the shore. with something more than disappointment--something more than chagrin-- did munday commence retreating from the lagoon. as he called upon his companions to follow him, there was a tremor in his voice, and an irresolution in his stroke perceptible to the least observant of them; and the fact of his having shouldered the dead guariba, after first making inspection to see that it was fit for food, was proof of his entertaining some suspicion that their voyage might be a long one. no one questioned him; for notwithstanding the failure of his promise to guide them straight across the lagoon, they still relied upon him. on whom or what else could they rely? after proceeding a considerable distance, he came to a pause, once more stood up in the water, and, turning as upon a pivot, scanned the circle of the horizon. satisfied that there was not a tree-top within view, he swam onward as before. could he have ensured keeping a straight course, no great danger need have been apprehended. the lagoon might be ten miles wide; or, if twenty, it could not so materially affect the result. swim as slowly as they might, a score of hours would see them on its shore,--whether this was the spray of another submerged forest, or the true _terra firma_. there was no danger of their going to the bottom, for their swimming-belts secured them against that. there was no danger of their suffering from thirst,--the contingency most dreaded by the castaway at sea, and the strayed traveller in the desert,--of fresh water they had a surfeit. nor did hunger dismay them. since eating the jacana, they had set forth upon a breakfast of brazil-nuts,--a food which, from its oily nature, may be said to combine both animal and vegetable substance. moreover, they were now no longer unprovided against a future emergency: since their guide carried upon his shoulders the carcass of the guariba. their real danger lay in their deviating from a right line: for who could swim straight, with his eyes on a level with the surface of the water, and nothing to direct his course, neither tree, nor rock, nor star, nor signal of any kind? the tapuyo knew this. so did they all. even the children could tell that they were no longer guided, but going by guess-work. it was no longer a question of getting _across_ the lagoon, but _out_ of it. the unsteady movements of their guide, instead of allaying their fears, produced the contrary effect, and the disconsolate expression on his countenance was evidence that he was under much apprehension. for over an hour this uncertainty continued. the swimmers, one and all, were beginning to give way to serious alarm. to say nothing of reaching land, they might never more set eyes upon the submerged forest. they might swim round and round, as in the vortex of charybdis, until sheer exhaustion should reduce them utterly. in due time hunger must overtake them; and a lingering death by starvation might be their destiny. when faint from want of food and unable to defend themselves, they would be attacked by predatory creatures dwelling in the water, while birds of prey would assail them from the air. already could they fancy that the cry of the caracara sounded more spiteful than was its wont; and exultingly, as if the base bird foreboded for them a tragical ending. more than twenty times had the tapuyo repeated his inspection of the horizon, without seeing aught to cheer him. they had been many hours in the water, and supposed it to be about noon. they could only conjecture as to the time, for the sun was not visible. at an early hour in the morning--almost as they started--the sky had become overcast with a sheet of leaden grey, concealing the sun's disk from their sight. this circumstance had caused some discouragement; but for it they might long since have escaped from their dilemma, as the golden luminary, while low down, would have served them as a guide. strange to say, at that hour when it was no longer of any concern to them, the sky became suddenly clear, and the sun shone forth with burning brilliance. but his orb was now in the zenith, and of no service to point out the quarter of the compass. within the equatorial zone, north, south, east, and west were all alike to him at that season of the year and that hour of the day. if they could but have the direction of one of these points, all would have been well. but the sun gave no sign. for all that, the indian hailed his appearance with a grunt of satisfaction, while a change came over his countenance that could scarce be caused by the mere brightening of the sky. something more than cheerfulness declared itself in his dark features,--an expression of renewed hope. "if the sun keep on to show," said he, in answer to the questioning of trevannion, "it will be all right for us. now it's no good. in an hour from now he'll make some shadow. then we shall swim as straight as can be, never fear, patron! we shall get out of this scrape before night,-- never fear!" these cheering words were welcome, and produced universal joy where but the moment before all was gloom. "i think, patron," continued the tapuyo. "we may as well stop swimming for a while, till we see which way the sun goes. then we can make a fresh start. if we keep on now, we may be only making way in the wrong direction." the tired swimmers were only too ready to yield compliance to this bit of advice. the mundurucu made one more endeavour to catch sight of the tree-tops, and, being still unsuccessful, resigned himself to inactivity, and along with the rest lay motionless upon the water. chapter fifty. guided by a shadow. in this way about an hour was spent; though by no means in solemn silence. perfectly at ease, so far as physical comfort was concerned, upon their liquid couch the swimmers could converse, as if stretched upon a carpet of meadow-grass; and they passed their time in discussing the chances of their ultimate escape from that cruel situation, to which an unlucky accident had consigned them. they were not altogether relieved from apprehension as to their present predicament. if the sky should become again overcast, they would be worse off than ever, since there was the loss of time to be considered. all were constantly turning their eyes upwards, and scanning the firmament, to see if there were any signs of fresh clouds. munday looked towards the zenith with a different design. he was watching for the sun to decline. in due time his watchfulness was rewarded; not so much by observation of the sun itself, as by a contrivance which declared the course of the luminary, long before it could have been detected by the eye. having cautioned the others to keep still, so that there should be no disturbance in the water,--otherwise perfectly tranquil,--he held his knife in such a way that the blade stood up straight above the surface. taking care to keep it in the exact perpendicular, he watched with earnest eye, as a philosopher watches the effect of some chemical combination. in a short time he was gratified by observing a _shadow_. the blade, well balanced, cast an oblique reflection on the water; at first, slight, but gradually becoming more elongated, as the experiment proceeded. becoming at length convinced that he knew west from east, the tapuyo restored his knife to its place, and, calling to his companions to follow him, he struck off in the direction pointed out to him by the shadow of the steel. this would take the swimmers in an easterly direction; but it mattered not what direction so long as it carried them out of the lagoon. as they proceeded onward, the guide occasionally assured himself of keeping the same course, by repeating the experiment with his knife; but after a time he no longer needed to consult his queer sun-dial, having discovered a surer guide in the spray of the forest, which at length loomed up along the line of the horizon. it was close upon sunset when they swam in among the drooping branches, and once more, with dripping skins, climbed up into the tops of the trees. had it not been that they were glad to get to any port, they might have felt chagrin on discovering that chance had directed them to the very same roost where they had perched on the preceding night. the drowned guariba which munday had carried from the middle of the lagoon was roasted, and furnished their evening meal; and the epicure who would turn up his nose at such a viand has never tasted food under the shadow of an amazonian forest. chapter fifty one. around the edge. discouraged by their failure, our adventurers remained upon their perch till nearly noon of the next day, in listless lassitude. the exertions of the preceding day had produced a weariness that required more than a night's rest, for not only their bodies, but their spirits were under the influence of their long toil, until their state of mind bordered upon despondency. as the hours wore on, and their fatigue was gradually relieved by rest, their spirits rose in like proportion; and before the sun had reached its meridian, the instinctive desire of life sprang up within their bosoms, and once more they began to consider what steps should be taken to prolong it. should they make another attempt to cross the lagoon by swimming? what chance would there be of steering in the right course, any more than upon the day before? they were just as likely to go astray a second time, and perhaps with a less fortunate _finale_. if again lost amidst the waste of waters, they might not be able to get sight of the tree-tops, but swim on in circles or crooked turnings, until death, arising from sheer exhaustion, or want of food, should complete their misery. even the mundurucu no longer urged the course in which he had formerly expressed such confidence; and for some time he declined giving any advice whatever,--his silence and his gloomy looks showing that he felt humiliated by the failure of his plan. no one thought of reproaching him; for although their faith in his power was not quite so strong as it had hitherto been, there was yet confidence in his superior skill. had they been castaways from a ship, escaping in an open boat, or on some raft or spar, in the middle of the great ocean, their cook would doubtless have disputed his right to remain master. but in the midst of that strange inland sea, whose shores and islands consisted only of tree-tops, the mozambique acknowledged himself to be no more than a novice. trevannion himself took the lead in suggesting the next plan. it was not intended to give up the idea of crossing the lagoon. it was a general belief that on the other side there must be land; and therefore to reach it became the paramount thought of the party. to go around it, by keeping upon the trees, was clearly out of the question. even had these continued all the way with interlacing branches, still the journey would have been one that apes alone could perform. it would have occupied days, weeks, perhaps a month; and what certainty was there of finding food for such a length of time? still, if they could not travel upon the tree-tops, what was to hinder them from going _under_ them? why should they not use the forest to steer by,--swimming along the edge of the trees, and making use of them at intervals for rest, and for a sleeping-place during the night? the idea was excellent, and, coming from trevannion himself, was of course approved without one opposing voice. even the indian acknowledged that it was a sagacious design, and superior to his own. fortunately it required but slight preparation for trial, and as the sun shone down from the zenith they forsook their resting-place, and once more betook themselves to the water, with their swimming-belts carefully adjusted again about them. chapter fifty two. the massaranduba. they advanced at the rate of about a mile an hour. could they have kept on steadily, this would have given them ten or twelve miles a day, and two or three days might have brought them to the other side of the lagoon. it was necessary, however, that they should stop at intervals to obtain rest; and their progress was further impeded by the piosoca plants,--the huge water-lilies already described,--whose broad, circular leaves, lying along the surface like gigantic frying-pans, came directly in their course. here and there they had to traverse a tract of these lilies several acres in extent, where the rims of the rounded leaves almost touched each other; and the thick succulent stalks formed a tangle underneath, through which it was very difficult for a swimmer to make way. more than once they were compelled to go around these watery gardens for a distance of many hundreds of yards, but thus shortening the journey made in the right direction. on account of such impediments they had not gone more than three miles from their point of starting, when the mundurucu recommended a halt for the night, although it could not have been later than six o'clock, as could be told by the sun, still high up in the heavens. "i am hungry, patron," said the indian at last; "so are you all. we must have some supper, else how can we go on?" "supper!" echoed trevannion. "yes, sure enough, we are hungry. i knew that an hour ago. but upon what do you propose to sup? i see nothing but trees with plenty of leaves, but no fruit. we cannot live upon leaves like the sloth. we must be starving before we take to that." "we shall sup upon milk, master, if you don't object to our making a camping-place close by." "milk!" exclaimed tom. "what div yez say, misther munday? div yez mane milk? och! don't be after temptin' wan's stomach with a dilicacy that can't be obtained in this land av wather! shure now we're not only a hundred modes from the tail av a cow, but a thousand, may be, from that same." "you may be wrong there," interrupted the paraense. "there are cows in the gapo, as well as upon land. you have seen them yourself as we came down the river?" "troth, yis,--if yez mane the fish-cow," (the irishman alluded to the _vaca marina_, or manatee,--the _peixe-boi_ or fish-cow of the portuguese, several species of which inhabit the amazon waters). "but shure the great brute could not be milked, if we did cotch wan av them; an' if we did we should not take the throuble, when by sthrippin' the skin av her carcass we'd get somethin' far betther for our suppers, in the shape av a fat steak." "yonder is what the mundurucu means!" said the guide. "yonder stands the cow that can supply us with milk for our supper,--ay, and with bread too to go along with it; don't you see the _massaranduba_?" at first they could see nothing that particularly claimed attention. but by following the instructions of the guide, and raising their heads a little, they at length caught sight of a tree, standing at some distance from the forest edge, and so far overtopping the others as to appear like a giant among pygmies. it was in reality a vegetable giant,--the great massaranduba of the amazon,--one of the most remarkable trees to be found even in a forest where more strange species abound than in any other part of the world. to tom and some others of the party the words of the mundurucu were still a mystery. how was a tree to supply them with a supper of bread and milk? trevannion and richard required no further explanation. the former had heard of this singular tree; the latter had seen it,--nay, more, had drank of its milk, and eaten of its fruit. it was with great joy the young paraense now looked upon its soaring leafy top, as it not only reminded him of a spectacle he had often observed in the woods skirting the suburbs of his native city, but promised, as the tapuyo had declared, to relieve the pangs of hunger, that had become agonisingly keen. chapter fifty three. a vegetable cow. the tree which had thus determined them to discontinue their journey, and which was to furnish them with lodgings for the night, was the famous _palo de vaca_, or "cow-tree" of south america, known also as the _arbol de leche_, or "milk-tree." it has been described by humboldt under the name _galactodendron_, but later botanical writers, not contented with the very appropriate title given to it by the great student of nature, have styled it _brosium_. it belongs to the natural order of the _atrocarpads_, which, by what might appear a curious coincidence, includes also the celebrated breadfruit. what may seem stranger still, the equally famous upas-tree of java is a scion of the same stock, an _atrocarpad_! therefore, just as in one family there are good boys and bad boys, (it is to be hoped there are none of the latter in yours,) so in the family of the atrocarpads there are trees producing food and drink both wholesome to the body and delicious to the palate, while there are others in whose sap, flowers, and fruit are concealed the most virulent of poisons. the massaranduba is not the only species known as _palo de vaca_, or cow-tree. there are many others so called, whose sap is of a milky nature. some yield a milk that is pleasant to the taste and highly nutritious, of which the "hya-hya" (_tabernaemontana utibis_), another south american tree, is the most conspicuous. this last belongs to the order of the _apocyanae_, or dog-banes, while still another order, the _sapotacae_, includes among its genera several species of cow-tree. the massaranduba itself was formerly classed among the _sapotads_. it is one of the largest trees of the amazonian forest, frequently found two hundred feet in height, towering above the other trees, with a top resembling an immense vegetable dome. logs one hundred feet long, without a branch, have often been hewn out of its trunk, ready for the saw-mill. its timber is very hard and fine grained, and will stand the weather better than most other south american trees; but it cannot be procured in any great quantity, because, like many other trees of the amazon, it is of a solitary habit, only two or three, or at most half a dozen, growing within the circuit of a mile. it is easily distinguished from trees of other genera by its reddish, ragged bark, which is deeply furrowed, and from a decoction of which the indians prepare a dye of a dark red colour. the fruit, about the size of an apple, is full of a rich juicy pulp, exceedingly agreeable to the taste, and much relished. this is the bread which the mundurucu hoped to provide for the supper of his half-famished companions. but the most singular, as well as the most important, product of the massaranduba is its milky juice. this is obtained by making an incision in the bark, when the white sap flows forth in a copious stream, soon filling a calabash or other vessel held under it. on first escaping from the tree it is of the colour and about the consistency of rich cream, and, but for a slightly balsamic odour might be mistaken for the genuine produce of the dairy. after a short exposure to the air it curdles, a thready substance forming upon the surface, resembling cheese, and so called by the natives. when diluted with water, the coagulation does not so rapidly take place; and it is usually treated in this manner, besides being strained, before it is brought to the table. the natives use it by soaking their _farinha_ or maize-bread with the sap, and it is also used as cream in tea, chocolate, and coffee, many people preferring it on account of the balsamic flavour which it imparts to these beverages. the milk of the massaranduba is in great demand throughout all the district where the tree is found, both in the spanish and portuguese territories of tropical south america. in venezuela it is extensively used by the negroes, and it has been remarked that these people grow fatter during the season of the year when the _palo de vaca_ is plenty. certain it is that no ill effects have been known to result from a free use of it; and the vegetable cow cannot be regarded otherwise than as one of the most singular and interesting productions of beneficent nature. chapter fifty four. a milk supper. it was some time before they swam under the massaranduba's wide-spreading branches, as it did not stand on the edge of the forest, and for a short time after entering among the other trees it was out of sight. the instincts of the indian, however, directed him, and in due time it again came before their eyes, its rough reddish trunk rising out of the water like a vast ragged column. as might have been expected, its huge limbs were laden with parasites, trailing down to the surface of the water. by these they found no difficulty in making an ascent, and were soon safely installed; its huge coreaceous leaves of oblong form and pointed at the tops, many of them nearly a foot in length, forming a shade against the fervent rays of the sun, still several degrees above the horizon. as the indian had anticipated, the tree was in full bearing, and ere long a number of its apples were plucked, and refreshing the parched palates that would have pronounced them exquisite had they been even less delicious than they were. munday made no stay even to taste the fruit. he was determined on giving his companions the still rarer treat he had promised them, a supper of milk; and not until he had made some half-dozen notches with his knife, and placed under each a sapucaya-shell detached from the swimming-belts, did he cease his exertions. they had not long to wait. the vegetable cow proved a free milker, and in twenty minutes each of the party had a pericarp in hand full of delicious cream, which needed no sugar to make it palatable. they did not stay to inquire how many quarts their new cow could give. enough for them to know that there was sufficient to satisfy the appetites of all for that night. when, after supper, the conversation naturally turned to the peculiarities of this remarkable tree, many other facts were elicited in regard to its useful qualities. richard told them that in para it was well-known, its fruit and milk being sold in the streets by the negro market-women, and much relished by all classes of the inhabitants of that city; that its sap was used by the paraense joiners in the place of glue, to which it was equal, if not superior, guitars, violins, and broken dishes being put together with it in the most effective manner, its tenacity holding against both heat and dampness. another curious fact was, that the sap continues to run long after the tree has been felled: that even the logs lying in the yard of a saw-mill have been known to yield for weeks, even months, the supply required by the sawyers for creaming their coffee! and now our adventurers, admonished by the setting of the sun, were about stretching themselves along the branches, with the intention of going to sleep. but they were not to retire without an incident, though fortunately it was such as to add to the cheerfulness lately inspiring the spirits of all, even to the macaw and little monkey, both of whom had amply regaled themselves upon the succulent fruits of the massaranduba. the great ape, again left behind, had been altogether forgotten. no one of the party was thinking of it; or, if any one was, it was only with a very subdued regret. all knew that the coaita could take care of itself, and under all circumstances it would be safe enough. for all this, they would have been very glad still to have kept it in their company, had that been possible; and all of them were glad when a loud chattering at no great distance was recognised as the salutation of their old acquaintance, the coaita. directly after, the animal itself was seen springing from tree to tree, until by a last long leap it lodged itself on the branches of the massaranduba, and was soon after seated upon the shoulders of tipperary tom. while the swimmers were proceeding by slow stages, the ape had kept them company among the tops of the adjacent trees; and, but for its being delayed by having to make the circuit around the various little bays, it might have been astride the vegetable cow long before the swimmers themselves. coming late, it was not the less welcome, and before going to sleep it was furnished with a fruit supper, and received a series of caresses from tom, that in some measure consoled it for his double desertion. chapter fifty five. only a dead-wood. despite the coarse netting of the hammocks on which they were constrained to pass the night, our adventurers slept better than was their wont, from a certain feeling of security,--a confidence that god had not forgotten them. he who could give them food in the forest could also guide them out of the labyrinth into which their own negligence had led them. a prayer to him preceded their breakfast on the cream of the cow-tree, and with another they launched themselves upon their strings of shells, with renewed confidence, and proceeded along the curving selvage of the trees. as before, they found their progress impeded by the "ovens" of the piosoca; and despite their utmost exertions, at noon they had made scarce three miles from their starting-point, for the gigantic tree that had sheltered them was full in sight, and even at sunset they could not have been more than six miles from it. in the forest about them there appeared no resting-place for the night. the trees stood closely together, but without any interlacing of branches, or large horizontal limbs upon which they might seek repose. for a time it appeared as if they would have to spend the night upon the water. this was a grave consideration, and the guide knew it. with their bodies immersed during the midnight hours,--chill even within the tropics,--the consequences might be serious, perhaps fatal. one way or another a lodgement must be obtained among the tree-tops. it was obtained, but after much difficulty. the climbing to it was a severe struggle, and the seat was of the most uncomfortable kind. there was no supper, or comfort of any kind. with the earliest appearance of day they were all once more in the water, and slowly pursuing their weary way. now slower than ever, for in proportion to their constantly decreasing strength the obstruction from the piosocas appeared to increase. the lagoon, or at least its border, had become a labyrinth of lilies. while thus contending against adverse circumstances, an object came under their eyes that caused a temporary abstraction from their misery. something strange was lying along the water at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from them. it appeared to be some ten or twelve yards in length, and stood quite high above the surface. it was of a dark brown colour, and presented something the appearance of a bank of dried mud, with some pieces of stout stakes projecting upward. could it be this? was it a bank or spit of land? the hearts of the swimmers leaped as this thought, inspired by their wishes, came into every mind. if land, it could be only an islet, for there was water all around it,--that they could perceive. but if so, an islet, if no bigger than a barn-door, would still be land, and therefore welcome. they might stretch their limbs upon it, and obtain a good night's rest, which they had not done since the wreck of the galatea. besides an islet ever so small--if only a sand-bar or bank of mud--would be a sort of evidence that the real dry land was not far off. the dark form at first sight appeared to be close in to the trees, but munday, standing up in the water, pronounced it to be at some distance from them,--between fifty and a hundred yards. as it was evident that the trees themselves were up to their necks in water, it could hardly be an island. still there might be some elevated spot, a ridge or mound, that overtopped the inundation. buoyed up by this hope, the swimmers kept on towards it, every eye scanning intently its outlines in order to make out its real character. all at once the projections which they had taken for stakes disappeared from the supposed spot of mud. they had assumed the shape of large wading birds of dark plumage, which, having spread their long, triangular wings, were now hovering above the heads of the swimmers, by their cries proclaiming that they were more astonished at the latter than they could possibly be at them. it was not until they had arrived within a hundred yards of the object that its true character was declared. "_pa terra_!" munday cried, in a sonorous and somewhat sorrowful voice, as he sank despairingly upon his breast;--"no island,--no bank,--no land of any kind. _only a dead-wood_!" "a dead-wood!" repeated the patron, not comprehending what he meant, and fancying from the chagrined air of the indian that there might be mischief in the thing. "that's all, master. the carcass of an old _manguba_, that's been long since stripped of his limbs, and has been carried here upon the current of the gapo; don't you see his huge shoulders rising above the water?" richard proceeded to explain the indian's meaning. "the trunk of a dead tree, uncle. it's the silk-cotton-tree, or manguba, as munday calls it. i can tell that by its floating so lightly on the water. it appears to be anchored, though; or perhaps it is moored among the stalks of the piosocas." the explanation was interrupted by a shout from the indian, whose countenance had all at once assumed an expression of cheerfulness,-- almost joy. the others, as they turned their eyes upon him, were surprised at the sudden change, for but a moment before they had noticed his despairing look. "the mundurucu must be mad, patron," he shouted. "where is his head? gone down to the bottom of the gapo along with the galatea!" "what's the matter?" inquired tom, brightening up as he beheld the joyful aspect of the indian. "is it dhroy land that he sees? i hope it's that same." "what is it, munday?" asked trevannion. "why do you fancy yourself insane?" "only to think of it, patron, that i should have been sorry to find but the trunk of a tree. the trunk of a tree,--a grand manguba, big enough to make a _montaria_, an _igarite_,--a galatea, if you like,--a great canoe that will carry us all! cry _santos dios_! give thanks to the great spirit! we are saved!--we are saved!" the words of the tapuyo, wild as they might appear, were well understood. they were answered by a general shout of satisfaction,--for even the youngest of the party could comprehend that the great log lying near them might be made the means of carrying them clear of the dangers with which they had been so long encompassed. "true,--true," said trevannion. "it is the very thing for which we have been searching in vain,--some sort of timber that would carry its own weight in the water, and us beside. this dead manguba, as you call it, looks as if a ton would not sink it a quarter of an inch. it will certainly serve us for a raft. give thanks to god, children; his hand is in this. it fills me with hope that we are yet to survive the perils through which we are passing, and that i shall live to see old england once more." no flock of jacanas ever created such a commotion among the leaves of the victoria lily as was made at that moment. like frail leaves the thick stems were struck aside by the arms of the swimmers, strengthened by the prospect of a speedy delivery from what but the moment before seemed extremest peril; and almost in a moment they were alongside the great trunk of the manguba, in earnest endeavour to get upon it. chapter fifty six. the sterculiads. in their attempts at boarding they were as successful as they could have expected. the top of the gigantic log was full six feet above the surface of the water, and there were huge buttresses upon it--the shoulders spoken of by munday--that rose several feet higher. by dint of hard climbing, however, all were at length safely landed. after they had spent a few minutes in recovering breath, they began to look around them and examine their strange craft. it was, as the indian had alleged, the trunk of a silk-cotton-tree, the famed _bombax_ of the american tropical forests,--found, though, in many different species, from mexico to the mountains of brazil. it is known as belonging to the order of the _sterculiads_, which includes among its _genera_ a great number of vegetable giants, among others the _baobab_ of africa, with a stem ninety feet in circumference, though the trunk is out of proportion to the other parts of the tree. the singular hand-plant of mexico called _manita_ is a sterculiad, as are also the cotton-tree of india and the gum-tragacanth of sierra leone. the bombax-trees of tropical america are of several distinct species. they are usually called cotton or silk-cotton-trees, on account of the woolly or cottony stuff between the seeds and the outer capsules, which resemble those of the true cotton plant (_gossypium_). they are noted for their great size and imposing appearance, more than for any useful properties. several species of them, however, are not without a certain value. _bombax ceiba_, and _bombax monguba_, the monguba of the amazon, are used for canoes, a single trunk sufficing to make a craft that will carry twenty hogsheads of sugar along with its crew of tapuyos. the peculiar lightness of the wood renders it serviceable for this purpose; and there is one species, the _ochroma_ of the west indies, so light as to have been substituted for cork-wood in the bottling of wines. the silk or cotton obtained from the seed-pods, though apparently of an excellent quality, unfortunately cannot be well managed by the spinning-machine. it lacks adhesiveness, and does not form a thread that may be trusted. it is, however, extensively used for the stuffing of couches, cushions, and other articles of upholstery; and the amazonian indians employ it in feathering the arrows of their blow-guns, and for several other purposes. a peculiarity of the sterculiads is their having buttresses. some are seen with immense excrescences growing out from their trunks, in the form of thin, woody plates, covered with bark just like the trunk itself, between which are spaces that might be likened to stalls in a stable. often these partitions rise along the stem to a height of fifty feet. the cottonwood (_populus angulata_) and the deciduous cypress of the mississippi (_taxodium distichum_) partake of this singular habit; the smaller buttresses of the latter, known as "cypress knees," furnishing the "cypress hams," which, under their covering of lime-washed canvas, had been sold (so say the southerners) by the yankee speculator for the genuine haunch of the corn-fed hog! in spite of its commercial inutility, there are few trees of the south american forest more interesting than the manguba. it is a conspicuous tree, even in the midst of a forest abounding in types of the vegetable kingdom, strange and beautiful. upon the trunk of such a tree, long since divested of its leaves,--stripped even of its branches, its species distinguishable only to the eye of the aboriginal observer,--our adventurers found a lodgment. chapter fifty seven. chased by tocandeiras. their tenancy was of short continuance. never did lodger retreat from a shrewish landlady quicker than did trevannion and his party from the trunk of the silk-cotton-tree. that they so hastily forsook a secure resting-place, upon which but the moment before they had been so happy to plant their feet, will appear a mystery. strangest of all, that they were actually driven overboard by an insect not bigger than an ant! having gained a secure footing, as they supposed, upon the floating tree-trunk, our adventurers looked around them, the younger ones from curiosity, the others to get acquainted with the character of their new craft. trevannion was making calculations as to its capability; not as to whether it could carry them, for that was already decided, but whether it was possible to convert it into a manageable vessel, either with sails, if such could be extemporised, or with oars, which might be easily obtained. while thus engaged, he was suddenly startled by an exclamation of surprise and alarm from the indian. all that day he had been the victim of sudden surprises. "the _tocandeiras_!--the _tocandeiras_!" he cried, his eyes sparkling as he spoke; and, calling to the rest to follow, he retreated toward one end of the tree-trunk. with wondering eyes they looked back to discover the thing from which they were retreating. they could see nothing to cause such symptoms of terror as those exhibited by their guide and counsellor. it is true that upon the other end of the tree-trunk, in a valley-like groove between two great buttresses, the bark had suddenly assumed a singular appearance. it had turned to a fiery red hue, and had become apparently endowed with a tremulous motion. what could have occasioned this singular change in the colour of the log? "the tocandeiras!" again exclaimed munday, pointing directly to the object upon which all eyes were fixed. "tocandeiras?" asked trevannion. "do you mean those little red insects crawling along the log?" "that, and nothing else. do you know what they are, patron?" "i have not the slightest idea, only that they appear to be some species of ant." "that's just what they are,--ants and nothing else! those are the dreaded _fire-ants_. we've roused them out of their sleep. by our weight the manguba has gone down a little. the water has got into their nest. they are forced out, and are now spiteful as hungry jaguars. we must get beyond their reach, or in ten minutes' time there won't be an inch of skin on our bodies without a bite and a blister." "it is true, uncle," said richard. "munday is not exaggerating. if these ugly creatures crawl upon us, and they will if we do not get out of the way, they'll sting us pretty nigh to death. we must leave the log!" and now, on the way towards the spot occupied by the party, was a fiery stream composed of spiteful-looking creatures, whose very appearance bespoke stings and poison. there was no help for it but to abandon the log, and take to the water. fortunately each individual was still in possession of his string of sapucaya-shells; and, sliding down the side of the log, once more they found themselves among the grand gong-like leaves of the gigantic lily. chapter fifty eight. a log that wouldn't roll. it now became a question, what they were to do. abandon the log altogether, for a swarm of contemptible insects, not larger than lady-bugs, when, by the merest chance, they had found a raft, the very thing they stood in need of? such a course was not contemplated,--not for a moment. on gliding back into the gapo, they had no idea of swimming away farther than would secure their safety from the sting of the insects, as munday assured them that the fire-ants would not follow them into the water. but how regain possession of their prize? the ants were now seen swarming all over it, here and there collected in large hosts, seemingly holding council together, while broad bands appeared moving from one to the other, like columns of troops upon the march! there was scarce a spot upon the surface of the log, big enough for a man to set his foot upon, that was not reddened by the cohorts of this insect army! "how shall we dispossess them?" inquired trevannion. "shure," said tipperary tom, answering as if the appeal had been made to him, "can't we sit thim on fire, an' burn thim aft the log? cudn't we gather some dry laves out av the threes, an' make a blaze that 'ud soon consume ivery mother's son av thim?" "nonsense, tom. we should consume the log, as well as the ants, and then what would be the advantage to us?" "well, thin, iv yez think fire won't do, why can't we thry wather? lit us thry an' drownd thim off the log. munday sez they can't swim, an' iv they can't, shure they must go to the bottom." "how would you do it?" asked trevannion, catching at the idea suggested by the hibernian. "nothing asier. give the did three a rowl over on its back, an' thin the ants'll get undher the wather; an' won't they have to stay there? lit us all lay howlt on the log, an' see iv we can't give the swate craythers a duckin'." convinced that there was good sense in tom's counsel, swimming back towards the log, they stretched their arms upward, and commenced trying to turn it over. the attempt proved unsuccessful. partly from the enormous weight of the dead tree, saturated as one half of it was with water, and partly owing to the great buttresses acting as outriggers, they could only turn it about one tenth part of its circumference. it rolled back upon them, at first dipping a little deeper, but afterwards settling into its old bed. they were about to discontinue their efforts when a cry came from tom, as if some new source of terror had been discovered in the manguba. soon each and all found an explanation in their own sensations, which were as if they had been sharply stung or bitten by some venomous insect. while shouldering the log in vain endeavours to capsize it, some scores of the ants had been detached from its sides, and fallen upon the bodies of the swimmers. instead of showing gratitude for this temporary respite from drowning, the spiteful insects had at once imbedded their poisoned fangs in their preservers, as if conscious that they owed all their misfortunes to the intruders who had so rudely disturbed their rest. but when these stray ants that had been stinging them were disposed of, their attention was once more directed towards the manguba, with a still more determinate resolution to repossess what in their eyes was more valuable than a selected log of the finest honduras mahogany! chapter fifty nine. drowning the tocandeiras: five men in a fever. for a time the brains of our adventurers were busied in devising some plan for routing the tocandeiras from their floating citadel, of which they now retained sole possession. at last tipperary tom again became the suggester of a scheme for dispelling the multitudinous hosts. "if we can't spill thim aff the log," said he, "we can wather thim aff it." "not such a bad idea," said richard. "come on, let us surround the trunk, and attack them on all sides, and let all heave together." the dark mud colour that had characterised it when first seen, and during the time while they were approaching it, was now changed to a hue of fiery red, here in spots of patches, there in broad lists or streaks, running irregularly between the extremities. of course the red bands and blotches mottling its sombre surface were the tocandeiras, whose crowded battalions were distributed all over it. on closer scrutiny, it could be seen that they were in motion, passing to and fro, or in places circling around as if in search of the intruders who had disturbed them. at a word from trevannion, all the assailants commenced heaving up water with the palms of their hands, and the log became shrouded under a shower of sparkling drops that fell fast and thickly over it, dissipating into a cloud of vapour like the spray of a waterfall. under such a drenching the tocandeiras could not possibly retain their hold, however tenacious might be their sharp curving claws, and it was but natural that thousands of them should soon be swept from the manguba. their assailants saw it, and, rejoicing at the success of their scheme, gave utterance to triumphant shouts, just like boys destroying with hot water a nest of wasps or hornets. louder than all could be heard the voice of tipperary tom. it was he who had suggested the scheme, and the thought of having his character for sagacity thus raised caused his boisterous fit of self-congratulation. but the splashing suddenly ceased, and the six pairs of palms, instead of being turned upward and forward to bale water upon the log, were now exerted in the opposite direction, backward and downward, while the owners of them commenced swimming away from the spot; as they went off, making vigorous efforts to free themselves from the spiteful creatures again clinging to them. not one of them said a word about staying longer by the dead manguba; but, picking up little rosa on the way, they continued their retreat, nor paused again until they felt sure of having distanced the tocandeiras. as a matter of course they had retreated towards the tree-tops. after so many surprises, accompanied by almost continuous exertion, they stood in need of rest. having chosen one that could be easily climbed, they ascended to its branches, and there seated themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. on perceiving that the sun was already over the meridian, and satisfied, moreover, that the task of getting rid of their enemies was one that it might take time to accomplish, they determined to remain all night in their new situation. but there was a more powerful reason for suspending their journey at this point. they were suffering great pain from the stings of the tocandeiras, and, until that should be to some extent allayed, they could think of nothing else, unless indeed it might be a mode of avenging themselves. it was fortunate they had found a safe place of repose, and that munday, who suffered less than the rest, preserved sufficient composure to make their beds or hammocks of sipos, for, in less than twenty minutes after ascending the tree, every one of the party, munday and rosa excepted, found himself in a raging fever from the stings inflicted by the tocandeiras, since these bloodthirsty insects not only bite as other ants, but have the power of stinging like wasps, only that the pain produced by their sting is much greater,--more like that of the black scorpion. as the sun went down, a cool breeze began to play over the waters of the lagoa; and this--the fever having burnt itself out--restored them to their ordinary health, though with a feeling of languor that disinclined them to do anything for that night. stretched upon their rude aerial couches, they looked up at the stars, and listened to munday as he made answer to the interrogatories of trevannion giving an account of one of the singular customs of his tribe,--that known as the "festival of the tocandeiras." chapter sixty. the festival of the tocandeiras. when a youth of the mundurucu nation, or its kindred tribe, the mahue, has reached the age for assuming the dignities of manhood, he is expected to submit himself to an ordeal that well deserves to be called fiery. this more especially if the youth's ambition inclines him to become a warrior or otherwise distinguished in the tribe. the ordeal is voluntary; but without undergoing it, the young mundurucu must consent to an existence, if not disgraced, at least inglorious; and if not absolutely scorned by the girls of the malocca, he will have but slight chance of winning their smiles. it must be known to my young readers that a custom prevails among many tribes of north american indians of submitting their young men who aspire to become "braves" to a test of courage and endurance so severe at times as to be a torture quite incredible to those unacquainted with the indian character. you might fancy the south american a very trifling affair, compared with the torture of the mandans and other northern tribes, when you are told that it consists simply in the wearing of a pair of gloves, or mittens, for a certain length of time,-- so long that the wearer can make the round of the malocca, and finish up by an obeisance to the _tuchao_, or chief, who awaits him at the door of his hut. but these mittens once described to you, as they were described by munday to his companions on the tree, you will perchance change your mind; and regard the mundurucu ceremony as one of the most severe that was ever contrived to test the constancy and courage of any aspirant to distinction. when the young mundurucu declares his readiness to put on the gloves, a pair of them are prepared for him. they are manufactured out of the bark of a species of palm-tree, and are in fact only long hollow cylinders, closed at one end, and large enough to admit the hand and arm up to the elbow. before being drawn on they are half filled with ants of the most spiteful and venomous kinds; but chiefly with tocandeiras, from which the ceremony derives its name. thus accoutred, and accompanied by a crowd with horns, drums, and other musical instruments in use among the indians, the candidate for manhood's rights has to make the round of the village, presenting himself before every hut, and dancing a jig at every halt that is made. throughout all the performance he must affect signs of great joy, chanting a cheerful strain, loud enough to be heard above the beating of the drums, the blowing of the horns, and the fracas of his noisy followers. should he refuse to submit to this terrible ordeal, or during its continuance show signs of weakness or hesitation, he is a lost man. he will be forever after the butt and scorn of his tribe; and there is not a mundurucu girl who will consent to have him for a sweetheart. his parents and relatives will also be affected in the event of his proving a coward, and he will be regarded as a disgrace to the family. stimulated by these thoughts, he enters upon the trial, his friends urging him forward with cries of encouragement, his parents keeping by his side, and with anxious entreaties fortifying him against a failure. he has courageously thrust his hands into the fiery gauntlets, and with like courage he must keep them there, until the ceremony is completed. he suffers cruel torture. every moment increases his agony. his hands, wrists, and arms feel as if surrounded by fire. the insect poison enters his veins. his eyes are inflamed. the sweat pours from his skin,--his bosom palpitates,--his lips and cheeks grow pale; and yet he must not show the slightest acknowledgment of suffering. if he does, it will cover him with shame; and he will never be permitted to carry the mundurucu war-spear, nor impale upon its point the head of his slain enemy. he knows the awful fate that must result from failure; and, though staggering in his steps, he keeps courageously on. at length he stands in the presence of the tuchao, seated to receive him. before the chief the ceremony is repeated with increased excitement; the dance is redoubled in vigour,--the chant is louder than ever,--both continuing until his strength fails him through sheer exhaustion. his gloves are then removed, and he falls into the arms of his friends. he is now surrounded by the young girls of the tribe, who fling their arms around him, covering him with kisses and congratulations. his sufferings prevent him from appreciating their soft caresses, and breaking away from their embrace, he rushes down to the river, and flings his fevered body into the grateful current. there remaining until the cool water has to some extent alleviated his pain, he comes forth and retires to the malocca, to receive fresh congratulations from his fellow-savages. he has proved himself of the stuff of which warriors are made, and may now aspire to the hand of any mundurucu maiden, and to the glory of increasing the number of those hideous trophies that adorn the council-room of the tribe, and which have earned for these indians the distinctive surname of _decapitadores_ (beheaders). chapter sixty one. amazonian ants. succeeding this thrilling account of the tocandeira festival, ants continued for a time to form the staple subject of conversation, which was not confined to the particular species they had encountered upon the log, but related to many others that inhabit the forests and _compos_ of the amazon valley. scores of sorts were known to the mundurucu,--all differing from each other, not only in size, shape, colour, and what may be termed _personal_ characteristics, but also in their modes of life, habits, and dwelling-place; in short, in every particular except those essential traits which make them all members of the same family. the entomologist who would make a study of ant-life could find no better school to pursue it in than the grand valley of the amazon. in all parts of it he will find these insects in countless numbers, and in a vast variety of species,--separated from each other by all distinctions of classes founded on habits of life quite opposed to each other. some species inhabit the earth, never descending below its surface. others live _under_ it, in subterranean dwellings, scarce ever coming out into the light of day. others again live above the earth, making their home in the hollow trunks of trees; while still others lead a more aerial life, building their nests among the twigs and topmost branches. in their diet there is a still greater range. there are _carnivora_ and _herbivora_,--some that feed only on flesh, others that confine themselves to vegetable substances. there are, moreover, kinds that devour their meat before the life is out of it; while other carnivorous species, like the vulture among birds, prey only on such carrion as may chance to fall in their way, and in search of which their lives seem principally to be spent. then there are the vegetable feeders, which not only strip the leaves from plants and trees, but destroy every other sort of vegetable substance that they may fancy to seize upon. the clothes in a chest or wardrobe, the papers in a desk, and the books in a library, have all at times been consumed by their devastating hosts, when foraging for food, or for materials out of which to construct their singular dwellings. these dwellings are of as many different kinds as there are species of ants. some are of conical shape, as large as a soldier's tent. some resemble hillocks or great mounds, extending over the ground to a circumference of many yards. others represent oblong ridges, traversed by numerous underground galleries, while some species make their dwellings in deep horizontal tunnels, or excavations, often extending under the bed of broad rivers. many kinds lead an arboreal life, and their nests may be seen sticking like huge excrescences to the trunks of the forest-trees, and as often suspended from the branches. to give a detailed account of the different kinds of amazonian ants,--to describe only their appearance and ordinary habits,--would require, not a chapter, but a large volume. their domestic economy, the modes of constructing their domiciles, the manner of propagating their species, their social distinction into classes or castes, the odd relations that exists between the separate castes of a community, the division of labour, their devotion to what some writers, imbued with monarchical ideas, have been pleased to term their _queen_,--who in reality is an individual _elected_ for a special purpose, render these insects almost an anomaly in nature. it is not to be expected that the uneducated indian could give any scientific explanation of such matters. he only knew that there were many curious things in connection with the ants, and their indoor as well as out-door life, which he had himself observed,--and these particulars he communicated. he could tell strange tales of the _termites_, or white ants, which are not ants at all,--only so called from a general resemblance to the latter in many of their habits. he dwelt longest on the sort called _saubas_, or leaf-carrying ants, of which he knew a great number of species, each building its hill in a different manner from the others. of all the species of south american ants, perhaps none surprises the stranger so much as the sauba. on entering a tract of forest, or passing a patch of cultivated ground, the traveller will come to a place where the whole surface is strewn with pieces of green leaves, each about the size of a dime, and all in motion. on examining these leafy fragments more closely, he will discover that each is borne upon the shoulders of a little insect not nearly so big as its burden. proceeding onward he will come to a tree, where thousands of these insects are at work cutting the leaves into pieces of the proper size, and flinging them down to thousands of others, who seize upon and carry them off. on still closer scrutiny, he will observe that all this work is being carried on in systematic order,--that there are some of the insects differently shaped from the rest,--some performing the actual labour, while the others are acting as guards and overseers. were he to continue his observation, he would find that the leaves thus transported were not used as food, but only as thatch for covering the galleries and passages through which these countless multitudes make their way from one place to another. he would observe, moreover, so many singular habits and manoeuvres of the little crawling creatures, that he would depart from the spot filled with surprise, and unable to explain more than a tenth part of what he had seen. continuing his excursion, he would come upon ants differing from the saubas not only in species, but in the most essential characteristics of life. there would be the _ecitons_, or foraging ants, which instead of contenting themselves by feeding upon the luxurious vegetation of the tropics, would be met upon one of their predatory forays,--the object of their expedition being to destroy some colony of their own kind, if not of their own species. it may be that the foraging party belong to the species known as _eciton-rapax_,--the giant of its genus, in which many individuals measure a full half-inch in length. if so, they will be proceeding in single file through the forest, in search of the nests of a defenceless vegetable-feeding ant of the genus _formica_. if they have already found it, and are met on their homeward march towards their own encampment, each will be seen holding in its mouth a portion of the mangled remains of some victim of their rapacity. again, another species may be met travelling in broad columns, containing millions of individuals, either on the way to kill and plunder, or returning laden with the spoil. in either case they will attack any creature that chances in their way,--man himself as readily as the most defenceless animal. the indian who encounters them retreats upon his tracks, crying out, "_tauoca_!" to warn his companions behind, himself warned by the ant-thrushes whom he has espied hovering above the creeping columns, and twittering their exulting notes, as at intervals they swoop down to thin the moving legion. of all the kinds of ants known to the mundurucu, there was none that seemed to interest him more than that which had led to the conversation,--the tocandeira, or, as the brazilians term it, _formigade fogo_ (fire-ant). munday had worn the formidable mittens; and this circumstance had no doubt left an impression upon his mind that the tocandeira was the truest representative of spitefulness to be found in the insect world. perhaps he was not far astray. although an ant of ordinary size,--both in this and general appearance not differing greatly from the common red ant of england,--its bite and sting together are more dreaded than those of any other species. it crawls upon the limbs of the pedestrian who passes near its haunt, and, clutching his skin in its sharp pincer-like jaws, with a sudden twitch of the tail it inserts its venomous sting upon the instant, holding on after it has made the wound, and so tenaciously that it is often torn to pieces while being detached. it will even go out of its way to attack any one standing near. and at certain landing-places upon some of the amazonian rivers, the ground is so occupied with its hosts that treading there is attended with great danger. in fact, it is on record that settlements have been abandoned on account of the fire-ant suddenly making its appearance, and becoming the pest of the place. munday, in conclusion, declared that the tocandeiras were only found in the dry forests and sandy _campos_; that he had never before seen one of their swarms in the gapo, and that these in the dead-wood must have retreated thither in haste, to escape drowning when caught by the inundation, and that the log had been afterwards drifted away by the _echente_. whether this statement was true or not, the ants appeared to have made up their minds to stay there, and permit no intruders to deprive them of their new, strange domicile,--at all events until the _vasante_ might enable them once more to set foot upon dry land. chapter sixty two. the ants still excited. at break of day the party were all awake; and after refreshing themselves with a little _cheese_--which was only some coagulated milk of the massaranduba, preserved in sapucaya-shells--they once more turned their attention to the floating trunk. to their surprise, it was no longer where they had left it! there was a fog upon the water, but that was rapidly becoming dissipated; and as the sun peeped over the tree-tops, the lagoa was sufficiently free from mist for any dark object as large as a man's head, within a mile's distance, to be distinguished. the manguba had been left scarce a hundred yards from their sleeping-place. where was it now? "yonder!" said munday, "close in by the trees. by our splashing in the water, we started it from its moorings among the piosocas. there has been a little breeze through the night, that has brought it this way. it is now at anchor against yonder tree. i shouldn't wonder if the ants would try to escape from it, and take to the branches above them. the dead manguba is not their natural home; nor is the gapo their dwelling-place. the tocandeiras belong on land; and no one would expect to find them here. they must have had their home in the hollow of the log while it was lying on dry land. the _echente_ set it afloat while they were inside, and the current has carried them far away from their own country." so they now turned to ascertain whether munday's conjectures were true, that the ants had taken to the tree that stood over the dead-wood, which was at no great distance; and as the sun had now completely dispelled the fog, they could see it very distinctly. the tocandeiras were still upon it. their countless hosts were seen moving over its surface in all their red array, apparently as much excited as when putting to flight the swimmers who had intruded upon them. the log, although close to the stem of the standing tree, was not in connection with it. something held it several feet off; and as none of the drooping branches reached quite down, it was impossible for the insects to reach the tree, although they evidently desired to make this change, as if suddenly dissatisfied with their quarters on the drifting trunk, and wishing to change them for others less at the mercy of the winds and waves. as there was something curious in all this, something that could not fail to fix the attention of the observer, our adventurers remained silent, watching the movements of the insect multitude, in hopes that they might find some way of detaching themselves from the floating log, and leave in peaceable and undisputed possession the quarters they appeared so desirous of quitting to those who were equally desirous of entering upon them. chapter sixty three. the tamandua: the ant-thrush. trusting to the explanation given by the tapuyo, they did not think of inquiring further into the cause of the commotion among the ants. while scanning the tree closely, several of the party perceived a movement among its branches, and soon after the form of a singular creature that was causing it. it was a quadruped, about the size of a raccoon or cat, but of a shape peculiarly its own. its body was long and cylindrical, terminating posteriorly in a round, tapering tail, while its low, flat head, prolonged into a smooth, slender muzzle, also tapered nearly to a point. the eyes were so small as scarcely to be seen, and the mouth more resembled a round hole than the closing of a pair of jaws. it was covered with a dense silky fur, of a uniform length over the body, and slightly crisped, so as to give it a woolly aspect. this fur was straw-coloured, with a tinge of maroon and brown on the shoulders and along the back, while the tail presented a ringed appearance from an alternation of the two colours. "_tamandua_!" exclaimed munday, at sight of the strange quadruped. "the ant-eater. not the great one, which is called _tamandua assu_, and don't climb up the trees. that you see is the little one; he lives all his life among the branches,--sleeps there, either upon his breast, or suspended by his tail,--travels from one tree to another in search of honey, bees, wasps, grubs, but, above all, of such ants as make their nests either in holes, or stick to the twigs. ha!" he continued, "what could i have been thinking of? the tocandeiras wishing to climb up to the tree? not a bit of it. quite the contrary. it's the tamandua that's keeping them in motion! see the cunning beast preparing to make a descent among them!" nothing could be more certain than that this was the tamandua's intention; for almost on the instant it was seen to move among the branches, descending from one to the other, partly using its strong, hooked claws, and partly its tapering and highly prehensile tail. once upon the dead-wood, it lay flat down upon its breast and belly; and shooting out its long, thread-like tongue, coated with a sticky shining substance resembling saliva, it commenced licking up the tocandeiras that swarmed in thousands around it. it was to no purpose that the ants made an attack upon it. nature had provided it with an armour proof both against their bite and sting. rage around it as they might, the tocandeiras could do nothing to hinder it from licking them up from the log, and tucking them in hundreds into its capacious stomach. finally the tamandua had taken his fill,--breakfasted to his heart's content; then, erecting himself on his hind-legs after the manner of a squirrel or marmoset, he sprang back upon the branch from which he had descended. going a little higher up, he selected another and larger branch, placing himself so that his belly rested along its upper surface, with the legs hanging down on each side; and then, burying his proboscis in the long fur of his breast, and taking two or three turns of his tail around head, body, and legs, he fell fast asleep. the old saw, that there is "many a slip between the cup and the lip," is as true in the life of ant-eater as in that of a man; and when the tamandua awoke,--which it did some twenty minutes afterwards,--and looked down upon the dead-wood, it was astonished to discover that not a tocandeira was in sight. what had become of them? when left by the tamandua to their own devices there were myriads still surviving. the few thousands which the devourer licked up had made no perceptible diminution in their numbers; and on the retiring of their enemy, they were swarming as thickly and countlessly as ever. now not one was visible upon the log, the hue of which, from being of a flaming red, had returned to its original colour of sombre grey. a few were discovered upon the standing tree, crawling up its trunk and lower branches, with excited air and rapid movements, as if escaping from terrible disaster. these refugees did not amount to many hundreds; thinly scattered over the bark, they could have been counted. they were too few to tempt the hunger of the tamandua. it would not have been worth his while to project his slimy tongue for the sake of a single tocandeira; so he retained it--not behind his teeth, for he had none--but within the cylinder-shaped cavity of his mouth. what had become of the tocandeiras? it is possible that the tamandua mentally put this question to himself; for there is no animal, however humble its organisation, that has not been gifted by beneficent nature with a mind and powers of reasoning,--ay, with moral perceptions of at least the primary principles of right and wrong, as even the little ant-eater gives evidence. perhaps you have yourself witnessed the proof. you have seen one ant rob another of its crumb of bread, that by a laborious effort has been carried far. you have seen the companions of both gather around the spot, deprive the despoiler of its ill-gotten prize, restore the crumb to its lawful possessor, and punish the would-be pilferer. if you have not seen this, others have,--myself among the number. surely, it is reason; surely, it is moral perception. if not, what is it? the closet-naturalist calls it _instinct_,--a ready word to cloak that social cowardice which shrinks from acknowledging that besides man there are other beings upon the earth with talents worth saving. soon after the ant-eater had gone to sleep, a little bird about the size of a starling was seen flitting about. it was of the ordinary shape of the shrikes, or fly-catchers, and, like them, of sombre plumage,--a dull grey blended with bluish slate. as already said, it was flitting about among the tree-tops, now and then rising above them, and hovering for a while in the air; then lighting again upon a branch, and from this hopping to another, and another, all the time giving utterance to twittering but scarcely musical notes. "an ant-thrush," munday said. "it's hunting about for the very creatures that are swarming on that log. if it should spy them we'll have no more trouble with the tocandeiras. that friend will clear them out of our way. if it but gets its eye on that red crowd, it'll treat them very differently from what the beast has done. in twenty minutes there won't be a tocandeira to sting us. may the great spirit prove propitious, and turn its eyes upon the dead-wood!" for a time the bird kept up its flickering flight and twittering cry, while our adventurers watched it manoeuvres, keeping quiet, as a precaution against scaring it away. all at once the ant-thrush changed its tactics, and its louder note proclaimed a surprise. it had come close to the tree that contained the tamandua, and saw the quadruped taking its _siesta_ upon the branch. from the presence of the ant-eater it argued the proximity of their common prey. the swarm of fire-ants, reddening the log, formed too conspicuous an object to escape being seen. the ant-thrush soon saw them, and announced the discovery with a screech, which was a signal to scores of hungry companions. it was answered by what seemed a hundred echoes, and soon the air resounded with whistling wings, as the feathered ant-eaters came crowding to the feast. boy reader, you have bred pigeons, and fed them too. you have flung before them whole baskets of barley, and pecks of oats, until the pavement was thickly strewed. you have observed how quickly they could clear the ground of the grain. with the like rapidity was the log cleared of the tocandeiras. in ten minutes not a single insect could be seen upon it; and then the feathered ant-eaters, without giving the tamandua a hint that his premises had been despoiled, flew off into the forest in search of a fresh swarm. chapter sixty four. ant-eaters--biped and quadruped. the spectacle of the bird ant-eaters engaged in their work of destruction is one that may be seen almost every day in the amazonian region. the presence of an army of ants passing from place to place through the forest--themselves often bent upon a marauding and murderous expedition--may often be discovered long belong the insects themselves are in sight, by the twittering cries and excited actions of the ant-thrushes, that in large flocks are seen hovering above them. the traveller takes warning by the spectacle. experience has long ago taught him that to stray into the midst of a party of foraging ants is no slight matter. it would be like dancing an irish jig over a nest of hornets. he is sure of being attacked, bitten, and stung by the venomous insects; and on hearing the call of the ant-thrush, he beats an instant retreat. the quadruped licking up his insect prey is a sight of less frequent occurrence. of these four-footed ant-eaters there are many distinct kinds, differing very considerably in their habits of life. four species are known to naturalists; but it is probable that there are many more yet to be discovered and described. the indians who are best acquainted with the remote haunts of the great mountain wilderness of interior south america assert that there are others; and their testimony is generally derived from acute observation. of the four known species there is the great ant-eater (_myrmecophaga jubata_) called tamanoir, large as a mastiff dog, and a match for most dogs in strength, often even killing one by squeezing the breath out of his body between its thick, muscular fore-limbs. this is the _tamandua bandeira_, or "banner tamandua" of the natives, so called from the peculiar marking of its skin,--each side of the body being marked by a broad blackish band running obliquely from the shoulders, and suggesting the resemblance of an heraldic banner. it lives in the drier forests, making its haunt wherever the white ants (_termites_), those that construct the great hills, abound. of the habits of this species a more complete account has been given elsewhere. [see "the forest exiles," by the author of this story.] the second species of tamandua--that is, in size--is quite a different creature. it scarcely ever descends to the earth, but passes from branch to branch and tree to tree by means of its strong, curving claws, and more especially by the aid of a very long and highly prehensile tail. its food consists exclusively of ants, that construct huge earthy nests high up among the branches or against the trunks of the trees, where they present the appearance of grotesque excrescences. this tamandua often moves about during the day, in its slow progress much resembling the sloths, though its food is so very different from the animal of the cecropia-tree (_bicho de embauba_). this species dwells chiefly in the thick forests, and goes into the gapo at all seasons of the year, and it was one of this sort which the party had seen. but there are still two other kinds that make their home upon the trees,--both exceedingly curious little animals, and much more rarely seen than the large tamanduas. they are distinguished by the name of _tamandua-i_, which in the indian language means "little tamandua." one of them, the rarest of the family, is about the size of a half-grown kitten. instead of hair, it wears a fine wool of a greyish-yellow colour, soft and silky to the touch. the other is of the same size, but dingy brown in colour, and with hair of a coarser kind. these little ant-eaters both sleep through the day, curled up in the cavity of a tree, or in some fork of the branches, and only display their activity by night. thus it is that the ants have no chance of escaping from their numerous enemies. on the earth they are attacked and destroyed by the great ant-eater, in the trees by his brother with the four curving claws. by day one species preys upon them,--by night, another. go where they will, there is a foe to fall upon them. even when they seek security under the earth, there too are they pursued by enemies of their own tribe, the savage _ecitons_, which enter their subterranean dwellings, and kill them upon their own hearths, to be dragged forth piecemeal and devoured in the light of the sun! chapter sixty five. the chase of the tamandua. if the tamandua had been surprised by the disappearance of the tocandeiras, it was not less so to see approaching a creature more than ten times its own size. this creature was of a dark bronze colour, having a long, upright body, a pair of legs still longer, arms almost as long as the legs, and a roundish head with long black hair growing out of its crown, and hanging down over its shoulders. if the ant-eater had never before seen a human being,--which was probable enough,--it saw one now; for this creature was no other than old munday, who had taken a fancy to capture that tamandua. perhaps the little quadruped may have mistaken him for an ape, but it must have also thought him the grandest it had ever set eyes upon. swinging itself from branch to branch, using both claws and tail to effect its flight, it forsook the tree where it had slept, and took to another farther into the forest. but munday had anticipated this movement, and passed among the branches and over the matted llianas with the agility of an ape,--now climbing up from limb to limb, now letting himself down by some hanging sipo. he was soon joined in the pursuit by richard trevannion, who was an expert climber, and, if unable to overtake the ant-eater in a direct chase, could be of service in helping to drive it back to the tree it had just left, and which stood at the end of a projecting tongue of the forest. it is possible that munday might have been overmatched, with all his alertness; for the tamandua had reached the narrowest part of the peninsula before he could get there. once across the _isthmus_, which consisted of a single tree, it would have had the wide forest before it, and would soon have hidden itself amid the matted tangle of leaves and twigs. richard, however, was too cunning to let the ant-eater escape him. dropping into the water, he swam towards the isthmus with all his strength, and reached the tree before the tamandua. by this time munday had arrived from the opposite quarter, and was already climbing into the same tree. seeing itself intercepted on both sides, the tamandua began crawling up towards the topmost branches. but munday was too quick for it, and springing after, with the agility of a cat, he caught hold of it by one of the hind-legs. being an animal insignificant in size, and apparently in strength, the spectator supposed he would speedily have dragged it down. in this however they were mistaken, not taking account of the power in its fore-limbs and tail. notwithstanding the tapuyo exerted all his strength, he could not detach it from the tree; and even when assisted by his companion, was only able to get the fore-legs free. the tail, lapped several times around a limb, resisted all their efforts. but munday cut the clinging tail with his knife, leaving two or three of its rings around the branch. then, twisting the stump around his wrist, he swung the animal back against the trunk with a force that deprived it at once of strength and life. chapter sixty six. roast ant-eater. instead of returning to the tree, the indian and richard swam directly to the dead-wood, where they were quickly joined by the rest of the party. although the dead-wood was as hard as any other wood, and to sleep upon it would be like sleeping on a plank, still it would give them the feeling of security; so, as if by general consent, though nothing was said, they stretched themselves along the trunk, and were soon fast asleep. the old indian, tough as the sipos of his native forests, seemed as if he could live out the remainder of his life without another wink of sleep; and when the rest of his companions were buried in profound repose, he was engaged in an operation that required both energy and the most stoical patience. in a place where the bark was dry, he had picked out a small circular cavity, beside which he had placed some withered leaves and dead twigs collected from the tree that spread its branches above. kneeling over this cavity, he thrust down into it a straight stick, that had been cut from some species of hard wood, and trimmed clear of knots or other inequalities, twirling it between the palms of his hands so as to produce a rapid motion, now one way, now the other. in about ten minutes a smoke appeared, and soon after sparks were seen among the loose dust that had collected from the friction. presently the sparks, becoming thicker, united into a flame; and then, dropping the straight stick, he hastily covered the hole with the dry leaves and chips, and, blowing gently under them, was soon cheered by a blaze, over which a cook with even little skill might have prepared a tolerable dinner. this had been munday's object; and as soon as he saw his fire fairly under way, without dressing or trussing the game,--not even taking the hide off,--he laid the tamandua across the fire, and left it to cook in its skin. it was not the first time by scores that munday had make that repast, known among spanish-americans as _carne con cuero_. he now proceeded to prevent the spreading of the flames. the dead-wood around was dry as tinder. stripping off the cotton shirt that, through every vicissitude, still clung to his shoulders, he leant over the side of the floating log, and dipped it for several minutes under the water. when well soaked, he drew it up again, and taking it to the spot where the fire was crackling, he wrung the water out in a circle around the edge of his hearth. when the tamandua was done brown, he then awakened his companions, who were astonished to see the fire, with the bronzed body of the indian, nude to the waist, squatting in front of it,--to hear the crackling of sticks, the loud sputtering of the roast, and the hissing of the water circle that surrounded the hearth. but the savour that filled the air was very agreeable. they accepted his invitation to partake of the repast, which was found greatly to resemble roast goose in taste; and in an inconceivably short time only the bones of the ant-eater, and these clean picked, could be seen upon the ceiba. chapter sixty seven. the juaroua. postponing till the next day the task of making a canoe out of their log, the party soon betook themselves to rest again; but they had been slumbering only about an hour when a low whimpering noise made by the monkey awoke tipperary tom, close to whose ear the animal had squatted down. its master raised himself up, and, leaning upon his elbow, looked out over the gapo. there was nothing but open water, whose smooth surface was shining like burnished gold under the beams of the setting sun. he turned toward the trees. he saw nothing there,--not so much as a bird moving among the branches. raising his head a little higher, and peeping over the edge of the dead-wood, "it's thare is it, the somethin' that's scyarin' ye?" he said to his pet. "an' shure enough there is a somethin' yandher. there's a `purl' upon the wather, as if some crayther was below makin' a disturbance among the weeds. i wondther what it is!" at length the creature whose motion he had observed, whatever it was, came near enough for him to obtain a full view of it; and though it was neither a snake nor a crocodile, still it was of sufficiently formidable and novel appearance to cause him a feeling of fear. in shape it resembled a seal; but in dimensions it was altogether different, being much larger than seals usually are. it was full ten feet from snout to tail, and of a proportionate thickness of body. it had the head of a bull or cow, with a broad muzzle, and thick, overhanging lip, but with very small eyes; and instead of ears, there were two round cavities upon the crown of its head. it had a large, flat tail, not standing up like the tail of a fish, but spread in a horizontal direction, like that of a bird. its skin was smooth, and naked of hairs, with the exception of some straggling ones set thinly over it, and some tufts resembling bristles radiating around its mouth and nostrils. the skin itself was of a dull leaden hue, with some cream-coloured spots under the throat and along the belly. it had also a pair of flippers, more than a foot in length, standing out from the shoulders, with a teat in front of each, and looking like little paddles, with which the huge creature was propelling itself through the water, just as a fish uses its fins or a man his arms. the irishman did not stay to note half of these characteristics, but hastily woke munday, crying, "what is it? o what is it?" the indian, rousing himself, looked round for a moment dreamily, and then, as he caught sight of the strange object, replied, "good fortune! it is the _juaroua_." chapter sixty eight. a fish-cow at pasture. the irishman was no wiser for munday's answer, "the juaroua." "but what is it?" he again asked, curious to learn something of the creature. "is it a fish or a quadruped?" "a _peixe-boi_,--a _peixe-boi_!" hurriedly answered the tapuyo. "that's how the whites call it. now you know." "but i don't, though, not a bit betther than before. a pikes-boy! troth, it don't look much like a pike at all, at all. if it's a fish av any kind, i should say it was a sale. o, luk there, munday! arrah, see now! if it's the owld pike's boy, yandher's the young wan too. see, it has tuk howlt av the tit, an' 's sucking away like a calf! an' luk! the old wan has got howlt av it with her flipper, an' 's kapin' it up to the breast! save us! did hever i see such a thing!" the sight was indeed one to astonish the irishman, since it has from all time astonished the amazonian indians themselves, in spite of its frequency. they cannot understand so unusual a habit as that of a fish suckling its young; for they naturally think that the peixe-boi is a fish, instead of a cetacean, and they therefore continue to regard it with curious feelings, as a creature not to be classified in the ordinary way. "hush!" whispered the indian, with a sign to tom to keep quiet. "sit still! make no noise. there's a chance of our capturing the juaroua,--a good chance, now that i see the _juaroua-i_ [little one] along with it. don't wake the others yet. the juaroua can see like a vulture, and hear like an eagle, though it has such little eyes and ears. hush!" the peixe-boi had by this time got abreast of the dead-wood, and was swimming slowly past it. a little beyond there was a sort of bay, opening in among the trees, towards which it appeared to be directing its course, suckling the calf as it swam. "good," said munday, softly. "i guess what it's going after up there. don't you see something lying along the water?" "yes; but it's some sort av wather-grass." "that's just it." "an' what would it want wid the grass? yez don't mane to till me it ates grass?" "eats nothing else, and this is just the sort it feeds on. very like that's its pasturing place. so much the better if it is, because it will stay there till morning, and give me a chance to kill it." "but why can't yez kill it now?" said tom. "for want of a proper weapon. my knife is of no use. the juaroua is too cunning to let one come so near. if it come back in the morning, i will take care to be ready for it. from it we can get meat enough for a long voyage. see, it has begun to browse!" sure enough it had, just as the indian said, commenced pasturing upon the long blades of grass that spread horizontally over the surface; and just as a cow gathers the meadow sward into her huge mouth, at intervals protruding her tongue to secure it, so did the great water cow of the amazon spread her broad lips and extend her rough tongue to take in the floating herbage of the gapo. chapter sixty nine. the pashuba spear. munday was now prepared to set out on a little exploring excursion, as he said; so, enjoining upon tom, who was determined to awake the sleepers that they might share the sight of the feeding fish-cow, to keep them all strictly quiet until his return, he slipped softly into the water and swam noiselessly away. the enforced silence was tedious enough to the party, who were all eager to talk about the strange spectacle they saw, and it would surely have been soon broken, had not the indian returned with a new object for their curiosity. he had stolen off, taking with him only his knife. at his reappearance he had the knife still with him, and another weapon as well, which the knife had enabled him to procure. it was a staff of about twelve feet in length, straight as a rush, slightly tapering, and pointed at the end like a spear. in fact, it _was_ a spear, which he had been manufacturing during his hour of absence out of a split stem of the _pashuba_ palm. not far off he had found one of these trees, a water-loving species,--the _martea exorhuza_,--whose stems are supported upon slanting roots, that stand many feet above the surface of the soil. with the skill known only to an amazonian indian in the use of a knife-blade, he had split the pashuba, (hard as iron on the outside, but soft at the heart,) and out of one of the split pieces had he hastily fashioned his spear. its point only needed to be submitted to fire, and then steel itself would not serve better for a spear-head. fortunately the hearth was not yet cold. a few red cinders smouldered by the wet circle, and, thrusting his spear point among them, the indian waited for it to become hardened. when done to his satisfaction, he drew it out of the ashes, scraped it to a keen point with the blade of his knife, and then announced himself ready to attack the juaroua. the amphibious animal was yet there, its head visible above the bed of grass upon which it was still grazing. munday, while rejoiced at the circumstance, expressed himself also surprised at it. he had not been sanguine of finding it on his return with the spear, and, while fabricating the weapon, he had only been encouraged by the expectation that the peixe-boi, if gone away for the night, would return to its grazing ground in the morning. as it was now, it could not have afforded him a better opportunity for _striking_ it. it was reclining near the surface, its head several inches above it, and directly under a large tree, whose lower limbs, extending horizontally, almost dropped into the water. if he could but get unperceived upon one of those limbs, it would be an easy matter to drive the spear into its body as far as his strength would enable him. if any man could swim noiselessly through the water, climb silently into the tree, and steal without making sound along its limbs, that man was the mundurucu. in less time than you could count a thousand, he had successfully accomplished this, and was crouching upon a limb right over the cow. in an instant his spear was seen to descend as the spectators were expecting it to do; but to their astonishment, instead of striking the body of the peixe-boi, it pierced into the water several feet from the snout of the animal! what could it mean? surely the skilled harpooner of fish-cattle could not have made such a stray stroke. certainly he had not touched the cow! had he speared anything? "he's killed the calf!" cried tipperary tom. "luk yandher! don't yez see its carcass floatin' in the wather?" still the spectators could not understand it. why should the calf have been killed, which would scarce give them a supper, and the cow spared, that would have provisioned the whole crew for a month? why had the chance been thrown away? was it thrown away? they only thought so, while expecting the peixe-boi to escape. but they were quickly undeceived. they had not reckoned upon the strong maternal instincts of that amphibious mother,--instincts that annihilate all sense of danger, and prompt a reckless rushing upon death in the companionship or for the protection of the beloved offspring. it was too late to protect the tiny creature, but the mother recked not of this. danger deterred her not from approaching it again and again, each time receiving a fresh stab from that terrible stick, until, with a long-drawn sigh, she expired among the sedge. these animals are extremely tenacious of life, and a single, thrust from such a weapon as he wielded would only have put the peixe-boi to flight, never to be encountered again. the harpoon alone, with its barbed head and floats, can secure them for a second strike; and not being provided with this weapon, nor the means of making it, the old tapuyo knew that his only chance was to act as he had done. experience had made him a believer in the affection of the animal, and the result proved that he had not mistaken its strength. chapter seventy. curing the fish-cow. nothing was done for that night. all slept contentedly on the dead-wood, which next day became the scene of a series of curious operations. this did not differ very much from the spectacle that might be witnessed in the midst of the wide ocean, when whalemen have struck one of the great leviathans of the deep, and brought their ship alongside for the purpose of cutting it up. in like manner as the whale is "flensed," so was the fish-cow, munday performing the operation with his knife, by first skinning the creature, and then separating the flesh into broad strips or steaks, which were afterwards make into _charqui_, by being hung up in the sun. previous to this, however, many "griskins"--as tom called them--had been cut from the carcass, and, broiled over the fire kindled upon the log, had furnished both supper and breakfast to the party. no squeamishness was shown by any one. hunger forbade it; and, indeed, whether with sharp appetites or not, there was no reason why they should not relish one of the most coveted articles of animal food to be obtained in amazonia. the taste was that of pork; though there were parts of the flesh of a somewhat coarser grain, and inferior in flavour to the real dairy-fed pig. the day was occupied in making it ready for curing, which would take several days' exposure under the hot sun. before night, however, they had it separated into thin slices, and suspended upon a sort of clothes-line, which, by means of poles and sipos, munday had rigged upon the log. the lean parts alone were to be preserved, for the fat which lies between these, in thick layers of a greenish colour and fishy flavour, is considered rather strong for the stomach,--even of an indian not over nice about such matters. when a peixe-boi has been harpooned in the usual manner, this is not thrown away, or wasted. put into a proper boiling-pot, it yields a very good kind of oil,--ten or twelve gallons being obtained from an individual of the largest and fattest kind. in the present instance, the fat was disregarded and flung back into the flood, while the bones, as they were laid bare, were served in a similar fashion. the skin, however, varying from an inch in thickness over the back, to half an inch under the abdomen, and which munday had removed with considerable care, was stowed away in a hollow place upon the log. why it was kept, none of the others could guess. perhaps the indian meant it as something to fall back upon in the event of the charqui giving out. it was again night by the time the cow-skin was deposited in its place, and of course no journey could be attempted for that day. on the morrow they intended to commence the voyage which it was hoped would bring them to the other side of the lagoa, if not within sight of land. as they ate their second supper of _amphibious steaks_, they felt in better spirits than for many days. they were not troubled with hunger or thirst; they were not tortured by sitting astride the branches of a tree; and the knowledge that they had now a craft capable of carrying them--however slow might be the rate--inspired them with pleasant expectations. their conversation was more cheerful than usual, and during the after-supper hour it turned chiefly on the attributes and habits of the strange animal which munday had so cleverly dissected. most of the information about its habits was supplied by the indian himself, who had learned them by personal experience; though many points in its natural history were given by the patron, who drew his knowledge of it from books. trevannion told them that a similar creature--though believed to be of a different species--was found in the sea; but generally near to some coast where there was fresh water flowing in by the estuary of a river. one kind in the indian seas was known by the name of _dugong_, and another in the west indies as the _manati_ or _manatee_,--called by the french _lamantin_. the spaniards also know it by the name of _vaca marina_ (sea-cow), the identical name given by the dutch of the cape colony to the hippopotamus,--of course a very different animal. the manati is supposed to have been so named from its fins, or flippers, bearing some resemblance to the hands of a human being,--in spanish, _manos_,--entitling it to the appellation of the "handed" animal. but the learned humboldt has shown that this derivation would be contrary to the idiom of the spanish language, which would have made the word _manudo_ or _manon_, and not _manati_. it is therefore more likely that this name is the one by which it was known to the aborigines of the southern coast of cuba, where the creature was first seen by the discoverers of america. certain it is that the sea species of the west indies and the guianian coast is much larger than that found in the amazon and other south american rivers; the former being sometimes found full twenty feet in length, while the length of the fish-cow of south america rarely reaches ten. here munday took up the thread of the discourse, and informed the circle of listeners that there were several species of juaroua--this was the name he gave it--in the waters of the amazon. he knew of three kinds, that were distinct, not only in size, but in shape,--the difference being chiefly observable in the fashion of the fins and tail. there was also some difference in their colour,--one species being much lighter in hue than the others, with a pale cream-coloured belly; while the abdomen of the common kind is of a slaty lead, with some pinkish white spots scattered thinly over it. a peculiar characteristic of the peixe-boi is discovered in if lungs,-- no doubt having something to do with its amphibious existence. these, when taken out of the animal and inflated by blowing into them, swell up to the lightness and dimensions of an india-rubber swimming-belt; so that, as young richard observed while so inflating them, they could spare at least one set of the sapucaya-shells, if once more compelled to take to the water. munday gave a very good account of the mode practised in capturing the juaroua, not only by the indians of his own tribe, but by all others in the amazon valley. the hunter of the peixe-boi--or fisher, as we should rather call him--provides himself with a _montaria_ (a light canoe) and a harpoon. he rows to the spot where the creature may be expected to appear,--usually some solitary lagoon or quiet spot out of the current, where there is a species of grass forming its favourite food. at certain hours the animal comes thither to pasture. sometimes only a single individual frequents the place, but oftener a pair, with their calves,--never more than two of the latter. at times there may be seen a small herd of old ones. their enemy, seated in his canoe, awaits their approach in silence; and then, after they have become forgetful of all save their enjoyment of the succulent grass, he paddles up to them. he makes his advances with the greatest caution; for the fish-cow, unlike its namesake of the farm-yard, is a shy and suspicious animal. the plunge of the paddle, or a rude ripple of the water against the sides of the montaria, would frighten it from its food, and send it off into the open water, where it could not be approached. the occupant of the canoe is aware of this, and takes care not to make the slightest disturbance, till he has got within striking distance. he then rises gently into a half-crouching attitude, takes the measure of the distance between him and his victim, and throws his harpoon with unerring aim. a line attached to the shaft of the weapon secures the wounded animal from getting clear away. it may dive to the bottom, or rush madly along the surface, but can only go so far as that terrible tether will allow it, to be dragged back towards the montaria, where its struggles are usually terminated by two or three thrusts of a spear. the sport, or, more properly speaking, the trade, of harpooning this river cetacean, is followed by most of the amazonian indians. there is not much of it done during the season of the floods. then the animals, becoming dispersed over a large surface of inundated forest, are seen only on rare occasions; and a chase specially directed to discover them would not repay the trouble and loss of time. it is when the floods have fallen to their lowest, and the lagoas or permanent ponds of water have contracted to their ordinary limits, that the harpooning of the fish-cow becomes profitable. then it is followed as a regular pursuit, and occupies the indian for several weeks in the year. sometimes a lagoon is discovered in which many of these creatures have congregated,--their retreat to the main river having been cut off by the falling of the floods. on such occasions the tribe making the discovery reaps a plentiful harvest, and butchering becomes the order of the day. the malocca, or village, is for the time deserted; all hands--men, women, children, and curs--moving off to the lagoa, and making their encampment upon its edge. they bring with them boiling-pots, for trying out the oil, and jars to contain it, and carry it to the port of commerce; for, being of a superior quality, it tempts the portuguese trader to make long voyages up many remote tributaries where it is obtained. during these grand fisheries there is much feasting and rejoicing. the "jerked" flesh of the animal, its skin, and, above all, its valuable oil, are exchanged for knives, pigments, trinkets, and, worse still, for _cashaca_ (rum). the last is too freely indulged in; and the fishing rarely comes to a close without weapons being used in a manner to bring wounds, and often death. as the old mundurucu had been present at many a hunt of the fish-cow, he was able to give a graphic account of the scenes he had witnessed, to which his companions on the log listened with the greatest attention. so interested were they, that it was not till near midnight that they thought of retiring to rest. chapter seventy one. a sail of skin. by daybreak they were astir upon their new craft; and after breakfast they set about moving it away from its moorings. this was not so easily accomplished. the log was a log in every respect; and though once a splendid silk-cotton-tree, covered with gossamer pods, and standing in airy majesty over the surrounding forest, it now lay as heavy as lead among the weeds and water-lilies, as if unwilling to be stirred from the spot into which it had drifted. you may wonder how they were able to move it at all; supposing, as you must, that they were unprovided with either oars or sails. but they were not so badly off as that. the whole of the preceding day had not been spent in curing the fish-cow. munday's knife had done other service during the afternoon hours, and a pair of paddles had been the result. though of a rude kind, they were perfect enough for the purpose required of them; while at the same time they gave evidence of great ingenuity on the part of the contriver. they had handles of wood, with blades of _bone_, made from the fish-cow's shoulder-blades, which munday had carefully retained with the skin, while allowing the offal to sink. in his own tribe, and elsewhere on the amazon, he had seen these bones employed--and had himself employed them--as a substitute for the spade. many a cacao patch and field of mandioca had munday cleared with the shoulder-blade of a fish-cow; and upon odd occasions he had used one for a paddle. it needed only to shaft them; and this had been done by splicing a pole to each with the tough sipos. provided with these paddles, then,--one of them wielded by himself, the other by the sturdy mozambique,--the log was compelled to make way through the water. the progress was necessarily slow, on account of the tangle of long stalks and broad leaves of the lilies. but it promised to improve, when they should get beyond these into the open part of the lagoon. out there, moreover, they could see that there was a ripple upon the water; which proved that a breeze had sprung up, not perceptible inside the sheltering selvage of the trees, blowing in the right direction,--that is, from the trees, and towards the lagoa. you may suppose that the wind could not be of much use to them with such a craft,--not only without a rudder, but unprovided with sails. so thought they all except the old tapuyo. but the indian had not been navigating the gapo for more than forty years of his life, without learning how to construct a sail; and, if nothing else had turned up, he could have made a tolerable substitute for one out of many kinds of broad, tough leaves,--especially those of the _miriti_ palm. he had not revealed his plans to any one of the party. men of his race rarely declare their intentions until the moment of carrying them into execution. there is a feeling of proud superiority that hinders such condescension. besides, he had not yet recovered from the sting of humiliation that succeeded the failure of his swimming enterprise; and he was determined not to commit himself again, either by too soon declaring his designs, or too confidently predicting their successful execution. it was not, therefore, till a stout pole had been set up in a hollow dug out by his knife in the larger end of the log, two cross pieces firmly lashed to it by sipos, and the skin of the fish-cow spread out against these like a huge thick blanket of caoutchouc, and attached to them by the same cordage of creepers,--it was not till then that his companions became fully acquainted with his object in having cut poles, scooped the hollow, and retained the skin of the cow, as he had done to their previous bewilderment. it was all clear now; and they could not restrain themselves from giving a simultaneous cheer, as they saw the dull dead-wood, under the impulsion of the skin sail, commence a more rapid movement, until it seemed to "walk the water like a thing of life." chapter seventy two. becalmed. once out on the open lagoa, and fairly under sail, in what direction should they steer their new craft? they wanted to reach the other side of the lagoa, which the indian believed to extend in the right direction for finding _terra firma_. they had skirted the edge upon which they were for several miles, without finding either the sign of land or an opening by which they might penetrate through the forest, and it was but natural that they should wish to make trial the other side, in the hope of meeting with better fortune. mozey, who prided himself on being the best sailor aboard, was intrusted with the management of the sail, while trevannion himself acted as pilot. the indian busied himself in looking after the curing of the charqui, which, by the help of such a hot sun as was shining down upon them, would soon be safely beyond the chance of decay. the young people, seated together near the thick end of the log--which mozey had facetiously christened the quarter-deck of the craft--occupied themselves as they best might. the cloud that had shadowed them for days was quite dispelled. with such a raft, there was every expectation of getting out of the gapo. it might not be in a day, or even in a week. but time was of little consequence, so long as there was a prospect of ultimate release from the labyrinth of flooded forests. the charqui, if economised, would feed all hands for a fortnight, at least; and unless they should again get stranded among the tree-tops they could scarcely be all that time before reaching dry land. their progress was sadly slow. their craft has been described as "walking the water like a thing of life." but this is rather a poetical exaggeration. its motion was that of a true dead-wood, heavily weighted with the water that for weeks had been saturating its sides. it barely yielded to the sail; and had they been forced to depend upon the paddles, it would have been a hopeless affair. a mile an hour was the most they were able to make; and this only when the breeze was at its freshest. at other times, when it unfortunately lulled, the log lay upon the water with no more motion than they caused as they stepped over it. towards noon their progress became slower; and when at length the meridian hour arrived the ceiba stood still. the sail had lost the power of propelling it on. the breeze had died away, and there was now a dead calm. the shoulder-blades of the peixe-boi were now resorted to, but neither these, nor the best pair of oars that ever pulled a man-o'-war's boat, could have propelled that tree-trunk through the water faster than half a knot to the hour, and the improvised paddles were soon laid aside. there was one comfort in the delay. the hour of dinner had now arrived, and the crew were not unprepared for the midday meal; for in their hurry at setting out, and the solicitude arising from their uncertainty about their craft, they had breakfasted scantily. their dinner was to consist of but one dish, a cross between fish and flesh,--a cross between fresh and dried,--for the peixe-boi was still but half converted into charqui. the indian had carefully guarded the fire, the kindling of which had cost him so much trouble and ingenuity. a few sparks still smouldered where they had been nursed; and, with some decayed pieces of the ceiba itself, a big blaze was once more established. over this the choicest tit-bits were suspended until their browned surface proclaimed them "done to a turn." their keen appetites furnished both sauce and seasoning; and when the meal was over, all were ready to declare that they had never dined more sumptuously in their lives. hunger is the best appetiser; scarcity comes next. they sat after dinner conversing upon different themes, and doing the best they could to while away the time,--the only thing that at all discommoded them being the beams of the sun, which fell upon their crowns like sparks of fire showered from a burning sky. tom's idea was that the heat of the sun could be endured with greater ease in the water than upon the log; and, to satisfy himself, he once more girdled on the cincture of shells, and slipped over the side. his example was followed by the patron himself, his son and nephew. little rosa did not need to retreat overboard in this ignominious manner. she was in the shade, under a tiny _toldo_ of broad leaves of a _pothos_ plant, which, growing parasitically upon one of the trees, had been plucked the day before, and spread between two buttresses of the dead-wood. her cousin had constructed this miniature arbour, and proud did he appear to see his little sylph reclining under its shade. the tapuyo, accustomed to an amazonian sun, did not require to keep cool by submerging himself; and as for the negro, he would scarce have been discommoded by an atmosphere indicated by the highest figure on the thermometer. these two men, though born on opposite sides of the atlantic ocean, were alike types of a tropical existence, and equally disregarded the fervour of a tropic sun. suddenly the four, who had fallen a little astern, were seen making towards the log; and by the terror depicted on their countenances, as well as their quick, irregular strokes, it was evident something in the water had caused them serious alarm. what could it all mean? it was of no use to ask the swimmers themselves. they were as ignorant of what was alarming them as their companions upon the log; they only knew that something was biting them about the legs and feet; but what it was they had not the slightest idea. it might be an insect,--it might be a water-snake, or other amphibious reptile; but whatever it was, they could tell that its teeth were sharp as needles, and scored their flesh like fish-hooks. it was not till they had gained footing upon the log, and their legs were seen covered with lacerations, and streaming with fresh blood, that they ascertained the sort of enemy that had been attacking them. had the water been clear, they might have discovered it long before; but discoloured as it was, they could not see beneath the surface far enough to make out the character of their secret assailants. but the tapuyo well understood the signs, and, as soon as his eye rested upon them, his perplexity disappeared; and, with an exclamation that rather betokened relief, he pronounced the simple phrase, "only _piranhas_!" chapter seventy three. the piranhas. the companions of the tapuyo were no wiser for his words, until piranhas was explained to them to mean "biting fish," for such were the unseen enemies that assailed them. they belong to the great tribe of the _salmonidae_, of which there are many varieties in the different amazonian rivers, all very voracious, and ready to bite at anything that may be thrown into the water. they often attack bathers, putting them to flight; and a swimmer who should unfortunately be surrounded by them, when far from the shore or a boat, would have the greatest difficulty to escape the fearful late of being eaten up alive. most of the species are fish of small size, and it is their numbers that the swimmer has chiefly to dread. as it was, our adventurers were more scared than hurt. the commotion which they had made in the water, by their plunging and kicking, had kept the piranhas at a distance, and it was only an odd one that had been able to get a tooth into them. for any injury they had sustained, the mundurucu promised them not only a speedy revenge, but indemnification of a more consolatory kind. he knew that the piranhas, having tasted blood, would not willingly wander away, at least for a length of time. although he could not see the little fish through the turbid water, he was sure they were still in the neighbourhood of the log, no doubt in search of the prey that had so mysteriously escaped them. as the dead-wood scarcely stirred, or drifted only slightly, the piranhas could keep alongside, and see everything that occurred without being seen themselves. this the tapuyo concluded they were doing. he knew their reckless voracity,--how they will suddenly spring at anything thrown into the water, and swallow without staying to examine it. aware of this habit, he had no difficulty in determining what to do. there was plenty of bait in the shape of half-dried charqui, but not a fish-hook to be found. a pair of pins, however, supplied the deficiency, and a piece of string was just right for a line. this was fastened at one end to the pashuba spear, to the pin-hook at the other; and then, the latter being baited with a piece of peixe-boi, the fishing commenced. perhaps never with such rude tackle was there more successful angling. almost as soon as the bait sank under the water, it was seized by a piranha, which was instantly jerked out of its native element, and landed on the log. another and another and another, till a score of the creatures lay upon the top of the dead-wood, and tipperary tom gave them the finishing touch, as they were caught, with a cruel eagerness that might to some extent have been due to the smarting of his shins. how long the "catch" might have continued it is difficult to say. the little fish were hooked as fast as fresh bait could be adjusted, and it seemed as if the line of succession was never to end. it did end, however, in an altogether unexpected way, by one of the piranhas dropping back again into the water, and taking, not only the bait, but the hook and a portion of the line along with it, the string having given away at a weak part near the end of the rod. munday, who knew that the little fish were excellent to eat, would have continued to take them so long as they were willing to be taken, and for this purpose the dress of rosita was despoiled of two more pins, and a fresh piece of string made out of the skin of the cow-fish. when the new tackle was tried, however, he discovered to his disappointment that the piranhas would no longer bite; not so much as a nibble could be felt at the end of the string. they had had time for reflection, perhaps had held counsel among themselves, and come to the conclusion that the game they had been hitherto playing was "snapdragon" of a dangerous kind, and that it was high time to desist from it. the little incident, at first producing chagrin, was soon viewed rather with satisfaction. the wounds received were so slight as scarce to be regarded, and the terror of the thing was over as soon as it became known what tiny creatures had inflicted them. had it been snakes, alligators, or any animals of the reptile order, it might have been otherwise. but a school of handsome little fishes,--who could suppose that there had been any danger in their attack? there had been, nevertheless, as the tapuyo assured them,--backing up his assurance by the narrative of several narrow escapes he had himself had from being torn to pieces by their sharp triangular teeth, further confirming his statements by the account of an indian, one of his own tribe, who had been eaten piecemeal by piranhas. it was in the river tapajos, where this species of fish is found in great plenty. the man had been in pursuit of a peixe-boi, which he had harpooned near the middle of the river, after attaching his weapon by its cord to the bow of his montaria. the fish being a strong one, and not wounded in a vital part, had made a rush to get off, carrying the canoe along with it. the harpooner, standing badly balanced in his craft, lost his balance and fell overboard. while swimming to overtake the canoe, he was attacked by a swarm of piranhas ravenous for prey, made so perhaps by the blood of the peixe-boi left along the water. the indian was unable to reach the canoe; and notwithstanding the most desperate efforts to escape, he was ultimately compelled to yield to his myriad assailants. his friends on shore saw all, without being able to render the slightest assistance. they saw his helpless struggles, and heard his last despairing shriek, as he sank below the surface of the water. hastening to their canoes, they paddled, rapidly out to the spot where their comrade had disappeared. all they could discern was a skeleton lying along the sand at the bottom of the river, clean picked as if it had been prepared for an anatomical museum, while the school of piranhas was disporting itself alone, as if engaged in dancing some mazy minuet in honour of the catastrophe they had occasioned. chapter seventy four. a stowaway. the new-caught fishes looked too temptingly fresh to be long untasted; and although it was but an hour since our adventurers had eaten their dinner, one and all were inclined for an afternoon meal upon piranha. the mundurucu set the fire freshly astir, and half a dozen piranhas were soon browned in the blaze and distributed among the party, who one and all endorsed the tapuyo, by pronouncing them a delicacy. after the second dinner they were more gay than ever. the sun sinking westward indicated the quarters of the compass; and already a few puffs of wind promised them an evening breeze. they saw that it was still blowing in the same direction, and therefore favourable to the navigation of their craft, whose thick sail, spread broadly athwart ships, seemed eager to catch it. little dreamt they at that moment that, as it were, a volcano was slumbering under their feet; that separated from them by only a few inches of half-decayed wood was a creature of such monstrous size and hideous shape as to have impressed with a perpetual fear every indian upon the amazon, from para to peru, from the head waters of the purus to the sources of the japura! at that moment, when they were chatting gaily, even laughingly, in confidence of a speedy deliverance from the gloomy gapo,--at that very moment the great _mai d'agoa_, the "mother of the waters," was writhing restlessly beneath them, preparing to issue forth from the cavern that concealed her. the tapuyo was sitting near the fire, picking the bones of a piranha, which he had just taken from the spit, when all at once the half-burned embers were seen to sink out of sight, dropping down into the log, as cinders into the ash-pit of a dilapidated grate. "ugh!" exclaimed the indian, giving a slight start, but soon composing himself; "the dead-wood hollow at the heart! only a thin shell outside, which the fire has burnt through. i wondered why it floated so lightly,--wet as it was!" "wasn't it there the tocandeiras had their nest?" inquired trevannion. "no, patron. the hole they had chosen for their hive is different. it was a cavity in one of the branches. this is a hollow along the main trunk. its entrance will be found somewhere in the butt,--under the water, i should think, as the log lies now." just then no one was curious enough to crawl up to the thick end and see. what signified it whether the entrance to the hollow, which had been laid open by the falling in of the fire, was under water or above it, so long as the log itself kept afloat? there was no danger to be apprehended, and the circumstance would have been speedily dismissed from their minds, but for the behaviour of the coaita, which now attracted their attention. it had been all the time sitting upon the highest point which the dead-wood offered for a perch. not upon the rudely rigged mast, nor yet the yard that carried the sail; but on a spar that projected several feet beyond the thick end, still recognisable as the remains of a root. its air and attitude had undergone a sudden change. it stood at full length upon all fours, uttering a series of screams, with chatterings between, and shivering throughout its whole frame, as if some dread danger was in sight, and threatening it with instant destruction. it was immediately after the falling in of the fagots that this began; but there was nothing to show that it was connected with that. the place where the fire had been burning was far away from its perch; and it had not even turned its eyes in that direction. on the contrary, it was looking below; not directly below where it stood, but towards the butt-end of the ceiba, which could not be seen by those upon the log. whatever was frightening it should be there. there was something about the excited actions of the animal,--something so heart-rending in its cries,--that it was impossible to believe them inspired by any ordinary object of dread; and the spectators were convinced that some startling terror was under its eyes. tipperary tom was the first to attempt a solution of the mystery. the piteous appeals of his pet could not be resisted. scrambling along the log he reached the projecting point, and peeped over. almost in the same instant he recoiled with a shriek; and, calling on his patron saint, retreated to the place where he had left his companions. on his retreat munday set out to explore the place whence he had fled, and, on reaching it, craned his neck over the end of the dead-wood, and looked below. a single glance seemed to satisfy him; and, drawing back with as much fear as the man who had preceded him, he exclaimed in a terrified shriek, "_santos dios_! 'tis the spirit of the waters!" chapter seventy five. the spirit of the waters. "the _mai d'agoa_! the spirit of the waters!" exclaimed trevannion, while the rest stood speechless with astonishment, gazing alternately upon the indian and the irishman, who trembled with affright. "what do you mean? is it something to be feared?" munday gave an emphatic nod, but said no word, being partly awed into silence and partly lost in meditating some plan of escape from this new peril. "what did _you_ see, tom?" continued trevannion, addressing himself to the irishman, in hopes of receiving some explanation from that quarter. "be sant pathrick! yer honour, i can't tell yez what it was. it was something like a head with a round shinin' neck to it, just peepin' up out av the wather. i saw a pair av eyes,--i didn't stay for any more, for them eyes was enough to scare the sowl out av me. they were glittherin' like two burnin' coals! munday calls it the spirit av the wathers. it looks more like the spirit av darkness!" "the _mai d'agoa_, uncle," interposed the young paraense, speaking in a suppressed voice. "_the mother of the waters_! it's only an indian superstition, founded on the great water serpent,--the anaconda. no doubt it's one of these he and tom have seen swimming about under the butt-end of the log. if it be still there i shall have a look at it myself." the youth was proceeding towards the spot so hastily vacated by munday and tom, when the former, seizing him by the arm, arrested his progress. "for your life, young master, don't go there! stay where you are. it may not come forth, or may not crawl up to this place. i tell you it is the spirit of the waters!" "nonsense, munday; there's no such thing as a _spirit_ of the waters. if there were, it would be of no use our trying to hide from it. what you've seen is an anaconda. i know these water-boas well enough,--have seen them scores of times among the islands at the mouth of the amazon. i have no fear of them. their bite is not poisonous, and, unless this is a very large one, there's not much danger. let me have a look!" the indian, by this time half persuaded that he had made a mistake,--his confidence also restored by this courageous behaviour,--permitted richard to pass on to the end of the log. on reaching it he looked over; but recoiled with a cry, as did the others, while the ape uttered a shrill scream, sprang down from its perch, and scampered off to the opposite extremity of the dead-wood. "it _is_ an anaconda!" muttered the paraense, as he made his way "amidships," where the rest were awaiting him; "the largest i have ever seen. no wonder, munday, you should mistake it for the _mai d'agoa_. 'tis a fearful-looking creature, but i hope we shall be able to destroy it before it can do any of us an injury. but it is very large, and we have no arms! what's to be done, munday?" "be quiet,--make no noise!" entreated the indian, who was now himself again. "may be it will keep its place till i can get the spear through its neck, and then--too late! the sucuruju is coming upon the log!" and now, just rising through a forked projection of the roots, was seen the horrid creature, causing the most courageous to tremble as they beheld it. there was no mistaking it for anything else than the head of a serpent; but such a head as not even the far-travelled tapuyo had ever seen before. in size it equalled that of an otter, while the lurid light that gleamed from a pair of scintillating orbs, and still more the long, forked tongue, at intervals projected like a double jet of flame, gave it an altogether demoniac appearance. the water out of which it had just risen, still adhering to its scaly crown, caused it to shine with the brightness of burnished steel; and, as it loomed up between their eyes and the sun, it exhibited the coruscation of fire. under any circumstances it would have been fearful to look at; but as it slowly and silently glided forth, hanging out its forked red tongue, it was a sight to freeze the blood of the bravest. when it had raised its eyes fairly above the log, so that it could see what was upon it, it paused as if to reconnoitre. the frightened men, having retreated towards the opposite end of the dead-wood, stood as still as death, all fearing to make the slightest motion, lest they should tempt the monster on. they stood about twenty paces from the serpent, munday nearest, with the pashuba spear in hand ready raised, and standing as guard over the others. richard, armed with munday's knife, was immediately behind him. for more than a minute the hideous head remained motionless. there was no speech nor sound of any kind. even the coaita, screened by its friends, had for the time ceased to utter its alarm. only the slightest ripple on the water, as it struck against the sides of the ceiba, disturbed the tranquillity of the scene, and any one viewing the tableau might have supposed it set as for the taking of a photograph. but it was only the momentary calm that precedes the tempest. in an instant a commotion took place among the statue-like figures,--all retreating as they saw the serpent rise higher, and, after vibrating its head several times, lie flat along, evidently with the design of advancing towards them. in another instant the monster was advancing,-- not rapidly, but with a slow, regular motion, as if it felt sure of its victims, and did not see the necessity for haste in securing them. chapter seventy six. an unexpected escape. the great reptile had already displayed more than a third of its hideous body, that kept constantly thickening as it rose over the butt-end of the log; and still the tapuyo appeared irresolute. in a whisper, trevannion suggested their taking to the water. "no, patron; anything but that. it would just be what the sucuruju would like. in the water it would be at home, and we should not. we should there be entirely at his mercy." "but are we not now?" "not yet,--not yet,--stay!" from the fresh confidence with which he spoke, it was evident some plan had suggested itself. "hand me over that monkey!" he said; and when he took the ape in his arms, and advanced some paces along the log, they guessed for what the pet was destined,--to distract the attention of the anaconda, by securing for it a meal! under other circumstances, tom might have interfered to prevent the sacrifice. as it was, he could only regard it with a sigh, knowing it was necessary to his own salvation. as munday, acting in the capacity of a sort of high-priest, advanced along the log, the demon to whom the oblation was to be made, and which he still fancied might be the _spirit of the waters_, paused in its approach, and, raising its head, gave out a horrible hiss. in another instant the coaita was hurled through the air, and fell right before it. rapidly drawing back its head, and opening wide its serrated jaws, the serpent struck out with the design of seizing the offering. but the ape, with characteristic quickness, perceived the danger; and, before a tooth could be inserted into its skin, it sprang away, and, scampering up the mast, left munday face to face with the anaconda, that now advanced rapidly upon him who had endeavoured to make use of such a substitute. chagrined at the failure of his stratagem, and dismayed by the threatening danger, the tapuyo retreated backwards. in his confusion he trod upon the still smouldering fire, his scorched feet scattering the fagots as he danced through them, while the serpent, once more in motion, came resolutely on. his companions were now more frightened than ever, for they now saw that he was, like themselves, a prey to fear. for again had he become a believer in the spirit of the waters. as he stood poising his spear, it was with the air of a man not likely to use it with effect. the young paraense, with his knife, was more likely to prove a protector. but what could either do to arrest the progress of such a powerful monster as that, which, with only two thirds of its length displayed, extended full twenty feet along the log? some one of the party must become a victim, and who was to be the first? the young paraense seemed determined to take precedence, and, with the generous design of protecting his friends,--perhaps only little rosa was in his thoughts,--he had thrown himself in front of the others, even the spearman standing behind him. it appeared that his time was come. he had not confidence that it was not. what could he do with a knife-blade against such an enemy? he stood there but to do his duty, and die. and both would quickly have been accomplished,--the duty and the death,--but that the omnipotent hand that had preserved them through so many perils was still stretched over them, and in its own way extricated them from this new danger. to one unacquainted with the cause, it might have been a matter of surprise to see the reptile, hitherto determined upon making an attack, all at once turn away from its intended victims; and, without even showing its tail upon the log, retreat precipitately into the water, and swim off over the lagoa, as if the ceiba was something to be shunned beyond everything else that might be encountered in the gapo! chapter seventy seven. history of the anaconda. though it may be a mystery to the reader why it had retreated, it was none to our adventurers, who had seen it crawl over the scattered fagots; they had heard the hissing, sputtering sound, as the live coals came in contact with its wet skin; they had witnessed its dismay and flight at a phenomenon so unexpected. they were therefore well aware that it was the scorching hot cinders that had caused the sucuruju to forsake the dead-wood in such a sudden and apparently mysterious manner. it was some time before they were entirely relieved of their fears. notwithstanding its precipitate retreat, they could not tell but that the anaconda might change its mind and come back again. they could see it swimming for some time in a tortuous track, its head and part of its neck erect above the water; then it took a direct course, as if determined upon leaving the lagoa. it was, therefore, with no ordinary feeling of relief that they saw it finally disappearing from view in the far distance. the mystery of its presence upon the dead monguba was soon cleared up. the log was hollow inside, the heart-wood being entirely decayed and gone. in the cavity the serpent had perhaps sought a sleeping-place secure from intrusion during some protracted slumber that had succeeded the swallowing of a gigantic prey,--deer, paca, or capivain. here it had lain for days,--perhaps weeks; and the log, carried away by the rising of the floods, had done nothing to disturb its repose. its first intimation that there was any change in the situation of its sleeping-place was when the fire fell in through the burnt shell, and the hot cinders came in contact with its tail, causing it to come forth from its concealment, and make the observation that resulted in its attacking the intruders. the hollow that had contained the colony of tocandeiras was altogether a different affair. it was a cavity of a similar kind, but unconnected with that in the heart of the tree; and it was evident that the little insects and the great reptile, although dwelling in such close proximity,--under the same roof, it may be said,--were entirely unacquainted with each other. when the serpent was quite out of sight, our adventurers once more recovered their spirits, and conversed gayly about the strange incident. the breeze, having freshened, carried their raft with considerable rapidity through the water, in the right direction, and they began to scan the horizon before them in the hope of seeing, if not land, at least the tree-tops ahead. these, however, did not show themselves on that day, and before the sun went down the forest behind them sank out of sight. the night overtook them, surrounded by a smooth surface of open water, spotless and apparently as limitless as the great ocean itself. they did not "lay to," as on the night before. the breeze continued favourable throughout the night; and, as they were also favoured with a clear sky, and had the stars to pilot them, they kept under sail till the morning. before retiring to rest they had supped upon roast charqui and fish broiled over the coals; and, after supper, talk commenced, as usual, the chief topic being the anaconda. on this subject the tapuyo had much to say, for of all the animals that inhabit the water wilderness of the amazon there is none that inspires the indian with greater interest than the sucuruju. it is the theme of frequent discourse, and of scores of legends;--some real and true, while others have had their origin in the imagination of the ignorant aboriginal; some even having proceeded from the excited fancy of the colonists themselves, both spanish and portuguese, who could boast of a higher intelligence and better education. the fanciful say that there are anacondas in the waters of the amazon full thirty yards in length, and of a thickness equalling the dimensions of a horse! this has been stated repeatedly,--stated and believed in, not only by the ignorant indian, but by his instructors, the monks of the missions. the only fanciful part of the statement is what regards the size, which must be merely an exaggeration. what is real and true is of itself sufficiently surprising. it is true that in the south american rivers there are anacondas, or "water-boas," as they are sometimes called, over thirty feet in length and of proportionate thickness; that these monstrous creatures can swallow such quadrupeds as capivains, deer, and even large-sized animals of the horse and cattle kind; that they are not venomous, but kill their prey by _constriction_,--that is, by coiling themselves around it, and crushing it by a strong muscular pressure; and that, once gorged, they retire to some safe hiding-place,--of which there is no scarcity in the impenetrable forests of amazonia,--go to sleep, and remain for a time in a sort of torpid condition. hence they are much more rarely seen than those animals which require to be all the time on the alert for their daily food. of these great snakes of tropical america there are several species; and these again are to be classified, according to their habits, into two groups markedly distinct,--the "boas," properly so called, and the "water-boas," or anacondas. the former are terrestrial in their mode of living, and are to be found upon the dry road; the latter, though not strictly living in the water or under it, are never met with except where it is abundant; that is to say, on the banks of rivers and lagoons, or in the submerged forests of the gapo. they swim under water, or upon the surface, with equal facility; and they are also arboreal, their powers of constriction enabling them to make their way to the tops of the highest trees. it is these that are more properly called sucurujus,--a name belonging to the common language spoken upon the amazon, a mixture of portuguese with the ancient tongue of the supinampas, known as the _lingua geral_. no doubt, also, it is from some unusually large specimen of sucuruju, seen occasionally by the indian hunters and fishermen, that these simple people have been led into a belief in the existence of the wonderful _mai d'agoa_, or "mother of the waters." chapter seventy eight. a snake "yarn." cheered by the thought that the breeze was bearing them in the right direction, our adventurers sat up till a late hour. when they at length resolved upon going to sleep, it was arranged that two should sit up,-- one to mind the sail, the other to ply a paddle, and keep the craft steadily to her course, as well as could be done with such a rudder. the old sea-cook still had charge of the sheets and halyards, while tipperary, notwithstanding that he had already proved himself such an indifferent helmsman, was intrusted with the steering. after the many perils through which they had passed, and under the apprehension of the many more through which they might yet have to pass, tom's mismanagement,--the original cause of all their misfortunes,--if not forgotten, was not remembered against him with resentment. it had been only an error of judgment,--a fault of the head, and not of the heart. even the negro, whose race appears, almost by instinct, to inherit an antipathy to the countrymen of tom, and who, previous to the catastrophe, was not always on the best of terms with the irishman, no longer showed signs of spite: rather had the two become friends. their friendship sprung from the ties of a common misfortune, and any little difference that now displayed itself was in a rivalry as to which should make himself most useful to the floating community. on this particular night they sat together as white and black brothers; mozey attending to the sipo that served for a sheet to the sail, and tom steering the craft by a star that had been pointed out to him as that towards which he was to keep her head. both african and irishman were not a little vain of being thus left to themselves. up to that time both had been playing a very subordinate part; the indian taking upon himself almost the sole management of affairs, and treating them as nobodies. from the night on which they had made their unfortunate mistake by straying into the gapo, every movement had been made by his counsel and direction: moreover, both had suffered humiliation by his having saved their lives from drowning. although they were not ungrateful for that, they were nevertheless chagrined to think that they should be so looked upon. on this night, munday, worn out by his long-continued exertions, was urged by trevannion to desist, and recruit his energies by good repose. as there was no particular reason why he should remain awake, he had consented to do so; and, with his back against one of the buttresses, he reposed, silent as the sphinx. neither the man of mozambique, nor he of tipperary, was given to habits of silence; and they continued to converse long after the others had sunk into slumber. after what had that day occurred, it was natural that the theme should be _snakes_. "yez have got some in your counthry,--haven't yer, mozey?" inquired tom. "dar you'se 'bout right, masser tum. haven't we got um! snakes ob de biggest kind." "but none so big as the wun we saw the day?" "buf! you call dat a big snake. he not more den ten yard long. i've hab some on de coass of africa, down dere by mozabeek, dat measure more den a mile,--ticker round de body den dis ere log we sittin' on." "more than a mile long!" rejoined tipperary. "and thicker than this tree! yez don't mane to say ye iver saw wan ov that size yerself?" "well, i's not say it war a whole mile. it mout be less, an' it mout a been more dan a mile. ob one ting i's sartin shoo: it wa'n't less den three quarters ob a mile. youz may b'lieve um or not; jess as you pleeze 'bout dat, massa tipprary. all i'b got to say is, dat de snake i 'peak 'bout war long nuf to go clar roun' de kraal, and twice roun' too." "a kraal! what moight that be? i know what a _kreel_ is. miny's the wan i've carried on me back, full ov turf at that, in the bogs of tipperary. yez don't mane a kreel, div ye?" "kreel! no. i'm 'peakin' 'bout de place we niggers live in,--village, you white folk call 'um." "a village! that is a town av people,--men, weemen, and childher." "jess so. da be men, woman, and chillen in de kraal,--sartin to be plenty of boaf de last,--an' dar am dogs, and sheeps, and goats, and sometime big cattle. dat's zactly what we brack folks ob de african coass call de kraal. some am bigger dan oders; but de one i 'peak 'bout, dat war surrounded by de snake, war a kraal ob de mod'rate size. it had 'bout a hundred houses, and, ob coorse, it contain zackly hundred families, excludin' de piccaninnies." "a snake to extind round a hundherd houses! whin was that?" "when dis chile was a piccaninny hisself. if you like, massa tipprary, i tell you all 'bout it. ye see, dat de kraal i 'peak 'bout war my native place, wha dis chile fust saw de shinin' ob de sun. i 'pose i war 'bout ten year ole jess at dat time when de sacumstance 'curred ob which i go tell you. near de village dar war a big foress. it wa' filled with all sorts ob dangerous beasts. da wa' buffaloes and elephants, an' de rhinoceros, an' hipperpotamusses, an' dar war big monkeys ob de baboon 'pecies. these lass war partickler dangerous, 'pecially to de women ob de place, for if any ob de nigga gals strayed too fur into de foress, den de baboons carried dem up into de tops ob de highest trees, an' dere kep' dem prisoner fo' eber. but de wussest ting in dat wood war de snakes. da war ob all sorts an' sizes. dere war de cobera, berry benemous, dat killed you wif him bite, an' de spit snake dat fo' pizen beat de cobera all holler, as it kud kill ye by jess spittin' upon yer from among de branches ob a tree. an' da war de whip-snake, dat lashed folks to deaph wif him tail; an' de rock-boa dat twisted itself roun' you body an' crushed you to de jelly. but none ob dese kud hold a candle to de great big snake ob all,--de one i tell you 'bout. munday, he call dat we see, de spirit ob de waters. our big snake we nigga of mozabeek call de _debbil ob de woods_. nebba mind 'bout de name. he come one fine mornin', dis debbil come, while de people ob de kraal war all 'sleep, dat is 'fore anybody get up to go 'bout dar bisness. he surroun' the village _twice_." "you mane that he crawled twice round it?" "not a bit ob dat;--he may hab crawled twenty time roun' it: nobody know. de people all 'sleep when he come. what dis chile mean is, dat when de people get out ob dar beads, an' come to de door, de debbil ob de woods, he hab him body all roun' de place in two great coil, one on top ob de odder, like de cable 'board ship,--de two makin' a fence roun' do kraal, more'n ten feet high." "saint pathrick prasarve us!" "ah, masser tom, i tink i hear you say dat de san parfick you 'peak 'bout was a great snake-killer in yur country. i wish he had been in de island of mozabeek on dat same mornin'. pahps dis nigger might still hab a fadder an' a modder. he loss dem boaf on de occasion we now 'peak ob. you see de snake, after enclosin' de kraal twice roun' wif him body, left enuf ob de neck to reach all ober de place; den stretchin' out him mouf, dat war wide nuf to swaller a man 'ithout chewin' him, he went from house to house, pickin' out de people, till der want one lef', neider man, woman, nor chile. he eat up de chief ob de kraal jess de same as de commonest scum ob de village. as fo' de piccaninnies, he swallow dem eight or ten at a time, jess de same as we see de ant-eater do wif de ants. boaf de men an' de women an' de chillen try to 'scape out ob de place. 'twa'n't no manner ob use. when dey tried to climb ober de body ob de snake, de ole debbil gub hisself a shake, an' down dey slipped from him sides, as if him skin had been coated from de slush cask. ob course da wa' soon all destroyed." "but yerself, mozey; how did yez manage to 'scape?" "ah, how! dat wor de bess joke ob de whole. as i's been tellin' you, i war at de time only a piccaninny, 'bout ten years ob de age. i war considered 'bove de common for dat age, an' wa' employed in de house ob de chief which war called de palace. well, jess when i see dat great big mouf sarchin' from place to place an' swallerin' up ebberybody, i know it wan't no use to hide down dar among de houses. now dar war a big pole dat stood righ' in front ob de palace, wif a flag floatin' on de top. when de odder folk war runnin' about ebbery wha else, i climbed up de pole, an' when i got to de top, i drawed de flag roun' me, so as to hide de whole ob my body. when dat 'ere debbil ob de woods had finished off wif de oder people, and cleared out de kraal complete, he nebber thought 'bout lookin' up de pole, or 'spectin' whether tha wa' anybody wrop up in de flag at de top. dis chile kep' up dar till he see de snake 'tretch out him long body, an' go back to de big foress. den i slip down from de tree, an' make my way to de nearest place wha da war people. as boaf my fadder and modder had been eat up 'long wi' de ress, i atterwards left home an' tuk to de sea. dat's why dis nigger hab wandered all de way fom dat 'ere island ob mozabeek. buf! de snake we see here, de spirit ob de water, a'n't no more to de debbil ob de woods dan a tadpole am to de biggest alligator in all de waters ob de amazum." chapter seventy nine. saint patrick's performance. notwithstanding the serious air with which mozey told his very improbable story, tom did not appear to give implicit credence to it. he evidently suspected that the rogue had been cheating him; and, after several exclamations of wonder, but without betraying incredulity, he sat in silence, apparently cogitating some scheme for repaying him. it was not long before an opportunity offered, his companion unintentionally furnishing him with a cue. "i's hab heer, massa tum, dat dar am no snake in de country wha you come from. dat 'ere de troof?" "yis. nayther snake nor toad in owld oireland,--nayther could live for a single hour, if ye plants them thare. the green island wudn't contain thim bekase they're condimned to die the moment they sit fut on the sod." "but what condemn dem?" "saint pathrick, to be shure. trath, thare's a story about that. may be yez wud loike to be afther hearin' it, mozey?" "like um berry much, massy tum." "will, thin, i'll till it to yer. it isn't such a wondherful story as yours; but it had a betther indin', as yer'll see when ye've heerd it. instid av the snakes killin' all the people exciptin' wan, the riptiles got killed thimsilves, all but wan,--that was the father of ivry sirpint in the world. he's livin' yit, an' must now be about five thousand years uv age. so the praste sez. "a long toime ago, owld oireland was very badly infisted wid thim craythers. they wur so thick all over the swate island, that yez cudn't sit your fut down widout triddin' on wan av their tails; an' to kape out av their way the people had to build a great scaffoldin' that extinded all over the counthry, and slape on the threes, just as we've been doin' over the gyapo. "whiniver they wanted anythin' to ate, such as purtaties, an' the loike, they were compilled to git it up from the ground wid long forks; and whin they wur in need to dhrink, they had to dip it up in buckets, as if they were drawin' it out av a well. "av coorse this was moighty inconvanient, an' cudn't last long no how. the worst ov it was, that the snakes, instid ov gettin' thinned off, were ivery year growin' thicker, by razin ov their large families ov young wuns. will, it got so bad at last that ther' wusn't a spot av groun' bigger than the bunch ov your hand that warn't occupoyed by a snake, an' in some places they were two deep. the people up on the platform that i towld yez about, they cursed an' swore, an' raged, an' raved, an' at last prayed to be delivered from the inimy." here tom paused to note the effect of his speech on his sable listener. "but dey war delibbered,--wur dey?" "trath, wur they. if they hadn't, is it at all loikely that yer wud see me here? will, the people prayed. not as your countrymen prays, to a stick or a stone, or beloike to the sarpints themselves, that could do them no benefit; but to a lady, that was able to protect them. we, in owld oireland, call her the virgin mary. she was the mother av him that came down from the siventh heaven to save us poor sinners. but what's the use of my tryin' to explain all that to an ignorant haythen, loike you?" "no use, massa tum, no use," rejoined the african, in a tone of resignation. "never moind, mozey. the lady heerd their prayer, and that was an ind to it." "she killed da snakes!" "arrah now; did yez think the virgin mary--a raal lady as she was--ud be afther doin' such dhirty work as slaughter a whole island full of venomous sarpents? not a bit av that same. it's true they were desthroyed; but not by her own swate hands. she sinds a man to do the work for her. she sint sant pathrick." "o, i's heerd ye 'peak ob dat man, many's de time, massa tum. 'twur him dat kill de serpents, wur it?" "trath was it." "but how'd he do it? it muss hab take um a berry long time to destroy um all." "there ye are intirely asthray, nager. it only occupied him wan day, an' not all the day nayther, for he had done the work a thrifle ov a hour or so afther dinner-time." "gollys! how'd he do all dat?" "will! ye see, he invited all the snakes to a grand banquit. he had such a charmin' way wid him that they wun an' all agreed to come. the place was on the top of a high mountain,--called the hill of howth,--far hoigher than any in the andays we saw when crossin' thare. the faste he had provided for them was a colliction of toads, includin' every wun ov thim that inhabited the island. the toads he had invited too; an' the stupid craythers, not suspictin' anythin', come willingly to the place. "now yez must undherstand, nager, that the snakes are moighty fond of toads, and frogs too; but saint pathrick had no ill-will against the frogs, an' they wur exchused from comin'. as it was, the toads wur axed at an earlier hour than the snakes, an' got first to the top of the hill; an' while they were waitin' there to see what was to be done, the sarpints came glidin' up, and bein' tould that their dinner was spread before them, they fell to, an' swallowed up every toad upon the hill, which was every wun there was in all oireland." the narrator made a long pause, either to draw breath after such a declamation, or to give time for his companion to indulge his astonishment. "gora!" exclaimed the latter, impatient for further explanation. "how 'bout de snakes demselves? surely dey didn't swallow one anodder?" "trath! an' that's jest what they did do,--every mother's son of thim." "but dat 'ere doan' 'tan' to reezun, unless dey hab a fight one wif de odder? splain yourself, massa tum." "will, yez have guessed it exactly widout my sayin' a word. they _did_ have a foight, that went all roun' through the whole crowd, like a shindy in donnybrook fair. yez would loike to hear how it begun. will, i'll tell ye. there was two kinds av the riptile. wan they called `ribbon snakes,' an' the tother `orange snakes,' by razon av their colour, both in politics and religion. they had a king over both that lived moighty foine at their expinse. but he couldn't manage to keep thim continted with payin' him taxes, unless by sittin' the wan agaynst the tother. an' this he did to the full av his satisfacshin. now the bad blood that was betwane thim showed itself at that great gatherin' worse than iver it had done afore. thare wasn't toads enough to give them all a full male; and by way of dissart they thought they'd turn to an' ate wun another. av course that was just what sant pathrick wanted; for he wasn't plazed at their having two sorts of religion. so the ould praste hugged thim on in the quarrel, till it come to blows, an' inded in both kinds killin' an' atin' wun another till there was nothing lift av ayther exceptin' the tails." "golly! what becomed of de tails?" "o, thim? the people jumped down from the scaffolds and gathered thim up into a hape, and thin made a great bonfire av thim, and aftherwardt spred the ashes over the groun'; and that's what makes ould oireland the greenest gim av the oshin." "but, massa tum, you hab say dat one ob de snakes 'scape from the genr'l congregation?" "trath did i say it. wun did escape, an' 's livin' to make mischief in ould oireland to this very day." "which one was he?" "their king." "de king. how you call um, massa tipprary?" "the divvel." chapter eighty. lights ahead. the expression of incredulity had now floated from the countenance of the irishman to that of the african, who in turn suspected himself imposed upon. the leer in tom's eye plainly declared that he considered himself "quits" with his companion; and the two remained for some moments without further exchange of speech. when the conversation was resumed, it related to a theme altogether different. it was no longer on the subject of snakes, but stars. the pilot perceived that the one hitherto guiding him was going out of sight,--not by sinking below the horizon, but because the sky was becoming overcast by thick clouds. in ten minutes more there was not a star visible; and, so far as direction went, the helm might as well have been abandoned. tom, however, stuck to his paddle, for the purpose of steadying the craft; and the breeze, as before, carried them on in a direct course. in about an hour after, this gave token of forsaking them; and, at a still later period, the log lay becalmed upon the bosom of the lagoa. what, next? should they awake the others and communicate the unpleasant intelligence? tom was of opinion that they should, while the negro thought it would be of no use. "better let dem lie 'till," argued he, "and hab a good night ress. can do no good wake um up. de ole craff muss lay to all de same, till dar come anodder whif ob de wind!" while they were disputing the points, or rather after they had done disputing, and each held his tongue, a sound reached their ears that at once attracted the attention of both. it was rather a chorus of sounds, not uttered at intervals, but continued all the time they were listening. it bore some resemblance to a distant waterfall; but now and then, mingling with the hoarser roaring of the torrent, were voices as of birds, beasts, and reptiles. none of them were very distinct. they appeared to come from some point at a great distance off. still, they were loud enough to be distinguished, as sounds that could not proceed out of the now tranquil bosom of the lagoa. perhaps they might sooner have attracted the notice of the two men, but for the sighing of the breeze against the sail, and the rippling of the water as it rushed along the sides of the ceiba. when these sounds had ceased, the conversation that ensued produced the same effect; and it was only after the dispute came to a close that the disputants were made aware that something besides their own voices was disturbing the tranquillity of the night. "what is it, i wondher?" was the remark of tipperary tom. "can yez tell, mozey?" "it hab berry much de soun' ob a big forress!" "the sound av a forest? what div yez mane by that?" "wha' shud i mean, but de voices ob de animal dat lib in de forress. de birds an' de beast, an' de tree frogs, an' dem 'ere crickets dat chirps 'mong de trees. dat's what dis nigger mean." "i b'lieve ye're right, nager. it's just that same. it can't be the wather, for that's did calm; an' it can't purceed from the sky, for it don't come in that direction. in trath it's from the forest, as ye say." "in dat case, den, we muss be near de odder side ob de lagoa, as de indyun call um,--jess wha we want to go." "sowl, thin, that's good news! will we wake up the masther an' till him av it? what do yez think?" "dis nigga tink better not. let um all sleep till de broke ob day. dat can't be far off by dis time. i hab an idee dat i see de furs light ob mornin' jess showin' out yonner, at de bottom ob de sky. gora! what's yon? dar, dar! 'trait afore de head. by golly! dar's a fire out yonner, or someting dat hab de shine ob one. doan ye see it, massa tum?" "trath, yis; i do see somethin' shinin'. it a'n't them fire-flies, div yez think?" "no! 'ta'n't de fire-fly. dem ere flits about. yon ting am steady, an' keeps in de same place." "there's a raal fire yandher, or else it's the willy-wisp. see! be me troth thare's two av thim. div yez see two?" "dar _am_ two." "that can't be the willy-wisp. he's niver seen in couples,--at laste, niver in the bogs av oireland. what can it be?" "what can which be?" asked trevannion, who, at this moment awaking, heard the question put by tom to the negro. "och, look yandher! don't yez see a fire?" "certainly; i see something very like one,--or rather two of them." "yis, yis; there's two. mozey and meself have just discovered thim." "and what does mozey think they are?" "trath, he's perplixed the same as meself. we can't make hid or tail av thim. if there had been but wan, i'd a sayed it was a willy-wisp." "will-o'-the-wisp! no, it can scarce be that,--the two being together. ah! i hear sounds." "yes, masther, we've heerd thim long ago." "why didn't you awake us? we must have drifted nearly across the lagoa. those sounds, i should say, come out of the forest, and that, whatever it is, must be among the trees. munday! munday!" "hola!" answered the indian, as he started up from his squatting attitude: "what is it, patron? anything gone wrong?" "no: on the contrary, we appear to have got very near to the other side of the lagoa." "yes, yes!" interrupted the indian as soon as the forest noises fell upon his ear; "that humming you hear must come thence. _pa terra_! lights among the trees!" "yes, we have just discovered them. what can they be?" "fires," answered the indian. "you think it is not fire-flies?" "no; the _loengos_ do not show that way. they are real fires. there must be people there." "then there is land, and we have at last reached _terra firma_." "the lord be praised for that," reverently exclaimed the irishman. "our throubles will soon be over." "may be not, may be not," answered the mundurucu, in a voice that betrayed both doubt and apprehension. "why not, munday?" asked trevannion. "if it be fires we see, surely they are on the shore; and kindled by men. there should be some settlement where we can obtain assistance?" "ah, patron! nothing of all that need follow from their being fires; only that there must be men. the fires need only be on the shore, and as for the men who made them, instead of showing hospitality, just as like they make take a fancy to eat us." "eat us! you mean that they may be cannibals?" "just so, patron. likely as not. it's good luck," pursued the tapuyo, looking around, "the wind went down, else we might have been carried too close. i must swim towards yon lights, and see what they are, before we go any nearer. will you go with me, young master?" "o, certainly!" replied richard, to whom the question was addressed. "well, then," continued the tapuyo, speaking to the others, "you must not make any loud noise while we are gone. we are not so very distant from those fires,--a mile or thereabout; and the water carries the sound a long ways. if it be enemies, and they should hear us, there would be no chance of escaping from them. come, young master, there's not a minute to spare. it must be very near morning. if we discover danger, we shall have but little time to got out of its way in the darkness; and that would be our only hope. come! follow me!" as the indian ceased speaking, he slipped gently down into the water, and swam off to the two lights whose gleam appeared every moment more conspicuous. "don't be afraid, rosetta," said richard, as he parted from his cousin. "i warrant it'll turn out to be some plantation on the bank, with a house with lights shining through the windows, and white people inside, where we'll all be kindly received, and get a new craft to carry us down to para. good by for the present! we'll soon be back again with good news." so saying, he leaped into the water and swam off in the wake of the tapuyo. chapter eighty one. an aerial village. the swimmers had not made many hundred yards when they saw beyond doubt that the forest was not far off. it was even nearer than they had at first imagined, the darkness having deceived them; and perhaps the log may have drifted nearer while they were under the impression that they lay becalmed. at all events, they were now scarcely a quarter of a mile from the forest, which they knew stretched along the horizon as far as they could have seen had it been daylight. they could only just distinguish a dark belt or line rising above the surface of the water before them; but that this extended right and left to a far distance could be told from the sounds that came from it. there was the hum of tree-crickets and cicadas, the _gluck_ of toads and frogs, the screams of aquatic birds, the hooting of owls, and the strange plaintive calls of the goat-suckers, of which several species inhabit the gapo forests; the whip-poor-will and the "willy-come-go" all the night long giving utterance to their monotonous melody. harsher still were the cries proceeding from the throats of howling monkeys, with now and then the melancholy moaning of the _ai_, as it moved slowly through the branches of the _embauba_ (cecropia-tree). all these sounds, and a score of other kinds,--some produced by insects and reptiles of unknown species,--were blended in that great choir of nature which fills the tropical forest with its midnight music. the two swimmers, however, paid no attention to this fact; their whole thoughts being occupied by the lights, that, as they advanced, grew every moment more conspicuous. there was no longer any doubt about these being the blaze of fires. it was simply a question of where the fires were burning, and who had kindled them. the young paraense supposed them to be upon the shore of the lagoa. about this, however, his companion expressed a doubt. they did not seem to burn steadily, their discs appearing now larger and now less. sometimes one would go out altogether, then blaze up afresh, while another was as suddenly extinguished. the younger of the two swimmers expressed astonishment at this intermittence, which his companion easily explained. the fires, he said, were placed at some distance from the edge of the forest, among the trees, and it was by some tree-trunk now and then intervening that the illusion was caused. silently the swimmers approached, and in due time they glided in under the shadow of the thick foliage, and saw the fires more distinctly. to the astonishment of richard--for the tapuyo did not seem at all astonished--they did not appear to be on the ground, but up in the air! the paraense at first supposed them to have been kindled upon the top of some eminence; but, on scanning them more closely, he saw that this could not be the case. their gleaming red light fell upon water shining beneath, over which, it was clear, they were in some way suspended. as their eyes became accustomed to the glare, the swimmers could make out that the fires were upon a sort of scaffold raised several feet above the water, and supported by the trunks of the trees. other similar scaffolds could be seen, on which no fires had been kindled,-- from the fact, no doubt, that their occupants were not yet astir. by the blaze human figures were moving to and fro, and others were on the platforms near by, which were more dimly illuminated; some entering, some coming forth from "toldos," or sheds, that stood upon them. hammocks could be seen suspended from free to tree, some empty, and some still holding a sleeper. all this was seen at a single glance, while at the same time were heard voices, that had been hitherto drowned by the forest choir, but could now be distinguished as the voices of men, women, and children,--such as might be heard in some rural hamlet, whose inhabitants were about bestirring themselves for their daily avocations. the tapuyo, gliding close up to the paraense, whispered in his ear, "a malocca!" "an indian village!" richard rejoined. "we've reached _tierra firme_, then?" "not a bit of it, young master. if the dry land had been near, those fires wouldn't be burning among the tree-tops." "at all events, we are fortunate in falling in with this curious malocca, suspended between heaven and earth. are we not so?" "that depends on who they are that inhabit it. it may be that we've chanced upon a tribe of cannibals." "cannibals! do you think there are such in the gapo?" "there are savages in the gapo who would torture before killing,--you, more especially, whose skins are white, remember, with bitterness, what first drove them to make their home in the midst of the water-forests,-- the white slave-hunters. they have reason to remember it; for the cruel chase is still kept up. if this be a malocca of muras, the sooner we get away, the safer. they would show you whites no mercy, and less than mercy to me, a red man like themselves. we mundurucus are their deadliest enemies. now, you lie still, and listen. let me hear what they are saying. i know the mura tongue. if i can catch a word it will be sufficient. hush!" not long had they been listening, when the indian started, an expression of anxiety suddenly overspreading his features, as his companion could perceive by the faint light of the distant fires. "as i expected," said he, "they are muras. we must be gone, without a moment's loss of time. it will be as much as we can do to paddle the log out of sight before day breaks. if we don't succeed in doing so, we are all lost. once seen, their canoes would be too quick for us. back, back to the monguba!" chapter eighty two. a slow retreat: in the arcade. their report spread consternation among the crew. trevannion, incredulous of the existence of such bloodthirsty savages as munday represented the muras to be, was disposed to treat it as an exaggeration. the young paraense, who, when in his father's house, had met many of the up-river traders, and heard them conversing on this very theme, was able to endorse what the mundurucu said. it was well-known to the traders that there were tribes of wild indians inhabiting the gapo lands, who during the season of the inundation made their home among the tree-tops,--that some of these were cannibals, and all of them savages of a most ferocious type, with whom an encounter in their native wilds, by any party not strong enough to resist them, might prove both dangerous and deadly. there was no time to argue; and without further opposition the ex-miner himself sprang to one of the paddles, the tapuyo taking the other. they had no idea of going back across the lagoa. to have proceeded in that direction would have been to court discovery. with such slow progress as theirs, a mile would be about all they could make before daybreak; and, out on the open water, their craft would be distinguishable at three times that distance. the course counselled by the tapuyo was to keep at first parallel to the line of the trees; and then enter among these as soon as the dawn began. as the party retreated, not two, but ten fires were seen gleaming among the trees, filling the forest with their bright coruscation. the tapuyo explained that each new light denoted the uprising of a fresh family, until the whole malocca was astir. the fires were kindled to cook the breakfast of the indians. notwithstanding this domestic design, our adventurers looked back upon them with feelings of apprehension; for they were not without fears that, roasted over those very fires, they might furnish the savages with the material for a cannibal repast! to all appearance never did the ceiba go slower,--never lie so dull upon the water. despite the vigorous straining of strong arms, it scarcely seemed to move. the sail was of no service, as there was not a breath of air, but was rather an obstruction; and, seeing this, mozey let loose the halyards and gently lowered it. they had hardly made half a mile from the point of starting, when they saw the dawn just appearing above the tops of the trees. they were upon the equator itself, where between dawn and daylight there is but a short interval of time. knowing this, the craft was turned half round, and pulled towards a place of concealment. as they moved on to make it, they could see the sunlight stealing over the surface of the water, and the fires becoming paler at its approach. in ten minutes more, daylight would be upon them! it was now a struggle against time,--a trial of speed between the ceiba and the sun,--both slowly approaching a critical point in their course. trevannion and the tapuyo plied the paddles as men rowing for their lives and the lives of others dear to them. they almost felt as if the sun favoured them; for he not only seemed to suspend his rising, but to sink back in his course. perhaps it was only the shadow of the trees, under which they had now entered. at all events, they were in the midst of obscurity, propelling the dead-wood into the embouchure of an igarape, overshadowed with drooping trees, that, like a dark cavern, promised them a hiding-place. at the moment of entering, it was so dark they could not tell how far the opening extended. in this uncertainty they suspended the stroke of their paddles, and suffered the ceiba to come to a standstill. as yet they had no other light than that afforded by the fire-flies that flitted under about the trees. but these were of the large species, known as _cocuyos (elater noctilucus_), one of which, when held over the page of a printed book, enables a person to read; and as there were many of them wandering about, their united sparkle enabled our adventurers to make out that the creek was of very limited extent. gradually, as the sun rose higher, his light fell gently glimmering through the leaves, and showed that the arcade was a _cul de sac_, extending only about a hundred yards into the labyrinth of branches and parasitical plants. they had entered, so to speak, a court through which there was no thoroughfare; and there they must remain. they could only get out of it by taking to the tree-tops, or else by returning to the open lagoa. but they had had enough of travelling through the tree-tops, while to abandon the craft that had carried them so comfortably, and that might still avail them, was not to be thought of. as to returning to the open water, that would be like delivering themselves into the very jaws of the danger they were desirous to avoid; for, once seen by the savages, there would not be the slightest chance of escape. they were provided with canoes moored among the tree-trunks that formed the supports of their aerial habitations. clumsy structures enough; but, no matter how clumsy or slow, they were swifter than the dead-wood; and in the event of a chase the latter would be easily overhauled and captured. only one course offered any prospect of safety,--to remain all day in the arcade, trusting that none of the savages might have any business near the place. at night they could steal out again, and by an industrious use of their paddles put a safer distance between themselves and the dangerous denizens of the malocca. having determined on this, they drew their craft into the darkest corner, and, making it fast to a tree, prepared to pass the time in the pleasantest possible manner. there was not much pleasure sitting in that silent, sombre shadow; especially as they were in dread that its silence might be disturbed by the wild shout of a savage. they had taken every precaution to escape discovery. the little fire left burning upon the log had been extinguished by munday, immediately on seeing the two lights first described. they would fain have rekindled it, to cook a breakfast; but fearing that the smoke might be seen, they chose that morning to eat the charqui raw. after breakfast they could do nothing but keep their seats, and await, with such patience as they might command, the development of events. it was not all darkness around them. as the little creek penetrated the trees in a straight line, they commanded a view of a portion of the lagoa. their situation was very similar to that of a person inside a grotto or cavern on the sea-shore, which commands a view of the ocean stretching away from its mouth, the bright space gradually widening as it recedes in the distance. though themselves seated in the midst of obscurity, they could see brightness beyond the opening of the bay,--the sun shining with a golden gleam upon the water. on this their eyes were kept,--not in the hope of seeing anything there that might give them gratification, but rather desiring that nothing should be seen. notwithstanding the obscurity that surrounded them, they could not divest themselves of the idea that one passing the entrance of the creek could see them distinctly enough; and this kept them in constant apprehension. they had no need to keep watch in any other direction. behind them, and on each side, extended the unbroken wall of tree-tops, shaded with llianas, worked and woven together into a network that appeared impenetrable even to the wild animals of the forest. who would have looked for an enemy in human shape to come that way? up to noon no incident occurred to disturb the tranquillity of the place or in any way add to their apprehensions. now and then a bird appeared, winging its way over the bright band illumined by the sun, or poising itself for a moment and then plunging downward upon some prey it had detected in the water. all these appearances only increased their confidence; as the presence of the birds, undisturbed at their ordinary avocations, indicated the absence of human beings. the same conclusion was drawn from the behaviour of a brace of large fish-cows, at some distance outside, directly in front of the arcade. when first noticed, they were engaged in some sort of rude gambol, at which they continued for a full half-hour. after that, one of them swam off, while the other, laying itself along the water, appeared to go to sleep. it was a tantalising sight to the eyes of the old tapuyo; and it was just as much as he could do to restrain himself from swimming out and attacking the sleeper, either with his knife or the pashuba spear. the danger, however, would have been too great, not from a conflict with the cow, but of being seen by the sharp-eyed savages. in view of this, the mundurucu resisted the temptation, and consented, though not without reluctance, to let the peixe-boi continue its slumbers uninterrupted. chapter eighty three. following the float. unfortunately for our adventurers, as well as for the cow-fish itself, other eyes than those of the tapuyo had been watching the gambols of the two cetaceans, and had paid particular attention to the one now taking its siesta on the surface. neither munday nor his companions had any suspicion of this; for, excepting the peixe-boi itself, no living creature was in sight. having observed it for a considerable length of time, still reclining in its attitude of repose, they had almost ceased to think of it; when all at once it was seen to spring clear out of the water, and, after making two or three grotesque plunges, sink suddenly below the surface! the action was too violent and unnatural to be voluntary. the peixe-boi had evidently been assailed in its sleep by some enemy, from which it was but too eager to retreat. but what could this enemy be? the tapuyo knew of nothing _under_ the water that was likely to have made the attack. there are no sharks nor swordfish in the gapo, and an alligator would scarcely dare to meddle with a creature of such enormous dimensions. much less could an enemy have come from the air. there is no bird in south america, not even the great condor itself, that would think of swooping down upon a peixe-boi. some of the party said that they had seen something glancing towards the cow-fish at the moment it made the leap,--something that looked like a flash of lightning! what could that be? there was no cloud in the sky, no thunder. it could not have been lightning. "_pa terra_!" exclaimed the tapuyo, in evident alarm. "i know what it was. keep quiet or we are lost!" "what was it?" "a harpoon,--look yonder, patron! don't you see the water in motion where the juaroua went down?" "certainly i do. that's very natural. the waves are caused by the plunging of the animal." "the waves! not that; look again. you see a thin ripple. there's a cord making it. yonder's the float! and close behind that you will see something more. there, there he is!" sure enough, there was a rippling line caused by a cord drawn rapidly along the surface; at the end of this a small buoy of wood dragged rapidly after, and close behind a canoe, with an indian in it, the indian in a bent attitude, plying his paddle, and evidently in pursuit of the wounded cow-fish. the log was a "float," the line drawing it along was at its other end attached to a harpoon, and that harpoon had its barbs buried in the body of the peixe-boi! such a specimen of a human being, even for a savage, none of the spectators--the tapuyo perhaps excepted--had ever beheld. he was as naked as if he had never been outside the garden of eden; and this very nakedness displayed a form that, but for the absence of a hairy covering, more resembled that of a monkey than a man. a body extremely attenuated, yet pot-bellied, too; a pair of long, thin arms, with legs to match, the latter knotted at the knees, the former balled at the elbows; a huge head, seemingly larger from its mop of matted hair; a face with high cheeks and sunken eyes,--gave him an appearance more demoniac than human. no wonder that little rosa screamed as he came in sight, and that dismay exhibited itself on the features of several others of the party. "hush!" whispered munday. "silence all! not a word, or we shall be seen, and then not he, but perhaps a hundred of his tribe--hush!" fortunately the scream of rosita had been only slight; and the savage, in eager pursuit of the peixe-boi, had not heard it, for he continued the chase without pause. he had no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of his game. the float guided him; for, no matter where the cow went, the tether was still attached to her, and the movement of the log along the surface betrayed to the eye of her pursuer every change of direction. two or three times, the savage, dropping his paddle, was enabled to lay hold of the line and commence hauling in; but the great strength of the juaroua, as yet unexhausted, proved too much for him, and he was compelled to let go or be pulled out of his craft. the latter was but a frail concern, of the smallest and rudest kind,-- consisting of a shell of bark, gathered up at both ends and tied by sipos, so as to give it somewhat the shape of an ordinary canoe. even when paddling with all his strength, its owner could make no great speed; but great speed was not required in the chase of a peixe-boi with a barbed spear sticking through its skin and rankling between its ribs. it only required patience, until the huge creature should become exhausted with its struggles and enfeebled by the loss of blood. then might the conquest be completed without either difficulty or danger. for twenty minutes or more the chase continued; the float being dragged hither and thither, until it had crossed the water in almost every direction. sometimes both log and canoe were in sight, sometimes only one of them, and sometimes neither,--at such times the cow-fish having passed far beyond the limits of clear water visible to the spectators. on the last of these occasions, several minutes had elapsed before the chase came again in sight. our adventurers were in hopes they would see no more of either fish, float, or follower. the interest they might otherwise have taken in such a curious spectacle was destroyed by the thought of the danger that would result in their being discovered. just as they had begun to congratulate themselves that they were to be spared this misfortune, the float once more came before their eyes, still being dragged along the surface, but with much less rapidity than when last seen. the manatee was coming into the arcade, the canoe following close after, with the hideous savage eagerly plying his paddle, while, with outstretched neck and wild, scintillating orbs, he peered inquiringly into the darkness before him! there was no chance to escape discovery. chapter eighty four. a cannibal captured. the fears of those standing upon the ceiba could not have been greater than that of the savage himself, as his canoe came bumping against the dead-wood, and he saw standing above him a crowd of human forms. a wild cry escaping from his lips expressed his terror and astonishment. then a second, in louder tone, was intended to give the alarm to his kindred, who might possibly hear it. with an indian, as with the wild animals, presence of mind is rather an instinct than an act of reason. instead of being disconcerted by what he saw, and losing time to recover himself, the mura at once plunged his paddle into the water, and commenced beating backward, assisted by the recoil of the canoe, which, on striking the dead-wood, had rebounded from it by the violence of the collision. in a moment he had sculled himself almost clear of the arcade; he was already within a few feet of its mouth, and would soon be back upon the open lagoa, when he would undoubtedly make for the malocca, and bring the whole tribe of cannibals upon them. none of the party thought of pursuing him. there was an attempt made to seize the canoe at the moment of its closing upon the log, but the craft had recoiled so suddenly after the collision, and been paddled so rapidly out of reach, that it all ended in tipperary tom getting soused in the water, and nearly drowned before he could be dragged out again. the attempt at seizure might have had a different result had munday been among those who made it. but he was not. he was nowhere to be seen upon the log, nor anywhere else! what had become of him? none of them could say. little rosa was the only one who could give any explanation of his absence. she thought she had seen him slip off at the back of the log, while the canoe was coming on in front. she was not sure, it was so dark upon that side; and she had been too much engaged in regarding the approach of the savage. had he made off to conceal himself among the tree-tops? had he gone to secure his own safety, and abandoned his friends to their fate? they could not think this. such a cowardly act would have been contrary to all they knew of the brave mundurucu, whose faithfulness had so many times been put to the severest test. no one could account for it. just at that critical moment when the canoe had reached the mouth of the arcade, a dark round thing, like a human head, rose up in the water some six feet before it, and then another dark thing, wonderfully like a human hand, shot up beside the head, followed by a long and sinewy arm. the hand was seen to strike upward and clutch the canoe close by the stem; and then the craft went down, one end under water, while the other flew up into the air; then there was a capsize,--the savage, with a shriek and a loud plash, falling out; and then there was a struggle,-- now under water, now above the surface,--accompanied by strange choking noises, as if two enormous alligators were engaged in a conflict of life and death. as the astonished spectators continued to gaze upon the scene,--still but imperfectly comprehended by them,--they saw that the combatants were coming nearer, as if the struggle was being carried on towards the end of the arcade, and was likely to terminate where they stood. and there it did end, immediately after, by the missing tapuyo making his appearance alongside the log, and dragging beside him the man who had made that involuntary "header" from the canoe. the latter no longer resisted. the knife-blade glittering between munday's teeth--a taste of whose quality the savage had already experienced--hindered him from offering any further resistance; and as they came up to the log, the two were swimming side by side peaceably, only that the action of one was evidently involuntary, while the other was directing it. it was more like the companionship of a policeman and a thief, than that of two swimmers who chanced to be going the same way. one arm of the mura was clutched by the mundurucu, as if the captive was partly supported while being dragged along. "reach out there, patron, and pull him up!" cried munday, as he conducted his captive alongside the log. "i don't want to kill the animal, though that might be the safest way in the end." "no, no, don't do that!" returned trevannion, who now, along with all the others, had arrived at a full comprehension of the affair. "we can keep him secure enough; and, if his shouts have not been heard, we need not fear having him along with us." as the patron spoke, he reached down, and, laying hold of the captive, drew him close to the side of the dead-wood. then, assisted by munday in the water and mozey upon the log, the mura was hoisted aboard. once upon the dead-wood, a more abject wretch than the captive mura could not have been found. he trembled from head to foot,--evidently believing that he was about to be killed, and perhaps eaten. he had only consented to be taken in the knowledge--which munday had in some way conveyed to him--that resistance could but end in instant death; and there are few, even amongst the most reckless of savages, who will not yield to this. as he stood dripping upon the dead-wood, a red stream, trickling down his wet skin from a knife-wound in the shoulder, explained how the tapuyo had made known to him the idleness of resistance. it was a first stab, and not dangerous; but it had given a foretaste of what was to follow, had the struggle been kept up. after receiving this hint, the mura had surrendered; and the after commotion was caused by his being towed through the water by a captor who was required to use all his strength and energy in supporting him. while the canoe-man was advancing up the arcade, the mundurucu, instead of waiting till he came near, had dropped quietly into the water, and swum in an outward direction, as if intending to meet the manatee-hunter, face to face. this he actually did,--met and passed him, but without being seen. the darkness favoured him, as did also the commotion already caused by the wounded cow-fish, which in its passage up the creek had left large waves upon the water. these, striking against the trunks of the trees, created a still further disturbance, amidst which the swimmer's dark face and long swarthy locks could not have been easily distinguished. supporting himself by a branch, he awaited the return of the savage,-- knowing that as soon as the latter set eyes upon the others he would instantly beat a retreat. all turned out just as the tapuyo had anticipated; and just as he had designed did he deal with the canoe-man. in all this, the only thing that appeared singular was the tapuyo's taking so much pains to go out near the entrance, instead of boldly laying hold of the canoe as it passed him on its way inwards, or indeed of waiting for it upon the log,--where any one of the others, had he been a strong swimmer and armed with a knife, might have effected the capture. munday, however, had good reasons for acting as he had done. while the canoe was approaching, who could tell that it would come close up? it had done so, even to striking the dead-wood with its bow; but munday could not rely upon such a chance as that. had the savage discovered their presence a little sooner, he would have turned and sculled off, before any swimmer could have come up with him. a similar reason was given for gliding stealthily past, and getting on the other side. had the mundurucu acted otherwise, he might have been perceived before he could seize the canoe, and so give time for the manatee-hunter to make off. as this last would have been a terrible contingency, rendering their discovery almost a certainty, the cunning old man knew how important it was that no mismanagement should occur in the carrying out of his design. "if that rascal's shout has been heard," said trevannion, "there will be but little chance of our escaping capture. from what you saw, i suppose there are hundreds of these hideous creatures. and we, without weapons, without the means either of attack or defence, what could we do? there would be nothing for it but to surrender ourselves as prisoners." the mundurucu was not able to offer a word of encouragement. to have attempted defence against a whole tribe of savages, armed, no doubt, with spears and poisoned arrows, would have been to rush madly on death. "it is fortunate," continued the ex-miner, "that you have not killed him." "why, patron?" demanded the tapuyo, apparently in some surprise. "it would have made them revengeful; and if we have the ill-luck to be taken, they would have been the more certain to destroy us." "no, no," answered the indian,--"not a bit more certain to do that. if, as you say, we have the bad luck to become their captives, we shall be killed all the same. their old revenge will be strong enough for that; and if not their revenge, they have an appetite that will insure our destruction. you understand, patron?" this conversation was carried on in a low tone, and only between trevannion and the tapuyo. "o heaven!" groaned the ex-miner, turning his eyes upon his children. "it would be a fearful fate for--for all of us." "the more reason for doing all we can to avoid falling into their hands." "but what can we do? nothing! if they discover our hiding-place before nightfall, then we shall surely be taken." "admit that, master; but if they do not--" "if they do not, you think there would be some hope of our getting away from them?" "a good hope,--a good hope." "on the raft?" "better than that, patron." "you have some plan?" "i've been thinking of one; but it's no use to speak of it, so long as we are in doubt this way. if we are left unmolested until night, then, patron, it will be time to declare it. could you but promise me that this screecher hasn't been heard, i think i could promise you that by midnight we should not only be beyond the reach of his bloodthirsty fellows, but in a fair way of getting out of our troubles altogether. ha! yonder's something must be looked to; i forgot that." "what?" "the _igarite_. how near it was to betraying us! its course must be stopped this instant." and he once more slipped down into the water and swam away. the canoe, out of which the mura had been so unceremoniously spilled, and which was now bottom upwards, was drifting outward. it was already within a few feet of the entrance, and in another minute would have been caught by the breeze stirring beyond the branches of the trees. once outside, it would soon have made way into the open lagoa, and would have formed a conspicuous mark for the eyes of the malocca. munday swam silently, but with all his strength, towards it. it must be reached before it could drift outside; and for some time there was apprehension in the minds of the spectators that this might not be done. the only one of them that would have been gratified by a failure was the captive mura. but the wretch showed no sign of his desire, knowing that there would be danger in his doing so. he was held fast in the strong arms of the negro; while tipperary tom stood near, ready to run him through with the spear in case of his making any attempt to escape. their apprehensions soon came to an end. the tapuyo overtook it before it had cleared the screening of tree-tops; and, laying hold of a piece of cord which was attached to its stem, took it in tow. in less than five minutes after, it might have been seen right side up, lying like a tender alongside the grand monguba. chapter eighty five. a day spent in shadow. all day long did our adventurers abide in silence, keeping close in their shadowy retreat. now and then only the mundurucu swam to the entrance of the arcade; and, screened by the trees, took a survey of the open water outside. he saw only a canoe, larger than that he had captured, with three men in it, out upon the lagoa, about two hundred yards from the edge, and opposite the malocca, which could not itself be seen, as it was some distance back among the trees; but, from the bearings he had taken on the night previous, the tapuyo knew where it lay. he watched the canoe so long as it remained in sight. the gestures of the savages who were in it showed that they were occupied in fishing, though what sort of fish they might be taking in the flooded lake munday could not guess. they stayed about an hour; and then, paddling their craft back among the trees, were seen no more. this gratified the tapuyo and those to whom he made his report. it was evidence that the harpooner had come out alone, and that, while striking the cow-fish, he had not been observed by any of his people. had that incident been witnessed, every canoe in possession of the tribe would have instantly repaired to the spot. since the killing of a juaroua is an event of rare occurrence in the season of the _vasante_, when it does transpire it causes the same joyful excitement in a malocca of amazonian indians as the capture of a great walrus would in a winter village of esquimaux. it was, therefore, quite clear to our adventurers, that no suspicion had been aroused as to the cause of the harpooner's absence from the malocca, and so they were enabled to endure their imprisonment with calmer confidence, and higher hopes of finally effecting their escape. how long would this state of things continue? how long might the mura be away before his absence should excite suspicion and lead to a search? "as to such a thing as this," said munday, pointing contemptuously to the shivering captive, "he'll no more be missed than would a coaita monkey that had strayed from its troop. if he's got a wife, which i don't suppose he has, she'll be only too glad to get rid of him. as for any one of them coming after him through affection, as you call it, there you're all out, patron. among muras there's no such feeling as that. if they'd seen him strike the juaroua it might have been different. then their stomachs would have brought them after him, like a flock of hungry vultures. but they haven't seen him; and unless chance guides some one this way we needn't be in any fear for to-day. as for the morrow, if they'll only stay clear till then, i think i can keep my promise, and we shall not only be beyond reach of muras, but out of this wretched lagoa altogether." "but you spoke of a plan, good munday; you have not yet told us what it is." "wait, master," he rejoined; "wait till midnight, till the lights go out in the mura village, and perhaps a little longer. then you shall know my plan by seeing it carried into execution." "but does it not require some preparations? if so, why not make them while it is daylight? it is now near night; and you may not have time." "just so, patron; but night is just the preparation i want,--that and this knife." here munday exhibited his shining blade, which caused the mura captive to tremble all over, thinking that his time was come. during all the day he had not seen them eat. they had no chance to kindle a fire for cooking purposes, apprehensive that the smoke, seen above the tree-tops, might betray them to the enemy. some of them, with stronger stomachs than the rest, had gnawed a little of the _charqui_ raw. most had eaten nothing, preferring to wait till they should have an opportunity of cooking it, which the mundurucu had promised them they should have before morning of the next day. their abstinence was altogether misunderstood by the mura. the wretch thought they were nursing their hunger to feed upon his flesh. could he have seen himself as he was in their eyes, he might have doubted the possibility of getting up such an appetite. they had taken due precautions to prevent his making his escape. tied hand and foot by the toughest sipos that could be procured, he was also further secured by being fastened to the monguba. a strong lliana, twisted into a rope, and with a turn round one of the buttress projections of the roots, held him, though this was superfluous, since any attempt to slide off into the water must have terminated by his going to the bottom, with neither hands nor feet free. they were determined, however, on making things doubly sure, as they knew that his escape would be the signal for their destruction. should he succeed in getting free, he would not need his canoe; he could get back to his village without that, for, as munday assured them, he could travel through the trees with the agility of an ape, or through the water with the power of a fish; and so could all his people, trained to the highest skill both in climbing and swimming, from the very nature of their existence. there was one point upon which trevannion had had doubts. that was, whether they were really in such danger from the proximity of this people as munday would have them believe. but the aspect of this savage, who could now be contemplated closely, and with perfect coolness, was fast solving these doubts; for no one could have looked in his face and noted the hideous expression there depicted without a feeling of fear, not to say horror. if his tribe were all like him,-- and the tapuyo declared that many of them were still uglier,--they must have formed a community which no sane man would have entered except upon compulsion. no wonder, then, that our adventurers took particular pains to keep their captive along with them, since a sure result of his escape would be that they would furnish a feast for the mura village. had he been left to himself, munday would have taken still surer precautions against his getting off; and it was only in obedience to the sternest commands of trevannion that he was withheld from acting up to the old adage, "dead men tell no tales." chapter eighty six. the cry of the jaguar. the night came on without any untoward incident; but no sooner was the sun fairly below the horizon than they became aware of a circumstance that caused them serious annoyance, if not absolute alarm. they saw the full round moon rising, and every indication of the most brilliant moonlight. the mundurucu, more than any of them, was chagrined at this, because of the importance of having a dark night for carrying out his scheme, whatever it was. in fact, he had declared that a dark night was indispensable, or, at all events, one very different from that which the twilight promised them. the original intention had been, as soon as night set in, to get the dead-wood once more into the open water, and then, if the wind should be in their favour, to bend the sail and glide off in any direction that would take them away from the malocca. if there should be no wind, they could use the paddles and creep round the edge of the lagoa, going as far as might be before another sun should expose them to view. it was doubtful whether they could row the dead-wood, before daybreak, beyond eyeshot of the savages; but if not, they could again seek concealment among the tree-tops, and wait for night to continue their retreat. this intention was likely to be defeated by the clear shining of a tropical moon. as she rose higher in the heavens, the lagoa became all white effulgence; and as there was not the slightest ripple upon the water, any dark object passing along its surface would have been seen almost as distinctly as by day. even the little canoe could not have been carried outside the edge of the trees without the danger of being seen from afar. that the entrance to the arcade and the tree-line outside could be seen from the malocca was a thing already determined, for the tapuyo had tested it during the day. through the foliage in front of the village he could see here and there some portions of the scaffoldings, with the _toldos_ erected upon them, while its position was also determined by the smoke rising from the different fires. as soon as night had come on, he and the young paraense had made a reconnoissance, and from the same place saw the reflection of the fires upon the water below, and the gleaming fires themselves. of course they who sat or stood around them could see them, should they attempt to go out with the monguba. this scheme, then, could only be resorted to should the moon be obscured, or "put out," as munday said, by clouds or fog. munday admitted that his plan _might_ be put in practice, without the interposition of either; but in this case it would be ten times more perilous, and liable to failure. in any case he did not intend to act until midnight. after that, any time would do before the hour of earliest daybreak. confiding in the craft of the old tapuyo, trevannion questioned him no further, but along with the rest waited as patiently as possible for the event. the water-forest was once more ringing with its nocturnal chorus. tree-toads and frogs were sending forth their metallic monotones; _cicadae_ and lizards were uttering their sharp _skirling_ notes, while birds of many kinds, night-hawks in the air, _strigidae_ among the trees, and water-fowl out upon the bosom of the lagoon, were all responding to one another. from afar came lugubrious vociferations from the throats of a troop of howling monkeys that had made their roost among the branches of some tall, overtopping tree; and once--what was something strange--was heard a cry different from all the rest, and on hearing which all the rest suddenly sank into silence. that was the cry of the jaguar tiger, the tyrant of the south american forest. munday recognised it on the instant, and so did the others; for they had heard it often before, while descending the solimoes. it would have been nothing strange to have heard it on the banks of the mighty river, or any of its tributaries. but in the gapo, it was not only strange, but significant, that scream of the jaguar. "surely," said trevannion on hearing it, "surely we must be in the neighbourhood of land." "how, patron?" replied the mundurucu, to whom the remark was particularly addressed. "because we hear the voice of the _jauarite_? sometimes the great tiger gets overtaken by the inundation, and then, like ourselves, has to take to the tree-tops. but, unlike us, he can swim whenever he pleases, and his instinct soon guides him to the land. besides, there are places in the gapo where the land is above water, tracts of high ground that during the _vasante_ become islands. in these the _jauarite_ delights to dwell. no fear of his starving there, since he has his victims enclosed, as it were, in a prison, and he can all the more conveniently lay his claws upon them. the cry of that _jauarite_ is no sure sign of dry land. the beast may be twenty miles from _terra firma_." while they were thus conversing, the cry of the jaguar once more resounded among the tree-tops, and again was succeeded by silence on the part of the other inhabitants of the forest. there was one exception, however; one kind of creatures not terrified into stillness by the voice of the great cat, whose own voices now heard in the interval of silence, attracted the attention of the listeners. they were the muras. sent forth from the malocca, their shouts came pealing across the water, and entered the shadowy aisle where our adventurers sat in concealment, with tones well calculated to cause fear; for nothing in the gapo gave forth a harsher or more lugubrious chant. munday, however, who had a thorough knowledge of the habits of his national enemies, interpreted their tones in a different sense, and drew good augury from them. he said that, instead of grief, they betokened joy. some bit of good luck had befallen them, such as the capture of a cow-fish, or a half-score of monkeys. the sounds signified feasting and frolic. there was nothing to denote that the sullen savage by their side was missed from among them. certainly he was not mourned in the malocca. the interpretation of the tapuyo fell pleasantly upon the ears of his auditors, and for a while they felt hopeful. but the gloom soon came back, at sight of that brilliant moon,--a sight that otherwise should have cheered them,--as she flooded the forest with her silvery light, till her rich rays, scintillating through the leafy llianas, fell like sparks upon the sombre surface of the water arcade. chapter eighty seven. the moon put out. midnight came, and still the moon shone too clear and bright. munday began to show uneasiness and anxiety. several times had he taken that short swim, like an otter from its earth or a beaver from its dome-shaped dwelling, each time returning to his companions upon the log, but with no sign of his having been gratified by the excursion. about the sixth trip since night had set in, he came swimming back to the dead-wood with a more pleased expression upon his countenance. "you've seen something that gratifies you?" said trevannion, interrogatively; "or heard it, perhaps?" "seen it," was the laconic reply. "what?" "a cloud." "a cloud! well?" "not much of a cloud, patron; no bigger than the spread skin of the cow-fish there; but it's in the east, and therefore in the direction of gran para. that means much." "what difference can it make in what direction it is?" "every difference! if from gran para 'tis up the great river. up the great river means rain,--perhaps thunder, lightning, a storm. a storm is just what we want." "o, now i see what you mean. well?" "i must go back to the mouth of the _igarape_, and take another look at the sky. have patience, patron, and pray for me to return with good news." so saying, the tapuyo once again slipped down into the water, and swam towards the entrance of the arcade. for a full half-hour was he absent; but long before his return the news he was to bring back had been told by signs that anticipated him. the moonbeams, hitherto seen striking here and there through the thinner screen of the foliage, had been growing dimmer and dimmer, until they were no longer discernible, and uniform darkness prevailed under the shadow of the trees. so dark had it become, that, when the swimmer returned to the ceiba, they were only warned of his approach by the slight plashing of his arms, and the next moment he was with them. "the time has come," said he, "for carrying out my scheme. i've not been mistaken in what i saw. the cloud, a little bit ago not bigger than the skin of the juaroua, will soon cover the whole sky. the rags upon its edge are already blinding the moon; and by the time we can get under the scaffolds of the malocca it will be dark enough for our purpose." "what! the scaffolds of the malocca! you intend going there?" "that is the intention, patron." "alone?" "no. i want one with me,--the young master." "but there is great danger, is there not?" suggested trevannion, "in going--" "in going there is," interrupted the tapuyo; "but more in not going. if we succeed, we shall be all safe, and there's an end of it. if we don't, we have to die, and that's the other end of it, whatever we may do." "but why not try our first plan? it's now dark enough outside. why can't we get off upon the raft?" "dark enough, as you say, patron. but you forget that it is now near morning. we couldn't paddle this log more than a mile before the sun would be shining upon us, and then--" "dear uncle," interposed the young paraense, "don't interfere with his plans. no doubt he knows what is best to be done. if i am to risk my life, it is nothing more than we're all doing now. let munday have his way. no fear but we shall return safe. do, dear uncle! let him have his way." as munday had already informed them, no preparation was needed,--only his knife and a dark night. both were now upon him, the knife in his waist-strap, and the dark night over his head. one other thing was necessary to the accomplishment of his purpose,--the captured canoe, which was already prepared, laying handy alongside the log. with a parting salute to all,--silent on the part of the tapuyo, but spoken by the young paraense, a hope of speedy return, an assurance of it whispered in the ear of rosita,--the canoe was shoved off, and soon glided out into the open lagoa. chapter eighty eight. an hour of suspense. scarce had the canoe with its living freight faded out of sight, when trevannion repented his rashness in permitting his nephew to risk his life in a scheme so ill understood as the tapuyo's. he had no suspicion of the indian's good faith. it was not that that caused him regret; only a certain compunction for having so easily consented to expose to a dread danger the life of his brother's son,--a life intrusted to his care, and for which he should be held answerable by that brother, should it be his fortune ever to see him again. but it was of no use to indulge in these regrets. they were now idle. the act which had caused them was beyond recall. the canoe must go on to its destination. what was that? trevannion could not even conjecture. he only knew that munday had started for the malocca; but his purpose in going there was as much a mystery as though he had pretended to have gone on a voyage to the moon. trevannion even felt angry with the tapuyo, now that he was out of reach, for having concealed the plan of his enterprise and the extent of the danger to be encountered. but there was now no alternative but to await the return of the tapuyo, or the time that would tell he was never more to return. it had been fixed by the indian himself, in a speech whispered into the ear of trevannion as he pushed off the canoe. it was this: "a word, patron! if we're not back before daylight, stay where you are till to-morrow night. then, if it be dark, do as we proposed for to-night. steal out and away. but don't fear of our failing. i only say that for the worst. the mundurucu has no fear. _pa terra_! in an hour's time we shall be back, bringing with us what we're in need of,--something that will carry us clear of our enemies and of the gapo." so the party remained seated on the log. each had his own conjecture about munday's plan, though all acknowledged it to be a puzzle. the surmise of tipperary tom was sufficiently original. "i wondher now," said he, "if the owld chap manes to set fire to their town! troth, it's loike enough that's what he's gone afther. masther dick sayed it was ericted upon scaffolds wid bames of wood an' huts upon them that looked loike the laves of threes or dry grass. shure them would blaze up loike tindher, an' create a moighty conflagrayshin." the opinion of tom's auditors did not altogether coincide with his. to set the malocca on fire, even if such a thing were possible, could do no good. the inhabitants would be in no danger from conflagration. they would only have to leap into the flood to save themselves from the fire; and, as they could all swim like water-rats, they would soon recover a footing among the trees. besides, they had their great rafts and canoes, that would enable them to go wherever they wished. they could soon erect other scaffolds, and construct other huts upon them. moreover, as munday and richard had informed them, the scaffolds of the malocca were placed a score of yards apart. the flames of one would not communicate with the other through the green foliage of that humid forest. to fire the whole village with any chance of success, it would be necessary to have an incendiary under each scaffold, all applying the torch together. it could not be for that purpose the tapuyo had gone forth. while engaged in the debate, they got so engrossed by it as to become neglectful of a duty enjoined upon them by the tapuyo, to keep a strict watch over the captive. it was tipperary tom and the mozambique, who had been charged with this guardianship. both, however, confident that it was impossible for the savage to untie himself, had only glanced now and then to see that he was there, his bronze-coloured body being scarcely visible in the obscurity. as it grew darker, it was at length impossible for them to distinguish the captive from the brown surface of the ceiba, except by stooping down over him, and this both neglected to do. little dreamt they of the sort of creature they were dealing with, who could have claimed rivalry with the most accomplished professors of the famous rope-tricks. as soon as he saw that the eyes of his sentinels were no longer upon him, he wriggled himself out of the sipos with as much ease as if he had been an eel, and, sliding gently from the log, swam off. it was a full half-hour after his departure before either of the sentinels thought of giving any attention to the state of their prisoner. when they did so, it was to find him gone, and the coils of tree-rope lying loosely upon the log. with simultaneous exclamations of alarm, they turned towards trevannion, and then all looked in the direction of the lagoa, thinking they might see a swimmer going out. instead of that they saw, through the dim light, what appeared to be a fleet of canoes, with men in them violently wielding their paddles, and directing their crafts right into the arcade! chapter eighty nine. scuttling the canoes. the mundurucu and his young companion, having paddled their craft out of the little creek, turned its head towards the mura village. though the fires were no longer blazing so brightly as at an earlier hour of the night, there was still a red glow seen here and there, that told the position of the scaffolds, and served as a beacon to direct their course. but they needed no such pilotage. the border of the forest was their guide, and along this they went, taking care to keep close in under its shadow. it was dark enough out upon the open water to prevent their being observed; but the mundurucu was accustomed to act with extreme circumspection, and more than ever since the mistake we recorded some time before. as the malocca was but a short distance from the forest border, the tree-line would bring them close to its water frontage. beyond that he could trust to the guidance of the surrounding fires. less than half an hour's use of the paddle--its blade dipped gently in the water--brought them within a hundred yards of the outskirts of the village. although the expedition was not to end here, it was not their design to take the canoe any farther. i say _their_ design, for by this time the young paraense had been made acquainted with his companion's purpose. the chief reason why munday had not disclosed it to trevannion was, that the patron, deeming it too dangerous, might have put a veto upon its execution. what this plan was, will be learnt by a relation of the mode in which it was carried out. tying the canoe to a tree in such a way that they could easily detach it again, the two slipped over the gunwale, and laid themselves silently along the water. each was provided with a swimming-belt; for the task they had undertaken might require them to remain a good while afloat; and, moreover, it would be necessary for them now and then to remain still, without making any noise by striking the water to sustain themselves, while, furthermore, they would need at times to have both arms free for a different purpose. thus accoutred, and munday armed with his knife, they swam under the scaffolds. they were careful not to cause the slightest commotion,--careful, too, to keep out of the narrow belts of light that fell slantingly from the fires above. these were becoming fewer, and fast fading, as the fires, one after another, went out. it appeared certain that the whole village was asleep. no human form was seen, no voice heard; no sign of human beings, save the scaffolding that had been constructed by them, and the half-score of boats in the water underneath, moored to the trunks of the supporting trees. it was to these vessels that the mundurucu was directing himself and his coadjutor. though his eyes were everywhere, his mind was fixed upon them. there were, in all, about half a score of them, six being _igarites_, or canoes rudely constructed of tree-bark, similar in shape and fashion to that they had just parted from, but three of them of larger size, each capable of containing about eight men. the others were large rafts or punts of rude fabrication, each big enough to support a toldo hut, with a whole family, and a number of friends to boot. only to the canoes did the tapuyo direct his attention. on swimming past the punts he did not even stay to regard them. to all the igarites, however, except one,--and it the largest,--he paid a visit; stopping a considerable time alongside each, but lying so low in the water that only his head could have been seen above the surface, and scarcely that through the treble shadow of the night, the scaffolds, and the tree-tops. it was only visible to his companion, whose face was all the while within three feet of his own, and whose hands were employed in assisting him in his subtle task. what was this task, so silent and mysterious? in each of the five canoes to which the swimmers had paid their silent visit, and just after their departure from it, could have been heard a gurgling sound, as of water gushing up through a hole in the bottom. it was heard, but only by him who had made the hole and the companion who had held the craft in its place while the knife-blade was accomplishing its purpose. to its sharp point the soft tree-bark had yielded, and in ten minutes' time the five canoes, one after another, were scuttled, and, if left to themselves, in a fair way of going to the bottom. but they were not left to themselves. they would have been, but for the negligence of tom and the sable mozambique. just as the scuttlers had concluded their part of the task, and were about to climb into the sixth canoe, that had been left seaworthy, a dark form that might have been taken for some demon of the flood was seen to rise out of the water, and stand dripping upon one of the rafts. it stood only for a second or two,--just long enough to draw breath,--and then, laying hold of a knotted lliana that formed a sort of stair, it climbed to the scaffolding above. dim as was the light, the mundurucu recognised the dripping climber as the captive he had left on the log. "_santos dios_!" he muttered, in a hoarse whisper, "'tis the mura. they've let him escape, and now we're discovered. quick, young master. into the igarite. all right; there are two paddles: you take one, i the other. there's not a moment to be lost. in ten minutes more we should have been safe; but now--see! they are filling fast. good! if he gives us but ten minutes before raising the alarm--ha! there it is. off! off!" while the tapuyo was speaking, still in a muttered undertone, a wild yell was heard upon the scaffolding above. it was a signal sent forth by the returned captive to warn his slumbering nation, not that their navy was being scattered in its very dock by an unknown enemy, for he had neither seen the scuttler nor suspected what had been going on, but simply to tell his tribe of the adventure that had befallen himself, and conduct them in all haste to the spot where he had parted from his detested but careless captors. he had seen the two of them go off in the igarite, impudently appropriating his own vessel before his face. where could they have gone, but to make a nocturnal investigation of the malocca? it was for this reason he had himself approached it so stealthily, not raising any note of alarm until he felt safe upon the scaffolding of his own habitation. then did he send forth that horrid haloo-loo. scarce had its echoes ceased to reverberate through the village, when it was answered by a hundred voices, all shouting in a similar strain, all giving a response to the tribe's cry of alarm. men could be heard springing from their hammocks, and dropping down upon the platforms, the timbers of which creaked under quick, resonant footsteps. in the dim light some were seen hastily snatching up their bows, and preparing to descend to their canoes, little suspecting that they would find them scuttled and already half swamped. as munday had said, there was not a moment to be lost; and, acting up to his words, he did not permit one to be lost. in the large igarite propelled by the two paddles, he and his assistant stole off among the trees, and were soon out upon the lagoa, pulling, as fast as their strength and skill would permit them, in the direction of the creek. chapter ninety. the log left behind. the escape of their captive had caused the keenest apprehensions to the people upon the raft, which were scarce intensified at the sight of the canoe entering the arcade. by the simplest reasoning they had leaped to the quick conclusion that the latter was but the sequence of the former. the mura had swum back to his malocca. they knew he could easily do it. he had _learned_ his kindred, and it was they who now manned the igarite that was making approach. it was only the first of a whole fleet. no doubt there was a score of others coming on behind, each containing its complement of cannibals. the manatee-hunter had got back to his village in time to tell of the two who had gone there in his own canoe. these, unaware of his escape, had, in all probability, been surprised and taken prisoners. shouts had been heard from the village just before the man was missed. it was this, in fact, that had caused them to think of their prisoner. on finding that he had given them the slip, they interpreted the shouts in two ways. they were either salutations of welcome to the returned captive, or cries of triumph over the death or capture of the tapuyo and his companion. more like the latter. so thought they upon the log; and the thought was strengthened by the appearance of the big canoe at the entrance of the arcade. its crew were mura savages, guided to their place of concealment by him who had stolen away. these conjectures, varied though they were, passed through their minds with the rapidity of thought itself; for scarce ten seconds had elapsed from the time of their sighting the canoe until it was close up to the ceiba. then to their great joy, they saw they had been reasoning wrongly. the two forms had been magnified into ten, partly through the deception of the dim light, and partly because they had been springing from side to side while paddling the canoe and steering it into the creek. as they drew near, the others could see that they were in a state of the wildest excitement, working with all their strength, and gazing anxiously behind them. "quick, uncle," cried richard, as the igarite struck against the dead-wood. "quick! all of you get aboard here." "_pa terra_!" added the tapuyo. "do as he tells you. by letting your prisoner get off you've spoiled my plans. there's no time to talk now. into the igarite! if the others are still afloat--then--then--haste, patron! everybody into the igarite!" as the indian gave these directions, he himself sprang on to the log; and tearing down the skin sail, he flung it into the canoe. after it he pitched several pieces of the charqui, and then descended himself. by this time all the others had taken their seats in the canoe, richard having caught little rosa in his arms as she sprang down. there was not a moment of delay. the two paddles belonging to the igarite were grasped, one by munday himself, the other by the negro, who was next best rower, while the two bladed with the bones of the cow-fish were in the hands of trevannion and his nephew. there were thus four available oars to the craft, that promised a fair degree of speed. with a last look at the log that had carried them safely, though slowly,--a look that, under other circumstances, might have been given with regret,--they parted from it, and in a score of seconds they had cleared the craft from the branches of the trees, and were out upon the bosom of the lagoa. "in what direction?" inquired trevannion, as for a moment their strokes were suspended. "stay a minute, patron," replied the tapuyo, as he stood up in the igarite and gazed over the water in the direction of the mura village. "before starting, it's as well to know whether they are able to follow us. if not, it's no use killing ourselves by hard work." "you think there's a chance they may not come after us?" "a chance,--yes. it would have been a certainty if you had not let that ape loose. we should now be as safe from pursuit as if a hundred leagues lay between us and them. as it is, i have my fears; there was not time for them to go down,--not all of them. the small ones may, but the big igarite,--it would be still afloat; they could bale out and caulk up again. after all, it won't carry the whole tribe, and there's something in that,--there's something in that." while the tapuyo thus talked he was standing with his head craned out beyond the edge of the igarite, scanning the water in the direction of the village. his final words were but the involuntary utterance of what was passing in his mind, and not addressed to his companions. richard alone knew the meaning, for as yet the others had received no explanation of what had passed under the scaffolds. there was no time to give a detailed account of that. it would be soon enough when the igarite was fairly on its way, and they became assured of their safety. no one pressed for an explanation. all, even trevannion himself, felt humiliated by the thought that they had neglected their duty, and the knowledge that but for that very neglect the danger that threatened them would have been now at an end. the dawn was already beginning to appear along the eastern horizon, and although it was far from daylight, there was no longer the deep darkness that but a short while before shrouded the water. out on the lagoa, at any point within the circumference of a mile, a large object, such as a canoe, could have been seen. there was none in sight. this looked well. perfect stillness reigned around the mura village. there was no human voice to be heard, where but the moment before there had been shouting and loud talking, both men and women taking part in what appeared a confused conversation. the fires, too, were out, or at all events no longer visible from the lagoa. munday remarked that the silence augured ill. "i fear they are too busy to be making a noise," said he. "their keeping quiet argues that they have the means, as well as the intention, to come after us. if they had not, you would hear their howls of disappointment. yes: we may be sure of it. they're emptying such of their canoes as may still be above water." "emptying their canoes! what mean you by that?" munday then explained the nature of his late expedition, now that its failure could no longer be charged upon himself. a few words sufficed to make the whole thing understood, the others admiring the bold ingenuity of the plan as strongly as they regretted having given cause for its being frustrated. though no pursuers had as yet appeared, that was no reason why they should stay an instant longer by the entrance to the arcade; so, once more handling the paddles, they put the great igarite to its best speed. chapter ninety one. the enemy in sight. there was no debating the question as to the course they should take. this was opposite to the direction in which lay the malocca. in other words, they struck out for the open water, almost in the same track by which they had come from the other bide while navigating the tree-trunk. trevannion had suggested keeping "in shore" and under the shadow of the tree-tops. "no use," said the tapuyo; "in ten minutes more there will be light over the water. we'll be seen all the same, and by following the line of the forest we should give our pursuers the advantage; they, by keeping straight across, would easily overtake us. the trees go round in a circle, don't you see?" "true," replied trevannion; "i did not think of that. it is to be hoped we shall not have pursuers." "if we have they will soon come up with us, for they have more paddles, and are better skilled in the use of them; if they come after us at all, they will be sure to overtake us." "then we shall be captured,--perhaps destroyed." this was spoken in a whisper in the ear of the tapuyo. "it don't follow,--one or the other. if it did, i shouldn't have much hope in handling this bit of a stick. we may be pursued, overtaken, and still get off in the end. they may not like close quarters any more than we. that, you see, depends on how many of their vessels are gone to the bottom, and how many are still afloat. if more than half that were scuttled have sunk, we may dread their arrows more than their oars. if more than half are above water, we shall be in more danger from their speed." notwithstanding the enigmatical character of the tapuyo's speeches, trevannion, as well as the others, was able to understand them. he simply meant that, if the enemy were left without a sufficient number of canoes to pursue them in large force, they would not think of boarding, but would keep at a distance, using their arrows in the attack. it was by no means a pleasant prospect; still, it was pleasanter than the thought of coming to close quarters with a crowd of cannibal savages, and being either hacked to pieces with their knives, clubbed to death with their _macanas_, or dragged overboard and drowned in the lagoa. "in five minutes more," continued the tapuyo, "we shall know the best or the worst. by that time it will be light enough to see in under the trees yonder. by that time, if they have a single igarite above water, she'll be baled out. by that time they should be after us. if we don't see them in five minutes, we need never look for them again." a minute--another--a third elapsed, and still no appearance of pursuers or pursuit. slower still seemed the fourth, though it too passed, and no movement on the water. every heart beat with hope that the time would transpire without any change. but, alas! it was not to be so. the black line was broken by the bow of a canoe, and in an instant after the craft itself was seen gliding out from under the shadow of the trees. the tapuyo's prediction was fulfilled. "the big igarite!" he exclaimed. "just what i had fears of; i doubted its going down in time. eight in it! well, that's nothing, if the others have sunk." "but stay a moment," returned richard; "see yonder! another coming out, farther down to the right!" "that's the cockle-shell we took from the harpooner. there are two in it, which is all it will hold. only ten, as yet. good! if that's their whole strength, we needn't fear their coming to close quarters. good!" "i can make out no more," said the young paraense, who had suspended paddling to get a better view of the pursuers. "i think there are no more." "just my thoughts," rejoined the tapuyo. "i had that idea all along. i was sure the small craft had gone down. you remember we heard a splashing before we got well off,--it was caused by the sinking of the igarites. our hope is that only the big one has kept afloat. as yet i see no others." "nor i," added richard. "no, there are but the two." "thank heaven for that!" exclaimed trevannion. "there will be but ten against us. though we are not equal in numbers, surely we should be a match for such puny savages as these. o that we only had arms!" as he said this, the ex-miner looked into the bottom of the canoe to see what there was available in the way of weapons. there was the pashuba spear, which munday had pitched in along with the strips of charqui; and there was another weapon equally effective in hands skilled in its use. it was a sort of barbed javelin or harpoon, the one with which the manatee-hunter had struck the juaroua. during the day, while doing nothing else, munday had amused himself by completing the conquest of the peixe-boi, which he found, by the line and float, had got entangled among the tree-tops. its carcass had been left where it was killed, for it was the weapon only which he coveted. in addition to these, there were the paddles,--those manufactured from the shoulder-blades of the cow-fish,--looking like weapons that it would be awkward to have come in contact with one's skull in a hostile encounter. last, and not least to be depended upon, there was the tapuyo's own knife, in the use of which he had already given proofs of his skill. in a hand-to-hand contest with ten savages, armed as these might be, there was not so much to be dreaded. but munday assured them that there would be no danger of a close fight. there were no more canoes in sight. twenty minutes had now elapsed since the two had shot out from the trees, and if there had been others they would long since have declared themselves. arrows or javelins were the only weapons they would have to dread; and with these they would most certainly be assailed. "they'll be sure to overtake us," said he; "there are six of them at the paddles, and it's easy to see that they're already gaining ground. that's no reason why we should wait till they come up. when the fight takes place, the farther we're away from their village the better for us; as who knows but they may fish up some of their swamped canoes, and come at us with a reserve force. to the paddles, then, and pull for our lives!" chapter ninety two. the chase. on swept the igarite containing the crew of our adventurers; on came its kindred craft, manned by savage men, with the little canoe close following, like a tender in the wake of a huge man-of-war. they were not long in doubt as to what would be the upshot of the chase. it had not continued half an hour before it became clear, to pursuers as well as pursued, that the distance between the two large igarites was gradually growing less. gradually, but not rapidly; for although there were six paddles plying along the sides of the pursuers and only four on the pursued, the rate of speed was not so very unequal. the eight full-grown savages--no doubt the picked men of their tribe-- were more than a fair complement for their craft, that lay with gunwales low down in the water. in size she was somewhat less than that which carried our adventurers; and this, along with the heavier freight, was against her. for all this, she was gaining ground sufficiently fast to make the lessening of the distance perceptible. the pursued kept perfect silence, for they had no spirit to be noisy. they could not help feeling apprehensive. they knew that the moment the enemy got within arrow's reach of them they would be in danger of death. well might such a thought account for their silence. not so with their savage pursuers. these could be in no danger unless by their own choice. they had the advantage, and could carry on war with perfect security to themselves. it would not be necessary for them to risk an encounter empty-handed so long as their arrows lasted; and they could have no fear of entering into the fight. daring where there was no danger, and noisy where there was no occasion, they pressed on in the pursuit, their wild yells sent pealing across the water to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. our adventurers felt no craven fear, not a thought of surrender, not an idea of submitting to be taken captives. by the most solemn asseverations the tapuyo had assured them that it would be of no use, and they need expect no mercy from the muras. he had said so from the first; but now, after having taken one of their number captive and treated him with contempt, after scuttling their fleet of igarites, their natural instinct of cruelty would be intensified by a thirst for revenge, and no quarter need be looked for by any one who might fall into their hands. remembering the hideous creature who had escaped, seeing him again in his canoe as the pursuers came within distinguishing distance, seeing nine of his comrades quite as hideous as himself, and some of them in appearance far more formidable, the statement of the tapuyo did not fail to have an effect. the crew of the chased igarite gave up all thought of surrender, each declaring his determination to fight to the death. such was their mood when the savages arrived within bowshot. the first act of hostility was a flight of arrows, which fell short of the mark. seeing that the distance was too great for them to do any havoc, the six who had been propelling the igarite dropped their bows, and once more took to the paddles. the other two, however, with the spare man in the little canoe, were free to carry on their arrowy assault; and all three continued to twang their bows, sending shaft after shaft towards the chased igarite. only one of the three appeared to have much skill in his aim or strength in his arm. the arrows of the other two either fell short or wide of the object aimed at, while his came plump into the igarite. he had already sent three,--the first passing through the broad-spread ear of the negro,--no mean mark; the second scratching up the skin upon tom's cheek; while the third, fired aloft into the air, dropped down upon the skin of the peixe-boi that sheltered little rosa in the bottom of the boat, penetrating the thick, tough hide, and almost impaling the pretty creature underneath it. this dangerous marksman was identified. he was the hero of the harpoon,--the captive who had given them the slip; and certain it is that he took more pains with his aim, and put more strength into his pull, than any of his competitors. his fourth arrow was looked for with fearful apprehension. it came whistling across the water. it passed through the arm of his greatest enemy,--the man he most desired it to pierce,--the mundurucu. the tapuyo started up from his stooping attitude, at the same time dropping his paddle, not upon the water, but into the igarite. the arrow was only through the flesh. it did nothing to disable him, and he had surrendered the oar with an exclamation of anger more than pain. the shaft was still sticking in his left arm. with the right he pulled it out, drawing the feather through the wound, and then flung it away. in another instant he had taken up the harpoon, with the long cord still attached to it, and which he had already secured to the stern of the igarite. in still another he was seen standing near the stern, balancing the weapon for a throw. one more instant and the barbed javelin was heard passing with a crash through the ribs of the savage archer! "pull on! pull on!" cried he; and the three paddlers responded to the cry, while the pursuing savages, astounded by what they had seen, involuntarily suspended their stroke, and the harpooner, impaled upon the barbed weapon, was jerked into the water and towed off after the igarite, like one of his own floats in the wake of a cow-fish. a wild cry was sent forth from the canoe of the savages. nor was it unanswered from the igarite containing the crew of civilised men. the negro could not restrain his exultation; while tom, who had nothing else to do, sprang to his feet, tossed his arms into the air, and gave tongue to the true donnybrook challenge. for a time the pursuers did nothing. their paddles were in hands that appeared suddenly paralysed. astonishment held them stiff as statues. stirred at length by the instinct of revenge, they were about to pull on. some had plunged their oar-blades into the water, when once more the stroke was suspended. they perceived that they were near enough to the retreating foe. nearer, and their lives would be in danger. the dead body of their comrade had been hauled up to the stern of the great igarite. the harpoon had been recovered, and was once more in the hands of him who had hurled it with such fatal effect. dropping their bladed sticks, they again betook them to their bows. a shower of arrows came around the igarite, but none fell with fatal effect. the body of their best archer had gone to the bottom of the gapo. another flight fell short, and the savage bowmen saw the necessity of returning to their paddles. failing to do so, they would soon be distanced in the chase. this time they rowed nearer, disregarding the dangerous range of that ponderous projectile to which their comrade had succumbed. rage and revenge now rendered them reckless; and once more they seized upon their weapons. they were now less than twenty yards from the igarite. they were already adjusting the arrows to their bow-strings. a flight of nine going all together could not fail to bring down one or more of the enemy. for the first time our adventurers were filled with fear. the bravest could not have been otherwise. they had no defence,--nothing to shield them from the threatening shower. all might be pierced by the barbed shafts, already pointing towards the igarite. each believed that in another moment there might be an arrow through his heart. it was a moment of terrible suspense, but our adventurers saw the savages suddenly drop their bows, some after sending a careless shot, with a vacillating, pusillanimous aim, and others without shooting at all. they saw them all looking down into the bottom of their boat, as if there, and not elsewhere, was to be seen their most dangerous enemy. the hole cut by the knife had opened. the caulking, careless from the haste in which it had been done, had come away. the canoe containing the pursuers was swamped, in less than a score of seconds after the leak had been discovered. now there was but one large canoe upon the lagoa, and one small one,--the latter surrounded by eight dark human heads, each spurting and blowing, as if a small school of porpoises was at play upon the spot. our adventurers had nothing further to fear from pursuit by the savages, who would have enough to do to save their own lives; for the swim that was before them, ere they could recover footing upon the scaffolds of the malocca, would tax their powers to the utmost extent. how the castaways meant to dispose of themselves was known to the crew of the igarite before the latter had been paddled out of sight. one or two of them were observed clinging to the little canoe, and at length getting into it. these, weak swimmers, no doubt, were left in possession of the craft, while the others, knowing that it could not carry them all, were seen to turn round and swim off towards the malocca, like rats escaping from a scuttled ship. in twenty minutes' time, both they and the fishing-canoe were out of sight, and the great igarite that carried trevannion and his fortunes was alone upon the lagoa. chapter ninety three. conclusion. a volume might be filled with the various incidents and adventures that befell the ex-miner and his people before they arrived at gran para,-- for at gran para, did they at length arrive. but as these bore a certain resemblance to those already detailed, the reader is spared the relation of them. a word only as to how they got out of the gapo. provided with the indian igarite, which, though a rude kind of craft, was a great improvement upon the dead-wood,--provided also with four tolerable paddles, and the skin of the cow-fish for a sail,--they felt secure of being able to navigate the flooded forest in any direction where open water might be found. their first thought was to get out of the lagoa. so long as they remained within the boundaries of that piece of open water, so long would their solicitude be keen and continuous. the savages might again come in search of them. prompted by their cannibal instincts, or by revenge for the loss of one of their tribe, they would be almost certain to do so. the total destruction of their fleet might cause delay. but then there might be another malocca belonging to a kindred tribe,-- another fleet of igarites not far off; and this might be made available. with these probabilities in view, our adventurers gave their whole attention to getting clear of the lagoa. was it land-locked, or rather "tree-locked,"--hemmed in on all sides by the flooded forest? this was a question that no one could answer, though it was the one that was of first and greatest importance. after the termination of the chase, however, or as soon as they believed themselves out of sight, not only of their foiled foemen, but their friends at the malocca, they changed their course, steering the igarite almost at right angles to the line of pursuit. by guidance of the hand of god, they steered in the right direction. as soon as they came within sight of the trees, they perceived a wide water-way opening out of the lagoa, and running with a clear line to the horizon beyond. through this they directed the igarite, and, favoured by a breeze blowing right upon their stern, they rigged up their rude sail. with this to assist their paddling, they made good speed, and had soon left the lagoa many miles behind them. they saw no more of the muras. but though safe, as they supposed themselves, from pursuit, and no longer uneasy about the ape-like indians, they were still very far from being delivered. they were yet in the gapo,--that wilderness of water-forests,--yet exposed to its thousands of dangers. they found themselves in a labyrinth of what appeared to be lakes, with land around them, and islands scattered over their surface, communicating with each other by canals or straits, all bordered with a heavy forest. but they knew there was no land,--nothing but tree-tops laced together with llianas, and supporting heavy masses of parasitical plants. for days they wandered through its wild solitudes, here crossing a stretch of open water, there exploring some wide canal or narrow _igarape_, perhaps to find it terminating in a _cul-de-sac_, or _bolson_, as the spaniards term it, hemmed in on all sides by an impenetrable thicket of tree-tops, when there was no alternative but to paddle back again. sometimes these false thoroughfares would lure them on for miles, and several hours--on one occasion a whole day--would be spent in fruitless navigation. it was a true wilderness through which they were wandering, but fortunately for them it had a character different from that of a desert. so far from this, it more resembled a grand garden, or orchard, laid for a time under inundation. many kinds of fruits were met with,--strange kinds that had never been seen by them before; and upon some of these they subsisted. the mundurucu alone knew them,--could tell which were to be eaten and which avoided. birds, too, came in their way, all eaten by the indians, as also various species of arboreal quadrupeds and quadrumana. the killing and capturing of these, with the gathering of nuts and fruits to supply their simple larder, afforded them frequent opportunities of amusement, that did much to beguile the tediousness of their trackless straying. otherwise it would have been insupportable; otherwise they would have starved. none of them afterwards was ever able to tell how long this gypsy life continued,--how long they were afloat in the forest. engrossed with the thought of getting out of it, they took no note of time, nor made registry of the number of suns that rose and set upon their tortuous wanderings. there were days in which they saw not the sun, hidden from their sight by the umbrageous canopy of gigantic trees, amidst the trunks of which, and under their deep shadows, they rowed the igarite. but if not known how long they roamed through this wilderness, much less can it be told how long they might have remained within its mazes, but for a heaven-sent vision that one morning broke upon their eyes as their canoe shot out into a stretch of open water. they saw a ship,--a ship sailing through the forest! true, it was not a grand ship of the ocean,--a seventy-four, a frigate, or a trader of a thousand tons; nevertheless it was a ship, in the general acceptation of the term, with hull, masts, spars, sails, and rigging. it was a two-masted schooner, a trader of the solimoes. the old tapuyo knew it at a glance, and hailed it with a cheer. he knew the character of the craft. in such he had spent some of the best years of his life, himself one of the crew. its presence was proof that they were once more upon their way, as the schooner was upon hers. "going down," said the tapuyo, "going down to gran para. i can tell by the way she is laden. look yonder. _sarsaparilla, vanilla, cascarilla, maulega de tortugos, sapucoy_, and _tonka_ beans,--all will be found under that toldo of palm-leaves. galliota ahoy! ahoy!" the schooner was within short hailing distance. "lay to, and take passengers aboard! we want to go to para. our craft isn't suited for such a long voyage." the galliota answered the hail, and in ten minutes after the crew of the igarite was transferred to her decks. the canoe was abandoned, while the schooner continued on to the city of gran para. she was not in the solimoes itself, but one of its parallel branches, though, in two days after having taken the castaways aboard, she sailed out into the main stream, and thence glided merrily downward. those aboard of her were not the less gay,--the crew on discovering that among the passengers that they had picked up were the son and brother of their patron; and the passengers, that the craft that was carrying them to gran para, as well as her cargo, was the property of trevannion. the young paraense found himself on board one of his father's traders, while the ex-miner was completing his amazonian voyage in a "bottom" belonging to his brother. the tender attention which they received from the _capatoz_ of the galliota restored their health and spirits, both sadly shattered in the gapo; and instead of the robber's garb and savage mien with which they emerged from that sombre abode, fit only for the abiding-place of beasts, birds, and reptiles, they soon recovered the cheerful looks and decent habiliments that befitted them for a return to civilisation. a few words will tell the rest of this story. the brothers, once more united,--each the owner of a son and daughter,-- returned to their native land. both widowers, they agreed to share the same roof,--that under which they had been born. the legal usurper could no longer keep them out of it. he was dead. he had left behind him an only son, not a gentleman like himself, but a spendthrift. it ended in the ill-gotten patrimony coming once more into the market and under the hammer, the two trevannions arriving just in time to arrest its descent upon the desk, and turn the "going, going" into "gone" in their own favour. though the estate became afterwards divided into two equal portions,--as nearly equal as the valuer could allot them,--and under separate owners, still was there no change in the name of the property; still was it the trevannion estate. the owner of each moiety was a trevannion, and the wife of each owner was a trevannion, without ever having changed her name. there is no puzzle in this. the young paraense had a sister,-- spoken of, but much neglected, in this eventful narrative, where not even her name has been made known. only has it been stated that she was one of "several sweet children." be it now known that she grew up to be a beautiful woman, fair-haired, like her mother, and that her name was florence. much as her brother richard, also fair-haired, came to love her dark semi-spanish cousin rosita, so did her other dark semi-spanish cousin, ralph, come to love her; and as both she and rosita reciprocated these cousinly loves, it ended in a mutual bestowing of sisters, or a sort of cross-hands and change-partners game of cousins,--whichever way you like to have it. at all events, the trevannion estates remained, and still remain, in the keeping of trevannions. were you to take a trip to the "land's end," and visit them,--supposing yourself to be endorsed with an introduction from me,--you would find in the house of young ralph, firstly, his father, old ralph, gracefully enacting the _role_ of grandfather; secondly, the fair florence, surrounded by several olive-shoots of the trevannion stock; and, lastly,--nay, it is most likely you will meet him first, for he will take your hat from you in the hall,--an individual with a crop of carroty hair, fast changing to the colour of turnips. you will know him as tipperary tom. "truth will yez." cross half a dozen fields, climb over a stile, under the shadow of gigantic trees,--oaks and elms; pass along a plank foot-bridge spanning a crystal stream full of carp and trout; go through a wicket-gate into a splendid park, and then follow a gravelled walk that leads up to the walls of a mansion. you can only do this coming from the other house, for the path thus indicated is not a right of way. enter the dwelling to which it has guided you. inside you will encounter, first, a well-dressed darkey, who bids you welcome with all the airs of an m.c. this respectable ethiopian, venerable in look-- partly on account of his age, partly from the blanching of his black hair--is an old acquaintance, by name mozey. he summons his master to your side. you cannot mistake that handsome gentleman, though he is years older than when you last saw him. the same open countenance, the same well-knit, vigorous frame, which, even as a boy, were the characteristics of the young paraense. no more can you have forgotten that elegant lady who stands by his side, and who, following the fashion of her spanish-american race, frankly and without affectation comes forth to greet you. no longer the little rosa, the _protegee_ of richard, but now his wife, with other little rosas and richards, promising soon to be as big as herself, and as handsome as her husband. the tableau is almost complete as a still older richard appears in the background, regarding with a satisfied air his children and grandchildren, while saluting their guest with a graceful gesture of welcome. almost complete, but not quite. a figure is absent from the canvas, hitherto prominent in the picture. why is it not still seen in the foreground? has death claimed the tapuyo for his own? not a bit of it. still vigorous, still life-like as ever, he may be seen any day upon the amazon, upon the deck of a galliota, no longer in the humble capacity of a tapuyo, but acting as _capatoz_,--as patron. his old patron had not been ungrateful; and the gift of a schooner was the reward bestowed upon the guide who had so gallantly conducted our adventurers through the dangers of the gapo, and shared their perils while they were "afloat in the forest." the end. available by internet archive (https://archive.org/) note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/lonepinestoryofl towniala lone pine * * * * * new fiction smith brunt united states navy. by waldron k. post, author of "harvard stories," etc. º, pages, $ . . "a rattling good story of the old navy.... the book recalls harry gringo by its breadth and interest of plot; which means it is a first-class sea story. it is not an imitation, however.... the prevailing thought of the book is the unity of aims, ideals and race between englishmen and americans, and this idea is brought out so well that, even though the reader enjoys the story of the fierce sea-fights, he deplores the shedding of blood by brothers' hands."--_buffalo courier._ bearers of the burden being stories of land and sea. by major w. p. drury, royal marines. º, pages, $ . . "major drury's stories combine pathos and humor with an underlying earnestness that betrays a clear moral vision. the whole volume is of a rare and wholesome quality."--_chicago tribune._ rosalba the story of her development. by olive pratt rayner (grant allen), author of "flowers and their pedigrees," etc. hudson library, no. . º, pages, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . . "a story which holds the reader with profound interest to the closing lines."--_chicago inter-ocean._ aboard "the american duchess" by headon hill. hudson library, no. . º, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . . note.--this is a reprint of a work previously published under the title of "queen of the night"--with certain changes of names. "he has certainly given to the reading public a capital story full of action. it is a bright novel and contains many admirable chapters. life on the ocean is well depicted, many exciting episodes are well told, and it will interest readers of all classes."--_knoxville sentinel._ the priest's marriage by nora vynne, author of "the blind artist's picture," etc. hudson library, no. . º, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . . g. p. putnam's sons, new york and london * * * * * lone pine the story of a lost mine by r. b. townshend [illustration: decoration] g. p. putnam's sons new york & london the knickerbocker press copyright, by g. p. putnam's sons the knickerbocker press, new york to my friends in santiago red and white and in memory of a brindled bulldog i have to thank señor f. de arteaga y pereira, reader of spanish in the university of oxford, for the spanish version of heine's poem which appears in chapter xxix. a lone pine stands in the northland on a bald and barren height. he sleeps, by the snows enfolded in a mantle of wintry white. he dreams of a lonely palm-tree, afar in the morning-land, consumed with unspoken longing in a waste of burning sand. _after heine._ contents chapter page i.--indian lovers ii.--a lone hand iii.--blasting the acequia iv.--a race with a mule v.--"ojos azules no miran" vi.--an old wound reopened vii.--desdemona listens viii.--children of the sun ix.--a squaw for a fee x.--an elopement xi.--my ducats and my daughter xii.--pacifying a ghost xiii.--a girl's tears xiv--a stern chase xv.--the rod descends xvi.--the fee is accepted xvii.--madam whailahay xviii.--hunting a trail xix.--run to ground xx.--the wolf's lair xxi.--driving a bargain xxii.--a wounded man xxiii.--a picnic party xxiv.--weighing the silver xxv.--a prehistoric hearth xxvi.--the snake's verdict xxvii.--auld acquaintance xxviii.--eleven to one xxix.--peace with honour lone pine chapter i indian lovers a moon just past its first quarter was shining on the indian pueblo of santiago, so that one side of the main street (it only boasted four) was in deep shadow, while on the other the mud-built houses were made almost beautiful by the silver light. the walls on the bright side were curiously barred with the slanting shadows cast by low, broad ladders, which led from storey to storey of the terrace-like buildings, and by the projecting ends of the beams which supported their flat roofs. outside each house, clear away from the wall, stood a great clay oven, in shape exactly like a gigantic beehive as tall as a man. in the deepest shadow on the dark side of the street, between one of these ovens and the wall, something was crouching. the street was deserted, for the indians, who practise the precept "early to bed and early to rise," had long ago lain down to sleep on their sheepskins. but if anyone had gone up to the crouching something, he would have found a young indian, with a striped blanket drawn completely over and around him so as to conceal everything except the keen eyes that peered watchfully out of the folds. there was no one to disturb him, however, and the bright moon of new mexican skies sank lower and lower in the west, and yet he remained there motionless, except when now and again the night air, growing colder, caused the blanket to be gathered more closely to the body it was protecting. just as the moon dipped behind the western hills, the figure sprang up and darted forward. the long, untiring watch was over at last. from a hole in the opposite wall, a good deal higher than a man's head from the ground, a little hand and wrist were seen waving. in a moment the boy--he was hardly more--was underneath. he threw back the blanket from his head, and it fell down to his waist, where it was supported by a belt, leaving his body and arms free. his answering hand crept up the cold, rough surface of the wall till at its utmost stretch he felt a smooth, warm skin rub against his finger-tips, and instantly the two hands interlocked. "is that you, felipe?" breathed a low voice from inside. "yes, my love, it is," came back a whisper as low from the indian boy who had waited so long and so patiently for his sweetheart's signal. "why did you look so sad," he continued, "when you gave me the signal to-day? is there anything new?" "oh, felipe, yes," she sighed. "i do not know how to tell you. my father spoke to me this morning and said it should be in three days. he has sent for the padre to come. in three days, felipe! what shall i do? i shall die!" the young indian groaned under his breath. "in three days!" he said. "ah, that is too cruel! is it really true?" "oh yes," came the whispered answer. "my father said he would beat me to death if i did not consent. i should not so much mind being beaten, felipe--it would be for you; but he would kill me, i believe. i am frightened." felipe felt the shiver that ran through the finger-tips clasped in his. "do not be so afraid, josefa," he said, trying to keep up her courage. "can you not tell the padre that you hate old ignacio and that you will not marry him?" "yes," replied she, "but he will say, 'oh, nonsense, nonsense; girls are always afraid like that.' as long as my father is cacique the padre is bound to please him to make sure of getting his dues. he'll do what my father wants. he will not mind me." "there is only one thing for us to do," said the boy; "we must run away together." "but where?" said she, "and how? they will catch us, and they will beat us, and they will marry me all the same to that ugly old ignacio. i hate him from the bottom of my heart; and if ever he dares to try to master me, i'll do him a mischief." "ah, but he is going to bribe your father with three cows," said her lover disconsolately. "he can do it, too, easy enough. he is the very richest man of all the eagles, and i suppose the eagles are the strongest family in the pueblo next to the snakes. anyway the cacique always favours them, so he has a double reason for wanting to hand you over to that old miser. alas! i have no cows to give him, not even one little calf. we turquoises are so few and so poor! the cacique would never hear of your marrying one of us. he is so proud of having married a snake himself, that he thinks nobody good enough for his daughter who isn't able----" he was silenced by the girl. "hush!" said she quickly in a smothered tone, "i hear him moving about in the farther room"; and the indian lad listened, motionless as a statue, with all the wary concentration of his race in the moment of danger. the red indian has often been represented as apathetic. he is not. his loves and his hatreds are intense, only, both by birth and bringing up, he is endowed with extraordinary power of controlling their expression. underneath their outward self-restraint these simple folk of santiago were capable enough of feeling all the emotions of humanity pulsing through their veins and plucking at their heart-strings. felipe and josefa, exchanging hand-clasps and vows of fidelity through a hole in an adobe wall, were as passionate and as miserable as if the little drama which meant so much to them was being played on the wider stage of the great world outside. when the girl whispered "hush" to her lover, both held their breath and listened, each conscious of the pulse that throbbed in the other's hand. it was a noise from inside the house that had startled the girl. she could hear that someone in a farther room had got up and was throwing a stick of wood on the fire. with a gentle pressure her finger-tips were withdrawn from her lover's, and her hand disappeared back through the hole. felipe sank down into the crouching position he had been in till she came, drawing the blanket over him for concealment and warmth as before. for nearly half an hour he remained perfectly still. then a slight rubbing on the inner side of the wall became audible, and presently looking up he saw not a hand only, but a whole arm reaching down to him from the opening. up he sprang, and stretching himself on tiptoe against the wall he succeeded in bringing his lips up to the little hand, which he kissed silently again and again. "it was my father," said she. "he must be asleep again now; he lay down again quite soon. they put a new stone," she continued, "in the hand-mill to-day, for i have quite worn out the old one with grinding corn on it for my step-mother. but they have brought the old one into the storeroom here, and i have taken it to stand on, so that i can see you now if i take my hand in and put my head to the hole. but, felipe, let us settle what to do." "i've been thinking," said felipe, "we must run; we must. of course it is no use for us to go to our padre. he is on their side, just as you say, so we will not go to him. we will try another padre, who has nothing to do with the pueblo and won't care for your father. i'll tell you. let us go to padre trujillo at ensenada. they say he is good and kind to his indians. he will marry us. i have the money to pay his fee. when we are once married, my joy, we are safe. they cannot separate us when the padre has joined us for ever. they cannot do anything to us then; our own padre himself would forbid it." "we would be safe then, indeed," sighed josefa. "oh, if we could only manage it! what shall we do for a horse? the horse herd is away in the sierra, and they will not bring it down till sunday." "sunday will be too late for us," said felipe sadly. "we want a horse now, at once; i could go out to the horse herd and get my father's horse if he would give me leave to get him. but you know this new captain of the horse herd is that bullying rufino of the eagles. he and his helpers have the herd now on the other side of the cerro de las viboras, the mountain of the snakes. i'm sure they'd never let me have the horse unless my father gave them the order or came to fetch him himself. but he won't do that, i know; the horse is thin after the cold winter, and he wants him to eat green grass now and grow fat. it won't do." "ask el americano, then," suggested the girl quickly, as if a sudden thought had struck her. "yes, why don't you ask him? ask don estevan to lend you a horse or a mule; you work for him, and he seems so friendly with you, perhaps he'll let you have one of his." "what!" exclaimed the young indian, "ask him! ask turquoise-eyes to lend a horse! ask sooshiuamo to do that! that's no sort of use." he spoke hopelessly, as if surprised at her even thinking of such a thing. el americano, as the girl had first called him, otherwise known as don estevan or sooshiuamo, was a solitary white man, a prospector who had obtained permission to spend the past winter in the village of the indians of santiago, and by them was often referred to as el americano, the american _par excellence_, because he was the only one within fifty miles. "you might just ask him once, though," she persisted, in spite of felipe's attitude. "oh yes, felipe, go and ask him. do try. go now. it can't do any harm even if he won't." "but i know he won't," returned the boy, unconvinced; "and i shall have to tell him what it's for, and if i go and tell sooshiuamo our secret, what's to prevent him telling the chiefs? he's very friendly with them all." "oh, but of course you mustn't tell him our plan," she answered; "we must keep that dark. but he's very kind to all our folk. perhaps he'd do it for us out of kindness. it's all out of kindness, isn't it, that he's going to make the rocks fly away out of the acequia to-morrow? they say he's going to do a miracle for the pueblo. i heard my father talking about it." "yes, i know that," said felipe; "i know he told me himself he would make the rocks jump out of the ditch, and that then we should have twice as much water as ever we had before. i know he's a good friend to us. but i know, too, he hates ever to lend any of his animals to any of us. he thinks we would ride them to death if he did. i will try him, though, anyway. i will beg very hard. don't be afraid, dear heart; i will get one somehow, if you will really come--yes, if i have to take one of the mexicans' horses." "oh no, not that!" cried she. "they will shoot you or hang you if you touch their horses. don't do it. i will not go if you take a horse of the mexicans. i would rather go afoot." "no, dear heart, you couldn't. it isn't possible. it is ten leagues to ensenada from here, and we must do it between moonset and daylight, or they will catch us. do not talk of going afoot. trust me, i will get a horse. but you will really come, josefa _mia_? do you really mean it? what other woman would be so brave?" "i do mean it, indeed," she answered. "oh, how i wish we could be married here in our own church by the padre! but my father wouldn't hear of it. he wouldn't even let me speak to you, you know, or let me go out without being watched." "yes, i wish we could," said the young indian wistfully. "i spoke to my father to ask for you for me, but he only said, 'we are too poor. it is no use. we have only one horse and two cows. ignacio has several horses and thirty cows.' as if that was a reason, when i want you so much!" he added indignantly. "if i had the whole world i would give it to salvador, and he might be cacique of it all, if he would only let me have you." he drew himself up to the wall again and kissed the little warm hand eagerly. "my sweetheart!" he exclaimed, "i shall die if i do not get you! oh, if i could only tear down this hateful wall! how can i talk to you properly when i cannot see you? may not i get in by the terrace roof? let me try." "hush, felipe," she said. "don't be foolish, you silly boy. you would be sure to be heard, and then everything will be ruined. you must be patient." here she gave his hand a little squeeze, which of course had just the contrary effect to her advice, for he kissed the fingers with redoubled ardour. then he broke in-- "but if i can't get in without disturbing them, how will you be able to get out?" "oh, i can manage that," said the girl. "i will slip into this storeroom when they are asleep, as i always do, and from here i can get through the trap-door into the room above, and so out on to the terrace. there is an old ladder i can get up by." the villages of the pueblo indians are built in terraces, each house-storey standing back from the one below it like a flight of gigantic steps. from terrace to terrace people ascend by ladders, and many of the lower rooms are without any door but a trap-door in the ceiling. the system is a relic of the times when their villages were castles for defence against their deadly enemies, the marauding navajos and apaches. "how brave you are, josefita _mia_!" he cried. "will you really dare to run away from them, and come with me? how sweet it will be! we shall be together for the first time--think of it! oh, i will make you happy, i will indeed!" "if they rob me of you, i shall die," said the girl in a low, sad voice. "one thing, felipe, i promise you, i will not be ignacio's wife. never! you need not fear that." "oh, my darling," he sighed, "how can i be content with that? i want you for my very own. in my eyes you are more beautiful than the saints in the church, and they are not more wise and good than you. why are things made so hard for us?" "i do not know," she said softly; "nobody seems to be so unhappy as we are. but we can comfort each other ever so much. my step-mother will make me work like a slave all to-morrow, i know, but i shall have the thought of you to comfort me." "my sweetheart!" said he. "you have a thousand times more to bear than i have. but i will try to think for you. you must take some rest. i know how they treat you." he ground his teeth. "we must part now, but i will come to-morrow night. i will bring a horse if i can get one. if not, we have one day left still, and we will settle what to do." "till to-morrow night, then," said she. "to-morrow night at moonset," said felipe; and with many final pressures of hands, each one intended to be the very last, the lovers parted. silently the moccasined feet of the boy stole up the wide street, as he ran homeward under the clear starlight. he lifted the latch of his mother's door and entered. the fire was low, and he put on another stick of cedar wood, and lying down on the sheepskins spread upon the floor, covered himself with his blanket and lay still. his father, old atanacio, woke up when he came in, but said nothing to him; and soon sleep reigned again supreme in the indian house. the indians are early risers as well as light sleepers, and before daylight they were up and stirring. after their breakfast of bread and dried mutton, atanacio said, "when you have taken care of the horses of the americano, felipe, you had better weed the wheat patch by the meadow. tomas and i are going to the patch up by the orchard." "i wanted," said felipe, somewhat timidly, "to go to the herd and get the horse." "bad luck take the boy!" snarled the old indian. "what does he want with the horse? does he think we keep a horse for him to wear him to a skeleton flying round the country on him? let him be. let him get fat on the green grass." "but i shall want him if i go with sooshiuamo," answered felipe diplomatically. "the americano told me that he was going off to the sierra for a hunt to get meat as soon as he had made the rocks jump out of the acequia for us as he has promised. he said when he went on a hunt he wanted me to go along and help him to pack the meat down. his rifle never misses, and then when he kills a wild bull he will give me meat--fresh meat--father." "bad luck take the americano, too," growled the old man, as crossly as ever. "whose cattle are they that he wants to kill? the wild cattle in the mountain are the children of ours, though they have no brands. why should he come and kill them?" "the cacique gave him leave, father." "well, i suppose he says so," was the ungracious response. "but if he wants to take you, he can give you a beast to ride. he has two mules besides the mare, and they do nothing, and eat maize all the time. they ought to be fat." "but if he kills a bull he will want them to carry the meat," said felipe. "one mule can't carry it all." "very well, then, you can ride one of his up and walk back," snapped the stern parent. "want to ride the horse indeed! lazy young rascal! go afoot." felipe felt rebellious. he was getting to be a man now, and his father still wanted to treat him with as little consideration as a child. instead of showing increasing respect to his tall son, the old man grew crosser and crosser every day. but felipe had never rebelled against the parental yoke, though he had said to himself a hundred times that he would not stand it any longer. yet in plotting to elope with josefa he was plotting a rebellion far more venturesome against the code of the community of which he was a member. "there isn't much hope there," said he to himself as he left the house, "but i knew that before. now for don estevan." it was no use to try to borrow from any of the other indians, for every man of them had his horse out at the herd--except, indeed, the cacique himself--and the herd was a day's journey away. with an anxious heart the boy wended his way to the next street of the village, which was the one where the american lodged. chapter ii a lone hand the sun was just rising above the mesas, or flat-topped hills that formed the eastern horizon of the view from the village, as felipe knocked at the door in the row of mud-built houses. his knock was answered by a fierce growl from a dog, and a loud "come in" in spanish from a vigorous human voice. he opened the door, which was unlocked, and stepped cautiously inside. from the brown blankets of a bed that stood by the wall a brindled bulldog was emerging, and apparently proposed to drive the intruder out. "dry up, faro, will you?" said the same voice in english, addressing the dog. "can't you see it's only felipe?" the dog, who evidently had a general theory that all indians would bear watching, lay down again sulkily on the bed, and felipe advanced to the fireplace. the owner of the voice was seated on a low stool, bending over the coals, with his back to the door. "good-morning, don estevan; how are you?" said felipe in spanish. the santiago people spoke an indian dialect of their own amongst themselves, but they used spanish as a medium of communication with the rest of the world. stephens, for that was the american's name, which in its spanish form had become don estevan, was busy cooking, and he answered without looking round, "good-morning, felipe; how goes it?" a critic might have said that his spanish accent was by no means perfect, but no more was the indian's, and the pair were able to understand one another readily enough, which was the main point. how had this american come to be living here by himself in a remote village community of the pueblo indians? during ten long years of search for gold he had wandered from colorado to california, from california to nevada, from nevada to montana, and from montana back again to colorado. the silver boom in colorado had just begun, and then silver mines were all the talk there. thereupon stephens recollected a story he had heard from an old prospector with whom he had once been camped in nevada about a deserted silver mine in new mexico which had once been worked by the spaniards, with the forced labour of their indian slaves, and had since lain idle, untouched, and even unknown. when the spanish power was broken, and the spaniards driven out, the indians had covered up the place and sworn never to disclose its existence. according to the story, the sole possessors of the secret were the pueblo indians of santiago. to santiago accordingly stephens had made his way in the hope of solving the mystery of the secret mine. this hope, however, was one which he could not avow openly at the first meeting, and when he presented himself before the chiefs of the pueblo it was of gold and not of silver that he spoke. he told them of his past toils and adventures, and the red men seemed to take a fancy to him on the spot. hitherto these indians had persistently enforced their right to prevent any man not of their own blood from taking up his abode within a league of their village of santiago, a right secured to them by special grant from the kings of old spain. what was there about this man that melted their obduracy? some charm they must have found in the face of this lone wanderer, for him alone among white men had they admitted as a permanent guest to the hospitality of their most jealously guarded sanctuary. perhaps there was something of pure caprice in their choice; perhaps it was in a way due to the effect of physical contrast. for in this case the contrast between the white man and the red, always marked, was as striking as it could possibly be. he was as fair as they were dark. with his white skin, his grey-blue eyes, and his curling golden hair, worn long in frontier fashion, he was as fair as any norseman that ever boasted his descent from the ancient vikings. "gold," said tostado, one of the chiefs, as stephens sat in the midst of them on the occasion of his first visit; "we ask you what sort of a life you live, and you answer us that you live only to search for gold. why, here is the gold. you carry it with you"; and with a reverent grace the fine old chief laid his dark fingers gently on the long yellow locks that flowed down from under the prospector's wide sombrero. the grey-blue eyes of the far-wandered man--one who like ulysses of old had withstood the buffets of capricious fortune through many adventurous years--found an expression of genuine friendliness in the dark orbs of this redskin chief, who smiled gravely at his own jest, as if in half-excuse of its familiarity. tostado gazed into the white man's eyes a moment longer, and then turned to the circle of his fellow-chiefs. "see," he said, "the white man's eyes are the same colour as our precious turquoise stones; they are the colour of our sacred jewel, the shiuamo, that i wear as the head man of the turquoise family," and he pointed to his breast where a large polished turquoise hung from a circlet round his neck. "the white man has travelled far; he is weary; he shall stay with us and rest a while; and we will give him an indian name, and he shall be as one of ourselves. let him be called 'sooshiuamo,' 'turquoise-eyes.' my brothers, say, is it good?" "yes, it is good," they answered, "it is good. from henceforth sooshiuamo is one of us; he is our brother." and in this fashion the roving gold-seeker had obtained amongst them the acceptance he desired. felipe, with his striped blanket gracefully draped round him, came and stood just behind his employer, but said nothing. on a rough table were a tin cup and tin plate and an iron-handled knife; a small coffee-pot was bubbling in the ashes on the hearth. stephens held a frying-pan in his left hand, and beside him on a tent-cloth on the floor lay a large smooth boulder and a hammer, with which he had been pounding his tough dried meat before cooking it. he now stood up to his full height, and turning his face, flushed with the fire, to felipe, pointed with the steel fork held in his right hand to a great wooden chest against the wall at one side of the room. "go and take an almud of corn and give it to the stock," said he. "give morgana her extra allowance." "yes, señor," said felipe; and taking down three nosebags which hung on a peg in the wall, he filled them, and went out to the corral in the outskirts of the village where the american kept his beasts. the mare morgana was a beautiful bay, of pure morgan stock, and the mules were sturdy little pack animals of mexican breed. by the time they had eaten their corn, and the boy had returned to the house with the nosebags, his employer had finished his meal and was washing up the dishes. felipe hung up the nosebags, and stood by the fire silent and thoughtful; it never occurred to him to offer to help in what he looked upon as women's work. stephens took the wiping cloth and began to wipe up. felipe at last screwed up his courage to ask far the mare he needed so badly. "oh, don estevan!" he began suddenly. "well, what is it?" said stephens sharply, rubbing away at his tin plate. it always irritated him to see anyone else idle when he was busy. felipe's heart sank. he felt he should fail if he asked now. perhaps his master would be in a better humour later on. "what shall i do with the beasts?" he said in his ordinary voice. "was that all you were going to say?" said stephens, looking at him keenly. "what's the matter with you? what's up?" "nothing, don estevan--it's nothing," said felipe. "shall i put them into the meadow as usual?" "yes, certainly," replied stephens. "i sha'n't ride. i shall walk up the acequia to the rock i am going to blast. if i want them after, i'll come down." "very well, señor," said the boy; and taking the lariats he went back to the corral, caught the stock, and led them down the indian road, through the unfenced fields of springing crops, towards the river. at the lower end of the plough-lands a steep bank of bare earth and clay dropped sharply to the green flat fifteen or twenty feet below, through which the river ran. the plough-lands lay on a sort of natural terrace, and were all watered by numerous channels and runlets, which had their sources in the great _acequia madre_, or main ditch. this ditch was taken out of the river some miles above, where it was dammed for the purpose, and was led along the side of the valley as high up as possible; the pueblo was built beside the ditch more than a league below the dam, nearly half a mile from the river in a direct line. the grassy flat through which the river flowed remained unploughed, because it was liable to be overflowed in flood time. it was a verdant meadow, the common pasture-ground of the milch cows of the village, which were herded here during the day by small boys and at night were shut up in the corrals to keep them out of the unfenced crops. felipe hobbled the three animals in the meadow, and set to work weeding in the wheat land above, where he could keep an eye upon them. some time after felipe's departure, stephens went to his powder-keg and measured out three charges of blasting-powder. "curious, isn't it?" said he aloud to himself as he handled the coarse black grains in which so much potential energy lay hid,--"curious how these indians, hard-working folk as ever i saw, have lived two or three hundred years here under the spanish government, and been allowed by those old dons to go on, year after year, short of water for irrigating, every time." he closed up his powder-keg again securely, and locked it away in the room that he used as a storeroom; it was the inner of the two rooms that he rented in the block of dwellings inhabited by the turquoise family. here he lived, alone and independent, simply paying felipe a trifle to do his chores and go up to the mesas and get his fire-wood. indoors the prospector distinctly preferred to keep himself free and unbeholden to anybody; he continued to live exactly as he did in camp, doing his own cooking and mending, and doing them thoroughly well too, with a pioneer's pride in being sufficient to himself in all things. "and now," said he, as he wrapped up the charges of powder, "i'll just show my good friends of santiago here a little trick those old spanish drones were too thick-headed or too lazy ever to work. this fossilised territory of new mexico don't rightly know what's the matter with her. she's got the best climate and some of the best land in america, and all she's good for at present is to bask in the sun. if she only knew it, she's waiting for a few live american men to come along and wake her up." stephens had been so much alone in the mountains that he had got into the solitary man's trick of talking to himself. even among the indians he would sometimes comment aloud upon things in english, which they did not understand; for in spite of their companionship he lived in a world of his own. he took down a coil of fuse from a shelf, cut off a piece, rolled it up, and stowed it away along with the charges of blasting-powder in his pockets, first feeling carefully for stray matches inside. "yes," he continued, as his fingers pried into every angle of each pocket preparatory to filling it with explosive matter, "drones is the only name for spaniards when it comes to talking real work. they don't work, and they never did. they've made this territory into a sleepy hollow. what she wants is a few genuine western men, full of vim, vinegar, and vitriol, just to make things hum for a change. new mexico has got the biggest kind of a future before her when the right sort of men come along and turn to at developing her." he stood in the middle of his outer room, patting himself gently in various parts to make sure that he had got all his needful belongings stowed away. "now then, faro," and he addressed the dog, who was still curled upon the bed eyeing his master doubtfully, uncertain whether he was to be left at home on guard or taken out for a spree; "what this here benighted country needs is the right kind of men and the right kind of dogs. aint that the sort of way you'd put it if you were a human? come along then, and you and me'll take a little trot up along the ditch and astonish their weak minds for 'em." with yelps of joy, uttered in a bulldog's strangled whistle, faro bounded off the bed on to the earthen floor, and danced rapturously round his master, who was still thoughtfully feeling his pockets from the outside to make certain that when he reached his destination he would not find that some quite indispensable requisite had been left behind. then he bounced out of the open door into the street, scattered a pig and three scraggy chickens that were vainly hunting around after stray grains of corn where the horses had been fed, and then halted to await his master out by the corrals. stephens, having at last assured himself that he had really forgotten nothing, came out after the dog, pulling to the door behind him, and the pair started off to walk up alongside the acequia. there was no water in it to-day, as it had been cut off up above to facilitate the work of blasting. here and there in the fields indians were at work: some wielded their great heavy hoes, with which they hacked away at the ground with astonishing vigour; others were ploughing with pairs of oxen, which walked stiffly side by side, their heads lashed firmly by the thick horns to the yoke, as they dragged the curious old-fashioned wooden ploughs, just like those described by virgil in the _georgics_ two thousand years ago. in the peach orchards near the village women were at work, and little naked brown children stopped their play to stare at the white man as he passed, with the simplicity of arcadia. after half an hour's walk he reached his destination, a rocky promontory that jutted out from the hills into the valley. the acequia ran round its base, and the indians, in order to bring as much of the valley as possible under irrigation, had carried the line of the ditch as high as they could. they had carried it so high that where it rounded the rocks a point projected into it, and made it too narrow and too shallow to carry the amount of water that it was easily capable of containing both above and below. they had no saws to cut boards to make a flume for the ditch; and, besides, such a piece of engineering was quite beyond the range of their simple arts. this weak place had been a hindrance and a trial to them from time immemorial. if they attempted to run their ditch more than half full of water it brimmed over at this point, and then broke down the bank. it had to be patched every year,--sometimes several times in one year,--and this entailed much extra work on the members of the village community, who were all bound by their laws to work on the ditch when necessary, without pay. in fact, the repair of the ditch at the point of rocks was one of the stock grievances of the pueblo, everyone thinking that he was set to do more than his share of the work. besides, it naturally broke down when fullest, that is to say, when they needed it most for irrigation, and everyone wanted water for his maize or his wheat crop. no wonder, then, they were first incredulous and then overjoyed when by a fortunate chance stephens happened to hear of their difficulty and went to examine the spot, saw at once that it was a simple matter, and offered to lend them tools, to show them how to drill the necessary holes, and then to blast away the obnoxious rocks for them. these indians were familiar with firearms and knew the force of gunpowder, but were ignorant of its use for blasting purposes; nor were their mexican neighbours in this part of the country much more enlightened. accordingly they had accepted with joy stephens's proffered assistance, having learned by experience to set a high value on the skill and resource of their american friend. chapter iii blasting the acequia a little crowd of these peaceful and industrious red men, in character so unlike their wild cousins of the prairie and the sierra, were grouped around the point of rocks. as stephens approached them he heard the click, click, of steel on stone; and as he came near the crowd made way for him, and the cacique saluted him: "good morning, sooshiuamo; you have come at the right time. see how well the young men have worked at making the holes in the rock as you showed them yesterday. they have made them quite deep now. come and tell us if they are right." stephens looked into the ditch, where a powerfully built indian was laboriously jumping a heavy bar of steel up and down in a hole bored in the hard, solid rock, giving it a half-turn with his wrists at each jump. the colorado miner got down into the ditch and took the drill he had lent them out of the hands of the indian, and tried the hole with it. his deft and easy way of handling the heavy jumping-bar showed practised skill as well as strength. "that'll do right enough," he said, looking up at the cacique who stood on the bank above him. "you have got your chaps to do the business well. are the other two holes as deep as this?" "yes, deeper," answered the indian. "see, here they are; try them; the young men have been at them since noon yesterday." stephens moved along to the points indicated and examined in a critical manner the work that had been effected. "yes, that looks as if it would do all right," he said in approving tones. "now then, you fellows, give me room, and keep still a few minutes, and i'll show you some fireworks." he produced from his pockets the powder and fuse, and proceeded to make his, to them, mysterious preparations, the eager and inquisitive circle of red men pressing as near as possible, and almost climbing over each other's shoulders in order to get a good view. their excited comments amused stephens greatly, and in return he kept up a running fire of jests upon them. but it is not always easy to jest appropriately with men who stand on a different step of the intellectual ladder from yourself; and without his dreaming of such a thing, one of his laughing repartees suggested to his indian auditors a train of thought that their minds took very seriously. stephens's action in ramming down a charge of powder, and then tamping it, had not unnaturally reminded them of an operation which was the only one connected with gunpowder that they had experience of. "why, he's loading it just like a gun," cried a voice from the crowd; "but what's he going to shoot?" "shoot?" retorted stephens, without looking up, as he adjusted the fuse with his fingers; "why, i'm going to shoot the sky, of course. don't you see how this hole points right straight up to heaven? you sit on the mouth of it when i touch her off, and it'll boost you aloft away up over the old sun there"; and raising his face he pointed to the brightly glowing orb which was already high overhead. at his words a sort of shiver ran around the ring of red men. religion is the strongest and the deepest sentiment of the indian mind, and the rash phrase sounded as if some violation of the sanctity of what they worshipped was intended. what! shoot against the sacred sky! shoot with sacrilegious gunpowder against the home of the shiuana, of "those above"? the deed might be taken as a defiance of those dread powers, and bring down their wrath upon them all. then came a crisis. "bad medicine! witchcraft!" exclaimed a voice with the unmistakable ring of angry terror in it. to the indian, witchcraft is the one unpardonable sin, only to be atoned for by a death of lingering torture. a murmur of swift-rising wrath followed the accusing voice. the american was warned in a moment that he had made a dangerous slip, and he at once tried to get out of it with as little fuss as might be. "you dry up!" he retorted indignantly. "witchcraft be blowed! you ought to know better than to talk like that, you folks. i'm telling you truth now. that was only a little joke of mine, about shooting the sky. there's no bad medicine in that. we americans don't know anything about such fool tricks as witchcraft. here's all there is to it. i'm simply going to blast this rock for you. it's just an ordinary thing that's done thousands of times every day in the mines all over the united states." "ah, but there are great wizards among the americans, and their medicine is very bad," cried the same voice of angry terror that had spoken before. "are you working their works? are you one of them?" stephens glanced quickly round the ring of dark eyes now fixed on him with alien looks. he saw there a universal scowl that sent a chill through him. "there's a lot of explosive stuff round here besides my blasting-powder," he said to himself, "and it looks as if i'd come mighty nigh touching it off, without meaning it, with that feeble little joke. what a flare-up about nothing!" there flashed across his mind on the instant a story of three stranger indians, who by some unlucky chance had violated the mysteries of the santiago folk and had never been heard of more. for himself he had every reason, so far, to be satisfied with his treatment, but now, at last, he had happened to touch on a sensitive spot with the indians, and behold, this was the result. he saw that he must take a firm stand, and take it at once. he straightened himself up from his stooping position, dusting off the earth that adhered to his hands. "now, look here, you chaps," he said peremptorily, as he stood erect in the middle of the ditch, "you want to quit that rot about witches right here and now. there's only one question i'm going to ask you, and that's this--do you want your ditch fixed up, or don't you? you say it has been a trouble to you for hundreds of years, and here i stand ready to fix it for you right now in just one minute. there's only one more thing to be done, and that's to strike the match. come, cacique, you're the boss around here. say which it is to be. is it 'yes' or 'no'?" salvador, the cacique of santiago, was no fool. personally he was as firm a believer in witchcraft as any of his people, nor would he have hesitated for a moment to utilise such a charge as had just been made to rid himself of an enemy. but he was also well aware that there were times when it was far more expedient to suppress it, and that this was one of them. "nonsense, miguel!" he exclaimed, turning abruptly on the indian who had first raised the dreaded cry; "this americano is a good man, and no wizard, and your business is to hold your tongue till you are asked to speak. it is the proper office of your betters to see to these matters, and you have no right nor call to interfere." the lonely american heard him speak thus with an intense sense of relief. the power of the chief was great, and his words were strong to exorcise the malignant spirit of fanaticism. "good for you, salvador!" he exclaimed, as the cacique's reproof ceased, and left a visible effect on the attitude of the crowd, "that's the talk! i'm glad to see you've got some sense. your answer is 'yes,' i take it." "assuredly i mean 'yes,' sooshiuamo," answered the cacique; "we want you to go on and finish your work. i say so, and what i say i mean. but if all is ready, as you declare, before you strike the match we will offer a prayer to those above that all may be well." "why certainly, cacique," assented stephens, "i've got no sort of objection to make. you fire ahead." he breathed more freely now, but he was conscious of a vastly quickened interest in the religious methods of the indians as he watched the cacique withdraw a little space from the edge of the ditch and turn, facing the east, the other indians following his example, and standing in irregular open formation behind him, all facing towards the east likewise. "didn't reckon i was going to drop in for a prayer-meeting," said the american, with a humour which he kept to himself, "or i might have brought my sunday-go-to-meeting togs if i'd only known. but, by george! when i was mining over on the pacific slope, the days when things was booming over there, if we'd had to stop and have prayers on the comstock lode every time we were going to let off a blast, i should rather say that the output of bullion in nevada would have fallen off some." he listened intently to the flow of words that the cacique, acting as the spokesman of his people, was pouring forth, but they were utterly unintelligible to him, for the prayer was couched in the language of the tribe, and not in civilised spanish. all he could distinguish were the "ho-a's" that came in at intervals from the crowd like responses. "i wonder what he's saying, and who or what he's saying it to?" he meditated questioningly. "what was it that nepomuceno sanchez was telling me only last week,--that they didn't have service in that old roman catholic church of theirs more than once in a blue moon, and all the rest of the time they go in for some heathen games of their own in their secret estufas in the pueblo; he swore that one time he dropped on to a party of them at some very queer games indeed, on the site of an old ruined pueblo of theirs 'way off up on the potrero de las vacas--swore they had a pair of big stone panthers up there, carved out of the living rock, that they go and offer sacrifices to. i didn't more than half believe him then, but this makes me think there's something in it. what the blazes are they at now?" a chorus of "ho-a's," uttered with a deep, heartfelt intonation, like the long a-a-mens at a revival meeting, rose from the crowd. there rose also from them little tufts of feather-down that floated upwards to the sky, soaring as it were on the breath of the worshippers, outward and visible symbols of the petitions that ascended from the congregation. the cacique took a step in advance, holding in his hands two long feathers crossed; he stooped down and began to bury them in the loose, light soil. stephens, his curiosity now intensely aroused, was moving forward a little in order to see more closely what was taking place, but an indian instantly motioned him back in silence, finger on lip, with a countenance of shocked gravity, making the irreverent inquirer feel like an impudent small boy caught in the act of disturbing a church service. "perhaps at this stage of the performances they'd like to have me take off my hat," he soliloquised. "well, mebbe i will." he looked round at the motionless figures reverently standing with bowed heads. "do at rome as rome does, so some folks say. these indians themselves don't have any hats to take off, but they look so blamed serious over it that i'm dead sure they would if they wore 'em. dashed if i don't do it; here goes!" and he swept his broad sombrero from his head, subduing his face to a decorously grave expression. but the repressed humour of the american reasserted itself beneath this enforced solemnity of his exterior. "makes me think of the story of the man the indians in california once took prisoner, only instead of putting him to the torture they painted him pea-green and worshipped him as a deity. it's not so bad as that yet," he went on to himself, "but i don't much like taking any sort of part in this show, nohow." he looked at the hat which he was devoutly holding in his hand as he stood amongst the congregation, and his face assumed a quizzical expression. "i wonder now if by doing this i aint, by chance, worshipping some blamed idol or other. i used to be a joined member oncet, back there in ohio, of the united presbyterian church. i wonder what poor old elder edkins would say now if he caught sight of me in this shivaree. however, i guess i can stand it, if it don't go too far. so long as they stick to this tomfoolery and only worship those turkey feathers, or whatever they are, that the cacique's been burying, i'll lay low. but if they want to play me for an idol, and start in to painting me pea-green, there'll be a rumpus. what a time their prayer-meeting does take, anyhow! ah, thank goodness, here's the doxology." the cacique had finished his incantation over the crossed feathers, and interred them properly. he now rose and dismissed the assembly, which instantly broke up, the serious expression rapidly dissolving from all faces, as it does from those of a congregation pouring out of church. it was on the tip of stephens's tongue to begin, "why, cacique, you've forgot to take up the collection. where's your plate?" as he saw salvador approaching him, but a sobering recollection of the awkward way in which his last joke had missed fire checked the temptation to be flippant as too dangerous. "my game," thought he, "is to cut the gab and come to the 'osses, as the english circus-manager said; or else they might call on brother miguel to give an exhortation, and who knows which end of the horn i should be liable to come out at then?" "well, cacique," he said aloud, "through? so soon? you don't say! are you really ready now?" "yes," answered the indian, "now you begin. do your work." "all right then," rejoined the american; "if that's so, by the permission of the chairman i'll take the floor." he sprang down into the ditch, drew out a match, and turned round to the cacique. "now, salvador," he called out, "make your people stand clear. let them go right away." they did not need telling twice, and there was a general stampede, the bolder hiding close by, the most part running off to the distance of a rifle-shot. the cacique gathered up the buckskin riata of his plump mustang, which stood there champing the spanish ring-bit till his jaws dropped flakes of foam, and retired to a safe distance. stephens stood alone in the ditch and struck the match. it went out; he took off his broad felt hat, struck another match, and held it inside. this time the flame caught, and he applied it to the ends of the fuses, and retreated in a leisurely manner round the back of a big rock near by. he found two or three of the boldest indians behind it, and pushing them back stood leaning against the rock. they squeezed up against him, their bright black eyes gleaming and their red fingers trembling with excitement. they had never seen a blast let off before. boom! boom! went the first two charges, and the echoes of the reports resounded through the foothills that bordered the valley. several indians started forward from their hiding-places. "keep back there, will you!" shouted stephens. "keep 'em back, salvador. tito," he said familiarly to the indian who was next him beside the rock, "if you go squeezing me like that i'll pull your pigtail." tito's long black hair was done up and rolled with yellow braid into a neat pigtail at the nape of his neck. the pueblo indian men all wear their hair this way, and are as proud of their queues as so many chinamen. tito laughed and showed his gleaming teeth, as he nudged the boy next to him at the american's joke. boom! went the third charge. the practical miner looked up warily to see that no fragments were flying overhead, and then stepping from under cover waved his arm. at the signal the indians poured from their hiding-places and rushed eagerly down to the scene of action. the blast was a great success. some tons of stone had been shattered and dislodged just where it was necessary, and it was plain to see that the ditch might now be made twice as big as before. without any delay the indians swarmed in like ants, and began picking up the broken stone with their hands, and carrying it out to build up and strengthen the lower side of the embankment. while the workers were thus busily engaged, the cacique came forward, holding his horse by the riata of plaited buckskin. he made a deep, formal reverence before the man who had wrought what for them was nothing less than a miracle,--the man by whose superior art the solid rock had been dissipated into a shower of fragments, and who now stood quietly looking on at the scene of his triumph. "it is truly most wonderful, this thing that you have done," began the chief, "and we will be your devoted servants for ever after this"; and he bowed himself again more deeply than before, as deeply as when he had buried the sacred feathers a few minutes earlier. the native humour of the american asserted itself at once. "here's the pea-green deity business on," he murmured to himself. "so far, so good; i don't mind the deity part, but i draw the line if he trots out his paint-pot; then i'll begin to kick." "since the days of montezuma," continued the cacique, with an eloquent wave of his hand, "no benefactor like you has ever come to the red men; no blessing has been wrought for them such as you have done. would that our departed ancestors had been allowed to see with their own eyes the great, the glorious manifestation of power that has been shown to us, their children--" and his mellifluous oratory rolled on in an unceasing stream of praise. "by george!" said stephens to himself, "i wonder if right now isn't my best time to bounce him about the silver mine. i did calculate to bring it up before the council of chiefs when i saw a favourable opportunity, but though the rest of 'em aren't here at this moment the cacique's talking so almighty grateful that perhaps i'd better strike while the iron's hot." he listened a moment to the profuse expressions of gratitude that poured from the red man's lips. "if he only means a quarter of what he's saying, i ought to have no difficulty in getting him to back me up. but perhaps i'd best tackle him alone first, and make sure of his support." he waited until the cacique had finished his peroration. "glad you're pleased, i'm sure," said stephens in reply, "and here's my hand on it," and he shook the cacique's hand warmly in his. "just let's step this way a little," he went on quietly. "i've got a word or two to say to you between ourselves," and the pair moved away side by side to a distance of a few yards from the site of the blasted rock. "you see, working together like this, how easily we've been able to manage it," began the american diplomatically. "i'm an expert at mining, and your young men have carried out the execution of this job admirably. now, look at here, cacique; what i wanted to say to you was this. why shouldn't we go in together, sort of partners like, and work your silver mine together in the same sort of way? i could make big money for both of us; there'd be plenty for me and plenty for you and for all your people, if it's only half as good as i've heard tell"; he paused, looking sideways at the indian as he spoke to note what effect his suggestion produced on him. at the words "silver mine" the chief's face, which had been smiling and gracious in sympathy with the feelings he had been expressing in his speech, suddenly clouded over and hardened into a rigid impassibility. "i don't know what you mean by our silver mine, don estevan," he answered frigidly. "there is no such thing in existence." "tut, tut," said stephens, good-humouredly, "don't you go to make any mystery of the thing with me, cacique. i'm your good friend, as you acknowledged yourself only a minute ago. i mean that old silver mine you've got up there on rattlesnake mountain, cerro de las viboras as you call it. you keep it carefully covered up, with logs and earth piled up over the mouth of it. quite right of you, too. no use to go and let everybody see what you've got. i quite agree to that. but you needn't make any bones about it with me who am your friend, and well posted about the whole thing to boot." in reality stephens was retailing to the indian the story of the mine as far as he had been able to trace it among the mexicans. this was the first time that he had even hinted to any of the santiago people that he knew anything at all about it, or had any curiosity on the subject. salvador maintained his attitude of impassibility. "i don't know who has told you all this," he answered, "but it is all nonsense. put it out of your mind; there's nothing in it." but in spite of these denials stephens believed his shot about the mine had gone home, and he knew also that the cacique was reputed to be fond of gain. "oh, i understand you well enough, salvador," he rejoined with easy familiarity. "of course you're bound to deny it. it's the old policy of your tribe. that's all right. but now, as between you and me, it's time there was a new departure, and you and i are the men to make it. i tell you i know just what i'm talking about, and there's money in it for both of us." he thought he saw the dark eyes of the indian glisten, but his lips showed small sign of yielding. "it's no use, don estevan," the latter said firmly. "i cannot tell you a word now, and i don't suppose i ever shall be able to. keep silence. let no one know you have spoken to me about such things." at this moment loud cries broke out from where the workers were busy, and stephens, wondering what was up, listened intently to the sounds. he thought he could distinguish one word, "kaeahvala," repeated again and again. the cacique turned round abruptly. a huge rattlesnake, which had been disturbed by the shock of the blast, had emerged from a crevice in the rocks, and showed itself plainly to view wriggling away over the open ground. "after him, after him, snakes!" called out the cacique in a loud voice. "he is angry because his house has been shaken. to the estufa without delay! you must pacify him." on the instant there darted forth in pursuit half a dozen young men of the snake family, and at the same moment faro, with an eager yelp, announced his ardent intention of pacifying the snake in his own fashion, and away went the dog, who had been compelled to endure, much against his will, the tedium of the indian prayer-meeting and the oratory of the cacique, and now proceeded to grow frantic with excitement at the chance of joining independently in the chase. "come back there, faro," cried stephens, in an agony of alarm for his favourite; "come back there, will you!" but faro was headstrong and pretended not to hear. the cacique too was filled with alarm, but the object of his solicitude was not the dog but the reptile. "quick, quick!" he cried to the young men; "be quick and save him from that hound." and then stephens saw a sight that astonished him out of measure. the indian youths had the advantage of faro in starting nearer the snake; they ran like the wind, and the foremost of them, overtaking the reptile before faro could get up, pounced upon him and swung him aloft in the air, grasping him firmly just behind the head and allowing the writhing coils to twine around his muscular arm. one of his companions produced a bunch of feathers and stroked the venomous head from which the forked tongue was darting, while the baffled faro danced around, leaping high in his efforts to get at his prey. stephens ran up and secured his dog, and looked on at this extraordinary piece of snake-charming with an amazement that increased every moment. "but why don't you kill the brute?" he cried. "don't play with him like that; kill him quick. tell 'em to kill him, cacique. i never passed a rattler in my life without killing it if i could; it's a point of conscience with me." the indian looked at him with grave disapproval, as a parent might look at a child who had in its ignorance been guilty of a serious fault. "you do not understand, sooshiuamo," he said in a tone in which reproof was mingled with pity; "the snake is their grandfather, and they have to show their piety towards him." then turning from the scoffer, "hasten," he called to the young men; "run with him to the proper place"; and away they sped across the plain towards the pueblo, the writhing reptile still borne high in the air, and the bunch of feathers still playing around its angry jaws. "well, i'm jiggered!" said stephens. "i never saw such a thing as that in my life. i say, cacique, what is it that you want to do with the brute, anyhow? do you mean to tell me that you make a deity of him?" the cacique's face assumed the same rapt and solemn expression it had worn during what stephens had irreverently called the prayer-meeting. "these are our mysteries, sooshiuamo," he said with a voice of awe; "it is not for you to inquire into them. be warned, for it is dangerous." "oh, blow your mysteries!" said stephens in english, under his breath. "very well, salvador," he went on aloud. "i'm sure i don't want to go poking my nose into other people's business. i think i'll just say good-morning. i've blasted that rock for you all right. now you see if you can make that ditch work; if you can't, you come and tell me, and i'll see what more i can do to fix it for you. so long"; and without more ado he turned on his heel and walked off down to the river. chapter iv a race with a mule when stephens arrived at the edge of the terrace on which the plough-lands lay, he looked down on the green expanse of meadow through which the river ran, and feeding in it half a mile below he saw some stock that he knew must be his. "there they are," said he to himself. "i reckon i'll take jinks and go down to san remo and get my mail, and see if those winchester cartridges that i sent for from santa fé came last night." he clambered down the abrupt bank of red clay to the meadow, and followed down the line of the stream till he came to where his stock were eagerly cropping the fresh green grass. "now how am i going to catch him?" said he to himself. "let's see where felipe and the lariats are"; and looking round, he presently perceived some clothes on the river bank, and going to them found felipe, stripped to his waist-cloth, splashing about in the middle of a deep pool. "hullo, felipe!" cried he playfully. "trying to drown yourself there? you must go to the rio grande for that--there isn't water enough in the santiago river." felipe heard him indistinctly, and came towards him, swimming in indian style with an amazingly vigorous overhand stroke. stephens picked up one of the lariats that were lying loose on the ground by the clothes, and swinging the noose round his head, jestingly tried to lasso the lad. missing him, he turned it off with, "i don't want you yet. i want the big mule; i'm going to catch him and go down to san remo"; and suiting the action to the word, he coiled the lariat as he spoke, and turned and started for the beasts. felipe came out and stood on the bank to watch him. "what a good humour he's in now," thought the boy. "i suppose he was lucky with the rock. now is my time to ask him for the mare." stephens, holding the coil of rope behind him to conceal his intention from the mule he desired to catch, cautiously approached him. jinks, the mule, however, was not to be deceived for a moment, and as his master came near, turned his heels to him and scuttled off. horses and mules where they have frequently to wear hobbles become surprisingly active in them. they bound along for a short distance, in an up-and-down rocking-horse gallop, so fast that even a man on horseback has to make his mount put his best foot forward to get up to them. stephens found himself outpaced, and gave it up, seeing that it was impossible for him to capture the truant single-handed. felipe flew to his side in a moment. "let me try to catch him, sooshiuamo," cried he, eagerly. "let me!" and taking the lariat from the not unwilling hands of the american, he started off, coiling it rapidly as he ran. before bathing he had undone his pigtail, and his long, glossy black hair hung in thick, wavy masses down to his waist. among the indians, the women cut their hair short--if it remained uncut the care of it would take too long, and would keep them from their household duties; but the men, having more leisure, allow theirs to grow, and are very proud of its luxuriance and beauty. as felipe ran, his streaming locks floated out behind him on the air like the mane of a wild horse, and gave to his figure a wonderfully picturesque effect; his wet skin shone in the sun the colour of red bronze. the pueblo indians are fine runners; they have inherited fleetness of foot and endurance from their forefathers, and keep up the standard by games and races among themselves. felipe, young though he was, had no superior in swiftness in the village. he darted like a young stag across the meadow after the fugitive mule, and chased him at full speed down to the river brink, and over the dry shingle banks of its very bed. the pebbles rattled and flew back in showers from the hoof-prints of the mule. round they wheeled, back into the meadow again; and here the indian, putting on an astonishing burst of speed, fairly ran the quadruped down, lassoed him, and brought him to his master. "here he is, señor," said he modestly, handing stephens the rope. "well done, felipe," said stephens. "you did that well. you do run like an antelope." he felt quite a glow of admiration for the athletic youth who stood panting before him, resting his hand on the mule's back. "now's my time," thought felipe, "what luck!--oh, don estevan," he began, and then stopped with downcast eyes. "well, what is it?" said stephens kindly. "oh, don estevan, if you would lend me your mare!" the murder was out, and felipe looked up at his employer beseechingly. "i would take such care of her!" he continued; "i would indeed." "lend her for what?" said stephens, a little taken aback. "what do you want with her?" "i want her to go to ensenada to-night," said the boy. "oh, but felipe, i'm going to the sierra to-morrow to hunt, you know. it isn't possible. but," he continued, touched a little by the boy's evident distress, "what do you want to do there? why don't you get your father's horse?" "he's at the herd. my father doesn't let me," said felipe despondently. then he went on, "i thought perhaps you didn't go for a day or two. i will bring her back to-morrow in the night. and she shall not be tired--not a bit. oh, do lend her to me! please do!" "i wonder what foolery he's up to now," said stephens to himself; "i do hate to lend a horse anyhow--and to a harebrained indian boy who'll just ride all the fat off her in no time. cheek, i call it, of him to ask it." "but," he continued in a not unfriendly tone, "why do you want her? is it flour you have to fetch?" wheat flour was rather scarce this spring in the pueblo, and some of the indians were buying it over on the rio grande. "no, sir, it's not that. only i want her," he added. "oh please, don estevan, please," said he with an imploring face; "do lend the mare or the mule, or anything to ride. oh do!" and he threw all the entreaty he was capable of into his voice, till it trembled and almost broke into a sob. "why, what ails the boy?" said stephens, surprised at his emotion. "if you want it so bad," he continued, "why don't you ask it from tostado, or miguel, or some of them? they'll let you have one. you know i never lend mine. if i did once, all the pueblo would be borrowing them every day. you know it yourself. you've always told me yourself that it would be like that." he was trying to harden his heart by going over his stock argument against lending. "you see i can't do it. i'm going off to the sierra to-morrow," and he turned away, leading the mule after him by the rope. but before he had gone far he stopped and looked round as if an idea had struck him. "it might be a good notion to try and pump this boy a bit right now," he considered; "he's so desperate eager to borrow the mare he might be willing to let out a thing or two to please me." he beckoned with his hand to felipe, who was gazing regretfully after his employer. "see here, felipe," said stephens, as the boy eagerly ran to him; "there's something that i had in my mind to ask you, only i forgot. it's just simply this--did you ever kill a rattlesnake?" "never, oh, never in my life!" cried the young indian, with a voice of horror. "well, and why not?" persisted the other. "what's your reason anyway? what is there to prevent you?" "oh, but, sooshiuamo, why should i?" said the boy in an embarrassed manner, looking distractedly at the ground as he balanced himself uneasily on one bare foot, crossing the other over it, and twiddling his toes together. "i don't know," he added after a pause. "why should i kill them?" "well, they're ugly, venomous things," said the american, "and that would be reason enough for anybody, i should think. but tell me another thing then. what do your folks do with them in the estufa? can't you tell me that much?" "what are you saying about things in the estufa?" cried the boy excitedly. "have any of the mexicans been telling you, then, that we keep a sacred snake in the pueblo? don't you ever believe it, don't, don't!" and his voice rose to a passionate shrillness that betrayed the anxiety aroused in him by any intrusion on the mysteries of his people. "the mexicans be blowed!" said stephens. "i'm talking to you now of what i've just been seeing with my own eyes. there was a big old rattler came out of the rock after i blasted it, and young antonio went and caught it by the neck and let it twist itself around his arm, and another fellow went to playing with it with a bunch of feathers, and then they ran off with it to the pueblo,--the cacique told them to,--and half a dozen more chaps with them, as tight as they could go. now i want to know what all that amounts to." "i can tell you this much," said felipe after a moment's hesitation; "antonio is one of the snakes; so were the others, of course, who went with him. the snake is their grandfather, and so they know all about snakes. but i'm a turquoise, like you, sooshiuamo. you are my uncle," he added insinuatingly, "and you should be kind to me and lend me a horse sometimes." the american laughed aloud. "oh, i know all about grandfather snake and grandfather turquoise and the rest of them," he said. "but i'm not an indian, and i don't come into your family tree, even if you do call me sooshiuamo and i live in a turquoise house. i don't lay claim to be any particular sort of uncle to you. but i do want you should tell me something more about this snake-charming business. can't you let it out?" "but how can i let it out?" exclaimed felipe in an irritated voice. "haven't i told you already that the snakes know all about it, and not me? you may be sure the snakes keep their own affairs private, and don't show them to outsiders. how should i know anything about the snakes' business?" "well, felipe, if you won't, you won't, i suppose," said stephens. "i know you can be an obstinate young pig when you choose." he did not more than half believe in the lad's professed ignorance. he hesitated a moment as if in doubt whether to try another tack. "look here, young 'un," he began again in a friendlier tone, "i'll pass that. we'll play it you don't know anything about snakes. you're a full-blooded turquoise boy, you are, and your business is to know all about turquoises, and turquoise mines, and so on. very well." he was pleased to see a sort of conscious smile come over the lad's mouth almost involuntarily. "all right then. let's play it that you are my nephew if you like. now then, fire ahead, you, and tell your uncle all about where we go to get our turquoises from. you're bound to be posted up in these family matters. there's a lot of things your uncle wants to hear. the silver plates for the horse bridles, for instance, now; let's hear where they come from. go on; tell me about our silver mines." "no, no, no!" he cried desperately, and he sprang back as if the american had struck him with a whip. "it is impossible; there aren't any; there are no such things; the mexicans have been telling you that, too, have they? but they're all liars, yes, liars; don't you ever believe one word that they say about us." he paused, his lips parted with excitement and his lithe frame passionately convulsed. regretfully stephens looked at him and recognised that it was hopeless to get anything out of him, at least in his present condition. "very well, felipe," he said, "i think i understand your game. you just don't choose, and that's about the size of it"; and gathering up the coils of the lariat he turned abruptly away and led off the reluctant captain jinks in the direction of the pueblo in order to saddle him up. he felt decidedly cheap; as yet he had not scored a single trick in the game he was trying to play. felipe stood looking after him disconsolately; at last he gave a heavy sigh and walked back to where he had left his clothes, with drooping head and flagging step, a figure how unlike the elastic form that had burst full speed across the meadow five minutes before. "it's no use," said he to himself. "he doesn't care; he's a very hard man, is don estevan." he did up his glossy hair into its queue, put on his long buckskin leggings and his cotton shirt, worn outside in indian fashion like a tunic and secured with a leather belt, bound his red handkerchief as a turban round his head--the universal pueblo head-dress--and with a very heavy heart went back to his weeding. chapter v "ojos azules no miran" "_ojos azules no miran_--blue eyes don't see," said a soft voice to stephens in gently rallying tones. he was sitting on captain jinks in the roadway, nearly opposite to the first house in san remo, with his eyes shaded under his arched hands, and gazing fixedly back across the long levels of the indian lands over which he had just ridden. "_si, miran_,--yes, they do see," he answered coolly, without either looking at the speaker or removing his hands from his forehead, as he still continued his searching gaze. he was trying to make out whether the animals he had left in felipe's charge were kept by him still grazing safely in the meadow, or if they had been allowed to wander off into the young wheat. the distance to where he had left them feeding was nearer two miles than one, but nature had gifted him with singularly keen vision, and the frontiersman's habit of being perpetually on the lookout had developed this power to the utmost. he was able to identify positively his own stock amongst the other animals at pasture, and to assure himself that, so far, they were all right. he took his hands from his forehead, straightened himself in his saddle, and looked down at the person who had ventured to speak in so disrespectful a way of the quality of his eyesight. the speaker was a young mexican woman, and he encountered the glance of a pair of eyes as soft as velvet and as black as night, set in a face of rich olive tint. at that pleasant sight his firm features relaxed into a smile, and he took up her bantering challenge. "_si, miran_," he repeated,--"yes, they do see, señorita; they see a very pretty girl"; and with a ceremonious sweep of his arm he took off his broad sombrero, as the conventional way of emphasising the conventional gallantry. the girl blushed with pleasure at the american's compliment. she had a dark scarf drawn over her head, and she now tossed the end of it coquettishly across her face, and kept up her bantering tone. "then," replied she, "as you had them directed straight towards the indian pueblo, i suppose it was a pretty little indian squaw they were gazing back at so earnestly." "no," he returned bluntly, matter-of-fact anglo-saxon that he was; "i was looking back towards santiago in order to make out whether my horses had got into the indians' wheat. but they're all right. and how is your father, don nepomuceno?" he added civilly. "he is very well, señor; he is now at home. won't you come in and see him? he said he hoped you would be coming down this morning, as it was mail day." "i am much obliged to him," answered stephens. "i am on my way now to the stage station, and i will look in as i return." san remo was the place where the weekly mail from santa fé to fort wingate crossed the santiago river. it was a village of the mexicans, and lay just outside the boundary of the four square leagues of the indian grant. "that is where we two were going," she answered, "my little sister and myself," and she laid her hand on a little brown maiden of ten years or so, who had come out of the house and now stood shyly behind the elder sister, holding on to her dress. "we have to buy some sugar," she continued, "and there is a new storekeeper at the stage station, and they say he sells cheap." "then with your permission, señorita, i'll walk along there with you," said the american. he suited the action to the word, throwing his right leg lightly over the neck of his mule and then dropping both feet together to the ground so as to alight facing the girl. "say, chiquita," and he addressed the younger girl, "don't you want a ride? let me put you up"; but the child only smiled, showing her ivory teeth and clinging more closely behind her sister. "don't be a silly, altagracia," cried the latter, bringing her round to the front. "why don't you say 'thank you' to the american señor for his kindness in giving you a ride on his mule?" and she pushed her, in spite of her affected reluctance, into the hands of stephens, who raised her from the ground and placed her, sitting sideways, in the wide california saddle, and gave her the reins to hold. then, resting his right hand on the mule's neck, he walked forward towards the store beside the elder girl. "i heard a new man had moved in and taken charge of the stage station and post-office this week," he said. "has he got a good stock?--many pretty things for the señoras?" "they say he has beautiful things,--velvet dresses and splendid shawls," she replied; "but i haven't seen them yet. i've only been in with my aunt to buy things for the house, not to see his dress goods. but i hope my father will take us there soon, before all the best of them are gone. the wife of ramon garcia got a lovely pink muslin there. she showed it to me yesterday in her house. he's a very clever man, too, is the new storekeeper; he is a texan, but he speaks spanish beautifully, just like ourselves. he has a mexican wife." "ah," remarked stephens, "has he? what's his name, do you know?" "bah-koose," answered the girl, giving full value to the broad spanish vowels which she imported into the somewhat commonplace name of "backus." "don tomas bah-koose is his name," she repeated. "he is not old, he appears to be about thirty, and he has three children. but perhaps you have met him; is he a friend of yours?" "backus," said stephens reflectively; "thomas backus. no, i can't say that he is; i don't remember ever meeting anyone of that name." "it sounds almost like our spanish name, baca," said she; "but he is not one of the bacas, though he has been living at peña blanca, where so many of them live." the bacas of new mexico are a fine old family, sprung from the loins of cabeza de vaca, the comrade of ponce de leon, one of the heroes of the spanish conquest. "well," said stephens, "we'll soon see what he looks like, anyhow, for here we are at the store." he lifted the child down from the saddle, and the two girls at once went inside while he tied up his mule to a hitching-post that was set in front of the door. after he had finished doing so, he followed them in; and stepping across the threshold he was instantly aware of a surprised glance of half-recognition darted at him by a man who stood behind the counter, where he was showing some cotton prints to three shawl-clad mexican women. "mornin', mister," said the storekeeper, in english. "excuse me if i keep you waitin' a minute while i 'tend on these ladies." "all right," answered stephens briefly, and he leaned quietly back against the mud-plastered adobe wall till the other should be at leisure. he ran his eye over the shelves, which, like those of most mexican country village shops, contained a varied assortment that ranged from tenpenny nails to the tin saints whose shrines decorate even the poorest hovel in new mexico. his gaze reverted to the storekeeper, who was a tall, dark, spare man, with a clean-shaven face, a bilious complexion, and snaky black hair. this, then, was mr. thomas backus, an american citizen married to a mexican wife. she had certainly helped him to a fluent command of her mother tongue, and stephens could not help envying the easy way in which he poured out lavish praises of his new goods to the customers whom he was serving. the purchases of these ladies were presently completed, but they still remained in the store carrying on an animated conversation with don nepomuceno's daughter, who had joined them in discussing the patterns they had chosen. "and now what can i do for you?" inquired the storekeeper, looking stephens in the face as he turned to him. "surely i have met this man before, but where?" said stephens to himself, while he answered mr. backus's question by remarking politely, "oh, i'm not in any hurry, thank you. won't you serve this young lady first?" and with a slight gesture he indicated manuelita, who was still absorbed in the muslins of her friends. rack his memory as he would, he could not recall the occasion when he and backus had met previously, yet he felt almost certain it had occurred. "why certainly, certainly," returned the storekeeper cheerily; "so long as you don't mind waitin' a few minutes," and he turned to the girl. "then what may i have the pleasure of being allowed to show you, señorita?" "two peloncillos, don tomas, if you will be so kind," answered the young lady; and two conical loaves of the brown mexican sugar so popular in the territory were accordingly wrapped in paper and handed over to her; but it was manifest that the pretty frocks were what were nearest to her heart, and she and her three friends still continued to discuss the subject with all the ardour of connoisseurs. meantime stephens became more and more convinced in his own mind not only that this was not his first encounter with backus, but that the latter was also engaged in watching him as closely as possible. he chose, however, not to call attention to this by any inquiry when at length the storekeeper announced himself ready to wait upon him, contenting himself with simply explaining the object of his visit to the store. "i just wanted to see," he said quietly, "if you happened to have a parcel here for me by the stage to-day from santa fé. stephens is my name, john stephens. it's a parcel from spiegelberg's," he added explanatorily, "that i'm looking for; a small, heavy parcel; it's winchester cartridges." "oh yes, they're here; the stage driver left 'em for you all right," said mr. backus promptly, reaching down for them under the counter and handing them over. "and i think there's some mail matter too for you; i'll just see"; with which remark he disappeared into the little post-office that was boarded off at one end of the store, returning from there presently with some papers in his hand. "i reckon this letter's for you"; he read out the address with the laboured enunciation of a man of limited education. "to mr. john stephens, living among the pueblo indians, santiago, n.m." "yes, that'll be for me," said stephens, putting out his hand for it. "i reckoned as how you must be the man as soon as i seed you come in," answered backus, handing over the letter along with a newspaper and a postal packet, "'cos by what i hear thar' aint no other american living in this valley." "just so," assented the prospector; "i'm the only one there is anywhere around here. i've been playing a lone hand down in these parts all winter. for six months i haven't spoken to an american except the stage-driver." it was a relief to him to talk english to anyone again after so long an interval, although he was not exactly prepossessed by mr. backus's looks, nor by the only thing he knew for certain about him, namely, that he had gone and married a mexican wife, a decidedly eccentric thing for an american to do, in stephens's eyes. but the mere sound of his native language again was music in his ears, even though it were spoken by a man as illiterate as the storekeeper. for, compared to the other, backus was illiterate. and it was a thing worth noting about stephens, who had had the advantage of a high-school education, that though he now freely made use of the rude, vigorous colloquialism of the west,--so much so, indeed, that he talked to himself in it,--yet he could drop it in a moment on occasion. before a stranger for whom he felt an instinctive distaste, he at once became formal, and his language took on a precision and his tone a punctiliousness that were foreign to his more familiar discourse. as he would have said of himself, "if i don't cotton to a man at once, i always feel like putting on a lot of frills." "you bin long in these parts?" inquired mr. backus carelessly. "about a year now in new mexico," replied stephens; "but i've been in this western country a good deal longer than that. i'm not a tenderfoot, exactly, if i may say so; i didn't come to this country for my health." many men whose lungs are affected have hoped to shake off their dread malady by breathing the pure, thin, dry air of colorado and new mexico. the hardy western pioneer pities the consumptive patient; he succours him freely in distress; and, above all things, he hates to be mistaken for one himself. stephens was determined that his fellow-countryman should be under no misapprehension on this point. "no," laughed mr. backus lightly, "nor you don't look much like one of them pore health-seekers neither. say, though," he continued, more warily, "you'll excuse my axin', but was you never in new mexico before this last year?" "no," replied stephens--"that is--yes, i should have said," correcting himself, "i was once, but only for a short time, and that was some years ago, and not in this part of the territory." he shifted his position against the adobe wall a little, and laid down on the counter in a casual sort of way the parcel and the mail matter which he was holding, as if to indicate that he was ready for a long chat. in reality he was setting his hands free in case he might possibly need to use them. to be at all closely questioned about one's past life by an absolute stranger acts on the experienced western man as a danger signal. he noted the intense glow in backus's eyes, and as he did so he grew conscious of a strange sense of doubleness in his own brain, as if all this scene had been enacted once before, and he ought to know what was coming next. he shifted his waist-belt and left his thumbs resting lightly on the buckle in front; it was a perfectly natural thing to do, and yet it left his right hand within six inches of the trusty colt's revolver at his hip. assuredly stephens was no tenderfoot; he was watching every motion of backus out of the corner of his eye. "say, stranger," began the latter, leaning forward over the counter, and speaking low and clear, "no offence, but i want to ax you a certain question. it's a little sudden-like, but i have a reason for it; allers no offence, you understand?" "you can ask me any question you have a mind to, mr. backus," said stephens coolly. "of course, whether i answer it or not is my choice." mr. backus might be his fellow-countryman, but he must learn not to be presuming. almost unconsciously to himself his tone hardened. stephens could stand the easy familiarity of races that were not his own, and treat the indians of santiago with a friendliness that was all the more kindly for his own underlying sense of superiority, but for an american to treat him lightly was another matter. the pride and reserve that had grown up in solitude revolted at this man's inquisitiveness. "wal' then, stranger," continued backus, with an apologetic manner that was due to the other's change of voice, "allers, as i said before, meanin' no offence, did you ever happen to kill a man?" manuelita, though apparently absorbed in a rose-sprigged muslin, caught a note in the texan's tone that aroused her vigilance. she knew no english, but her quick brain divined that when he asked, "did you ever kill a man?" he was putting no common question. stephens started at the abrupt query, and his face flushed. he paused a moment, looking hard at the other; then he slowly answered, "i don't _know_ that i have ever killed anyone." "meanin', i take it," rejoined the other, "that you don't know for certain, neither, that you haven't. i ax yer pardon again, stranger, but as sure as god made little apples i've got a reason for what i'm saying. that ar' time you was in new mexico years ago that you spoke of just now, was you, by any chance, at the battle of apache cañon?" the words "apache cañon" sent a thrill through manuelita; she knew well that there had been a bloody fight there. "yes," answered stephens, a strange new light beginning to dawn upon him; "i fought at apache cañon, if you must know." "you was on the northern side, warn't you?" queried the storekeeper again. "yes," said the prospector quietly; "i was a volunteer in the second colorado regiment." "by gum, then, i knowed it!" cried the texan excitedly; "you was one of the pet lambs." at the beginning of the civil war the colorado troops, a pretty tough lot, were sometimes sportively alluded to as the "pet lambs." a dry smile came to stephens's lips at the sound of the old name. "i was a lamb," said he. "and i was one of baylor's babes," returned the other. "baylor's babes" was the nickname bestowed upon a force of texas rangers who invaded new mexico, and had the audacity to propose to conquer the whole rocky mountain country for jefferson davis off their own bats. "yes, you bet i was a babe," he repeated, "and a whale of a babe at that, and hurrahed for jeff davis as long as i could stand. but that's all over and done with now, and we've buried the war hatchet. but say, stranger, do you happen to recollect what kind of a wepping you was carrying at apache cañon? there warn't no winchesters in them days," he added, patting the parcel of cartridges that lay on the counter. "i was armed with a muzzle-loading springfield u.s. rifle, altered in denver to fire with a tape cap," replied stephens. his nerves grew tense, and he braced himself for a possible struggle to the death, for he thought the texan was about to spring on him; but he only asked with quaint earnestness: "du tell; what's a tape cap, mister?" "why, did you never see one?" said stephens. "but of course they're out of date now. it was a dodge for capping a gun automatically. there was a tape fitted with caps that was fed forward on top of the tube in front of the hammer. it worked like a charm. you bet there was no time lost fumbling around in your pouch for a cap with your fingers if you had one of them fixed on your gun." "great scot!" cried backus, "then now i know how't was." he raised his hands so suddenly to the neck of his shirt that he made stephens think he was reaching for the bowie-knife which some fighting men carry in a sheath under the coat at the back of the neck. manuelita thought the same thing, and drew her breath hard, feeling her heart leap with terror. instinctively stephens's fingers found the butt of his revolver, but he felt paralysed at the thought of the defenceless women by the counter. if there was to be a fuss, how could they make their escape before it began? but mr. backus was not preparing to start a fuss, and he was not feeling for a weapon. he tore open the front of his shirt excitedly and bared his breast, and showed a livid bluish mark close beside the collarbone. "strange!" he cried, "'t was you as give me that; 't was that darned tape cap of yourn as done me. now, don't you remember?" "by thunder, i do!" exclaimed stephens. "you were the man i shot that day at close quarters. i recall your face now. i thought i'd seen you before." "i knowed you the minute you set foot inside this door," answered the texan, drawing himself up, and eyeing stephens keenly. "you see, you give me a good argyment for remembering you that day. shake, partner," he added quickly, thrusting out his bony right hand across the counter. "bygones is bygones. as i said just now, we've buried the war hatchet for good, and _i_ don't bear _you_ no ill-will." was this a move to get him off his guard? stephens felt more than half doubtful, but he decided to chance it, especially as he had a stout sheath-knife handy at his left hip. he loosed his fingers from the ready revolver butt, and the two strong hands met in a vigorous clasp. chapter vi an old wound reopened if it was a strange coincidence that had thus suddenly brought these two old foes together, face to face, in this remote quarter of new mexico, it was a coincidence no less strange that they were both there for the same object. for mr. backus, too, was after the lost silver mine. ever since his marriage with the daughter of a mexican peasant he had made a tolerably easy living in a small way by keeping a country store, and in the knowledge which he thus gained of the common pursuits and dominant ideas among the mexicans, what fascinated him particularly were the tales of hidden mines and buried treasures so often to be heard amongst them. of all these tales, the legend of the secret mine of the indians of santiago had excited his interest most, so that when he learned that the san remo stage station in their immediate neighbourhood was vacant, and afforded an opening for a store such as his, he speedily arranged to take charge of it and to transfer himself, his family, and his goods to the spot. he had as yet no definite plan of operations beyond keeping his ears open for every scrap of information that might come into his way from any quarter, and doing all he knew to ingratiate himself with the indians themselves; but the very first step he had proposed to take was to find out about this white man who was said to be living among them, and to discover what his objects were and how much he knew. fortune had favoured him so far, and here he was shaking hands with the man himself, who had thus unexpectedly proved to be no other than his ancient enemy. at the moment when the pair were thus exchanging signs of amity, the doorway was darkened by the form of a tall, swarthy, well-dressed mexican. mr. backus hailed the new-comer instantly. "welcome, don nepomuceno. you come at a good hour. see the wonderful thing that has happened. this american señor that you were telling me of only yesterday, who lives with the indians of santiago, has turned out to be the very same man that plugged me in the great fight at apache cañon nine years ago. we were just shaking hands over it as you came in, and i've been showing him a little mark over my lungs that he gave me as a remembrancer." mr. backus was speaking in spanish, and manuelita was drinking in every syllable with intense interest. "well, if you come to that," returned stephens, baring his left arm and displaying the scar of an old bullet wound between the elbow and wrist, "i can do ditto. perhaps you didn't know that your bullet took me through the fleshy part of the arm here," and he pointed with his finger to the place where the ball had entered. don nepomuceno sanchez, who had seen fighting in the wars with the navajos, and knew well what wounds were, came forward to examine the scars of either man with critical eyes. "truly these are honourable scars," he said; "tell me about it, please, if you don't mind talking over old war times." "well, señor," said backus, in his rapid, fluent spanish, "it was like this: we were fighting there in the hills, on opposite sides, as of course you know; and naturally, being all frontiersmen on both sides, we advanced under cover as much as ever we could, firing as we got a chance. and so it came about that he and i, sudden-like, found ourselves quite close to one another in the brush, and we both fired as it might be at the same moment. he must have missed me clean that time, but according to the way he tells it, i must have plugged him right through that left arm of his; i didn't even know as i'd touched him though, for it never seemed to phase him, and we both of us set to reloading in a hurry, you bet. we both put in the powder, and both rammed down the bullets, and i had got a trifle ahead of him as i brought up my gun to the hip in order to have it ready to put on the cap. wal', i'm jiggered if he didn't leave out the capping part of the business, and brought his piece straight up to his shoulder to draw a bead on me. you bet i just thought i knowed as i'd got the deadwood on him then. 'got ye, yank,' i called out, slipping the cap on my tube, 'ye haint capped yer gun.' 'don't want to,' sez he; and whang-g-g! she went, and took me right here through the lung; and that was the last i ever knowed of anything for about a day and a half. you see, he had some kind of a gol-durned, stem-winding trick on his gun that did the capping for him, that i didn't know nothing about." "well, now it's all over," said stephens frankly, "i'm real glad to learn that your wound wasn't mortal. my company fell back directly after we exchanged shots, so that i never knew what had become of you." "oh," said the texan, "they patched me up in the hospital somehow or another, and then i was took in and nursed in a mexican family, and the end of it was i married one of the darters and settled in the territory, and here i am with a wife and three kids, and running a store. i do keep a little good whisky, too, you may like to know. say, won't you take a drink? it's my treat. you'll join us in a _tragito_, won't you, don nepomuceno?" "i'll drink with you with pleasure," said stephens, "if you'll allow me to take it in something like a lemon soda. whisky's a thing i don't use, if you'll excuse me." "surely, surely," in amiable tones remarked mr. backus, who was setting out on the counter a three-parts full decanter and some glasses. "i'll try and mix something of the lemon-soda order as near as i can fix it." he had hoped to get stephens into a loquacious mood and pump him over a few social drinks, but he was too cunning to show any trace of disappointment. "every man has a right to choose his own liquor; i don't quarrel with no man's taste," he said, as he passed the decanter to don nepomuceno, with a familiar "help yourself, friend," and busied himself in searching for materials for concocting some kind of a temperance drink for his other guest. sanchez poured a little of the strong spirit into a glass and filled it up with water. "you are coming to take dinner in my house presently, are you not, don estevan?" he said in his courteous tones, addressing stephens, who accepted the invitation cordially. "manuelita, my child," he turned to his eldest daughter, "run home now quick with altagracia, and tell your aunt that don estevan is coming and to have dinner ready soon." the temperance drink was compounded, and the three men clinked glasses and pledged each other. "and what have you bin' doing ever since our last meeting?" said mr. backus genially to his former foe. "i've give ye my story; now let's hear yourn." "mining," said stephens with curt emphasis. the word made the texan give a start of surprise. "yes," he continued, "it's mining and prospecting for gold and silver that has been my trade ever since; and, what's more, i've travelled over a good part of the pacific slope at it, too. it's a game you get terribly stuck on after once you take to it." "mining, eh?" said the texan with affected indifference. "wal', that ar's a thing as i dunno nothin' at all about." he gave a careless laugh. "oh, by the way," he said, turning his back on the two men and rummaging on the shelf behind him for a couple of cans of oysters which he displayed with a great show of earnestness, "that's the brand of oysters, don nepomuceno, that i meant to bring to your notice, first chance. i can recommend 'em; they're prime." "yes," he continued, turning again to stephens, "you was saying as how you was interested in mines; but as far as that goes, why there ain't no mines being worked in this part of the country, not as i know of." a suspicious man might have guessed that backus's interest in the possibility of a mine in the neighbourhood of santiago was a good deal stronger than he chose to let appear, but john stephens was not of a suspicious nature. "no," he said in reply, "there aren't any now, but there have been, and there will be again, if i'm any judge." then, reflecting that he might say too much, and checking himself he went on more cautiously. "but i don't see any opening here myself. i guess i'm about through with new mexico for the present, and i calculate to light out for colorado pretty soon. the railroads have got in there, and there's a boom on." mr. backus was sharp at reading other people's motives, and saw in an instant that stephens was trying to disguise his. so much the more reason for finding out what they were. "what! going off to colorado?" he exclaimed with an air of surprise. "why, i'd understood from the folks here that you had settled down in santiago for keeps. that's really how i come to hear of you; i heard that you was a white man living amongst them indians, and had joined the tribe; so i supposed you was adopted by them, and had gone and got hitched up with a squaw." stephens's eyes flashed. "shouldn't wonder if that drawed him out a bit," reflected mr. backus privately to himself. "if anyone told you so," said the prospector stiffly, "let me tell you that you have been misinformed. no sir, squaws aren't in my line; i'm not that sort of a man. i never have proposed to go outside of my own colour, and i never will." mr. backus gave a short laugh. the word colour touched him on the raw. he was married to a mexican, and many americans are undiscriminating enough to class the mexicans with coloured people. the mexicans themselves naturally resent such a slight on their race; although a part of them have more or less indian blood in their veins, they prefer to ignore that side of their pedigree and trace their descent solely back to the conquering cavaliers of spain. but mr. backus was himself a quarter-blooded indian. he called himself a texan, and passed as such; though he was born in the indian territory and his mother had been a half-breed cherokee. he changed the subject abruptly. "fill your glass again, don," he said, pushing the decanter towards the mexican. "it's good whiskey, real old bourbon. 'there isn't a headache in a hogshead of it,' as the irishman said." "a thousand thanks, no, if you will excuse me," replied the mexican, "i have sufficient. i think i must be going," he went on, for indeed he felt a little out of it, seeing that the two americans had dropped back instinctively into talking in their own language, of which he knew but a few words. "i shall see you again, then, presently, don estevan, at my house," and bowing politely he departed homewards. "that man's darned well fixed, i can tell you," remarked the storekeeper, refilling his own glass and tossing it off as soon as the mexican had gone. "and what's more, he's a square man, too. i don't mind saying that nepomuceno sanchez can just have all the credit he wants at this store. he's one of the heirs to the sanchez grant, and that gives him the use of all the pasture land he needs for his sheep. he's a very peart business man, for a mexican. i used to come across him over in peña blanca, you know. he's a relation of old man baca's by marriage, and he's got a lot of his sheep on shares and makes a good thing of it." the personage irreverently referred to by the texan as "old man baca" was the head of the family of that name, and a man of no small position and wealth. the old families of new mexico own immense flocks of hardy little mexican sheep, whose numbers often run into hundreds of thousands. their flocks are divided into bands of a few thousand and let out on shares to retainers, who return a rent in kind of the wool and the increase. the relation between these retainers and the heads of the great families is semi-feudal. "yes," said stephens, "taking sheep on shares is a good business. i've seen his son, young andrés sanchez, up there on that sanchez grant with their sheep herd when i've been out on the mountains." "oh, you've been up on the mountains round here?" said backus, who saw his chance to lead the conversation once more in the direction he wanted. "mining, i suppose?" he added, as if it were an afterthought. "well, i've prospected some," returned the other. "but you've heard me say i didn't think much of the opening here." "ever take any of the indians out prospecting with you?" inquired the texan. "they've bin here so long they'd ought to know if there's anything lying around worth looking at. did they never tell you anything about mines?" he let these last words fall after a pause with studied carelessness. "no, sir," said the prospector, "i've learnt nothing from the indians, and it's highly possible that they've nothing to tell." "you never thought to ask 'em, i suppose?" suggested backus. "why should i?" returned the other quietly. "may i ask, mr. backus, if you've any special reason for these questions?" the texan hesitated; he felt sure now that his old antagonist was not at santiago by mere chance, but had an object in view which he did not care to disclose. he quickly decided to try and gain his confidence by a show of openness. "wal', yes, i have," he admitted; "i guess i've got some information that might be of value to anyone as knew how to use it." "what could he mean?" stephens thought. "was this information the knowledge of the secret mine? if so, it might be worth while to make terms with him, as the indians seemed to be so impracticable." "if anyone will show me a mine," said the prospector, "i can tell him if it's worth working, and how to work it." "yes," returned backus, "and if so what terms would you expect?" "a half-interest," said stephens. "if i thought it good enough i'd take a half-interest and bear my share of the expenses." "that's a square offer," replied the texan. "now look at here. now, s'posin' i was to tell you of a mine in this neighbourhood, you'd be willing to do that with me?" "are you referring to the lost mine of the indians?" asked the prospector. it was not worth while to make any further mystery of the matter, for the texan had obviously heard the story. "that's just what i am," said backus. "i thought as how you must have heard some talk about it. now you allow as you don't know where it is." "i do not," said the other. "wal', i do," said backus. "and i'll tell it to you on your own terms, and that's a half-interest for each of us. it's on the indian grant up in the mountains." "well, i knew that much," said stephens. "ah," returned the texan, "but i can tell you more'n that. the indians haint got no right to keep it; that grant haint been confirmed to them by act of congress." "but, my dear sir," returned stephens, with something that savoured of contempt, "you're revealing to me as your precious secret what's matter of common knowledge. if you ask anyone in the office at santa fé, they'll tell you that the grant to the indians of four square leagues round the pueblo has been confirmed to them, and that they own it from grass-roots to hades by a perfectly indefeasible title; but they'll tell you there, too, in the office, that the twenty miles square that they claim in the mountains has never been confirmed, and for that matter is overlapped by half a dozen unconfirmed mexican grants as well. the real title to that land is in the united states government. that's as old as a last year's bird's-nest." "i see you're well posted in the business," said backus; "but maybe you don't know that the secret mine's on the cerro de las viboras. i can tell you that." "if you can show it to me up there on that rattlesnake mountain, mr. backus," was stephens's reply, "i'm ready to acknowledge at once that you'll show me something i don't know. but as you know so much you are probably aware that the mine has been closed for a hundred years or more, and that rumour locates it in a dozen different places, and that to look for it on the cerro without knowing where it is is to look for a needle in a haystack. i've been all around that cerro, you can bet, but i haven't run across the mine. the cerro's a mountain five miles round and five thousand feet high, and a precious rough mountain at that. i'm willing to go up there again; i'm ready to start to-morrow if you like; and if you'll show me the mine there i'm ready to do as i said with you about working it; but unless you can do that i don't consider that what has passed constitutes any claim between us on either side." "wal'," said the texan, "i couldn't leave the store here just yet, not till i get things straightened out and settled down. nor i won't swear for sartin as i can put you right on to the exact spot, seein' as how i've not been up thar myself yet; but mebbe i can before long, and i reckon that ought to be enough for ye. say, look here, couldn't we work it between us, somehow, to get them indians to show us the spot?" this intrusive texan had so far told stephens nothing he did not know already, and now here he was wanting to poach on the prospector's private preserve--his personal influence with the indians. "that's what i've been trying to do already, mr. backus," said stephens irritably; "and, to be plain with you, i'm not looking out for a partner in this matter." "ah, but mebbe that's just what you want," returned the storekeeper imperturbably; "mebbe the reason as you haint won nary trick so far is that you've bin playing a lone hand. now, i'll gamble from what you said just now that you've bin trying to get the secret out of the bucks over there, and that you haven't tried the women for it at all. now, aint i right?" and he gave the other a cunning look. "i've never seen any reason to think that the women know anything about it," returned stephens. "it isn't likely they would." the idea had never even occurred to him. "ah, and i'll gamble they do," replied backus. "i know a thing or two about indians myself, and it's a great trick of theirs to let some of the squaws--only some, mind you--keep some of the secrets of the tribe. you see they don't go and get killed off like the bucks, so it acts as a kind of safeguard against losing the knowledge of a thing entirely that way. aint there some extra high-toned women, now, in the santiago tribe,--chief's darters and the like, eh?" his keen black eyes were turned on the other with a cunning inquisitiveness. "yes, by the way, aint there a white squaw in the tribe somewheres?" stephens was startled. "you've taken a lot of trouble to find out things, i fancy, mr. backus," he said rather suspiciously; "a great deal more, indeed, than you seemed inclined to let on at first. but you're quite right. yes, there is a white squaw in the tribe, and she's the daughter of the cacique." backus listened with extreme interest. "you reckon she's an indian, then?" he said. "you don't think she's a white girl they've picked up and adopted, by any chance? i've seen a good few sorts of indians, but never any white ones yet." "oh no, she's indian, right enough," said stephens; "she's a natural indian blonde, as fair-complected as i am. they're none so rare among these pueblo indians. there's twenty or thirty of them over in zuñi." "i wanter know!" exclaimed the texan, by which phrase he indicated extreme surprise. "wal', she might be worth trying. the cacique had ought to know the secret if anybody does, and she'd be as likely as any of the squaws to be let into it. why shouldn't you tackle her? is she married?" "no, she's not married yet," replied the other. "wal', there's yer chance," said the storekeeper, with a knowing grin; "but i forgot, you draw the line pretty close in the matter of colour; or mebbe, she being light-complected as yourself, you'd reckon she was white enough to suit you." stephens flushed; he had given this man no right to intrude these familiarities upon him; in silence he picked up his parcels to go. when you have just been forgiven by a man for shooting him through the lungs, you can hardly blaze out at him for being a trifle too personal in his conversation. "wal', i'm going to be up there right along," continued the storekeeper, seeing that stephens volunteered no further comment, and was preparing to start, "and then you can introduce me. i'm going to make a bid for the trade of the pueblo anyhow, and i'll have to get on the right side of the cacique for that, and i might as well get the inside track with the girl, too. it's all in the family, eh?" he grinned again with a kind of a grin that stephens loathed. "and't won't be trespassing on your property neither, i s'pose?" "i leave the indian women alone, mr. backus, as i think i told you before," said stephens haughtily, and he drew himself up and moved to the door. "oh, no offence," cried the other quickly, following him; "i see you're high-toned, of course. i didn't mean nothing low-down, nohow"; he attended the prospector out to the hitching-post, where the mule was fastened, and watched him as he put the parcels into his saddle-bags. "that's a real nice california saddle of yourn," he said in a propitiatory tone, "and an a mule wearing it. wal', when are you going to ask me to come and meet miss pocahontas?" "i'm afraid i'm off to the sierra to-morrow on a hunt," was the somewhat ungracious reply, "but we may meet again later on when i come back, before i start for colorado, if i decide after all to go there"; and he swung himself into his saddle and raised his bridle rein. "what makes ye so sot on leavin' this territory?" queried backus, laying his hand on the mule's neck and walking a few paces alongside the parting guest. "aint it most time for ye to quit all this rovin' round, and settle down? why don't you ask don nepomuceno, now, for his darter? she's gone on you already, if you only knowed it. when you was fingering your revolver there in the store just now--oh, i seen what your little game was, right enough--her eyes was just glued to you. oh yes; if i was watching you close, right along the hull time, you bet i kept my little eye open for what the women thought of it all as well. you bet i aint no innercent; i aint bin and lived here these seven years in new mexico without learning to watch the women every time. i'm on the spot there, and no mistake. i know how a girl looks when she thinks as how her man's in danger that she's gone on. you ask her father for her, and you'll find you've got the inside track there, or my name aint tom backus." "really, mr. backus," replied stephens, "you've set yourself to discuss a matter i prefer not to talk about. i think i'll say good morning now." with a regretful air mr. backus removed his hand from the mule's neck, and remained there still looking at stephens's back, while the animal he bestrode, feeling its rider's spurs, quickened its pace. "wal', so long," he cried after him as the distance between them rapidly increased. "you'd better think over that idea of mine. take care of yerself now. good men is scarce"--"and prospectors who know a mine when they see it are scarcer, just now, in this part of the world," he continued to himself. "i've no fancy to have you putting out for colorado till you've done my bit of work for me down here, mister stephens. if i can once get you to fooling with that squaw girl, i'll bet a dollar you can get the secret of the indians' silver mine out of her; and if she ain't enough to keep you here you may sport around after miss manuelita, but stop here you must till you've found that mine for me. you find it and i take the profits, that's fair division," and he gave a chuckle of satisfaction; "and when the time comes for paying you your share, you'll find i haint forgotten how to shoot. lord! what luck to drop on you like this, and you as innercent as a new-born babby, for all your fingering your six-shooter the way you did. i reckon you'll just play the cards as i deal 'em, and never spot me a-raising a cold deck on you, as i will." chapter vii desdemona listens it was but slowly that manuelita obeyed her father's order to return home; her little feet lagged as the girl dwelt on the scene she had just witnessed, and wondered what it meant. somehow this american always set her wondering about something. his very unlikeness to the men whom she had hitherto lived among made him appear almost as strange to her as a visitor from another world. he had begun by half repelling, and had ended by fascinating her; on this point the guess of the coarse-minded but quick-witted texan was not mistaken. although in speech and manners, in all his tastes and habits, stephens offered a complete contrast to her mexican fellow-countrymen, he himself with his light hair and fair complexion was not a type absolutely new to this girl, for in the place of honour in her grandfather's dining-room had hung a portrait of a golden-haired _caballero_, the great manuel sanchez, the friend of cortez; and manuelita had woven so many romantic dreams about her glorious ancestor that this fair-haired american had come to seem to her a sort of copy of her hero of romance. it was only in dreams and traditions that the girl had met with heroes; the secluded life led by mexican ladies was in her case more solitary than usual, for the sanchez family was poor (poor for its position, that is) but proud, and manuelita turned up her pretty nose at the few young rancheros of the neighbourhood, and held them beneath the notice of the daughter of a _conquistador_. the girl's passionate southern nature, with all its capacity for devotion, had slept longer than was usual among her people, and when her heart should awake it would be the heart of a woman, not of a schoolgirl. the young rancheros flaunted their silver spurs and velvet jackets at the fiestas in vain; they swore the señorita was as wild as an antelope; and, like an antelope, she was caught by her curiosity. she could not keep from speculating on the strange character of this american who bore the golden locks of her great ancestor. the character of a handsome young man is a dangerous study for the peace of mind of a girl, and her interest in the stranger grew so rapidly that soon it seemed to her that there was little else worth studying "beneath the visiting moon." nor was the opportunity lacking. stephens had struck up quite a friendship with her father in the course of the winter, and had got into the way, especially on mail days, of dropping in for a chat with his mexican crony, who, within his somewhat narrow intellectual limits, was a man both of strong character and active mind. she had listened to them talking together by the hour. the mexican had many incidents to tell of the ceaseless struggles of his people with the marauding navajo indians, who had been but lately reduced to subjection, and of the hardly less constant struggle between the rival great families, the bacas, the armijos, the chavez, and the rest, for supremacy among themselves. the american found no lack of matter in the tale of his wanderings between the sierra nevada and the rocky mountains, and of the toils and hopes of a seeker after gold. to her, directly, he had not spoken very much; as an unmarried girl, under the watchful tutelage of her aunt, she was not expected to take a prominent part in conversation, but she went and came freely between the living-room where her father entertained his guest, and the sleeping-chambers which opened off it and the kitchen communicating with it on the other side. once, too, it had been her luck to see the american perform a feat that impressed her not a little. she had gone out one evening with juana, the navajo captive who had been brought up in the house as a bondservant, to bring in the milk from the corral, when she caught sight in the dusk of an animal prowling near that seemed like a dog, and yet was assuredly something other than a dog. the two girls ran indoors, crying out that there was a wild beast of some kind, a wolf they thought, close by, and stephens, who was sitting with her father, sprang up, seized his winchester, which stood in the corner, and hastily threw a cartridge into it as he stepped forth, while she followed to point out the marauder. there, in the dim light, some seventy yards away, the animal stood, hesitating whether to advance or to fly. she well remembered the quick, smooth, steady action with which the rifle came up, came level, went off; the loud clap of the bullet hitting the object; and the nonchalant way in which the tall american had turned on his heel and, without any apparent interest in the effect of his shot, had gone in and replaced the rifle in its corner, merely remarking, "i reckon it's nothing but a coyote." pedro, the peon, had run to see, and presently brought in the limp body of the animal, a coyote as he had guessed, its skull shattered to a pulp by the deadly hollow bullet. but what impressed her more than the death-dealing powers of the terrible weapon, was the quiet confidence exhibited by the marksman in his rapid aim, a confidence so entirely justified by the event; and it was this that struck deep into her imagination. yes, in her eyes, without doubt, the american was a hero; and yet he was but a cold-hearted hero after all. he could turn a compliment because he had picked up the trick of it from the young mexicans whom he met occasionally in don nepomuceno's house, but his compliments lacked the fanciful gallantry of the words of her countrymen; yes, he was hard, she was sure of it, hard and cold as the ice-bound soil of his own frozen north; she would waste no more thoughts on him, she resolved; and then she thought of him more than ever, and it was in such a mood as this that she re-entered her father's door. * * * * * when stephens turned his back somewhat ungraciously on mr. backus in front of the stage station, he rode off without casting a look behind him, and urged his mule forward at an easy amble towards the house where he was expected. those last words of the storekeeper had jarred on him very unpleasantly. who had asked this intruder to spy on the expression of the girl's face? what business was it of his anyhow? of course it was all rubbish. he himself had never said a single word to manuelita that all the world might not hear. of course he had to pay her a compliment once in a while; he could hardly do less, coming and going at the house as he did, and all these mexican señoras and señoritas expected it, just as the girls back in ohio expected you to treat them to candy and ice-cream. that never meant anything particular, neither did his compliments, and she was much too sensible a girl to think they did. it was characteristic of the man that he never for a moment thought of himself as likely by his person and his character to make an impression on a girl's heart. the idea that came into his head when backus made the suggestion was that if there was anything in it it must be due to this precious art of paying compliments, which was about the only point in mexican manners that he had taken any special pains to acquire. but the whole thing was rubbish, so he assured himself again and again. sanchez was no fool, and no more was his daughter. they were kindly people, who had behaved with true mexican hospitality to a stranger--but they were people of another race: their customs, their beliefs, their ideals, were all strange to him. between an american and a mexican there could be no real community of feeling. and yet some americans did marry mexicans, and did not seem to repent it. even that low-down skunk of a storekeeper, who was an american of sorts, had a mexican wife. probably she was not much to boast of, a mere peon's daughter most likely,--well, that was his taste. but there were other americans who had mexican wives; he could count up several whom he had seen in santa fé,--traders, government employés, and the like,--and they had as comfortable homes as if they had gone back to the states and married american girls. but confound that backus's impudence! what should he know about these sanchez folks anyway? beneath all this anger lay two very uncomfortable suspicions. one was that the storekeeper was a man with a great deal of low cunning, and might have, as indeed he boasted, most confoundedly sharp eyes for prying into other people's affairs; and the other was that he, stephens, had never given such an affair as this a serious thought before, and knew precious little about womankind in general; and this last thought of his was much truer than he himself realised. there are no men whose experience of women, as a rule, is so small as the pioneers of a new country. in older countries there are unmarried men in plenty, but they are brought into frequent daily contact with the other sex unless they take deliberate pains to prevent it, and not seldom they prove to understand women better than those who might be supposed to have a better right. but the celibates of a new country are quite different. in their case it is not choice but necessity that makes the mere sight of a woman's face a rare thing. in the wild, remote mining camps where stephens's years of adventure had been mostly passed, among a thousand men there would barely be a score or so who ever brought their women-folks along. true enough, where the miners had struck it rich, and hundreds and thousands of dollars were being taken out by eager crowds of men, another class of women did not delay long in appearing upon the scene; but that was a class from which stephens studiously kept aloof. he had not even the perverted experience that may be thus gained; and he positively knew less at nine-and-twenty about the ways in which girls think and feel than he had known before he left home at nineteen. if he knew little he had been contented with his ignorance, but now this random shaft of the storekeeper had gone home, and he was contented no longer. alighting from captain jinks before don nepomuceno's door, he was welcomed by the mexican, who insisted on unsaddling the mule for him himself, loudly calling meanwhile for pedro to come and take him round to the corral and give him some corn. the house was built in mexican style, of sun-dried bricks, in the form of a hollow square, with a patio, or courtyard, in the centre on which all the doors and windows gave, the outer wall being blank except for a peephole or two high up. it had a flat clay roof, with a low parapet all round. it was, in fact, a miniature castle, as was every house in the country of any pretensions built during the days when the navajos and apaches were a constant terror in the land. stephens followed his host inside after taking off his spurs, spanish fashion. he had unbuckled his belt and handed it, revolver and all, to his host, begging him to take charge of it. this, too, he had learned was a piece of spanish etiquette. you give him your arms to keep, for you are under his protection. don nepomuceno bustled around, laying the saddle with its "cantines" neatly in a corner, with the saddle blanket over it, and hanging up the belt on a peg, while he kept calling out to his sister to bring in the dinner, and to the navajo captive, juana, to bring water for washing. there were no chairs or tables, but a broad divan covered with gaily striped serapes ran all along one side of the room and served as a seat. on this stephens sat down, and, while the master of the house showed his hospitable ardour by urging the women in the kitchen to make a wholly unnecessary haste, the american drew from his pocket the letter he had received at the stage station, and proceeded to read it. it ran as follows: "the what cheer house, denver, col., "april , -. "_to mr. john stephens, among the pueblo indians of santiago, n.m._ "friend stephens,--it's two years and a half ago that you and me parted company in helena, montana, after i'd done my best to bust you that time, you remember. i've knocked around and had my ups and downs since, but i haven't done so badly on the whole. last summer i was in col. here, and i got on to a goodish thing up on boulder. i wish you would come up here this summer and join me in trying to work it, for i think if it was handled right there's big money in it for both of us. i don't want to say too much, for i don't feel plumb sure of this letter reaching you. and for the same reason i don't put in a draft for what i owe you still, but i've got it here for you all right and regular, and if you can't come you've only got to let me know where and how to send it, and it's yours. i'm well enough fixed now to be able to do it right enough. i don't know if there's any chance of this letter finding you. i haven't heard sign or sound of you since we quit being pardners, till yesterday i run on to that sam argles as you may remember in helena in old times; he'd been wintering away down in arizona, and he said as how when he was passing through new mexico a stage driver there told him as he knowed of a white man, calling himself john stephens, that had been a miner, and was living now with the indians of santiago, n.m. that sam argles is an old gasbag, sure, but i had to allow as it sounded like you in some ways, for he said the driver said this stephens wouldn't never drink nor gamble; but he said too another thing, that he was living there with 'em as a squawman, and then i didn't hardly believe as it could be you, but i guessed that stage driver might have been lying, and so figuring on it like that i calculated i might as well write you there. hoping as it is you, and that you're going strong and doing fine, i remain, your former pard, "jeff. a. rockyfeller. "you can address me, care of hepburn & davis, arapahoe, denver." stephens perused this letter with a dry smile upon his face. "yes, rocky," he said, apostrophising his ex-partner, "it's me, sure pop, that mr. sam argles heard of here; but i'm not a squawman yet, not quite; you were right not to believe that, not if all the darned fool stage drivers in the country were to swear to it." by the code of the west, a squawman is nothing less than a renegade to his own race, and is hated accordingly. he refolded the letter and placed it back in his pocket, as juana appeared bearing a towel and soap and a bowl, which she placed on the clean-swept floor in front of him preparatory to aiding him to wash by pouring a little stream of water over his hands. the navajo handmaiden, having been captured as a child, had been brought up in mexican style, but her blood was pure indian; that showed plainly in her impassive face as she held the towel for him to wipe his hands, and the strong animal expression given by the heavy jaw and dark skin struck him forcibly. he wondered what she was thinking of as she stood there as still as if she had been cast in bronze, and he reflected, with some disgust at his own stupidity, that that 'cute storekeeper down below could probably have made a pretty accurate guess. yes, in future he positively would pay more attention to what women were thinking about. in that respect there was no doubt he must amend his ways. at last don nepomuceno condescended to settle down and seat himself on the divan beside his guest; a low table was brought in and placed before them, and on it were set two bowls of rich mutton-broth. when the empty bowls were removed by juana, the master of the house called out loudly, so as to be heard in the kitchen through the open door, "it is very excellent broth! ah, what capital broth!" "i have often heard it said," remarked stephens, by way of showing his appreciation, "that the mexican ladies make the best soup in the world." "it is true, don estevan, it is quite true. they are capital cooks, capital. i wonder now, don estevan, that you can be contented to cook for yourself. cooking seems such a waste of time for a man!" stephens laughed. "it's my bad luck, señor," he said. "you see, the ladies wouldn't ever look at a rover like myself." "don't you believe it, don't you believe it," cried the other; "indeed you have no call to say so. ah, here is the stew," he added, as juana set down before each of them two small saucers, one of frijoles, or mexican beans boiled with onions, and one of stewed mutton with red pepper; in fact both dishes were made nearly red-hot by a liberal admixture of the famous chili colorado. for bread she laid before them tortillas, large thin pancakes of the blue indian corn, peculiar to new mexico. following the example of his host, stephens broke off a piece of tortilla, formed it into a scoop, and dipping up mouthfuls of the two messes alternately, thus consumed both bread and meat together. his host's approval of this course was delivered for the benefit of the kitchen as emphatically as it had been of the soup. "it is very savoury meat," he shouted in his commanding voice, as soon as he had tasted two or three mouthfuls from each saucer, "very savoury; and they are excellent beans, delicious beans. ah yes, don estevan," he continued to his guest, "what a pity it is that you have not someone to cook for you like this. to live all by yourself is so solitary, so _triste_." "yes," answered the american quietly; "but how should i do when i went off to the mountains prospecting? i'm off again, i expect, shortly, to colorado, you see; and what would i do with the cook then?" "but why do you go?" queried his host. "is it not time for you to leave off this wandering, roving life of yours and settle down? you are rich, everybody knows. you should marry, man, marry, and enjoy yourself"; he dropped into a more familiar tone,--"yes, marry before old age comes. you are a young man still, but age will be upon you before you know it." stephens, instead of giving a direct answer, made play with the tortilla and the stew. "i do begin to believe that cunning backus was nearer right than i had any idea of," he said to himself. "i suppose this means that my good friend here wants to suggest that he'll find me a wife in short order if i say so--only, as it happens, he's a little too previous; i aint ready just yet." by this time he had consumed sufficient of the stew to set a dry man on fire, and utilised this fact to change the subject. "excuse me," said he, "but may i, by your permission, beg for a drink of water? this meat is delicious, but the chili makes me rather thirsty." "oh, certainly," cried his hospitable host; "but we have coffee coming. we have coffee here. bring the coffee, juana, at once," he shouted to the bondmaid. "water, please, if i may be so bold, don nepomuceno," pleaded stephens, whose mouth was really burning. "yes, yes; bring water, then, juana," cried the other, anxious to accommodate his guest. "or would you not like a little atole? there is atole, too, plenty of it." atole is an old and favourite mexican drink made of the finest indian corn meal boiled till it becomes a thin gruel. a jug of atole presently appeared with two cups, and the american was permitted to ease the burning sensations of his palate. "thank you," he said gratefully, putting down the cup; "that's very refreshing. atole is a real good drink, don nepomuceno." "oh, yes," said the latter, "it's a good drink enough; but now that coffee has come in so much, it is used more by our handmaidens and the peons. all the well-to-do people here buy coffee, with sugar, now. we will have the coffee in in a minute. tell them to make haste with the coffee, juana. did you never hear," he continued to stephens, "the song that the musician of san remo has made about mr. coffee and mr. atole? it is comic, you must know, very comic. you see mr. coffee comes from far, far away off in tamaulipas, or farther still, to cut out his rival mr. atole. and then they meet, and the pair have a conversation, and mr. coffee tells poor mr. atole that he is doomed. let me see, how does it go? oh yes, mr. coffee begins, and he says to the other jokingly: "'como te va, amigo atole? como has pasado tu tiempo; desde lejos hé venido para hacer tu testamento.' "'how do you do, mr. gruel? i fear you are rather unwell; i've taken a mighty long journey to ring your funeral knell.' that's how it goes, don estevan. there's a great deal more of it; they go on arguing ever so long. we must get him in some time and make him repeat it all for you." "you're most kind, i'm sure," said the american, wondering in himself the while how any human being could be amused by such a rigmarole concerning messrs. coffee and atole. but there was no accounting for tastes; and he had found out that american humour did not seem at all funny to mexican ears, while his recent experience in blasting the ditch had taught him that the mildest of american jokes might send red indians on the war-path. a difference in the sense of humour goes down to the very roots of our nature. they had finished dinner by this time, and the american, declining a cigarette, filled his pipe, and rising went over to his saddle and extracted from the "cantines" the packet which had come for him by mail. he brought this over to his host and offered it to him. "here, señor," said he, "is a little bag i will beg you to accept. it is from denver; it contains some seed of alfalfa, that clover i told you about, that grows so splendidly in california and colorado." the mexican was warm in his thanks as he untied the bag and took a sample in his hand. "i told them to send me the best seed," said stephens. "i think it ought to grow well in this country. you'd better sow it soon in a piece of your ploughed land, and irrigate it when it comes up." "yes, i will," said the mexican. "i'll have it planted to-morrow in the land i am preparing for corn. come and see my seed corn; i am not content with this common blue corn of the indians. i have white corn with big ears that i mean to sow. come along to the storeroom and look at it." he led the way, and as they passed through the door they almost stepped over manuelita, who was seated on the ground just outside, busy cleaning a large basket of frijoles. stephens paused idly to look at what she was doing, while her father bustled around, noisily demanding of his sister where the key of the storeroom was. the girl's task struck him as terribly tedious. she took up a small handful of beans at a time and picked out one by one the little bits of stone that had got in when the threshing was done, in the good old style, by the feet of the wild mares on a floor of clay and gravel concrete. "that's a long business you're in there," he remarked sympathetically. "yes," she answered, glancing up at him with a shy smile, "it takes time," and she bent her eyes on her hand again so as not to interrupt her work. he caught the beautiful smooth outline of her cheek with the long dark lashes showing distinct against it. "you don't mean to say you have to do the lot that way, picking out all those bits of rock one at a time?" he asked. "oh, but yes, of course," she answered. "you would break your teeth if we did not take them out before we cook them." "but," he rejoined, his practical mind revolting against waste of labour, "it'll take you a good hour to do that lot the way you're doing it, and you could do it better in three minutes." his tone was oracular. "i don't think it's possible," she said, "unless you had a witch to do it. there is an old woman, the mother of pedro, that we get sometimes, but she often leaves some in, and then my father hurts his teeth. the people here call her a witch, but she would take three hours instead of three minutes." "well, i'm no witch," said he, "though the indians here wanted to play me for one this morning. but you give me a pan--a milk-pan'll do--and i'll show you." the pan was brought, and he put in the beans and poured in water enough to set them a-swim. he gave the pan a few deft twirls and shook it from side to side. "this is the way we wash gravel to get the gold, señorita," he said, as he set it down. "the rocks are all at the bottom of that pan now, you bet. if you'll kindly give me another pan to put the beans into," he went on, "i'll prove it to you." the girl hastened to bring a second pan and put it beside the first, and in doing so their hands touched. "you'd better hold it there," said he, "while i shovel them across," and with his hollowed palms he scooped the beans from one to the other. in the pan he had shaken there now remained a little discoloured water, and at the bottom about a teacupful of gravel. "there you are," said he triumphantly; "here's your gravel in this one, and there's your frijoles in that one. it's as easy as rolling off a log." she looked agreeably surprised, and he laughed. "how would you look," said he, "if those little rocks were nuggets, eh? coarse gold, heavy gold, eh?" he smiled a strange smile, and a strange light shone in his eyes. "many a thousand pounds of gravel i've washed, looking for gold in the bottom of every one; but this is the first time i ever panned out beans to get gravel. maybe some day i'll find that heavy gold yet, but god knows where." he straightened himself up to his full height, leaving on the ground the pan over which he had been stooping. his eyes ranged out across the courtyard through the open gateway to distant pine-clad peaks standing out against the intense blue of the sky. manuelita had likewise set down her pan, and was leaning her hand against the side of the doorway and her head against her hand. "i hope you will find it," she said, with a glance from the depths of her liquid eyes. his eyes met hers and dwelt there for a moment. "thanks," he said; "your good wishes should bring good luck." "i wish they might"; she half sighed as she spoke; "but which of us can ever tell where good fortune comes from?" and then broke in the voice of don nepomuceno, "come along and see the seed corn, don estevan. i have found the key." chapter viii children of the sun they looked at the seed corn, and the american complimented don nepomuceno on his enterprise as an improving farmer. "why don't you take to the business yourself?" said the mexican, as he relocked the door behind them. "you have money and you have a pair of good mules. you could buy land and work-oxen and hire peons. you would make your living at it easier than at the mining. how long have you been a miner?" "ten years, on and off," answered the other. "it is a good slice out of one's life, i admit"; there was a certain wistfulness in his tone. he was beginning to think that perhaps he had missed a good deal of happiness in his time. "ten years of wandering!" exclaimed the mexican. "_ay de mi_, but you must be tired. why should you want to go back to colorado and begin it all over again?" "well, for one thing," answered the other, "i've just heard from an old pard of mine up there, and i think from the way he talks he's got hold of a good thing. i'm going to see." "and you'll go all that journey just to see!" said the other. "you trust him? you think he's a good man?" "well, i don't know so much about that," admitted stephens. "truth to tell, the last time i saw him we had considerable of a difference of opinion; in fact we split, and we reckoned to stay split. you see, he busted me up as we call it, ruined me, that is; only i had the luck to sort of pull myself round. but that happened two years ago; all the same i don't say that i want him for a pard again, though he must have pretty well straightened himself out, the way he talks; but still, you bet, i'd like mighty well to shake hands with him, right now." "and he ruined you?" exclaimed the mexican. "busted me wide open. left me flat broke," said the american. "how did it all happen?" asked the other. "tell us all about it; we have heard some of your adventures, but not this. come into the sitting-room here and let us have it." "well, if it won't bore you, you're welcome," said stephens, following his host and preparing to refill his pipe. "ah, you must smoke when you talk, i know," said sanchez, "and you wish to smoke your own american tobacco, for you do not like the flavour of our new mexican _punche_ in your pipe. ho, a light here, pedrito! quick, bring a live coal for the señor." pedrito, a small son of the peon, came running from the kitchen with a live coal in a piece of hoop iron, which he offered to stephens, pulling off his cap and standing bareheaded before the honoured guest, with old-world courtesy. manuelita knew very well what was up, and fixed herself down to listen just by the door, where she could hear every word. stephens settled himself down comfortably on the divan, and began. "i picked up with this partner, who has just written me this letter, rockyfeller his name is, when i was up in idaho. we took to each other kind of natural-like, and he and i pulled together as amiably as a span of old wheel-horses for a goodish bit. we were quite different sort of men, too, in ourselves; but somehow that seemed to make it all the easier for us to get along. we worked in the mines all that winter, and when spring came we had enough saved to rig out a real a prospecting outfit. rocky--that's what i called him--used to spree a bit every once in a while, but nothing really to hurt, you know. he could pull up short, which is more than most men who go on the spree have sense to do. his sprees didn't prevent our saving over four hundred dollars. then we bought two cayuses to ride--cayuses is the name they give to those broncho horses up that way,--and a good pack-mule and plenty of grub and blankets. we put in the whole of that summer prospecting off in the coeur d'alène country, and we staked out a lot of claims on different lodes, and we put in a good bit of work on some of 'em so as to hold 'em for the year. well, come fall, we hadn't been able to sell any one of our claims, and we hadn't taken out any high-grade ore that would pay for packing over the mountains to any reduction works, and there we were, short of cash. so we cleared from that coeur d'alène country at last. it was too far from a railroad. we sold our claims for what we could get, and that wasn't much, and we lit out for montana, and there that next summer we just did everlastingly prospect over some of the roughest country i ever ran across. the indians were powerful bad too, to say nothing of the road-agents. but we struck it at last pretty rich on a lode that we called 'the last lap'--that's the last round, you know, that the horses make on a race-track. i'd spent eight mortal years chasing my tail all round the pacific slope looking for a good lode, and here it was, after all, across on the head-waters of the missouri in montana. we knew we'd got a good thing. the ledge was three to five feet thick, with a nice, uniform lot of high-grade ore, and a special streak that would assay up to five hundred dollars a ton. i never saw a nicer lode. the only thing was, it was a plaguy long way from any quartz mill for the free ore, and it was a plaguy sight farther to the only reduction works that could handle the richest portions of it. of course what the mine wanted was a smelter of its own, right on the spot, but that's what got us. we hadn't the capital to start it. it wanted at least fifty or a hundred thousand dollars laid out before we could hope to get back a cent. that mine was worth a million, if we'd had it in california, but off there, five or six hundred miles from a railroad, owned by us two prospectors who'd just about got to the end of our tether, it was too big a thing for us to handle. well, we did what work we could on it. we sunk a shaft and ran a bit of a drift, and we went into helena and we offered a share in it to a few capitalists we thought we could trust. none of 'em would even look at it. at last we ran on to colonel starr,--old beebee starr; likely you never heard of him, but they knew him well enough up there,--and he rode out with us to see it; and he tumbled to it, too, as soon as ever he'd grubbed out a few specimens with his own pick and had 'em assayed. well, he wouldn't take a half-interest and find the money to develop the mine, which was what we wanted him to do, and we were stony-broke by that time except for our cayuses and our camp outfit, and winter a-coming on; and the long and short of it was that we gave colonel starr a quitclaim deed to our whole interest in the last lap lode for twelve thousand five hundred dollars in greenbacks, paid down on the nail. the last lap has paid more than that much in a month in dividends since then, but that's common enough; that's how things do pan out; but i don't believe in whining over my luck, never did. and i'd been waiting eight years for a look in, and i didn't despise getting my half of the twelve thousand five hundred dollars, if the last lap was worth a million. "so we sold the best quartz mine in montana, and that's where rocky and i split. we got the money from colonel starr in greenbacks, and it was a roll as thick as my arm. and rocky pouched it all, for i had to go out to a cabin three miles out of town to see another old pard of mine who had been crushed by a fall of rock and was dying. i know i ought never to have left rocky with that money on him; but what was i to do? it was late in the day; i had to go; i couldn't take it along with me, for a man was liable in those days to be held up anywhere round the outskirts of town by those cursed road-agents. rocky had kept plumb straight for over a year. i trusted him, and i went. i got back to our hotel that night about ten o'clock, and a man says to me, 'd'you know where your pard rocky's gone?' "'no,' says i, 'aint he here?' "'not much,' says he; 'he's at frenchy's, bucking agi'n' the tiger.' "my heart felt like a lump of ice. i just turned right around and walked across the road to where this frenchy kept a faro bank, and went in. there was rocky, about half drunk, sitting at the table, with about three little chips on the cloth before him. i went up and put my hand on rocky's shoulder and looked on. the dealer turned up the jack, i think it was, and raked in rocky's stake. rocky turns his head and looks up at me with a ghastly grin. 'is that you?' says he; 'jack, you'd orter hev come before. i've had a devil of a run of bad luck; i'm cleaned out.' "'in god's name,' says i, 'is that so?' "'you bet,' says he. "i felt as if my eyes were two big burning holes in my head. 'god forgive you, rocky,' says i, 'for playing the giddy goat, and me for leaving you alone for one night in helena, montana. come on out of this now, rocky, and i'll divide my share with you. i never went back on a pard.' "then the big blow came. 'your share?' says he; 'why it's all gone. it's all gone, every dollar of it, and them chips you saw me lose was the end of the last lap lode.' i heard some bummer behind me give a laugh, one of those whiskey-soaking galoots that think it funny to see the next man cleaned out. "i felt a queer lump in my throat, and i says to the banker, very solemn, 'mr. frenchy, this gentleman here,' i was holding my hand on rocky, 'he's my pardner, and i must beg you to take notice that half what you've won off him is my property that he had charge of.' "'that's no use, young man,' says the banker to me. 'we play for keeps in this house, and so you'll find it.' "'we'll see about that,' says i. 'now, rocky, tell me, is the whole of the last lap gone, the whole of the twelve thousand five hundred dollars?' "'every last cent,' says rocky. i could see by his looks that he felt powerful mean. "'then, mister,' says i to the banker--i was determined to be deadly civil--'six thousand two hundred and fifty dollars of what you've took from this gentleman belongs to me.' "'you're interfering with the progress of the game,' says he; 'and say, look here, you don't need to make that remark of yours here again. that's entirely a matter between you and your pard; it's none of my business, but if you want any advice of me, it is that you take him outside and settle it with him.' "he had his gang around him, and i saw that they had the deadwood on me, and the other players wanted to go ahead with their game. i was a stranger from the mountains, dead-broke, with no backing, and i felt there was no show for me in that shebang. i didn't open my mouth, but i set myself to get rocky home, first thing. i had pretty near to drag him there. when i got him on the street the whiskey he'd drunk went into his head, and he was like a madman. he wanted to fight me, actually he did, till i got his gun away from him. he hit me, yes, he struck me with his fist, till i had to pinion him; luckily i was the stronger man of the two. i got him back to our room at last, and got him to bed. he just laid there on his bed like a log and snored. and i laid over there on mine and cursed. i lay awake all that night thinking. i'd been a brother to rocky; i'd saved him time and again before that night; and now he'd been and given me clean away,--lost me the only good stake i'd ever had in eight years. "i was sick. i didn't know what to do. we hadn't even money to pay our livery-stable and hotel bill. we'd put up at a first-class hotel when we made our bargain with colonel starr, reckoning to pay our account out of the proceeds of the last lap. now, by selling our cayuses we'd hardly cover it; so that here we were, fairly busted, afoot, stony-broke, and winter coming on. sick was no name for what i felt. it was all to begin over again, and i was eight years older than when i started out at prospecting. you bet i felt old that night. morning came, and i couldn't eat any breakfast. rocky was snoring still. i belted on my six-shooter, stepped over to frenchy's, and asked for the proprietor. they told me he wasn't up. it was a tony gambling-house, you know, quite a 'way-up' sort of place. i sat down and said i could wait. at last they told me he'd see me. i was shown up into a room. he was there, spick and span, in a biled shirt and diamond pin, and all that. "'sit down,' says he. "'thank you,' said i, 'i can stand. i prefer it.' there was a table between us. "'let me warn you,' says he, 'at once, that this room is loopholed, and that you are now covered with a double-barrelled shot-gun, loaded with sixteen buckshot in both barrels, at about ten feet off. if you make a move towards that six-shooter you've brought you'll be filled so full of lead that your hide wouldn't hold shucks.' "'all right,' said i, 'i expected as much. i didn't bring this six-shooter to argue with you.' "he kind of laughed at that. 'then what the h----l did you bring it here for?' says he. "'to protect myself on the street,' says i; 'to protect myself from footpads as i go back to my hotel with my money.' "'what money's that you're talking about?' says he. "'my money,' says i, 'that you've won off my pardner last night, six thousand two hundred and fifty dollars in greenbacks. that'll need protecting.' "he gave a kind of a grin. 'it's protected by them thirty-two buckshot at the present moment,' he says, 'and i guess they're good enough to guarantee it.' "'i'm not denying it,' says i. 'i've come here, as a gentleman, to appeal to you as a gentleman, to restore me my money that my pardner's wrongly handed over to you.' "he looked amused. 'i notice you don't speak as if you upheld the game wasn't square,--as if he'd been robbed of it here,' says he. "'i don't know nothing at all about that,' says i. 'i don't gamble myself, but i don't doubt your game's a square game enough, as things go. people say it is. i don't complain of the game; that's rocky's business, if it's anybody's. it's my money that i'm talking about, whether it was a skin game that he lost it over or not. it's those greenbacks that colonel starr paid me that i'm here for.' "then he fairly laughed out. 'why, you galoot,' says he, 'you talk like a tenderfoot, yet you've been around this western country long enough to cut your eye-teeth. when did you ever hear of a professional gambler giving up the stakes after he'd won 'em?' "'i don't know as i ever did,' says i; 'but if not, here's the place for it to begin to happen, right here and now. i tell you i've got to have that money. i tell you i'm tired. i've prospected in every range of mountains there is in three territories to find that last lap lode. i've been eight years sweating and starving and freezing and wrastling round. yesterday, for the first time in my life, i got my stake, and i've got to have it. i tell you again i'm tired. i won't go through it all again for nothing. i'm either going out of this room with my money in my pocket, or i'm going out of it feet first, with a hole in my head you could put your fist through. i don't threaten nobody, but i'll have my money or i'll die right here.' "'you say you don't threaten,' says he suspiciously. 'aint that what you're saying now--something darned like a bluff?' "'no,' says i, 'it aint. i don't threaten,' and i turned my right hip round towards him where i had my pistol slung. 'i'll hold up my hands and you can take away this pistol if you like,' and i threw up both my arms over my head. "'put down your hands,' says he quietly, 'i don't want to take your pistol.' there were mirrors all round the room, and as i turned i caught sight of my face, and though i felt red-hot i could see i was as white as a sheet, and my eyes like coals of fire. truth to tell, i was mad. 'don't take things too hard,' says he, 'it'll come right. i know just how you feel. i've been busted myself more nor once. look here, young man, i've rather taken a liking to you. i'm going to set you going again. i'll give you a thousand dollars out of my own pocket, and that'll start you, and all i'll ask is----' "'you'll give h----l!' i burst out. 'i'm not a beggar! i don't want no man's charity. i want my money--six thousand two hundred and fifty dollars in greenbacks--neither more nor less. that's all.'" stephens paused. the vividness of his own recollections, excited by the recital of the incident, had flushed his face and quickened his breathing. his pipe had gone out, and he signalled to the boy for another coal to relight it. manuelita sprang up, ran to the kitchen hearth, snatched a coal from it, and gave it to the boy to carry in. don nepomuceno, keenly interested, leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "yes," he said, "yes. gambling makes much trouble. i know it, for i was a great gambler myself. there were four years that i gambled a great deal, when i was sowing my wild oats." he nodded with the sententiousness of a reformed character, who yet relished the reminiscence. "it's a bad thing, very bad. but young men will be young men. now, there's my son andrés, he gambled a great deal too much last winter. but, look you, i am keeping that young man now out in camp with the sheep herd, to see after the peons. the lambing season is just coming on, and they are going off up the valle grande, where there is much green grass. that is far away from the settlements; he can't get into much trouble up there, can he?" and the father chuckled with self-satisfaction over his ingenious little manoeuvre. "but here, i am interrupting you, don estevan, and i want to hear the rest of your story. please excuse me, and continue." "well," resumed stephens, "the upshot of it was he saw i was in earnest. so i was. i expected to die right there. if he'd attempted to leave that room, i'd have jumped him, and then they'd have killed me. i didn't mind, i was so wound up. he turns to me, and says he, 'i believe i'm going to do a thing that i never did before, young man. i'm going to give you back that money that your partner lost of yours.' he went to a safe he had in the corner, unlocks it, takes out a roll of notes and brings 'em to the table. 'jake,' he sung out to his man through the wall, 'you can put away that shot-gun, it aint needed.' "he counts out to me the full amount and hands it over. "'mr. frenchy,' says i, 'you're a gentleman. i'll never forget this the longest day i live.' "'no more'll i,' says he, with a dry grin on his face. 'the laugh's on me this time, i think,' he says, 'and i can tell you that aint the case very often.' "'i think likely,' says i, getting up to go. 'good morning, mister; will you shake hands?' "'that i will,' says he; and we shook. "'look here,' says he, holding me by the hand, 'i want to ask you one thing more. if you thought you had the best right to this money why didn't you go to a lawyer and enter suit for it?' "'go to a lawyer!' said i; 'what would i do that for? the law in montana's a thief; you know it, and everyone knows it.' so it was, don nepomuceno. the head of the ladrones there was the regular, lawful, elected sheriff of helena; the road-agents ran the country in fact. "'no,' says i to mr. frenchy, 'i didn't want no lawyer. i heard say you were a gentleman, and i thought i'd give you a chance to prove it, and i'm glad i did.'" stephens took a few draws at his pipe; the excitement into which he had worked himself over his story was passing off now the climax was over. "well," he resumed, "i went back to my hotel and i woke rocky. i told him we must part, and i offered to divide. he wouldn't quite do that, but he took a thousand dollars off me. he was mighty penitent, but i told him i'd no use for such a pard any more. i was sick of montana altogether, and concluded to skip. i paid my hotel bill, went over to frenchy's and made him a present of my cayuse, and i donated over to him my share in every claim i had located in montana to compensate him for what he had lost by giving up the half of rocky's losings. i believe he's made a pot of money out of some of those claims since. i took the stage for green river city, and then for denver, and i got through safe without being held up. i salted down most of my money into denver real estate, which pays me a fair interest, and part i've used in paying my way while i've been prospecting in southern colorado and northern new mexico. and that's how i come to be here." "thank you, don estevan, thank you," said the mexican. "it is most interesting; but i wonder you can think of going back to such a _compañero_. it is a very perilous idea." "oh, well," answered stephens carelessly, as he rose to take his departure, "meeting him isn't the same thing as going and doubling up with him again. i'll be apt to know more about that when i see him." but manuelita's heart gave a little painful throb at the discovery that this man, in whom she was fast learning to take an interest too great for her own peace of mind, could return so lightly to a life that had already brought him into such dangers, and could depart apparently without thinking of her, or of what his loss might mean to her. he did indeed belong to another world. his mule was brought out and saddled, and his belt once more buckled on, with the revolver hanging low on his right hip. he warmly grasped don nepomuceno's hand at parting, and with a smile and a bow and his hat doffed to the ladies, he swung himself into the saddle and rode away. don nepomuceno and his sister stood in the great doorway at the entrance to the courtyard, looking after his retreating form. he rode with the long stirrup and erect military seat of one who had seen service in a united states cavalry regiment, no bad school for horsemanship; his fine figure and his athletic frame showed off to great advantage. a hundred yards away, at the bend of the road, he turned in his saddle to wave his hat once more in a final adieu, and the warm sunlight kissed his profusion of golden curls. manuelita ran back into the house that her aunt might not detect the emotion betrayed by her quivering lip. but the elder lady had her gaze steadily directed towards the parting guest. "_ah, que hombres tan aventureros, si, son estos!_" she said--"what bold adventurers they are, those men!" "true indeed," answered her brother, "'tis most true. for myself, i hate the americans, most of them, but admire this one, and i like him too. but he is set on this life of adventure. i sounded him on the matter; i even hinted to him that it was full time for him to marry and settle down. but he would none of it." "_es hombre muy frio_"--"he is a very cold man"--said the mexican woman, and there was a spice of scorn as well as regret in her tone. she despised a man who was a laggard in love, and her spoken judgment had coincided with manuelita's thought. "it is true, it is most true," assented her brother. "he is cold. these americans are not impassioned in the love of women as we are. the chill of their frozen north is in the very marrow of their bones. they are not like unto us of mexico and the south." those who know them best will bear witness that, whether they are descended from spanish _conquistadores_, from the devoted warriors of montezuma, the passionate hearts of the sons and daughters of mexico prove them in very truth to be children of the sun. chapter ix a squaw for a fee all day felipe remained in the wheat patch. at noon he ate his lunch of bread and dried flesh down by the river instead of going back to the pueblo. at intervals during the day he came to the edge of the bank in order to see that the mare and the remaining mule were all right, and not trying to get up the bank into the crops. he might have gone off to talk, for a change to other indians, who were working in their fields, but he did not care to. his heart was too sore; he wanted to be alone. he thought and he thought, but all to no purpose. he ended by saying to himself, "well, there's one day more. i'll see josefa to-night, and we'll talk it over." a wild idea floated through his brain of taking one of don estevan's animals without his leave, but he knew it was wild. he believed don estevan would shoot anyone that did so, and he did not mean to incur that penalty. the only rational scheme he could think of was to run off in the night to the sierra, find the horse herd next day, get his father's horse and start back with it, but instead of coming straight to the pueblo, to lie hid in the foothills of the sierra till night time, and then slip down and get josefa to come. but he knew that on the morrow, when his father missed him, there would be a noise made and he might be followed, in which case his plan might miscarry, the more so that his disappearance would cause a doubly sharp watch to be kept on josefa. with melancholy eyes he watched the sun sink lower and lower in the west. precious time was passing, and he was doing nothing and could do nothing to bring his will to pass. he burned with desire to act, and he was helpless. before sunset he caught the mare and mule, and took them up to the pueblo in order to put them in the corral for the night. this was the time of day when josefa was likely to be fetching water from the ditch, which had been empty all the morning on account of the blasting, and in the hope of meeting her felipe led them through the street on which her father's house faced. and where had josefa been all this time? she had been hard at work at home, under the vigilant eye of her step-mother. grinding corn meal was the labour which she was set to do, a good steady task to give to a young person of rebellious disposition. the indian hand-mill is a large, smooth stone, something like a flagstone, set sloping in a box on the floor. the grinding is always done by a woman, who kneels on the ground, and bending over the mill rubs the corn up and down with a smaller stone held in both her hands. hard work it is indeed for back and arms, but the pueblo women keep it up for hours. their good health and fine physique are largely due to this vigorous exercise. josefa worked away over the mill till her back ached, while her step-mother, at the other end of the room sat at a hand-loom, on which she was slowly weaving a gorgeous blanket of many colours for the cacique's next official appearance. josefa thought as she toiled at her work; and her mind reviewed over and over again different alternatives. from the bottom of her heart she hoped that felipe would be successful in getting a horse from the american. if he didn't, she did not know what she should do. one thing only was certain in her mind. have ignacio she would not. they might starve her, and they might beat her, but they should not force her to be his wife. what was the use of being a woman of santiago if she mightn't have some say in the matter? why should she be treated as a slave, as the savage utes treated their women? "i don't care," she said to herself, and as she said it she stiffened her back, and rubbed away at the refractory corn harder than ever. "i won't. he's old, and he's ugly, and i hate him. i know he beat his first wife--he did. i won't have him." she glowed with the heat of her scorn and indignation; but all the time a little unbelieving spirit in the recesses of her mind kept asking in a sort of undertone, "how will you like being beaten if you disobey? how will you like it; how will you like it?" and as she cooled off from her glow, and thought of another side to the picture,--an intercepted flight, rough seizure, angry words, and furious blows,--she quaked. she had not been beaten since she was a child, and not much then, for the pueblo indians are good to their little ones; but she knew that her father was within his rights in giving her to whom he chose, and that those who broke the laws of the community were liable to the lash. she had never seen it done severely. all she had seen was two or three cuts with a whip, administered publicly in the street after a severe scolding by the marshal of the village, to some misdemeanant who had let his ass trespass among the standing corn, or who had otherwise broken some of their simple rules; but she knew with what severity, in private, serious offences were treated, and in the depths of her brave little heart she quaked. but the quaking fit passed off, too, as the indignant glow had done; perhaps the hard work helped her through. "they can't do more than kill me," said she to herself. "i can stand it. but have old ignacio i won't." then she thought of felipe. she had not much fear for him. his own father certainly wouldn't beat him. for one thing he couldn't, for the son was the stronger; and as for ignacio, she fairly laughed to herself at the idea of the ugly old fellow attacking felipe. "why, felipe would put him on the ground in a moment, and keep him there, too, as long as he wanted," she thought, and felt a grim satisfaction at the idea. the only danger she feared for him was lest he should get furious and use his knife, and kill ignacio, and be hanged for it. but felipe had promised her never, never to do such a thing, and he would keep his word. such a thing had not happened in the pueblo for forty years--not since old fernando was a youth, when he had quarrelled in a fit of jealousy with another indian and stabbed him, and had been arrested, and afterwards pardoned. towards evening it was reported that the ditch was running again, and josefa and her step-sisters went out to draw water. with the great earthen jars on their heads, they filled out one after another, and marched off to the waterside. here they lowered their burdens to the ground, and slowly filled them by dipping up cupfuls of water with their gourds. there were several other women at the waterside doing the same thing, and there was much animated talk about the blasting of the acequia--for they had heard the explosions quite distinctly at the village--and about the improvement of the ditch, which was fuller now than it had ever been before. then some of the younger girls took to playing and splashing each other, and one said something sly to josefa about ignacio. she flushed up and was on the point of flying into a rage, but calmed herself in a moment, returned a laughing retort, and joined in the fun and the splashing. her step-sisters were surprised, for they well knew her feelings on the subject of the intended marriage; but they supposed that perhaps she was growing more reconciled to the idea of it. at last the welcome interval of fun and gossip came to an end. one by one the jars, now full and very heavy, were carefully elevated on the heads of their owners, the party broke up, and the women returned to their respective homes. josefa was hoping for the appearance of the figure she desired to see, and lingered as long as possible; but when the rest of the party had assumed their burdens she could delay no longer, and, taking up hers, moved after them, the last of the file. as they re-entered the village she saw with joy that her manoeuvre had succeeded. felipe was strolling very slowly, and apparently quite unconcerned, up the street, leading the mare and mule towards the corrals. they dared not speak, but they had devised a little code of signals of their own. a shake of the head conveyed to her, "i have failed"; a crook of the forefinger, "i am coming to-night." an answering crook from her said to him, "i will meet you"; and they passed on their ways, no one but themselves the wiser for the little exchange of messages that had taken place. but josefa's heart sank lower still as she crossed the threshold and thought that one of the precious three days was already gone, and no means of escape was yet provided. at sunset her father returned. the acequia round the point had been properly embanked on its lower side, and the stone dislodged by the blasts cleaned out of its channel. he was in high good humour at the success of the work, which would render memorable his term of office. he brought his saddle indoors, and, taking down a key from a sort of shelf of wickerwork, which was slung by cords from the roof beams, he took his horse to the stable. he did not keep him at the corrals, where the prospector kept his mare and mules, but was the proud possessor of a mud-built stable, with a lock on the door. his coming set josefa thinking again. "our great difficulty," said she to herself, "is a horse. why not take my father's? if i could only get the key we could manage it. i could not indeed get down the saddle and take it out of the house without making a noise, but felipe must find a saddle. and if i can get the key and we take my father's horse, he will have nothing to pursue us on, which is double reason for taking it." filled with this idea, she got some more corn and began to grind again, so that when her step-mother went into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal she was left alone in the outer room. her father came back from the stable and replaced the key on the shelf, and then went out again without speaking to her. now was her chance. she darted silently across the room, seized the key, and flew back to her work so quickly that no one in the next room could have suspected what she had done. she was so bright and cheerful that evening that her family thought she must have ceased her opposition and become reconciled to the match. "ah," said her step-mother, "if ignacio only gives you work enough, and doesn't spoil you, he'll have a docile wife as any in the pueblo." josefa laughed aloud. "he will have a docile one when he gets me!" she said. but she laughed to think how blank they would look at daybreak next morning when they found her flown. after supper the cacique and the chiefs went in a body to call upon stephens. they entered the room and seated themselves against the wall on the ground, sitting on sheepskins or on mats which they had brought with them. stephens passed round the tobacco-bag and some corn husks cut square for cigarette papers. presently old tostado began to speak. "we are very grateful, and we give you thanks, sooshiuamo," said he, "for the work that you have done for us to-day. ever since the year of the great eclipse of the sun, which is the most ancient thing the oldest man of us can remember, the point of rocks has been that which has given trouble to us all, and our fathers told us it was so when they were little boys. we have had to be always mending it, and then just when we had most need of water it always broke. then you came among us to stay. you know that we like to live apart from the rest of the world. we do not like to have strangers come here to live. our fathers never allowed it, and they have handed down to us as sacred the command that we should never allow it either. we have obeyed their command until now, and never till this day have we proposed to make an exception to our rule in favour of anybody. the mexicans, and others who wish, may live at san remo, and they may live at rio feliz, and at other places in the world, where they belong, but here, no. it is not our custom. we do not want it, and we have the right to prevent it. when our fathers made peace with the old kings of spain, many generations ago, they had the right given them for ever to keep all strangers away. it is written in our grant, and it is a very good law to have. see how in abiquiu the indians let the mexicans come in, and now they are a sort of mixed people, and not proper indians at all. but we are the indians of santiago, and we wish to remain the same. but you came among us, and we gave you a name, and you lived quietly and did not interfere with anyone, and we saw that you were good. then we gave you leave to stop on and to go and hunt in the mountain the wild cattle, which are the children of the cattle of the indians. and you stayed with us all this winter past, and you have been happy here among us; but now you say that you must go far away again, following your business. now we say this: you have done a thing to-day that we are glad of, and our children will be glad of, and their children, too, for ever. now we say this: you live alone, and life alone is very lonesome. it is good that you should give up the life of wandering so far and being so lonesome. it is good that you should live here with us, and we will build you a house, and we will give you a wife, a young one and a good one, whichever one you please among the girls, and we will assign you pieces of land of the village, and you shall have it to cultivate the same as we do. if you do not want to work with the plough and the hoe yourself, you have money and you can hire others to work. and you shall live here safe and at ease, and if we want to do more to the ditch, or to keep the smallpox away, you shall do it, because you are wise and know the arts of the americans. we have talked it over, and that is what we think." and he closed his oration and folded his blanket about him, not without dignity. stephens was sitting on the side of his bed, leaning forward and looking down, with his pipe in his mouth, when tostado began his speech. as it proceeded, he stopped smoking, and still sat looking thoughtfully on the ground, holding his pipe in his hand, and a curious smile came over his features. "people seem determined to make a squawman out of me somehow," he meditated. "first a lying stage-driver goes and swears to sam argles that i'm one already, and now here comes this worthy tostado with an extremely public offer of the pick of the bunch. well, how am i going to decline? shall i say, 'thanks very much, my good friend, but i'm not taking any, this time'? pretend to blush and be embarrassed, and play the funny man generally? not much, i guess. my jokes with these people don't seem to come off. they're not their style. no, i'll just refuse civilly; but, seeing that they're making themselves so particularly sweet to me at this moment, i believe i'll trot out my best card and ask for the mine." he waited till the applause that followed tostado's peroration had quite died away, but instead of rising to make a formal speech in reply, he remained sitting on the side of the bed. "i'm sure i'm very much obliged to you, tostado," he began conversationally, looking at the friendly face of the turquoise headman, "and to all of you chiefs here present,"--he cast a comprehensive glance round the circle,--"for the good opinion you say you have of me, and for your proposal that i should settle down among you. i take it very kind of you that you offer me a wife and a home here. but i'm not quite prepared to settle at present. you said, tostado, that i had money; so i have, but only a little, not enough, not as much as i want. now, i've got this to say to you. there's just one thing that would induce me to remain here, and not go away. don't be startled, it's a very simple matter; you know that i'm a miner, and live by finding and working mines. well, i want you to give me leave to open and work your silver mine, the silver mine that you have up in the mountains, and that you keep so carefully hidden. if you'll make a contract with me to do that, i'll stay on here and work the mine for you. what do you say?" never was the admirable facial self-control of the red man better exemplified than in the reception of this speech. to the indians the very name of mines in connection with themselves was a horror. they had awful traditions of ancient spanish cruelties, of whole villages stripped of their young men, who were forcibly carried off to work in a slavery which was degradation and death. spanish enterprise in that line had ceased with the exhaustion of the labour supply, and the accumulation of water in the shafts which they had no steam-pumps to remove. but the terror of those evil days lay upon the souls of the red men. they had hidden those ancient shafts where their forefathers laboured in the damp, unwholesome darkness, till sickness and misery found their only respite in death. they guarded the secret of them jealously, and never with their goodwill should they be reopened. at the words of the american, the chiefs turned one to another with looks of astonishment, and acted their little play admirably. tostado remained silent, and the cacique was the first to speak. "silver mine?" he innocently asked. "what silver mine?" thus ignoring the fact that the prospector had broached the idea to him already. "_we_ have no silver mine. _we_ know nothing of such things. the mexicans have some, far away in the south. the americans have some, far away there," he pointed to the north. "but there never have been any here, never. is it not true, my brothers?" he appealed to the circle of chiefs. there was a chorus of replies: "it is true." "there never have been any." "none of us ever heard of such things here." "nonsense, salvador," retorted stephens, laughing as good-humouredly as he could by way of reassuring the suspicious redskins. "everybody round here knows that you fellows have a mine that you keep well covered up so that nobody shall find it. very sensible plan that of yours, too. quite right not to let other people get hold of it. i allow that. but you're all wrong about one thing. you're afraid the spaniards may come back and force you to work in the mine again. no fear. the spaniards have gone for keeps, and the american government has come, and it's going to stop. there's absolutely nothing to be afraid of. i've heard of your mine; now, you let me work it for you; i'll make money out of it for myself and money for you. the money will buy you lots of cows and sheep and horses, and improved ploughs and good guns, and all sorts of things. you say you have got confidence in me, here's your chance to show it." he might as well have expended his eloquence upon the dead adobe walls. the chiefs stared at him vacantly. when stephens ceased there was a pause, and then tostado took up the subject. "it is quite true what you say, sooshiuamo. you are our friend. the american government is our friend; it has protected us from the mexicans when they tried to ride roughshod over us, and we are grateful to the american government. but the stories about a silver mine are foolishness. these mexicans must have been yarning to you; they are idle talkers. we have no mine. we never had a mine. we don't know anything about mines, and never did." and again all the chiefs chorused: "we know nothing of a mine; nothing whatever." for a whole hour stephens argued with them. vain effort. no solid rock was ever more impenetrable than an indian who has made up his mind, and the baffled and wearied prospector gave it up in despair. his thoughts drifted away to earlier days when he first found himself in the midst of that wonderful rush to the el dorado of this century, the far western goldfields. he thought of his hopes, his failures, and his struggles; how he had always intended "when he had made his pile," to go back east and marry a nice girl of his own race, and settle down comfortably. when he had made his pile!--the will-o'-the-wisp that has led many a man such a weary dance through the sloughs of life. he had to admit to himself that he had lowered his figure. he had set it at first at a million, a brownstone front, and a seat in the united states senate. it had come down step by step in the last ten years, till it stood now at ten thousand dollars,--enough to buy a nice little place back east, and stock it, and have something left on hand; but, alas! he was not half-way yet even to that goal--and now there was offered him a mud home, an indian squaw, and a corn patch. "not yet, i reckon," said he to himself, with a grimmer smile than ever. "i've not come to that quite yet. not but what these indians are the honestest and most virtuous folks to live among that ever i knew. but i can't quite go turning squawman yet." "much obliged to you, tostado," said he in response to a renewed offer, "but i don't want to settle down just now. no, thank you. i have business to see after far away, beyond the country of the navajos. not that i don't like you here. i consider you as my friends. you know that. perhaps some other day i may think about settling down, but now i have other business. but i am much obliged to you, all the same." "no," said the indian; "it is we who are obliged to you for what you have done for us. it is a great thing, and we are grateful to you for it. there is nothing we would not do for you." and then he went on to praise and compliment stephens, and the americans generally; for he was no mean proficient in the art of oratory, and enjoyed doing what he knew he could do well, and what his people admired him for. poor stephens could not escape from the flow of language by quietly walking off, as he had done in the morning; and though he wanted badly to get free to finish reading his san francisco weekly paper, he could not be so discourteous as to cut the speech short abruptly. but all things come to an end at last, and finally the chiefs, having made speeches to their heart's content, took their leave, folded their blankets around them, and filed off into the moonlight. chapter x an elopement once again felipe waited patiently for the setting of the moon, in the dark corner between the mud oven and the wall where we saw him first. thoughts keen almost as sensations chased each other through his mind as he crouched there watching. dominant was the feeling of the eternal sense of need: "i want her and i'll have her." all this trouble, and strife, and disappointment only made him more obstinate. "i will succeed," he said to himself. "i will. if i fail now i shall be a loser all my life--always wanting, never getting. if i win i shall have what i desire all my life and be happy." this was frank egoism. felipe's moral standpoint may be guessed from the fact that had he been told he was egoistic he would not have understood the implied reproach. to himself his position was simply natural. but it would be wrong to suppose that generous and unselfish impulses did not run side by side with self-regarding ones. he thought of josefa, lonely and sad in her father's house. his anger rose as he thought of the unkindness and the threats she had to endure, and of the heartless way in which she was being disposed of. he longed to save her from the present trouble and from the hateful future that threatened her. how sweet she was and how beautiful! every fibre in his frame thrilled at the thought of becoming her protector, at the delicious idea of her seeking safety in his arms, while he acted as her shield against tyranny and wrong. and through her sweet eyes there looked out, he knew, the faithful soul of a true and loving woman. she was good. he felt as sure of that as he did of his own existence. her kindness and dutiful spirit he knew, for he had seen her behaviour in the daily life of the village. what a shame it was that she should be so ill-treated just because she was by nature gentle and obedient! poor girl, she would want to be comforted a great deal to make up for all the trials she was undergoing now. he would have to be very good to her in every way, and he swore to himself that he would be so; he would do his best to make her happy. ah, if they could but once get to the padre at ensenada and be married by him, it would be all right; and at the thought his pulse beat high. at last the welcome hand appeared at the hole in the wall he had been watching so long, and he flew to the spot. "is that you, sweetheart?" he whispered as he stretched his hand along the wall to meet the little fingers. "i always tell myself you will not come, just to tease myself, for i know all the time that you will. and at last i see the signal and i know it is all right." "you know i always do come," she returned, "you bad boy, as soon as i feel sure they are sound asleep. but now tell me what news you have." "bad enough," said he despondently. "i asked the american--i begged hard of him; but he would not lend me one of his beasts. i waited till he was in a good temper, after he had blasted the rock; but it was no use. i will go to-morrow to the sierra for my father's horse and i will come back for you in the night. he is thin and cannot travel fast, so you must come early before the moon sets or we shall not have time enough; but we must take our chance as we can get it. i will tie him away off on the edge of the mesa, so that there will be no horse tracks for them to follow close here. you must come afoot so far." "stay, felipe," said she. "i have been thinking. can you get a saddle--now--to-night?" "i can get one of the american's," he said. "he has an old one he never uses. he would lend me that, i know." "yes, but can you go to him to-night, felipe?" "oh, yes," he answered. "i would wake him--he doesn't mind what i do. but what horse are you thinking of? one of his?" "no, no," she cried; "i have a better plan than that. we must take my father's horse. i got the key this evening after he went out. go first and get the saddle, and then here is the key." his fingers tightened eagerly on hers. "you darling!" he whispered. "how clever you are! ten times cleverer than i. why didn't i ever think of that before? wait. i'll be back in a moment." he gave her hand one more rapturous pressure, and loosing it, darted off like the wind to stephens's house. stephens was a sound sleeper, but in the middle of the night he was waked by a sudden angry growl from faro. he opened his eyes, but it was pitch-dark. a low knock was heard at the door. "who is it?" he cried, first in english, then in spanish. a voice answered, likewise in spanish. "oh, don estevan, it's me, felipe." "felipe!" he exclaimed. "why, what the mischief are you up to now? but come in, the door isn't locked." he heard the latch pulled, and seized the collar of faro, who was snarling savagely. the door opened and the cool night air blew freshly in. a figure was dimly seen in the starlight. felipe approached the bed. "oh, don estevan!" he began at once, "do be kind to me; lend me your saddle--the old saddle, not the good one. you know the old one hanging on the wall in there." "why, what's up, felipe?" said stephens, surprised at being roused by this request in the middle of the night. "what do you want with it? what makes you come bothering me now?" "oh, please don't be angry, but lend it me," pleaded the boy. "i will bring it you back, and i know you don't want it; you never use it." "what mischief are you after?" said stephens. "you want to go off sweethearting somewhere--that's what it is, you young rascal. that's what you wanted my mare for to-day. i know what you are up to." "oh, don estevan," begged the boy,--"the saddle, please. if you won't lend it to me, sell it to me. i have money,--five dollars." "hold on till i strike a light, and shut the door, will you?" said stephens. "lie down, faro, and be quiet." the prospector got out of bed, struck a match, and lit a candle. "you're a pretty sort of fellow, to come roaming around this time of night!" he went on as, candle in hand, he stepped cautiously across the floor in his bare feet to the door of the inner room, which he unlocked. "sensible people are in bed and asleep at this time of night," he grumbled. "come in here and get your saddle." felipe followed him instantly to the storeroom where he kept his powder-keg, mining-tools, pack-saddles, and provisions. "there it is," said stephens, pointing to an old saddle hanging by one stirrup from a peg in the wall. "get it down. and the bridle; yes, that's it"--and the pair emerged again into the outer room. stephens locked the door again, and turning round encountered felipe's hand with a five-dollar bill in it. "here it is, don estevan; five dollars," said the young indian. "tut, tut, i don't want your money," said the american cheerfully. "keep it or give to your sweetheart to keep for you. she'll do that fast enough"--and he chuckled at his own wit. "now don't you smash that saddle," he continued; "and mind you bring it back when you've done with it." "oh, thank you, don estevan, a thousand times!" cried the young indian. "god will reward you for it." "likely story," growled his employer, "when i guess it's the devil's business you're riding on. there, that'll do; be off with you," he added; and he escorted felipe, still protesting his gratitude, to the door. as the boy stepped outside, stephens asked through the half-shut door, "who's going to look after my stock to-morrow?" "oh, don estevan, my brother, my little brother tomas. he will see to them. i have told him." "much good he'll be!" retorted the californian. "whom did i hire, him or you?" "why, me, don estevan, but my little brother will----" "yes, your little brother will play the mischief," said stephens, cutting him short. "i know you. there, get along with you. i'm tired of you,"--and the sarcastic prospector turned growling to his blankets again. "who is she? for there's some woman at the bottom of it, as sure as fate," said he to himself as he turned over on his bed before going to sleep. "one of the young squaws i suppose. felipe used to be a pretty good sort of a boy, but durn my skin if i don't believe he's going to turn out just as ornery as the rest of 'em. who is she, i wonder, anyway?" he was just dropping off to sleep when the thought struck him, "maybe he's gone to the corral to get the mare!" he half rose at the idea, but lay down again, soliloquising slowly, "no, he never would have come here to borrow the saddle if that had been his game; he dursn't. i'd break every bone in his confounded young carcass if he dared do such a thing"; and comforting himself with this hypothetical revenge, he finally dropped asleep. with the saddle safely tucked into the fold of his blanket, felipe flew round the corner and down the street to the back of the cacique's house. when he came to the place he stooped down and picking up a tiny pebble he tossed it through the hole. josefa was waiting inside and answered his signal instantly. "have you got the saddle?" she whispered. "yes, yes, all right," answered her lover. "here is the key," said she rapidly; "take this and go to my father's stable and get out the horse and take him away outside the pueblo and tie him, and then come back for me. i mustn't risk being caught getting out unless we are quite sure to succeed; it would prevent our ever having another chance." "good!" said felipe shortly; and without a moment's delay he started off. "stop, felipe, stop an instant," she whispered. "don't tie him near the corrals; he'll neigh to don estevan's animals." "as if i didn't know that!" returned the boy almost indignantly, and he turned again and darted away. it was all plain sailing now. how clever of josefa! how thoughtful she was! he reached the cacique's stable, looked stealthily round to be sure he was not watched, and then turned the key in the lock and entered. the horse, a noble and intelligent creature, was standing there quietly. in a minute felipe put the saddle on him and brought him out, locking the door again behind him. he led him straight away from the pueblo, up along the acequia; a few dogs began to bark at the unwonted sound of hoofs in the night. he tied him to a tree in a peach orchard, and gave him a handful of corn fodder which he had brought from the stable to keep him quiet. then he flew back to the village. "all right, josefa, come! i have him tied ready," he whispered. the little hand met his once again through the hole in the wall, and he pressed it. it trembled in his clasp. "you will always be good to me, always?" she said. "i shall have nobody but you now." "yes, i swear it, my heart's joy, i swear it!" he cried earnestly. "but come, come quick!" the clasped hands unlocked, and the indian boy sank down once more to wait; this was to be the end of his waiting. it was not for long. three minutes later, a head peeped over the edge of the terrace above him, and in a moment more josefa dropped into her lover's arms. one long kiss, one long, rapturous embrace, was all they dared delay for; and then without a word, hand in hand and side by side, they fled with stealthy steps up the street. perhaps it was the fact of a woman's being abroad at that hour of the night that excited the suspicions of the dogs; but whatever it was, the whole hundred-and-odd of them belonging to the pueblo seemed to begin to bark just then. the clamour brought one or two indians to their doors, but they saw nothing; the lovers had already disappeared. up along the acequia they ran. they reached the peach orchard. the horse was there all right. felipe bridled him in a moment and then sprang across the acequia with the lariat in his hand. he pulled at the rope, but the horse refused to follow. "hit him, josefa," said he to the girl, "hit him." she shook the fold of her blanket at the animal, and with a snort he sprang across after felipe. she bounded over lightly and stood beside him. he lifted her to the saddle and vaulted on to the croup behind her. he slipped his arms round her waist, both to hold her securely and to grasp the reins, and striking the horse's sides with his feet, he urged him forward. the noble creature made nothing of his double burden, and bounded forward. "it's no use trying to dodge," said he as he guided the animal straight towards the trail that led to the rio grande. "they'll track us anywhere to-morrow; but they can't see to trail before daylight, and by that time we must be at ensenada." "hark to those dogs," said she, as the chorus of barkings from the village rose and fell upon the night wind. "never mind; we're off now," said he, holding her closer to him. "the dogs are always barking anyhow. they'll think it's only some mexican going down the valley. why, if they did wake up and miss us now, they must wait till morning to know which way we've gone, so don't you be frightened, sweetheart." they struck into the trail at last--a well-marked bridle-path, which led across the mesas. there was no fear of their missing it, dark as it was after the moon had set, for both the horse and his rider knew the trail well enough. on they pushed, on, on, the keen night wind from the east blowing freshly in their faces, and causing them to fold their blankets more closely to them. the stout little indian horse was used to carrying double, as indeed most horses in those parts are, and he travelled onward without flinching or staggering under his burden, cantering where the ground was not too rough, and picking his way with wonderful sure-footedness up and down the steep sides of the ravines, which here and there intersected the broad table-lands. felipe had to tell josefa of his vain attempts to borrow the mare of the american, and he gave her a laughing description of the way in which he had roused him at midnight to borrow the saddle. "i'm glad, though, he didn't take the five dollars from me," said the boy. "perhaps i should not have had money enough left for the padre if he had." "but you have enough?" inquired josefa eagerly. "how much have you?" "oh, i have fifteen dollars," replied he. "i have saved my wages, every cent, since don estevan came here last autumn, and my father let me keep half. fifteen dollars is more than enough. it is only the rich people who pay twenty and twenty-five dollars. why, lots of poor people pay only ten. i am sure we are poor enough." "i am afraid we are indeed," sighed she sadly. "never mind," said he cheerfully, trying to keep up her spirits, which were failing somewhat at the strangeness of this lonely ride over lands unknown to her, under the immense vault of night. "never mind that. why, i have sown six bushels of wheat more than last year, and i am going to put in plenty of corn too. there is plenty of land, and if we have not enough the head turquoises must give us some more. there is lots of water now in the ditch to sow a thousand bushels more than we used to." "yes," said josefa thoughtfully. "i know how hard you have worked, dear felipe, and that you will not be slack now, but are you quite sure of your father? will he not turn us out?" "how can he?" said the boy scornfully. "you know he is too poor to hire anyone to work for him. he cannot do without me. he is getting old and cannot put in a crop by himself, and tomas is too young to be much good. it is i who do the work on the land. you know, josefa, i would work ten times harder for you," and he pressed her closer to him again. "yes, yes, felipe," she cried, "i know that. i am sure of that. i never could have trusted you so if i had not known you were good at home. but, felipe dear, if they are cross to me at your house i shall hate it." "they sha'n't be cross to you," he cried hotly. "i am a man now, and they must listen to me. if i support them they must do what i say--at least sometimes," he added, correcting himself. "besides, my mother loves me, and when she sees how i love you, and how you are all the world to me, she will love you too; i know she will." "ah, perhaps not, felipe," said the girl doubtfully. "you talk like a man. women are not always like that, you know." "but she will; she must," said felipe decidedly. he had a comfortable masculine conviction that women's feelings were something that could always be put down or got round. he felt that he was acting a man's part now, and that it was time for him to assert himself. how could he feel otherwise with his arms round his sweetheart's waist, with the free sky above them and the broad mesas around, fifteen dollars in his pocket to pay the padre, and a good horse (he did not stop to think whose) to carry them to ensenada! for the first time in his life he felt himself a man and free. they had left behind them the village with its narrow, cramping laws and customs, its parental tyrannies, and its hateful distinction of rich and poor. to felipe, ignacio with thirty cows was an odious monopolist. how delightful it was to have hoodwinked the watchful guardian of josefa and baffled his miserly rival! while the fugitives thus sped onward through the night, peace once more reigned supreme over the pueblo. the barking of the dogs at their departure had soon ceased, and no one took the trouble to inquire seriously into the source of their wrath. they might have been barking at a hungry coyote, come to explore the heaps of household refuse deposited day by day outside the village by the tidy squaws, or at some belated mexican passing up or down the valley, or even at some stray donkey escaped from his owner's corral. at any rate, no one cared enough to prosecute his inquiries, and no movement was perceptible in the village till the first grey dawn. dawn caught the lovers descending the long hill that leads from the mesas down to the wide flats of the rio grande valley. the light was too dim as yet to do more than show vaguely the broad line of the wooded banks of the river, still some distance ahead of them. the sun rose as they were pushing across the sandy flats and passing through the poverty-stricken hovels of the mexican village of la boca, past a surprised-looking, unkempt peon, who blinked drowsily at the couple from his doorway. on they pressed and still onward, making for the point where the road forded the river. but what roar was this that met their ears as they neared the grove of cottonwood trees through which the road to the ford ran,--a dull strong roar as of the rushing of many waters? felipe recognised it, and on the instant his heart felt like lead in his breast. "_valgame dios_, josefa!" said he, "i believe the river is up. oh! what luck! what luck!" chapter xi my ducats and my daughter the grey dawn that awoke the household of the cacique did so to some purpose. "josefa," called the step-mother as she arose, "josefa"--but no answer came. "why, where can she be?" exclaimed the indian woman, looking round and calling her other daughters. salvador himself rushed into the inner room to look for her. in a moment he sprang out again. "she has gone!" he shouted. "she has got through the trap-door and escaped. oh, the wretch!" "where can she be?" wondered his wife helplessly. "where can she be?" he echoed scornfully. "why, with that pauper scoundrel of a felipe. i know her. oh, i'll make her pay for this!" he seized his revolver and slipped his belt through the loop of its case, and grasping a horsewhip he darted from the house. the rest of the family followed him somewhat timidly, anxious to see what was going to happen, wishing, perhaps, that he would punish her a little for not being so good and steady as they were, hoping, too, to intervene and save her from the extremity of his passion, for they knew how pitiless he was when roused. the cacique flew straight to atanacio's dwelling, and thrusting the door open burst rudely into the apartment. "where is felipe? where is my daughter?" shouted he in tones of fury. "i don't know. i don't know anything about it," said the old man humbly. "isn't your daughter at home? perhaps she is over at sahwaquiu's." sahwaquiu was josefa's uncle, her own mother's brother, and josefa was a pet of his. "where's felipe, i ask you? answer me, you old reprobate!" roared the angry cacique. "i don't know," said the old man again, in the humblest tones. "i have not seen him. he was here last night when we lay down, but he got up and went out. i don't know where he is." "he's run off with my daughter, that's where he is," shouted the indignant parent; "and i believe you know about it too," he added, threatening the old man with his whip. "you had better say what you know, or i'll make you." he was a thick-set, muscular man, and looked well able to carry out his threat, as he stood over old atanacio, who remained passive, seated on a sheep skin near the hearth, neither attempting to defend himself nor to escape. the cacique's black eyes flashed fury, and his coarse features worked with passion, as with taunts and threats he cowed the helpless being before him. but meanwhile the news of the elopement had spread, and the indians were buzzing about their village like a swarm of bees round the hive. up dashed one of the younger men with news. "cacique, cacique," he cried, "the stable! your horse has gone, but the stable is locked. his tracks go all up by the acequia"; and he pointed to where two indians, with their heads bent low almost to the ground, were busily questing from side to side like sleuth-hounds on a scent. "oh, the villain!" roared salvador. "he's got my horse. he shall be hanged." and he ran first of all to the stable to satisfy himself by seeing with his own eyes what had happened. it was true. the stable was locked, but the steed was stolen, as could be seen by lying down and peeping under the door. the cacique got up with his white shirt and buckskins all dusty from the ground, and turning to the crowd called out: "here, get me a horse, some of you--tito, miguel, alejandro. go get me the mare of the americano, and mount yourselves, too." and he himself started out towards the acequia to look at the tracks. several indians ran towards the corrals. "the saddle," said one; "we want a saddle; go get yours, alejandro. you live nearest." "hadn't we better tell the americano," said tito, "before we take his mare? maybe he won't like to lend her." "but he must lend her," retorted miguel impatiently. "the cacique wants her. isn't that enough?" by this time they had arrived at the bars of the corral where the prospector kept his stock, and they stopped to wait for alejandro to bring the saddle. tito took advantage of the delay to act on his own motion, and darting over to the door of stephens's dwelling began to knock vigorously. "hullo! who's there?" called out stephens in response to the knocking. he was still between the blankets, and had not yet turned out. "the cacique wants your mare," cried tito through the keyhole. "wants my what?" exclaimed stephens, who failed to catch his words exactly. "open the door, can't you, and let me hear what you've got to say," he added, sitting up in bed. tito held the door ajar and put half his face into the aperture. he had a wholesome respect for faro and did not care to adventure farther. "the cacique wants to take your mare to ride, to go after his daughter," he explained. "well, he can't have her, that's all about it," said stephens, getting out of bed and beginning to put on his moccasins. he had adopted the indian foot-covering as more comfortable as well as more economical than boots. "just tell him," he continued, "that i'm not lending horses just now. when i am i'll let him know. but why can't he take his own?" "he hasn't got it. it's gone," said tito, at the same time signalling with the half of him outside the doorway to miguel not to take the mare. "it's gone. felipe's run away with the cacique's horse and his daughter." "the dickens he has!" said stephens. "when did he do that?" as he spoke he recollected felipe's midnight visit to him for the purpose of borrowing the saddle, and a light dawned on him. but under the circumstances it seemed better to say nothing about the matter. he put on his hat and came to the door. tito volubly expounded all he knew of the story. presently salvador himself came bustling up from the acequia, whip in hand and revolver on hip. "looks considerable on the war-path," said the prospector to himself. "wonder what he means to do about it." "here," said the cacique in a loud voice to the indians round, "where's the horse? why isn't it saddled?" stephens stood leaning carelessly against the doorpost, but took no notice of his speech. there was silence for a moment, and then tito said in a apologetic tone, "don estevan says he doesn't want to lend her." "oh, nonsense!" said the cacique; and then turning to the american and mastering his passion as well as he could, he said, "lend me your mare, don estevan." "i can't do it, salvador," said the prospector deliberately. "i want to go to the sierra to-day." "oh, the sierra!" said the cacique impatiently. "that will do to-morrow. my daughter is gone and my horse is gone and there's nothing else to go after them on. you must lend yours for once." "not to be ridden to death after them," said stephens. "why, they're leagues away by this time. you'll have to ride like the very mischief to catch them." there was an accent of contempt in his voice which infuriated the indian. stephens valued the mare, which he had brought with him from denver, above all earthly things, and the idea of letting an indian ride her near to death in a long, stern chase seemed to him the blankest absurdity. "why, i wouldn't do it for my own brother!" he went on. "you can't have her, cacique, and that's flat." "but i must," said the indian, enraged at an opposition he had not expected. "i must and i will. what's a horse for but to ride?" he turned to the crowd of indians behind him, and called out, "saddle her up, will you, quick!" two or three began instantly to run towards the corral, and the rest were starting to follow when the loud, clear voice of the prospector arrested their movement. "stop right there!" were his words. "you do no such thing. if anyone touches my stock without my leave i'll shoot him." the indians stopped. "i'll drive you out of here, you americano," said the angry cacique, laying his hand upon the butt of his revolver and advancing directly towards stephens, who was of course quite unarmed. "drive away then, and be d----d to you," returned the american. "i've hired these rooms from old reyna till the end of april, and i sha'n't budge before." and his eyes flashed back defiance. salvador kept advancing in a threatening manner, and the younger indian men, of whom there were thirty or forty on the spot, closed up behind their leader; they half felt that he was wrong, but still he was their chosen cacique. stephens stood his ground, and faced the mob with dauntless coolness. an odd thing struck him. he knew them all personally quite well, but now he hardly seemed to recognise them. the expression of their faces, usually so peaceful, was entirely altered. it gave him quite a turn to think that people who had crowded round him so full of fun, and so eager to show their friendship and gratitude only the day before, should change so quickly to a cruel mob. yesterday's momentary outburst of suspicion excited by the dreaded charge of witchcraft had revealed to him the explosive forces that lay hidden under their quiet exterior, but that had been dissipated by his own prompt repudiation of the charge, and by the cacique's influence. now it was the cacique himself who was assailing him, and there was none to help, nor hope of anyone. a hundred black, flashing eyes were fixed on him with an angry glare. he felt as if he were shut up in a den of wild beasts. he was quite alone; the new storekeeper at san remo was the only other american within sixty miles. "take your hand off that pistol, salvador," said he quietly. "you can't scare me, so don't you try it on." the indian stopped, but his hand plucked nervously at the hilt of the weapon. stephens observed his opponent's indecision, and continued: "a pretty lot of fellows you are, to come crowding round me as you did yesterday, and call me your best friend, and say how you'll sing my praises to the third generation, and now this morning you're ready to cut my throat before breakfast, all about nothing! i've heard of the gratitude of indians before now," he continued, "but this beats all." the indians visibly winced at this taunt, the justice of which they could not but acknowledge, and began to interchange rapid words in their own language, thereby making themselves unintelligible to stephens. just at this moment came a most welcome diversion. round the corner dashed miguel full charge on a fiery steed. the indians scattered right and left before him. with a jerk on the terrible spanish bit he set the horse on his haunches, and as he sprang to the ground he cried, "here, cacique! here's the horse of the new storekeeper at san remo. i've got him for you." salvador never spoke, but seizing the rein offered him by miguel he sprang to the saddle, turned his back on stephens and the crowd, and dashed wildly forwards to the trail. all eyes were bent on his rapid course. the trackers on foot had already traced the hoof-marks from the acequia across to the ensenada trail, and were running half a mile off like hounds in full cry. in less than two minutes the galloping horseman overtook them, and cantered alongside to hear what they had to tell. they reported that the tracks were several hours old and that the horse carried double. "i could have told you that," said salvador, as he plied the whip freshly, and galloping ahead disappeared in the direction of the mesas from the sight of those who were watching him. "wonder what he'll do if he catches felipe!" said stephens to himself as he saw him vanish over the hills. "that young man'll have to look out for himself, as sure as he's a foot high. rather lucky for me," he ruminated, turning to go in, "that chap miguel's coming up with backus's horse! i wonder, by the way, how he came to get him. i don't know what i should have done if mr. salvador had gone for me with that six-shooter, and he was just about mad enough to try it on. blamed if it wasn't the suddenest scare i ever did get let in for! why, hallo, faro, old man," said he aloud, on finding the dog at his heels, "what's up with you? i don't often see you out of the blankets before breakfast. blamed if i don't believe you heard me a-talkin' to them fellers and just come out to take a hand!" he was right. the dog's quick ear had caught the note of danger in his master's voice, and he had flown to his assistance. stephens took another look at the indians around. some were still watching the mesas; others were going about their daily business. it seemed as if those who knew him best kept aloof, feeling ashamed to come up and speak to him. however, an old man whom he hardly knew, and who spoke spanish badly, approached him in an apologetic sort of way, and said, "salvador very angry!" "well," answered stephens, with a grim laugh, "i should think he's gone mad." "yes, mad, silly," assented the old man; "for why get angry? no good, no good,"--and he stood there wagging his old head and saying "no good" in a way that the prospector quite understood to be intended for an _amende honorable_ on the part of his fellows. nor was he the only one. "señor americano," said a cracked voice close beside him, and stephens felt a light touch on his elbow. he turned and found himself face to face with reyna, the turquoise squaw from whom he rented his rooms. she and her husband lived next door to him, and from her he often bought eggs and meal. she of course had been a witness of the whole affair. she now produced two eggs, and holding them out to him said, "see, two." "yes, i see," said stephens, "but i don't want 'em to-day. haven't got the five cents." "no, no!" she cried. "no money--two." her spanish was weaker even than the old man's. stephens turned to him. "what does she mean?" he asked. "i can't make out what she's up to." the two indians exchanged some words in their own language. "she means, your honour," said the old indian man, speaking with painful elaboration, "that this is for the gratitude of the indians. excuse her, your honour, she does not speak much in spanish--that is, not like us, the men"--he added explanatorily, "but she can understand, and she heard you say the indians got no gratitude, and this is for her." stephens turned to the old squaw and took the eggs, thanking her as well as he knew how. "and i'm going now to cook them for breakfast," said he, as he went back to his room. "well, who'd have thought that?" he said to himself, as he began to whittle shavings from a piece of fat pine to light his fire with. "they're a queer lot, indians are, but i suppose it takes all sorts of people to make a world." his thoughts wandered back to salvador and the fugitives. "wonder what salvador'll do," he said half aloud. "he's mad enough to kill the boy, if he gets close enough. blamed if i don't think he was about mad enough to kill me! he's real ugly when he's mad, and it's no foolin' when it comes to six-shooters." he went over the scene of the early dawn again in his mind. "it does beat cock-fightin'," he continued to himself, "how folks like these indians, that's as quiet and decent and orderly as can be, should flare up all in a moment and glare at you like a lot of wildcats, and all for nothing. why, if i'd gone and killed somebody, or run off with somebody's wife, there'd be some sense in it, but to burst out just because i wouldn't lend my mare to be rode plumb to death! it does beat all." the fire now burned up brightly, and after setting the coffee-pot on to boil he filled the nose-bags himself, and went out to feed his stock. "confound that boy, running off like this," he grumbled, "and leaving me this job! told his little brother tomas, indeed! i don't see him around yet; not much; don't expect to neither." he leaned up against the fence waiting while the stock ate their feed. someone must keep watch in order to drive off the hungry indian pigs, who prowled around and would have disputed their corn with the horses. the sun had just risen, and his level rays lit up like a flame the red cliffs crowned with dark pines, which formed the western side of the valley. but stephens did not see them. he was facing east, with the sunlight full in his face, and his eyes fixed on the bare, flat-topped table-lands which divided the santiago valley from the rio grande. "confound him!" he growled again. "what a fool trick for him to play! i'm mighty glad it isn't my mare he's playing it on. he'll find himself in a muss, too, if he don't mind out, sure. i don't more than half like the notion of that ugly savage of a cacique getting after him with a six-shooter." he waited till the stock had finished feeding, and then went back to his rooms. but he decided not to start for the sierra till the next day. "confound the boy!" said he the third time. "i can't take that little fool, tomas, and i want somebody to help me dry the meat and pack it down. why the dickens couldn't he run off some other time! he want a wife! he wants a nurse and a birch rod, i should say." thoroughly vexed, he prepared to put in the rest of his morning, or at least as much of it as he could spare from swearing at felipe's escapade, in fixing up pack-saddles, mending his tent, cleaning his beloved repeating rifle, and generally getting ready for the trip he so unwillingly postponed. but his plans for the day were destined to be interfered with for the second time. the inquisitive face of mr. backus appeared suddenly in the open door. "mornin', mr. stephens," he began; "can i come in? so this is where you live when you're at home." he dragged a heavy saddle across the threshold and took a seat. "i told you i wouldn't be long before comin' up to take a squint at your white squaw." "she's no squaw of mine, mr. backus," said stephens with rising anger. "i think i told you so already. and if you want to see her you can't, for it so happens that she has just eloped." he turned his back on the storekeeper, kneeling down to arrange his pack-cinches with a preoccupied air. "oh," returned the other, "is that it? i didn't tumble to it that she was the one who had bolted." his eye wandered around stephens's modest abode, taking in every detail, as he tried to gratify his curiosity concerning the prospector's domestic arrangements. it seemed to him an incredible thing that a man should settle down like this among the indians and not provide himself with at least a temporary wife. but in these bachelor's quarters there was no sign of feminine occupation, temporary or permanent. the one novelty that puzzled him was the neatly built assaying furnace, which he at first took for a new sort of bread oven, until he detected the parcels of ore beside it and its true nature dawned upon him. but postponing the idea of asking questions about it for the present, he went babbling on: "and here i've been and loaned my horse to a chief to go chasing after her upon, and left myself afoot. guess i'll have to try and borrow that mule of yourn to get back to san remo on." stephens's face at this suggestion became the picture of disgust. "say, though," he went on, "i was forgetting. you're badly wanted down there. i come up partly just to tell you that. don nepomuceno is in a mighty awkward fix. what do you think that son of his, andrés, has been up to? you'll never guess in a month of sundays. he's bin and had a fuss with a navajo up yonder in the mountains over a game of cards, and killed him, and half burned the body in the camp-fire to try and get rid of the thing. and the navajos have got right up on their ear about it and there's a whole band of 'em now down at san remo wanting old sanchez to turn 'em over his whole sheep herd to pay for it. how's that for high, eh?" stephens leaped to his feet. "who told you this?" he cried. "why, andrés himself," replied the storekeeper. "i've seen him. he's hidden away now in an inner room down at the house. the indians are having a big pow-wow outside. oh, they'd just murder him if they could get their hands on him once." without a word stephens caught up his saddle and his winchester and started for the door. "where are you off to so quick?" asked backus, rising also. "to get my mare," was the answer, "and go straight down there. and you'd best come along, too. you can have that mule." chapter xii pacifying a ghost "say," asked mr. backus, as the pair rode out of the pueblo side by side, "how're ye getting on with the silver-mine question? had any new developments?" "no," replied the prospector, "i bounced them straight out about it last night, and learned nothing. they just won't open their heads on the subject at all. they simply swear there never was a mine, and i don't believe it's any use to go on working at them." "and what'll you do next?" queried the storekeeper. "to tell you the truth," said stephens simply, "i've not quite made up my mind what i want to do, but i'm much inclined to chuck it up." "look at here," interjected backus, "did ye ever think to try them navajos? they used to roam all over these mountains in the old days, and they know 'em still just like a book. they know what silver is, too, for you see all their high-u-muck-a-mucks wearing plates of it all over 'em. how about them knowing where the mine is?" "i doubt it," returned stephens. "they'd have sold the secret of it to the mexicans long ago if they had known it." "they're too suspicious of the mexicans to do that," said the other; "they don't trust 'em. they'd be afraid they'd cheat 'em; but mebbe they might trust you or me enough to think we'd pay 'em if we promised to." "they don't trust the mexicans far, by all accounts," said stephens, "i allow that much. but say--i want to know more about this fuss between don andrés and the navajo. how was it?" "oh," said backus, "the navajo came to the sheep camp where andrés was with his two herders. the navajo had his squaw along. and he and andrés got to playing cards by the firelight, and andrés won all the money he had, six dollars and a half. and then the injun got mad and swore andrés had cheated him. and andrés told him to go to halifax! and then the injun got madder, and drawed his butcher-knife and went for andrés right there. but andrés was too darn quick for him, and pulled his gun,--he wears a mighty nice pistol, does andrés, a smith and wesson nickel-plated,--and he plugged him just under the heart and laid him out. and then the squaw bawled and ran off into the woods, and andrés and the two sheep-herders were powerful frightened over what they'd done, and they chucked the body on the camp-fire to burn it up, and they packed their camp outfit and drove the sheep herd that night right away to the ojo escondido. but when the squaw got back to the other injuns and told them, they just naturally knew their best plan was to come down on old man sanchez at oncet. that's why they're here. they got here this morning, and andrés come in only a few hours ahead of 'em, about midnight last night." "well i'm sorry for don nepomuceno," said stephens. "and he's tarnation sorry for himself too, you bet," added the texan. "he's in an awful sweat over his flock of sheep. i never saw a man look sicker. why, if the navajos was to run off his sheep it'd bust him wide open. he's liable to have to make the original herd good to old man baca, you see." "by george!" returned stephens, "i don't wonder he's in a sweat. what does he want to see me for, d'you know?" "wal'," replied backus, "he reckons that as an american you might be able to help him some. the americans are running this territory now, and the navajos have darned good reason to know it, and he thinks they'll mind you. i left him and some of his compadres pow-wowing away with them outside the house, but they hadn't come to no conclusion. pretty miss manuelita"--he looked knowingly at the prospector--"was just crying her eyes out over her brother inside. she thinks he'll be killed, sure." stephens touched his mare with the spurs. "i'll gallop ahead, i think," he said, raising his reins, "but i'll be obliged to you if you'll bring that mule along quietly and just put him in your stable till i can come round for him. so long." he gave the mare her head, and in a moment she was skimming like a swallow over the gentle undulations of the dusty stretch of the indian lands. backus jogged along, watching the mare and her rider grow smaller and smaller in the distance. "you don't just know what you want yourself," said he, apostrophising his late companion, "but i think i know about what you want, and i'll make it my business, mr. stephens, to see that you don't get it." the look in his eye as he spoke was not amiable. it was not exactly a cheerful sight that greeted the american on his arrival at san remo. the palaver was in progress, and there against a blank wall outside the sanchez house squatted eleven very glum-faced navajos, while on the ground opposite to them in the strong morning light sat don nepomuceno and three of his relations who had come to give him their support. the eleven indians were the first navajos stephens had ever seen, and he eyed them with no little curiosity. "call these wild indians?" he felt like saying: "why they look as civilised as the pueblos." this was because of their dress mainly. they did not have their hair braided in locks with beaver fur like the mountain utes, or twisted up like any of the plains indians; each had a bright red kerchief bound turban-wise round his snaky black locks, just like the pueblo indians, except that he wore no "chungo," or pigtail, at the back. neither was their colour as dark as that of the utes or the sioux; they were distinctly lighter. "perhaps living further south they wash more," he thought, "and that may account for it." then, in lieu of buffalo robes and buckskins they were clad in neat belted tunics and loose cotton breeches, and for a wrap or mantle had gaily striped blankets of their own weaving. "real tony their blankets are," said he to himself, "and just as pretty as a painted mule." a _pinto_, or piebald, mule is an extraordinary rarity, and it is quoted in the far west as the highest standard of picturesque beauty. no; as far as dress went they did not look like wild indians at all, at least not like any he had ever seen. but when he came to look at their faces he changed his mind. not that they were all alike; on the contrary the diversity of types was remarkable. there were lowbrowed, thick-lipped, thick-nosed, heavy-jawed men among them, and there were others with fine aquiline features and regular, well-shaped mouths. but their bold, impudent, cunning eyes betrayed them. one and all they looked thorough rascals. as stephens ran his eye over them, his acute glance rested on a big, hawk-faced man with a sullen expression, who sat in the middle of them smoking a cigarette with an air of unconcern. his broad leather belt was studded with great bosses of shining silver. "how," said stephens, dismounting and looking straight at this indian whom he took for the chief, but the latter gazed at him stolidly without taking any notice. the mexican rose and welcomed him warmly. "come round with me to the corral, don estevan," said sanchez as he dismounted; "let me put the mare up for you. pedro, the peon, is keeping the house door. my unlucky boy andrés is inside. ah, what a foolish boy to go and gamble with an indian! the storekeeper will have told you of our trouble." "yes," said stephens, "he told me that the navajos were demanding your whole flock of sheep." "oh, not really," replied the mexican; "that is, they only threaten to take them if i don't pay. but they positively and actually have the impudence to demand that i should pay them a thousand dollars, silver dollars, for one scrub indian," he groaned. "it sounds a good lot," said stephens reflectively. "oh, it's ridiculous," said the disconsolate mexican. "a thousand dollars for one miserable, low-down indian. i've offered them a hundred and twenty-five, and that's more than he was worth to them twice over. but they say he belonged to ankitona's family." he busied himself undoing the latigo strap of the hair cinch. "but, look here," rejoined the american, to whom this exact appraisement of the value of one "low-down indian" was a novelty; "according to the way mr. backus gave me the story as we rode down, i can't see why you should have to pay anything to them at all. if don andrés killed the indian in self-defence, any court in this country would clear him. do they deny it? do they say that he attacked the indian first?" "oh, no," said the mexican, "you don't understand; his acting in self-defence doesn't make any difference." he spread the saddle blanket over the mare, tying it on with a cord surcingle. "she's hot," he observed, "she'd best have it on till she's cool. no," he repeated, as they turned back to the scene of the palaver, "it isn't a matter where law courts count for anything. our courts don't ever bind the navajos. the one thing that does count in our dealings with them is whether we are at peace or at war. now, if we were at war with them at present they wouldn't come here to ask for pay. no, they'd go straight off and just kill or carry away captive any mexicans they could catch in revenge. but, you see, we're at peace; so the rule is, if any mexican kills a navajo he must pay. they think that if his family don't make the mexicans pay up for the dead man his ghost will haunt them. their religion, you see, binds them, if i don't pay, to kill my son, or else maybe me, or some other member of my family; and very likely they'll cut my sheep herd some night and run off a lot of the sheep besides. oh, i've got to pay." he groaned again. "well, don nepomuceno," said the american, "i'm real sorry to hear of your ill-luck. i call it a very hard case. if there's anything i can do to help you, you can count on me. all the same, if that indian came at don andrés with a knife i don't myself see what else he could do except shoot, and i ain't the man to blame him for defending himself. say, now, before we go back to where the navajos are, you just tell me what you think i can do to be of assistance." the strictly business footing, so to speak, on which don nepomuceno dealt with the subject puzzled the prospector not a little, and he was afraid lest by interfering ignorantly he might only make things worse. "well, don estevan, these navajos think a deal of an american's opinion, naturally; so, since you are so kind, i want you to use your influence with them to make them take a more reasonable sum. a thousand dollars is all nonsense. he was quite a poor scrub indian. he had hardly any sheep of his own, and no pony. they admit that he lived off the richer men of his family, so i say that they're well rid of him. they're really richer without him. he was, among them, like one of the poorest of our peons here. i declare if i gave them fifty dollars for him it would be plenty. but he was one of the family of ankitona, and he's a very powerful chief, with lots of relations. he's not here himself--not he. he has sent his sister's son though, mahletonkwa. he's that tall indian with a hooked nose and the big row of silver plates all round his belt. he's a terribly bad indian. he boasts that he never surrendered to the americans,--that they never could take him to the pecos. i think he's rather afraid of them all the same, though he says he isn't, and swaggers about with his band of desperadoes. but he's quite the worst navajo going, and there hasn't been a piece of mischief done in the last two years without him and his gang having a hand in it. they're the terror of the whole country. there's another rascal there that's pretty near as bad as he is. that's the one with two feathers in his head-dress--notalinkwa his name is. he's a villain too." "i see," answered stephens; "you want me to talk to this--what do you call him--mahletonkwa, and tell him that he's got to come down a bit in his price. do you think that'll do any good?" the mexican turned his eager eyes full on stephens, and laid his hand on his arm. "i think it will," he cried; "you are an american, and all the navajos think that it's their cue to keep on good terms with the americans. they are a good deal afraid of them since the time of their defeat in the cañon de chelly, when they learned to fear the brave coronel christophero carson and that _valiente capitan_, albert pfeiffer. that was several years ago, and after that they surrendered and were taken away beyond santa fé and kept over on the pecos. they did hate that; they were nearly starved there, and lots of them died, and a good job too. it is only a couple of years now since they have been allowed to come back to their own country. but even those who never were caught and taken to the pecos heard the story of it, and they, too, fear the americans. oh yes, they listen to their agent, señor morton, at cañon bonito." "well, then," exclaimed stephens, "there's our man. of course the indian agent is the proper person to appeal to in a matter of this sort. shall i tell this mahletonkwa, then, that the moment he goes to cutting up any didoes on his own hook round here the agent will be down on him like a knife? i'll just inquire what right mr. mahletonkwa has got to come here anyhow--yes, or to be off his reservation at all. if don andrés had gone on to their reservation and killed a navajo there, then there might be something to be said for their side of the argument, but if a navajo comes here among the mexican sheep herds he's got to abide by the laws of new mexico, i say." "oh, don estevan, that's no use," answered the other sadly. "he don't care two _reales_ about the laws. no, you tell him that señor morton will make the soldiers come and shoot him if he or any of his family kill my son; make him believe that, if you can, and you'll be doing some good." "i'll try," said the american doubtfully, "but i hardly expect he'll mind much what i say." the pair walked round the house to the south side, where the navajos were sitting, and squatted down on the dry, sandy soil opposite them, alongside of the three mexicans. stephens got out his tobacco-bag and passed it round before he filled his own pipe, and began to smoke with calculated deliberation. he had at least learned one lesson, that it is no use to hurry an indian if you want to do business with him. having got his pipe thoroughly alight and returned his tobacco-bag to his pocket, he looked at mahletonkwa, and said, "you come from fort defiance?" the agency at fort defiance, called by the mexicans cañon bonito, is just over the border line between new mexico and arizona, and well in the middle of the navajo country. "no," said the indian briefly; "more this side." "you got leave from the agent to be off the reservation?" asked stephens sharply. the indian parried this question. "i come from my mother's brother, ankitona," he said. "he mucho bravo--very angry about this thing." he indicated the killing by don andrés. "likely enough," said stephens, "but that's no answer to my question. what i want to know is if you've got leave." "i don't ask anybody's leave," said mahletonkwa defiantly. "i'm not the slave of the americans. i never went to bosque redondo." bosque redondo was the scene of their captivity over on the pecos river. "indeed!" retorted stephens; "but, if you hear me talk, it might have been better for you if you had. you might have had a chance to learn how to behave yourself." if this audacious redskin was going to put on any frills with him he proposed to check him up short right at the start. mahletonkwa chose to look very surly at this rebuff. then he repeated his previous assertion. "ankitona very angry indeed about this." "and quite right of him too," said stephens. "he ought to be very angry with your man who went and got himself killed. you've got no right to say it's don andrés's fault, if he had to defend himself. the man who drew the knife is to blame." the indian dissented by a gesture, but made no verbal reply. disregarding sanchez's warning of the futility of this argument, stephens laboured to prove that killing done in self-defence was nothing more than justifiable homicide. but his words seemed to take no effect on the indian, who smoked on stolidly till it was evident that all this talk was to no purpose. in an undertone don nepomuceno hinted as much. when at last the navajo condescended to answer, his view of the affair proved to be very much as the mexican had prophesied. to him it did not matter three straws, he explained, who struck the first blow or who was to blame for the quarrel. his point was that the family had lost a valuable asset in the shape of a warrior, for which they required a good round sum in compensation, and not only that, but enough to enable them to give their lost relative a number of gifts that would make him comfortable in the next world. he would require a good deal to make him comfortable, too, for not only had he been killed, but he had been sadly disfigured; an undeniable fact, for of course the charred object that had been partly destroyed with fire was a horrid sight. the dead warrior's spirit was exceedingly angry, said mahletonkwa, and required to be appeased with liberal offerings, and if he wasn't properly mollified he would take it out of his neglectful family by haunting them. under this spiritual compulsion it was clear that all the family were bound to rise to the situation, he argued. there was no choice left them; they were absolutely bound, by some means or other, to extract satisfaction from the family of the slayer. he was very much in earnest. it wasn't war by any means; no, it was a mere family affair, so to speak. but there it was, and it would have to be arranged. it took stephens some time to become convinced that don nepomuceno was right, and that the dead man's ghost was at the bottom of it all. "you see, this is how it is, don estevan," said the mexican, speaking to him aside. "these navajos have a sort of purgatory of their own. heaven forgive me for comparing their heathen superstitions to our holy religion, but i want to make you understand. you know when our friends die we give the proper offerings to the priest to say masses to make their stay in purgatory shorter. well, now you have heard mahletonkwa say that these indians have their religion, which is all false, of course, only they are obstinate and believe it, and according to that it is necessary for the family to give presents to make the spirits of the dead more happy. and they are very much afraid if they don't do it; oh yes, they are grossly superstitious; but how can i help it? how can i teach them better? these heathens are very expensive to deal with. if he were a christian it wouldn't cost me half so much, but i don't suppose you could make him see how foolish he is." he paused, as if a new idea had struck him. "could you, do you think"--he added eagerly--"could you show him the error of his ways?" "jerusalem, no!" cried stephens, taken considerably aback, "i rather guess not. i'm not a missionary by a long shot. no sir-ee, that's a trade i never had a go at, but i'll tell you what we used to say up in montana: 'the best missionary is a gain-twist, hair-trigger rifle that will convert a sioux indian at three hundred yards every pop.' that's what we said there; but i'll admit that these southern indians down here are a very different sort of folk. the sioux were pure, unadulterated savages, but these navajos seem to be part human. still, i don't see my way to wading in at messrs. mahletonkwa and co. with a hymn-book." he chuckled to himself at the naïveté of the mexican's suggestion. "yes," said the latter regretfully, "i feared you couldn't do it. after all, to be missionaries is the business of the padres and not of you or me. but i like what you told me about the missionary rifle of the americans that converts an indian at three hundred yards. you tell him that; preach that to him; put it strong." he evidently had great faith in the moral influence of the american over the navajos from the mere fact of his being an american. "very well," replied stephens, with a certain pride of race in the appeal thus made, "i'll see what i can do. look here, mahletonkwa," he continued, addressing the chief, "i've heard your talk about this unfortunate incident, and i quite see that you've got reason on your side, looking at it from your point of view. of course, our point of view is quite different; but we'll waive that for the moment. very well. here's don nepomuceno making you a very liberal offer of a hundred and twenty-five dollars to settle the matter. now that's a lot of money; and if you're the wise man i take you for, you'll close with it and accept his offer. that's my advice to you. you'll find it best in the end, much better business than trying to fight the united states soldiers. the soldiers have got repeating rifles, heap-shoot guns, mind you. if you refuse, and go and take the law into your own hands, and attack don andrés, or any of his family, you'll smart for it. i give you fair warning. if you touch them i'll have the soldiers sent after you. captain pfeiffer aint dead yet. you've heard of him, so don't you make any mistake about that. you hear me talk; and what i say i'll do. my tongue is straight. i have spoken." his words carried weight and produced some effect, as two of the navajos at once began to urge something on their chief with great earnestness in their own language, apparently wishing him to comply. stephens had adopted the crisp, pungent sentences that appeal most to the redskin's taste. but mahletonkwa was in no hurry to come to terms, and presently replied to stephens at some length, explaining that the offer was most inadequate. more cash for themselves and gifts for the dead man were indispensable, absolutely indispensable. his terms were still a thousand dollars, neither more nor less. "i believe that other chap--what d'you call him? notalinkwa, looks as if he was inclined to vote for taking your offer," said stephens to don nepomuceno. he had been observing the faces of the rest of the indians very closely while mahletonkwa was speaking. "look here. let's leave him and his friends to argue it out; i'm sure by their looks some of them want him to give way. they'll talk better if we're not by. come along to the store or somewhere." "come into the house," said the mexican, jumping up; "we can talk better too when we are by ourselves," and he led the way to the great door leading into the patio, now strongly barred and fastened. at the master's summons the peon who was on guard hastened to unbar; the door was partly opened and they slipped in, the master of the house quickly assisting the peon to replace the wooden beams that secured it as soon as they were inside, while stephens shook hands with don andrés, a tall, well-built young mexican, who would have been very handsome had he not been marked with smallpox. "how do you do, don andrés?" he said heartily. "i'm sorry for this trouble you've got into. however, let's hope it can be fixed up all right." "it's very unlucky," returned the young mexican; "i didn't want to kill him, but he would have it. i had to do something to defend my life." "that's just what i say," assented stephens; "i was putting it to mahletonkwa like that just now, only he wouldn't see it. he jumped the track entirely, and went off into a rigmarole about ghosts and such like stuff, where i couldn't follow him, nohow." "you were an exasperating, foolish boy!" exclaimed don nepomuceno testily to his son, as the door-beam was finally wedged into its place. "it's all your fault," he broke out, with vexation and almost despair in his voice. "what i shall do i don't know. you've gone and acted like an idiot. i've told you to stop your gambling a thousand times, and then you must go and gamble with an indian, a scrub indian! yes, an idiot, that's what you are. come in, don estevan, come into the house," and he led the way to the big living-room, don andrés following rather sheepishly. not a word did he venture to say in reply to his angry father's tirade. "honour thy father" is a commandment that is far from being obsolete in new mexico. if his father had taken a rod in his wrath and beaten him, this tall young man would have dutifully submitted himself. "sit down," said the master of the house hospitably, pointing to the divan; "take a seat here, don estevan. will you have something to eat?" "well, thank you, don nepomuceno," answered stephens, "since you are so kind, i think i will, if it isn't too much trouble. the fact is, i came down without my breakfast." "ho, there, juana!" cried the mexican, running to the door, "and you, my sister! make haste, set breakfast for the señor. he is hungry. be quick now." a scurrying of feet was heard in the kitchen at the sound of his commanding voice. "and make him tortillas of wheat flour," his loud tones went on, "hot tortillas with fat, and coffee; see that you make coffee." he came back and seated himself beside stephens. "what do you think about it, señor?" he inquired. "what is the best thing to be done?" "well, if you ask me my deliberate opinion," said stephens, leaning back and crossing his left leg over the other with his hands clasped round the knee, "i should say this: it seems to be perfectly clear that these indians are outside the law; it's no use to appeal to it with them. now the mail goes by here to-day, noon, towards santa fé. i say, write to the governor of the territory at santa fé, and to the general commanding the united states troops there, and tell them about it, and ask their protection. they're bound to give it you. and write to the navajo agency at fort defiance, and tell the agent there, and ask him to have mahletonkwa and his band brought back on to the reservation. and i should tell the indians exactly what i was doing, and warn them once more that they'll certainly have the united states cavalry after them if they don't behave. if that makes them any more inclined to accept your offer of a hundred and twenty-five dollars, why, of course you'll count them out the money and settle it out of hand. i should call a settlement cheap at a hundred and twenty-five dollars cash down. more than that, if i was you, i'd raise my offer a trifle, if i thought i could afford it, so as to meet them. you heard mahletonkwa say he wanted gifts, some sheep and a pony, to sacrifice for the dead man's ghost. i gather by what you tell me about their religion, that he thinks that if he kills them for him specially, the dear departed can go and corral the ghosts of the pony and sheep in the happy hunting-grounds, and have the full benefit of them there. now, you must have in your flock some old six-tooth ewes, that likely will never breed another lamb; give him a dozen or two to butcher. and then, couldn't you trade for, or borrow, some old stove-up pony, very cheap, and let him have that, too? that won't ruin you. i take it the navajos mean to keep your good hard silver dollars for themselves, and they'll religiously send the foundered old sheep and pony ghosts to keep their defunct relative company in the sweet by-and-by." the notion of this ghostly herd tickled his cynical humour mightily. "yes, perhaps i might do that," said sanchez in a saddened voice. to part with any of his cherished flock is like drawing eye-teeth for a mexican. "i might let them have a few of my oldest ewes; they come in very useful for mutton, but if i must, i must. and my brother-in-law has a handsome pony who is _inyerbado_; he ate poison-weed over on the rio grande a year ago, and has never been any use since. that dead navajo was a very poor scrub, and it would be more than good enough for him; he ought to be uncommonly grateful for it." he spoke so feelingly that it really seemed as if he almost half believed in the purgatory of the navajos himself. he hesitated and then went on. "but as for the letters, don estevan, it's not so easy. for one thing, the governor and the general don't know spanish; and then, you know, i haven't much english, and i'm not much of a hand at letter-writing anyhow. i couldn't manage the letters." "oh, if that's all," returned the other, "i'll write the letters for you willingly enough. indeed, as i'm an american, it's just possible they may be a trifle more ready to pay attention to them. yes, and i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll write out an account of the killing of the navajo for don andrés, like an affidavit, and he shall sign it, and then we'll have mr. backus witness it and put on the post-office stamp. he's a sort of a united states official, and it may help to make them feel more called upon to take notice of it. that'll come as near to being a regular legal document as anything we can scare up out here. i do like to do everything in correct legal style, when i can. i'm all for law and order every time. that's me." "ah, don estevan," said the elder mexican, "it is you that have the clear head. i am very much obliged to you. your plan is the good one." "very well, then," answered stephens, "i'll just run over to the post-office, and get some paper and envelopes and stamps, and draw up those letters; and as don andrés had better not go outside the house before the matter is settled, i'll ask mr. backus to step around here in the course of an hour, and bring his post-office stamp with him." he rose from his seat to go towards the door, but don nepomuceno hospitably protested. "wait till you have had your breakfast first, don estevan. it is all ready; here is manuelita bringing it for you;" and as he spoke the girl entered and set the table for him, as juana had done on the previous day. she smiled at his greeting, but her eyelids were swollen with crying. at this moment there came a knocking at the outer door, and the master of the house hastened out to see who it was demanding admittance, and was followed by his son. "he's all right," said stephens cheerfully to the girl, as he looked into her anxious eyes. "he's safe enough as long as he stays inside here. they'll none bother him while he's protected by these walls. and i've good hopes that we may be able to bring them to a reasonable settlement, so that he can go about again in perfect safety. don't you fret yourself over it. we'll make these navajos sing a proper tune before we've done with them." he spoke with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to deal with serious affairs, and conscious of possessing the ability and the experience for handling them successfully. but he was equally astonished and embarrassed when manuelita, instead of appearing calmed by his reassuring words, flung her hands over her face and burst into a passion of sobs. chapter xiii a girl's tears at the girl's outburst stephens was completely taken aback. tears, a woman's tears, were a novelty to him, and he felt the quick leap of his heart in response. but it was ten years since he had heard a woman sob, and his practical sympathy, or at least the power of expressing it, had become blunted. he did not know what to say; half a dozen phrases struggled to be born in his throat; he wanted to explain at once to the pretty creature that it was all right; to tell her that there was nothing to cry about; to say there was no use in getting into a fuss over it; that after all a man had to take his chances; and that anyhow the milk wasn't spilt yet; that it would be time enough to begin to cry when something really happened. but he felt the brutal stupidity of such remarks, and they remained unspoken, while there arose in him at the same instant the urgent desire to do something; to take her by the hand like a frightened child; to smooth her ruffled hair and staunch her tears; to console her, and, by some means or other, stay the sobs that shook the slender body. but he had no right to do any such thing, and he hesitated to intrude himself on her grief, which, moreover, appeared to him, like a child's, a trifle exaggerated. to him who had lived so many years on the frontier, a violent death had come to seem almost the natural end. few pioneers expected to die in their beds. along the trails and around the mining-camps were many mounds, each one of which marked a six-by-two claim that was the last that the holder would ever occupy, one that he needed no ever-ready winchester to defend. nameless graves they were for the most part, or if there slanted at the head some rude board with a name and date roughly scribbled to say who lay beneath, the brief legend that gave all that would ever be known of how he came there repeated with monotonous regularity the tale of misadventure or of wrong. "shot, stabbed, stripped and mangled by thugs," "killed by indians," "murdered by road-agents," "lynched by vigilantes," "blown up by dynamite", "crushed by a fall of rock," "died of starvation," "died of thirst," "died of cold,"--these and such as they were the forms of death with which his odyssey of toils had made him familiar. small wonder, then, if he who had lived so long face to face with the possibility of such an end, taking the chances of it freely himself, and seeing them taken as freely by others, now felt as if the young man don andrés was a trifle overpitied. he was sorry for him himself, he was trying to help him all he knew, and he was ready to turn out and fight for him at any minute, but he could not see why anybody should want to cry about it. and yet here was this startlingly agitating, insistent noise of a girl sobbing beside him that gripped his heart with an emotion he hardly knew the meaning of. "don't you fret yourself," he repeated; "we'll see him through, señorita, never fear." instinctively he had risen to his feet and was standing by her; and presently she recovered herself and began to speak, though brokenly at first. "it is very foolish of me, i know, but i cannot help it. it makes me think how my two uncles were killed by the indians eight years ago up in the mountain. my grandfather found them both lying dead in the trail; the cruel navajos had shot them both with arrows from an ambush. my poor grandfather was alone, so he could not carry them down; he had to leave them there, while he came back to san gabriel for help. he cried so much that he grew blind and could hardly find his way to san gabriel. and then their bodies were brought down here; i was only a child like altagracia, but i remember it so well, and indeed this was a house of mourning; and now if they kill my brother too, i don't know what i shall do." again stephens felt the odd sense of surprise at the strength of her feelings. don andrés was a fine young fellow enough in his way, but why all this display of emotion because he was now to run rather more risk than usual? dimly he became conscious that her trouble was due to family affection, and that he himself had forgotten what it was like. his mind fled back to his boyhood, when he and a brother and sister, from whom he had now been long parted, used to play together; memories of that early fondness came back with a curious vividness. a hard crust had formed over the gentler side of his nature during the years of isolation and severance from those natural ties; it seemed ready now to dissolve in a moment at a few tears shed by a girl for a brother's peril. habituated as he was to hold himself firmly in hand, he was half angry with himself for minding anything so much as he minded her sobs. "why, how fond you must be of him!" he remarked crudely; and without his intending it, his secret surprise showed itself in his tone. "but he is my brother," she returned, and her wet eyes met his half indignantly; "don't you understand that i must care for him very much indeed?" "surely yes," he rejoined. "of course i understand that"; but in his heart came a denial that he did really understand it, or had any right to understand it. "if i had been clubbed to death for witchcraft in the ditch yesterday by those santiago idiots," he thought, "not one human soul would have cared like this about me." yes; it was quite true. there was no one now who cared for him in this way, with this warmth of feeling, and there was no one for whom he cared or could care. thence came a new sense of something lacking in his life; even supposing that all his hopes deferred were to be realised at last, supposing that to-morrow, for instance, he became master of a mine worth a million, who would rejoice? no one, unless it were rocky, his old pard, who really wasn't a bad-hearted sort of fellow, though he could play the fool at times to such exasperating effect. but now he felt a sudden vacancy in his heart; the need of a comradeship that should be entire, absolute, and inalienable. "and have you no family, don estevan?" she asked; "no brother or sister?" "yes," he answered, "i have both, but i haven't seen them in ten years. they are married and settled down away back there in the states; they must have half forgotten me by this time; i was no more than a boy when i started for the west, and i've never been back." and at the recollection his lips parted, and his breast heaved gently. an involuntary sigh escaped him before he knew what it was. the sighing mood had not been much in his line. manuelita looked at him with a question in her eyes. "but you love them still?" she said. "well, yes," he replied, "i suppose i do, if it comes to that. but it is a long time since i saw them, and much water has run under the bridges between then and now." "have the americans no feelings?" she said; "perhaps it is a good thing for some people to have the heart hard." "oh, i guess we've got our feelings right enough," he replied, with an uneasy smile, "but it isn't our way to say much about them; at least, with us, the men don't like to show them. as for the american women, i think they show theirs freely enough; but upon my word it is so long since i have seen any of them that i hardly know. no, señorita, our hearts are not hard." at this moment, don nepomuceno entered, bringing with him one of the three mexicans who had been sitting with him outside. "here is my brother-in-law, don estevan," he began, "who says that he will gladly let me have the pony that ate poison-weed. he says, too, that the navajos have gone over to the store, and that he suspects the texan will sell them whiskey. it is very wrong of him, for whiskey makes them very dangerous." "it's dead against the law," said stephens bluntly. "i know," rejoined the other, "but it is not easy to prove it. but you have eaten no breakfast, my friend. sit down and have your meal." at the entrance of her father, manuelita had retired to the kitchen, leaving the sitting-room to the men. "thank you," answered stephens, "i will, then, by your leave"; and he sat down and helped himself, while he continued to discuss with the others the conduct of mr. backus and the chances of coming to an arrangement with mahletonkwa. the conversation went on after he had finished his meal, when the sudden sharp report of a rifle-shot was heard not far away. all stopped and listened; a minute or two later it was followed by a second, and then at pretty regular intervals by a number of others. "it sounds like somebody practising at a mark," said the american; "do you suppose it's mr. backus?" he had risen to his feet and stood intent. "who knows?" said his host. "for my part i know not much about this texan. it may be so; they are unaccountable people." to throw away powder and bullets on practice seemed to him a piece of wanton extravagance. stephens caught up his rifle into the hollow of his arm. "i think," said he, "i'll just step across and get that paper and envelopes, and i'll be able to see what they're up to over there as well." the mexicans accompanied him to the big door, which was carefully unbarred to allow of his departure. the occasional shots continued as the american walked down towards the stage station, and he presently discerned mr. backus and the navajos in a group behind the store. he went up and joined them. they had set up an empty box against a blank wall, and fastened a piece of white cardboard against it with a nail through the centre, and several black circles in different parts of the cardboard showed where bullets had struck. the indians were laughing and chaffing one another freely about their shooting; their manner had noticeably altered from the moody and sullen attitude they had exhibited at the pow-wow. mahletonkwa came close up to stephens excitedly. "now, then, don americano, let's see you take a shot." stephens smelt him; there was whiskey in his breath. "not at present, thank you," said he shortly. "mr. backus," and he turned abruptly on the storekeeper, "this indian has had something to drink. i presume you know it is against the law." "well, if he has nobody knows where he got it," said the storekeeper defiantly, "nor nobody need know." he knew very well himself that there were now two beautiful navajo blankets rolled up in his store which had not been there an hour ago; also that his stock was diminished to the extent of two bottles of whiskey. the whiskey stood him in exactly one dollar. the pair of navajo blankets were cheap at ten. nine hundred per cent. profit was good enough business for any man. it was a good enough profit, at all events, to tempt mr. backus; and it needed to be a good one, for he was not ignorant of the risk that he ran. to give, trade, or sell spirituous liquor to an indian is a penitentiary offence in the united states. the law is a wise one, and, what is more, is approved by popular feeling. a drunken indian is about as pleasant to meet with as a mad wolf; he is possessed by a demon that prompts him to fly at the throat of any white man, woman, or child he comes across; and an indian who has tasted liquor will go any length till he has obtained enough of it to throw him into this horrible frenzy, if he can by any means procure it. trading whiskey to an indian is like playing with a tiger. up to a certain point it is pleasantly exciting. go one step beyond it and his fangs are in your jugular. mr. backus was not a novice at the game; he had been there before. for nine hundred per cent. he would let them have just enough to whet their appetites. two bottles of whiskey to eleven indians was about the right dose; while half a dozen would send them crazy, he knew. "i'm just letting them have a few shots at the mark with my rifle," he continued. "it tickles them to death to shoot with a breech-loader; they aint hardly got any themselves, and it's mighty well worth my while to keep in with them." he winked deliberately. "i've been talking with them, and they know all about this mine upon the cerro de las viboras, just as well as those stingy santiago folks. i believe i'll get 'em to show it me. i tell you i understand indians, i'm an old hand at dealing with them"; he gave a self-satisfied chuckle. "i should say that last statement of yours was highly probable," returned the prospector. "personally, i should have said that with this unsettled difficulty on hand with don nepomuceno the very worst thing possible was to let them have any drink, and the next worst was to encourage them to go letting off a gun like this right close to where he lives." "and why the deuce should i be so cursedly particular about the don?" replied the storekeeper; "he's an uncommon close-fisted old hunks, if it comes to that; he does most of his trading in santa fé anyway, and don't encourage local talent. and i'll warrant you he's got a thumping big hoard of silver dollars buried under the floor somewhere in that old _casa_ of his. i don't see why he shouldn't pay a decent compensation to this mahletonkwa here." the chance of some of those silver dollars passing from mahletonkwa's hands over his counter had considerably quickened mr. backus's sense of "justice for the poor indian" in this matter. also he had had a couple of drinks as well as mahletonkwa, and they had loosened his tongue a little. "well, sir," replied stephens, "i don't propose to argue the matter with you here, but if you can afford to leave those precious customers of yours i should like to have you come into the store and supply me with some paper and envelopes." he hated to have to ask this man for anything, but he must procure these things, and there was no other house in san remo where he could get them. there would not be time before the mail passed to return to the pueblo and get them from his own stock. at this moment mahletonkwa fired again with backus's rifle, and a triumphant exclamation followed the shot. the indians ran to the target, pointing with pride to a bullet-hole within half an inch of the central nail. mahletonkwa swaggered up to the american. "now, you shoot," he exclaimed familiarly, "and show us what you can do." stephens had not intended to do anything of the sort. he thought the indian's familiarity, due to the couple of drinks he had taken, most offensive, and he had meant to leave them to their sport with the least possible delay; but there was something irritating about his swagger that put the american on his mettle. he swung himself half round and took a good look at the target, which stood there in a strong light, beautifully distinct, at some five-and-twenty paces distance. up came the rifle to his shoulder; for one instant it remained there, poised level, as he glanced down the sights and got a bead on the centre; "bang!" came the report, and down fell the piece of cardboard. he had driven up the nail. the navajos dashed in eagerly to pick up the paper, and were loud in their expression of wonder and admiration. but mahletonkwa's eyes were still fixed on the winchester; he came forward and touched it lightly with his hand, and turned with a loud laugh to the others who came crowding round them. mahletonkwa told them a story in the navajo language which produced roars of laughter from them all, and stephens's curiosity was excited. "what's the joke, mahletonkwa?" said he. "why can't you tell it in spanish so the rest of us may have a chance to join in the fun?" the drinks had made the indian reckless, and he needed but little urging to repeat the story. "once there was a man out in the mountains over yonder," said he, pointing to the west, "and he had a 'heap-shoot' gun like this." "what sort of a man do you mean?" asked stephens; "an american?" the indian looked at him with eyes that were both bold and cunning. "i didn't ask him," said he; "he was just a man." "i'll bet he was a lone american prospector," returned stephens. the navajo laughed, and there was insolence in his laugh. "he was alone," he continued, "and the people there got after him----" "what people do you mean?" asked stephens; "the navajos?" the indian laughed the same laugh as before. "oh, leave him finish," interjected backus in english. "you can bet he means navajos. probably he was there himself." "the people got after him," repeated the redskin, "and he fired away at them a long time with his 'heap-shoot' gun; but he couldn't do them any harm." an insolent chuckle accompanied this last remark. "couldn't he!" rejoined stephens. "if he was an american prospector, and there's no other sort of man ever went there with a winchester, i'll bet he laid some of them out." "and then," continued mahletonkwa, "one of the people shot him with a common rifle here across the face," he drew his hand across his forehead, "and the blood ran into his eyes and he couldn't see, and the blow of the bullet made him stupid, and then the people went up to him and he was a prisoner. and they took his gun and looked at it with much awe, for they had never seen a 'heap-shoot' gun before. but they did not understand how to make it work. so they gave him some water, and wiped the blood from his face so that he could see, and they asked him to show them the secret of the 'heap-shoot' gun. and he was very happy then, and thought that they were going to make friends with him, so he told them how to work the gun, and showed them how to load it and unload it. and then, when they had found out all they wanted to know about it, one of them took the 'heap-shoot' gun and loaded it just as the amer-- the man had shown them how to do, and pointed it at him and pulled the trigger, and it killed him quite dead." he exploded again in a great roar of laughter, and the rest of the party roared in chorus with equal mirth. stephens flushed a dark red, and swore under his breath. "they were a d----d treacherous, sneaking lot of coyotes, that's what they were," he said defiantly to mahletonkwa, who only laughed the more. "a pretty lot of friends you seem to have been making, mr. backus. i wish you joy of them." the latter looked rather uncomfortable. "it was a low-down, dirty mean trick to play," he said, starting to go towards the store, "but mahletonkwa aint said as he had any hand in it himself." "i reckon he was there, though," retorted stephens, "for it was the sight of my winchester that set him off to tell it. rifles like that aint quite as common as blackberries around this country. i wish i knew who that prospector was that they murdered," he added meditatively, as he moved off to the store after backus; "i'd go and bury him decently, anyway, if i could find the place. i hope he laid out a score of them before they got him, the mean hounds. and that's their idea of a funny story!" he ground his teeth in his anger. in the store mr. backus soon supplied the prospector with writing materials, and promised to bring over the post-office stamp presently to stamp don andrés's affidavit. he seemed nervously anxious now to conciliate stephens, and to rub out, if possible, the bad impression his conduct with regard to the navajos had left. he fetched round captain jinks from the stable with profuse thanks for the loan, and even reclaimed his rifle from the navajos and put a stop to their target practice on the ground that he could not spare any more cartridges. "mahletonkwa," said stephens, gathering up the lariat of his mule and addressing the chief, "i give you notice that i'm going to have you put back on the reservation. take my advice and lose no time in accepting don nepomuceno's offer." "i want a thousand dollars," said the indian doggedly. "and i very much doubt your getting it," said stephens, turning on his heel and walking off. but as the prospector made his way towards the sanchez house the thought of manuelita's tears came back to him. after all, what was a thousand dollars? it was a lot of money to be sure, but if it would guarantee young andrés's safety, and put an end to her anxiety, it might be worth while to part with it. the brutal laughter of the indians over the cruel deception they had so cunningly practised on the wounded american who had the ill fortune to fall into their hands had angered him deeply. he had from the first kicked against the idea of paying them anything, but if some blackmail was to be paid to them, he saw no difference in principle between a thousand dollars and a hundred and twenty-five. and it came into his head rocky had just offered to repay him the thousand dollars he had lent him in montana. the idea occurred to him, why not pass it on? he might lend it to don nepomuceno to pay off the navajos with, and the mexican might repay him at his leisure, or pass it on again on a fitting occasion to some other man in a bad strait. backus's idea of don nepomuceno possessing a great hoard of buried silver dollars seemed to him a wild and improbable conjecture, considering what a stew he was in about raising a hundred and twenty-five. he stabled his mule alongside the mare, and, after knocking, was admitted to the _casa_ with the same precaution as before. a table and ink were set before him, and a full statement of the case written for the benefit of the governor and also of the general at santa fé. an affidavit by don andrés was duly drawn up in spanish and english, and according to his promise mr. backus arrived with the stamp of the san remo post-office to stamp it. stephens sealed up the letters, and accompanied him to the door and put them in his hands to be forwarded. "them indians have gone off down the river a mile, to where there's grass, to let their horses feed, and to eat a bite themselves," said the storekeeper; "and i reckon likely they'll be more amiable when they get back here again later on. anyways, i hope as they will. i told that mahletonkwa as he'd orter be reasonable." all the time backus had been in the house he had fawned on don nepomuceno in a way that had made stephens sick when he remembered how he had called him a "close-fisted old hunks" an hour before, and he watched the storekeeper returning to his own abode with a feeling of absolute disgust. turning back into the patio he found himself in the presence of manuelita, who was crossing it on some errand. as all the doors gave on the patio, it acted, so to speak, as the passage by which everybody went from any one room to any other, except where two or three rooms opened into each other _en suite_. "señorita," he said, "one word with you, if i may. it would really make you very happy, it would make your heart quite free of sorrow, if this money were paid and things settled in that way?" "oh, _madre de dios_!" she exclaimed, "but can you doubt it for an instant? i would dance for joy"; and her eyes grew brighter on the instant with the thought. "very well," answered stephens cautiously, "i'll see what can be done. i'll promise you to do my best to bring about a peaceful settlement. i can't say more." he went back into the sitting-room and wrote a third letter to the cashier of the first national bank at santa fé, where he kept a small balance. he asked the cashier to telegraph to rockyfeller at denver to say that he, stephens, was unavoidably detained at santiago, and to ask rockyfeller to send the thousand dollars to his account at the santa fé bank, and he likewise wrote a cordial answer to rocky's letter, explaining matters at length. as soon as he had finished these he hastened with them to the post-office. the ambulance which brought the mail from fort wingate stood before the door, and a fresh team was being harnessed to it, while mr. backus was in the act of bringing out the little san remo mail-bag, and at sight of stephens stowed it hastily inside. for the little san remo mail-bag was all but empty. the two fat letters stephens had entrusted to him for the governor and the general were not inside it; their thin papery ashes lay amid the glowing coals of the cedar-wood fire on mr. backus's kitchen hearth, and had helped to cook the stage-driver's dinner. the impeccable united states postmaster had opened and read them; decided on the spot that he did not want these navajos interfered with just at present; and had taken this summary method of blocking the game. "here's a couple more letters," exclaimed stephens, running up. "can't you put them in?" and he held them out to backus in total ignorance of his perfidy. "bag's sealed up now," said the postmaster officially. "contrary to u.s. regulations to open it again." stephens turned instantly to the mail-driver. "i wish you'd oblige me by posting these for me when you get to santa fé. they're stamped all right." the driver held out his hand for the letters and shoved them carelessly into the pocket of his overcoat. "mind you don't forget to post them," repeated stephens; "they're important." at this instant there came into his mind a thing that he had forgotten, so absorbed had he become in the troubles of the sanchez family. some stage-driver had libelled him to sam argles, and he had intended to find out who it was. probably this was the man. "say," he began, "do you remember driving a man named sam argles, a miner from prescott, over this line a month or two back?" "can't say, i'm sure," replied the driver, who was shortening a trace with some difficulty. "you don't suppose as i can remember the names of all the passengers i take?" "well, argles was over this line recently," said stephens, "and he reports that a driver on it told him something about me." "likely he did," said the driver unconcernedly; "like as not, too, 't warn't me. i aint the only driver on this line." "then you deny having told him i was a squawman?" said stephens. "dunno nawthin' about it," replied the driver, gathering up the lines and climbing to his perch. "it's no concern of mine." but he avoided meeting stephens's eye. "well, so long," said the latter; "i'm obliged to you about the letters," and without further comment on the matter he started back towards the sanchez house. "a d----d highfalutin, tonified cuss he is," said backus as soon as the prospector was out of earshot. "if you was to drop them letters in the rio grande it'd serve him right for bouncing you like that." "he dursn't say nuthin' to me," said the driver, "or i'd mash his face in a minute. what do i know about his sam argleses? i reckon he is a squawman, aint he?" "wal', if he aint, what does he live with them injuns for? that's what i say," said backus with an evil laugh. "and i think, if i was you," he added, "i'd be apt to have an accident with them letters crossing the rio grande." "there's a chance for it anyway," said the stage-driver; "the river was rising fast day before yesterday, and i judge 't will be booming by now. i've got to rustle around, for i'm going straight across to san miguel. i can cross there with the mail, anyway. get up there, mules." he raised the reins, cracked his whip and departed. chapter xiv a stern chase could felipe but have known what the stage-driver knew, that the rise of the river had begun two days ago, he would never have made the sad mistake of taking the straight route to ensenada. alas, now, when he and josefa reached the spot where the ford should have been, his cry, "_valgame dios_, the river is up," was only too true. as they passed through the grove of cottonwoods they beheld right from their feet to the farther bank, full a half-mile off, a turbid yellow flood, rolling rapidly southward towards texas and the gulf, twelve hundred miles away. all autumn and winter long, a broad expanse of dry water-worn pebbles and boulders, and beds of shingle and sand, through which ran half a dozen easily forded streams of clear water, had been all that lay between la boca on the west bank and ensenada on the east. during those seasons both horses and waggons, and people on foot by picking their way through the shallows, could cross almost anywhere without wading much above knee-deep. but all autumn and winter long, on the great mountain ranges of colorado, two hundred miles away to the north where the river had its sources, the snows of successive storms had been piled up deeper and deeper. and now the sun was well past the vernal equinox, and his growing heat had loosened those snows and was sending their cold floods down ten thousand gulches and tributaries to swell the current of the rio grande. this takes place every april, and felipe ought to have thought of it, but he was young and had not yet learned to think of everything. this was a possibility he had forgotten. "it must have come down in the last two days," he groaned, as he looked hopelessly at the flood. "i know juan and miguel passed here only three days ago from santa fé, and it was all light then, and now it is like this." "we are lost," said josefa. "what shall we do, felipe?"--even her brave heart succumbing to this unexpected calamity. "don't cry, dear heart, don't cry," said he tenderly, taking her in his arms, and lifting her from the horse. "perhaps there is a boat. i will go and see." he pulled the bridle from the horse's head. "do you rest here a minute," he said, spreading his blanket for her to rest her weary limbs, "and let him feed here on the green grass, but don't let him drink. i will run back to la boca and ask." he threw her the rope, and darted back like the wind in the direction of the houses they had lately passed. the unkempt mexican was milking a cow in the corral as felipe dashed up breathless. "where is the boat?" he asked eagerly. "is it running? is it this side?" "the boat?" said the mexican slowly, going on with his milking. "no, friend. the river only came down like this yesterday. it was high the day before, but we could still ford it up above. it was yesterday it came down big." the leisurely manner of the man, and the indefiniteness of his reply, were maddening to the excited indian. "yes, but the boat," he almost shouted, "the boat, where is it?" the mexican had finished milking his cow, and putting down the milk jar he began to unfasten the rawhide strap with which her hind legs were tied. "the boat, friend?" said he; "there is no boat here now. last year don leandro had the boat, but she is hauled up, and they say there is a hole in her. perhaps he will talk of getting it mended after a while. i suppose the americano at the mail station in ensenada will be wanting to send the mail across next week." "_valgame dios!_" cried the boy. "and will there be no way of getting over the river till next week?" "the water will have run by in a month, or perhaps in three weeks, if god wills it," remarked the mexican piously; "and then, friend, you can cross without a boat." "and is there no boat anywhere up or down the river on this side?" exclaimed felipe. "is there no way over?" "there are the indians at san miguel, eight leagues below," said the man, proceeding to take down the bars of the corral for the purpose of turning out the cow to pasture. "they have a bridge of single logs to cross on foot by. i do not know if the river will have carried it down. probably not. they have land on both sides, and are always crossing." "eight leagues below!" cried the young indian in a despairing voice. "and a sandy road from here they say--deep sand, is it not?" he followed the man and the cow outside the corral. "yes, friend," said the man, "it is deep sand along the river. but there is a better way: to take the trail to santiago as far as the banded mesa and then turn to the left. so you keep up on the mesas the whole way, and it is better going." "thanks, sir; _adios_," said felipe; and without waiting for more discourse he tore along back towards josefa as fast as he could run. she was lying on the blanket where he had left her, and holding the end of the lariat. felipe rushed up to the horse and began to bridle him. "there is no boat, sweetheart," he panted, "but there is a bridge of the indians at san miguel. let us go there. we can leave the horse with the indians on this side, and get a horse from some of them on the other, and come on to ensenada that way. make haste." once more he lifted her to the saddle, and springing up behind her turned the horse's head. "they must be after us long ago," said he wearily, looking at the sun, which was already well up. "i expect they are half-way here by this time. they will be here in a little while." "my father will have no horse," suggested josefa, trying to make the best of it. "oh, he will take the americano's. don estevan will lend it to _him_," said felipe bitterly. "the cacique can take what he wants." he revolved their position in his mind. if he rode the back trail as far as the banded mesa, and there turned off the trail just where it was hard and stony, he would be almost certain to throw the pursuers off the track. but could he reach the banded mesa before they got there? that was the question. he considered it well. it was an up-hill road, and the horse, gallantly as he had carried his double burden, was beginning to flag. he doubted whether to try it did not mean running into the very jaws of the lion. it seemed more hopeful to turn out as soon as they were out of sight of the people at la boca, and go down parallel to the rio grande, trusting to the sand, which was here in drifts almost like the seashore, being so loose that no definite trail of theirs could be traced. on this idea he acted. but no sooner were they in the deep sand than the tired horse could no longer raise the semblance of a gallop. felipe sprang off and ran on foot, urging the horse on. relieved of half his load he went better, but even under the most favourable circumstances the deep sand was very heavy going, and their progress was but slow. thus they struggled on for two weary miles, and felipe kept uttering words of encouragement to his mistress, whose silence proclaimed her sinking spirits; but all the time his eyes kept turning in the direction of the santiago trail, for every moment he expected their pursuers to appear. suddenly on the brow of the topmost of the low, rolling hills that rose between the rio grande and the mesas, his keen sight discerned a black speck, which he knew had not been there a minute before. in the clear air of new mexico, and over those bare, open downs far-off things are seen with amazing distinctness; but at that distance it was impossible to say for certain what it was. felipe said nothing of it to josefa; what was the use of adding unnecessarily to her terrors. he kept his eye vigilantly on the object of his suspicions. "it is no use to try to hide," said he to himself. "there isn't cover enough among these scattering juniper bushes to hide a sheep. if it is a man he can see us as plain as we do him, and he will know what we are by our actions. if it is a cow or a horse feeding, it will move slowly about; if it is a man riding, he will move straight on in a minute or two, and then i shall know." his uncertainty did not last long. before five minutes elapsed the speck moved again, and this time it descended the hill straight towards the fugitives, till it was lost to sight behind the brow of a nearer ridge. there was no longer any doubt left in felipe's mind. "_ay de mi!_" said he to his mistress, "we are pursued. it is one man only, as far as i can see. it must be your father," and he urged the horse on freshly. "run, run, felipe!" said the girl. "hide yourself somewhere! he will kill you if he catches us. never mind me. he won't kill me, you know." "no, not that! i can't do that!" he cried; but dark despair came over him. his feet seemed like lead as he struggled forward. he looked over his shoulder again. the black speck had reappeared again much closer and much larger; it was a galloping horseman. his last hope fled. "there he comes!" he cried--and he seized the horse's bridle, and, turning him to the left, headed him straight for the rio grande, which was but a few hundred yards away. "what are you doing? where are you going, felipe?" exclaimed josefa, troubled at this sudden change of direction and at the sudden fury of his face. "where am i going?" he echoed bitterly. "don estevan told me yesterday that i must come to the rio grande to find water enough to drown myself, and i am going to see." they came near the brink of the rushing river. behind them the galloping horseman was fast closing up the gap that separated them. felipe recognised his style of riding. "it is your father! see!" he cried in a voice of despair, "but he sha'n't separate us now," and he urged the horse towards the water's edge. "oh stop, felipe, stop! what madness is this?" cried the girl, and she drew rein and pulled up. felipe seized the bridle, his face aflame with baffled passion. "loose the rein!" he cried to her desperately. "let the horse come on. he will carry you over. i can swim." "oh, you are mad!" said she, gazing on the wide rolling flood and the distant shore beyond. "don't dream of such a thing. we shall both be drowned." "well, let us drown, then; we shall be together," he exclaimed passionately. "give him the rein. come on. better that than to be beaten like dogs and separated." as he spoke he looked over his shoulder and saw that salvador, his face raging with anger, was within a few yards of them. felipe raised his arm to strike josefa's horse, and force him to take the desperate plunge into the boiling current. the desperate plunge was never taken. a shot cracked. felipe felt a great blow, and his right arm fell powerless to his side. salvador was close by with a smoking pistol in his hand. josefa's terrified horse wheeled round and bounded away in terror from the bank of the dreaded river. salvador dashed in between her and felipe and fired at him again. felipe hardly knew if he was hit again or not, but instinctively he ran off some fifty yards and then stopped. wounded and weaponless, what could he do against the murderous firearm in the hands of the cacique? "yes, run, you villain, you scoundrel!" shouted salvador. "run, and don't stop within a hundred leagues of me! if ever i catch you near the village again i'll kill you--i will," and he poured forth a torrent of abuse at the wretched youth who stood there on the river's bank the very picture of misery, the blood running down his right arm and dropping from his hand to the ground. josefa saw him, and overcome with pity and fear for him turned her horse towards him, but the animal, dreading the water, refused to approach it. salvador rode up to her and seized her rein. "ah, traitress, ungrateful, disobedient!" hissed his angry voice. "i'll settle with you for this piece of work, be sure." and leaving felipe he started away from the river, dragging the horse and its rider after him across the sand-dunes. the horse followed not unwillingly, but too slowly for salvador's impatience. he dropped the rein, pulled his horse behind, and striking the other violently with his whip forced him into a gallop. the position was a tempting one to his passion, and the cruel rawhide fell once and again, not on the horse only but also on his rider. the girl uttered no sound and made no resistance, only she bent forward over the animal's neck before the shower of blows. at this pitiful sight her lover gave a great cry of despair and started forward to the rescue, wounded and unarmed as he was. but bleeding, exhausted, and on foot, it was hopeless for him to attempt to overtake the horses. he made one despairing rush with all his failing strength, then he fell headlong and lay senseless on the sand. chapter xv the rod descends the cacique made straight for the pueblo, driving his wretched prisoner before him. the poor girl, sick at heart and stupefied with grief and fatigue, picturing to herself felipe dead of his wounds or drowning himself in his despair, submitted unresistingly to the blows and the reproaches of her father. he was the stronger; how could she resist? she let herself be driven back like a strayed beast of burden over the same leagues of burning mesa and sandy ravine that she had traversed in the coolness of the night under the silence of the stars. then she had her lover's arms round her and his voice whispering words of love in her ear; now she shrank before bitter curses and the stinging lash. yet never did she open her lips to utter a word in self-defence or a plea for pardon. only she kept saying over and over to herself in time to the hoof-beats of the horse, "he may beat me, he may kill me, but ignacio i won't have." even sunk in misery as she was, she found a surprising comfort in steeling herself to endure, and swearing to be true to herself and to felipe. there is a limit to the staying powers of even the toughest of indian ponies, and by the time the cacique and his captive had covered half the distance back to santiago, the horse of the storekeeper which he was mounted upon, and his own which carried his daughter, were both showing painful signs of exhaustion. the cacique, unwilling to run the risk of injuring his own animal, left the trail and made for a spring that he knew of a few miles off to one side, near the foot of the mountains, where they found both water and grass. here, in a sullen silence, they remained, till long after the sun had set and the weary day ended. the cacique was nursing his wrath till he should have got her safely home again, when he would make an example of her. not till the great bear had sunk well below the pole did they remount their now rested steeds and set out once more for the pueblo; it was grey dawn when they came in sight of it at last, and presently the well-known step-like outline of the terraced roofs of santiago showed sharp and clear among the peach orchards ahead of them. as they entered its precincts they passed through quite a crowd of onlookers; they had been observed descending from the mesas, and natural curiosity had brought numbers to see the excitement. poor josefa dropped her head in shame to escape the hard, inquisitive looks. they stopped at her father's door. he pulled her roughly from the saddle, pushed her inside, and giving the horses to two of the boys, he entered after her, shut the door, and bolted it. he advanced towards her with glowing eyes. the blows he had given her on the road had only whetted his passion. "now, you she-devil," said he, "i'll teach you to run away from me." he flung her to the ground and stood over her. the cruel rawhide descended again and again. the eager crowd outside was squeezing up against the door and the little close-barred lattice window, anxious to see as much as possible of the exciting scene inside. they had no notion of interfering. on the contrary, it seemed to them entirely natural that a father should chastise his disobedient daughter. "if he didn't, who was to?"--that was the way they would have put it. among the crowd was tito. tito was a friend of felipe's, and what was a source of curiosity to others was maddening to him. there came into his mind the thought of the american, and he resolved to call him to the rescue. stephens, after despatching his letters, as he believed, on the previous day, had returned to the house of don nepomuceno. he had done all he could to set the proper authorities in motion, and now, finding that the navajos had taken themselves off and not returned, so that it was impossible to go on with the negotiations, he took his leave of the sanchez family and hastened back to the pueblo. the more he thought of the fury the cacique had displayed in the morning, the more uneasy he felt as to what might happen when he should overtake felipe and josefa. but when he learnt, on his arrival, that nothing further was known since the cacique had galloped away on their tracks, he settled in his mind that no news was good news, and waited quietly for matters to develop themselves. he rose before dawn the following morning, only to be told once more that nothing had been heard of the fugitives or of the cacique, and he was now busy wiping out his rifle, when there came a hasty knock at the door, and, forgetful of the bulldog, tito burst headlong into the room. "oh, don estevan!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "salvador is back, and he is beating his daughter like fury. perhaps he will kill her." "the dickens you say!" said the american, dropping his work abruptly and making for the door. "where's felipe?" "i don't know," answered tito. "he's not there. perhaps the cacique has killed him." tito knew nothing of the sort, but the temptation to deepen the shadows of a harrowing tale is quite irresistible. "where are they?" said stephens, as soon as they were in the open air. "here, in his house," cried tito eagerly, leading the way. stephens paused and stood irresolute. "after all, it's none of my funeral," growled he to himself. "i haven't any call to interfere. and i haven't got any weapon on me neither." he turned back to get his pistol, but paused again. "no," he said, "i don't want it. maybe i sha'n't do anything, and if i do, i'd better go through on my nerve." he knew that an appeal to physical force was idle where the odds were one against a hundred, and that his only chance lay in moral influence. he followed tito. it was plain enough where the scene was taking place by the crowd at the door. stephens went up. the sound of blows was audible from inside, but no cry was heard from the victim. "where are the chiefs? where are tostado and benito and the rest?" he asked. he would gladly have had the support of the seniors of the village, but they were much too dignified to appear at this performance. the mob consisted of boys, young men, and some of the poorer and less well-thought-of people. no one answered stephens's question. he listened; the blows continued. "he can't be allowed to murder her," he cried. "the whole pueblo will get into a row with government if that happens." he collared two or three boys out of the press. "here you, jose, tomas, juan antonio, run and fetch tostado here and the other chiefs. say i want them to come." the boys obeyed him; and the american, squeezing into the gap he had made in the crowd, knocked loudly at the door. there was no answer to the knock, but the blows stopped. he knocked again, calling, "hullo, salvador! hullo there!" "look out, don estevan," called out some of the boys. "he's furious. maybe he'll go for you." he listened for an answer, but none was given. then came the sound of the whip again. stephens shouted again, but in vain. he looked round for the chiefs. there was no sign of any of them yet. "i can't stand this any longer," said he. "give me room, you fellows." he stood back four or five feet from the door, and raising his right foot dashed it against the lock. the fastenings were old and the door flew open. he stepped over the threshold and entered. the crowd behind him hung back. in the middle of the floor, full length on her face, lay the form of josefa. her arms were bare; she had thrown them up to protect her head, and the marks of the whip were only too visible. she lay perfectly silent and still, a slight quivering of her limbs alone showing that she was alive. the indian stood across her with his uplifted whip in his hand. he glared fiercely at the american who advanced towards him. stephens did not meet the cacique's eye. he was looking down at the prostrate figure on the ground. "so you've brought her back, salvador," he remarked in an unruffled, every-day voice. "yes, i have," he replied brutally; "and i've given her something to keep her from ever running away again." "it looks like it," said stephens. he took one hand out of his pocket, stooped down, and felt her head. "it looks like she'd never run anywhere again," he said. he did not really believe that she was killed, but he thought it politic to assume so. his position placed him absolutely at the mercy of the indian; but his voice, his manner, and his action conveyed the assumption that it was absolutely impossible that the indian should dream of attacking him. his coolness succeeded. the cacique lowered his whip and stepped back, while stephens moved the girl's arms gently from her head. they fell limp on the earthen floor. stephens had seen some wild doings in californian mining towns, but he never had seen a woman beaten in his life. those limp arms sent a queer thrill through him. a sudden fury rose within him, but he mastered it. he felt her head all over slowly and carefully to see if the skull was fractured--as indeed it might well have been had she been struck with the loaded whip-handle. this gave him time to think of his next move. "if you've killed her, you'll be hanged for it, salvador," he said at last, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. "you and she are not citizens, but you'll be hanged all the same. the law of the americans reaches here; understand that." the indian, whose passion was really more under control than seemed to be the case, was somewhat cowed at stephens's deliberate statement, but he rejoined sullenly, "she's not dead. lashes don't kill." "you will have to answer for it if she dies," said stephens getting up. he had satisfied himself that the girl was not seriously injured. "not to you then," said the indian, his courage reviving, when he realised that the threat was, after all, blank cartridge, seeing that the girl was alive. he tried to work himself into a rage again. "what do you break into my house for and interfere with me? i'll do what i like with my own." he stepped forward close to stephens, between him and josefa. "go out, or i'll kill you!" he said, raising his voice to a tone of fury. for a moment the american paused, uncertain. the indian was a powerful man, full as big and strong as himself, well armed with knife, pistol, and loaded whip, to say nothing of his fifty friends outside the door. the hesitation was momentary. "i can't leave this girl to that brute's mercy," he said to himself. "perhaps i can back him down." he looked salvador square in the eyes. "where's felipe?" said he calmly. "you must answer for him, too. have you killed him?" "none of your business," said the indian roughly. "be off!" and he raised his hand. at this moment josefa, hitherto as still as a corpse, turned her face from the floor, but without rising. she looked up at stephens. "he gave him two shots," she said, in a voice wonderfully steady considering the pain she was enduring. "i saw him fall." "then i arrest you for the murder of felipe. you are my prisoner. give up your arms." the only answer the cacique made to this demand was to take out his revolver, but instead of surrendering it he thrust the muzzle in stephens's face, cocking it as he did so. the steady gaze of the american met, without quailing, the black, flashing eyes of the indian. grey eyes against black, white man against red, the strife is as old as the history of the continent they stood upon; perhaps it will last as long. "you can kill me, i know, of course," said the american, speaking very slowly and distinctly; "but you can't kill all the soldiers of the government. you may kill me to-day, but to-morrow the soldiers will come from santa fé and take you prisoner; and if you make your people resist they will destroy you. the navajos were twenty thousand, but the soldiers conquered them. you are only three hundred. they will conquer you and take you away as they did the navajos, as they did the jicarillas, as they have done the modocs." he raised his left hand very gently and took hold of the pistol barrel. "don't destroy your people, salvador," he continued. "you know i wish them well. loose it." the indian's grasp relaxed; he drew a deep breath and stepped back. stephens lowered the pistol to his own right hand, muzzle upwards, uncocked it, and placed it in his waist-belt. "now come with me to my room," said he, taking him gently but firmly by the arm. the struggle for the mastery was over; the indian had yielded; he obeyed unresistingly. as they stepped out of the house, stephens said to tito, "tell the women to see to the girl." outside they found tostado and the other chiefs approaching--not too fast. it was very plain that they did not want to interfere in the matter. stephens took his man towards them. "look here, tostado," said he as soon as they met, "i have arrested salvador for shooting felipe. i am going to take him to santa fé, to the agent and to the governor. now i want some of you to go along and see that it is all right and square." stephens had been reflecting during the course of the night on the events of the previous day, and it had occurred to him that accidents did sometimes happen, and that his letters to the governor and the general might possibly go astray. he had no special reason to suspect what mr. backus had actually done, but he had a general feeling of uneasiness with regard to the san remo post-office. the idea had been already in his mind to go to santa fé and lay the affair of the navajos before the authorities in person, and now this difficult matter of the arrest of the cacique was a double reason for doing it. the indians began to converse among themselves. "come along to my room, then, and talk it over," said stephens, and he went ahead with his prisoner, reluctantly followed by the chiefs. chapter xvi the fee is accepted the whole party came into stephens's room and settled themselves round the wall on the floor, much as they had done the night before. stephens seated his prisoner on a stool in the middle, and taking the cacique's revolver from his belt laid it on the table. as he did so, he drew the attention of tostado, who was next to him, to the two recently discharged chambers in the cylinder. "those were the shots," said he. "maybe so, don estevan," answered the indian suavely. "doubtless you are right in what you say, as you always are. we know that your honour is very wise and very just. but before we do anything about it we want to know what salvador has to say; we have not heard him yet." "i do not want to conceal anything," said the cacique abruptly. "i saw them from the top of the hill that leads down from the mesas to la boca. i went straight to the river to them. he was on foot driving my horse, trying to drive him into the river. i fired at him once, twice. he ran away and stopped. i took my horse and my daughter, and i brought them home. he ran after us, but he fell down. i saw him lying there the last thing from the hill. if he is dead, he is dead. i do not know any more." his story was so straightforward and simple that it was convincing. "where did you say all this happened?" asked stephens. "on the river, down below la boca a league," answered the indian. the chiefs began to question him about the details of the affair. he described to them the position of the fugitives when he overtook them, and the refusal of the terrified horse to enter the swollen river. "then felipe was not riding your horse," observed stephens, who was listening, for in deference to him they spoke in spanish for the time being. "no, he was on foot. he was driving the horse," was the reply of the cacique. "i suppose your daughter was on the horse?" said stephens. "yes, he was taking them both along," answered the indian. "how old is she?" asked the prospector. "she looks almost a woman grown." the indian reflected a little while. "she was a little child so high," he answered at last, "when there was the great war in the states," and he held his hand at a height to indicate a child of ten years old. "she must be eighteen now, then," said stephens. "i suppose so. yes, if you say so," admitted the indian. "then she is not a child," said stephens, "and she can marry him or anyone she likes. you have no right to prevent her. understand that. this is a free country. by the law a woman is as free as a man; she may go where she likes and marry whom she likes. she is not a slave, and don't you think any such thing. no american can strike a woman; that is the deepest of shames." he paused after this, for him, unusually long speech, which was intended quite as much for the benefit of the other indians as the cacique. the american felt a little elated at the thought that single-handed he had been able to arrest their cacique in their midst, and he could not resist improving the occasion. there was a minute's silence, and then tostado fixed his keen black eyes on the american's face. "listen to me, señor don estevan," he said. "the americans have their way; that is good for them. the mexicans have their way; that is good for them. and the wild indians,--the utes, and the comanches, and the navajos too,--they have their own ways. and we, we have our laws. we don't change them. i know if one indian kills another, then the law of the americans is to judge him; but the rest of the things we manage among ourselves. the government gives us that right. we have our own alcalde. we have our own customs. and when men and women do wrong together we beat them. then they are afraid. that is why our women are so good. not like the mexicans. that is good for us. we do not want to change." "but," cried stephens, "if it is your custom to beat the women like dogs, you ought to change it. everybody knows that that it is shameful." "for the americans," said the old indian, with the air of a man making an extremely reasonable concession, "i do not say anything. let them have their ways, and treat their women as seems good to them. so they are content; that is right. but we have our ways; we do not want to change; we are content to be as we are." stephens felt nonplused. it seemed to him that he was not much of a success as a missionary on the rights of women, and he felt, too, that in this discussion he had wandered from the main point. after all, he had arrested his man for the murder of felipe, and not for beating his daughter, though his motive in doing so had been to rescue the helpless woman. "you have heard salvador's story," he said to the chiefs abruptly. "suppose we go and hear that of the witness, if she is able to speak." they assented at once, and stephens, bidding salvador himself remain where he was, led the way. on arriving at the house, they found the girl laid on some skins in an inner room. stephens went into the room and knelt down beside her, the others remaining beyond the open door. she opened her eyes, and perceiving who it was gave him a meaning look. "you have saved me once," she whispered; "can you save me again? _she_ is making poison for me. i have seen"; and her eyes turned towards her step-mother, who was mixing something in a gourd at the end of the room. stephens gave a low whistle. "this is a queer business," he muttered to himself. "i wonder if the girl's telling lies. maybe she's off her nut. likely enough, after such a hammering. the old woman doesn't look such a bad lot. after all," he went on thinking, "perhaps i had better get her away. these folks can be pretty low-down when they try." "can you move?" said he to the girl. "can you walk?" "yes," she answered; "i am quite strong. only i am looking how to escape." neither fatigue, nor bodily pain, nor mental torture, had robbed her of her senses, or tamed her spirit. since the blows which she had endured with such stoical courage had ceased, she had been collecting herself, conquering the pain, and trying to think. she had recognised a friend in the touch of stephens's hand, and in the tones of his voice. she had made up her mind to appeal to him if possible for aid, and now here he was at her side. "can you take me away?" she whispered. "all right," he answered. "i'll see what i can do." "probably," he mused, "they will say all sorts of ugly, low-down things about me for this, but i can't leave her here at the mercy of these woman-beaters, and that's all there is to it. if i can take two or three of the principal men along, i don't see why she shouldn't come to santa fé with us, if she's up to it; but i don't want any more confounded scandal than i can help." he got up and went to the door and addressed tostado. "she is able to get up, and to talk," he said. "it will be best to have her come over to my room there and hear what she has to say." they assented. the american felt all through that though the chiefs did not directly oppose him, their feeling was against him. he led the way, and they followed reluctantly. josefa, a blanket thrown over her, and drawn over her head so as to conceal her face all but the eyes, accompanied stephens, but so stiffly and painfully did she walk from the effects of the violence she had suffered, that the idea of her being able to undertake a journey became out of the question. they entered the american's room, and sat down as before, the girl sitting on the ground near the fireplace. she answered the questions put to her in a low but firm voice. her statement tallied exactly with the cacique's. she had seen her lover's blood flow, and the last she had seen of him as she looked back was his figure stretched on the sand. after hearing her evidence, stephens felt no doubt that felipe had been murdered. "i must secure her somehow," he said to himself. "she'll be wanted as a witness. i suppose his confession alone won't be enough. and she certainly believes the cacique's wife'll kill her if i leave her there. she aint fit to go to santa fé, and it would be simply brutal to ask it of her. no, i'll have to try another plan. the only way to save her is to have them acknowledge that i have the right to protect her." "tostado," said he, addressing the fine old man whose wisdom and force of character made him by far the most influential of the chiefs, "you told me just now that you had your own customs that you did not want ever to change." "yes, señor," said he. "well, it is your custom, is it not, that an unmarried woman belongs to her father, and that he can give her to anyone he pleases?" "yes," said tostado; "that is, he can give her to any man in the pueblo that is not of her family. but we should not allow him to give her to any man in another pueblo. we do not allow the women of santiago to go away." "well," continued stephens, "last night when i had blasted the ditch for you, you all came here and wanted me to stay with you always; and you said that everything you had was mine, and that whatever i asked you for you would give me. is not that so?" "yes," said tostado simply. "you speak the truth." a general murmur of assent confirmed his statement. "now," said stephens, "i'm going to ask you for something, and i shall see whether indians mean a thing when they say it. i ask you for the daughter of salvador--for josefa." there was a general movement of surprise. the indians talked eagerly to one another, but in their own language, so that they were unintelligible to the american. presently tostado spoke. "how do you mean?" said he, addressing stephens. "as your wife?" "as wife, as servant, as anything i like," he answered. "you say now she belongs to salvador. i want her to belong to me." the indians again conversed among themselves. "but she's promised to ignacio," said her father to the others. "the padre's coming to-morrow." "that makes no odds," said one. "ignacio doesn't want her now she has run off with felipe." "it doesn't make any difference if he does," said another. "he's a cowardly old creature; he won't do anything." "give him another daughter," said a third, "instead. one that won't run away," he added in an aside for the benefit of the rest. "perhaps he will give you six cows if you warrant her to stop." the three cows of old ignacio's bargain were no secret in the pueblo. the general opinion seemed to be that after the affair of last night both salvador and ignacio would be well rid of josefa on any terms. "besides," said the first speaker, with a meaning look towards the american, "if he really wants her, so much the better for you. he will be as good as your son-in-law. he will never give you up to the agent and the governor then. much better do it at once." salvador rose from his seat, and going towards the fireplace took the girl by the shoulder. "come here," said he. she winced at his touch, but she got up and obeyed him. he took her to the american. "here she is," he said aloud before them all. "i give her to you. keep her and do what you like with her. from now on she is not mine any longer but yours." "do you all agree to that," said stephens, turning to the chiefs. "yes," was the reply. "yes; it is good." stephens turned to the crowd who were peeping in at the door. "tell reyna i want her, some of you," said he. in a minute the old squaw was fetched, and pushed, looking rather sheepish and surprised, into the middle of the room. while she was coming, stephens had disappeared into the inner room and now came out again with some bags in his hands. "look here, reyna," he began. "they have given josefa to me. she belongs to me now. i want you to take care of her for me. i'll pay you for your trouble. here is flour and meat and coffee and sugar for the present." reyna was taken aback, and looked shyly round at the company. the indians at once confirmed what stephens had told her. she took the bags from his hands, and made her way out again through the crowded doorway with a queer look on her puzzled face. she did not quite know what this unaccountable american was up to. stephens followed her with the girl. they entered the house of reyna together. "you will be quite safe here with her," he said in a kindly voice. "i'll see that you come to no harm." the girl turned to him to thank him, but no words would come. she was fairly worn out with the strain of this last trying scene, added to her fatigue and cruel anxiety about felipe's fate. "here, reyna," said the prospector, noticing her condition, "this girl's about played out. you had better see to her at once," and turning on his heel he left the house, closing the door carefully behind him. as soon as he was outside he looked closely at the group of young men. "tito," he called. tito came to him, and they walked together a little apart from the rest. "look here, tito," began stephens, "i've got a job for you. i know you are a friend of felipe's. i want you to go and look for him. take my little mule and put your saddle on him. go over to the rio grande and look along near the river about a league below la boca. if you find him dead, get a man from there to help you with the body. if he's only wounded, have him taken care of, or bring him back if you can. tell him he need not be afraid now. here's two dollars for expenses. mind you get some corn for the mule at la boca. off with you as soon as you can." tito did not need telling twice. "i'll do just what you say, don estevan," he said, as he stowed the money in a little pouch on his belt, and away he flew like the wind. the american returned to his own house. he found tostado awaiting him at the door. the other chiefs had disappeared. salvador's wife had come with food which she had prepared for her husband. "it was time for breakfast, don estevan," explained tostado, "and they have gone home. the woman has brought salvador's here." "he could have eaten with me for all that," said stephens, "but we hadn't decided about who was to go to santa fé with me. will you?" "well, i have no horse here, don estevan," said the old man. "after breakfast we will see about it." "very well," said stephens in a grumbling tone. "i suppose we must wait their pleasure. it isn't much running off to breakfast there'd be if it was anything they wanted to do." however, there was nothing to do but wait, and stephens had plenty of time to do his own cooking in the interval. it was nearly an hour before the chiefs were reassembled--having, indeed, to be sent for by stephens individually; but by persistence he got them together at last and proceeded to business. "now, friends," he began, "who is going with me to santa fé? don't all speak at once," he added in english for his own benefit, smiling grimly as he saw the blank look on their faces as he renewed his unwelcome proposal. "will you go, benito?" he said, determined to press them one by one. the indian instead of replying conversed rapidly with the others. they had hoped that the transfer of josefa to stephens might have modified the american's absurd passion for what he considered to be justice. "look here, don estevan," began benito, "it is better to wait. to-morrow, when tito gets back, then----" "oh, nonsense!" broke in stephens impatiently, "tito mayn't be back for a week, and it makes no odds about him anyhow." "but," interrupted ramon, another of the chiefs, "we have got no horses here. you have your own mare, and the mule for salvador, but we have none. when tito comes back with your other mule----" "oh, tito be bothered!" said the american. "i tell you we don't want him." suddenly there was a shout outside. a mexican rider came tearing up the village, and reined his reeking horse on to his haunches at stephens's door. flakes of bloody foam flew from the bit, and the horseman's rowels were red. he sprang into the room, covered with sweat and dust from the road. "the señorita sanchez!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "the señorita sanchez has been carried off by the navajos in the night." all present leapt to their feet. "what!" cried stephens, "manuelita?" he stood aghast. "yes," repeated the mexican; "the señorita manuelita sanchez is in the hands of those villains." "of that mahletonkwa!" the american exclaimed, seizing his rifle; "but how? and where are they?" "_quien sabe?_" said the mexican, "_esperate, don estevan_; wait a moment, señor, till i tell you," for stephens had caught up his saddle and was making for the door. "all we know is that she is gone; the tracks of the navajos are all round the house and on the roof, and it is guessed that they entered so, in the night, while everybody was asleep, and carried her off." "what idiots!" exclaimed stephens. "why didn't they keep a watch?" "who could have dreamed of such an attempt?" replied the mexican. "the doors were fastened safe. no one thought of their getting over the roof. but it is proved that they must have done so; their moccasin tracks are there on the roof to show it. and they have fled with her to the westward; the tracks of their horses go all up the valley of the agua negra. they have got a long start. but don nepomuceno and don andrés have raised a party; they have got all the men they could in san remo and gone on their trail: they are hoping to overtake them." "can i catch up with them?" asked stephens hoarsely. "by george! but i wish i had stayed down there last night; but how could i or anyone have imagined such a thing as this? poor, poor girl!" he forgot the cacique, his prisoner for having shot down felipe; he forgot josefa, lying there next door dependent on his protection; for the moment all these things vanished from his mind before this dreadful catastrophe. "yes," answered the mexican, "you will be able to catch them--they have but an hour's start of you; you will, that is, if you can follow their trail, for you have a good mare. but what they want you to do--what i came here to say, what don nepomuceno begged me to urge on you--is to bring with you some of these indians of the pueblo to assist him in following the trail of the navajos. our friends here of santiago did good service as trailers for coronel christophero carson during the war against the navajos; don nepomuceno is sure they will follow you, too, against the navajos if you will ask them." stephens paused and pondered a moment. his first impulse had been to mount at once and gallop straight in pursuit. but there was wisdom in don nepomuceno's counsel; most assuredly the indians would be invaluable if they came, and clearly there was nothing else he could do that would be half so useful as to bring them. and with reflection came back the image of the helpless josefa, and he instantly realised that if he could take the cacique along with him her position would become ever so much safer; for he could not be blind to the fact that as soon as he was gone she might yet be in danger supposing that the cacique remained behind. yes, in every way it would be better to enlist the cacique for the pursuit; he decided to try and do so on the spot. "this is a shocking thing that the navajos have done," he said to the indians around him, "and they will have to smart for it. you have all heard the suggestion made by this gentleman," he looked at the mexican as he spoke, "and i entirely agree with it. cacique, will you and a party of your warriors come with me on the war-trail against these scoundrels? you will do a public service if you can succeed in recovering the señorita from them; and in that case, whatever you may have done to felipe, the rescue of the captive would count for much in your favour. in short, cacique, if you will render good service in recovering her, i will appeal to the governor to pardon you. there is my offer." the indians talked it over rapidly among themselves. all joined in urging salvador to seize the opportunity given him of escaping from the consequences of his rash act. nor did he want much urging; he had fought the navajos before, and was personally no ways loath to take the field against them again, and pride made him ardently desire to shine before his people in the character of a leader. in five minutes the matter was settled among them and his companions selected. "yes, don estevan," said he, "your offer is accepted. i will go with you on the trail of these navajos, and i will take with me miguel, who is our best tracker, and alejandro, who is very good also. and it is agreed that you stand my friend in the matter of felipe." "agreed," cried stephens; "and now let us be off. you have weapons and ammunition." "my horse is tired," said the cacique; "and how about horses for the young men?" "my mule can carry one," said stephens. "could we have your horse, señor," he asked, turning to the mexican, "and let you ride mr. backus's horse back to san remo?--for i presume he isn't fit for another journey, either." "alas," said the mexican politely, "i fear i cannot accommodate you in this. i have to ride now post-haste to rio grande and warn don nepomuceno's friends there of the trouble that has befallen him. they will doubtless send a party from there also on the trail. were it not for that i would ride with you myself with pleasure." "look, now," interrupted the cacique, "at the plan which i propose. let us go to the horse herd beyond the cerro de las viboras. my horse is tired indeed, but he can take me there; your mule is strong, sooshiuamo,"--he took the first opportunity to call stephens by his indian name as a sign of renewed amity,--"let him carry our two young men also as far as the herd; when we get to the herd we will choose fresh horses for each of us, and we will take one of the herders along with us, young ignacio, who is very clever at trailing, and knows the country; and besides, it is possible that the herders may have seen something of mahletonkwa's band, and can give information. in any case we will start afresh from the horse herd and cut the trail of mahletonkwa, and perhaps of don nepomuceno's party a good way off from here." stephens looked up doubtfully at this suggestion. "oh, never fear," continued the cacique boastingly, "we can leave a trail and find it again; i will show you what our men are like as trailers. there is no one equal to the santiago men on a trail." the cacique was known for a man of skill and resource in all these things of practical importance. he had indeed aroused the indignation of the prospector by his cruelty to felipe and to his daughter, but in that after all he did but act according to his nature; indians were cruel anyhow. the savage, even in the best of them, was close to the surface. when it came to going on the war-path the value of the peculiar powers of the savage was manifest, and stephens felt satisfied with his own action in turning them to a good purpose. the cacique's proposal was unquestionably sound, and he accepted it without hesitation. "tell me," he said, "before you go," turning to the mexican who had brought the news, and was standing there, quirt in hand, ready to start as soon as their plans were decided upon, "what more is there known about this matter?" "_pues, nada, señor_," answered the young man--"nothing--absolutely nothing. we know neither at what hour of the night they took her away, nor with what object they have done it, but it is doubtless to extort the money from her father, the money that they have been demanding for the navajo killed by don andrés." "does the postmaster know anything about it?" asked stephens; "i thought he acted very ill yesterday with regard to the indians. if he's had any hand in it, by george!----" he broke off with a sudden fury of suspicion. "nothing is known either about him, señor," replied the mexican; "mr. backus declares that he had no idea of their doing such a thing. they were at his store during the afternoon, but they went off again to a distance to camp before sunset. doubtless they would conceal their scheme from him as from everybody else. and now, señor, with your permission i am for the road. i have near twenty leagues to ride to-day. i report, then, to all my friends that you, with the indian trailers of santiago, are going to take the trail. believe me, we relied on you confidently to assist." he grasped stephens hand warmly, sprang to his saddle, and was presently galloping for the rio grande. the indians ran to their houses for their guns and for the provision of dried meat and parched maize they would require for the journey, while stephens brought his mare to the door and saddled her, tying a blanket for himself on behind, and filling his saddle-bags with as much victuals as he could stuff into them. before starting he ran into reyna's house to take one look at josefa. she was lying on a rug spread on the ground. in a few words he told her of his summons to pursue mahletonkwa, and his acceptance of the cacique's services for the purpose. "but don't you be afraid," he continued; "you're all right now. he shall never lay his hand on you again. reyna will look after you, and nurse you, and feed you. you just stick by her as if she was your mother. and if anyone tries to bother you while i'm gone, you just tell them to go to blazes. you tell them that you belong to me now, and that if they go to try any nonsense on with you i'll know the reason why. they'll have me to reckon with. see? that's my talk, and don't you forget it." he gave her limp hand a reassuring pressure as she lay there, and turned away. three minutes later he was riding north-westward from the pueblo in the company of salvador, miguel, and alejandro. chapter xvii madam whailahay no sooner had they reached the outskirts of the village than they saw a man on foot, whose dress proclaimed him to be a white man, approaching from the san remo direction, not by the road, but by a path that led through the plough-lands. they turned aside to meet him, and as he drew nearer it proved to be no other that mr. backus himself. "you'd better go ahead," said stephens to his three indian companions as he reined up his mare in order to speak to him. "i'll catch you up in a few minutes, but i just want to hear if he knows anything"; and they rode forward accordingly. "this is a devil of a business," he began abruptly, addressing the storekeeper, "and i should like to hear what you've got to say about it." his lips closed tightly, and there was a dangerous light shining in his eyes. "ah, about the carrying off of the sanchez girl," said backus, with a nervous affectation of taking it all rather lightly; "well, yes, it is a devil of a business, as you say; it's the impidentest thing as ever i heard of. who ever saw the like of it?" "it's a serious matter, i'd have you to know," returned the prospector with rapidly rising anger; "it's a dreadful thing for a woman to be carried off by these infernal scoundrels, and for you of all men to speak lightly of it is nothing less than an outrage. you mark my words." he was exceedingly indignant with this man for his previous conduct, and that he should assume a flippant tone now was unbearable. "wal', i'm sorry, real sorry about it, of course," said backus; "and it's spoilt our little game we had on for getting that information out of them navajos, for the present anyway." "i'll trouble you not to talk about 'our' little game," retorted the other hotly. "i cautioned you against mixing yourself up with those scoundrelly navajos, and don't you go to imply that i'm involved with you in any way; i could never look don nepomuceno in the face again if i shared your responsibility for encouraging the villains." "seems to me," sneered backus, "that for a man as puts on so much style, and takes up such tonified notions as you, talking about 'never going outside your own colour' and the like, you make pretty considerable of a fuss about a mexican ranchero and the trouble he's got himself into." "i call him a whiter man than you, for one thing," exclaimed stephens; "and for another, mark me, i hold you personally responsible for this outrage. it's a more serious matter for you than you seem to be aware of. you've made yourself liable by the way you behaved yesterday with those redskins, giving them that whiskey and letting them shoot all about your place." "why, you was shooting with 'em yourself for one thing," retorted the texan with intentional insolence in his tone; "and, for another, you mark me, i didn't _give_ 'em no whiskey." he was deliberately mocking stephens; but the latter was in no mood to put up with it, and flinging his right leg over the mare's neck he jumped to the ground facing the quarter-blood cherokee. he threw the mare's rein to faro to hold; it was a trick he had taught him, and the dog stood there obediently with it in his jaws. "i say you _sold_ them the whiskey, then, if you didn't _give_ it," he exclaimed, full of scorn for the mean evasion of the storekeeper. "they were excited with liquor when i came down there yesterday. i smelt it on them right there at your house. don't you dare open your lips to deny it." "it's no such a d----d thing!" cried the storekeeper with an ugly look, confident that no one had seen him hand over the two bottles to mahletonkwa; the next instant he felt stephens's clenched fist strike him full on his lying mouth, and he went staggering backward. recovering himself, with a look of fury he threw back his right hand to his hip for a pistol; it was in vain; he had come without one; he cast a meaning look at the revolver belted round the prospector's waist. "you're a d----d brave man, aren't you?" he sneered, "when you know you're heeled and i aint." for answer stephens instantly unbuckled his belt and hung the pistol over the horn of his saddle. "there, then," he said, and he advanced with his hands up towards the texan, "if you want a fist fight you can get it right here." "yes," said the other, "and then have your infernal dog lay hold of me," and he backed away from stephens. in height and weight backus knew himself to be a match for the prospector, but there was a grim determination about the latter which cowed him. "i'll pay you out for this," he said with oaths, still retreating before stephens, "but i'll choose my own time for it." right behind him ran the acequia, brimming full, as it had been ever since the blasting, but backus, stepping backwards with his eyes fixed on his enemy, forgot that it was there; he put one foot over the edge of the bank, lost his balance, and fell with his whole length in the water. he emerged, streaming, on the opposite bank, and rescued his hat which had fallen off and was floating away. then rising, he shook his fist and poured out more curses upon stephens, who, thinking him sufficiently punished, did not choose to follow him farther. he waited a minute in silence till he saw backus walk off towards the pueblo, then turning his back on his late adversary he remounted and quickly loped on to overtake his companions. the prospector's brain was in a whirl as he rode through the fresh morning air and thought over the exciting events that had crowded one upon another since sunrise: the beating of josefa, the arrest of the cacique, the news of the abduction of manuelita, and lastly his collision with backus. the first was already past history, and he had satisfied himself that though the indian girl must have suffered a good deal she would undoubtedly recover and be all right again; what began to bother him a little now was the somewhat equivocal position in which he had placed himself with regard to her by taking her under his protection and establishing her next door to him in the pueblo under the care of reyna. "well," he thought, "folks may say what they like about it. i didn't see any other way on the spur of the moment to make her safe; and now, looking back, i don't see that i could have done anything different. if folks want to talk they must just talk, and that's all there is in it. i guess i can stand the racket. if tito brings felipe back alive they shall get married right away, but if the cacique's bullet has laid the poor chap out, then i shall see what i can do to fix her up good somehow when i get back." it was perhaps characteristic of him that now, when he was embarked on an expedition full of unknown perils, he said to himself easily "when i get back," without considering for a moment that ere that time came his bones might be bleaching white in some remote gulch, like those of the lone prospector whose tragic end had afforded so much amusement to mahletonkwa and his band. as for the arrest of the cacique, that, too, was past history, seeing that it was made for an offence that he had now settled to condone. he did not repent of his own action in the matter, either of the arrest or the condonation, but he could not help feeling a certain surprise as he thought of the ease with which the arrest had been effected. the angry chieftain had certainly proved astonishingly meek. as a fact, stephens mixed so little with men that he was unconscious himself of the power there was in him to dominate others when possessed by strong indignation, and roused to defend the weak from wrong, as he had been that morning. ordinarily quiet and self-contained in manner, speaking in a gentle voice, and showing an expression of mildness in the blue eyes that had gained him the name of sooshiuamo, he was capable at times of being transformed by an energy that seemed something outside his common self, and by the contrast made him appear to be the very embodiment of superior and irresistible force. it was perhaps as well for backus that stephens did not know that the storekeeper's greed of gain was at the bottom of the trouble; since he had deliberately whetted the navajos' craving for whiskey and then doubled the price of it to them. it was their desire to compel sanchez to pay them off instanter, and enable them to procure more liquor at any price, that had moved them to the extreme step of seizing his daughter. but stephens could not know this. all he knew was that she was gone, and that his one burning desire now was to rescue her from this most miserable fate that had overtaken her. of what that fate was likely to be, there was in his own mind at this moment no manner of doubt whatever. sioux and shoshones, cheyennes and arapahoes, kiowas and comanches, the wild indians, one and all, dealt out the same horrible fate to those who were unhappy enough to fall alive into their hands. the men were tied to the stake, or spread-eagled on the ground, and roasted by a slow fire, the fiends, who danced round with hideous yells, cutting slices from the living flesh of their victim and eating them before his eyes. no refinement of torture was spared until death mercifully released him from his agonies. the fate of a woman was worse. if she escaped being scalped and mangled on the spot, because her captors preferred to carry her away with them, she became the common property of the band, and the helpless victim of brutal outrage. stephens had seen one sad-eyed, heart-broken captive who had been rescued from the clutches of the sioux, and the memory of her woful tale seemed to ring in his ears now as he rode. and he had been in denver when the dead body of a white woman, on which the cheyenne dog-soldiers had worked their will, was brought in from the burnt ranch where they found her. the mangled body was placed in a room before burial, and the men of the city were taken in, a few at a time, to view the ghastly mutilation, and learn what an indian war meant for their wives and daughters. denver was young then, and three-fourths of its people were men of fighting age. stephens could never forget the faces of those men as they returned from that room where the poor remains lay. some came out sick and faint; some with faces deadly pale and burning eyes and tight-shut lips; and some blaspheming aloud and hurling curses on the monsters whose pleasure and delight it was to work such abhorred wrong on poor human flesh. how vividly it all came back to him as he pressed rapidly forward after his companions; his heart grew hot within him while he pictured to himself the girl whose charming face he knew so well, and whom he had come to regard with such a friendly liking, now in the grasp of ruthless hands. well, he would rescue, if indeed any rescue were possible, or perish in the attempt. "more he could not; less he would not; forwards, till the work be done." the hoof-strokes of the mare seemed to beat time to the verse. he overtook the cacique and the two younger men just where the trail they were following left the valley and entered the mountains. it was rougher going here, and alejandro jumped off and ran behind to ease the mule as they pushed in single file up the rocky path. after journeying thus for some time they came to a beautiful little grassy park of a few acres, ringed around with dark pines, and with a small stream running through it. the indians dismounted; the prospector sat in his saddle and looked at them. were they in earnest in this expedition, or were they only trifling with him? they had hardly been going three hours, and here they were calling a halt already. "dismount for a short instant, sooshiuamo," said the cacique. "we will give the beasts water here, and let them eat a few mouthfuls of grass. it is better so." stephens was not aware that it was the custom of the indians to halt every couple of hours or so on a journey; they believe that the few minutes' rest given thus to their horses enables them to last out better, while american frontiersmen commonly make longer stages and longer halts. but as he had deliberately put himself under the guidance of these men, he thought it better to adopt their methods. he slacked his cinch, and, pulling off the bridle, allowed the mare to graze. the indians rolled cigarettes and smoked. "beautiful place, sooshiuamo," said the cacique, who was standing up and looking around admiringly on the little valley. "how good the mountain grass is. i love this valley." "yes, it's just what you say, cacique," answered stephens; he knew the indians loved this country which they now, as always, regarded as their own. he often wondered how much they felt the beauty of it in their souls, or whether with them it was a sort of physical instinct, like the yearning horses and cattle feel for their native pastures. "i love this valley," repeated the cacique; "just down there is where, with one companion, i killed seven navajos." he pointed with the hand that held the cigarette to the lower end of the park. "you killed seven navajos!" said stephens, looking at him with surprise. "when was that? how did you manage it?" "it was in the time of the war," answered the other proudly. "the navajos used to hide here in the mountains all the time, and fall upon our people when we were at work in our lands. we could not stir outside the pueblo then without arms for fear of being waylaid by the rascals. and our scouts used to come up here in the mountains, too, and watch along the trails to see if any of the navajos were prowling about, and give the alarm. once i came up here on scout with another man of santiago; and we hid and lay all night in that hill," he pointed to a rocky summit shaggy with pines that rose hard by. "and we struck the tracks of seven navajos who were prowling about here to wait for their chance to make a descent upon our people in their fields. and for days we lay up there and watched them, and they never knew it, for we kept very still. and the third day we saw them making a sweat-house, and we knew they were going to have a bath. they built their house down there in the brush by the creek, and they covered it with willow twigs and sods to keep in the steam, and they made a fire and heated the stones red-hot, and carried them into the house and poured on water. and six of them left their arms outside with their clothes, and went into the bath, and the seventh covered the door with a blanket to keep in the hot steam. and my comrade and i crawled up on them through the brush very quickly, and making no noise, while the seventh indian held the blanket over the door. and there i shot him with my gun,"--he threw up his rifle to his shoulder, and took aim at an imaginary navajo as he spoke, his face glowing with pride and excitement over the recollection,--"and there he fell down dead. and we leaped forward, for we had stolen up very close behind his back, and the six navajos inside came scrambling out of the sweat-house one after another, and we cracked their skulls, so, with our tomahawks, crack, crack, crack,"--he made an expressive pantomime of dealing heavy blows on a stooping foe,--"and we killed them all, every one. there was no chance for them; they could not escape. and we took their scalps and the plunder, and brought them home. it was a great triumph. yes, i do love this valley." "i don't doubt it," said the american; "you must have been very much pleased with yourselves. you scored there." "oh, we always scored against the navajos," returned the other, "whenever we had fair play. the only way they ever could best us was by sneaking round like wolves and catching some of our men at work and off their guard; but fighting man to man we were far the better warriors. we always beat them then, as i did right here. yes, i love this place. but come, sooshiuamo, it is time for us to be moving again." forwards, forwards ever, through the shadow of the pine woods, over the silent carpet of brown fir-needles, where the sudden squirrel chattered and barked his alarm ere he rushed to the safety of his tree-top, over open grassy meadows and along willow-fringed streams where the mountain trout leaped and darted in the eddies. it was indeed a lovely land, rich in timber, rich in pasture, rich, too, as stephens knew, in gold and silver, perhaps even in diamonds--who could tell? what tragedies, though, of torturer and tortured it had seen in the past,--ay, and was likely to see again; nay, what hideous things might not that unhappy girl be enduring now somewhere in its wild recesses! that thought never left stephens for a single moment. the high, park-like country up here was much more open now that the trail had left the rugged defiles that led up into it. he urged his mare forward alongside the cacique's horse. "when we catch up with the navajos, cacique," said stephens, "what is your plan?" "ah," answered the cacique, "we must try the best way we can. if we can catch them off their guard we will fight them perhaps, and give it them hot. but if they are in a strong place like the lava beds ahead of us where we cannot get at them, we must try and make terms with them. but it will not be easy to catch them at a disadvantage and fight them; so very likely don nepomuceno will be glad to make terms. if he pays them well and gets his daughter back, it will be the best thing we can do." there was a certain businesslike air of familiarity with the whole matter apparent in the cacique that struck stephens. evidently the carrying off of manuelita belonged to a class of incidents that were by no means unusual according to his experience. as the prospector rode along pondering this fact, he reflected that salvador was a man now about forty years of age, and that for thirty-five out of those forty years his people and the navajos had been deadly enemies. it was only the recent conquest of the latter by the americans that had put them on the novel footing of peace. mutual slaughter and the carrying off of women had been the normal condition of things during the greater part of his life. "i gather from what you say about ransom," said the american after a short silence, "that you think the navajoes would be willing to restore the señorita if they were paid. but do you think don nepomuceno and don andrés will be content to recover her like that? will not the navajos be certain to have treated her shamefully, and will her father and her brother be content to get her back without taking vengeance? will they be content before they have shed blood for her wrongs?" it jarred upon all his instincts of race feeling to even approach the subject of manuelita's wrongs to this indian. the navajoes and pueblos might be mutually hostile, and the pueblo cacique for the present was his friend, but he was an indian after all, a member of the race to which belonged those sioux and cheyennes whose dreadful deeds were burned in upon the american's brain. ill-treatment of women captives makes an unbridgeable division between race and race. it constitutes "----the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame, that turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame." nevertheless, so great was his anxiety on the subject that he had broken through the reserve natural to him in this matter. before answering, the cacique threw a look of pity at him. it was neither pity for her lot, nor for his state of anxious suspense concerning it. it was the contemptuous pity of superior knowledge for the uninstructed person who did not understand navajos and their ways. "she's all right," said he; "the navajos won't do her any harm unless they are driven to kill her." "you don't mean to tell me that's true?" cried stephens eagerly. "i can't understand how it can be. i know some things about the plains indians, and i know no woman is spared by them for one hour after she becomes a captive. do you mean to say that the navajos are different from all other indians?" the cacique laughed with conscious superiority. "of course they are different," he answered, "and they always have been. didn't i say before that they are very foolish, ignorant people? and it is quite true that they are afraid to use violence to captive women, and i will tell you why. it is all because of a foolish religion of their own that they have. you know they are mere heathens; they don't know anything about heaven and purgatory and the rest of it, about all the things the padre tells when he comes to see us. they have foolish stories which they believe, and which the devil has taught them." stephens could not help interrupting him. "but how about that turkey-feather business of your own," he asked, "and your sacred snakes?" the cacique looked shocked. "oh, those are our own santiago mysteries," he said seriously; "we believe what the padre tells us, but we have our own shiuana--the spirits--to deal with as well, and we have our own way of doing it. that is right for us. but these navajos have most foolish ideas about the next world. you know they think when they die they will go to another place?" "oh, yes," said the american, "the happy hunting-grounds." "that's not the name they give it," said the cacique, "but all the same it's a place they want to go to very much, where they can keep plenty of sheep and horses upon grass richer than the grass of the chusca mountains. but they think, silly fools, that before they can get to this good place they have to cross a dreadful dark river that it is very hard to get over. if they can't get over they think that they must wander about for ever in cold and dark and misery. and they think that there is in the next world a wonderful old woman, whom they call whailahay, and she lives there and knows all the fords of this river, and without her help no one can get over it. so they all want to please her very much. but, you see, whailahay is a woman, and is very angry if women are ill-treated, at least so they think; and then, if they haven't let the women on earth have their own way in everything, and do just what they please, whailahay is very cross with the men, and she won't help them to get across the dreadful dark river to the good place when they die, but leaves them to starve for ever, wandering about shivering and wretched. it is a most foolish story, and the result is that the navajos spoil their women entirely. they dare not lay a hand on them to keep them in proper order"; he looked full in stephens's eyes as he said this, and stephens looked in his eyes, and each knew the other was thinking of the beating of josefa. "no, they dare not touch them in any way against their will," continued the cacique, "and the women are masters of the men, and all in consequence of a foolish story about an old witch. don't you think it is a foolish story, sooshiuamo?" stephens's heart bounded with exultation, and he felt as if a heavy load were lifted from his breast. "foolish!" he cried, turning in his saddle with a triumphant laugh of joy, "why, cacique, don't you see, if that's so she'll be safe. foolish! i think it's the very best story i ever heard in my life. bully for old madam whailahay!" chapter xviii hunting a trail on they went, on and on, till beneath the rugged peak of the cerro de las viboras they saw before them a glorious open valley of a thousand acres, facing the southern sun, and green with young grass. "this is the valle lindito," said the cacique, "and there is our horse herd." a band of two or three hundred horses and mares were grazing peacefully in the valley. it was early yet for foals, but a few here and there were visible, frisking and capering round their dams. an indian stallion nickered proudly at the sight of the strangers, and trotted towards them, high and disposedly, tossing his crest and holding his head aloft; at the sight of him morgana whinnied back, and lo! from a patch of willow brush leaped forth an indian youth who was on watch; bareback he came full speed on a flying pony and whirled a lasso round and round, and chivied the guardian of the herd back to his mates. then he rode up to the four and greeted them, and rapid question and answer ensued. the youth was young ignacio, son to josefa's elderly would-be bridegroom. no, they had seen no navajos, nor any tracks of any. nothing had troubled the herd except that the mountain lions had killed a foal. the travelling mexican sheep herds were wandering hither and thither through the mountains, as usual, seeking their appointed stations for the lambing month ere it began. the jicarilla apaches had been through not long before and had killed some cattle of the mexicans--the indian laughed as he recounted this--and the mexicans were very angry, but could not catch them. he hinted that mexican beef tasted sweet, and laughed still more, but the cacique frowned. he did not love the mexicans--far from it--but his policy was to keep on good terms with them. he repeated his questions about the navajos. the rest of the indian herders came up, and now came news. yes, they had seen tracks of a travelling party which they supposed to be indians. eleven ponies there were altogether, going north-westward from the mesa del verendo. no, they had seen no one to speak of, and they had seen no tracks of any party of mexicans in pursuit. they were astonished when they heard the tale of the abduction of manuelita, but they had heard of the killing of the navajo by don andrés from the shepherds of a flock of the preas, which they had met in the valle cajon. as for the tracks they had seen that morning, they might be those of mahletonkwa and his band, or they might have been made by some other navajos or by jicarillas. "_quien sabe?_" but they told the cacique exactly where he would find them next day and then he could judge for himself. three fresh horses were now selected and caught. the cacique's horse and stephens's mule were now turned loose in the indian herd, where the mule brayed frantically for his beloved morgana. a hasty meal was eaten, and with young ignacio added to their party they set forward once more into the wilderness. ere the sun was an hour high next morning the cacique and miguel and young ignacio were critically examining the eleven ponies' tracks, and trying to make out whether they were those of mahletonkwa's band or no. "almost certainly, yes," was the verdict, and they followed at once hotly on the trail. the fact that they were exactly eleven in number made the probability very great, and the absence of any other later tracks made it certain that if they had really hit it off they must have cut the trail in front of the mexicans. the cacique crowed triumphantly. "did i not tell you, sooshiuamo, that the navajos would throw the mexicans off the scent on the mesa del verendo. you may be very sure that is what has happened. they all scattered out there on the hard ground, and then they turned their course from west to north, and then met again by agreement miles away, and not on the mesa at all, but down below here. the mexicans will have wasted half the day yesterday in trying to follow their tracks on the mesa del verendo, and i expect they are at it yet; while we, you see, who started hours after them, have cut the trail far ahead. did i not tell you we were great trailers, sooshiuamo?" sooshiuamo could not help thinking that the success of which the cacique was so proud was a good deal due to the information that had been given them, but he wisely did not say so. and at any rate the cacique was entitled to the credit of having guessed rightly the route mahletonkwa would take, and having steered on his own authority a judicious course to intercept it. they had left the high upland pastures now, and the sierra lay behind them; they were heading into a rolling country of dry grama grass and cedar- and piñon-trees, a warmer country than the mountains, but not so well watered. away to the south-west was visible a lofty conical peak standing by itself; it was an extinct volcano. presently the trail of the eleven ponies turned towards the conical peak. "i knew it," cried the cacique triumphantly again, "i knew how it would be. the lava beds are yonder, and the navajos are going for them; they have been making a big circuit to throw the mexicans off the track, but now they have turned for the beds again. they meant to go there all along. oh, didn't i know it? eh, sooshiuamo?" sooshiuamo readily admitted the accuracy with which the pueblo had grasped the intentions of the navajos, and praised his skill. presently they came to a place where the party they were pursuing had halted for a rest and a meal, and here the question as to who they were was decided beyond all doubt. among the many moccasin-tracks which ran all about the little fire they had made, the keen eyes of the indians detected the print of a shoe with a heel, the small, dainty shoe of a civilised woman. "look," said miguel, who found it first, pointing it out to stephens, who, keen-sighted though he was, barely distinguished it in the dry, sandy soil, "there is the foot of the señorita. look how she is tired and stiff with riding, and walks with little steps. and here is where she lay down on a blanket to rest. oh, she will be very tired." literally, these indians seemed able to tell every single thing she had done in that camp during the half-hour or hour that had probably been spent there. it was a camp made late in the afternoon of the day before, so they settled. "just when we were at the horse herd in the valle lindito," said the cacique, who seemed to read the signs left by the different members of the band and by their horses with as much ease and confidence as stephens would have shown in gathering the meaning of a page of a printed book by glancing his eyes over the hundreds of little black crooked marks on the page, known to civilised beings as letters. but in the art of reading signs the cacique was a past master, where stephens, to follow up the simile, had but just mastered the alphabet and was struggling with words of one syllable. forward once more on the trail, with the increased ardour given by the certainty that now there could be no mistake. as they drew near the lava beds, and the shades of evening began to fall, the cacique grew anxious. "the tinné,"--tinné was the navajos' own name for themselves, and the cacique now began to use it regularly in speaking of them, feeling himself, as it were, on their ground,--"the tinné," he said, "are sure to keep a close watch on the edge of the beds where their trail goes in, so as to see who is following them. let us turn off their trail here and go aside; there is a spring at the edge of the beds a little north of here; we will camp there for the night, we can do nothing in the beds in the dark; also if the mexicans have found the trail again, as they ought to have done by this time, they may follow it part of the night by moonlight and be able to overtake us here. it would be well to have them here before we go into the beds. don't you think so, sooshiuamo?" stephens had to agree. it grated on him terribly to leave manuelita for a second night in the hands of mahletonkwa and his band, but it was more than doubtful whether they could possibly find where they had her concealed in the gathering darkness, and there was a good chance of being in a better position to deal with the matter in the morning. it was already night when the cacique skilfully and cautiously led them to the little spring he knew of near the beds; they watered their horses here, and drank, too, themselves, and camped under a cedar bush not far away, without a fire lest the light should betray them. they chewed their tough, dried meat, and ate a little parched corn, and kept watch by turns in the moonlight over their horses during the first half of the night. but nothing disturbed them, and faro gave no sign of suspecting an enemy at hand when stephens scouted round with him before moonset, and after that they slept securely. he was awakened after dawn by the cacique. miguel had already scouted some way on their back trail; there was no sign of the mexicans coming up; and the cacique now made a somewhat alarming suggestion. suppose that the mexicans had not lost the trail on the mesa del verendo, as he had conjectured, but had caught the tinné there and been unlucky enough to be beaten off by them in a fight. it was a contingency that had not occurred to stephens before, and redoubled his anxiety. the cacique, as usual, had a plan. he declined, with their small party, to follow the navajos' trail straight into the lava beds. they would be sure to walk into a trap, and if there had been a fight, and the tinné blood was up, they would be shot down mercilessly from an ambush. he felt sure the navajos had established themselves on a little oasis there was in the middle of the beds, where there was grass for their horses; and he proposed to enter the beds more to the north, where he knew of a practicable place for horses to go in, and so work round to the oasis on the farther side. this seemed so reasonable that stephens saw nothing for it but to accede, and accordingly, after watering their stock, they at once proceeded to put it in action. the lava beds were an awful country for horses. from the old volcano an immense mass of lava had flowed over all this part of the country, like a broad river, twenty or thirty feet deep and miles in width. it was a mass of perfectly naked rock, and was incredibly cracked and fissured. the change to it from the open country was instant and abrupt. you could gallop over rolling pasture-lands right to the edge of the beds, where you must dismount and advance on foot, stepping warily from rock to rock, and choosing carefully a route that it was possible for a sure-footed horse to pick his way over. after a tedious and toilsome progress of this sort, they came at last to a little opening, a sort of island, as it were, in the lava flow, only that it was lower, most of it, than the actual surface of the flow. here was a patch of grass, and the cacique suggested that stephens should remain here with the horses while he and his young men scouted on foot in the direction of the larger opening, or oasis, where he suspected that the navajos had established themselves. stephens was very unwilling to stay behind, but he had to admit that the scouts would probably get on better without him. accordingly he consented, and stretched himself on his blanket on the ground, holding the end of the mare's lariat in his hand, while the indians, drawing their belts tighter and grasping their guns, started off in the new direction indicated by the cacique. long he lay there waiting; an eagle-hawk, attracted by the sight of the horses, swung lazily through the blue sky overhead, and seeing nothing there to interest him sailed off majestically to a richer hunting-ground beyond the barren lava flow. many thoughts coursed through the mind of the impatient man. he was disappointed that the mexicans had not come up, and he was impressed by the intense watchfulness and seriousness of the cacique. the pueblo chief clearly felt himself now in enemies' country, and knew that they were face to face with the chances of a desperate struggle. any mistake now might land them instantly in a fight, with the odds more than two to one against them; to say nothing of the additional peril this would bring upon manuelita. yet something must be done for her, and that without delay. stephens could not endure the thought of leaving her another day and night in the power of those savages. he had been partly reassured by the cacique's account of the superstitious influence of whailahay in protecting women, but still--the possibilities that presented themselves to his mind were too awful. no, come what would, whether the mexican party arrived in time or not, when he found the navajos something should be done. and then his eye lit on the figure of the cacique bounding from block to block of the lava beds, and coming towards him with manifest excitement in his air. the navajos were found. "we've caught up with them at last," said the pueblo chief in an excited half-whisper. "all the tinné are camped in a hollow just beyond there," and he pointed eagerly to a rise in the lava bed that bounded their view to the immediate front. "and the girl?" queried the american hoarsely. "is she there too? have any of you seen her?" "oh, she's sure to be there," said the cacique. "she can't fail to be there. no, we didn't any of us positively set eyes on her, but miguel, who got into the best position to spy on them, was able to count their horses; the whole lot of them, all the eleven, are there in the 'abra,'--the opening or oasis in the lava beds,--so of course she must be there." "true," answered stephens somewhat doubtfully. "that is, i suppose, you argue that if the horses are there she must be so, too; because if they had taken her elsewhere they'd have had to take a horse to carry her. but," he added, "as miguel even didn't actually see her, might she not perhaps have escaped on foot?" the indian gave a smothered laugh of derision. "she escape?" he said; "escape from the tinné! never. no captive ever escapes. too well watched." miguel himself, with alejandro and young ignacio, now came up and joined them, and stephens closely examined them as to what they had seen. they confirmed unanimously the conclusions that the cacique had arrived at. manuelita was certainly there. whether the navajos were aware of their presence or not, was, however, uncertain. all they could say was that they had been most careful not to give the tinné a chance by exposing themselves to view, and that therefore the probability was that they were still in ignorance. but they might have spotted the pueblos in spite of all their care, and be simply lying low in order to entrap them. "what's the best move now?" said stephens. "it will be better if we return back some way," said the cacique. "the mexican party may come up to-day, and then we can join forces with them. but if the mexicans don't come, then, when night falls, we must go forward again on foot and creep up close to their camp and see if we get a chance to do anything. if they haven't seen us, maybe we might get a chance to steal her away from them." "but if they have seen us?" said stephens. "then," returned the cacique, "they are going to try to creep on us certainly, perhaps kill us, perhaps in the dark steal our horses; the tinné men are wonderful clever horse-thieves." stephens meditated. by the indian scouts' account it seemed to be about an even chance whether the navajos had discovered them or not. but, according to his view of the matter, if they had, all idea of keeping concealed from them any longer was ridiculous; and their wide-awake enemies would be free to attack them if they chose, or else to decamp in the night, taking their prisoner with them, and very possibly taking their pursuers' horses as well. here, to his mind, was a strong argument against waiting. true, there was the other side of the question to be considered: supposing that the navajos had not detected their presence, it was not impossible that his pueblo friends, if their pluck was equal to their undeniable skill, might haply be successful in effecting the girl's release by some stratagem. but, after all, it was only a chance, and a slim chance at that, he thought; and, moreover, there was one point about this latter scheme which he found it hard to digest--he would himself assuredly be asked to stay behind again. he was perfectly well aware by this time that if they wanted to creep on the navajo camp for the purpose of rescuing the girl by stealth, his indian friends would not want to have him accompany them, on the ground that as a white man he was unable to move about with the silent, snake-like litheness of a redskin. and they would be right, from their point of view; so much he could not refuse to admit to himself in his secret heart; he could not but recognise his inferiority in this qualification, knowing as he did the red men's great gifts. but from his own point of view this would not do at all. the simple fact was that he did not trust their resolution unless he himself were actually with them to keep them up to the mark. they had just made one reconnaissance by themselves, leaving him behind, and it struck him that they had not pushed it very vigorously. one of them, miguel, had advanced far enough to be able to count the navajo ponies. that really was all the information they had brought back. now suppose they were to start out again to-night, by themselves, after her; and suppose they failed to get her out of the indian camp, while he had remained at the rear and never even made so much as one try at it personally himself; why, he would feel bitter humiliation all his life long in consequence, and the unhappy girl would be dragged away to suffer fresh miseries in a new hiding-place. that was what really galled him. that they would kill her he did not now think, because he was convinced that the cacique was right in saying that what they were after was don nepomuceno's money. but that she was safe from violence in their hands he was far less certain. whailahay's supernatural influence might not prove to be the safeguard the cacique had represented it to be; and in that case her lot might be, nay, surely would be, that of the miserable victim of the sioux. this waiting was becoming detestable. one solution presented itself with overwhelming urgency to his mind, a solution which imperiously closed these dull debates and tedious, hesitating delays. there was one phrase of general grant's--grant was an ohio man like himself, and his ideal hero,--it occurred in a summons that grant once sent to an enemy to surrender, and it ran, "i propose to move immediately upon your works." that was the right sort of talk. that was the sort of thing he would like to say to the navajos, and, as they wouldn't surrender, then do as grant would have done, "advance immediately." yes, he would propose an immediate advance to his four pueblo companions; if they rejected his proposal then he would take his own line. "look here, cacique," he said firmly, "we've had enough of this creeping and crawling around. let's wade right in. come on. you stick by me, and we'll go right at them, and we'll lick spots out of 'em." his eyes flashed, and his powerful frame seemed to dilate and grow as the fire of battle kindled in him. the pueblo chief smiled on him as one might on an impatient child. "no sense in that talk," he said with calm superiority. "don't you see? they're eleven and we're five; as soon as you begin to shoot, they'll kill that girl quick, so that all of them may be free to fight us. then i think they'll kill us, too. they're too many"; and he counted the whole eleven over on his fingers, and shook his head impressively and ominously. "they'll not kill her," said stephens, "she's worth too much to them. and as for their killing us--well, two can play at that game." he patted the winchester fondly as he spoke. "come on, cacique, and show yourself a man. five brave men can lick a dozen cowards any day. buck up, cacique. why, you told me that you yourself with only one pard killed seven navajos by catching them off their guard. suppose now that these chaps haven't seen us, why shouldn't we do as well?" "ah," said the other, "but these navajos are well posted in their stronghold. my partner and i caught ours in a trap. but if we wait maybe we might get the chance to catch these ones in a trap, too." the american argued the point a little longer, with no effect, however, for the cacique's prudent decision remained immovable. but stephens had hardened his heart to the sticking-point, and he refused to wait. he would go forward alone. he drew a deep breath as he turned his eyes from the black lava beds around, and looked at the distant hills, dotted over with dark piñon, shining in the sunlight far away, and then up at the great overarching vault of blue above. death had no morbid attraction for him; he was a lover of life, and the air of heaven tasted good as he drew it in. but he wanted no life that was disgraced in the sight of his own soul. he had come out to rescue this girl, and he would do it or die. these red men shilly-shallied; their one idea was to employ feints and stratagems, and take no risks. they must act according to their lights; his own course was clear. "then, salvador," said he, looking the cacique hard in the eyes, "since you won't come on there's only one thing left to be done, and that is for me to try the thing by myself. what will you do if i go ahead alone?" the cacique made no direct reply, but turned hastily to his three companions, and some rapid remarks were interchanged between them. quickly he produced a grey powder of some unknown kind from a little pouch, and he shared it out among his three fellow-tribesmen. they all of them bared their tawny breasts and rubbed it over their hearts, speaking magic words the while. the silent american gazed at them, half in wonder, half in scorn. "what's all that amount to?" he asked. "strong medicine, sooshiuamo, to make our hearts brave," answered all of them together. "then i'd rather you'd got a little sand in your craws," muttered stephens in english. he had hardened his heart for a desperate venture, and their reluctance to follow him vexed him sorely. "there isn't one of them, not one, i don't believe, that's got any sand," he repeated. to have "sand," means to be willing to fight to the death when called upon, and that was just what these men were not willing to do. then aloud in spanish: "what's the good of all that tomfool business?" he asked. "you're only humbugging yourselves about it. you don't really mean fight." there was bitter scorn in his tones. "oh, yes, we can fight," retorted the pueblo chief, not a little nettled at the american's words, "but we're not fools--at least not such fools as to want to get killed. but we've got a very good place to fight from here. if you go forward by yourself, and they shoot at you, then we'll be able to shoot at them from behind these rocks. first-class shelter here." "oh, it's a ," said stephens sarcastically; "it's a splendid place to shoot from at people who are four hundred yards away, and out of sight." he gave a laugh of contempt. "well, don't you make any cursed error, though, and shoot me in the back by mistake," he went on, while buckling his belt a couple of holes tighter, and securing his pistol holster at the back of his right hip so that it should not work round to the front of his body when he stooped and bent down to creep, as he must needs do, in the course of his advance on the navajo camp. he saw to it that the buckskin strings which secured his moccasins were securely knotted, studiously attending to each detail with the tense nerves of the man who says to himself at every little bit of preparation, "_now_ may be the very last time i shall ever do that." to his revolver and rifle he needed not to look; they were freshly cleaned and oiled, and full of cartridges; both would go like clockwork, and he knew it. he handed the riata of the mare to the cacique. "you look after her for me, salvador," he said; "i don't know that i'll be needing her again, but i guess if i leave her with you i'll know where to find her if i do." "come on, faro," said he to the dog, patting his head and raising a warning finger to bid him come quietly, as if it had been for a stalk on some unsuspecting stag, and turning his back on the four indians the white man went forward alone. chapter xix run to ground bending low, now creeping on all fours, now running with his body doubled to his knees, diverging to right or left as projections in the lava beds seemed to offer a favourable screen, but ever and always making for the front, the solitary man pressed on, his rifle grasped sometimes in the left hand, sometimes in the right, as the need for using one hand or the other in his advance arose. twice he stopped to recover breath, while pushing his way onward, and cautiously twisted his head around to see what had become of his pueblo friends; but they were invisible. their skill in keeping under cover at least was undeniable. on he went again, till finally he reached the brow of the great rise in the lava bed from which miguel had reconnoitred the navajo camp. past this he tried to get without exposing himself unduly, but thrice he failed to find cover, and retreated again to look for a better spot. the fourth time he found a hollow in the lava with a rise on the right of it that promised him some shelter, and flat on his face in this he wormed himself slowly along, the eager bulldog flattening himself against the rock by his side. often had he crawled like this beside his master to get a chance at a deer. but it was more dangerous game than deer that they were stalking now. having gained some twenty yards by this creep, stevens slowly raised his head to get a view of the new ground that he knew should become visible in front of him from here. he caught sight of a little green oasis amid the lava beyond, of a band of ponies grazing in it, and of figures seated in a group on the far side; and, by heaven! amid the figures his quick eye detected the flutter of a pink muslin which he had often seen manuelita wear. "great scot!" he ejaculated, "she's found. there she is." he raised himself a little higher to get a better view, and take in the details of the hostile camp, when suddenly a jet of smoke came out of the lava scarce a hundred yards away, the sharp snap of a rifle was heard, and a bullet clapped loudly on the rock close to his head. the navajos were not taken by surprise. the navajos had spotted the pueblo scouts; they took their appearance as a signal for fight, and now they were ready to give them or anyone with them a warm reception. this bullet was their first greeting. the lead, splashing off the rock, spattered sharply on stephens's cheek. instinctively he threw up his right hand and passed it over the side of his face, but the splashes did not even draw blood, and his eye was happily uninjured. in a moment he raised his rifle to shoot back, but before he could get a bead the gleam of the rifle-barrel from which the shot had come, and the head of the indian that had aimed it disappeared. "dropped down to reload," said the frontiersman to himself. "he's a goodish shot, that navajo son of a gun; that was a close call." lowering his head under cover, he decided to try a trick. opening a recess in the butt of his winchester, he drew out four little iron rods which, when screwed together, made a cleaning-rod about thirty inches in length. then he took off his hat, put the end of the cleaning-rod inside it, and slowly hoisted it into view a yard or so away to the right of where he had looked over before. he lay on his left side and elbow, with his winchester in his left hand, and the right arm extended raising the hat. snap went the sharp report of a rifle again; there was a hole through the hat; dropping the rod instantly he seized his rifle with both hands and raised himself for a quick shot. but there was nothing visible worth shooting at. once more the quick dissolving puff of smoke and the gleam of a rifle-barrel disappearing were all that he got a glimpse of. his little ruse had failed, and he was clearly discomfited, while a loud whoop of derision rang out from the rocks; it was the navajo equivalent for "sold again!" it was echoed from another quarter, and from another, by wild unearthly yells. "aha, white man," those yells seemed to say, "we've caught you now! how do you feel now? this is our country and not yours; aha! it is our home, and it shall be your grave; the vulture and the coyote know the navajo war-whoop, and they are hurrying to pick your bones. aha, aha!" the solitary man felt his heartstrings quiver at the cruel sounds, but he kept his eyes glued to the place where the puffs of smoke had come from; the next time that devilish redskin put up his head to fire he would try who could draw a bead the quicker. at this moment he was startled by a loud, coarse voice, quite close to him apparently, but coming from an unseen speaker. the words were spanish. "_es tu_, sooshiuamo?"--"is it you, sooshiuamo?" the voice was the unmistakable voice of mahletonkwa, with its thick, guttural tones. stephens hesitated a moment. should he break silence and answer? he had neither fired a shot nor uttered a sound so far. but he had been discovered, for all that, and was there any further use in trying to conceal his exact position? he decided to answer. "_si, soy_," he called out in a loud voice. "yes, that's who i am. is that you there, mahletonkwa?" but he did not turn his eyes in the direction of the unseen voice that had addressed him; he kept them fastened on the distant spot where he expected the rifle-barrel to reappear. nor did he judge amiss. the hidden marksman, who thought that the american's gaze would be turned in the direction of the voice in answer to which he had spoken, put up his rifle for a third shot at him. quick as lightning stephens brought the winchester to his shoulder; but even now he did not pull the trigger, for as his rifle came up the indian's head went down again, and again those wild derisive whoops rang out, and again the voice of the unseen man, concealed so close to him, addressed him in spanish. "what are you doing here, sooshiuamo? and what do you want?" was the voice nearer than before? was this only a trick of the navajos to get him off his guard? stephens mistrusted that it was so; but he coolly made reply. "why do your men shoot at me, mahletonkwa? i want to talk to you. i want that mexican girl, the señorita sanchez, whom you have carried off." he would see if they were open to an offer. "who is with you?" asked the voice of mahletonkwa. "who are those behind you? where are the soldiers?" stephens determined to try to run a bluff. "they're coming," said he confidently. "don't you delude yourself. we've got force enough to take her back. you'd better surrender her quietly at once." "pooh!" answered mahletonkwa tauntingly, "you've got no soldiers. the storekeeper burnt the letter you sent to the general, i know." this was a blow to stephens, and the moment he heard the indian say it, he recognised the probability of its truth. backus must have played traitor, and, what was more, he must have told the navajos that he had done so. this indian could never have invented such a story himself. "suppose he did," returned stephens, determined to keep up his bluff; "that doesn't prevent me meeting captain pfeiffer and a troop of cavalry on the road and bringing them along." he raised his voice so that all those indians who were within earshot might hear him. "if you dare hurt one hair of the señorita's head, you will every one of you be shot or hanged. you mark me." while he was speaking the navajo who had fired at him twice already put up his head for a third shot, but he bobbed it down quicker than before as the ready winchester came up to the american's cheek. the prospector lowered his piece once more instead of letting fly; he was determined not to throw away his first shot. he had plenty of cartridges, but he knew that to risk beginning with a miss would only embolden his enemies, and he meant to strike terror from the start. the red indian is as brave as the next man, but he objects to getting killed if he can help it, and he will carefully avoid exposing himself to the aim of a dead-shot. these navajos had all seen stephens drive the nail. stephens's verbal threat, however, only provoked mahletonkwa's derision. "pooh!" he retorted jeeringly, "where are your friends now? it is getting time for them to come and save you. you'll see, though, they can't do it. we'll show you what we are. we are tinné; we are men." the word tinné means "men" in the navajo language. they call themselves "the men" _par excellence_. "chin-music's cheap," rejoined stephens, taunting him back. "say, have you forgotten your time on the pecos at bosque redondo already? you felt like 'men' there, didn't you, when you were grubbing for roots and catching grasshoppers and lizards to eat like a lot of dirty diggers?" "hah!" replied the indian indignantly, "i never saw bosque redondo. all the soldiers you could get couldn't take me where i didn't choose to go. i don't take orders from any agent or any general. nobody ever commands me." there spoke the soul of the true son of the desert. personal liberty was to him as the breath of his nostrils. nevertheless, beneath his boastful assertions stephens thought he detected an undertone that might indicate a willingness to treat, and he slightly altered his own tone. "mahletonkwa, you're playing the fool. why don't you bring the girl back quietly?" "well, if you want her," answered the navajo, "why don't you come out of your hole and talk business?" "yes, and get shot by treachery for my pains!" answered stephens indignantly. "i haven't attacked you. your men began; they've shot at me twice without warning." "well," said the navajo, "you tell your men, if you have any, that they are not to shoot, and i'll tell mine not to shoot, and then you and i can talk together. i'm willing to treat." an idea struck stephens; he had already insinuated that he had captain pfeiffer--a name of terror to the navajoes and apaches--at his back; he would keep up that pretence, at least for a time. he turned and shouted aloud in english at the pitch of his voice, "o captain pfeiffer! o captain pfeiffer! keep your soldiers back. don't let them fire a shot." he paused, and then continued shouting again, but this time in spanish, "o captain of the indian scouts," he would not give away the santiago cacique in any wise by calling him by name, "let your scouts keep their posts and watch, but let them not fire a shot. let them wait till i return. peace talk." the four pueblo indians heard him, and understood, and from their hiding-places they shouted back in assent. "you see," cried he to his wily foe, "my men are warned. do you send your men back to your camp, and come out and meet me in the open, eye to eye." "no treachery?" said the indian. "no treachery," answered the white man. the navajo called to his companions, and presently stephens had glimpses here and there of stealthy forms slinking through the lava beds back in the direction of the oasis where their horses were grazing. "now you come out," called mahletonkwa to the american. "come forward then, you, too," said stephens. "you first," returned the savage. stephens decided to take the risk and set the example. grasping his rifle in his left hand, he held it across his body, while he raised his open right hand above his head in sign of amity, as he rose to his full height. not twenty yards away, across the ridge of rock that had covered him on his right hand, he caught sight of mahletonkwa's copper-coloured visage, with the watchful dark eyes fastened on him, as they peered through a loophole-like fissure in the lava, where he was crouching. stephens, his head a little thrown back, his breast expanded, braced himself to receive, and to return if he could, the treacherous bullet he more than half expected. "stand up there you, mahletonkwa, like me." he spoke proudly. "be a man; stand up." very watchfully, both hands grasping his gun at the ready, the indian rose to his feet. he looked like a fierce, cunning wolf hesitating whether to snap or to turn tail. with right hand still extended, stephens moved step by step towards his enemy, faro keeping close to his heels. not for a moment did the white man remove his eye from the indian, alert to detect the first motion towards raising the gun, as he felt for his footing on the rough lava blocks, careful not to look down lest an unfair advantage should be taken of him. at five yards off he halted. the fissured rock behind which mahletonkwa had been crouching was now all that separated them. "is there not peace between us?" exclaimed stephens. "what do you fear? why does your gun point my way?" "is not your gun in your hand, too?" returned the indian. "put it down and i will put mine down." stephens lowered his right hand, and bending his knees slowly he sank his body near enough to the ground to lay his winchester at his feet, but he never took his eyes off the indian, and his fingers still encircled the barrel and the small part of the stock. "down with yours too, mahletonkwa," he said quietly. the indian placed his piece at his feet, hesitated a moment, and then removed his hands from it and sat up, resting himself on his heels. stephens likewise took his hands from his weapon and sat on a rock. mutual confidence had advanced so far, although each was still intensely suspicious of the other. "now, tell me," said stephens, "what did you carry off the girl for?" "to get our pay for our dead brother," returned the red man. "you did wrong then. you should have complained to the agent at fort defiance if you thought you had a claim to compensation. you should not have done an act of war by carrying her off." "huh! was it not you who tried to send for the soldiers when we came to claim compensation?" "certainly i sent for them. you refused a reasonable offer, and you threatened to kill my mexican friends instead. that was why i sent for them." "it was you who caused the mexicans to refuse compensation. they would have paid up and settled with us if it had not been for you." "no, not so. it was you who asked a ridiculous price. i urged nepomuceno sanchez to make terms with you. but not at your price. you asked for the dead man's weight in silver, pretty near. i don't believe you know how much a thousand dollars is; i don't believe you could count it." "yes i could," said the indian sulkily; "it's a back-load for a man to carry a day's journey." stephens figured on the weight, as stated by the indian, for a moment. "well, i've got to admit you do seem to know something about it, after all," he answered; "your figures come out about right. and, as i said before, it was a perfectly absurd amount to ask. and then, to make it worse, instead of trying to make terms, you commit an outrage of this kind by carrying off an innocent girl by violence." "she has not been ill-treated," said the indian; "she has not been subject to violence while we have had her. we have taken good care of her." he spoke very earnestly and with marked emphasis. "that's your story," returned stephens; "i only hope it's true. it'll be better for you if it is. but anyways there's no denying the fact that she's been brutally dragged from her home." "that's nothing much," said the indian briefly; "she's not been ill-treated"; and he explained clearly enough what he meant by ill-treatment. stephens understood him, and shuddered to think of that poor girl having lain for two days and nights completely at the mercy of this savage. but he remembered madam whailahay, and the cacique's wonderful account of the power of that superstition over the tinné. it might prove to be true, as mahletonkwa asserted, that the captive had been spared the worst. and the navajo really did seem to have a notion of coming to terms. but on what basis were they to deal? how far could they trust each other? that was the crucial question. "look here now, mahletonkwa," said he, "you take me straight to where she is, and let me talk to her quietly; and you give me your solemn promise that you won't try to make me prisoner, but will let me return to my own men unharmed, and i'll see what i can do to make peace for you." he had a special object in making this speech; it was to test the truth of the indian's words. if the navajo refused the permission for him to see her, he would be discrediting his own assertion that the girl was not seriously harmed; moreover, though stephens had small faith in the indian's honour, and was by no means unprepared to find that the promise, if given, was given only to entrap him, he nevertheless thought it politic thus to require it, that by making such a show of confidence on his own part in mahletonkwa's honour he might beget a corresponding return of confidence from the other. the navajo pondered a moment on the proposition. "yes," he said presently, looking up, his distrustful eyes, still full of suspicion, resting doubtfully on stephens. "promise, you, that your men stay where they are, and do nothing against us, and i'll take you to her." "i'll do that much," answered the american; "so then it's a bargain." "it's a bargain," returned the red man; the confidence shown in him was producing its effect. "that's all right then," said stephens cheerfully, rising to his feet and leaving his winchester still on the ground. he was not one whit less on the alert than before, but his cue now was to betray no distrust. for the first time since their meeting he took his eyes off mahletonkwa and looked back to where he had left his pueblo friends, who had remained all this time as invisible as ever, waiting on the event with the inexhaustible patience of their race. "hullo!" he called back, "you scouts, stay there where you are till i come back again. i am going to the camp of the navajos to see about settling things." as before, the pueblos acknowledged his message from afar with a wild answering shout of assent. he turned round, picked up his winchester in a quiet, undemonstrative manner, and threw it into the hollow of his arm. "go ahead, mahletonkwa," said he, "you heard what i said. they will keep still till i return. let's go to your camp, you and me." the redskin likewise stood up with his weapon in his hand. "i've got to give some orders, too," he said, and he began to speak in his own tongue. much to stephens's surprise he was answered at once from a few yards off. the head of a concealed navajo suddenly appeared from a fissure near at hand. stephens instantly recognised him as the notalinkwa whom don nepomuceno had said was as big a villain as the other. he rapidly calculated in his mind what this might mean. it was, in a measure, evidence that the navajo chief had not been intending to keep faith. at any rate, this was proof positive that he had only made a pretence of sending his men away while he met stephens alone; and yet during their colloquy he had kept this confederate posted within a few yards of him the whole time. "it's all right," said mahletonkwa, in answer to the look of surprise apparent on stephens's face; "no treachery, no lies. i leave notalinkwa here to watch for us that your men don't advance. come along. it's all right." that mahletonkwa should leave a sentinel now seemed natural enough, and stephens decided promptly to acquiesce. he was in for it now, and he must play the game boldly, and with unhesitating steps he followed the navajo chief over the rugged lava to the camp where the prisoner was held. the camp lay in a narrow sunken meadow, of a few acres in extent, bordered on either side by the black, forbidding wall of the lava bed. an unknown cause had here divided the lava stream for some hundreds of yards, leaving the space between unravaged by the desolating flow. and in the little oasis thus shut off the grass grew rich and green, looking tenfold brighter from its contrast with the blackened wilderness around. "what a perfect place for stock-thieves to hide in," thought stephens as he beheld it. "of course these navajos know every hidden recess like this in the country." his eyes eagerly scanned the scene for the form that was the object of his search. close under the rocks, on the far side, was the group of which he had already caught a glimpse from the point where he had had his colloquy with the indian chief. yes, it was indeed her dress he had discerned. there she was, sitting on the ground amid the saddles and horse furniture, the navajo guards standing watchfully about in the space between him and her as he and mahletonkwa approached. guns were visible in the hands of most of them, but some carried only bows. he took note that the latter were strung, and that besides the bow two or three arrows were held ready in the fingers of the left hand. but though his swift, wary glance took in every detail, it was to the face of the captive girl that his eyes were most anxiously directed. as he approached she sprang to her feet, and with a cry of recognition ran forward to meet him. some of the indians put out their hands as if to restrain her, but at a sign from mahletonkwa they refrained. his outstretched hand met hers in a vigorous clasp. "you have come," she cried in broken tones, "you have come at last. and my father,--is he safe?" "yes, he's safe," said the american, "and so are you." chapter xx the wolf's lair "you'll be all right now," said stephens; "you've nothing to fear." he deliberately assumed a security he was far from feeling, but it was part of the game he must play. her little hand still lay in his; it was the first time it had ever done so; it seemed as if the firm pressure of his strong fingers must reassure this poor terrified young thing, the wild leaping of whose pulses he could feel. her breast heaved convulsively as she strove to control her sobs; the great tear-drops gathered under her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. "great god!" he said, "that you should have suffered like this! but don't be afraid; we'll get you out of this all right." his voice sounded in his own ears strained and unnatural. he was trying his best to play his part by appearing cheerful and consolatory, while at that very same moment the strongest feeling in him was a burning, fierce desire to pump lead into the gang of savages who had made this tender creature suffer this agony of terror. and but for her presence he might have done it there and then. to preserve her, however, it was above all things necessary to temporise; and to preserve her must be his first thought. he must hear her own story and consult with her on his next move; but to do that he must talk in spanish, which mahletonkwa understood. what a pity she did not speak english, but that could not be helped. how could he manage to take her out of earshot. "oh, where is my father? where is andrés?" she sobbed, in a passion of fear for the possible fate of her own people. "i heard two shots, and then i heard no more. were they there?" "oh, they're all right," said the american heartily, in the very cheerfullest tones he could muster. "don't you fret, señorita," and he patted reassuring the little hand he held in his, loosing his grip of his rifle to do so and squeezing the trusty weapon against his body with his elbow. "it was only me out there that they were shooting at; no harm done. your father and brother are all right." nevertheless this repetition by her of her anxious inquiries brought a disturbing idea into his head. had she any special reason for thinking that her father and her brother were wounded or slain? could the cacique's conjecture have been true, and had the mexicans overtaken mahletonkwa's band on the mesa del verendo and fought with them there and been beaten off? he longed to ask her about this, but he did not like to do so within hearing of the navajos. still, he reflected, mahletonkwa would hardly have met him so boldly if there was fresh blood on his hands. ah, but he might have done that to lure him into this trap; and now, behold, here he was in the wolf's lair! thoughts raced through his mind like lightning. then he spoke. "mahletonkwa, i suppose you make no objection to her coming with me now?" "not go," was the somewhat ominous reply; "stay here; sit down; talk." "but i want to talk to her by herself," he said; "i suppose you won't object, then, if we go to the middle of the meadow and sit down there?" "not go," repeated the indian deliberately; "yes, you can go and sit in there if you like," and he pointed to the overhanging side of the lava bed, close to which was the camp. "he means the cave there where the water is," quickly interposed the girl, who was by this time recovering the control of her voice, though her breast still heaved convulsively. "all right, then, certainly, let's come on there; that'll do as well," said the american with assumed ease. still keeping her hand in his, he turned in the direction indicated, and made a move as if to start. the other navajos rapidly exchanged some sentences in their own language. "you must leave your rifle if you go in there," said mahletonkwa, turning to stephens again after listening to what they said. "no," replied he, "certainly not. i'm no prisoner. no treachery, mahletonkwa." he slung himself round and faced the chief, placing himself directly in front of the captive girl, as if assuming possession of her. "no treachery," re-echoed the indian promptly, "only"--he hesitated to say what was in his mind, but manuelita divined it instantly. "their water is in the cave in a great rock-hole," she said, "and he fears you will take cover in there and then shoot at him from thence." "no, i won't, mahletonkwa," said stephens at once; "i won't do that, and i hadn't ever even thought of such a thing. it was your own suggestion that i should go there. i had rather go out in the middle of the meadow where i proposed first; there's no cover out in the meadow." "no, not there," said mahletonkwa; "better you go on into the cave"; and following his direction they went forward together hand in hand. right in under the lava bed there was visible a wide, overarching cavity extending some twenty or thirty feet back and at the far end of this lay a deep natural rock-cistern full of clear dark water. it was a hidden well. "this is their spring," said the girl, pointing to it. "these navajos know every secret water-spring in the country." the extraordinary quickness with which she had mastered her feelings, and now the perfectly natural tone in which she spoke, and the straightforward way in which she referred to her captors, greatly relieved the american's anxiety; had she suffered at their hands what his knowledge of the nature of indians had led him to dread, it seemed to him that she could not have spoken of them in this unembarrassed style. she had raised her eyes to his as she uttered the words, and though they were still wet with the tears that she had shed, their glance was frank and open; there was no trace in her mien of the dull despair of irreparable wrong he remembered in the victim of the sioux. his relief was shown by the reassured expression in his own eyes as he returned her glance, and said lightly; "oh yes, of course they must know them all; why, they're simply bound to know this whole country just like a book. they'd never be able to fly around in it, keeping themselves out of sight in the way they do, if they didn't." the pair seated themselves on the rock forming the lip of the cistern. they were here out of earshot of the indians if they did not speak loud. "now tell me, señorita," he began in a low voice, "how you were carried off." she blushed and looked down. "i hardly know how to say it," she said, "it was all so quick. i had got up and gone across the patio, thinking it was near daybreak--you know there was no moon--and never dreaming of the possibility of any danger inside the house, when i was seized from behind, and gagged and bound in a moment; and then they threw a riata round me and lifted me to the top of the house, and down the outside on to a pony's back, and i was hurried off i knew not where. oh, it was dreadful! i was gagged so that i could not even cry out, and i did not know where they were taking me or what would become of me. oh, i was terribly frightened!" she paused, quite overcome for the moment by the recollection. stephens felt a passion of pity sweep through his whole being at the thought of the helpless plight of this lovely girl in the hands of enemies--such enemies! "yes," he said soothingly, taking her hand again in his--they had unclasped hands as they sat down; "don't be afraid; you're all right now; but go on and tell me about it." "there isn't anything to tell," she answered with a little half-laugh that was almost hysterical. "they held me on a horse, and we rode and we rode and we rode, till i was so tired that i thought i should have fainted; but," said she proudly, "i didn't faint. then, when the daylight came, i was blindfolded with a rag--pah!"--she added with a little _moue_ of disgust--"such a dirty rag!--i don't like these indians,--they're not at all clean people." stephens could not help smiling to himself at this bit of petulance. if she had nothing worse to complain of than their lack of soap and water they could afford to smile a little now, he and she both. "yes," he assented with amused gravity, "they do show a most reprehensible neglect of the washtub. in fact, i don't suppose there's such a thing as a proper washboard in the whole navajo nation." their eyes met again, and they both laughed, he of set purpose to raise her spirits, she because she could not help it. the awful tension of her captivity, a tension that had never ceased for a moment, not even in her fitful and broken snatches of sleep, was relaxed at last. in the presence of this brave man who had come to rescue her, confidence returned, and now the reaction of feeling was so strong that, had she let herself go, she could have laughed as wildly as a maniac. but her spirit was unbroken, and she held herself in. "so, then, with that rag over your eyes you had no sort of idea where you were being taken to?" he said interrogatively. "no," she answered; "how could i? except, indeed, for the sun on my neck sometimes; that made me think we were going north or west a good deal,--at least it seemed as if we were." "exactly so; you were quite right," he said encouragingly; thinking to himself as he said so that she must have been a real plucky girl to have kept her head cool enough to allow her to observe things with so much accuracy. "yes," he repeated, "that was exactly your course at first, between north and west. and about your food? what did you do? had you anything to eat?" "nothing but raw dried meat," she answered, her pretty upper lip curving with disgust, "and it was so hard. my mouth aches with the pain of eating it. these savages don't know how to cook it properly; they chew it raw as they go along, generally; or if they stop and camp and make a fire, they have nothing to cook it in; they don't boil it or fry it; they don't always even pound it with a stone to make it soften, but just throw it on the coals till it is scorched, and then eat it so, all blackened and burned. savages!" and again she made a face to express her contempt for their very rudimentary ideas of cookery. once more their eyes met, and they both laughed again. "i am afraid," said he with grave apology, "that i have been careless, too. i haven't brought along anything nice for you to eat. in fact, i have nothing but dried meat myself, not even a scrap of tortilla left, to say nothing of candy; i wish i'd only thought of it when i was starting, but the fact is, i came off in a hurry." "yes," she cried in a repentant voice, "and i've been talking about myself the whole time. did you come with my father? do you know where he is? how did you find us?" "the pueblo indians knew of this place," he answered; "they led me here." he looked cautiously over his shoulder as he spoke, to see if there was any navajo near trying to play the eavesdropper on them. "your father and don andrés had set out with a strong party of mexicans before me. they started within an hour after it was known that you were gone. but your father sent word of it all to me up at the pueblo, and i got some of the indians to join me and started out, too. but we didn't come the same way as don andrés's party; we picked up the trail off towards the ojo escondido. you see, my indians believed that the navajos certainly were making for this place, and, in short, they led me straight here, and that's how we seem to have got in ahead of don andrés." "how clever of them to guess the hiding-place!" said she. "and now, shall we go home quite quick? perhaps we might meet my father and my brother on the way." "i've no doubt that'll be all right now," he said confidently; "i must just fix up things with mahletonkwa first." he paused; there was a question he could not put to her direct, and yet before treating further with the indian he wished to feel absolutely certain whether he should deal with him as one guilty of unpardonable wrong or not. he tapped the butt of his revolver significantly with his right hand, looked her full in the face for a moment, and then with an abrupt movement he rose to his feet and turned away from her; his right hand half drew the revolver from its holster, and made a gesture as if to offer it to her behind his back, but his eyes were fixed on the group outside the cave. "now, señorita," he said, "before i go to speak with him, tell me one thing: are you content to live? are you content to go back in peace to your people? or else--i guess you can understand me--here's my revolver for you; you can make an end with that, and i'll go out to those savages, and then, i swear by the wrath of god, you shall be revenged on some of them, anyhow, before i drop." "but why?" cried she with a little shudder of surprise at him, so unexpected to her was this suggestion. "they haven't done anything bad to me. i don't want anyone to be killed. they are very ignorant, uncivilised folk, but they treated me as well as they knew. i'm sorry if i complained about the dried meat they gave me. don't begin fighting with them, please,--not on my account. i thought you had made peace. i want to go home." he turned and looked at her. the naïve simplicity of her language reassured him completely. "all right, señorita," he said, "i'll see that you get safe home. i'll go and arrange with mahletonkwa now. i'm glad they treated you as well as they knew how. but say," he added, stooping over her and drawing the pistol completely out, "wouldn't you like me to leave this with you, just in case of accidents? there's always a sort of feeling of comfort in having a six-shooter handy." "no, no," said she, making a movement with her hands as if to push the unaccustomed object away from her, "i've never had one in my life to use. i shouldn't know what to do with it at all." half reluctantly he returned it to its case, thinking what a difference there was between a girl like this and the average western ranch-woman. american girls who lived on the frontier could shoot; they were more like men in that way; they were, comparatively speaking, independent; whereas this pretty creature depended solely upon him to protect her; so much the more reason, then, he argued with himself, for being cautious and diplomatic in his dealings with the navajos now. "well then, señorita," he said, "you'd better stay here a few minutes longer while i go back and speak to mahletonkwa. i guess it won't take us long to fix things." he took her hand in his and held it for a moment. it lay there in his firm clasp with a confidingness that thrilled through him; the sensation came on him as a new discovery. "why, this was what hands were meant for, to clasp each other." the ten long years of the unnatural divorce from womankind in which he had lived seemed to roll away as a dream. he had forgotten what a girl's hand was like; a quick impulse came on him to raise it to his lips, to clasp her in his arms and console her, only to be as quickly checked again. it would not be the fair thing; here she was relying entirely upon him for protection; it was for him to guard her, and to do no more. anything else must wait--must wait till she was once more in safety, completely mistress of herself again. but the flood of new ideas for the future sped through his mind with lightning rapidity. in moments of danger and excitement the wheels of thought turn at a rate that seems incredible afterwards. for one last, long minute he stood there, his hand locked in hers, looking into the deep, dark wells of her eyes. of what joy had not his desolate past robbed him? oh, why had he been blind to his chances all this winter, when he might have looked in her eyes like this any day; now he had found what made life worth living--and found it, perhaps, too late! was it too late? he would see about that. with a final pressure of her gentle fingers, each one of which he seemed to feel separately pressing his in response, he turned away and strode out of the cave towards the group of navajos in the meadow. and who shall say what were the girl's feelings, left thus alone in the cave while her fate was being decided by the men sitting out there in the sun? hope lifted her heart high,--hope after despair, like the blue sky after a thunderstorm, unimaginably bright, the hope of recovered freedom, of return to the longed-for hearth, of the embraces of her father and the dear ones at home. but there were fears too: after all, might not her deliverer fail yet? he had reached her,--could he rescue her? would he, single-handed, be able to prevail over these savages? was there nothing she might do, weak woman as she was, to help him? instinctively her fingers felt within her dress for the beads she wore, and fast flowed her prayers for his success; when she paused and looked anxiously out she saw him seated on the ground, the rifle in his lap, the indians in their own style squatting round, and all faces grave with serious debate. it was her fate they were discussing, but it was his, too. in the intense sunlight she could mark the hard-set lines of his face; he was stubborn with the indians about something or other; they wanted something he would not give? why would he not give it. "oh, give way to them," she could have cried to him. "do let them have it--do. only make peace, and let us return together"; peace, peace, peace, that was what she yearned for, peace and freedom! but she spoke no word, she knew that she must leave it to him, and once more she fell to her prayers. chapter xxi driving a bargain and why was this debate between the american and the navajos so stubborn and tedious? when two shrewd men are each determined to drive the best bargain he can, and neither trusts the other, the diplomacy between a frontiersman and a redskin may be as lengthy as if it were between rival ambassadors of contending empires. in their secret hearts both stephens and mahletonkwa were anxious to come to an understanding, but each thought it politic to simulate comparative indifference, and not to give any advantage to his opponent by betraying undue eagerness. stephens demanded at the outset the immediate restoration of the captive to her father, safe and sound. granted that, he was willing to promise fair compensation for the navajo who had been slain, and amnesty for the subsequent outrage of carrying off the girl; and also he was ready in person to guarantee these terms. he could offer no less, much as he longed to see her abductors punished, because it was obvious that, as long as they were not secure from retaliation, they would prefer to keep possession of her to the last possible moment, and take their punishment fighting. to this first demand mahletonkwa signified his willingness to agree, but only on conditions. stephens's offer was an amnesty and fair compensation. that was precisely what he wanted. fair compensation, plus an amnesty. but the question arose, what was fair compensation? and here for a time they split. stephens maintained that don nepomuceno's offer of a hundred and twenty-five dollars cash, was fair. mahletonkwa would not hear of it. his dead brother was worth a great deal more than that. he had asked a thousand dollars for him, and a thousand dollars he intended to have. apart from that he had no use for the captive. "pay the bill, and take the girl," that was the sum and substance of his argument; "and if her father won't pay, will you?" right here the american saw it was essential to make a stand. if he weakly yielded to this preposterous claim, mahletonkwa would be sure to conclude that he was scared into acquiescence and could have no soldiers or indian scouts in any force to back him up. that being so, most likely the navajo would raise his terms, and ask perhaps double, treble, quadruple,--anything he pleased in short,--till the whole affair became a farce! no, mahletonkwa's thousand-dollar demand was almost certainly a bluff. then why shouldn't he try a bluff, too? "i can't do it, mahletonkwa," said he with an air of finality, but speaking more in sorrow than in anger, as one who sees good business slipping through his fingers. "i'd like to come to terms first-rate, but i can't meet you there. you're too stiff in your figures. it's not a deal." he thought of the girl sitting there all alone in the cave, and his kindly heart longed to say, "what's a thousand dollars, more or less? hang it all, here, take it! or rather, take my word for it, and let's be off home." but prudence whispered, no. mahletonkwa calmly repeated his demand. he, too, thought it wisest to play the part of the close-fisted trader, and show no hurry to make a bargain. "well, look here then, mahletonkwa and navajos all," said the american, appealing directly to the cupidity of the followers as well as of the chief. "it's a big thing i've offered you on my own hook already in this matter of the amnesty. it's a big thing for me to say i'll stand between you and uncle sam" (he did not say uncle sam, but the great father at washington); "but i stick by that, and i'll do it. and i've offered you payment for the dead man, same as don nepomuceno, a hundred and twenty-five dollars; and you say it aint enough. now, i can't meet you the whole way, but i'll raise my offer a bit, and you can take it or leave it. it's my last word." he rose to the level of the part he was playing, and threw himself into it with all the sincerity he was master of. "you see that rifle"--he pointed to the long, heavy, muzzle-loading hunter's rifle that lay beside mahletonkwa's right knee--"well, i'll give you the weight of that rifle in silver dollars. me, looking as i do, i'll see that you get them. there's my word upon it. this is my personal offer to compensate you for your dead brother. you shall have silver dollars enough to weigh down that rifle on the scales. i don't know how many that'll take, but it's bound to be a right big pile. now understand me, you chaps, we'll take a balance, a fair and square balance, and put the rifle in one scale and pour silver dollars into the other till the rifle kicks the beam. _sabe?_" the sons of the desert looked one at another, and curious excited sounds came from their lips, and significant gestures were made. some of them had actually seen scales used to weigh out the rations at fort defiance, and they quite understood what they were for, and made the thing clear to the less instructed among them. the american saw that his offer had created an impression, and he did his best to rub it in. "you'll find it pay you to accept, mahletonkwa," he said. "you'll be able to fix things in grand style with all that silver. here, let's have a look at that rifle of yours, and let me heft it." he put out his hand cautiously--no objection was offered; he laid it on the piece--still no objection; he raised the rifle slowly on both palms, dandling it, as it were, up and down. "why, it's a real heavy gun. it don't weigh less than twelve or thirteen pounds, i reckon. i tell you that'll come to no end of a lot of silver; all silver dollars, mind you; and it'll take hundreds of them, you bet, to weigh down this gun." he turned his eyes from one to the other of the redskins, and they seemed to understand him as he laid it down again beside the chief. it was clear that his way of putting it had a great effect on the navajos. to tell the truth, most of mahletonkwa's followers had by this time begun to tire of their recent escapade. they had sallied out from their own country under his leadership, at the summons of ankitona, the headman of their clan, to obtain the redress for the death of a member of their clan called for by their peculiar religion. but so far they had not taken much by their move. they had not as yet got any compensation; they had carried off a mexican girl; and now they were beginning to feel that in doing so they had decidedly risked putting their heads in a noose. they began to believe they were in danger of being surrounded by united states soldiers, here in the lava beds, and were likely to have an extremely unpleasant time of it ere long unless they succeeded in escaping to a new hiding-place. the cool confidence shown by this solitary man coming forward so boldly to treat with them convinced them that he must have a strong force behind him. and now he was making an offer of a complete amnesty, plus a heap of silver dollars. first one and then another began to urge mahletonkwa to close the bargain. he was a chief, of course, and upon him, as such, rested the responsibility of making decisions; but a navajo chief is practically very much in the hands of his followers. when actually under fire they may obey him well enough, but when it comes to questions of policy, if the greater number are dissatisfied with his schemes or his methods, they simply leave him, and he finds himself deserted. he has no power to coerce them. call this anarchy, if you will, or call it liberty, it is at all events the very opposite of despotism. no navajo chief can play the despot; and mahletonkwa, conscious that his authority was slipping from him, acceded to the terms, which indeed gave him nearly all he wanted. "_bueno_, sooshiuamo", said he, using stephens's indian name in a friendly way, "i accept your offer, and there shall be peace between us. but you must agree to stay with us when we come out from the lava beds, and you must go with us all the way to san remo for the money, and you must prevent any trouble with the soldiers or with the mexicans if they try to hurt us. you promise that?" "yes," said stephens slowly, weighing every word of the indian's speech, "i'll promise that. i'll see you safe to the settlement and pay you the money with my own hands. and if we meet any americans or mexicans who are after you, i'll explain that it is peace, and they are not to attack. i'll guarantee that much." "then," said the indian, "it is peace between us; peace is made and sure." "peace it is," said stephens, rising; "and now by your leave i'll go and tell the señorita, and then go and tell my men." he hurried back to the cave where he had left her, and found her on her knees. he had laughed at the orisons offered up by the santiago people before blasting the acequia; he did not laugh at hers. she sprang up at his approach. "we've fixed it all right," he said, "so don't you fret, señorita. i was real sorry to have to keep you so long in suspense, but i couldn't well help it. i'll explain all that to you later. but peace is made, and we're going back to san remo together, you and me, along with the navajos, and we'll start right away. but i've got to go over to where i left my party yonder in the lave beds, and explain the whole arrangement to them. otherwise there might be considerable of a fuss. now, don't you fret," he took her hand again to reassure her, "you'll be all right, and i won't be gone many minutes. you're sure, now, you won't get scared?" "if you say you will come back," she answered, "i know you will come back, and i will try to be brave till you do." with one glad pressure of her hand and one more long look into her eyes he turned away and left her. she watched his active steps as he hastened across the oasis and sprang up the broken lava rocks beyond. on the summit he turned and looked back in her direction, and waved his hand as a signal to her that all was well. five minutes later he bounded down into the grassy opening where his mare was feeding with the four horses of the pueblos. the cacique and the three others ran to meet him. "how have you succeeded?" exclaimed the cacique. "who was that shooting? have you shot any of them?" "not me," replied stephens. "i've been making peace, i have. i found mahletonkwa had just as lief trade as fight, and a bit more so. 'ditto,' says i to that, and just talked peace talk to him, and we made things square. cacique, you were plumb right about whailahay; they haven't harmed the girl. i've fixed it up with them about compensation for their dear departed, and we 're all going back to san remo together, to take her home and get the silver for them. see?" the cacique looked rather disconcerted. "i don't want to join company with these navajos out here," he said decidedly. "oh, i didn't mean you," rejoined the american; "i quite understand that you might feel a delicacy in obtruding yourself on them out here in no-man's-land. they might have heard of that little affair of the seven navajos in the sweat-house, eh? and this might seem a good time and place to pay off old scores?" his spirits had gone up with a bound, and he found it impossible not to chaff the cacique a little. "no, cacique; you brought me here upon their trail just like a smell-dog, as i wanted you to do, and i've managed the rest of the business myself. now, what i want you to do is to take their back trail and meet don nepomuceno and his party--they're sure to have found it again by now and to be following it up--and you tell them how i've fixed things, and say the señorita's all right and we'll meet them in san remo. stop, i'll write it down here on a scrap of paper and you can take it to them; that'll be best." he produced a pencil and a small note-book, tore out a leaf and hastily wrote on it his message to the mexican. "there, cacique," said he handing it to him, "give that to don nepomuceno when you see him, and tell him the whole show. i'd like to have you wait and meet us at san remo if you get back there before us. _hasta luego._" he gathered up the riata of the mare, and started to pick his way with her through the lava beds to the oasis where the navajos were camped, while the pueblos speedily made themselves scarce in the opposite direction. by the time stephens reached the camp the navajos had collected their scanty equipment and bound it on their saddles; they all took a long drink of pure, cool water from the hidden "tinaja" or rock-cistern, and, leading their animals, made the best of their way over the lava beds to the open country. stephens explained to mahletonkwa before starting that he had arranged for his party to return to san remo by the route they came. "_bueno_," said mahletonkwa shortly, "and we will go by another. i know many trails through the sierra; there is one that i like well, and i will take you by it." "right you are," said stephens, "that suits me. lead on." his object now was to avoid any chance of a collision between the navajos and mexicans till they should meet at san remo. manuelita walked beside him as they followed the winding and difficult trail taken, by the navajos through the lava beds, but as soon as they emerged from them and found themselves on the smooth ground beyond, he spread a blanket over the saddle to make it easy for her, and insisted on her riding morgana while he ran alongside. after a while the leading indians came to a halt, and were seen to be examining the ground intently. when stephens and the girl came up to them he found that they had cut their own trail made by themselves the previous day. but there were more hoof-marks in it now than those of the eleven ponies, and they were busily studying the newer signs. stephens looked at them, too; they were undoubtedly the tracks of the pursuing party under don nepomuceno; it was hard to say just how many of them there were, as they were confused with those of the indians, and the mexican horses being barefooted, like the indian ponies, it was impossible to distinguish them. but there were more than a dozen at least, and not one of them wore shoes. "no soldiers in this party," said mahletonkwa, looking up at stephens suspiciously. united states army horses are always shod, as he well knew. "certainly not," answered the american unhesitatingly. "these are not the tracks of my party. i never was over this piece of ground before. my scouts cut your trail farther on." "you had the santiago scouts with you?" said the navajo; "i was sure of that when you came to the lava beds so quick. which of them did you have?--the cacique?" his dark eyes snapped as he mentioned him. "miguel, perhaps, that tall, slim one with the scar on his cheek?" he knew a good deal about the santiago folk; after the submission of the navajos had ended the long wars, there had been some intercourse between the former enemies. stephens thought it better not to give any names. "oh, i got some good trailers," he said easily; "but there are other pueblos besides santiago, and there are trailers in all of them. cochiti has men who are first-class on reading signs." "i know you had that santiago cacique," said mahletonkwa cunningly. "then if you think so, you'd better ask him to tell you about it when we get back to the settlement," rejoined the american. they entered the sierra a little before nightfall, and were soon involved in a difficult and tortuous way amidst pine-crowned crags and precipices. sometimes their horses' feet clattered upon shady slopes of débris; at times they trod softly upon a padded carpet of fir-needles. they were traversing a little cañon just after sunset, when, nearly two hundred yards away on the opposite side, the forms of a herd of deer were silhouetted against the fading sky. instinctively stephens threw up his rifle to his shoulder; he got a bead as well as he could, though it was too dark to pick the exact spot on the animal's side as he pressed the trigger, and at the sharp report the band of dark forms disappeared as if by magic, but the loud "thud" of the bullet proclaimed that one of them had been struck. instantly he and three of the navajo young men dashed on foot across the little gorge and scaled the opposite steep, faro leading the way. the bulldog nosed around for a moment where the deer had been, and as the climbers emerged on top they heard him give one joyful yelp as he darted forward on the scent; two minutes later they heard his triumphant bark, and when they got up to the spot they found him over the dead carcass of a yearling buck, shot through the lungs. it had run some five hundred yards before it dropped, and the bulldog coming up had seized it by the throat and finished the business. the indians were loud in praise of the dog, as their knives rapidly and skilfully dressed and cut up the game, while stephens looked on and rewarded his pet with the tit-bits. all three of the navajos spoke spanish well enough for him to understand them as they praised the dog, but when they turned over the deer, and found the place where the conical bullet had come out on the other side, they changed from spanish into navajo, and significant laughter followed as they pointed out to one another the two holes, and then pointed to stephens's rifle. suddenly it flashed across him that they had got a joke on about something, and that it was not a thing new to him. their manner made him think instantly of the day when he drove the nail, and mahletonkwa pointed to his winchester and told the funny story--funny, that is to say, for the navajos--about the murder of the prospector. though he understood no word of what they said, their gestures were too full of meaning for him to mistake them. "i say," said he abruptly, but with seeming carelessness, "aint this the place that mahletonkwa told that story about? about the man who was shot with his own rifle, you know?" the young indian who was stooping over the game stopped and withdrew his hand from the deer. "what makes you think that?" he asked. "well," said stephens, "he said it happened up in these mountains, and i heard him say, also, that he was particularly fond of this trail we're on. so i just guessed it might have been pretty nigh where we are now." "so it was," said the indian, whom stephens had learned to know as kaniache, "it was right up this gulch where it opens out above." they had crossed a divide in their chase after the wounded buck, and were in another little cañon not unlike the one where they had left the rest of the party. the darkness was increasing every minute, but the indian knew precisely where they were. stephens marked the place in his memory as well as he could, and resolved that he would return to it as soon as might be, to seek out and bury the bones of the unfortunate victim of navajo treachery and cunning. they gathered up the meat of their quarry, and hastening back to where the rest of the party were waiting for them, they pushed on for fully two hours by the light of the moon, in spite of the difficulty of the way. camp was made at last by a little stream in a park, and a fire was lighted, though mahletonkwa was so suspicious of being followed that he put a couple of scouts to watch their back trail and signal the approach of any possible pursuers. stephens sat down by the fire, and set to work roasting pieces of the venison on spits of willow for manuelita and himself. she was tired, but not exhausted, and he could not but wonder at the power she exhibited of enduring fatigue, she who ordinarily took no more exercise than that involved in doing her share of the labours of the household, varied by walking over to the store or paying a visit to a neighbour. but she came of a tireless race. it might be said of the spanish _conquistadores_, that for them-- "the hardest day was never too hard, nor the longest day too long," and this endurance has descended to the women sprung from them as well as to their sons. stephens aired for her benefit the only wraps he had to offer her, the blankets that had been under and over the saddle; but he went to a clump of young pines growing near, and with his hunting-knife hewed off a quantity of the small shoots from the ends of the boughs. "you'll never guess in a month of sundays, señorita, what we call these on the frontier," said he, as he proceeded to arrange them in neat layers, to make for her an elastic couch. "give it up? we call them 'colorado feathers,' and they're no slouches in the way of feathers neither. besides, they say the smell of turpentine's mighty wholesome. the doctors in denver recommend camping out to the consumptives who come out for their health, just that they may get the benefit of them. spruce makes the best, and it's the most aromatic." "here, you get out, faro," he apostrophised his dog, who had as usual promptly taken possession of the blankets as soon as they were spread down, "you get out of that, that's not your place;" and he pushed him off. "oh, don't hurt him!" cried the girl; "he likes it; let him stay." "well, all right, then, señorita," he said, pleased that his pet should find favour, "if you don't mind having him there, he'll lie at your feet and keep them warm; and now you'd better lie down and rest yourself all you can, for we aint home yet, and you can bet it's a 'rocky road to dublin' through this sierra that we've got to go to-morrow"; and with these words he turned away to the fire. "but," cried she, looking at the provision he had made for her, "you have kept no blanket for yourself; you must take one or you will freeze." his generosity distressed her. "no fear," he returned without looking at her, while he deliberately settled himself down beside the fire and lit his pipe with a coal, "no fear, señorita. i'm calculating to keep guard anyhow, and there's lots of firewood here. that's the beauty of a mountain camp." "no, thank you, mahletonkwa," this was spoken to the chief, who at this juncture came and offered him a blanket, being anxious to conciliate the man whom he now depended on for so much, "not for me, thank you; _muchas gratias_; i'm all right. i'm going to keep this fire warm, and watch the 'guardias' circle round the north star." the "warders," two bright stars of the little bear, act as the hour-hand of a clock which has the pole for its centre, and by them a frontiersman on night-herd knows when his watch begins and ends. the indians, suspicious as ever of a possible attack, kept aloof from the fire, and lay down to sleep at a little distance outside the ring of light. stephens established himself on the windward side of the fire, and set up the skin of the buck he had shot as a windbreak behind his back against the chill night air of the sierra. tired as he was with his long day's walk on foot, he lay there, warming first one side and then the other, and replenishing the fire at intervals, while he listened to the well-known sounds that from time to time broke the silence of the hours of watch--the sough of the night wind in the pines, like waves beating upon a far-off shore; the strange, nocturnal love-call of an unseen bird; the long-drawn, melancholy howl of a night-wandering wolf, seeking his meat abroad; and once his ears thrilled at the agonising death-cry of a creature that felt the sudden grip of the remorseless fangs of the beast of prey. "beasts of prey," he mused, "yes, that's just what we humans are too, the most of us, and we take our turn to be victims. killers and killed. well, if anybody's to blame for it, i suppose it's the nature of man." going back in his mind over the events of the day, he recalled the fierce desire to shed blood that had possessed him when he left the cacique and his fellows and set out to handle these navajos alone. it seemed as if that much-angered man with the tense-strung nerves was some other than he. now, peace was made, the captive was safe; and as he looked at the girl sleeping there unharmed, dreaming, it might well be, of her safe return home on the morrow, he felt a sort of mechanical wonder at the rage that had then filled his heart. he thought, too, of the shots that had been fired at him by the navajo,--he had not cared to inquire which one it was,--and in imagination he felt the hot lead splash on his cheek again. he had been mighty near the jumping-off place that time, sure. and yet it had been all about nothing, so to speak. it had been a sort of mistake. he had wanted peace, really, and so had they; yet how near they had come to turning that little oasis into a slaughter-house. fate was a queer thing. he looked up at the velvet black of the sky overhead and the endless procession of the stars. the moon had gone, but jupiter still blazed in the western heavens. what did it all mean, and what was one put here for, anyway? he confessed to himself that he did not know; that he had no theory of life; he lived from day to day, doing the work that lay next him, and doing it with his might; but in the watches of the night he brooded now--not for the first time--over the old problem, "was life worth living, and if so, why?" to that question he was not sure that he had any answer to give. perhaps the secret might lie in caring for somebody very much, and at present he cared for nobody--very much--so far as he knew. suppose that navajo bullet had found its billet in his brain, thus it seemed to him in these morbid imaginings of the weary night watch, he would be sleeping now the last sleep of all, like that other victim in the cañon over yonder; and what was there in that that he should mind it? perhaps it would have been better so--perhaps, yes, perhaps. chapter xxii a wounded man when the triumphant cacique rode off with the daughter he had recaptured on the banks of the rio grande, he left felipe stretched upon the ground, breathless from his last desperate rush and half stupefied with despair. the angry voice of the cacique sounded farther and farther off; the hoof-beats of the horses died away in the distance. felipe lifted his head from the sand; he was alone under the wide sky by the great river. the monotonous rush of the water seemed to intensify the stillness; the sun blazed down out of the blue sky; everything was at peace except the despairing, rebellious heart of the boy alone in the desert. how could everything go on so quietly when such a wicked thing had just been done? why did not the cacique's horse stumble and fall and kill him as he deserved? why was life so full of injustice and cruelty? poor felipe! the first time that it is brought home to us that the scheme of events has not been arranged for our personal satisfaction, nay, that it may involve our extreme personal misery, is a hard trial--too hard sometimes for a philosopher; how much more so for a poor, untaught indian boy. "cruel, savage, barbarous," he groaned, as he thought of the blows that had rained down upon the shrinking form of his sweetheart. "poor little thing! poor little josefa! i can do nothing for you now; i had best go and drown myself--there is nothing left to live for." he got up and walked deliberately towards the river. but before he reached the brink he had had time to reflect. "nothing left to live for?" he thought. "yes, there is. i could kill salvador first. i could get my father's gun and do it. i don't care if they do hang me afterwards." he knelt down on the river-bank, and bending his head over the water he dipped his left hand in, and by a quick throwing movement of the wrist tossed a continuous stream of water into his mouth in the wonderful indian fashion which gives quite the effect of a dog lapping. as he quenched his burning thirst, and felt the cool, refreshing dash of the water against his face, his spirit rose. "i'll go straight back," he said to himself, with a dangerous expression on his set face. "i don't need any rest. i'll be there before the sun's much past noon, and he'll be dead before night." he washed the blood from his right arm and examined the wound. the bullet had struck him between the elbow and shoulder and had passed out again without touching the bone. the second shot had missed him. he tore some strips from his shirt, and bound it up as well as he could with his left hand aided by his teeth. he drew his belt tighter to keep off hunger, and drank again before facing the long leagues of waterless desert between him and santiago. he looked at the rolling river and at the farther shore where he had so longed to be. "_rio maldito!_" he cried. "accursed stream, what happiness you have robbed me of! what misery you have wrought us! why could you not wait only one day longer?" he turned away, set his face towards the pueblo, and began his weary journey. he soon found the weight of his arm grow more and more painful as his pulse beat faster with movement, and he had to carry it across his body, supporting it with the other. but he pushed on with a steady, untiring gait, showing the marvellous power of his race to bear pain and fatigue and hunger and thirst. on all the western frontier there is no white man that is not proud to be credited with "indian endurance." curiously enough, he felt no fear. the cacique's threat to kill him did not affect his purpose in the slightest. he had recoiled from instant death when the pistol cracked in his face, but that was only instinctive, defenceless as he was against a man with firearms. he felt no shame at having done so. it did not seem to him cowardly to avoid being killed if he could. but he did not flinch for a moment when he thought of returning to the pueblo. no doubt salvador would try to carry out his threat. "well," thought he, "i must be beforehand with him. if i can't hold my father's gun with this sore arm, i must get tito's pistol; tito is my friend; he will not be afraid to let me have it." the sun rose high in the heavens and beat down upon him as he toiled along, parching him with thirst. he was travelling the same trail back to santiago that he had traversed the night before. the tracks of the horses going and returning were plainly visible. but what a change for him! a few hours before he had ridden that way feeling every inch a man, with his sweetheart in his arms and the happiness of a lifetime within his grasp; and now--as the thought stung him he pulled himself together and forced his weary feet to carry him on faster. but anger had made him overestimate his own powers, in declaring that he would be back, and the cacique dead, before night. his strength gave out, and he had to lie down time and again to recover force enough to go on at all. night overtook him, and he was compelled to stop and light a fire under the lee of a cedar bush, and rest himself in the warmth of it till dawn. then he set forward, once more, slowly and stiffly, but ever pressing onwards, with his face turned towards the village that was his home, the village where his sweetheart must now be lying at the mercy of her pitiless father. what might not he have done to her ere this! that torturing thought goaded him to renewed efforts. when he reached the edge of the mesa he was crossing, he looked down into the sandy valley that separated him from the next one; and there right below him, coming at brisk pace, was a mounted indian. he instantly crouched down to watch if the new-comer were friend or foe; but in a minute he sprang from his concealment. it was tito,--tito on the mule of the american. with a joyful cry he ran to meet him. tito knew him and shouted back in welcome. "why, felipe!" he cried, "i was looking for your body, and here you are alive. jump up and i'll take you right back. but you're wounded," he added, seeing his arm bound up. "is it bad? let me help you up," and he jumped off to help his friend to mount to the saddle. "salvador gave me a shot," answered felipe as he got on with tito's help; "but it's not very bad." tito turned the mule's head round towards santiago, and jumping on behind struck out for home. the tough little mule made light of the double burden, and rejoicing in the prospect of going back to his beloved mare set off briskly. "now tell me all about it," said tito eagerly. "tell me first," answered felipe, "where is salvador? what has he done with josefa?" "salvador is made prisoner by the americano," replied tito, "for killing you. they think you're dead over there, and they've given josefa to sooshiuamo, hoping to keep him from taking the cacique to santa fé. he asked for her." felipe's heart gave a sudden bound. he knew of course that there were white men in many of the indian tribes with half-breed families, but he had never thought of don estevan as that sort of man. "_valgame dios!_" he cried. "what does he want her for?" "who knows?" replied tito guardedly. "perhaps he wants someone to cook for him and to take care of the house when he is away. it was he that stopped the cacique from beating her." "_valgame dios!_" said felipe again. he hardly heard the rest of tito's story. he was filled with new fears. was everyone against him? was the americano, of all men in the world, to be the one to supplant him? he remained silent a while, but his suspicions were too strong to be entirely concealed. "how did he ask for her?" he inquired. "tell me, tito." "he said the pueblo had agreed to give him anything he wanted for blasting the rock," answered tito; "and he said that he wanted her. so salvador gave her to him. they all told salvador to do it, for they thought then he wouldn't take him to santa fé. they all agreed to it. sooshiuamo has put her with reyna. she's there now." "tito," said felipe very earnestly, "will you lend me your pistol?" "what for?" said tito. felipe hesitated. two conflicting plans of vengeance were struggling within him. then he answered, "the cacique said he'd kill me if i came back. if he has a pistol, i ought to have one. it wasn't fair there by the river." "nonsense," said tito; "he's not going to kill you. didn't sooshiuamo make him a prisoner because he thought he had? why, he was going to take him to santa fé to be hanged for it. the cacique was frightened, i can tell you. he won't touch you now, felipe. sooshiuamo won't let him." "oh, i'm sick of hearing of sooshiuamo," broke in felipe impatiently. "why won't you lend it to me, tito? you used to." "that was to go after wild cows," said tito. "now i don't know what you want." "i want to defend myself," said felipe in a hurt tone. "but there's no need to," said tito. "never mind what salvador said. he was angry then. he is frightened now. don't you mind him. it'll be all right. i'm taking you straight back to sooshiuamo, just as he told me. he'll manage it." it was easy to see who was tito's hero now. they came to the edge of the last mesa and looked down upon the santiago valley. tito jumped off to ease the mule, who cleverly picked his way down the steep, rocky escarpment. at the bottom he sprang on again, and they cantered in the last league over the lowlands. felipe resigned himself to fate. "if he wrongs her, i'll have his heart's blood," he thought, but the imaginary "he" was not the cacique. they reached the corrals, and they heard the cry raised of "tito's coming! tito's here!" they pushed on through the crowd to the american's house, and tito, proud of his success, sprang off before the door. "see, sooshiuamo, i have brought him," he shouted out joyfully, thinking he was there, as he aided his friend to dismount. "here's felipe. he's not dead, but he has a bullet wound." he pulled the latch-string, but the door refused to open. it was locked. "i reckon you must shout a bit louder if you want mr. sooshiuamo, as you fellers call him," remarked a man who lounged against the wall near reyna's door, which was only a few yards from stephens's. "he aint to home just now." "why, where is he?" cried the boys in concert. "gone off with the cacique," answered backus, for it was he; "mebbe he thought change of air would be wholesome after all that rumpus they're bin having this morning"; he laughed an evil laugh. "oh," cried tito, "i suppose he's done as he said he would, taken him to santa fé for killing felipe. but why couldn't he wait a little? here i've brought him back felipe no more dead than i am." "no, nor he aint taken him to santa fé, neither," rejoined the texan, with a malicious pleasure in mystifying the boys. he had gone straight to the cacique's house in his dripping garments after his fall into the ditch, and had waited there, meditating revenge, while they were being dried for him, during which interval he had obtained a full account of all that had taken place, including the fact that josefa had been transferred to the prospector and was now under his protection at reyna's. he had just walked over to reyna's, in the hope of interviewing the girl, when the mule with the two boys on his back came in sight. "all that gas of his about santa fé was nothing but a blind," he went on; "what he wanted was to get miss josefa for himself. and he's done it, too." he noted the flash in felipe's eyes as he said this. "yes, he's got her bottled up tight, inside here." he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the house against which he was leaning. "but that's only to save her from her father," exclaimed tito hotly. "he was thrashing her like fury, and sooshiuamo stopped him and took her away from him." tito did not feel quite sure himself what stephens's ultimate object might have been,--americans were such very unaccountable people anyhow,--but he was not going to have this other american saying things about the man who was his particular hero at the moment, without sticking up for him. "jes' so," rejoined the texan, "he's got her away from her daddy, and he's got her for himself. that's the size of it exactly." felipe said nothing, but the rage and despair which had taken possession of his heart made him perfectly convinced that the base innuendo of the texan was only the simple truth. tito made another effort to withstand the sinister meaning of the words. "but he hasn't taken her to live with him," he said. "she's not in his house; it's locked up." "yes," said backus, "for a very good reason. he's gone off hunting navajos, and he's too jealous of her to leave her there by herself. so he's stowed her away, nice and handy, with his most particular friend next door. see? why, it's as clear as mud." "what's he gone hunting navajos for, though?" asked the puzzled young indian. "what, don't you know?" said the texan. "oh, i suppose the news came after you'd started. well, there's a pretty kettle of fish. the navajos have bagged miss sanchez, and run her off lord knows where, and mr. sooshiuamo, instead of taking his newly made father-in-law off to jail, is using him as a smell-dog to run their trail. he and miss josefa's daddy are as thick as thieves now. aint it so, what i've said?" and he appealed to the other indians standing round for confirmation. the incredulous tito appealed to them, too; but the texan had stated the fact correctly enough; and as for the interpretation he put on them, well, that was a matter where everyone must judge for himself. opinions varied as to that, but the general verdict was in backus's favour. felipe threw up his unwounded arm in adjuration. "if he takes her from me," he cried, "my curse upon him from the bottom of my heart." "you seem to take it hard, young man," said backus eyeing him keenly. "say, though, you're looking rather dilapidated. what's wrong with you anyway?" "he's got a bullet in his arm," answered tito for him. "then why the mischief couldn't you say so before, you plumb idiot?" exclaimed the texan, who instantly divined that here was a chance to make friends with the youth who would now and henceforward be stephens's bitterest enemy. "come in here, young 'un, and let me look at it," he said, addressing felipe; "it's a pity if i don't know a thing or two about gunshot wounds." he knocked at reyna's door, and when she appeared he said apologetically, "won't you let me bring in a wounded man who wants seeing to?" reyna did not want either him or felipe, seeing that she had already one invalid in the house, in the shape of josefa, whom she was nursing in an inner room, and she particularly objected to any complications with felipe in stephens's absence. but to be hospitable is a cardinal virtue of the race, and she admitted them in spite of the difficulties she felt. after all, josefa was safely stowed away out of sight and hearing. the texan placed the boy on the ground close to the light, and with the rude skill of the frontier undid the makeshift bandage. the wound was naturally somewhat inflamed; he cleansed it with water and clean rags supplied by reyna, and did it up again for the patient. "there aint no bullet in that," he said, "or i'm a dutchman. but you're liable to have an ugly arm, if you don't look after it properly. now you listen to me. you go right home to your mammy, and have a bite to eat, and lie down and keep quiet. keep plumb still, d'you mark me, and don't go talking. rest's what you're wanting this minute. but i can't dress your wound properly here, for i haven't the right stuff with me. i've got some rare good stuff at the store, though, that works like a charm. now, you come down to me there, this evening when you're rested, and i'll fix it for you good. you do jes' as i tell you, and i'll make a well man of you yet. _sabe?_" he helped the boy to his feet and led him to the door. "but i want to see josefa," said the boy, addressing reyna; "i've got something to say to her. where is she?" "you'd better go right along and lie down," said backus, disregarding the interruption; "you aint fit to talk to her now, nor she aint fit to talk to you." "let me see her," cried the boy passionately. "i must." "hush!" said the old squaw severely, "she's asleep. you'll disturb her. do what the kind gentleman says, and go home." backus had said not a word to a soul as to his fracas with stephens, nor had it been observed by any of the pueblo people, so that reyna had no idea of his hostility to stephens, to whom she was devoted. had she known of it she would not have called him "kind gentleman," nor even let him inside her door. now, however, she backed him in starting felipe for home under tito's charge, the texan reiterating his injunctions to keep quiet when he got there. then he turned quickly to the mistress of the house. "and how's the other invalid getting on? how's the new mrs. stephens?" "she does very well, now," said the squaw cautiously. "don't you think i'd better prescribe for her?" asked the texan; "i'm a boss doctor, me, for wounds and bruises"; in saying which he did but speak the truth. "come on, let's have a look at her." "she's resting now," said the squaw. "better she try to go to sleep." "oh, pshaw!" said the storekeeper; "it'll do her all the good in the world to see me. come along, old lady, trot her out." but though mr. backus had had reason for his boast when he declared that he had had a good deal of experience of indians, and that too of different sorts, he found now that he knew precious little of pueblo indians, and next to nothing of the nature of the pueblo squaw. this stout, jolly, comfortable-looking old lady (not so very old, either), whom he had imagined he could order about by virtue of his position as one of the superior sex as well as of the superior race, proved to have a decided will of her own. it was her house he was in, her very own, and, what was more, she was mistress in it, and did not for one moment mean to abdicate. she had no notion of being told to do this or that by anybody so long as she was inside her own door, and this she let him know. she was a woman of the turquoise clan, and the turquoise women owned that block of buildings, and their motto was, "what's mine's my own." the astonished storekeeper found he had to swallow the fact that josefa was invisible to him for the present, and he was sharp enough to see that it would do him not the slightest good to bluster. so he kept a civil tongue in his head, thanked reyna profusely for allowing him to dress felipe's wound in her house, and promised to call again soon. then he went off to the cacique's stable and got his own horse, which was waiting for him there, and rode slowly home revolving fresh schemes of revenge. chapter xxiii a picnic party the discovery of felipe seemed quite a godsend to backus as he wended his way through the indian lands back to san remo. had he had a pistol on him when stephens struck him that morning he would have shot him, or tried to shoot him, then and there. but now that his fit of passion had gone by, he determined to pay the prospector out in his own way and at his own time. looking at the matter in cooler blood he could see that he would let himself in for a lot of trouble if he killed stephens with his own hand. in the first place, there would be a trial, and lawyers to be paid, and that would come expensive, very expensive; and, secondly, stephens had friends capable of going on the war-path. these confounded redskin allies of his seemed so unaccountably devoted to him that they might take it into their heads to perforate anyone who harmed him in a highly unpleasant manner, to judge not only by tito's talk, but by the action of this stubborn old squaw, who had flatly told him at last that he shouldn't even set eyes on stephens's girl in his absence. and now here was just what he wanted, an instrument prepared to his hand. with a little judicious spurring, a little help on the sly, felipe would be quite ready to stick a knife in stephens's back some night, or blow the top of his head off, and he, backus, would stand entirely clear--ay, need not even lose the trade of the pueblo. really it seemed quite providential. the only question that occurred to him was, whether felipe would come down to see him, which would be most convenient, or whether he would have to go back to the pueblo to hunt for him. "but there's small fear of that," said he, as his horse splashed through the santiago river before entering san remo; "that sore arm of his'll bring him along, if not to-night, then to-morrow, certain." * * * * * mr. backus was exceedingly accurate in his diagnosis of felipe's frame of mind, as well as of the condition of his arm. the young indian obeyed him implicitly in the matter of going home, taking food, and lying down to obtain a good rest. he rose again later in the afternoon, and went for the second time to reyna's house, only to find that for him there was to be no admission. reyna was perfectly clear that until stephens came back and settled what was to be done, the less the young people saw of each other the better it would be for all concerned. she was very friendly, rather amusing, and perfectly inexorable. as to the health of her patient, all felipe could learn was that she was getting along nicely, thank you, and was in absolute need of rest, and would be so for a day or two longer,--until stephens came back in fact. at present she would not even go out of doors. all which did but root more firmly in felipe's mind the conviction that josefa was destined for stephens, and that this was why the door was barred against him. nursing his wrath, he turned away to meet tito. for the second time he tried to borrow tito's pistol, which that discreet young man entirely declined to let him have so long as he continued in his present frame of mind. "you can't want it to defend yourself, felipe," he said very decidedly, "for the cacique isn't here." "yes," said the boy sullenly, "but he'll be back in two or three days, and i'm not going to have him shooting at me again, and i not have anything to shoot back with." "pooh!" said tito, "don't you fret yourself. he's not going to bother you any more, you may be sure. take it easy; that's all past and gone." but felipe declined to take it easy. finding tito's mind was quite made up, he went back to his mother's house, and announced his intention of going down to san remo to get his arm dressed by the storekeeper. he took his blanket with him, and added, as he started, that if backus would let him sleep down there, he wasn't coming back till the morrow, or even later. he reached the store at dark, and found mr. backus at home. "come right in," said the texan, as the boy with his blanket wrapped round him appeared in the doorway of the house after knocking, "come right in and set down. i was expecting you." he placed him in the light of a kerosene lamp, undid the arm, and dressed the wound again with some stinging stuff out of a bottle that made it smart. but the sharp throb of the wound gave no such stab to felipe as the inquiry, casually dropped, "wal', have you called on mrs. stephens to pay your respects yet?" the boy confessed his vain attempt. "hah!" said the texan, "so they're keeping her locked up tight, eh? well, well; that's rather tough on you. but i don't wonder at it, now that mr. stephens and the cacique are in cahoots together. of course they don't want anybody smelling around there when they are off and out of the way. no, they've got her there and they mean to keep her. but i know what i'd do if a man stole my gal away from me and shut her up." "what would you do?" inquired felipe, with averted eyes. he had his head turned to one side, and was looking down at the hole in his arm which backus was dressing. "me!" said backus, "i'd fill the hound's hide so full of holes that it wouldn't hold shucks. that's what i'd do. and i'd lay for him, too, and get him when he wasn't expecting it. a man like that, as would steal another man's gal away from him, don't deserve any more show than a mad dog." "i haven't got a pistol,"--felipe's voice trembled a little as he said this,--"but i could buy one, perhaps, if it wasn't too dear, if i knew of one for sale." "a knife's surer than a pistol," said the texan cautiously; "though i allow a feller that's only got his left arm to use is rather at a disadvantage with a knife. so he is with a pistol, unless he practises shooting left-handed. however, if he gets up close, and takes his man from behind when he aint looking out for it, he can't hardly miss, and he hadn't ought to need a second shot." "do you know of anyone that's got a pistol for sale?" said the boy earnestly. "wal', yes," said the texan, "i do happen to know of a very good pistol that's for sale. in fact, a man left it with me to be disposed of." mr. backus did not deal in firearms, but second-hand ones sometimes came in his way as part payment of a debt. "i could sell it for him, and afford to take a very reasonable price for it. it's a first-class weapon." he finished tying up the wounded arm, and released his patient. "thank you, señor, a thousand thanks for all your kindness," said felipe, rising. "may i see the pistol?" the storekeeper took a key from his pocket, unlocked a chest, and produced a heavy, old-fashioned, muzzle-loading colt's revolver in a leather holster. he drew it out; it was well smeared with grease. he pulled the hammer to half-cock, and spun the cylinder round, click, click, click, with his finger. "she's not new," he remarked; "but she goes like clockwork, and she'll throw a conical ball through four inches of pine wood. i've tried her at a mark, too, and she'll hit the size of a silver dollar at ten yards every pop, if you're man enough to hold her steady." he handed it over to felipe, who examined it with great care. though he had never owned a weapon of his own, he knew how to handle one. they did not read or write in the pueblo, but they had compulsory education for all that; every boy learned two necessary things, the use of weapons and the use of tools. and they never required any salaried attendance officer to drive them to school. the boy drew back the hammer with his left thumb, holding the barrel with his stiff right hand, and squinted down the sights. "that's right," said backus approvingly, "i see you know all about it. now that pistol cost fifteen dollars new, and i can sell it to you for four dollars and a half, and there's a little ammunition that goes with it, thrown in. it's as good as new, too; these colt's pistols never wear out, but they've got a new style now with copper cartridges, and that's why these old-fashioned ones are cheap." it was all quite true. mr. backus loved truth, it got you such a useful reputation; he never lied except when he thought it would pay him, and then he could lie like a gas-meter. felipe produced the cash, and slipped his belt through the loop of the holster. he felt himself more a man now; from this time forward he would go "heeled." "no use your going back all that way to the pueblo," said the storekeeper, "and it won't do your arm any good. i can let you sleep here in an outhouse, and i've lots of sheepskins i've traded for that you can spread down for a bed." the indians despise soft mattresses, but love to lie on skins. for the next three days felipe was backus's guest. his wounded arm made rapid progress towards recovery, and the boy spent his days either squatting in the store with his blanket drawn round him, silently noting all that went on, or in lounging round the corral, looking after backus's horse and practising aiming at a mark with his new toy. he could not afford to waste his ammunition, but backus showed him how to put on old caps to save the tubes from the blow of the hammer, and by snapping it thus he acquired a useful familiarity with his weapon. * * * * * for three days no tiding came to san remo of manuelita and her captors, or of their pursuers. but on the fourth morning two young mexicans came spurring in from the westward, and reined up their weary horses before one of the san remo corrals. they were soon surrounded by eager questioners, boys and women mostly, and the storekeeper and felipe were not long in joining the throng. the young men felt their own importance, and dealt out their information gradually. no, there had been nothing to call a fight, and no one was hurt, though there had been some shots fired. yes, the señorita manuelita sanchez was all right. she and the americano, don estevan, and the navajos were all coming home together in one party; and don nepomuceno and don andrés with the rest of the mexicans were also coming home together, but by a different route, and along with them were the santiago trailers. the various incidents of the expedition,--of the loss of the trail and of the finding it again, of the renewed pursuit almost to the verge of the lava beds, and of the meeting there between the party of mexicans and the returning santiago trailers, who announced to them that stephens, with manuelita and the navajos, were already on their way back to san remo,--all these things had to be related at length and with impressive detail. and then, their horses unsaddled and attended to, these young men, who had been riding a good part of the night, slipped away to contrive an interview with their sweethearts, to get quickly back to whom they had ridden far and fast. the young men of san remo were neither laggards in love nor dastards in war. "i think, mebbe, if i was you," said backus to the young indian, "i'd contrive not to be here just when they arrive, but go off somewheres and keep out of the way. if you have a notion in your head to do anything, better not let folks see you, as it were, waiting for anyone--you understand?" felipe understood perfectly. in the past three days he and backus had come to understand one another only too well; there was no formal conspiracy between them; backus was much too cautious to give himself entirely away to any confederate, more especially to one so green and inexperienced as this indian boy, but each was perfectly aware of the other's feelings towards the prospector. "why shouldn't you jes' go back to your folks for the rest of the day," continued backus, "and let 'em know how you're getting on? likely enough the cacique and his son-in-law" (he always alluded to stephens now as the cacique's son-in-law) "will be going on up there too, and you might chance to hear something interesting if you lie low. you can come back down here again after dark if you like, and i'll do up your arm for you as usual." felipe took the hint, and was off at once. the rest and good food, for backus treated him extremely well--it was part of his game--had quite restored his strength, and except for having to carry his right arm in a sling he felt fit for anything. later on in the morning arrived the main party of mexicans, headed by don nepomuceno and his son. they dispersed to their different houses to dispose of their horses and be welcomed back by their families, but they did not lay aside their arms, and it was not very long before they reassembled at the sanchez house in expectation of the arrival of the other party. the cacique and his three fellow-tribesmen of santiago preferred not to await the return of the navajos, but pushed on at once for their own pueblo. but, for the waiting mexicans, hour after hour passed and no sign of the navajos or of manuelita and stephens appeared. the sun climbed high in the heavens and sank slowly to the west, and still their coming was delayed. true, their exact route was not known, but it was guessed (and correctly guessed) that it was the short cut through the sierra, and if so it was calculated that they should have arrived long before noon. the anxiety became painful. all sorts of theories to account for the delay were started. there had been a quarrel between stephens and the navajos; they had killed him and manuelita, or had at least made them captives and carried them farther into the wilderness to a securer hiding-place. or stephens and manuelita had made their escape from them during the night, and were now in hiding in the sierra, besieged there, perchance in some cave, and defended by the deadly rifle of the american. many possible explanations were discussed, and many tales of navajo treachery recalled to mind; but there was nothing to be done except wait. yet the cause of the delay was perfectly simple, and the result of the merest accident. when daylight came, and the sleeping band of navajos awoke to find that four of their horses had strayed off, the owners immediately started on their trail to recover them, and till they returned mahletonkwa declined to budge. he absolutely refused to divide his party, or to allow the american and the girl to proceed alone. under the circumstances there was nothing to be done but wait, and stephens determined to make the best of it. hardy as he was, he could not but feel the strain of the efforts he had been making, followed as they were by a whole night on guard. he now left manuelita to tend the fire and keep a daylight watch; he threw himself on the ground, wrapped in his blanket, under the shade of a bush, drew his hat over his eyes, and in two minutes was fast asleep. it was well into the afternoon when the four navajos rode bareback into camp with their truant steeds that had caused all this delay. manuelita saw them arrive, and was glad to think that the hour for their final departure had come; once more she looked across where stephens was still sleeping, and seeing that the babbling talk of the indians, who were already saddling up, did not rouse him, she went over to where he lay and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. "oh, don estevan," she said in her softest voice; but it was as if she had unwittingly touched the trigger of a gun. she was startled at the suddenness with which he bounded to his feet, broad awake, rifle in hand, the ominous click-clack of the lever sounding loud as he instinctively threw in a cartridge from the magazine; his flashing eyes darted one swift glance around, and then in an instant he recognised that there was no need for disquiet. "pshaw!" he said in half-apology, "i guess i was dreaming. sorry if i startled you, señorita. i suppose i'm on my nerve a bit with all this trouble there's been." he looked at the sun. "by george! but it's afternoon already, and i thought i'd just lain down for a five-minutes' nap. that over there means the navajos have come in with the lost horses, i suppose?" he indicated the busy folk a little way off, where preparations for the start were going on. "yes," she answered, "they have but just arrived with them. that was why i ventured to call you." "they must have had the dickens of a chase after them; those indian ponies are beggars to stray," he remarked, carefully working the lever so as to extract the cartridge from the chamber. "and there's nothing happened, señorita, whilst i was asleep? all's quiet along the potomac, eh?" "no," she answered, "nothing has happened. i think the indians have been rather suspicious that they might be attacked; they've most of them been out in the brush all morning on the watch." "and you've been on watch here by the camp-fire," he said, "and i've been sleeping there like a log when i might have been talking to you"; he looked in her eyes with a smile as he rallied himself for his lack of gallantry. "and you've made yourself smart for the home-coming, i see. that's right, señorita. you're not going to play the poor captive, not by no manner of means. we've just been out for a cheerful picnic party, we have, like those high-toned tenderfoot outfits that come out from the east and go to camping out in south park with an escort of utes to do them honour. well, well; the pleasantest picnics have got to come to an end some time, and i see our escort under mr. mahletonkwa are really thinking of starting. i'd better go and catch up morgana, and then we'll have you home in three hours. how's that for high?" chapter xxiv weighing the silver twilight was falling as the armed band of mexicans who had waited since noon around don nepomuceno's house saw through the dusk a long cavalcade approaching from the sierra, and in the front of it a lady mounted on a horse, and a man running at her side. it was manuelita returning, accompanied by stephens and the navajos. there were muttered threats and sonorous spanish curses, deep if not loud, hurled against the raiders, and pistols were loosened in their holsters, and belts drawn tighter and adjusted, as the party drew near. there were men among the mexicans who burned to avenge the insult of the abduction, and were ready and eager for the signal to fight. all they waited for was the word to begin. but their ardour was momentarily checked by the older and more experienced among them. the cavalcade was suffered to approach peaceably, and don nepomuceno running forward received his daughter in his arms. no sooner was she seen to be safe out of the hands of the enemy, than the anger of the high-spirited young mexicans broke forth in spite of their elders, and they raised the war-cry. at this juncture the voice of the american was heard above the tumult. "peace! peace!" he proclaimed loudly for all to hear, "it is peace. i am responsible. a bargain has been made, and i am bound to see that mahletonkwa and his people come to no harm at your hands. anyone who touches them attacks me now. my honour is pledged, so take notice all." "i do not see what right you have to bind us," cried a young mexican, one of the two who had brought the news in the morning. stephens handed the mare's rein to pedro, who came running from the house, whither don nepomuceno had already conducted his daughter; he held his winchester at the ready, and ranged himself alongside of mahletonkwa, who was in the saddle in front of his band. "i have the right of discovery," he declared boldly. "it was i who found her with them, and made terms for her release. those terms shall be satisfied to the last dollar in my pocket and the last cartridge in my belt. come, my friends," and he changed his tone a little here, "let us show ourselves honourable men. faith must be kept." his appeal was hardly needed by the older and more experienced mexicans, who had dealt with the wild indians too often before this not to agree with him fully, and their influence quickly reduced the young hotheads to reason. assurances were given that the terms he had made should be kept, and the navajos be freed absolutely from molestation. don nepomuceno hurried back from the house when he had restored manuelita to the arms of her aunt, and embraced stephens with effusion, calling him her saviour and deliverer. "come aside with me one moment, my friend," said the american, holding him by the hand, and checking, as politely as might be, the flow of thanks poured upon him, "there is something i must speak with you about at once." they moved a little apart from the spectators. "i made a bargain with mahletonkwa," said stephens, "to guarantee him against any injury or retaliation for what has happened, and that has already been accepted by your good friends here. we were quite in the indians' power, you know, and of course i was obliged to promise this. but i also promised mahletonkwa a sum of money. in fact i must tell you that i promised him silver dollars enough to weigh down the rifle he carries; that will mean two hundred or two hundred and fifty, i expect. now, i have not got them here, but i could easily get them by going to santa fé, only that would take so much time; and what i wanted to ask is, who is there among the san remo people, do you think, that could advance me the amount? i should like to settle mahletonkwa's business right away." "but, my dear friend," cried don nepomuceno, "i will pay the money, of course. thank goodness, it is only a quarter of what he asked at first." "but it's my debt," interrupted the american. "i made the terms on my own hook entirely." "impossible, dear friend," cried the mexican, "absolutely impossible and out of the question! you touch on my honour. i am most grateful to you for having succeeded in reducing his ridiculous demand by three-fourths, but not one _medio real_ can i suffer you to pay. i should be disgraced for ever in the eyes of myself and of my people. thank god, the sanchez family can still pay their scot, if they are not so rich as they were. the silver shall be forthcoming immediately. oh, there are ways and means,"--he nodded his head mysteriously,--"you shall see. how much did you say will be needed?" "about twelve or thirteen pounds' weight of silver," returned stephens; "at least so i guessed when i hefted his rifle." "very well," said sanchez, "if you will remain here and keep the peace--i see some of our young men are hardly to be restrained--then i will go in and bring out the scales and the money, and he shall have his price." he went into the house, and in a few minutes pedro appeared with three long cottonwood poles and a rope. the poles were bound together at the top so as to form a tripod higher than a man's head, and a piece of rope was left hanging down from the apex. then he brought out a beam with a pair of large rude scales, and the middle of the beam being attached to the rope the balance was formed. by this time it was dark, and pedro returned once more for some torches of pine, which were lit and threw their weird lights flickering over the faces of the bystanders. the lurid glare lit up the swarthy, bearded faces of the mexicans who crowded round, and the dark, smooth cheeks and flashing eyes of the indians, who, recognising that stephens had power to protect them from attack, dismounted and closed up the ring. then from the darkness appeared don nepomuceno with a heavy leathern sack, and approached the scales. "now, then, mahletonkwa," said stephens, "put your rifle in one of those scales, put it on whichever side you choose, and my agreement is to put silver enough in the other to pull it down." the indian came forward, and stooping down placed his rifle on one side of the balance. don nepomuceno stepped forward with the bag of silver towards the other. "wait one moment, señor, if you please," said stephens to the latter. "there is one little matter i wish to settle first. i think, mahletonkwa," he addressed the indian, "we agreed that i should give your rifle's weight in silver, was it not so?" the indian assented. "is your rifle loaded?" "it is." "and was that in the bargain?" "it was loaded when we made the bargain," answered the navajo. "and is it loaded now in the same way?" the indian remained silent. "i'm willing you should have the full weight of it loaded," said stephens, "i don't make any objection to that. will you, then, fire off the load that's in it now, and put in another here before us all, that we may see how big a load you use?" the indian sullenly indicated dissent. "we wish to have everything fair," said stephens. "why do you refuse?" "it is very well as it is," muttered mahletonkwa, looking singularly disconcerted. "then will you put the ramrod into the bore and let us see how big a load you have got in it?" persisted the american. "or would you prefer that i should do it for you?" he put out his hand as if to take the rifle for the purpose, but the navajo sulkily caught it up himself. he spoke not a single word, and maintained an impassive face as he picked out a little tuft of rag that was wedged inside the muzzle of the gun, and, tilting the barrel slightly forward, allowed sixty or seventy small round bullets to run out one after the other, plop, plop, plop, into the scale. a roar of scornful laughter went up from the mexicans at this demonstration of the american's 'cuteness and the indian's baffled cunning. mahletonkwa deliberately swept the bullets back into his pouch, and replaced the rifle in the scale. "thank you," said stephens, with quiet sarcasm; "now i think we can begin. don nepomuceno, will you pour in the silver?" the bag was untied, and from the mouth of it a stream of big white round coins rattled into the opposite scale. bigger and bigger grew the heap; the flickering torchlight played on dollars from mexico and dollars that bore the image and superscription of many an old spanish king who reigned before mexico was a republic, on coins stamped in the united states mint, and on five-franc pieces that displayed the head of louis napoleon--pieces that had come over with the french army that for a while had supported the rickety throne of ill-fated maximilian. and now the stream ran slower and slower, and the rifle began to lift; the mexican stopped pouring, and taking a handful from the bag tossed them on to the pile one at a time. gradually the rifle rose, the beam turned, the silver scale descended; yet one more dollar was thrown in and it touched the earth. the tale was complete. "there's your silver, mahletonkwa," said the american; "your rifle kicks the beam. are you satisfied now?" "i am satisfied," said the navajo; "it is enough." he took a sack from one of his men and poured the glittering stream into it. "_basta!_" said stephens. "then it is settled. you acknowledge that my tongue is not double. i have done what i said i would do." "and now," he went on, addressing the bystanders, "i have only one word more to say to you. let bygones be bygones. the señorita has been brought back safe and unharmed, and the matter is over and done with. let no man molest these people in any way for it, now or at any future time. if any man among you does so, he makes himself my enemy, for i am surety to the indians in this. if he touches them, he must walk over my dead body. and to you, navajos, i have one more word to say,"--he had caught sight while he was speaking of the sinister face of backus among the crowd,--"be advised and go straight back to your own country. don't hang about here; and above all don't touch whiskey. take my advice and let the sun of to-morrow find you ten leagues from san remo--and sober. i have spoken." he turned away, and in company with don nepomuceno and his son retired to the house, while the indians remounted their horses and filed off in the moonlight, and the assembly gradually dispersed. inside the house stephens found manuelita in the sitting-room, with various female friends and relations who had gathered to see the heroine of such an adventure and to hear her story. her shining eyes and flushed cheeks made her look more bewitching than ever, but he saw how overstrained were her nerves, and he longed to turn out the cackling crowd and carry her off far away to some peaceful retreat where no fear or grief should ever dare to come near her again. but no sooner had he shown himself in the room than a stout old lady who had been manuelita's nurse in childhood arose and fell upon his neck and kissed him heartily. "blessings on you!" she cried, with tearful loquacity, "and may the _madre de dios_ and all the blessed saints be with you and reward you for your goodness." she clasped him to her heart. "you are a hero," she said, "a perfect hero! you have brought us back my dear child safe and unharmed from the clutches of those anathematised indians, whom may the devil fly away with!" poor stephens felt weak; he was helplessly taken aback. and then a second old lady, the mother of pedro the peon it was this time, who had been devoted to manuelita for years, felt it incumbent on her also to demonstrate her gratitude to the deliverer of her darling, and she too bore down on him, and precipitated herself upon his shoulder to mingle her tears, her kisses, and her blessings with the other's. stephens's feelings were indescribable. "'it never rains but it pours,'" he thought. "it's ten years since i've been kissed by a woman, and now i'm hugged by two at once." he endeavoured to extricate himself with becoming gratitude from these entangling embraces, that he might advance to receive the thanks of don nepomuceno's sister and her relations. their expressions of gratitude and admiration were not less ardent than those which had already been showered upon him, but to his immense relief they took a more decorous form. he acknowledged their compliments and their thanks as gracefully as he could, longing all the time to escape from this ordeal and get away as quickly as possible in order to take in hand the matter of the burial of the dead prospector. as soon as he could decently do so, he took the first opportunity again to call don nepomuceno apart. "i want to get you to lend me a spade," he said; "it will save me the journey of going back to the pueblo for one. i have a little trip to make up into the sierra to-night"; and he explained to the mexican how he had discovered almost by chance where the bones of the nameless victim of the navajos were lying. don nepomuceno urged him to put it off. "_mañana, por la mañana; porque ahora es tarde_"--"leave it till to-morrow; it is too late now," he said. "rest to-night; there is no hurry." "there's a good moon," said stephens, "and i don't want to delay about it. it's all in a day's work anyhow. but can you lend me the spade, for if not i must go home after one?" "but certainly, my dear friend, assuredly i can. everything i have is at your service. let me lend you a horse too, for your mare has done her work; leave her here with me to eat corn, and to-morrow she will be fresh." stephens very willingly availed himself of this offer, and half an hour later the sharp eyes of felipe, watching hungrily for his enemy, saw the figure he knew so well riding away quietly from don nepomuceno's house in the direction of the sierra, and he detected by the light of the moon that he carried an unusual burden in the shape of a spade across the saddle in front of him. here in the open the boy did not see his chance to make a sudden attack and take him by surprise at close quarters as he had planned, and being puzzled by the sight of the spade, and full of wonder as to what his errand could be, he ran full speed to the storekeeper's house to inform him of it. as he arrived there, he saw another mysterious horseman ride away from the corral at the back of the house into the night, and had he been able to get close enough to him he might have seen that he, too, bore a burden, for the rider was no other than the navajo chief himself, and the burden that he bore consisted of several bottles of mr. backus's fiery whiskey, while a round number of what had lately been a part of don nepomuceno's precious hoard of dollars were now lining the interior of the storekeeper's wallet. stephens's counsel had been disregarded. the spaniards have a riddling proverb which asks, "what is the cheapest thing on earth?" and the answer is, "good advice." in the eyes of the navajo the advice to let whiskey alone was very cheap indeed. the morrow's sun would find him neither ten leagues from san remo nor sober. felipe encountered backus at his own door, and hastily recounted to him how he had just seen the prospector ride off in the direction of the sierra with a spade across his saddle. "be after him then, man," cried the storekeeper; "there's your chance, if you haven't lost it. he's gone after something with that spade, you bet. keep him in sight, and don't ever let your eye be off him till he begins to use it, and when he's busy at work with it, there's your opportunity. or if you like to risk a fuss, show yourself boldly, and go up to him and mebbe he won't suspect what you mean to do. but don't miss your chance." felipe was gone like a shot. no sooner had the boy disappeared than backus began to regret it. he had been rather flustered, before felipe came up to him, by his interview with the navajo chief, for mahletonkwa had begun by taxing backus with not having kept stephens from sending for the soldiers, by making away with his letters to the governor and the general, and he had retorted by declaring that he had done so, that no soldiers were coming, and that if mahletonkwa had allowed himself to be bluffed he had only himself to thank for his idiocy. but they did not waste much time in disputing, for mahletonkwa's visit to him had not been to quarrel but to obtain liquor, while backus's strongest desire was to become the possessor of a goodly lot of those shining dollars of don nepomuceno that had attracted his cupidity. now, however, on thinking over what felipe had reported, a possible explanation of the spade flashed upon him. suppose stephens had got the secret of the mine from the navajos! he had remarked the vigour and determination with which the prospector had placed himself apparently on the side of the navajos as against the mexicans when they arrived. probably this was a return for their having shown him the mine, which, moreover, would account for the unaccountable delay of the party in arriving that afternoon. the idea of the prospector having stolen a march on him like this, in the matter of the mine, irritated him intensely; he knew so little practically of mining that he thought it quite possible that stephens had started off thus in the night with a spade to dig up silver out of an old mine, as a man might dig up the coins of a buried hoard. filled with this idea, he took a sudden resolution to follow felipe and see what took place, and, if there was any secret worth getting hold of, to do his best to make himself master of it. he hastily belted on his revolver, caught up an overcoat, as he recognised that he might have to lie in wait for an indefinite time, and the night air in the sierra was chill, and started forth on felipe's track. he knew the direction; and assuming that stephens had taken the trail for the sierra, according to the information felipe had brought, he decided to take the same line. there were plough-lands across on this side of the santiago river also, and the trail led through a part of these. where it crossed the ditch that supplied them with water he found the ground wet on the farther bank, and fresh hoof-prints of a horse in the soft earth. someone had crossed there on horseback not more than fifteen or twenty minutes before; yes, and there, close alongside, was the sharp-toed, inward-curved print of an indian moccasin. stephens and felipe were both ahead of him. it was only in a place like this, where the soft earth retained a deep impression, that he could pretend to recognise their tracks by the light of the moon, but the fact that he had judged so accurately the course they were steering gave him confidence as he pressed forward, still following the line. and now the foot of the sierra was reached, and the trail plunged abruptly into broken and rugged defiles. onward he pushed without halting, encouraged again and again by detecting at intervals the tracks of the horse going ahead. at last, however, there came a long interval, when he no longer saw the tracks. for a while he tried to persuade himself that it was only a chance that had caused him to fail to notice them, but he came finally to where the trail crossed a little creek, and the ground was soft and the trees were open enough to let the moonlight fall clearly on the spot. the sign of the indian horses that had crossed it coming to san remo during the afternoon was evident, but the footprints of the horse he was following in the other direction were not there. it was undeniable that he must have quitted the trail. "now, whereabouts did the son of a gun leave it?" asked backus of himself; "and how far back was it that i got a squint of his track last?" he pulled out a cold lunch, that he had brought along in his pocket, put on his overcoat, and sat down to take a rest and think things over. if stephens had simply turned off and camped near the trail, he might have missed him by very little. perhaps felipe had been able to keep him in sight, and had stuck to him. he started to take the back track, keeping a sharp watch out for likely places for a rider to turn out on one side or other of the trail. there were plenty of them, but he found no sign in any of those that he examined. and he had the exasperating sense, that trying to hit off a lost trail by moonlight was as futile a job as a man ever undertook. by daylight a master of woodcraft may assure himself that he has not walked over a hoofprint for which he is searching without seeing it, but the best trailer that ever stepped can miss a thing by moonlight that by day would be as plain to him as a printed book. "a fool's errand," he said to himself, "that's what i'm on. here i might be comfortably at home and snug in bed, and instead of that i'm lost up here in the sierra away along after midnight, and nary chance of finding what i come out after." he was thoroughly out of temper by this time, and his language was according. "mine! d----n the mine! i believe the whole thing is a holy fraud, and if anyone ever again catches me out in the dark, on top of a rugged range of hills hunting for a mine that never existed, i'll give him leave to cut me into slices and fry me like so much bacon." he sat down to rest a moment before deciding finally whether to make any further effort, or just chuck and make the best of his way home. at this moment, faint but distinct, came the sound of a shot fired somewhere in the mountain off to the south. backus sprang to his feet instantly, shaking himself free from his despondency like a cloak. "by the jumping jemini!" he ejaculated, "there they are, i'll wager. felipe must have managed to stick to the trail. good for him! i wonder if he's managed to plug him? i'll just take a scout round that way and see if i can spot anything." the moon was beginning to sink in the west, but there was light enough for him to pick his way through the trees and rocks in the direction of the shot. suddenly he heard five shots in quick succession. they were nearer and clearer than before. but they were followed by absolute silence. again and again he paused to listen, but no sounds greeted his ear save those that belonged to the woods at night, till at last, after scrambling up a rocky ridge, he became aware of a reflected light shining at the foot of a cliff. that meant a camp-fire. hist! was that somebody talking? if felipe had killed his man properly, there was no one for him to talk to. he advanced a step or two cautiously, and paused again. he fancied he could hear a voice; he would put his ear to the ground and see if he could not hear better so; he stooped, and sank on all fours as if he was after a deer, bending his head towards the earth, and as he did so he received a hard blow on his face, and a smart pang shot through his cheek, and at the same moment his ears were assailed by an angry, buzzing rattle. "my god!" he cried, "i'm stung by a snake!" he threw up his hand to his wounded cheek and staggered to his feet, while the snake, having delivered his blow, slithered away to his home in the rocks. the agony of the poison began to dart through his veins. he struggled blindly forward towards the light, which now seemed ever so far away; he stopped and drew out his knife, with the idea of cutting out the venom, but it was right in his cheek; had it been in a finger he might have chopped it off, but he could not slash away half his own face. he flung the knife wildly from him and reeled forward again, knocking against the trees as he went like a blinded wolf. he had been struck by a big rattler with a full dose of venom in him after his winter's rest. his knees grew weak, and tottered under him; he fell, and struggled up again, only to fall once more; fearful pains ran through him, and his body seemed too big for his skin. "help," he cried, in a spent and broken voice; "help me! oh, help!" and he pitched forward and lay prone on his face, writhing and digging his nails into the ground. chapter xxv a prehistoric hearth when stephens took his way through the moonlight, carrying the spade before him on the saddle, his heart was lighter than it had been for days. he was so used to living alone that this novel experience of being constantly in the company of others, night and day, without interruption, ever since the hour when he had rescued josefa from the cacique, had tired him out. also he disliked the sense of having others dependent on him, and during the whole of that time he had been burdened with responsibility, first for josefa and then for the mexican girl. at last, thank goodness, that was all over and done with. josefa was secure in reyna's keeping, and manuelita was safe at home, while mahletonkwa had been paid his money and dismissed; now john stephens was his own man again, and not bound to see after other people's affairs any longer. he could go about his proper business by himself in his own independent way, and that was precisely what he liked better than anything else in the world. as for this matter of finding and burying the dead man's bones, it was one for which he was answerable to nobody but himself. of his own free will and pleasure he had decided that it should be done, and, accordingly, here he was doing it. and what a useful pretext it had supplied him with for getting away from the fuss and flummery at san remo. when he thought of those two stout, elderly dames falling upon him like a pair of animated feather-beds, and giving him their blessing, he felt weak; what a mercy he had this excuse of the burial to help him escape from it all! and then his mind reverted to manuelita sitting there in the midst of the fuss, her eyes bright as ever in spite of fatigue and of the tears of joy she had shed at getting home, her cheeks pink with excitement, and her lively tongue going sixteen to the dozen. was he, after all, so particularly glad to be off by himself once more? he hated a mob of people on principle, but was he so particularly glad to get away from her? well, come to think of it, in a manner he was, and yet, again, he wasn't. looking at it in one way, he wouldn't care much to be planted down there again in that crowded room with those cousins and aunts all round her, but suppose, now, that he had her once again with him up here in the sierra, alone together the two of them. he thought of how they had watched over one another, turn about, in the camp, and how she had mocked at his simple cookery, and the fun they had really had with one another. what a good time it had been; and yet when he was having it, so it seemed to him now, he had not been aware of the fact. perhaps he had been too anxious about her then to realise it, but it was god's truth all the same, and they had had a good time. what was more, he knew it now and no mistake, and he wondered how it had come about that it was so good. by george! but he did wish he had her along right here and now, she riding on the horse, with him running alongside just as he had done that afternoon. she was good to talk to, and no mistake, and when he pointed things out to her and told her about them, everything seemed to have an unwonted zest which was lacking now in her absence, although he was riding over the very same ground he had traversed with her only a few hours ago. every turn in the trail recalled to his mind something he had said to her or she had said to him. and how they had laughed, to be sure! he sighed at the recollection without having the least idea that he sighed, but he did not shake off the idea of how good it would be to have her with him. strange to say he began to discover that he did not seem to quite care for his own company as he used to do. unconsciously he lost himself in a reverie, until his horse stumbled over a stone, and he jerked the rein and struck him indignantly with the spur. and all the time felipe, with the revolver in his belt, was tracking him like a sleuth-hound. stephens reached the camp where they had passed the night in the little park, and the recollection of it all came back vividly; he remembered how startled he had been when she woke him, and he had sprung up with his rifle cocked, ready to shoot; he remembered his surprise and pleasure at seeing how neat and trim she had made herself while he slept, in spite of all the rough and discomposing experiences her involuntary journey had involved. "grit! yes, by george! she had lots of it, sure; and endurance too. she was just about as brave as they make 'em." through the little park he passed, and out of it again on the other side. now he must begin to think about his destination; somewhere along here he meant to turn off to the left in order to cut in upon the head of that little cañon where he had killed the deer. that would save quite a lot of travelling. there was a good moon, and there was no need to retrace the whole trail back to the exact spot where he had fired the shot. "if i only had faro along now," he said, "he could take me to the place where i killed the deer, blindfold, if i wanted him to." but faro was far away at don nepomuceno's; he was a little footsore after the long journey he had made, so his master left him behind under the care of manuelita. after a time stephens noticed a favourable place for turning off among the pines, at what he judged would be about the right distance to strike the cañon. he wheeled his horse sharp to the left, and pushed steadily on over the carpet of pine-needles in the new direction. and felipe, following ever like a sleuth-hound, here overran the track just as did backus half an hour later. but, unlike backus, the acuter indian boy had not overrun it many minutes before his quick instincts told him what he had done; he at once retraced his steps, and quickly succeeded in finding the place where stephens had wheeled so sharp. he followed this new direction through the pines for a little way, but the horse-tracks on the dry pine-needles were practically invisible at night, and he soon became conscious that he had lost them, and that it was doubtful whether he could succeed in recovering them again. nevertheless, with the tireless determination of his race, he persevered, more like a hound than ever as he quested now to right and now to left and now making a bold cast forward, in the hope that by a lucky chance he might stumble upon them. he passed thus through the belt of pine timber and out into the open park country beyond it. but casting about for a lost trail at night is a slow business, and the moon was already low in the west when his eye ranging around caught the light of a fire against a distant cliff. "that must be he," cried the boy, grasping the pistol with his left hand; "i'll get him now." * * * * * stephens had a good eye for country; he had judged his distance correctly, and he hit the head of the little cañon he was searching for with singular accuracy. the country that he had here got into was beautifully open and park-like, only with some rough, rocky ridges intersecting it here and there, and he searched around freely and easily, keeping the moon on his left hand. through the mountain glades he wandered, in the bright, mysterious light which seems so clear and yet which shows nothing as it really is. "rather a fool trick of mine, this night-work," said he, as his eyes hunted in vain for any sign of what he had come to seek. "i reckon likely i'll have to camp till morning, and then, maybe, if his bones are lying anywhere round here, i'll manage to find them." he drew rein irresolutely on the margin of a park-like expanse of undulating meadow larger than any he had seen yet. "hullo! what's that under the lone pine in the middle of the meadow?" a magnificent solitary pine-tree stood there in the moonlight, towering aloft, and at its foot a dark, square object appeared. "why, it looks like a house in this light," he said; "but it can't hardly be one neither." he turned his horse's head towards it and rode nearer. "it's a house, by george! a house up here! no, i'm blessed if it is. it is only a rock, but it's mighty like one all the same. hullo! here's a queer thing lying close to the foot of it; looks like an old carcass of some sort or other. by george! but it's a dead horse." he reined up and the animal he bestrode snorted at the strange object. it was the dried shell of a horse, so to speak; the wolves and the eagle-hawks had taken the flesh and the inside portions, but the skeleton had remained intact, and so, too, had the hide. in that pure, dry air the skin, instead of decaying, had become hard and stiff, and clung to the ribs and bony framework still. he could see now that his mistake in taking the rock for a house was a very pardonable one in that deceptive light, for it was much the size of an ordinary adobe cottage, and it rose square and abrupt from the level, grassy ground. he threw his head back, and his eyes sought the top of the noble pine whose towering head seemed to strike against the stars. "well, that's the finest tree i ever saw outside of california," said the prospector. he undid the lariat and dismounted, spade in hand. "dead horses aint exactly common objects hereabouts," said he. "if this one owned such a thing as a boss when he was alive, perhaps his boss might be lying hereabouts, too." it was a shrewd guess, and as he stepped round the corner of the rock it was instantly verified. the body of the man lay there, stiff and dried like that of his beast. the clothing seemed to have partly protected the trunk and limbs from the birds of prey, but the white skull shone bare and ghastly. the long boots proclaimed him an american. "here's my man, sure enough," said stephens, as he leaned on the spade and looked down at the remains. "think of him getting rubbed out like this all alone up here in the mountains. no one's ever been near him since, i guess. i wonder who he was?" he went back to the dead horse and looked over it once more. there were iron shoes on the forehoofs. "that's another proof, if one were wanted, of his owner being an american," he said. "perhaps i could find his brand." he struck a match and held it close to the animal's quarter, but the skin there had been rent and frayed by the wild things that had devoured the meat, and he could not distinguish it. "saddle's gone, i see," he added, "and bridle and saddle blanket, and hobbles, if he had them round his neck, and every mortal thing. it's a wonder they left the horseshoes. these accursed navajos haven't any scruple about stripping a dead horse. it's only a dead man that they're so scared about touching." he went back to the corpse and looked at it a second time. "gun's gone," he said, "but that's of course. and they didn't need to touch him when he was dead to get it, for, according to the way mahletonkwa told it, they got his gun from him when he was alive. pistol's gone, too, i see. likely they got that off him living, before they shot him with his own gun. they couldn't take the clothes off him till he was dead, and so they preferred to leave them on him. wish i knew who he was." he cast his eyes around. "here's where he stood 'em off," he went on, looking at a tiny, stone-built enclosure, barely big enough to hold three people at once, that nestled against one side of the high rock, where it overhung. "that's the place he chose, sure. that's one of those cubby-holes those old cliff-dwellers used to put up under the rocks all about the country; i guess they used them to shelter in when they were out on guard. it wasn't a bad notion of this poor chap to get in there, but those infernal navajos got away with him all the same--cunning devils that they are! well, i might as well dig his grave right here." he passed his horse's lariat round the enormous bole of the great lone pine and made him fast. then choosing a place between the mighty roots, that anchored it like cables to the ground, he set to work with a will, and soon had the narrow last resting-place sunk in the soft black earth. he threw down the spade, and went to lift the light burden of the remains. "perhaps i'd better look in his pockets first and see if there's anything to identify him by," he said. the weather-worn clothes, threadbare from summer rains and winter snows, lay light over the hollow breast, as he felt in the pocket and drew out a small book. he opened it; it was weather-stained, but not rotten. the moonlight was so bright he could almost have read the writing by it, but he struck a match to make sure. a name was inscribed on the first page. "holly k. fearmaker, ." there was no address. "never heard of him before. i wonder where he was from?" he tried the other pockets; there was nothing save some bits of string. "if he owned a purse i reckon some navajo scoundrel has got it now," said stephens. "there's nothing, i don't believe, that mahletonkwa would stick at for cash." he lifted the remains tenderly, and placed them in the grave, gathering up all that he could find; then he shovelled the rich black mould of the mountain meadow on them, and heaped a little mound, and replaced the grassy sods on top. he leaned on the spade and looked down at his handiwork. "what was it i seem to remember it saying, in the book that young englishman had along in the san juan district last summer, and loaned me to copy a piece out of? there was a verse that i liked, about the body of a man being like a tent. yes, i've got it now-- "'t is but a tent where takes his one day's rest a sultan to the realm of death addrest; the sultan rises, and the dark ferrásh strikes--and prepares it for another guest.' this grass will send its roots down to where you lie, pard; and it'll grow stronger as your bones grow rotten; and then the blacktail deer and the elk will graze over your head and fatten on the grass; and then, maybe i myself, or maybe some other lone prospector just like you or me, will happen along and shoot the elk or the deer, and the wheel comes full circle. well, so long, old man, and sleep sound." he went to the tree and unfastened the lariat from the hole. then he stooped to pick up the spade which lay beside the new-made mound. as he did so his eye was caught by a little fragment of rock that lay by it, which had been thrown out in sinking the grave. mechanically he picked it up, and its weight at once revealed to his practised experience that it was a mineral of some kind. he slipped it into his pocket and led his horse over to the big rock. "it does look rather like an outcrop," he said, as he carelessly knocked off a few small specimens with the angle of the spade. he had done this so many hundred times before, that he pocketed them almost without interest, as a matter of habit, and set off in the direction of the trail. before very long he came to a stop. the meadow was bounded by a low cliff, which, farther down, became the wall of the cañon where he had killed the deer. it was not more than about twenty or thirty feet high, but it was perpendicular, in places even overhanging, and blocked his way absolutely. he turned to the right along it in order to find where he might cross it. the cliff faced south and west, and the bright light of the moon made every detail distinct. before he had gone far the opening of another little cubby-hole showed dark on a ledge of the moonlit cliff, which was overhung by the projecting brow above. then there came half a dozen of them close together. then the ledge broadened and ran inwards in a softer stratum of the cliff face, so that a whole row of little houses were built along it. the ledge was ten or twelve feet up the cliff face, so that the houses could only have been approached by ladders, while the overhanging cliff brow afforded them absolute protection from above. "by george!" he said, "this must be the old pueblo i've heard of as being up here in the mountain; they say the aztecs used to live here before the days of montezuma." the ledge ceased presently, and here there were rooms absolutely carved out of the living rock itself. nor were these aloft in air like the former ones; it seemed as if the people who had evolved the idea of building their houses like swallows' nests under the eaves, for security, had gained confidence and come boldly down to the level of the ground. he looked into one, and struck a match; it was just a little square room with a doorway, all cut out of solid rock. the floor was bare rock too. "lots of cheap labour going when they made houses like that," he said. "there must have been a whole heap of folks living here once." farther on there were the remains of stone houses built on the ground, close to, or against, the cliff face. "thick as bees they must have been," he said; "i'd no sort of idea there had been such a vast number of them. it must have been a regular swarmery of indians." he went on half a mile or more, and the buildings were continuous either on the ground or upon the ledge, which ran right along. they were almost all square or oblong in plan, but here and there at intervals appeared one that was round and of a sort of beehive form. these were old estufas. "i've a good mind to camp here," he said, "and see what this place looks like by daylight. i never had the least notion there was so much of it. some of those scientific chaps at the smithsonian ought to be told about this. i bet it's the oldest thing in the united states." he stopped before one of the ancient cave-dwellings. it was not one of those excavated entirely out of the rock, for here there was a natural cave on the ground level. across the front of this a wall had been built, enclosing the space behind it as a dwelling-room, but the wall had been partly broken down by time. in the angle where the wall joined the rock there was a fireplace. close by, an external house had been built as a sort of lean-to against the rock face, with a roof supported by beams that had now fallen in. "i guess i'll just move in and take possession," he said as he looked at the cave-dwelling, and, suiting the action to the word, he stripped the saddle from his horse and put it inside, and then led him out in the meadow to picket him. he returned to where he had left his saddle; he could see by the moonlight the fallen roof-beams of the outside house lying confusedly here and there. the roof had been of clay, but this had all washed down and now was indistinguishable from the floor, while the layers of brushwood that had supported it had crumbled into dust. but the primeval rafters of enduring pitch-pine were still mostly sound. entering the cave-dwelling, where he had put his saddle, his eye was caught by the old fireplace; it was still blackened with the flame of the fire that had so long ago been quenched, and still there lay visible on the hearth, cold and black, the dead embers that had once been live and glowing coals of fire. "i wonder how many centuries it is since those were live coals?" he said. "i've heard say the old, old aztecs used to live up north here in these deserted mountain pueblos and cliff-dwellings before ever they went south and built the city of mexico. and they'd been living down there, so i've heard, for ages and ages before cortes came along and slaughtered montezuma. why, it might be a thousand years since this place was inhabited." he looked at the dead embers with a fascinated gaze. to him, who considered a mining camp of two years' duration quite old, who was himself one of the restless spirits who were busy making history, the history of the new west, the prehistoric hearth came with a strange appeal. "i'll rekindle it," he said; "i will so; i'd like to warm my hands at a fire that's a thousand years old maybe. those old rafters out there will do well to burn." he stepped round to the ruined house. "i wonder if there's any snakes hiding among those fallen stones?" he struck a match once more, and looked round in likely corners and crevices, but no sign of any reptile appeared; he dragged out a couple of rafters and carried them in and placed their ends in the fireplace; he broke with a heavy stone another one that had partly rotted, and got some splinters out of the sounder part and soon had a fire going. he watched the dead embers catch and glow red from the blaze. "who'd have thought in all those hundreds of years," he said, "as they lay dead, that they'd ever jump to life again in one moment like this." his words pointed to the glowing coals, but he was thinking of the poor shell of a body that an hour before he had committed to the ground. who could believe that it might ever live again? and yet--some folks said so. the fate of that lonely man had moved him deeply, more deeply by far than he was conscious of, for it was the type of what his own was like to be, to fall unfriended and alone in some remote ravine of a nameless range. he thought of the pocket-book he had rescued, and drew it out. the fire blazed brightly now, and he could read by it easily. the notes were casual jottings--entries of cash expended--notes of an arrangement with another man to meet and mine together--the brand of a horse purchased, and the price set down, eighty-five dollars--winchester cartridges, two and a half dollars. "that's clear enough evidence that he had a winchester," commented stephens; "all right, then; practically that settles it. he's the man, sure, those cursed navajos joked about killing with his own gun. hullo! what's this? mahletonkwa's name, as i'm alive!" he rapidly ran his eye over a page of close writing. "why, he's got it all down that mahletonkwa brought him up here to show him a silver mine, and then treacherously left him, and that then he was attacked by indians; he doesn't say what indians, poor beggar; but you bet i know who they were. here's his last entry. 'i've stood them off now for six hours, and if they don't get me before night, maybe i'll make the riffle and get away.' it was after he'd written that that they wounded him and he surrendered to them, and they had their little game with him, the sons of guns! but that's their way; cruelty and cunning are bred in their bones. they've been doing things like that for a good deal more than a thousand years, i guess, and they've kind of got into the habit of it. but i'd like to pay them out all the same. it's that mahletonkwa's band are the guilty ones, and i dare swear to it. well, we'll see. i've given them no amnesty for this. we'll see." he sat there, quite still, in a fierce and moody silence. he was so still that a rattlesnake in the stones behind him pushed his flat, venomous head out of a crevice, and looked at him for quite a long time, and then drew it in again and retired. "leave me alone and i'll leave you alone," was the snake's motto. he had no wrongs to avenge. unconscious of this silent observer of his reverie, the american allowed himself to indulge for a while in wild, fanciful dreams of revenge for the murder of his fellow-countryman; then he pulled himself up short. "i'm not really called upon to punish them," he said, "and i won't think about it. it only makes me angry, and i hate to be angry and do nothing." he raised himself up, moved the ends of the burning rafters farther into the fireplace, and the flames blazed up freshly. "kit carson used to be mighty careful about looking into the camp-fire at night," he said. "he always used to sit well away from the blaze, with his eyes towards the darkness, so that if anything happened he could see with them at once, without having to wait till they had got accustomed to it. but then there was always war going on, and always danger, when he used to be around in this part of the country. i've never felt shy about sitting by a camp-fire up in this sierra, and there aint no reason that i know of why i should." he rose and straightened himself up to his full height, and stretched out his arms as a relief after sitting so still. "i might as well take a look round, though," he said, "and see if that horse is all right. i don't know his tricks, and he might tangle himself up in his picket-rope." he strolled out to where he had fastened him, and made sure that he was all right. as he turned to come back again, he saw something on the ground that caught the fire-light and shone like a jewel. he stooped to pick it up. it was an obsidian arrowhead. "volcanic glass," said the miner,--expert as he was in minerals,--critically turning it over and over in his fingers, "and most beautifully chipped. this is a piece of real high-class ancient indian work. now, i wonder if that arrow belonged to one of those old aztec pueblo folks, or if it was one shot at them by some wild indian. the wild indians were enemies of the house-people then, same as now." his imagination took fire as he looked at this relic of ancient strife. the long procession of the centuries unrolled itself before his mind's eye, and he beheld the secular struggle for life of tribe against tribe. those old pueblo builders, cultivators of corn, house-folk, had always been at odds with their nomad brethren, the hunters of the wild wood and the plains; yet generation after generation, they had gone on being born, growing up, marrying, and begetting a new generation to succeed them, and passing away either in battle for their little community or peacefully by their own hearth. this fire-blackened, clay-plastered angle of the wall, to what unending succession of house-mothers and house-fathers did it not speak? he looked at it with a sort of reverence. the flickering light of the flames, rekindled by him, alien successor as he was of those ancient folk, lit up every detail of the surface. in places the clay daubed on there so many centuries ago looked as fresh as if it had been done last year. here and there he could see the very finger-marks of the woman who had plastered it; for among the indians this was ever the task of the women, as he knew very well. yes, and, by george! there in one spot, low down, was the handprint of a tiny child in the plaster; the little one had been playing beside its mother, and had stuck its hand against the wall while the clay was wet. a strange emotion struck through him at the sight. it was as if the little hand had reached out to him across the years and touched his own. the fire he had kindled on this cold hearth seemed like a sort of altar flame, in memory of the love that had once made this little abode a sacred place. like a flash it came across his mind that this was what he had blindly sacrificed during all these long years of his wanderings--the joys of home; the sweet domesticities of wife and child. he knew them not; aloof, solitary, self-contained, he had coldly held himself outside the circle of all that was best in life. why? to what end? for the sake of phantom gold; for the sake of a visionary fortune which he might never touch; for the sake of being able to build, some distant day, a fancied home away back there in the states. it was all a dream. ten of the best years of his life had gone in the vain effort. ten more might go as easily and as futilely. and then! old age! he saw it all now; and now it was no imaginary shadow-wife--dim, vague, and unsubstantial--that his heart went out to; it was she, the real, living, breathing creature of flesh and blood that he had played with and talked to; that he had rescued in her trouble, and restored to her parents; she whose sweet eyes met his with a certain demand. with a rush it came over him that she was what he needed; that he wanted to make her happy, and that he must do it by making her his own. he was amazed at his own blindness and hardness of heart. was he too late? could he have missed his chance? no, no; not that! but he would lose no time. he knew now what he must say to her, and the quicker he did it the better. with a joyful sense of anticipation he saw himself already at her side, pouring into her ear the tale of his loneliness and his love. he sprang to his feet at the thought, eager to start. as he rose to his full height there was a deafening bang close to his right ear, a blinding flash, and the burning breath of gunpowder scorched his cheek. some murderer had fired at him from a yard off! chapter xxvi the snake's verdict in that desperate moment stephens felt that he was respited as by a miracle. the bullet had missed him. he dropped his right hand on to the wall over which the weapon had been fired, and clearing it with a mighty bound, lit right on top of someone recocking a discharged pistol. his eyes, dazzled by the fire glare, saw nothing, but he grappled him by the feel on the instant; with one powerful twist of his body he whirled his opponent off his legs and flung him to the ground, going down with him himself and falling heavily upon him. the indian--he knew him for an indian as he grappled with him by the blanket he wore--felt like a child in his grip. he seized him by the throat with the left hand and choked him, his right holding the left arm of the other and pinning him to the ground. what he had to fear now was that the free right arm would deal him some deadly blow with knife or pistol, and he tightened his grasp on the muscular throat to choke the life out of him. then he suddenly realised that his foe was mastered, and he lifted his weight partly off his chest, still, however, kneeling on him with one knee and bearing him down with his hands. and now his eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, and he could distinguish the features of the man under him. "by george!" he cried, "but it's felipe. why, you murderous young cub, what devilment are you up to now?" but the indian youth lay helpless under his knee, gasping, and made no answer. that strangling grasp on his throat had nearly finished him off. still holding him down, stephens ran his eyes around to see if other foes were near. the moon was very low now, but its level rays cast sufficient light to allow him to discern that there was no enemy visible anywhere. he listened intently, but no sound came to him except the laboured breathing of the prostrate indian. he longed for faro. "if i'd only got you along, old man," thought he, "this young devil would never have been able to get the drop on me the way he did; and now you'd be able to tell me whether there were any more mean hounds like him laying for me. i wonder if there are any more around?" for several minutes he remained motionless like this, but there was no sign of anyone to succour the fallen man. the discharged pistol was lying on the ground within arm's length. he reached out and picked it up, his left hand and knee still firmly pressing his antagonist against the ground. he looked the revolver over; it was a good weapon, he could tell that much, but he could not recognise it. he had mended many weapons for the santiago people during the winter, and the thought had occurred to him that he might chance to know this one, but on examination he did not remember to have ever set eyes on it before. felipe, under his knee, lay perfectly still, and his breathing was becoming more regular. laying the pistol down behind him, stephens felt for the boy's belt, and unbuckled it and dragged it from under him; it carried a knife in its sheath as well as the holster for the pistol. he put these behind him likewise, away from his prisoner's hand. again he paused and listened for the sound of possible enemies approaching; but he could hear nothing whatever. he felt his own revolver, to make sure it was all right in its place, and he thought of his winchester lying in its case by his saddle, the other side of the wall. if an enemy were to sneak up and grab that, he, stephens, would be in a fix. he took his weight off his knee for a moment, so as to lighten the pressure on felipe's body. "who's with you, you young ruffian?" he asked. "no one, sooshiuamo," replied the boy. the breath was fast coming back to his lungs; he spoke audibly, but with difficulty. "don't call me sooshiuamo, you wretch! do you mean to say you're here all alone? if you lie to me now i'll kill you right here." "yes, sir," said felipe, "i'm alone." stephens hesitated; he knew felipe well enough to judge, by the way he spoke, that he was telling the truth; but he was much puzzled to account for this murderous attack. various theories flitted through his brain. he had not a single enemy in the pueblo that he knew of, the cacique perhaps excepted; but the cacique, of all men, was the most unlikely to select felipe to do this trick. could this attack be intended as a punishment on him for violating some old superstition of theirs, by making a fire here in the ruined pueblo? such a thing might be ample justification for murdering him, from their point of view, as he had reason to know. their behaviour over the blasting of the ditch was proof enough of how strongly they could feel about things that shocked their religious susceptibilities. but how could they have known of his crime when he had only found the spot an hour ago? he determined to cross-question his prisoner. "who set you on to murder me?" he asked. felipe hesitated. "nobody," he said finally. "do you mean to tell me you did it on your own hook?" he asked, incredulous. "yes, sir." "where d'you get that pistol?" stephens knew he didn't own one. "i bought it." "where?" "in san remo." "who sold it to you?" "the storekeeper." "mr. backus?" "yes, sir." a light began to dawn upon stephens. backus undoubtedly had a grudge against him. "did he put you up to this?" he asked. felipe was silent. "answer me; mind you, your life's at stake." "partly he did." "partly, you say. what do you mean? who else?" "partly myself." "you young scallywag! what did you want to kill me for?" felipe hesitated, but he felt the knee of the man who had him down begin to press harder again. "because of josefa," he said, with evident reluctance. "explain yourself, you idiot. because of josefa? why, it was i who saved her. don't you know that much?" "you took her away," said felipe sulkily. "of course i did, you ninny. what would you have had me do? leave her with her father to be beaten to death? you're a plumb idiot." "you needn't have taken her, though, for yourself," rejoined the boy. "oh, you make me tired!" said stephens; "if that's all you've got to kill me for, get up." he released the young indian, taking care, however, to retain possession of the belt and pistol and knife. felipe scrambled to his feet rather unsteadily. "i've a mind to boot you all the way back to the pueblo," said stephens disgustedly; "not for trying to blow the top of my head off, though you deserve it for missing me at only four feet away, but for being such a loony idiot as to think that. by jimini! i haven't got language to say what i think of you. why, you--you--you galoot! when did you ever know me go to carrying on with any of the women in the pueblo? you ought to know me better by this time." felipe looked abashed. "you all but did for yourself," he went on,--"that is, if you'd only known it; and i'm not sure that you haven't now. why, i took her over from her family thinking to give her to you, but i'm dashed if i know whether i'd ought to now. there's too many blanked fools in this world already to make it worth while to help to set more of 'em going. however, we'll see what she's got to say about you. if she has a fancy for marrying an escaped lunatic, i suppose she'll have to have her way. come, i'm going back to the fire; walk through that door there and we'll go in. here, take your belt, but i'm dashed if you're to be trusted with a loaded pistol any more than if you were a three-year-old baby." he raised the colt above his head and rapidly discharged the five loaded chambers one after another in the air. it was the report of those shots that attracted the attention of the storekeeper far off on the hillside. the two entered the cave-dwelling, felipe holding himself very stiffly as he moved. "i don't wonder you're stiff," said the american, observing him; "i must have pretty near squeezed the life out of you, and serves you right." he was still very angry. "it isn't that," said felipe, feeling his dignity assailed; "my shoulder is very sore; i have a bullet wound in it." "the mischief, you have," said stephens. "i suppose you got that from the cacique. i guess it must have hurt you some when i was mauling you just now." his voice softened a bit. "of course i couldn't know about that"; he was actually apologising already to his would-be murderer. "here, bring it to the light of the fire and let me see it." felipe squatted down with his right shoulder towards the blaze. "h'm, yes, an ugly place, rather," examining it carefully, "but it's been well done up"; he smelt it, "you've got that carbolic on it; good stuff for a gunshot wound, in my opinion. say, where d'you get any round here?" "mr. backus," answered the boy. "oh, from him. seems to me he's been having a good deal to say to you lately. who dressed this for you?" he replaced the bandage. "mr. backus." "well, he understands gunshot wounds pretty well, but you take my advice and don't have any more to do with him for the present. he aint good company for young gentlemen with no more brains than you--hullo! what's that? didn't you hear something out yonder?" a faint cry appeared to come from a distance. "it sounds like a man," said felipe. the cry was repeated; it seemed like the word "help!" "come on," cried stephens, snatching his winchester from the case and running into the darkness in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. felipe followed him. "help!" came again more distinctly. in another minute they were on the spot where the body of a man lay writhing on the ground face downwards. stephens stooped and raised him, and beheld his enemy, backus. he let him drop on the ground again as if he had unexpectedly picked up a snake, and sprang back grasping his rifle at the ready. could this be some infernal trap? had felipe been deceiving him? "did you lie to me?" there was a dangerous ring in his voice. "i asked you if you were alone, and you said you were, and here's the man who's your confederate, by your own confession." "before god, i didn't know he was here," cried the boy very earnestly. "what's the matter with him? he's dying." "he deserves to die," said the prospector, looking down at him. "whiskey," moaned backus brokenly; "i'm snake-bit." "snake-bit, are you?" said the prospector, still suspicious. "well, if you are that's rather rough on you. where are you struck?" "in the face," said the wretched man. "for god's sake help me; this pain's maddening. i'm going to die." "lift his head up, felipe," said stephens, "and let me see the place. great scot! i should say you were snake-bit, and powerful bad, too," he added, as the young indian lifted the head of the fallen man and turned it so as to show the face. it was a ghastly sight! the whole of the left cheek and side of the head were swollen out of all recognition, and the puffed and strained skin was so discoloured that it looked like a mass of livid bruises. his first suspicion had been that the cunning storekeeper had set felipe on him, and then, finding that the indian had failed in his murderous attack, had adopted the heartless but too common ruse of shamming sick, in order to get his antagonist at a disadvantage. stephens had sprung backward, and was standing now with his winchester, ready at any moment to pump lead into his would-be murderers; but the awful condition of his enemy was proof sufficient that there was no sham about this case. holding his rifle in one hand, he advanced, and with the other aided felipe to raise the fallen man to a sitting posture. "when did it happen?" he asked. "just now." the stricken man's breathing was painfully laboured, and he spoke with extreme difficulty, so that it was hard to understand him. "have you any whiskey?" stephens inquired. "no." "have you done anything for it?" "no." "there's nothing you could have done that i know of," said stephens; "i was thinking whether i could try to lance it for you, but i'm afraid of cutting an artery. of course, felipe, it isn't possible that you could have any whiskey?" "no, indeed, sooshiuamo," said the boy; "how could i?" "no, no, of course you couldn't," said the prospector; "and i haven't any neither. if we had a quart of whiskey here we might be able to save him. the only thing we can do is to keep him moving. look here, felipe, you lift him under the right shoulder and i'll lift him under the left; we must walk him around. now then, up!" between them they raised the unhappy man to his feet. "come on," cried stephens, "hold him up. steady now." they walked forward as steadily as they could in the direction of the cave-dwelling, backus staggering along between them. his legs went through the motions of walking almost mechanically, but his weight rested entirely on his two supporters, and he was a heavy man to carry. "stick to it, felipe," said stephens, "it's the only chance for him. keep him going." they reached the cave. "set him down here a minute before the fire," said stephens, putting aside his rifle, and with both hands lowering the patient to the ground, after spreading his blanket for him to lie on. backus was in a state of appalling collapse; the swelling increased so rapidly that it seemed as if his head must burst; the inflamed skin was horribly mottled with red and green and yellow, and a cold sweat broke out on him. stephens knelt beside him and felt his pulse; it was rapid, fluttering, and feeble. felipe looked on, awestruck and speechless. that the prospector should try to preserve the life of his enemy did not appeal to him at all; it seemed to him only one more of the unaccountable things these americans did. but the frightful state of the storekeeper, and the agonising pains he was suffering were the work of the dread reptile he had been taught to reverence from his earliest days. the gods were angry with backus, and this was their doing. stephens felt that the stricken man's hands were growing deadly cold. he sprang up. "come on, felipe!" he exclaimed, rising quickly again to his feet. "he's at the last gasp, i think. we must try to walk him up and down again. it's the one thing we can do." they raised him to his feet once more, stephens putting his right arm round his waist, and steadying him with the other, and, felipe aiding, they walked him to and fro on the meadow, trying to counteract the fatal lethargy produced by the bite. "he must have got an awful dose of poison into him," said stephens, as they struggled along with their now nearly unconscious burden. "i guess it must have been a snake that had been lying up for the winter, and had only just come out now the warm weather's beginning. they're worst of all then; their poison-bag has a full charge in it." but felipe made no answer; he was not affected by the scientific question as to how many drops of venom there might be in a serpent's poison-gland. for him the question was, "had the god struck to kill? or would he be content to punish and pardon?" but as he looked at the lolling head and dragging limbs of the victim he felt that the god had struck to kill. at this moment the moon sank beneath the horizon. "i guess he's come to the jumping-off place," said stephens, as backus sank into absolute unconsciousness. "let's carry him right back to the fire." once more they laid him down beside that prehistoric hearth, and the ruddy glow lit up the horrid spectacle of his distorted face. they tried to warm him and keep the life in him a little longer; but it was in vain. the laboured breath came slower and slower; the feeble pulse waxed fainter and fainter; the chill hand of death was there, and nought that they could do was of any avail; and after a little while stephens was aware that the thing that lay in front of the fire was but a disfigured corpse. between them, he and felipe raised it, and laid it at one side of the dwelling, and covered it from sight with the blanket. when they returned to the fire, they stood there side by side gazing at the embers in a long silence. they stood as it were in the presence of death, and neither the white man nor the red had any mind to break the solemnity of the scene. suddenly there came a low, rustling, slithering sound from the stones in the corner behind them, as a large snake glided out across the floor, and swiftly vanished into the darkness without. stephens gave an involuntary shudder. "that brute must have been in the corner there all the time i was here," he said. "yes, sooshiuamo," answered felipe in an awestruck voice, "he was there, but he did not touch you. now he has gone to tell his brother who struck your enemy that he is dead. the snakes must be your friends; they do not hurt you; they only kill your enemies for you"; and as if impelled to penitence by what he regarded as a supernatural warning, he turned to the prospector and poured out in a flood a full confession of all he had heard and seen and suspected of backus's schemes, and of his dealings with the navajos. stephens listened aghast. mahletonkwa certainly had told him that his message to the governor had been stopped, but he had been loath to believe that a white man could play such a treacherous game, and side with savages against his own countryman. it was natural for the american to prefer to think that the navajo had lied; but, if felipe spoke true, the wretched man who lay dead before them had really and actually sold him into the hands of the navajos. then arose the question--what had been his object? there might be more dangers around, more plots that felipe knew nothing of? "i never liked him, it's true, but why should he play such a mean trick merely for that? if he really did destroy my letters asking for the soldiers, he must have done it that very hour that i gave them to him. it wasn't till the next day that i knocked him into the ditch, so he couldn't have done it out of revenge for that blow i gave him. i wonder, now, if he could have kept a grudge against me for that old wound at apache cañon? some folks find it mighty hard to forgive." "well," he continued aloud, addressing felipe, "i sha'n't bear any malice against you, young 'un. i reckon that--well--that fellow just used you, and you aint much more to blame than an idiot--pity you hadn't got more sense; but that's enough--i'll never think of it again." felipe looked up at him with dumb gratitude in his eyes. "and now," said the prospector, when the misunderstanding between them had been thus settled, "the morning star is up, and it will be dawn directly. we must take the body down to san remo that it may be buried by his own people." he went out to the meadow and brought up the horse and put the saddle on him. with no small difficulty they lifted the corpse on to it and made it fast there, and then, with felipe at the horse's head, and stephens holding the sad burden in place, they made their way back to the trail, and so down once more from the sierra to the village. chapter xxvii auld acquaintance the sun was already well up in the eastern sky when the strange funeral procession entered san remo. the news of the event spread like wildfire, and friendly hands were ready to aid stephens in lifting down the dead man's corpse at the door of what yesterday had been his home, while kind-hearted women full of sympathy went into the house to break the tidings to her whose hearth was made desolate. then a dreadful sound broke upon his ears; it was the cry of agony that told that the wife knew that she was a wife no more but a widow. it was a piercing cry, that wounded the hearts of all who heard it, for the ring of mortal pain was there. unaccustomed to all violent appeals to feeling, stephens found this heart-rending wail unbearable. duty to the dead claimed him no longer, and he must hurry away. "thanks, friends," he said to the mexicans who had aided him to lift the body down, "a thousand thanks for your kindness in this aid. _adios, amigos_, i must be going. _adios._" he led the horse, now lightened of his burden, away from the door, felipe following. he could not mount in the saddle which death had just vacated; it seemed to him as if it would be a sort of sacrilege. that agonised cry of the bereaved woman haunted him still. loathing backus though he did, this evidence that to one soul, at least, in this incomprehensible world, he had been all in all, struck home to him. likely enough the man had been good to her, scoundrel though he was; but what an amazing thing must be this bond of marriage that could thus link heart to heart, even when one of the pair was no better than a treacherous coward. at don nepomuceno's he found manuelita, but not alone. not only were her aunt and juana there--that was of course--but the visits of interested friends had not yet ceased, seeing that everyone naturally wanted to hear the exciting story from her own lips. and now it came the american's turn to entertain the company; while food was being hospitably prepared for him, he had to come in and sit down among the ladies, and give some account of what had befallen him while searching for the bones of the murdered prospector. he passed over felipe's attempt on his life in silence and merely spoke of having met him at the old ruined pueblo, where they heard through the darkness the cry of the dying victim of the rattlesnake, and vainly endeavoured to help him to resist the fatal venom. he told the tale at length, and with a freedom and fulness of detail that surprised himself. but all the time there was one thing present before his mind, and that was the very thing that he could whisper no word of to the eager circle around him; it must be kept for one and one only; but ever as he talked his eyes sought those of the mexican girl, not once but many times, and they spoke to her silently and ardently. "what is it that has come to him?" she asked herself. "here is a look in his eyes to-day that never was there before. perhaps he has a secret to keep--or to tell; perhaps he has found that mine that he is always searching for." she blushed and looked down as she caught his glance flashed quickly upon her. her heart told her that he had a secret to tell--but that it did not concern any mine of silver or gold. again their eyes met, and again unwillingly they parted; it seemed dangerous to look longer, as if the meaning that they had for each other must betray itself to all around. and this was the man that she had been deeming cold and hard! "_hombre muy frio_," as her aunt had called him. "cold as the snows of his own frozen north," as her father had said--said it of him! perhaps so, perhaps he had been cold, but if it were so, the ice had melted now. stephens lingered over his story longer than he had intended; questions flowed in upon him, and he had to answer them and fill in many things that he had omitted, for the storekeeper's strange and dreadful end was a matter that excited intense interest. he half hoped that by exciting their curiosity he might impel these people to go away and visit the house of the deceased in order to learn what more they could. anything to make them move. but nothing seemed to have the desired effect. the more he told them the more they wanted to know. the chance to see the girl alone and tell her what was in his heart seemed to grow more remote than ever. he ached to speak to her, were it but a few words--a few words he told himself were all that were needful, so little did he know of love--and yet the opportunity was denied. at last in despair he rose; he would go away himself for a little and then return. perhaps meantime the visitors might disperse. "i have to take my leave now, ladies," he said, excusing himself. "it is already the hour for the mail to arrive from santa fé, and i am expecting letters of importance. i do not know how they will manage in view of the unhappy death of the postmaster, but i had better be there to see what is to be done about opening the mail-bag. by your permission, then, don nepomuceno," and he bowed himself out. the words he had come to say to her were still unsaid. the thought occurred to him as he moved away,--should he speak to the girl's father? to speak to the girl's father first would be quite the correct thing according to mexican fashions; or, rather, if he wanted to do the thing in proper style, he should go and get a friend to take a message to her father for him. but no; he was not a mexican, and why should he adopt their fashions in this? he was an american, and he would woo his wife in american style for himself. faro started to come with him, but was ordered back. "stay where you are, old man, till i come for you. i see you're not so tender-footed as you were, but you stay here." he felt a sort of prejudice against taking the dog to the house of mourning. he hated to go there at all, but he had to have his mail and there was no other way to get it. and he would see if he could find out anything about the fate of the letters he had entrusted to backus. he went out and saddled up morgana, who put her pretty head round and pretended to bite him as he pulled on the latigo strap to draw the cinch. "easy, old lady, now; come, none of that"; as she nearly nipped him. "pedro's been giving you too much of don nepomuceno's corn, i'm thinking, and it's got into your head." he slung his winchester into its case under the off-stirrup leather, and swinging himself into the saddle departed on his errand. the mail waggon had just drawn up as usual before the door of the post-office, now shut and locked, and the stage-driver was leading his team around the back of the house towards the stable as stephens came in sight. two passengers had dismounted from the waggon, and were stretching their tired limbs and looking disconsolately at the closed house with its shuttered window, which seemed to offer small promise of a meal. stephens loped forward with the idea of relieving their discomfiture. as he did so one of the figures seemed strangely familiar. "was it--could it be possible? no. yes. by george, it was!" with a shout of welcome he sprang off the mare, slipping her bridle over the saddle-horn, and reached out both hands to the newcomer. "rocky! well, by gum!" "jack, old pard! why, you haint changed a mite!" stephens and rockyfeller shook hands for about three minutes by the clock. "say," said stephens, when the first greetings were over, "what brings you down here so sudden-like? thar aint nothing wrong?" "not with me," answered rocky; "i got your telegram, though, and it struck me that as you thought it worth while telegraphing for them dollars, you might p'r'aps be in some sort of a fix, so as i happened to be free and foot-loose i just jumped on the cars as far as south pueblo, and took the stage, and here i am. and i was curious to see how you were making it down here. you're looking a , i will say. new mexico kinder seems to agree with you. say, look at here,"--he dropped his voice slightly,--"how about them velvet-eyed mexican señoritas? aint none of them been too much for you yet?" he gave his former partner a rallying look as he spoke. "ah, i may have a word to say to you about that presently," rejoined the other in a guarded tone. "but say, you're going to stop here, aint you? you're not bound for wingate?" "no, of course i'm not," laughed rocky, "not unless you turn me adrift. i've come down to see you--that is, if it's quite convenient." it was characteristic of rocky that it only now occurred to him that if his former partner had started an establishment down here a casual visitor might be _de trop_. "of course," he added hastily, "i can go on to wingate with the stage, quite well, along with my friend here, doctor benton. excuse me, doctor,"--he turned to his fellow-traveller, who had been regarding the meeting of the two old friends with no other interest than considering how it affected his chances of getting a meal,--"allow me to introduce you two gentlemen. doctor, this is my old friend, mr. john stephens, at present a resident of this neighbourhood. jack, this is doctor benton, who is doctor to the post at fort wingate and is now on his way there." the army doctor and the prospector exchanged greetings. "perhaps, mr. stephens," said the doctor, who was uncommonly hungry, "you can inform me of what i am anxious to discover, namely, what possibility there is of our getting a meal here before proceeding." stephens explained that the keeper of the stage station had just been killed by a rattlesnake. "but i think," he continued, "that if you will put yourself in my hands i can manage to procure you a meal with some friends of mine near here. i'd like to ask you to come up to my place at santiago, but the stage don't wait but an hour here, and there wouldn't be time, as it's a good three miles off." he paused and hesitated for a moment. "i should like to say that these friends of mine are mexicans," he added; "there are no americans resident in this part of the territory." the fact was, that he felt slightly embarrassed for two reasons. he was afraid that doctor benton would try to offer payment to don nepomuceno for his meal, which wouldn't do at all; and he wanted to explain to rocky his footing in the house, and his position with regard to manuelita, before taking him there, so as to shut off beforehand any further unseasonable jests about velvet-eyed señoritas. but to explain this to him before a stranger like doctor benton was an impossibility. he must contrive somehow to get a chance to speak to rocky for a few minutes alone. his eye fell upon felipe, who had followed him from the sanchez house. "see here, young 'un," he said, "i wish you'd go back to don nepomuceno's for me, and tell him, with my compliments, that two friends of mine have just come, and that by his permission i should like to bring them to his house, and that i should be very much obliged if he could give them something to eat. off you go. we'll follow you." felipe was off like a shot. "that'll be all right now, i guess," said stephens, looking after his retreating figure, "but if you'll excuse me a moment, doctor benton, before we follow him, i've got to see about my mail first. i expect there may be something of importance for me, but i feel there may be a little difficulty about getting it, seeing that the responsible postmaster's dead, and the poor woman in yonder,"--he dropped his voice slightly,--"who represents him now, is in no condition to transact business. i guess i'll go and speak to the stage-driver first. will you come around with me, rocky?" "why, the mail-bags are in here," cut in the doctor, pointing to the stage, "and the driver never has the key. you'll have to get it out of the widow, somehow, i expect." "ah," said the prospector suddenly, a fresh idea flashing across him, "you might be able to tell me perhaps about one thing that i'm curious to know. you are just from headquarters at santa fé, doctor, aren't you?" the doctor nodded assent. "well, do you know of any detail of soldiers being despatched in this direction to look after the navajos? there's a band of navajos have left their reservation, and there was very serious trouble with them here some four days back, and i wrote to the governor and the general who is in command of the troops at santa fé to ask for protection for the citizens here. i wrote by the last mail that went in from here on this same stage, driven by this man. i know that he must have delivered a letter i gave him addressed to the first national bank of santa fé, because i had enclosed in it a telegram to my old pard here, and the bank forwarded it to him all o. k. but i'm a little doubtful as to what became of those letters to the governor and the general. i want to know why those soldiers weren't sent." "hm-m," said the army doctor; "it so happens that i was conversing with both governor stone and general merewether only yesterday before starting, and we were talking about the route by here to wingate, and the difficulty of the rio grande being in flood, but they never said a word about any report of trouble with the navajos." "you don't say!" said stephens; "and you didn't pass any troops on the road anywhere along?" "certainly not," said the other; "in fact, if any troops had been coming this way, i should probably have accompanied them. but i am in a position to state that no detail of troops of any kind has left santa fé for a week or more." "well, i'm dashed!" said the prospector; "they would have said something to you about it, sure, if they ever got my letters." he was silent. "mahletonkwa must have told the straight truth for once in his life," he reflected, "and that rascal of a postmaster must have actually had the face to burn those letters i gave him, and, what's more, now he's dead we'll never prove it on him in god's world. not that it would be any use if we could. the mischief's done now so far as he could do it, but it's the last he'll ever do, sure. the letter i gave the stage-driver was all right. he couldn't get at that." stephens never knew how near his letter to the bank, with the telegram for rocky, had come to sharing the fate of the others. but the stage-driver, though he might talk and bluster, had no real motive for destroying it, and he did have a healthy fear of the post-office department. mr. backus had a motive, and did not share the other's wholesome dread of his official superiors. while stephens was pondering over the fate of his letters, he slipped one hand in an absent-minded way into his side pocket, and there he stumbled on exactly what he most wanted at that moment, a good excuse for taking rocky apart. the first thing his fingers had encountered was the paper containing the specimens of the outcrop at the lone pine rock that he had brought away with him. excellent! here was the very thing; he produced it somewhat mysteriously, and handing it to rocky, said apologetically to the other man, "one moment by your leave, doctor, if you please. there's something here i want just to have my old partner look at," and he drew rocky a little to one side. "why, certainly," said the doctor, turning round and proceeding to climb into the stage; "i'll just see if i can rout out that mail-bag for you before the stage-driver comes." "i wanted to tell you, rocky, about my friends at this house where i'm taking you," began stephens hurriedly, in a low voice; "i don't want you to make any error: there's a girl there that i think--" but his ex-partner, who had already opened the paper, interrupted him with the greatest excitement. "why, burn my skin!" he exclaimed, "do you know what you've got hold of here? you've got some of that same ore they've gone crazy over up at mohawk. didn't you spot the horn silver in it? if you've got a good lode of this stuff, by thunder, you've got a soft thing! is it a good vein? if it's three or four foot wide you'll just have the world by the tail." "that so?" said his friend, "you don't say! i guess i must have stumbled on to that hidden mine of the indians i've been hunting for, at last. but that'll keep." rocky, remembering his old friend's former ardour in prospecting, was amazed at the cool way in which he took the news that he had made this highly valuable strike. "look at here, rocky; the thing i was really aiming to say to you," continued stephens, his colour rising as he spoke, "was about that young lady,"--at this rocky's lips curved into a knowing smile and his eyes twinkled;--"don't laugh, old man, i'm dead in earnest over this thing, and i think a heap of her. she's a lady, mind you, right down to the ground." "why, to be sure, she must be," cut in rocky, with portentous seriousness, though his eyes danced with merriment; "she wouldn't be your style no other way. you always was high-toned, jack; i'll say that for you." "that's all right," returned stephens, colouring more furiously than ever; he knew he was blushing, though the experience was entirely strange to him, and he was dreadfully ashamed of not being able to help it. "but indeed i'm not joking, rocky. her family's not very rich, but they're kind of way-up people, i want you to understand, old spanish blood and that sort of thing; not any of the low-down, half-caste indian stock, you know." "that so?" said rocky, keenly; "wal', i'm glad to hear it. i thought mexicans was all one quality straight through--leastways, all i ever seen were." rocky's knowledge of the race was limited to the bull-whackers of the big waggon-trains on the freighting roads, and mexican stock was considerably below par by his estimate. "that's where you got off wrong," said stephens eagerly, "for there's a few families here in new mexico that's just as good as anybody, if it comes to that--bacas and armijos and--and sanchez--" he hesitated a little. "say," cut in rocky, "look at yonder! who are them ducks a-coming up the road? they 're riding as if all blazes was loose. some of the first families of new mexico, eh?" rocky was sarcastic. he knew indians when he saw them. "by george!" exclaimed stephens in considerable excitement, "it's those accursed navajos back here again." out of a whirling cloud of red dust and flying horsehoofs emerged the well-known figures of mahletonkwa, notalinkwa, and the rest of the gang. they reined up before the shut door of the store, and most of them sprang off their horses. "they've not gone back to their reservation," said stephens indignantly. "we'd ought to have had the soldiers here by now, and put them right back. i'm all for doing things by law and order, me, and it's the soldiers' business anyway. but it's getting to be time something was done. it's an infamous shame they should be allowed to fly around like this and bulldoze everybody; and, what's more, i'm getting tired of it." the indians were talking and laughing in a loud, excited manner, and mahletonkwa began to pound on the closed door of the store with his fist. "that's a sockdologer," said rocky, "him knocking at the door i mean, with the eagle-feathers in his head-dress." mahletonkwa was a big man physically; his stature would have been remarkable even in a crowd of western men, perhaps the tallest men, on an average, of any on the face of the globe. "say, do you mean to tell me that these are wild indians, and you leave 'em around here loose?" "they're worse than wild indians just now," said stephens, whose eyes were beginning to glow like hot coals; "they're indians with liquor enough in them to make 'em crazy for more, and ready for any devilment." "say, mahletonkwa," he called out, raising his voice and advancing a step, "quit that hammering, will you! there's trouble in the house, and you mustn't disturb them." the indian took no more notice of him than a striking clock might have done, but went on pounding with loud, continuous blows on the resounding wood. "stop it, will you!" cried stephens, springing forward; "don't you hear me? there's a dead man in there, i tell you, and a poor woman mourning." "i want more whiskey," said mahletonkwa excitedly, and he beat the door with both hands. the next moment stephens had him by the shoulders and whirled him around, and with a push sent him staggering half a dozen yards from the house. the indian recovered himself, wheeled sharp round, and with a yell of rage drew his knife and bounded upon stephens. he, too, drew his to defend himself, but as he did so rocky sprang between them, pulling his derringer. alas! the indian's knife was quicker than the pistol; he grappled rocky instead of stephens, and stabbed him in the breast. down went rocky with a crash upon the ground, the pistol dropping unfired from his nerveless fingers, and the blood poured from his mouth. chapter xxviii eleven to one at sight of rocky bleeding at his feet, something seemed suddenly to snap in stephens's brain, and the secret rage that had been consuming him for days blazed out. this was open war at last, and the navajos themselves had begun it. it was their own choice. "so now then," said he, "they shall have it." almost before mahletonkwa could draw his dripping blade from his victim's body, the american's strong grasp seized him and swung him violently round. stephens's right hand gripped the hilt of his great hunting-knife, and with it he dealt the red man one terrible stroke as with a sword. all the strength of his arm and all the wrath of his soul went into that mighty sweep of the blade, and he felt the keen edge shear right through bone and muscle as it clove the doomed man's breast asunder and split his heart in twain. the dying yell of the indian rent the air with so piercing a sound that the women in the sanchez house, three furlongs off, heard it, and sprang trembling to their feet. with both his hands the american raised his stricken foe aloft and flung him clear away, a corpse before he touched ground. it was all over in five seconds; but stephens knew it could not end there. this was no final blow in a single combat, it was rather the first in one where the odds were still ten to one against him. mahletonkwa's followers were swiftly unslinging their guns, save four who had sprung to their horses, whether to fight or fly he could not tell. like a flash the american's ready six-shooter was out from his belt. notalinkwa was nearest him, his gun already at his shoulder; but the too careful indian paused a moment on his aim to make sure, and that pause was fatal. as the american's pistol came up level the hammer fell, and notalinkwa, shot through the heart, pitched heavily forward, and lay there prone on the brown earth, biting it convulsively in the strong death-agony. with the rapidity of lightning the deadly weapon spoke again, and again, and again, and as each jet of smoke and flame leapt from the muzzle, each bullet, true to its mark, laid an enemy low. if stephens thought at all during those breathless seconds in which he sent foe after foe to his last account, it was but to say to himself, "quick, now, quick! be quick, but sure!" navajo rifle-balls whistled by him, but he felt no fear; there was no room for that, for his whole soul now was bent upon one passionate purpose,--to kill, kill, kill. as the fourth navajo dropped to his fourth shot, he saw the rest run, and gave one wild shout of triumph, and even as his voice rang out his fifth barrel went off, and down dropped yet another of the gang. it seemed as though he could not miss a single shot to-day. "oh, doctor," he cried, "oh, doctor! quick here, rocky's hurt!" but he did not turn his head as he shouted to him to help his wounded friend. the four indians who had already mounted were off and away, and kaniache, the last of those who had turned to fight when mahletonkwa was slain, had now lost heart and was springing to horse to follow them. what chance was there to fight against a man like this, on whom no navajo rifle-balls seemed to have any effect, but whose own unerring bullets slew a victim at each shot? he was no mere man, but an avenging fury. alas for kaniache! the resolve to fly came too late. as he reached the saddle stephens raised his six-shooter for the last time, and the foresight came into the v-notch of the hammer just below the red man's shoulder blade as he turned to flee. the last of the six cartridges spoke, once more the jet of flame and smoke leaped from the muzzle, and kaniache dropped forward on the neck of his steed, clutching blindly and desperately at the mane. the horse bounded forward after the others that had fled before him, his rider's hot blood pouring down his withers, and dropping on to his knees at every stride. then the desperate clutch relaxed, and the death-stricken kaniache pitched heavily to the ground, and with loose rein the riderless steed galloped wildly across the plain. "hurrah," shouted stephens again as he darted to his mare, "hurrah! run, you dogs, run!" the sweetest moment in a man's life is when he looks in the eyes of his mistress and knows that his love is returned; the proudest is when he sees in front of him his foes, but sees nothing but their backs. and to stephens both these things came in one hour. he raised the rein, and morgana bounded forward in pursuit. his eye glancing around fell upon the figure of doctor benton just leaping from the stage waggon, pistol in hand. he had heard the rapid shots before he heard stephens's shout, and his first impulse had been to catch up his weapon and take his share in the fighting. but so quick had been the deadly work that there was no one for him to turn loose on save the dead or dying redskins who bestrewed the ground, and he paused as if undecided what to do. stephens settled the question for him. "hurry up, there, doc," he shouted over his shoulder to him, "hurry up, or rocky'll be dead." and looking back he saw the army surgeon run across to where the prostrate white man lay. seeing this, he was satisfied skilled hands would do all that was possible to save his old partner. for himself there was only one course, to go on right to the bitter end as he had begun, and avenge on the whole murderous gang the wanton knife-stroke of their chief,--ay, and more, to avenge upon them, too, the terrors of manuelita, and the murder of that lonely wanderer in the mountains whom he and the whole lot of them had so foully done to death beside the lone pine. for all that long account, vengeance should be taken to the very last drop. he looked ahead: the four fugitives were galloping a quarter of a mile in front of him, making not for the sierra, but for the more open valley of the agua negra. he was clearing the last of the san remo houses now, and as he did so he heard the thunder of horsehoofs on his right, and two well-mounted mexicans dashed forth from the corrals to join in the pursuit. they were the same young men who the day before had ridden in ahead of don nepomuceno's party to rejoin their sweethearts. they had heard the firing begin, had seen the fray, and mounted in hot haste to play their part. "_bueno!_" he shouted when he saw them, "_bueno_, boys! wade in. we'll give 'em a dose of it between us." the mexicans cheered back to him, and plied their quirts; morgana was going at three quarters racing speed, but they sent their horses along from the start as if they were running a quarter-mile dash. the house from which they came was a little to one side of the indians' line of flight, and they made for their line at such an angle that they gained a decided advantage both on them and on the american, and were enabled to cut ahead of the latter. the fugitives, hearing the shouts, and looking back and becoming aware of these new pursuers, at once began to flog, but the rearmost navajo's horse could not answer to the whip, and the tremendous pace at which the mexicans had started carried them right up to within fifty yards of him. out came their revolvers, bang, bang, bang! they went at him, and again, bang, bang, bang! but such wild firing as this over the heads of galloping horses is random work at best, and the navajo went on scathless. "_esperate! esperate!_" sang out stephens from behind. "you're wasting your ammunition. wait till you're closer, boys." but in spite of his wiser counsels he still heard them firing away, bang, bang, bang! young blood soon gets hot in the chase; and then stephens saw a curious sight. bang went the leading mexican's revolver once more, and this time the bullet, better aimed or more lucky, found its mark. the navajo's horse was seen to stagger and stumble and then come down, the rider leaping nimbly off over its head; he lit on his feet like a cat, and he held his bow and some arrows in his left hand; in the twinkling of an eye he was ready for them, and as the mexicans rode headlong at him he slapped an arrow into the first and brought him heavily to the ground; like lightning a second arrow was fitted to the string, and he let fly again, and the arrow buried itself to the feather in the breast of the second man's horse, and horse and rider both fell almost on top of him. the navajo caught the rein of the first man's horse with which to resume his flight, while the second mexican was still struggling with his fallen steed; and so marvellously quick and adroit was he that he must have succeeded in getting away but for the american. the moment stephens saw the arrow-stricken horse roll over, he drew rein, and in half a dozen strides brought his mare to a standstill. he would not jerk her on to her haunches, for he was saving her strength for what promised to be a long chase. before she had actually stopped he was on the ground, rifle in hand, and ready to shoot. then, as the indian was bounding to the saddle of the captured horse, the deadly rifle came up, and the momentary poise of the bent body, as he threw his leg over, gave to the marksman the fatal opportunity. the rifle cracked, and the conical bullet tore clean through the navajo's vitals and passed out at his right breast. his dexterous manoeuvre had been all in vain, and he fell forward under the horse's feet, and his spirit took flight to join that of his slain chief who had gone so little before him. stephens leaped into the saddle again, and galloped up. the unwounded mexican had freed himself unhurt from his prostrate mount, and was now trying to draw the arrow from his friend. "go on, you," he cried to stephens as the latter checked his speed, "go on, you, and kill _los demonios_, kill them all." the american took him at his word, and away darted morgana again in her stretching gallop. there were only three redskins left now, and they were some distance ahead, but the gallant little morgan mare pressed steadily after them. the foam flakes began to fly from her bit, but she was full of spirit and going strong. he glanced down at his waist and saw the bright copper tops of the row of unused cartridges that encircled it. stephens was one of those men who grow cold as they grow hot. his brain was like molten metal under a crust of ice. shifting reins and rifle into one hand, he composedly felt the belt all round with the other; there was but one vacant loop, and this assured him that there were thirty-nine more there in reserve. "seven indians in seven shots," said he cynically; "that must come pretty near making a record. well, if i can only keep up that lick now!" his relentless eye measured the gap between him and his flying foes. with joy he noted that it was decreasing, for his whole soul longed to close with them and slay, slay, slay. this blood thirst in him was a new thing. he had been in battles before, but he had never felt like this. the strained nerve, the hot fever of strife, the passionate will to win, none of these sensations were new to him, though he had not known them since the day of apache cañon. but when coloradans and texans met in conflict he had not felt as he did now. he had had no race feeling against foes whom he looked upon as western men like himself. he had no personal wrongs to avenge upon them; all he wanted was to send them back to where they came from; to stop them from conquering the rocky mountain country and breaking up the union; in short, he only wanted to hammer them back into brotherhood. this was a different thing; now there was a fire burning in his veins that would not be satisfied till the last one of his enemies lay dead at his feet. it was not merely victory he wanted, but vengeance. the shedders of the innocent blood, that cried against them from the ground, should be utterly wiped out from the face of the earth. he would not leave one of them alive. and ever the game little morgan mare strode bravely along, and now his heart leaped to perceive that the indians were losing more and more rapidly the advantage they had gained at the start. by this time there was distinctly less than a quarter of a mile between him and them. "good for you, pedro," he cried, as he noted the gain the mare was making; "you didn't stint her feed last night. don nepomuceno's corn sticks by your ribs, little lady"; and at the sound of her master's voice morgana pricked her ears and strode out more bravely than ever. he had not touched her yet with the spur. overnight mahletonkwa and his gang had betaken themselves some little distance down the santiago river to enjoy themselves in their own way with the illicit whiskey they had procured from the storekeeper, and there they had turned their ponies loose to graze. there was rich green grass in the moist swales along the river-bed, and their steeds had feasted on it. the young april grass tells its tale in a long gallop, and stephens began to see that their horses were already in distress. he gave his bridle-rein a shake, and touched morgana with the spur; right gallantly she responded, and the gap now diminished fast. he was overhauling them hand over hand. he turned his head and looked back; he could see for miles behind him, but there was no one in sight. no doubt as soon as they could get together there would be many mexican friends who would take up his trail and follow it, eager to help, but that could not be for some time yet. once more it was his lot to play a lone hand. and still the gap grew less; the indians looked back oftener and oftener, and their whips were plied mercilessly all the time. only a bare hundred yards separated him from them now. stephens kept his eye glued to them, expecting them every instant to jump off and receive him with a volley. that certainly seemed to be the best game for them to play, as their horses were so nearly done. the question was, would they try it? if they did, he too must leap off and shoot as quick as they. the winchester, he thought, would give the three of them shot for shot and something over. but to stand up to it and give and take shot for shot was not the indians' style of doing business. they had no spirit left in them to face this terrible man in the open; just here, however, the trail approached a spot more suitable to their methods of fighting. a bold and lofty butte, a landmark known far and wide as the cerro chato, rose abruptly a little to one side of the trail, and the navajos suddenly swung off to the right and made for it, hoping to gain the shelter of the broken masses of rock that were strewn about its base, and from that vantage-ground defy their merciless pursuer. stephens divined their object the moment they turned for the butte; he also changed his course, and he now spurred freely and spoke to the mare and encouraged her with his voice. the staunch morgan blood answered to the call; there was a spurt still left in her, and she fairly raced them for the rocks. but though she was doing all she knew, the indians got there first. they sprang to earth, and as they did so stephens did the same, scarce fifty yards behind them. they darted for hiding to the cleft of rocks; two got there, but one was too late; just as he reached his goal the leaden messenger outwent him, and he felt the crippling blow; it caught him in the thigh as he ran, and the broken limb gave way under him; still, on his hands and knees, he dragged himself desperately forward almost into the longed-for haven of refuge, but another bullet, pumped up from the magazine, followed all too swiftly on the first, and broke his spine, and a third gave the merciful _coup-de-grâce_ and put him out of his pain. "there's something mighty persuasive about a winchester," jeered stephens, hastily throwing in another cartridge as he rushed forward, and casting just one glance at the body as he passed. the persuasive repeating rifle had pumped lead to some purpose into white antelope. never again would he see the rich valleys of the chusca mountains where so often he had roamed with his tribe; no more would he tend his flock, like the patriarch of old, and lead from pasture to water, and from water to pasture the spotted and ringstreaked herd of many-horned sheep whose innocent faces he knew so well. here, under the cerro chato, coyotes and eagle-hawks would pick his bones, and the little booth of boughs where his squaw and his papooses waited for him--the little booth that to each wandering son of the desert stands for home--would never see him more. war is cruel work. the renegade navajo band had brought this on themselves, and richly deserved what they got, yet, take it all round, retribution, however just, is a butcherly job. "two more left, and i'm bound to rub it in," said stephens, plunging in amongst the rocks lest the pair who had already found cover should take advantage of his exposed position outside. above them the butte rose abruptly to a height of two or three hundred feet, but the face of it was so much broken down that the fallen fragments had made a slope half way up it, while the largest detached blocks had rolled in numbers to the very bottom and lay confusedly heaped together or loosely scattered around. "it's pretty near as good a place for these sons of guns as the lava beds," he said; "only, thank my stars, there aren't so many of them now. yet, i've got to go to work mighty cautious here, or else i'll give myself away for good and all." he wiped his streaming face as he crouched behind a rock for a minute or two to recover his breath and decide on the next move. "git 'em!" he went on, "i've got to git 'em, as the boy said; and there's no two ways about it. but how am i going to git 'em? that's the next question. if i stand straight up and try to walk right on to them, they're simply bound to have the deadwood on me. there'd be no show at all for me in that game. i've got to try and play it more their own style." very cautiously, foot by foot, surveying the ground on every side at each change of position, he began to move around. dead silence reigned, broken here by no war-whoops as in the lava beds; the desperate red men were biding their time; hid in the rocks they knew their advantage, and reckoned at last to turn the tables on their pursuer with a vengeance. the hot sun blazed down on him as the american patiently crept from the shelter of one rock to another, but neither sign nor sound of his enemies could he detect. out on the plain he could see that his mare had joined the horses abandoned by the indians, and was making friends with them. they were getting over the effects of their gallop already, and were beginning to try a nibble at the grass. "make friends with them as much as you like, little lady," said he, apostrophising the mare; "it's all right for you, though i can't--at least not yet. there's eleven thousand peaceable navajos living on their reservation that i'm quite ready to be friends with, but this band of cutthroats has got to be wiped clean out. 'hit hard when you do hit,' was old grant's motto every time, and i reckon he knew pretty well what he was about." on he moved again, warily searching each hole and cranny where the great rocks had fallen against each other and formed shelters. suddenly, as he paused a moment in his advance, listening, there came to his ears from far away a welcome, well-known sound. it was the voice of a dog giving tongue on the trail. "faro, by all the powers!" he cried. "why, he must have heard the shooting at the store and come a-running to see what was up, and then not finding me there he's taken the trail of the mare." straining his eyes he discerned a dark spot advancing over the plain; nearer it came and nearer, and then was heard a joyful bark of recognition as the dog rushed up to the head of the grazing mare and greeted her vociferously. but soon, not finding with her the master whom he loved best of all, he left her, and questing round he came upon his trail where stephens had dismounted to shoot, and again he eagerly gave tongue and came running towards the rocks. but at the body of white antelope he checked. "now," said stephens, standing with his back against a rock, with his rifle cocked and ready, "if those sons of guns lay themselves out to shoot him they're bound to give me a chance to spot where they are, and i'll see if i can't give them what for." keeping his eye on the alert for any move of theirs, he gave a sharp whistle. but the hidden red men, though they both heard him and saw the dog, would not take the risk of exposing themselves to his deadly aim, and in another minute the excited bulldog was leaping up and fawning on the master to whom he was devoted, as if to reproach him for having left his most faithful ally behind. stephens patted and encouraged him, making him understand that there was game afoot, and, warily as if stalking a deer, took him back to where white antelope lay stiff and stark. as he smelt the blood again faro growled and his bristles rose; his master encouraged him till the dog knew what he meant; the game they were after was not deer--it was men. he took up the scent of the two navajos who had escaped into the rocks, and followed it with his hackles erect. in and out among the labyrinth of tumbled rocks he led the way, and stephens kept up with him as best he could without exposing himself too recklessly. the trail grew hotter and hotter, till on a sudden faro turned sharply aside and dashed out of sight behind a huge boulder; instantly there followed his loud, angry bark, and a half-stifled cry of human rage. with his rifle raised nearly to his shoulder, stephens put his head round the angle of the boulder, to see an indian standing almost within arm's length of him with his back against the rock, angrily striking with his gun at the dog, who was baying furiously as he sprang from side to side to avoid the blows. stephens had no time to look around to see where the other redskin was, for at sight of him the navajo, disregarding the dog, raised his rifle and fired, and the winchester cracked almost in the same instant. so close were the two to one another that the burst of flame and powder smoke from the indian's piece momentarily blinded the american. "i must be done for now," was the despairing thought that flashed through his mind in the utter helplessness of loss of sight; yet he felt no wound, and blind as he was he instinctively threw in a fresh cartridge for a second shot. then his smarting eyes began to recover themselves; hope came back; he was not blinded; he found himself able to see again, though with difficulty; and there at his feet was the body of the navajo and the dog worrying him. he flung himself on the pair to protect, if need be, his ever faithful ally, but need was none. his bullet had gone home, and the navajo was sped. he dragged the infuriated bulldog from his prey. "luck's all," said he, dashing the water from his eyes. "i don't know how i came to plug him so squarely; i never even saw the sights; i thought i was a goner that journey, sure." he looked around with restored vision to try if he could descry the last of the gang, but there was no sign of him visible; it seemed as if the pair must either have separated somehow before he and faro came up to their hiding-place, or else the survivor had fled on his companion's fall. "and that's lucky for me, too," said stephens, "for he could just have socked it into me as he liked when i was blinded with all that powder smoke." "come on then, faro," he continued, patting the dog, and encouraging him to take up the trail again. "one more, and our job's done. hie on, old man, he can't be far away." with eager pride the dog began questing anew for the scent, nosing inquisitively to right and to left, and stephens, as before, followed him warily. they did not have to go far before the dog's stiffening bristles showed that the enemy was near. three great detached masses of stone, fallen together haphazard, so bore against each other as to leave underneath a low, dark, cavernous recess, and into the mouth of this the dog dashed without a pause. the fierce sounds of conflict that instantly followed proved that it was the hiding-place of the hunted man. for one anxious moment stephens doubted whether to shoot or no, but standing outside in the bright light he could see nothing clear in the dark recess, and to shoot at random into it was to hazard killing his own friend. then there came a loud howl from faro, and unhesitatingly he drew his knife, dropped on all-fours, and laying the rifle aside threw himself head first into the cave, and in the darkness grappled for his foe. his left hand, thrust forward, seized an arm of the other, and swiftly in reply came the sharp, cold pang of a knife drawn across the back of it, and the warm gush of blood following the cut. as he felt the wound, his right hand instinctively let go of his own knife and seized the wrist of the hand wielding the blade that had cut him, the redskin frantically striving to get the hand free to deal him a fatal stab. the two men had clinched for the death-grapple, and in their furious struggles they dashed one another against the sides and roof of the narrow cave. dear life hung in the balance, and both knew it well. stephens's left hand had no grip left in it, but he could use the arm to bear down his opponent, while his strong right hand held on like a vice to the wrist it had seized, and kept the deadly blade from being plunged into him. mute as wolves they battled for the mastery; the sweat poured off them like rain, and their breath came in short, hard pants. then with joy stephens felt that his right hand was overpowering his enemy's and with all his might he dashed the indian's hand and the knife it held so violently against the rough rock wall that the blade snapped short off at the haft. one despairing effort the active red man made to twist himself clear, but in the narrow space his litheness was of no avail, and by sheer strength stephens got him under and turned him on his face. a short moment they paused, exhausted and breathless, when suddenly the american released the other's wrist and clutched him by the throat. writhe as he might the indian could not throw him off, nor relax that fatal grip that was choking the very life out of him. gradually he ceased to struggle, and stephens knew now that victory was his; with a final effort he raised himself on one knee on the red man's back, and quickly shifting the grip of his right hand from the throat to the top of the head, with a sharp, hard jerk and backward wrench he broke his neck. a convulsive quiver ran through his enemy's limbs, and then died away. the last of the renegade gang was dead. bruised, battered, and bleeding, the victor dragged himself from out the cave that had so nearly been his tomb. the fight was finished, he had no enemies left, and he lay there weak and unstrung, his head resting on his blood-stained hands. "why can't men be brothers?" he said. "but they would have it. they began. i didn't want to kill them. i wonder is rocky dead? they're all good indians now, anyway." a dead indian is reckoned a good indian throughout the west. he can be trusted not to do any mischief. his strength returning, he drew out the body of faro from the cave, and felt him all over; he had been dashed senseless against the wall of the cave and three of his ribs were injured, but his heart still beat; he was not completely done for. "worth a whole herd of dead dogs yet," said his master, gently rubbing the brindled back which at first he had feared was broken. "a blacktail buck has used you up as bad before now." he fondled his head, and the dog, coming to, made a feeble attempt to lick his hand. "we'll find a way to tote you home, never fear, old man," he continued; "and it's odd if we can't scare up a nurse to fix you good when we get back." he examined his own body; he was scraped and skinned by the rough rocks, and his shirt was torn half off him in the last struggle with the indian; but except for the one severe knife-gash, which he carefully bound up, he had no serious wound. he looked for his mare. she was grazing peacefully where he had left her, with her bridle trailing, as a hunter's horse should do. he looked away beyond her, far across the burning plain. "i've played this hand alone," said he; "but i'm thinking it's getting about time for those san remo folks to chip in." and then in the distance, through the shimmering mirage that wavered before the eye, he saw a little cloud of dust arise like a travelling whirlwind. he watched it; it was not one of nature's whirlwinds, for it came straight on up the trail, fast and steady. men made that whirlwind, and soon they were near enough to be distinguished. it was don andrés and a strong band of mexicans riding like the old harry to the rescue. "but i played it alone, for all that," he said. chapter xxix peace with honour when the death-shriek of mahletonkwa startled the dwellers in the casa sanchez, the sound was so strange, so unearthly, that they sprang to their feet in terror. what new ill had fallen upon the village! that could be no human cry. it seemed to their terrified imaginations that some evil spirit from the other world had come to add a crowning horror to their troubles. "it is the devil," they murmured, crossing themselves with trembling prayers--"the devil has come to carry away _el defunto_. _que los santos nos ayuden._" but when the blood-curdling shriek was followed by a succession of rapid pistol-shots and the cries of those who fell before the american's unerring aim, they knew that it was a conflict of a more earthly sort. the men snatched up their arms and dashed out of the house, ready for attack or defence, and were followed to the door by the trembling women, while stephens's dog darted away on his master's trail. this last alarm was too much for manuelita. her nerves were still quivering from the terrors of her own captivity, and now fears for her deliverer overwhelmed her. she knew the american was at the store,--he was surely killed; the blow that had threatened them had fallen at last, not on the family but on their friend. she tried to run, but her trembling limbs refused to bear her, and she sank to the ground in a passion of sobs; brave she could be for her own danger, but not for him, not for the man who had just left her, whose eyes had told her a secret she hardly let herself guess. she raised her head and heard the shuffling of feet, and the sound of subdued voices came nearer to her. in the doorway appeared her father, anxious and flurried. "hasten, sister," he called in a loud half-whisper to her aunt, "hasten and make a bed in the room across the patio for a wounded man. the navajos are on the war-path, and an american has been hurt." "who is it?" asked his sister, answering him in the same excited half-whisper, as the ominous shuffling steps of rocky's bearers reached the outside of the door and paused. "is he dying? quick there, juana, run and bring bedding; fly!" manuelita's heart seemed to stop beating as she listened for the answer. "i know not who he is. they say he is a friend of don estevan's. he had but just arrived from santa fé. there is a doctor of the american soldiers with him. mahletonkwa stabbed him in the lung." manuelita tried to ask, "and what of don estevan?" but her dry lips refused to speak the words. her father answered the unspoken question. "don estevan is like a raging lion. he has killed mahletonkwa and half his band already, and he is chasing the rest. ah, what a fighter! they say he fired off his pistol like lightning, and left the savages lying all around like dead dogs in a heap as if a thunderbolt from heaven had struck them. ah, what a fighter! the young men are all galloping after to help him." "he is not wounded himself?" they were already in the room across the patio preparing it for the wounded man, and it was the voice of manuelita that asked this question. her tongue had found speech at last. "well, it is not known precisely," said don nepomuceno. "he started off after them like fury, and so did the two young sandovals, and then there was more firing out on the plain, but it is not certain as yet what happened there. the doctor of the american soldiers wished to place the wounded americano with us at once, and i did not wait. ah, here they are, bringing him through the court. this way, señor el doctor. here is the room for him. is he much hurt?" "pretty bad," replied the doctor in spanish, which he knew that rocky, who was still conscious, did not understand. "but we shall see. with proper nursing there should be a good chance for him yet." with gentle hands rocky was laid upon the couch arranged for him, and attended to by the doctor and the women-folk, while don nepomuceno, in his eagerness to be of service, succeeded only in getting in everybody's way and making a wholly unnecessary fuss. "run, juana, run. bring a bowl with water for the doctor; cold water, mind you--hot, did you say, doctor?--hot water, then, juana, hot from the fire. and a towel, a clean towel, child--two towels; and be quick, quick! how slow you are!" rap, rap, rap, came loud, imperative knocks upon the outer door of the house, which had been made fast again after the limp form of rocky had been brought inside. don nepomuceno flew to open it himself. "hush, hush! who is there? eh? what? another man hurt? _ave maria purisima_, i hope it is not don estevan." his fingers fumbled with the bolts in his haste to unbar. "no, you say, not him. who is it, then? one of the sandovals shot with an arrow. and you wish for the doctor of the american soldiers to come and cure him? come in, then, come in,"--the door opened as he spoke,--"come in and speak to the doctor yourself. poor young sandoval; an arrow right through his shoulder, you say. and don estevan was not hit? oh, he killed the indian that shot young sandoval, did he? ah, what a lion of a man! what a fighter indeed!" and bursting with this fresh piece of news he ran across the patio to tell the doctor that his services were in request for another patient. "it looks to me," said doctor benton to himself, as, after doing all he could for rocky's comfort, he hurried with the messenger towards the house where young sandoval was lying, "at this rate, it looks to me as if i was going to get more surgical practice in san remo in a day than i'm likely to see at fort wingate in a month." * * * * * the slow hours passed, and the hot midday sun blazed down on the village; even the dogs retreated indoors to find a cool corner, and the hens retired from scratching on the dust-heaps; the place seemed asleep, save where a few anxious watchers kept their faces steadily turned towards the mirage that flickered over the plain, towards the horizon beyond which the young men had disappeared. the shaded room where manuelita sat by rocky's couch was cool and silent and restful, but there was no rest in the girl's dark eyes; their liquid depths burnt with a dark fire, and the scarlet spot on her cheeks, and the feverish start she gave at the slightest sound outside the door showed that she was not the impassive and self-controlled sick-nurse that doctor benton fondly imagined he had discovered, by some heaven-sent miracle, in this remote corner of new mexico. but whatever inward fire burnt in her eyes and fevered her cheeks, her hand never faltered in its task of fanning the sick man, and her ear noted his slightest breath. yet, with the curious double consciousness that comes to us when the nerves are tense with strain, she was all the time far away--riding, riding, riding at speed over the dusty levels of the agua negra valley, up through the pine-clad gorges of the sierra, seeking everywhere for the form of a tall, fair-haired man--no, _madre de dios_, not for his corpse, not for that! ah, no! some instinct would tell her, some kindly angel would whisper to her, if that were true. but no, that could not be. he was alive, he was dealing death with that terrible rifle of his to the foe; like an avenging whirlwind he was sweeping from the face of the earth those savages who had carried her off, who had tried to murder her brother, who had murdered that poor solitary prospector,--ay, and who could say how many more? merciful saints, what had they all not suffered from them! and now a deliverer had been sent to them by heaven, a very st. jago, like their own fair-haired saint, with his bright armour, in the chapel. and while she dreamed, and while her hand moved mechanically with the fan, her ear was still alert, and it brought its tidings. there was a murmur in the air, a movement without; the village stirred, and there were sounds far off. she heard a shout, several shouts, a shot--ah heavens, not a shot again!--yes, numbers of shots, mingled with _vivas_ and cries of joy; it was a lively _feu de joie_, like that from the procession on the feast day of st. jago himself. the shouts came nearer, they would waken her patient--oh, she must look one moment. and, in truth, when she looked out it was a sight to see. the little plaza had fairly gone off its head with excitement; the women wrapped in their rebosos, and eager hurrying children, and grey-bearded men, too old now for work or fight, and unkempt, barefooted peons, all bustling and crowding together in one place, laughing and crying at once, and asking questions to which nobody made answer; and in the centre a party of mounted _caballeros_, their silver buttons and spurs glinting in the bright sunshine, shouting and firing off pistols, and yelling as if they were possessed. "peace, peace, _amigos_," the voice of don nepomuceno was heard crying amid the babel of tongues; "a moment's peace, i pray you. this is pure madness." but no one heeded his words. "_viva! viva!_" yelled the young men; "here he is, behold him, the _guerrero_ americano, the slayer of the indians." and in the middle of them, his left arm in a sling, bloodstained, dishevelled, and in rags, sat stephens on his mare; his brain was reeling; the intense energy that had possessed him in the hour of the fight had gone, and left him a worn and weary man. manuelita's heart leapt at the sight of him. he was alive and, though wounded, he was able to sit his horse; his hurts, then, could not be desperate. "peace, peace, _amigos_," reiterated don nepomuceno. "see you not that don estevan is weary to the death? _santisima virgen!_ but you forget that he is wounded, too; yes, and look how the very clothes have been torn from his back.--dismount, then, don estevan, and let me help you. come inside, and you shall be attended to instantly." his eye fell upon the indian boy beside him. "here you, felipe, run to the house of the sandovals and see if the american doctor is there still, and tell him that there is yet another patient for him to attend to here. this way, don estevan. excuse me, friends, you will not go till you have taken a cup of wine with me, but i must see to don estevan first. ah, no noise now, for the sake of the sick man within. my house is purely a hospital now. angels of grace! but what agitation, what events! this way, don estevan, if you please. patience, friends. by your leave, i beg the silence of one little moment. sister, sister, bring a change of clothes for don estevan; his are all torn to pieces in the fight; bring my best clothes, my feast-day clothes, out of the great chest in the inner room. hurry, hurry! and water to wash the blood from him. bring water, juana; fly!" like a man in a dream stephens got off his horse and entered the house. the navajo bondmaid hastened in answer to her master's call and brought water to wash the blood of her kinsfolk from the hands of the american. passively he submitted himself to her care, and to that of don nepomuceno, who attended to him with bustling little airs of proprietorship, as if the prospector were his own private property, his own victorious gamecock who had won the main for him and beaten everything in the pit. he was so pleased with his office and proud of his guest that he hardly noticed how unlike the american was to his alert and masterful, everyday self. the transformation effected, he joyfully ushered him into the living-room. "dinner, sister, dinner," he called out; "a feast, we must have a feast. andrés, some wine. here is the key. some of the wine of el paso from the farthest cask. we must drink a health to-day." but as he placed stephens on the divan it struck him suddenly that the american looked strange. his face was white and drawn, and there was a dull, abstracted look in his eyes. "ah, my dear friend, you are overdone; you are worn out with your heroic deeds. one little moment only, and you shall dine." "you are very kind," said stephens, sinking down on the soft seat, "but i couldn't eat, thank you,--not yet." "ah, my poor head," cried the mexican, "how i forget things; you are so anxious for your friend doubtless. but he is doing well, very well, i do assure you. he speaks of you; he says you are a millionaire,--that you have found the silver mine of the indians. oh yes, you shall see him when he wakes. my daughter is taking charge of him now. yes, and the other wounded man, young sandoval, is doing well too. there is no need of any anxiety. you must rest; yes, rest, and eat and drink and be merry!" stephens seemed to rouse himself with a great effort. "don nepomuceno," he spoke with a dull, thick, voice, "i don't think i can stay now. i had ought to go right back to the pueblo. there's some more business i have; there's a girl there, the cacique's daughter----" "ah, what need to remember her!" cried the mexican with a sudden flash of irritation. "of course i have heard--but what do mere indians matter? between ourselves, what does all that amount to? nothing, absolutely nothing." he snapped his fingers with contempt, as if to brush it all away. "yes, but look here, don nepomuceno, business is business. i've undertaken to run her show, and i'm bound to see it through. i took her away from her father because he was half-murdering her, and i want to see her safe married to this cub of mine here,--what's his name? i shall forget my own next,--oh yes, felipe, that's it, of course--to see her married to felipe. i'd better get it done right away, else i might forget, you know"; he looked around vaguely with an incoherent half-laugh, checked himself with an effort, and collected himself again. "if there was a padre handy, how about doing it here?--" he broke off confusedly. don nepomuceno looked puzzled. "but why trouble over these matters now? any time will do for those indians. but if you wish it, certainly i will send to the pueblo. you cannot go; you are overwearied. you want this girl to come here? but no; i have a better plan. the padre is here in san remo to-day, as it happens; let us send him there, and you shall be troubled no further by her." even stephens's dulled brain could not but notice something odd in the mexican's tone. "oh, lord," he groaned internally, "they all give me the name of it!" "see here, don nepomuceno. i guess that backus has been talking some about me. he's dead, but i've got to say it--he was a darned liar, anyway; and he knew nothing about this business but what he invented for himself. she's not my girl. i'm not that sort of a man." he stopped abruptly. "assuredly not," assented the mexican with eager courtesy. "you say so, and that is enough for us; though, indeed, we are ourselves not always so scrupulous in these matters." "felipe bolted with her," said the brain-weary man, going over past events almost mechanically; "her father took her from him; i took her from her father, and i've promised to give her over to felipe. he's a plumb idiot, but if she likes him that's her lookout. my business is to see them married and make it all square. when i take any business in hand, i can't rest till i get it done. i'll take you to witness, don nepomuceno; i'll give them ten cows and calves on the shares to set 'em up in housekeeping." "but certainly," exclaimed don nepomuceno, "your kindness is admirable. it is a deed of charity! it was but last time his grace the archbishop of santa fé was dining with my cousin that he spoke of the admirable goodness of doña mariana chavez in giving dowers to poor maidens. and now you will be so rich with the profits of your mine that you may dower all the indian maidens in the pueblo if you like. in truth, such a deed must be pleasing to the saints; it will fill our padre with admiration to hear of such a truly virtuous action, 'worthy of one of the pillars of our holy church!'" "much more like the heavy father at the end of a play!" muttered stephens perversely. "'bless you, my children,' and down comes the curtain. i reckon i'm a bit young to play the part. hang it all! i wish the old gentleman would stop." don nepomuceno turned to the peon. "here, pedro, hasten; ride to the pueblo, and take the old woman along and fetch the girl,--josefa, you say?--yes; go, then, and fetch her and tell her she is to be married at once. say that those are the orders of the americano. but first you can tell rufino to go and find the padre--bid him hasten as dinner is served," he rubbed his hands exultingly as his sister and juana brought in the long-desired feast, and andrés appeared with an old flagon which he had filled with el paso wine. don nepomuceno poured some into a glass and offered it to stephens. "drink, my friend, drink; you need it, and we will all drink a cup in your honour." stephens took the glass and looked with a grim smile at his own hand which held it. the hand was shaking like an old man's. "i guess i've about wore myself plumb out," he said. "you'd best let me go off to my own place and rest. i'm not good company just now." "no, no, you mustn't go," cried the mexican; "you shall rest in my house. we have more rooms than one. and behold, here is the american doctor now. in a good hour you come, señor el doctor. sit you down, my friends, and eat. sister, you and andrés will entertain them while the doctor and i take care of don estevan." and he took his unresisting guest apart into a quiet room where doctor benton might examine his wounded hand. gently the rude bandages were undone, and manuelita was summoned from her post beside rocky, who was now sleeping peacefully, to wait on a new patient. bravely she looked on while the doctor cleansed the wound and produced his curved needles and silk and sewed up the gash. "you'll do all right so, i guess," said he to the prospector when he had finished. "you've got to keep quiet, you know, and knock off whiskey." ("never touch it," growled stephens, in an undertone.) "right you are, stick to that,"--the doctor had a flask of old bourbon himself in his pocket at the moment,--"worst thing out for inflammation. well, you look as if you were in good hands here," he smiled as he spoke. "i am going back to the sandovals now. it's a very interesting case that i've got over there. we don't get arrow-wounds very often nowadays." he folded up his surgical case with its wicked-looking little shining blades. "the stage has gone on to wingate," he continued, "and they'll have to get along without me at the fort for a day or two longer. i'll be back again here in the evening and have another look at you and at our friend rocky. you needn't fret about him; the knife only just touched the lung; he's going to get over it all right, though at the same time i think we'd best not disturb him now." "but you must not go till you have dined," cried don nepomuceno hospitably. "do me the honour to come into the other room and join our friends there"; and the doctor yielded to the request readily enough. don nepomuceno lingered behind him for a moment. "now you must repose yourself, don estevan. here you will be undisturbed. manuelita is going to sit by the door and sing to our guests, and there is nothing more reposeful than singing. take your guitar, my daughter, and sit here and we can enjoy it as we take our dinner." he passed through the door as manuelita slid the ribbon of her guitar over her shoulder and struck a chord. she sang--who knows how the song had reached her?--words that had travelled far, and were first written in another tongue by a poet of another race, but when she heard them they seemed to tell her a whole sad and beautiful history in the two short verses, and she found the plaintive tune of an old ballad that suited them, and sung them often to herself. now, called upon unexpectedly to sing, the favourite words were on her lips almost before she knew what they were-- "solitario se alza un pino, del norte en árida cumbre; duerme, y con blanca cubierta hielos y nieves le cubren. "sueña con una palmera que en el oriente, allá lejos, se entristece sola y muda en el ardiente desierto." the notes mingled in the tired american's dreamy thoughts, and through his unstrung mind coursed strange fanciful applications of the poet's words-- "a lone pine stands in the northland on a bald and barren height; he sleeps, by the snows enfolded in a mantle of wintry white." "'a lone pine'--that's so, a lone pine like that one over the prospector's grave. i reckon if that lode there turns out all that rocky said i'll have to call it lone pine. suits me, too, the name does; i've always played a lone hand; ay, and i know what the barren mountain heights are, if any man ever did, and many's the time i've slept on them with the snow over me for a blanket--" "he dreams of a lonely palm-tree afar in the morning land"-- "'he dreams of a palm-tree'--no, that's not me, after all. i haven't dreamt much. yes, by thunder, i have though! i dreamt some up in the sierra. i dreamt a lot of queer things by that old cliff-dweller's fire i relit after i found the lone pine; i thought this whole new mexican country here was asleep, and that maybe i was the man to wake her up. ah, and i thought, too, that i must have been asleep myself to have played a lone hand so long when i needn't, when i might have had a woman's love, and got some joy and happiness into life instead of toughing it out in solitude. i believe i've been a blamed idiot." he listened as in a trance to the throbbing, wailing strings, while the sweet voice of the girl sang the last verse a second time-- "he dreams of a lonely palm-tree, afar in the morning land, consumed with unspoken longing in a waste of burning sand." by heaven! had she been alone too? he almost sprang up to call to her, but it seemed to him he could not move. he stood on a lonely height under the pine-tree; he looked down on the grave of the man who had died there alone, and far away in a vision he beheld san remo and the casa sanchez; and he saw more--he saw manuelita. he could not break the spell and stand beside her there. he had had his chance, and now it was too late. he had dreamt through the summer, and now the winter had come, and its icy fetters bound him fast. immovable on his crag he could only dream--dream of the happiness that might have been his, and long for it with a passionate desire that seemed as if it could burst the very mountains to let him pass, and yet was powerless to bring him an inch nearer to the spot that he longed for. the numbness of despair came upon him, his bewildered thoughts sank deeper into dreamland, and the tired brain at last was steeped in all-restoring forgetfulness. * * * * * he awoke suddenly with a start, the room was empty; the subdued voices came to him through the open door, but the guests were gone. how long had he slept? for answer he saw the scarlet light of sunset glowing on the adobe wall across the patio. he sprang up like a giant refreshed and looked around, while the memory of what had taken place began to come back to him. "i must have been here for hours and hours. her singing was like a charm. but where has she gone to? i've got to find her again right away. why on earth did i lie there like a log all this time? what have i been doing all day, anyhow?" he looked at his bandaged left hand, and passed his right over his forehead, and as his brain cleared the whole of the morning's work came back to him like a flash. "i had to kill them, but i hate to think of it now. it was a butcherly job. that's not the way i want to live. yes, i hate it," he repeated, standing in the middle of the empty room. he felt an unreasoning repulsion when he thought of the light-minded crowd that had cheered him so wildly on his return from the slaughter, and had laughed and jested over it. "killing men is a mighty serious matter, whatever they may think," he muttered gloomily, "but most of these folks don't see it in that light. she's different, though, and it's she that i want, and not her people. now, how am i going to find her alone?" as he stood there the faint whine of a dog caught his ear. "faro, old man! think of my forgetting you and your wounds when there's no one to see after you but me! i must have been off my nut." he strode out through the door, and beheld in the adjoining room his dog snugly established on a pile of blankets with all the dignity of a spoilt invalid, and there, kneeling beside him, her glossy head bent over the bulldog's picturesquely ugly face, was manuelita. "i made the doctor of the soldiers look at him," she said, glancing up at the tall american with a shy laugh. "he was almost angry when i asked him, and said he was no doctor of dogs; but i made him do it;" and she gave another little laugh of triumph. "i reckon you could make most people do what you say, señorita," he answered, but he did not echo her laugh. he stood there looking down at her, and as he looked a great peace seemed to descend upon him. the anger and the strain, the battle-fury and the revulsion that followed it, all seemed to pass away from his mind, and a reverent awe came over his soul as though he had entered into a sanctuary, a sanctuary where even his own honest love showed to him as earthly and selfish, whence every thought but one was banished, the thought of a woman inexpressibly gentle and good, with a tender heart for every living thing. with a sudden movement he caught her hand in his own, and hers so soft and innocent lay in his so lately red with enemies' blood. he knelt on one knee, and bowed his head and lifted the captive hand to his lips. "i am not fit to come near you," he said, "but unless i have you, i can never care for anything in the whole world again. i am an uncouth ruffian, i know; but if you will teach me, i will learn to be gentle in time. will you try me?" he turned his face to hers, her lips met his, and the compact was sealed. finis new fiction. agatha webb. by anna katharine green, author of "the leavenworth case," "that affair next door," etc. º, cloth, $ . . "this is a cleverly concocted detective story, and sustains the well-earned reputation of the writer.... the curiosity of the reader is excited and sustained to the close."--_brooklyn citizen._ "agatha webb is as intensely interesting a detective story as was "the leavenworth case," and when that is said, no higher compliment can be given it."--_omaha world-herald._ children of the mist. by eden phillpotts. th impression. º, $ . "a work of amazing power which plainly indicates a master hand."--_boston herald._ "seldom does a critic come upon a book that he can praise more heartily than he can eden phillpotts's new romance,--it is so full of life, so fall of the subtle and strong influence of environment upon character, that it leaves upon the mind that unity of impression which is one of the highest attributes of a work of art."--_london daily news._ miss cayley's adventures. by grant allen, author of "flowers and their pedigrees," etc. with illustrations. d edition. º, $ . . "one of the most delightfully jolly, entertaining, and fascinating works that has ever come from grant allen's pen."--_new york world._ "a quaint and sparkling story--bright and entertaining from beginning to end."--_chicago times-herald._ "perfectly delightful from start to finish ... bubbles with wit and humor.... miss cayley's adventures are simply bewitching."--_seattle intelligencer._ dr. berkeley's discovery. by richard slee and cornelia atwood pratt. _hudson library_, no. . º, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . dr. berkeley's discovery is a liquid which will "develop" certain memory cells of the human brain, as a photographer's chemicals "develop" a sensitized plate. upon each tiny cell appears a picture, visible by the microscope. by "developing" the memory centre of a brain, dr. berkeley can trace the most secret history of the being that owned the brain; can see the things the being saw, in sequence, from infancy to death. with this foundation, the authors of "dr. berkeley's discovery" have told a thrilling, dramatic story. g. p. putnam's sons, new york and london. the hudson library. published bi-monthly. entered as second-class matter. º, paper, cents. published also in cloth. . love and shawl-straps. by annette lucille noble. . miss hurd: an enigma. by anna katharine green. . how thankful was bewitched. by jas. k. hosmer. . a woman of impulse. by justin huntley mccarthy. . the countess bettina. by clinton ross. . her majesty. by elizabeth knight tompkins. . god forsaken. by frederic breton. . an island princess. by theodore gift. . elizabeth's pretenders. by hamilton aïdé. . at tuxter's. by g. b. burgin. . cherryfield hall. by f. h. balfour. . the crime of the century. by r. ottolengui. . the things that matter. by francis gribble. . the heart of life. by w. h. mallock. . the broken ring. by elizabeth knight tompkins. . the strange schemes of randolph mason. by melville d. post. . that affair next door. by anna katharine green. . in the crucible. by grace denio litchfield. . eyes like the sea. by maurus jókai. . an uncrowned king. by s. c. grier. . the professor's dilemma. by annette lucille noble. . the ways of life. by mrs. oliphant. . the man of the family. by christian reid. . margot. by sidney pickering. . the fall of the sparrow. by m. c. balfour. . elementary jane. by richard pryce. . the man of last resort. by melville d. post. . stephen whapshare. by emma brooke. . lost man's lane. by anna katharine green. . wheat in the ear. by alien. . as having nothing. by hester caldwell oakley. . the chase of an heiress. by christian reid. . final proof. by rodrigues ottolengui. . the wheel of god. by george egerton. . john marmaduke. by s. h. church. . hannah thurston. by bayard taylor. . yale yarns. by j. s. wood. . the untold half. by alien. . rosalba. by olive p. rayner (grant allen). . dr. berkeley's discovery. by r. slee and c. a. pratt. . aboard "the americanduchess." by headon hill. . the priest's marriage. by nora vynne. . the things that count. by elizabeth knight tompkins. . lone pine. by r. b. townshend . the secret of the crater. by duffield osborne. g. p. putnam's sons, new york and london satellite of fear by fred a. kummer, jr. inside the crippled _comet_, a hard-bitten crew watched the life-giving oxygen run low. outside, on ceres' fabled darkside, stalked death in awful, spectral form. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the _comet's_ control-room was silent except for the monotonous beat of ken grant's restless pacing. six months on ceres' frigid, shadowy darkside had driven the tan from his face, etched lines of worry about his mouth. darkside had a way of doing that to people. a temperature of five above absolute zero, the grim, eternal darkness, the insane landscape, combined to give an impression of unreality that made one feel he was living some terrible nightmare. from time to time grant glanced at the sidereal chronometer, shook his head. sixteen hours! sixteen hours since kennerly had left ... and the heating unit of his space-suit had been good for three! kennerly had vanished, just as allers had vanished before him! two men had left the disabled ship to try and reach bowman's crater, that last tiny outpost only twenty miles away, and both men had disappeared. had either allers or kennerly been successful, a rescue ship from bowman's crater must have come by now. but instead, the two spacemen had been swallowed up by the gloom, vanished, leaving no trace. the bitter silent darkness outside was like some yawning limitless void into which men went, and did not return. their position was bad enough in any case, but with a woman in command.... grant shot a glance at the stack of big lead chests in a corner of the cabin. pitchblend--radium ore with an amazingly high metal content. the ore in those big chests, when refined, would yield over a million in the rare element. not that a million would do them much good if they couldn't get it away. with the main fuel intake valve cracked, the motors, the radio, the air-regenerator, were all shut off. death from lack of oxygen faced them unless word got through. a click of the cabin's door broke grant's thoughts. he turned; a slender girl wearing riding breeches and leather jacket appeared in the doorway. pale, with deep smoke-gray eyes and auburn hair, she had a fragile transcendental beauty that was very appealing, but her chin was firm, determined. "any news, mr. grant?" she asked quietly, stepping into the control room. "none." he shook a gloomy head. "i don't like it! there's something strange going on, miss conway! the trail's perfectly clear, there's no life on ceres that we know of. one man might conceivably meet with some sort of accident, but not two! they tell stories about darkside; queer stories! about alien, unknown creatures." "i ... i know," the girl said tightly. "dad used to hear those stories, too, when he and allers were prospecting here. when dad died he left me enough money to charter this ship, told me to come here to ceres for my legacy. gave me the chart showing where this pocket of pitchblend was located." she glanced at the lead chests. "now allers, dad's closest friend, is gone. and kennerly. and we're trapped, made virtual prisoners in this ship by something unknown--out there. we've got to get word through, mr. grant! it's death to stay here until our oxygen is gone. death, maybe worse, waiting for us out there in the darkness...." she broke off, suddenly, swaying. "steady!" grant gripped the girl's shoulder. "it's the bad air! i'll go tell harris to crack open one of the emergency oxygen flasks. you'd better lie down." like a flash the girl's red head snapped up. "you're a romanticist, mr. grant," she said. "you seem to think i ought to be a languishing heroine. well, i'm not. i'm in command of this expedition and if there're any risks to be taken, i'm taking them! have harris open an oxygen flask and then check over my space-suit! as soon as i get my breath, i'm going out and look for allers and kennerly!" she waved aside grant's remonstrances. "orders, mr. grant!" face stony, grant left the control room, strode along the companionway to the fo'castle. the _comet's_ crew, perhaps half a dozen men all told, were stretched upon their bunks, faces drawn as they fought against the stale air. grant motioned to harris, the squat, ugly mate. "air's getting thick," he said. "better crack an emergency tube." "aye, aye, sir!" harris lifted a steel plate in the floor, swung down the iron ladder. some moments later he emerged from the storehold, carrying an oxygen flask. "funny!" the mate rubbed his stubbly chin. "i coulda swore we had twenty emergency flasks below. but there's only five more down there." "five!" grant's eyes narrowed. "there were twenty when we left earth! i counted 'em!" "that's not all," harris muttered. "there's other stores missing! wire, tools, batteries, spare plates for repairing the hull!" his eyes flicked toward the darkness beyond the portholes. "there were plenty of times we were all down at the mine working when whatever it was that got allers and kennerly might have entered the ship, taken those things. i've seen shadows out there sometimes. shadows that weren't just right, sliding among the rocks. and ... and it's bad luck to have a woman aboard ship." a silence fell over the cabin. grant frowned. five flasks of oxygen ... and the air-regenerator useless without power! nothing could save them unless word got through to bowman's crater, on the edge of the cerean darkside. two men had tried to get through, and those two men had vanished. to permit joan conway to attempt the trip was unthinkable. grant reached for one of the bulky space-suits that hung on the wall. "all right, men," he grated. "we're going to get to the bottom of this! here's the plan! i'll take the trail to bowman's crater; the same trail allers and kennerly took! if there's anything lying in wait out there, it ought to attack me, and i'll be armed! at the same time i want you, harris, and you, miller, to go out also, to climb the other side of the crater and circle about, picking up the trail to bowman's a mile or so from here. i'll draw _it's_ attention, while you try to get through and take word to the outpost. got it?" * * * * * the three men nodded, climbed into the heavily insulated space-suits. electric heating wires ran through the lining, from portable batteries good for several hours, enabling the men within them to maintain comfortable warmth even though the soles of their thick lead gravity shoes, in contact with the icy ground, were within a few degrees of absolute zero. gloves of heavy lead, a part of every radium miner's equipment as protection against the highly concentrated ore he was forced to handle, covered the asbestoid "hands" of the space-suits. grant paused before snapping his transparent plastic helmet into place, turned to the men who were to remain aboard the _comet_. "miss conway's feeling a little ragged because of the air," he said, unsmilingly. "when she's better, tell her where we've gone." the men grinned understandingly. they knew that the girl, in spite of her frail form, felt that command of the expedition required her to share in all its dangers. and grant, like most men who had spent their lives on far-flung frontiers, seeking adventure in the woman-less outposts of terrestial civilization, had curiously archaic ideas of chivalry, to say nothing of deep-rooted convictions that a woman's place was on earth. disregarding the grins of the men, he closed his helmet, opened the valve of his oxygen tank. "ready?" he barked into the mouthpiece of his radio communications set. two space-suited figures nodded grimly behind their helmets, followed grant through the airlock. in the clean, airless void the stars shone like white beacons, shedding a thin eerie light over the barren plain. a dark inferno worthy of a dore's brush, it seemed, malevolent, intangibly evil. tortured pinnacles of rock, jagged spires stabbing at the sable sky; deep craters, dug by countless meteors, pock-marking the bleak terrain; yawning crevasses, towering cliffs, jagged, sharp-angled blocks of stone, for darkside had neither sun, air, nor rain to round them, soften their weird outlines. grant loosened his heat-gun in its holster, glanced about. up the side of the big crater, in which the mine-shaft and the space-ship lay, was a poorly defined trail, winding in and out among the towering rocks. this was the way to bowman's, the little mining town situated in the twilight zone between ceres' bitter darkside and its blazing sunside. allers and kennerly had taken that rude trail. grant waved harris and miller to the right. "you'll make a long half-circle," he announced. "it'll be tough going, but with my following the trail, i should draw any attack and enable you to pick up the trail further along, and reach bowman's. okay, now. let's go!" harris and miller disappeared among the up-thrust monoliths, grant swung along the trail. in spite of his heavy space-suit and his thick lead-soled gravity shoes, he was able to move at a brisk pace, hand on his gun, eyes probing the gloom to right and left. onward he went, steadily, skirting craters, leaping narrow crevasses, squeezing through rocky defiles whose overhanging ledges often met to form a dark passageway. for all the heating wires within his suit, he could feel the cold; the utter silence was maddening. grant stared at the murky shadows with narrowed eyes. what was it that had spirited away allers and kennerly, two brave men, well armed? some unknown force of nature, or something more tangible? superstitious spacemen whispered of monstrous reptilian beasts, of space-pirates' hide-outs, of strange, spectral shapes. drink-inspired hallucinations, grant had said scornfully. now he was not so sure. so little was known of darkside. suddenly grant froze in his tracks. in the middle of the path, perhaps a hundred feet ahead, was a strange, grotesque figure. swathed in a bulky space-suit, it crouched ape-like on the ground, feet flat against the rock, hands touching the trail as though to balance itself. motionless as some robot it crouched there, in a patch of white frost, seemingly poised to spring. grant's heat-gun rose to cover the strange figure. his voice shook as he spoke into his communications set. "who's there? what'd you want?" the crouching figure made no reply. very deliberately grant pressed the trigger of the heat-gun, aiming it at the motionless form's feet. dirt, chips of stone, flew up, but the crouching form did not move. muscles tense, grant moved forward. pale starlight winked on the unknown's helmet. all at once grant gasped. behind the transparent glass of the headpiece, the man's features were visible. distorted, despairing features set in an expression of ghastly, appalling horror! kennerly ... dead! grant bent over the grim figure, tried to lift it. one of kennerly's fingers, frozen solid, snapped within the space-suit like brittle glass. grant glanced warily about. if he could get the body back to the ship, find out how kennerly had died, there might be a chance of overcoming the menace that lurked on this shadowy insane world. all at once his eyes caught queer dark streaks on a rock not far from the inert figure ... letters, words, that looked as if they had been made by a heat-gun's blast. slowly he deciphered the scrawled sentences. "allers dead. no hope. unknown forces. doomed." grant's jaw tightened. kennerly's last message! and somehow he had known that allers was dead, that there was no hope. face set in harsh lines, grant swung the body over his shoulder, set out along the trail to the _comet_. * * * * * the silence in the space-ship's control-room was thick, breathless. a frail figure against the rivet-studded bulkhead, joan conway stared with horror-filled eyes at the grim figure on the floor. they had removed kennerly's space-suit, and with the warmth of the cabin the stump of the frozen finger which grant had inadvertently broken off was beginning to seep blood. the girl forced her voice to remain steady. "under the circumstances, mr. grant," she said tightly, "i have decided to overlook your disobedience of orders until we return to earth ... if we do. are there any clues on kennerly?" grant, kneeling beside the dead man, examining him carefully, shook his head. "nothing," he muttered. "no holes in his suit, no signs of anything that might have killed him other than the cold. the battery of his heating unit's run down. and he had a full charge when he left. we checked it. why he should follow the trail a mile or so from the ship and then sit there for hours, until the failing battery brought death by freezing.... it's suicide!" "maybe he got lost, wandered around until he died," one of the space-hands suggested. "no good." again grant shook a somber head. "the trail's perfectly clear. i found him in a deep patch of hoar frost, like snow. condensed moisture from the escape valve of his helmet. an extraordinarily large patch of 'snow.' get what that means? frost patches in this airless void can only mean the moisture from a space-suit's exhaust. and a pile of 'snow' like that about him, could only be the result of remaining hours in one spot. kennerly left this ship for bowman's crater, got about two miles away and then crouched down to wait for death. crouched there for hours, until his heating unit ran out of juice and he froze. why?" grant motioned to the inert form' with its terrified countenance. "he had sustained no injury, could have followed a perfectly clear path back to the ship, and instead he crouched there until he died!" "maybe something held him," joan suggested. "magnetism." grant picked up the asbestoid space-suit. "fiber, glassex helmet, rust-proof copper fittings, lead gravity shoes. no iron or steel on it. another thing. how did he know allers was dead? what did he mean by 'unknown forces' and 'no hope?' there's something devilish, unreal, out there. something that's determined to keep us from getting word through, determined to keep us here until we die from lack of oxygen! just like kennerly died from lack of heat. it's afraid to attack us, but tries to trap us, until we die." again silence fell over the cabin. the remaining space-hands glanced from kennerly's body to the windows, the clinging darkness outside. joan's gaze sought the leaden chests; she laughed unhumorously. "pitchblend! a million in radium! and what good is it? all our work here to get it and now no chance of ever reaching earth." "we'll get word through somehow." grant squared his shoulders. "maybe harris and miller...." as grant spoke, a furious tocsin of blows sounded upon the main airlock. the spacemen whirled, groping for guns. face set, grant stepped toward the inner door of the lock. "keep me covered," he snapped, drawing the massive pneumatic bolts. as the heavy steel door swung open, joan gave a sudden gasp. standing in the air-chamber was a stocky, space-suited figure, face paper-white. harris, looking as though he were pursued by a legion of devils! "good lord!" grant exclaimed. "what's wrong? where's miller?" harris pushed back his helmet, slumped onto a bench; drops of sweat beaded his face, his eyes were tortured. "it ... it's screwy!" he muttered. "it ain't human! miller standing there, jumping up and down." grant took a bottle of fiery martian _long_ from the table, poured out a tumblerful. "drink this," he said. "and tell us what happened." harris downed the drink with a shudder. "we made the detour like you said," he whispered. "fighting our way over rocks, around craters. tough going. about three miles from here our half-circle brought us back to the trail. all okay. miller was ahead of me by maybe a hundred yards. we kept our guns in our hands, and a sharp lookout. then ... then ... all of a sudden i heard miller yelling in my earphones. he was hopping up and down ... straight up and down, half-crazy with fright.... just as i was running toward him, he told me to stay back, that he was trapped. trapped!" harris choked. "he could hop up and down all right, but _he couldn't move in the horizontal_! nothing around him, nothing to be seen anywhere, but he could only move one way! up and down! it ain't human, i tell you! ain't natural! how...." "miller could move only in the vertical?" joan echoed. "but ... but ... no comprehensible force on earth...." "this ain't earth, miss," harris muttered. "and miller's out there, three miles up the trail, trapped...." grant reached for his space-suit. "come on!" he exclaimed. "we're going out! harris, you'll stay here with miss conway...." "no!" the girl shook her head, eyes like gray steel. "i'm in command of this expedition ... and i'm going along! danger or no danger! i got you men into this mess, and i'm going to help you get out!" "sorry." grant shook his head. "i admire your courage, but we're up against something unknown, something dangerous. you'd be more of a hindrance than a help. call me old-fashioned, romantic, anything you please, but you're staying here. harris, i'll be responsible for any charges of insubordination. see that she stays here. we're going to rescue miller." lips pale, head high, the girl watched them clamber into their space-suits. her pride, grant realized, was cut deeply at having the command of the expedition thus taken from her. but this was no time for pride with miller trapped by some mysterious force. motioning to the others to follow, grant sprang into the airlock. * * * * * leaving the ship, the six men raced at top speed along the trail. around crevasses and craters, past insanely sculptured rocks, through narrow passes. when they reached the spot where kennerly's body had been found, grant suddenly paused, staring. the patch of hoar-frost had been scraped away, a small hole perhaps a foot deep was exposed. something previously buried in the ground had been removed! grant shook his head. a bizarre, fantastic idea was beginning to take form in his mind. in a temperature close to absolute zero.... "come on!" he exclaimed. "we've got to reach miller! hurry!" the spacemen redoubled their efforts, bounding along the narrow path. onward, desperately, the sound of their heavy breathing filling their helmets. at length they reached a low rise of ground commanding a view of the trail ahead. very faintly a despairing cry echoed in their earphones. a hundred or so yards before them, a vague form in the gloom, stood miller. his head twisted crazily from side to side, his body writhed frantically, as if seeking to break some invisible grip. several times he leaped upward like some grotesque jumping-jack, only to settle down in the exact same spot as before. it was as though the trapped man were confined in an invisible cylinder which permitted him to move only in the vertical plane! "look!" grant muttered. "so it's true! that's what happened to kennerly until his heating unit gave out! and allers, too, i suppose!" he raced down the slope toward miller, heat-gun in hand. as they neared the trapped man, he gave a cry of warning. "stay back! you'll get caught!" his voice rose despairingly. "no ... no way to get free! hands and feet stuck! better to shoot me, now, than let me stay here till my heat-unit gives out!" helplessly they stared at the doomed man. to approach him meant they, too, might be trapped. but to stand there, useless, while his heating unit gave out, bringing death, as it had brought death to kennerly! and what power known to man would permit a living being to move only in the vertical plane but not the horizontal? all at once grant recalled the hole in the trail at the spot where he had found kennerly. dropping to his knees, he began very cautiously to circle miller. all at once he found it, a copper wire concealed beneath dirt, pebbles. one jerk of his gloved fingers snapped the wire. a sudden cry broke from the trapped man. weakly, uncertainly, he stepped forward. "free!" miller cried. "i ... i can move my feet and hands any way i want, now! thank god! the thought of staying there until i froze to death...!" he shuddered. grant was following the wire to where miller had stood, was digging away a covering of earth. all at once he gave an exclamation of wonder. in the wan starlight a tangle of wires, wrapped about iron cores, lay exposed! "looks like a magnet!" a burly space-hand grunted, shaking a dazed head. "but there's no iron on our suits! and no magnet permits you to move only one way!" "i don't know." grant frowned. "but whatever this force is, it's got a clever, devilish mind behind it! this is the same kind of thing that trapped kennerly, only we didn't reach him in time. when i first spotted kennerly crouching in the trail, i didn't know who he was. fired a warning shot at his feet. that must have fused the wires of the apparatus! and so i was able to approach kennerly's body without being trapped myself! while i was taking his body back to the ship, the killer must have dug up the wrecked mechanism, planted _this_ magnet further down the trail! if harris hadn't been lagging a considerable distance behind miller, they both would have been caught!" "sounds logical," one of the men nodded. "but why all these traps? and who's setting them?" grant picked up the broken end of the wire. "that," he said grimly, "is what we're going to find out. at the other end of this wire is the source of power for these traps. and that's where we'll find the person or being who's setting them! let's go!" the spacemen nodded, faces tense behind their helmets. leaving the trail, they struck out across the rough terrain, following the thin thread of wire. the scenery grew wilder and wilder as they progressed, until they seemed spectres in some gehenna of weird, jagged rocks, grasping shadows. suddenly grant, in the lead, drew a sharp breath. ahead, the copper wire passed between two basalt walls, less than four feet wide. and at the other end of this passage was a portable _radite_ lamp, its bluish beams revealing a small motor, a row of tall oxygen flasks, wires, metal plates, the missing equipment from the _comet's_ storehold. and bent over the motors was a powerful space-suited figure! "quick!" grant roared. "we've got him!" fingers fumbling for his heat-gun, he sprang forward. * * * * * grant's leap, in the light gravity, carried him clear of the ground, and at that precise instant the dark figure before him threw a switch. a sudden shock hit grant; he felt as if his hands and feet had been lashed by invisible bonds. he glanced down, gasped. he was standing on empty air, some two feet above the rocky floor of the corridor! behind him, the rest of the spacemen were frozen into position, writhing and twisting in vain efforts to free themselves! grant struggled to draw his gun from its holster, but his hands, while free to move sideways, could not be raised or lowered a fraction of an inch. as kennerly and miller had been trapped in the vertical, so they were caught in the horizontal! "good evening, gentlemen!" the voice in their earphones was mocking. "i've been expecting you! i hoped that the wire would lead you here, into my little snare!" the space-suited figure glanced at the struggling men. "all present except harris and the girl! and they'll open the airlock to admit an old friend miraculously returned from the dead!" grant, catching a glimpse of the face behind the unknown's helmet, gave a quick gasp. "allers!" he cried. "then ... then kennerly's message was a lie." "i wrote it myself." a grin spread over allers' coarse red countenance. "just to keep suspicion from me. you see, grant, i was with old conway when he stumbled on the pitchblend pocket, and i knew the fortune it contained. but when conway died, i didn't have enough money to finance an expedition here. so as soon as i heard his daughter was going to outfit a ship on his life insurance, i joined up." he laughed harshly. "you've been such fools! night after night, during these six months, i've been bringing necessary equipment from the ship to this hide-out. oxygen, food, metal, this little auxiliary motor, and fuel to run it. when you had done all the work of cleaning out the pocket, i cracked the main intake valve, volunteered to get word through to bowman's crater. and while you were waiting, i set my traps along the trail." allers nodded complacently, drew a small, complicated piece of machinery from his pocket. "here's the spare intake valve," he said. "harris and the girl will be overjoyed to see dear old allers return. they won't be suspecting anything and should be easy." he patted the heat gun at his side. "the ship and the million in radium ore will be mine with no trouble at all. and there're places on venus or mars where no questions are asked, so long as you've the money to spend." "but what's holding us here?" grant exclaimed. allers smiled thinly. "think it over," he suggested. "you'll have three hours before your heating units give out, as kennerly's did. and even if you do find out the cause, you won't be able to do anything about it." he strode easily past the helpless figures, unaffected by the mysterious force. "good-bye, gentlemen! enjoy yourselves!" a moment later he had disappeared in the gloom. * * * * * left to themselves, the trapped men renewed their struggles, but to no avail. grant felt as though his feet and hands were caught between two boards, able to slide sideways but neither forward and backward, nor up and down. he glanced over his shoulder. the others were in ridiculous positions, like some bizarre laocoon group. some, like him, had leaped clear of the floor when caught. others had one foot or one hand raised, were unable to lower them; some, with their guns half-drawn, could not continue to pull the weapons from their holsters or shove them back. miller, hands and feet arrested in a flying tackle, groaned. "this is worse than before," he muttered. "i could at least jump up and down the other way. now, without being able to lift our feet, we're rooted to one spot. and my heating unit's two hours gone already." grant stared at the frantic man. like some queer piece of action sculpture they seemed, arms and legs raised. and back aboard the _comet_ joan and harris would surely admit allers. once inside, he could cover them with his gun, replace the broken valve, and take off for venus. "we'll have to go at this logically," he said. "we just saw allers walk past us without being affected. anybody notice anything unusual about him?" there was a moment's silence, then one of the space-hands spoke up. "he didn't have on gravity shoes or radium-insulation gloves, if that means anything." "they're both lead," grant muttered. "and ... by all space! i think i've got it! look! the temperature here is only a couple of degrees above absolute zero. and though the inside of our suits are warmed, insulated, the soles of our shoes, the outside of our thick lead gloves, must be near that temperature! lead, at six above absolute zero, takes on super-conductivity. no resistance to electricity! weak currents become immensely powerful!" "super-conductivity?" miller repeated. "but what in hell's that got to do with our being caught here? we've got to get free, and damn soon, before our heating units give out!" "look," grant snapped. "he's got magnets set in the walls of this gorge! and when the lead on our hands and feet, in a state of super-conductivity, cuts the fields of the magnets, a powerful current's set up in 'em! set up in such a direction as to oppose the motion! like the armature of a shorted dynamo! get it? we can move only in the direction of the lines of force! sideways! just like the magnet that caught you, buried beneath your feet, kept you in the vertical plane! super-conductivity, and magnets! that's what's got us!" "knowing what it is doesn't help," miller grated. "we can't get our heat-guns free, and even if we could, we wouldn't dare turn them on our hands and feet! looks like we're here to stay until our heating units wear down and we freeze! we're finished, grant! finished!" * * * * * grant swore. his hands and feet, inside the space-suit, were warm, but the outer lead gloves that were a part of every radium miner's equipment, and the thick lead soles of their gravity shoes, were at approximately six above absolute zero. a degree, or even half a degree, of warmth, and super-conductivity would cease. they would be free! their lives, and joan conway's fate, depended upon those few precious degrees. desperately grant tried to pull his heat-gun from its holster, but to no avail. and the leaden gloves, the gravity shoes, were securely fastened to his space-suit. no chance of removing them without cutting wires or filing bolts. grant moved his hands experimentally. they slid sideways, following the lines of magnetic force that crossed the passage, though at different levels; one on a level with the butt of his gun, the other higher and extended in front of his body. backward and forward motion was also impossible, since that, too, would be contrary to the lines of force. suddenly grant stiffened. arrested motion.... extending his arm as far as possible without raising it, he crashed his hand against the holstered heat gun that hung at his waist. again and again the lead-sheathed fist struck the heavy holster in a rain of blows. miller, watching wide-eyed, shook his head. "what is it?" he muttered. "you ... you're nuts! if that gun should go off, it'd rip open your suit, kill you!" "better than freezing, anyhow," grant panted. "and if this works...." he redoubled his blows, crashing hand against gun-butt. "arrested motion gives heat. like pounding a hammer against an anvil. only need a degree or so at most. i ... ah!" he twisted his hand about, found that he could move it freely. quickly, before the heat radiated off, grant drew his heat-gun, focused it on the floor of the defile. under the lambent blue bolt, the rock began to glow red, waves of heat radiated upward. all at once grant found himself falling, and his feet struck the glowing rock. the lead soles of his shoes melting like butter on the white-hot rock, he stumbled toward miller, turned the heat blast on a spot near the latter's feet. within a few moments the heat had restored resistance to the lead and miller was free. "release the others!" grant shouted. "and then make tracks to the _comet_! i'm going on ahead! hurry! we've got to reach the ship before allers takes off for venus!" plunging into the shadowy gloom, he headed toward the trail. * * * * * ken grant had little memory of that wild race across the cerean darkside. the thin starlight ... the insane landscape ... the sprawling shadows ... all these made a jumbled montage in his mind. vaguely he remembered racing onward, onward, muscles aching, until he saw red flashes of light ahead. the _comet's_ rockets, warming up preparatory to taking off! desperately grant lunged down the slope toward the ship. now it was before him, a sleek, slender shape, glowing in the crimson flare of the rockets. grant gripped the handle of the airlock, sunk flush in the hull, and tugged. the outer door swung open. closing it behind him, he threw open the inner one and burst into the cabin, gun in hand. before him stood joan, very pale, chin high. harris lay upon the floor, blood seeping from a gash on his temple. all this grant took in with one swift glance, but before he could move he felt the muzzle of a gun dig into his back. allers, standing to one side of the airlock as he entered, held him covered. "drop your gun!" allers shouted to make himself heard through grant's helmet. helpless, grant obeyed, then threw back the transparent plastic dome that covered his head. "over there against the wall! next to the girl!" allers ordered. "i don't know how you got free, but i'm not staying to investigate! we're leaving for venus!" he moved toward the controls, bent over them, keeping grant and joan covered with his heat gun. grant laughed harshly. a nice mess he'd made of things! one of allers' hands was on the main control, the other gripped the heat gun. an idea began to take form in grant's mind. the cold, the bitter cold just above absolute zero, was what allers had counted on to trap them. perhaps it might save them as well. he hadn't been in the cabin long enough for the cold to wear off. grant drew a deep breath. "shoot, damn you!" he roared, hurtling forward. face set in a vulpine grin, allers pressed the trigger of the heat-gun. joan's horrified scream ripped through the cabin like a jagged knife blade. "ken!" she cried. "ken!" the ray of the heat-gun was like a white hot lance, thrusting against grant's chest as he plunged toward allers. in spite of the space-suit's insulation it would normally have charred him to a crisp, but the suit, bitterly cold from the fierce temperature of darkside, sucked up the heat like a sponge. grant felt as though a glowing brand had touched his chest, the pain was terrible, but the frigid cold of the suit absorbed the full force of the heat blast long enough for him to reach his opponent. one blow of grant's lead-gloved fist caught allers' face, spun him about. the heat-gun flew from his hand, slithered under the big control board. bruised, bloody, snarling in savage rage, allers shook himself, hurtled forward, fists flailing. grant, encased in the heavy space-suit, was clumsy, awkward. allers circled him like a tiger stalking its prey. darting in, his fist would crash into his opponent's face before grant could raise his heavy arms to guard. and by the time he was ready for a return blow, allers was dancing out of reach, a grinning, ugly phantom. * * * * * doggedly, grant pursued his elusive antagonist. his face was a battered pulp from allers' blows and the space-suit, the gravity shoes seemed to weigh tons. except for that first blow he had not reached his opponent once, and allers was laughing mockingly as he methodically cut grant's face to ribbons. the latter was beginning to stumble now, had to force his limbs to move. if only he could corner allers! smash his fist into that evil, taunting countenance. knotted knuckles crashed flush against grant's jaw, before he could raise his clumsy arm to block the blow. backward he tottered against the wall, groggy, and through half-closed eyes saw allers spring forward for the kill. but as allers leaped toward him, another figure ran across the cabin, seized his arm. joan! clinging with all her weight to the space-rat, holding him back. "now, ken!" she cried. "now!" with a single motion of his squat, powerful frame allers shook the girl off, spun her across the cabin against the iron bulkhead, but in that moment grant had reached him. his lead-encased hands shot out, gripped allers' throat. the cold of the leaden gloves burned the man's neck like a brand and he screamed in agony. tighter and tighter grant's hands locked about his throat, heedless of the blows allers rained upon him, and the agonized scream turned into a gurgling moan. "think of kennerly!" grant growled. "dying out there in the cold! think of him, you rat!" then a million stars danced before grant's eyes, and he slumped back, half-conscious. through wavering mists he saw allers stagger to his feet, gripping a heavy wrench. the space-rat's groping hands had encountered it, brought the weapon down upon his opponent's head with brutal force. it was all like a dream, now, to grant. stunned, helpless, he saw allers moving toward him, face set in a furious grin, the heavy wrench raised for a final terrible blow. instinctively grant twisted sideways, his fingers fumbled with the emergency outlet of his space-suit's oxygen tank. on his shoulders it had escaped the heat-ray's blast and grant knew it was still full of semi-liquid oxygen, under heavy pressure. allers' muscles were tensing, the heavy wrench was about to descend in a crushing, deadly stroke. it took all of grant's failing strength to twist the outlet of the air valve. the cloud of whitish vapor spurted from the space-suit's outlet in an icy stream. for just an instant allers stood motionless as the blast of semi-liquid oxygen struck him. a howl of agony broke from his lips, the wrench fell from his half-frozen fingers. then, crimsoned features strangely set, body rigid, allers toppled to the floor. "ken!" joan whispered. "ken, you ... you're all right?" "o ... okay!" his gaze lingered on her piquant features, with their firm, level eyes, brave set of chin. "you know," he said slowly, "i believe that crack on the head knocked me silly. so silly that for a moment i actually believed you wouldn't mind if i ki...." he paused as miller and the rest of the crew pounded excitedly on the massive outer door of the airlock. "let them wait," joan conway said peremptorily, "and finish what you were saying!" then, as he hesitated, "orders, mr. grant!" "aye, aye, commander," grant grinned. "i was going to say i believed you wouldn't mind if i kissed you. like this!" space-wolf by ray cummings the lure of precious zolonite drew morgan to barren titan--to find a weird beast-empire ruled by a cold-eyed earth-girl queen. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] solo morgan laid his small portable spectroscope on the rock and sat down beside it to rest. he was panting, breathless from the climb up to these precipitous heights, even though the gravity here on titan was less than that of earth. it was night. the pallid little sun had swiftly set behind a distant line of jagged mountain peaks. at the other horizon saturn was rising, a monstrous glowing ball with a foreshortened segment of the rings spreading in a great iridescent flame of pale prismatic color across half the sky. from here, solo morgan could just see the tiny blob of his one-man space-ship where he had left it down in the hollow. "he travels fastest who travels alone," had always been solo morgan's motto. but now at the age of twenty-eight, a big, rangy, handsome fellow with curly, crisp brown hair, it seemed to morgan that he was somewhat a failure. so far he had failed to strike it rich; and a single big strike had always been what he was after. he set his jaw grimly as he thought of it. well, now was the time. there was a lode of zolonite here on this moon of saturn. the spectroscopic evidence of it had been faint, yet unmistakable. doubtless it was a single, small concentration; zolonite perhaps in an almost pure state. immensely more valuable than radium; more valuable, than any other radioactive substance known to earth. morgan stood up, rested, to continue his climb. by all that he had been able to determine from the faint spectroscopic bands, and the intensity registers which he had so carefully used in that circling flight around the bleak, uninhabited satellite, the zolonite deposit must be somewhere in this neighborhood. the radiometer had seemed to indicate gathering strength as he climbed. perhaps it would be beyond this next rise, where now he could see a ragged plateau thick with a lush, fantastic blue-gray vegetation. he started forward; and suddenly from nearby there was a sharp crack, an explosive report with a stab of yellow-red flame that mingled with the iridescent sheen of saturn's glow. and there was a ping, a tanging whistle past his head with a thud against one of the nearby rocks where a leaden pellet flattened itself and dropped beside him. an old-fashioned bullet! morgan dropped to the rocks, into a shadow from which in a moment he cautiously raised his head. there was nothing to be seen, except that from a distant clump a little spiral of smoke was rising. what in the devil was this? titan, so far as anyone knew, was uninhabited. for a second it had flashed to morgan that it might be a band of space-pirates who had followed him here. but an old-fashioned bullet-projector! modern space-pirates would laugh at such a thing! they had nothing but the most modern electronic flash-guns, as morgan himself in several classes could well testify. explosive bullet-projectors were museum pieces now. yet here was one on titan, handled by somebody, trying to drill him! thoughts are instant things. morgan was flat in the rock hollow. and as he cautiously raised his head there came another crack. the bullet thudded into the metal of his tri-cornered hat, knocking it off. too close for comfort. his flash-cylinder was in his hand. he sent a bolt sizzling against the distant rocks. it hit nothing but the rocks; but now, abruptly to one side of where he had struck, he saw a flutter--a blue-white drape fluttering in the iridescent light. and in the silence there was a frightened, startled cry. a girl's voice! in that second she had dropped back into the rock-clump. but morgan had seen her; a white-limbed girl clad in blue drapes, with dark hair flowing down over her shoulders. amazement was on morgan's rugged bronzed face. but his grim lips twitched into a vague, startled smile. holding the metal hat-brim, he raised the hat. a bullet thudded into it. her aim was certainly too good to trifle with! cautiously he stared out over the glowing iridescent rocks. there was no sign of movement; no sound save the distant reverberations of the girl's last shot. morgan quietly discarded his equipment; his cylinders of synthetic food, water, the radiometer and the big insulated leaden cylinder in which he hoped to take home the zolonite-concentrate. thus unburdened he hitched himself back into a deeper hollow. then he stood half erect, with his gun clipped to his belt, tensing his leg muscles for a jump. she might be able to wing him in the air during the arc of his leap, but he doubted it. there was a rock-ledge some thirty feet away over a little chasm. the crouching morgan eyed it, took a few running, crouching steps, straightened and leaped. his body sailed in a great flattened arc over the chasm. there was another startled exclamation from the girl; another explosive report, but the bullet went wide. morgan, chuckling, landed in a heap on the ledge, behind a little line of intervening rocks. he could stand erect here, unseen by the girl. the line of rocks extended diagonally toward her. morgan ducked along behind them. he ran perhaps a hundred feet, crouched down again where there was a break in his rocky shield. * * * * * he could see her plainly now. she was a huddled blob with a long-barreled bullet-gun resting in a rock crevice as she peered out at the line of rocks behind which his leap had carried him. he was much nearer to her now; not over twenty feet. and he cautiously peered, more amazed than ever. the pearly, glowing sheen of the saturn-light glistened on her skin. her oval face, framed by her flowing black hair, was set and grim, but he could see that it was a beautiful face. "what the devil," morgan muttered to himself. he had clipped his gun to his broad leather belt. still grimly smiling, he picked up a huge chunk of the porous gray-black titan rock and heaved it. the rock sailed over the girl; fell with a clatter behind her. it made her give another startled cry as she aimed toward the sound. and simultaneously, morgan leaped again--with a bound that carried him back over the gully, and landed him almost at the girl's side. she screamed, tried to struggle to her feet, with the gun jerking around. but morgan gripped the barrel. "easy," he murmured. "don't get excited; i won't hurt you." he thought that his tone, if perhaps not his words, would quiet her. and then she gasped, "you--you let me alone!" she spoke english! morgan was beyond being amazed at anything now. he snatched the rusty old gun from her and tossed it away. she stood docile within his grip, terrified, but defiant. she was younger than he had thought, not over sixteen or seventeen probably. her single, blue-gray garment, he could see now, was tattered, frayed. it had the look of a fabric fragile with age. it fell from her pink-white shoulders to her thighs. a crudely fashioned animal-skin belt girdled her slender waist. leather thongs crossed her breast, modeling the dress, and her long black hair lay there in a tangle. her feet were bare, with toughened soles from long walking on these jagged rocks. "let me alone," she was muttering. she stood swaying backward in his grip, her dark eyes watchful, alert. he could not miss now the wildness upon her, a weird mixture of savagery and civilization. she looked as though she were figuring only how she could kill him. "well," he said, "i don't get this at all. what's your name?" "nada," she gasped. "nothing else? you speak english so you're from earth. now how in the devil--" she suddenly twitched away from him, but he caught her and again she stood panting. "now listen, take it easy," he said. he drew her down to the rock, and sat beside her, still holding her. "so your name's nada? well, nada, let's talk about this. but first, the main idea is, i'm not going to hurt you, an' i damn' sure won't let you kill me. get the idea?" "yes. i understand." "well, in a nutshell, i'm morgan--solo morgan. here alone. you might want to call me tom; that was my original name. i'm here looking for a precious metal. i hope i find it, because it'll make me rich back on earth. and the last thing i did expect to find, here on this god-forsaken little satellite, was a pretty girl like you." it somewhat startled solo morgan that his heart seemed beating faster as he stared at her and felt her resisting arms within his grip. an interest in the opposite sex had never been one of his failings. it was completely contrary to his theory that he travels fastest who travels alone. but this somehow was different, startlingly different. "that's my story," he finished. "now it's your turn." normally, solo morgan always had been alert, under all circumstances, to possible danger. but he was absorbed now. he hadn't noticed the faint sound of flapping wings behind him, nor noticed the weird-looking bird-shape which passed over his head, and vanished as it dropped down into a rock-clump a hundred feet away. but nada saw it. her gaze, like the gaze of a trapped animal, was darting around the iridescent darkness. her hearing, far keener than morgan's, heard a faint cawing call, as though a parrot were chattering. she tensed in morgan's grip. "stop it," he said. "you can't get away from me. what other name have you got besides nada?" "nada livingston. i was from nairobi." he stared. the name was vaguely familiar. "dr. carter livingston?" he murmured. "yes. that was my father." * * * * * morgan remembered now. he had been a boy of ten or eleven when the name of dr. carter livingston had been notorious all over the world. he was a cracked old scientist living in east africa. as morgan remembered it, carter livingston had had some theory that the wild animals of earth should be protected from the cruelty of man. he wanted laws that no animals should be hunted. then he had gone to africa, with new theories that animals were only different forms of humans; undeveloped, untaught, but with a latent ability for learning which no human had yet recognized. then there were rumors that in the african jungle, carter livingston and his young wife had established a trained-animal zoo. wild tales. parrots, with their pseudo-human vocal cords, not only chattering english words, but putting a childish but human intelligence into them. apes that could mouth human words, and think human thoughts. then livingston's wife had died, leaving him an infant daughter. there had been some incidents of violence--livingston's trained apes accused of raiding a nearby masai village, and killing some of the black children whose fathers had been hunting wild animals in the neighborhood. livingston had denied the thing as fantastic. but the british authorities had descended upon his animal-colony and cleaned it out. in a rage, livingston, with his infant daughter, had disappeared. morgan had been murmuring the story. "that was your father?" he said. "yes. we came here. he died just a little while ago." morgan drew in his breath. "and now you're living alone here on titan?" "alone? why--" he heard the flapping wings this time. startled, his hands dropped from the girl's shoulders as he turned around. a great birdlike shape was fluttering past overhead; a blue thing like a big flamingo. a grotesque bird. its body seemed feathered, but its huge wings were naked membrane, pointed like a bat's. its head was round, with a little glistening skull and a great hawked nose. "caw--caw--coming, nada--coming, nada." in that second morgan sucked in his breath at the gruesome, chattering cry. just a monstrous parrot? it seemed more than that. it darted down, swooping on as though it were about to attack. then it suddenly darted up, dropped back of a nearby rock. "coming--help--nada--" its eerie cackled words still sounded. morgan had snatched out his flash gun. nada was clutching at him now. "don't!" she murmured. "that's my friend. you--you must not." hairy shapes abruptly were materializing from the rocks behind morgan. he heard a low whining bark; whirled to see a monstrous, shaggy, red-haired animal coming at him. it suggested an ape, yet was unlike one. a large body on two long shaggy legs, with long, dangling arms. a bushy tail, wildly swishing. a round head, with the shaggy red hair dangling over its face where eyes were shining and a mouth was growling. morgan's gun flashed. but with a cry nada had knocked up his arm. the bolt went sizzling into the air, with its tiny crack of thunder rolling in muffled reverberations out through the shining night. he had no chance to fire again. the shaggy, oncoming thing pounced. morgan was aware only that behind it there were others like it. the shaggy body knocked him backward. from its padded paws, fingers like claws came out--bluish fingers like the hands of an ape, clutching at his throat, strangling him. then he heard the whizz of a thrown chunk of rock. it cracked on his skull so that all the shining darkness burst into a roaring glare of light in his head. then the light swiftly faded as he sank into the soundless abyss of unconsciousness. * * * * * "you're better now?" he was vaguely aware that cool water was running down his face from his hair and that nada's voice was softly murmuring to him. "you are better now? don't die. tamo is sorry that he hit you." his eyelids had fluttered up. he knew now that she was sponging a wound in his scalp. and all he could see was a blurred interior, and the blurred blob of nada bending over him. then her outline clarified. he was lying on something soft, and she was sitting beside him. "all right," he murmured. he grinned. "that was some crack somebody or something gave me." her face lighted with relief. "one of my goths," she said. "he's sorry.... no, you lie quiet now." he was trying to struggle up on one elbow, but she shoved him back. beside him there was a cracked old china wash basin. the water in it with which she was sponging his head was red with his blood. "guess i'm all right now," he muttered. his hand went to his belt. his gun was gone. "just lie quiet. you'll be all right in a few minutes." he was weak and dizzy; his body bathed in cold sweat. for another minute he closed his eyes and she went on silently sponging his head. he remembered now, vaguely, that he had been conscious enough to realize that he had been dragged here by the weird red-haired animals. it had evidently not been far. dimly he seemed to recall that they had plunged underground, where there were phosphorescent rocks to light up the subterranean passages with an eerie glow. he opened his eyes again. he could see that phosphorescent glow through the window-openings here. he was in a room--a little grotto with tattered, faded fabric drapes on its walls, a rug on its floor. and two or three pieces of weird-looking, old-fashioned earth-style furniture. presently he was sitting up. "i'm all right," he declared. "thanks, nada." his hand went to his head. "i guess it's stopped bleeding." "yes. i think so." she was gazing at him with interest now, and morgan realized he was the only man she had ever seen, except her father. her bosom rose and fell under the bodice of her tattered dress with her emotion. morgan understood that faded, old-fashioned earth-dress now. they had been her mother's clothes. and he understood the furnishings. he saw now that a bookcase in a corner of the cave-room contained half a dozen shelves of books. and on a rickety table stood a small portable sewing machine; a hoop with embroidery; needles and thread and a garment in process of mending. her little world. solo morgan gazed around him, from where he lay on a camp cot, and was astonished at the thoughts he was thinking and the emotion he was feeling. "tell me about yourself," he said gently. "this is your home, eh?" "yes," she agreed. she told him how her father had brought her up here, how he had taught her from the books which he had brought with them. queer that there on this moon of saturn, the wandering, embittered carter livingston had found no humans, but an animal, bird and insect life. yet it was no coincidence, for livingston had journeyed until he found what he wanted. himself an educated human, he would give the animals the advantages he had had through the centuries of human advancement. breed god's creatures upward, some day perhaps to reach the intelligence of man. morgan stared at the girl as she so earnestly described it. rot, of course. and yet that flying, flamingo-like thing had certainly talked, and talked much more intelligently than any parrot. it had called for help, and the red-haired ape things had come on the run. morgan grimaced with the memory. one of those round-headed goths had throttled him with its ape-like hands, while another of them cracked him on the head with a rock. he gazed around the room uneasily now, but none of them was in sight. "can those goths talk, too?" he demanded. "yes. a little, but it's hard to understand. a growling mumble. but they're very intelligent. you see, their life-span is nearly ten years, so we only have a few generations that father taught. he said that with use, the vocal cords and the larynx were getting more adapted. tamo is my best one. and he makes the others understand. they're very gentle." "with you," morgan supplemented wryly. "yes. cah called them for help." "cah? you mean that big bird?" "yes. father bred six generations of his family. and nature made his talking apparatus very adequate for human words." "no argument on that," morgan agreed. he was gazing through the glowing window-opening of the cave-room. there was vegetation outside. it was like a great lush subterranean forest. gnarled, fantastic-shaped trees with bluish vines lacing them together. huge pods hung on them, and monstrous pallid flowers that opened and closed their petals rhythmically as though breathing. * * * * * gruesome damn things. morgan was about to ask if what looked like vegetation here might not be more animal than vegetable, when suddenly his attention was caught by a little round red thing that was on the ledge of the rocky window-opening. it was no bigger than the end of his finger--a round, glistening, red-shelled thing with jointed legs protruding from it. tiny antenna were weaving in front of its single eye, which seemed glaring at him balefully. he made a startled gesture. "what the devil is that?" he demanded. nada smiled. "one of our insects. father used to call them rollers. he said on earth you'd consider them of the ant family. they're remarkable little things. well, i guess you'd say that about earth ants, too, wouldn't you? terribly strong for their size, with a nasty bite. they build their own houses. they're highly organized, with workers and leaders, and their own armies." "and you can talk to them, too?" morgan muttered. "well, no," she said. "not exactly. but cah seems to be able to make them understand." the little red-shelled, ball-like thing on the window ledge suddenly hitched out a leg and rolled itself backward; then picked itself up and scurried away like a tiny round crab. "well," morgan said, "your father's theories, here on titan--" a sudden distant growl made him check himself. it was outside; muttered growls, growing louder. he stared inquiringly at nada. "the goths," she murmured. "something wrong?" they came in a moment; two of the weird, round-headed animals, dragging something between them. in the background a pack of the others lurked, shaggy red blobs half hidden by the fantastic tangle of vines, their peering eyes like little lanterns among the foliage and the pallid flowers. it was a dead goth which was being dragged here to nada. with morgan after her, she ran outside. the huge dead goth lay crumpled. its companions were mumbling at nada. queer form of speech, half animal, half human, so that the mouthed, snarled words of anger now, to morgan, seemed almost but not quite intelligible. "what happened?" he demanded. the dead goth's face was leprous. burned into a noisome, pulpy mass as though by a flash bolt. "they found him, lying like that," nada said. terror was on her face. "something--someone with a strange gun of lightning, like the one i took from you." it was dawning on morgan. then a flapping of wings sounded. "coming, nada. cah comes." the beaked-nosed, feathered shape of cah came fluttering; landed by nada. weird chattering bird. "cah saw it, nada. men like this one. out beyond the tunnels, they killed tagaro. cah saw them. cah sees everything--" it fluttered away, excited, like an imbecilic child, chattering with its excitement. space-pirates! prowling here, looking for the zolonite. doubtless they had seen morgan's little space-ship; knew he was here, and were looking for him. "they were outside?" morgan demanded swiftly. "out near where i found you? is that what the parrot-thing tried to say?" "yes," she gasped. "oh, who could it be? other earthmen here? you--you said you came alone." "i did. but i can make a pretty darn good guess who it is all right. nada, listen!" the ring of goths here were all eyeing morgan suspiciously with weird, baleful eyes set in wrinkled, bluish, ape-like faces. "tell them i didn't do it," morgan said hastily. "tell them bad men did it, if they can manage to understand that much from you." would the damned growling things jump on him now? "listen," he added swiftly to the girl. "that's a band of earthmen--space-pirates. they're here to try and steal the zolonite i came after. nada, where's that gun of mine you took away from me?" "what--what are you going to do?" she stammered. his eyes hardened. "i don't want them to find you. understand that!" morgan knew perfectly well what he was going to try to do--get the girl out of here, into his space-ship. zolonite or not, he had no intention of trying to fight the space-pirates with this girl as the stake for success or victory. "get that gun of mine," he commanded. "hurry it now." * * * * * the girl ran into the cave-room; came back with it. she was trembling; white-faced. "will--will they really kill you?" "i hope not," morgan said grimly. "we're not going to stick around here and let them try it. nada, listen: you show me the way into those tunnels. tell the goths to stay here, as they'll only complicate things." the goths were sullenly watching, listening. at nada's vehement command they slunk back, but they still watched morgan suspiciously. "into the tunnels?" she stammered. "but why?" he seized her arm. "yes. come on." no use telling her that he was going to get her back to earth. she might put up an argument at leaving her animals. he ran with her, through the little cave-room, into a dim, glowing tunnel. "this was the way you brought me in, wasn't it?" he presently demanded as they ran. she nodded. "yes. the outer surface, not so far ahead." good enough. he'd slam her into the ship and tell her what it was all about afterward. the tunnel was dark, with just a faint eerie glow of phosphorescence that seemed inherent to the rocks themselves. it was a narrow passage, seeming to wind upward. at intervals, other little corridors crossed it. occasionally it widened into grottos. they came to a large one with a jagged rocky floor, broken, rocky walls. here they halted. "not so far now," nada was saying. her face in the dimness was turned toward morgan, and she was trying to smile--a frightened, puzzled smile. and suddenly he sucked in his breath. her teeth were shining with blue-green iridescence; luminous with a blue-green light streaming from them! radioactive, stroboscopic light! the treasure of zolonite he had come here to find. it must be here close at hand! morgan gripped the girl and stood still, peering around. "what is it?" she murmured with new terror. "wait! i'm looking around for something." and then he saw it. zolonite in almost its pure state. the vein of its out-cropping was a crescent curve diagonally up the wall; and beneath it, shining chunks had crumbled and were lying strewn. swiftly morgan stooped, gathered up handfuls, stuffed them into his pockets. samples, and then he would bring back a mining crew to open this up. and even the samples would be worth a sizable fortune. but the space-pirates wanted this, too. solo morgan, at that instant, was not quite clear in his mind what he would try to do. but the feel of the girl's pliant waist within his arm as they ran, decided him. she was certainly more important than the zolonite. "i'm taking you to my ship," he murmured suddenly. "don't bother to put up any argument now. that's where you're going." he saw her turn and stare at him. they had come abruptly to the end of the tunnel; the sheen of saturn-light was on her face, shining in her misted eyes as she regarded him. "taking me to earth?" she said uncertainly. "i sure am. you can't live out your life here, just for a bunch of weird animals." "but some time you'd bring me back?" she murmured tremulously. "sure i would. got to come anyway to mine the zolonite." here was the clump of rocks where he had been when first he saw nada. his leaden cylinder was lying here. he stuffed the zolonite samples carefully into it. sealed it. "now we go down the mountain, nada, to my ship down there." a sizzling flash with a tiny crack of thunder interrupted him. the bolt from nearby sizzled over their heads as morgan, with a sweep of his arm, knocked the girl to the ground and flung himself beside her. "that's them," he muttered grimly. "keep down, nada." another bolt cracked with a prismatic shower of sparks on the rocks in front of them. morgan and the girl were lying in a little depression now, protected by a broken line of rocks with a cliff close behind them. he could see where the pirates were gathered, at the bottom of a small gully some fifty feet away. and then in the silence, an ironic chuckling voice floated over. "got you, morgan. no use putting up a fight. toss out your gun an' we won't kill you." morgan, watchful for the chance to drill one of them if he showed himself, lay quiet with the huddled girl trembling beside him. "got your wife with you?" the voice drawled. "that who it is? come on out and let's have a look at her. we won't hurt her." there was a burst of raucous laughter from the other pirates. morgan did not reply. his brain was busy trying to find an out. * * * * * morgan could see that there was no chance for him and the girl to move from where they were lying. he had chanced a leap from here against nada's old-fashioned explosive-gun with its single small bullet, but he couldn't take such a chance against modern bolt-weapons. the least move would expose them in the full sheen of saturn-light. they lay still. "so you just want to stay where you are?" the voice called. "okay, we'll get you." they were invisible; but back down the distant little gully morgan suddenly saw the blob of a creeping figure; one of the pirates trying to get to where he could chance a leap. morgan tensed; raised his gun. the shadowed blob moved again; straightened a little. morgan's flash spat its bolt. a scream mingled with the tiny thunder-crack, and the blob leaped into the air, turned over and crashed down again, inert upon the rocks. it brought a fusillade of shots; but they splattered harmlessly with a great shower of sparks on the blackened rocks. and suddenly the trembling girl gripped morgan. "look! cah is flying over there." she pointed. there was a flapping of wings in the saturn-light. and the bird's eerie, cawing, chattering voice. "cah sees them. there they are!" the excited bird's fluttering shape was visible. "cah sees them! cah sees everything!" it chattered. a bolt from one of the pirates mingled with its cries. the flash shot up. the huge bird, its weirdly childish voice stilled forever, came wavering down, turning end over end until it thudded heavily on the rocks. "oh poor cah," nada murmured. then she gasped: "oh look! there by the little gully." the rocks on the upper lip of the small gully where the crouching pirates were gathered were splashed pale-white by the saturn-light. and in the glow there now, a thin little red line was visible. a moving line. it stretched back over the rocks, down into another hollow and up again. morgan caught his breath as he stared. it was a line of tiny, moving red figures. myriads of them; round things small as the end of his finger. the rolling, red ants. they came hitching themselves, scuttling; a vast little army. and then he saw other lines of them converging on the gully; marching grimly, silently to battle, summoned perhaps by cah's excited calls. breathlessly morgan and the girl watched. the pirates undoubtedly didn't notice the marching red hordes of tiny insects behind them. a dozen thin red moving lines now. silently but inexorably they crawled over the rocks, down into the gully. then there was a startled cry. "what in hell!" and one of the pirates incautiously straightened, his arms flailing wildly, his hands plucking at his clothing, at his face. morgan raised his gun, but nada shoved it down. "no need," she murmured. "the bites of those red ants are quite poisonous." silently then, they stood and watched the strange battle. it was a ghastly attack. within a minute the space-pirates were screaming, staggering. half a dozen of their frenzied bolts went wild into the air. and then they had flung their guns away, frenzied, demoniac as they fought the swarming, viciously biting little insects crawling upon them. there were four of the men. morgan could have shot them all as they staggered out into the open, but there was no need. in another minute they were rolling in agony on the ground, with yet more thin red lines converging upon them. and then at last their blood-chilling screams were silent. in the saturn-light they lay motionless, red with their blood and red with the swarming hordes that crawled over them. morgan was standing now, with the horrified, shuddering girl trembling against him. the lead cylinder with its treasure of zolonite was clipped to his belt. but with his arm around nada he knew that she was the real treasure he had found upon titan. he held her closer. nobody would ever be able to call him solo morgan again. saline solution by keith laumer blast you, retief! your violent ways are the disgrace of earth's diplomatic corps--but your salty jokes are worse! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, march . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i consul-general magnan gingerly fingered the heavily rubber-banded sheaf of dog-eared documents. "i haven't rushed into precipitate action on this claim, retief," he said. "the consulate has grave responsibilities here in the belt. one must weigh all aspects of the situation, consider the ramifications. what consequences would arise from a grant of minerals rights on the planetoid to this claimant?" "the claim looked all right to me," retief said. "seventeen copies with attachments. why not process it? you've had it on your desk for a week." magnan's eyebrows went up. "you've a personal interest in this claim, retief?" "every day you wait is costing them money. that hulk they use for an ore-carrier is in a parking orbit piling up demurrage." "i see you've become emotionally involved in the affairs of a group of obscure miners. you haven't yet learned the true diplomat's happy faculty of non-identification with specifics--or should i say identification with non-specifics?" "they're not a wealthy outfit, you know. in fact, i understand this claim is their sole asset--unless you want to count the ore-carrier." "the consulate is not concerned with the internal financial problems of the sam's last chance number nine mining company." "careful," retief said. "you almost identified yourself with a specific that time." "hardly, my dear retief," magnan said blandly. "the implication is mightier than the affidavit. you should study the records of the giants of galactic diplomacy: crodfoller, passwyn, spradley, nitworth, sternwheeler, rumpwhistle. the roll-call of those names rings like the majestic tread of ... of...." "dinosaurs?" retief suggested. "an apt simile," magnan nodded. "those mighty figures, those armored hides--" "those tiny brains--" magnan smiled sadly. "i see you're indulging your penchant for distorted facetiae. perhaps one day you'll learn their true worth." "i already have my suspicions." the intercom chimed. miss gumble's features appeared on the desk screen. "mr. leatherwell to see you, mr. magnan. he has no appointment--" magnan's eyebrows went up. "send mr. leatherwell right in." he looked at retief. "i had no idea leatherwell was planning a call. i wonder what he's after?" magnan looked anxious. "he's an important figure in belt minerals circles. it's important to avoid arousing antagonism, while maintaining non-commitment. you may as well stay. you might pick up some valuable pointers technique-wise." * * * * * the door swung wide. leatherwell strode into the room, his massive paunch buckled into fashionable vests of turquoise velvet and hung with the latest in fluorescent watch charms. he extended a large palm and pumped magnan's flaccid arm vigorously. "ah, there, mr. consul-general. good of you to receive me." he wiped his hand absently on his thigh, eyeing retief questioningly. "mr. retief, my vice-consul and minerals officer," magnan said. "do take a chair, mr. leatherwell. in what capacity can i serve today?" "i am here, gentlemen," leatherwell said, putting an immense yellow briefcase on magnan's desk and settling himself in a power rocker, "on behalf of my company, general minerals. general minerals has long been aware, gentlemen, of the austere conditions obtaining here in the belt, to which public servants like yourselves are subjected." leatherwell bobbed with the pitch of the rocker, smiling complacently at magnan. "general minerals is more than a great industrial combine. it is an organization with a heart." leatherwell reached for his breast pocket, missed, tried again. "how do you turn this damned thing off?" he growled. magnan half-rose, peering over leatherwell's briefcase. "the switch just there--on the arm." the executive fumbled. there was a _click_, and the chair subsided with a sigh of compressed air. "that's better." leatherwell drew out a long slip of blue paper. "to alleviate the boredom and brighten the lives of that hardy group of terrestrials laboring here on ceres to bring free enterprise to the belt, general minerals is presenting to the consulate--on their behalf--one hundred thousand credits for the construction of a joy center, to be equipped with the latest and finest in recreational equipment, including a gourmet model c banquet synthesizer, a forty-foot sublimation chamber, a five thousand tape library--with a number of choice items unobtainable in boston--a twenty-foot tri-d tank and other amenities too numerous to mention." leatherwell leaned back, beaming expectantly. "why, mr. leatherwell. we're overwhelmed, of course." magnan smiled dazedly past the briefcase. "but i wonder if it's quite proper...." "the gift is to the people, mr. consul. you merely accept on their behalf." "i wonder if general minerals realizes that the hardy terrestrials laboring on ceres are limited to the consular staff?" retief said. "and the staff consists of mr. magnan, miss gumble and myself." "mr. leatherwell is hardly interested in these details, retief," magnan cut in. "a public-spirited offer indeed, sir. as terrestrial consul--and on behalf of all terrestrials here in the belt--i accept with a humble awareness of--" "now, there was one other little matter." leatherwell leaned forward to open the briefcase, glancing over magnan's littered desktop. he extracted a bundle of papers, dropped them on the desk, then drew out a heavy document and passed it across to magnan. "just a routine claim. i'd like to see it rushed through, as we have in mind some loading operations in the vicinity next week." "certainly mr. leatherwell." magnan glanced at the papers, paused to read. he looked up. "ah--" "something the matter, mr. consul?" leatherwell demanded. "it's just that--ah--i seem to recall--as a matter of fact...." magnan looked at retief. retief took the papers, looked over the top sheet. " -a. sorry, mr. leatherwell. general minerals has been anticipated. we're processing a prior claim." "prior claim?" leatherwell barked. "you've issued the grant?" "oh, no indeed, mr. leatherwell," magnan replied quickly. "the claim hasn't yet been processed." "then there's no difficulty," leatherwell boomed. he glanced at his finger watch. "if you don't mind, i'll wait and take the grant along with me. i assume it will only take a minute or two to sign it and affix seals and so on?" "the other claim was filed a full week ago--" retief started. "bah!" leatherwell waved a hand impatiently. "these details can be arranged." he fixed an eye on magnan. "i'm sure all of us here understand that it's in the public interest that minerals properties go to responsible firms, with adequate capital for proper development." "why, ah," magnan said. "the sam's last chance number nine mining company is a duly chartered firm. their claim is valid." "i know that hole-in-corner concern," leatherwell snapped. "mere irresponsible opportunists. general minerals has spent millions--millions, i say--of the stockholders' funds in minerals explorations. are they to be balked in realizing a fair return on their investment because these ... these ... adventures have stumbled on a deposit? not that the property is of any real value, of course," he added. "quite an ordinary bit of rock. but general minerals would find it convenient to consolidate its holdings." "there are plenty of other rocks floating around in the belt. why not--" "one moment, retief," magnan cut in. he looked across the desk at his junior with a severe expression. "as consul-general, i'm quite capable of determining the relative merits of claims. as mr. leatherwell has pointed out, it's in the public interest to consider the question in depth." leatherwell cleared his throat. "i might state at this time that general minerals is prepared to be generous in dealing with these interlopers. i believe we would be prepared to go so far as to offer them free title to certain gm holdings in exchange for their release of any alleged rights to the property in question--merely to simplify matters, of course." "that seems more than fair to me," magnan glowed. "the sam's people have a clear priority," retief said. "i logged the claim in last friday." "they have far from a clear title." leatherwell snapped. "and i can assure you gm will contest their claim, if need be, to the supreme court!" "just what holdings did you have in mind offering them, mr. leatherwell?" magnan asked nervously. leatherwell reached into his briefcase and drew out a paper. " -p," he read. "a quite massive body. crustal material, i imagine. it should satisfy these squatters' desire to own real estate in the belt." "i'll make a note of that," magnan said, reaching for a pad. "that's a bona fide offer, mr. leatherwell?" retief asked. "certainly!" "i'll record it as such," magnan said, scribbling. "and who knows?" leatherwell said. "it may turn out to contain some surprisingly rich finds." "and if they won't accept it?" retief asked. "then i daresay general minerals will find a remedy in the courts, sir!" "oh, i hardly think that will be necessary," magnan said. "then there's another routine matter," leatherwell said. he passed a second document across to magnan. "gm is requesting an injunction to restrain these same parties from aggravated trespass. i'd appreciate it if you'd push it through at once. there's a matter of a load of illegally obtained ore involved, as well." "certainly mr. leatherwell. i'll see to it myself." "no need for that. the papers are all drawn up. our legal department will vouch for their correctness. just sign here." leatherwell spread out the paper and handed magnan a pen. "wouldn't it be a good idea to read that over first?" retief said. * * * * * leatherwell frowned impatiently. "you'll have adequate time to familiarize yourself with the details later, retief," magnan snapped, taking the pen. "no need to waste mr. leatherwell's valuable time." he scratched a signature on the paper. leatherwell rose, gathered up his papers from magnan's desk, dumped them into the briefcase. "riff-raff, of course. their kind has no business in the belt." retief rose, crossed to the desk, and held out a hand. "i believe you gathered in an official document along with your own, mr. leatherwell. by error, of course." "what's that?" leatherwell bridled. retief smiled, waiting. magnan opened his mouth. "it was under your papers, mr. leatherwell," retief said. "it's the thick one, with the rubber bands." leatherwell dug in his briefcase, produced the document. "well, fancy finding this here," he growled. he shoved the papers into retief's hand. "you're a very observant young fellow." he closed the briefcase with a snap. "i trust you'll have a bright future with the cdt." "really, retief," magnan said reprovingly. "there was no need to trouble mr. leatherwell." leatherwell directed a sharp look at retief and a bland one at magnan. "i trust you'll communicate the proposal to the interested parties. inasmuch as time is of the essence of the gm position, our offer can only be held open until greenwich, tomorrow. i'll call again at that time to finalize matters. i trust there'll be no impediment to a satisfactory settlement at that time. i should dislike to embark on lengthy litigation." magnan hurried around his desk to open the door. he turned back to fix retief with an exasperated frown. "a crass display of boorishness, retief," he snapped. "you've embarrassed a most influential member of the business community--and for nothing more than a few miserable forms." "those forms represent somebody's stake in what might be a valuable property." "they're mere paper until they've been processed!" "still--" "my responsibility is to the public interest--not to a fly-by-night group of prospectors." "they found it first." "bah! a worthless rock. after mr. leatherwell's munificent gesture--" "better rush his check through before he thinks it over and changes his mind." "good heavens!" magnan clutched the check, buzzed for miss gumble. she swept in, took magnan's instructions and left. retief waited while magnan glanced over the injunction, then nodded. "quite in order. a person called sam mancziewicz appears to be the principal. the address given is the jolly barge hotel; that would be that converted derelict ship in orbit , i assume?" retief nodded. "that's what they call it." "as for the ore-carrier, i'd best impound it, pending the settlement of the matter." magnan drew a form from a drawer, filled in blanks, shoved the paper across the desk. he turned and consulted a wall chart. "the hotel is nearby at the moment, as it happens. take the consulate dinghy. if you get out there right away, you'll catch them before the evening binge has developed fully." "i take it that's your diplomatic way of telling me that i'm now a process server." retief took the papers and tucked them into an inside pocket. "one of the many functions a diplomat is called on to perform in a small consular post. excellent experience. i needn't warn you to be circumspect. these miners are an unruly lot--especially when receiving bad news." "aren't we all." retief rose. "i don't suppose there's any prospect of your signing off that claim so that i can take a little good news along, too?" "none whatever," magnan snapped. "they've been made a most generous offer. if that fails to satisfy them, they have recourse through the courts." "fighting a suit like that costs money. the sam's last chance mining company hasn't got any." "need i remind you--" "i know. that's none of our concern." "on your way out," magnan said as retief turned to the door, "ask miss gumble to bring in the gourmet catalog from the commercial library. i want to check on the specifications of the model c banquet synthesizer." an hour later, nine hundred miles from ceres and fast approaching the jolly barge hotel, retief keyed the skiff's transmitter. "cdt - calling navy fp-vo- ." "navy vo- here, cdt," a prompt voice came back. a flickering image appeared on the small screen. "oh, hi there, mr. retief. what brings you out in the cold night air?" "hello, henry. i'm estimating the jolly barge in ten minutes. it looks like a busy night ahead. i may be moving around a little. how about keeping an eye on me? i'll be carrying a personnel beacon. monitor it, and if i switch it into high, come in fast. i can't afford to be held up. i've got a big meeting in the morning." "sure thing, mr. retief. we'll keep an eye open." * * * * * retief dropped a ten-credit note on the bar, accepted a glass and a squat bottle of black marsberry brandy and turned to survey the low-ceilinged room, a former hydroponics deck now known as the jungle bar. under the low ceiling, unpruned _ipomoea batatas_ and _lathyrus odoratus_ vines sprawled in a tangle that filtered the light of the s-spectrum glare panels to a muted green. a six-foot trideo screen, salvaged from the wreck of a concordiat transport, blared taped music in the style of two centuries past. at the tables, heavy-shouldered men in bright-dyed suit liners played cards, clanked bottles and shouted. carrying the bottle and glass, retief moved across to an empty chair at one of the tables. "you gentlemen mind if i join you?" five unshaven faces turned to study retief's six foot three, his close cut black hair, his non-commital gray coverall, the scars on his knuckles. a redhead with a broken nose nodded. "pull up a chair, stranger." "you workin' a claim, pardner?" "just looking around." "try a shot of this rock juice." "don't do it, mister. he makes it himself." "best rock juice this side of luna." "say, feller--" "the name's retief." "retief, you ever play drift?" "can't say that i did." "don't gamble with sam, pardner. he's the local champ." "how do you play it?" the black-browed miner who had suggested the game rolled back his sleeve to reveal a sinewy forearm, put his elbow on the table. "you hook forefingers, and put a glass right up on top. the man that takes a swallow wins. if the drink spills, it's drinks for the house." "a man don't often win out-right," the redhead said cheerfully. "but it makes for plenty of drinkin'." retief put his elbow on the table. "i'll give it a try." the two men hooked forefingers. the redhead poured a tumbler half full of rock juice, placed it atop the two fists. "okay, boys. go!" the man named sam gritted his teeth; his biceps tensed, knuckles grew white. the glass trembled. then it moved--toward retief. sam hunched his shoulders, straining. "that's the stuff, mister!" "what's the matter, sam? you tired?" the glass moved steadily closer to retief's face. "a hundred the new man makes it!" "watch sam! any minute now...." the glass slowed, paused. retief's wrist twitched and the glass crashed to the table top. a shout went up. sam leaned back with a sigh, massaging his hand. "that's some arm you got, mister," he said. "if you hadn't jumped just then...." "i guess the drinks are on me," retief said. * * * * * two hours later retief's marsberry bottle stood empty on the table beside half a dozen others. "we were lucky," sam mancziewicz was saying. "you figure the original volume of the planet; say , , , cubic miles. the deberry theory calls for a collapsed-crystal core no more than a mile in diameter. there's your odds." "and you believe you've found a fragment of this core?" "damn right we have. couple of million tons if it's an ounce. and at three credits a ton delivered at port syrtis, we're set for life. about time, too. twenty years i've been in the belt. got two kids i haven't seen for five years. things are going to be different now." "hey, sam; tone it down. you don't have to broadcast to every claim jumper in the belt." "our claim's on file at the consulate," sam said. "as soon as we get the grant--" "when's that gonna be? we been waitin' a week now." "i've never seen any collapsed-crystal metal," retief said. "i'd like to take a look at it." "sure. come on, i'll run you over. it's about an hour's run. we'll take our skiff. you want to go along, willy?" "i got a bottle to go," willy said. "see you in the morning." the two men descended in the lift to the boat bay, suited up and strapped into the cramped boat. a bored attendant cycled the launch doors, levered the release that propelled the skiff out and clear of the jolly barge hotel. retief caught a glimpse of a tower of lights spinning majestically against the black of space as the drive hurled the tiny boat away. iii retief's feet sank ankle deep into the powdery surface that glinted like snow in the glare of the distant sun. "it's funny stuff," sam's voice sounded in his ear. "under a gee of gravity, you'd sink out of sight. the stuff cuts diamond like butter--but temperature changes break it down into a powder. a lot of it's used just like this, as an industrial abrasive. easy to load, too. just drop a suction line, put on ambient pressure and start pumping." "and this whole rock is made of the same material?" "sure is. we ran plenty of test bores and a full schedule of soundings. i've got the reports back aboard _gertie_--that's our lighter." "and you've already loaded a cargo here?" "yep. we're running out of capital fast. i need to get that cargo to port in a hurry--before the outfit goes into involuntary bankruptcy. with this, that'd be a crime." "what do you know about general minerals, sam?" "you thinking of hiring on with them? better read the fine print in your contract before you sign. sneakiest bunch this side of a burglar's convention." "they own a chunk of rock known as -p. do you suppose we could find it?" "oh, you're buying it, hey? sure, we can find it. you damn sure want to look it over good if general minerals is selling." back aboard the skiff, mancziewicz flipped the pages of the chart book, consulted a table. "yep, she's not too far off. let's go see what gm's trying to unload." * * * * * the skiff hovered two miles from the giant boulder known as -p. retief and mancziewicz looked it over at high magnification. "it don't look like much, retief," sam said. "let's go down and take a closer look." the boat dropped rapidly toward the scarred surface of the tiny world, a floating mountain, glaring black and white in the spotlight of the sun. sam frowned at his instrument panel. "that's funny. my ion counter is revving up. looks like a drive trail, not more than an hour or two old. somebody's been here." the boat grounded. retief and sam got out. the stony surface was littered with rock fragments varying in size from pebbles to great slabs twenty feet long, tumbled in a loose bed of dust and sand. retief pushed off gently, drifted up to a vantage point atop an upended wedge of rock. sam joined him. "this is all igneous stuff," he said. "not likely we'll find much here that would pay the freight to syrtis--unless maybe you lucked onto some bodean artifacts. they bring plenty." he flipped a binocular in place as he talked, scanned the riven landscape. "hey!" he said. "over there!" retief followed sam's pointing glove. he studied the dark patch against a smooth expanse of eroded rock. "a friend of mine came across a chunk of the old planetary surface two years ago," sam said thoughtfully. "had a tunnel in it that'd been used as a storage depot by the bodeans. took out over two ton of hardware. course, nobody's discovered how the stuff works yet, but it brings top prices." "looks like water erosion," retief said. "yep. this could be another piece of surface, all right. could be a cave over there. the bodeans liked caves, too. must have been some war--but then, if it hadn't been, they wouldn't have tucked so much stuff away underground where it could weather the planetary breakup." they descended, crossed the jumbled rocks with light, thirty-foot leaps. "it's a cave, all right," sam said, stooping to peer into the five-foot bore. retief followed him inside. "let's get some light in here." mancziewicz flipped on a beam. it glinted back from dull polished surfaces of bodean synthetic. sam's low whistle sounded in retief's headset. "that's funny," retief said. "funny, hell! it's hilarious. general minerals trying to sell off a worthless rock to a tenderfoot--and it's loaded with bodean artifacts. no telling how much is here; the tunnel seems to go quite a ways back." "that's not what i mean. do you notice your suit warming up?" "huh? yeah, now that you mention it." retief rapped with a gauntleted hand on the satiny black curve of the nearest bodean artifact. it clunked dully through the suit "that's not metal," he said. "it's plastic." "there's something fishy here," sam said. "this erosion; it looks more like a heat beam." "sam," retief said, turning, "it appears to me somebody has gone to a great deal of trouble to give a false impression here." * * * * * sam snorted. "i told you they were a crafty bunch." he started out of the cave, then paused, went to one knee to study the floor. "but maybe they outsmarted themselves. look here!" retief looked. sam's beam reflected from a fused surface of milky white, shot through with dirty yellow. he snapped a pointed instrument in place on his gauntlet, dug at one of the yellow streaks. it furrowed under the gouge, a particle adhering to the instrument. with his left hand, mancziewicz opened a pouch clipped to his belt, carefully deposited the sample in a small orifice on the device in the pouch. he flipped a key, squinted at a dial. "atomic weight . ," he said. retief turned down the audio volume on his headset as sam's laughter rang in his helmet. "those clowns were out to stick you, retief," he gasped, still chuckling. "they salted the rock with a cave full of bodean artifacts--" "fake bodean artifacts," retief put in. "they planed off the rock so it would look like an old beach, and then cut this cave with beamers. and they were boring through practically solid gold!" "as good as that?" mancziewicz flashed the light around. "this stuff will assay out at a thousand credits a ton, easy. if the vein doesn't run to five thousand tons, the beers are on me." he snapped off the light. "let's get moving, retief. you want to sew this deal up before they get around to taking another look at it." back in the boat, retief and mancziewicz opened their helmets. "this calls for a drink," sam said, extracting a pressure flask from the map case. "this rock's worth as much as mine, maybe more. you hit it lucky, retief. congratulations." he thrust out a hand. "i'm afraid you've jumped to a couple of conclusions, sam," retief said. "i'm not out here to buy mining properties." "you're not--then why--but man! even if you didn't figure on buying...." he trailed off as retief shook his head, unzipped his suit to reach to an inside pocket, take out a packet of folded papers. "in my capacity as terrestrial vice-consul, i'm serving you with an injunction restraining you from further exploitation of the body known as -a." he handed a paper across to sam. "i also have here an order impounding the vessel _gravel gertie ii_." sam took the papers silently, sat looking at them. he looked up at retief. "funny. when you beat me at drift and then threw the game so you wouldn't show me up in front of the boys, i figured you for a right guy. i've been spilling my heart out to you like you were my old grandma. an old-timer in the game like me." he dropped a hand, brought it up with a browning mm pointed at retief's chest. "i could shoot you and dump you here with a slab over you, toss these papers in the john and hightail it with the load...." "that wouldn't do you much good in the long run, sam. besides you're not a criminal or an idiot." * * * * * sam chewed his lip. "my claim is on file in the consulate, legal and proper. maybe by now the grant's gone through." "other people have their eye on your rock, sam. ever meet a fellow called leatherwell?" "general minerals, huh? they haven't got a leg to stand on." "the last time i saw your claim, it was still lying in the pending file. just a bundle of paper until it's validated by the consul. if leatherwell contests it ... well, his lawyers are on annual retainer. how long could you keep the suit going, sam?" mancziewicz closed his helmet with a decisive snap, motioned to retief to do the same. he opened the hatch, sat with the gun on retief. "get out, paper-pusher." his voice sounded thin in the headphones. "you'll get lonesome, maybe, but your suit will keep you alive a few days. i'll tip somebody off before you lose too much weight. i'm going back and see if i can't stir up a little action at the consulate." retief climbed out, walked off fifty yards. he watched as the skiff kicked off in a quickly dispersed cloud of dust, dwindled rapidly away to a bright speck that was lost against the stars. then he extracted the locator beacon from the pocket of his suit and thumbed the control. twenty minutes later, aboard navy fp-vo- , retief pulled off his helmet. "fast work, henry. i've got a couple of calls to make. put me through to your hq, will you? i want a word with commander hayle." the young naval officer raised the hq, handed the mike to retief. "vice-consul retief here, commander. i'd like you to intercept a skiff, bound from my present position toward ceres. there's a mr. mancziewicz aboard. he's armed, but not dangerous. collect him and see that he's delivered to the consulate at greenwich tomorrow. "next item: the consulate has impounded an ore-carrier, _gravel gertie ii_. it's in a parking orbit ten miles off ceres. i want it taken in tow." retief gave detailed instruction. then he asked for a connection through the navy switchboard to the consulate. magnan's voice answered. "retief speaking, mr. consul. i have some news that i think will interest you--" "where are you, retief? what's wrong with the screen? have you served the injunction?" "i'm aboard the navy patrol vessel. i've been out looking over the situation, and i've made a surprising discovery. i don't think we're going to have any trouble with the sam's people; they've looked over the body-- -p--and it seems general minerals has slipped up. there appears to be a highly valuable deposit there." "oh? what sort of deposit?" "mr. mancziewicz mentioned collapsed crystal metal," retief said. "well, most interesting." magnan's voice sounded thoughtful. "just thought you'd like to know. this should simplify the meeting in the morning. "yes," magnan said. "yes, indeed. i think this makes everything very simple...." * * * * * at greenwich, retief stepped into the outer office of the consular suite. "... fantastic configuration," leatherwell's bass voice rumbled, "covering literally acres. my xenogeologists are somewhat confused by the formations. they had only a few hours to examine the site; but it's clear from the extent of the surface indications that we have a very rich find here. very rich indeed. beside it, -a dwindles into insignificance. very fast thinking on your part, mr. consul, to bring the matter to my attention." "not at all, mr. leatherwell. after all--" "our tentative theory is that the basic crystal fragment encountered the core material at some time, and gathered it in. since we had been working on--that is, had landed to take samples on the other side of the body, this anomalous deposit escaped our attention completely." retief stepped into the room. "good morning, gentlemen. has mr. mancziewicz arrived?" "mr. mancziewicz is under restraint by the navy. i've had a call that he'd be escorted here." "arrested, eh?" leatherwell nodded. "i told you these people were an irresponsible group. in a way it seems a pity to waste a piece of property like -a on them." "i understood general minerals was claiming that rock," retief said, looking surprised. leatherwell and magnan exchanged glances. "ah, gm has decided to drop all claim to the body," leatherwell said. "as always, we wish to encourage enterprise on the part of the small operators. let them keep the property. after all gm has other deposits well worth exploiting." he smiled complacently. "what about -p? you've offered it to the sam's group." "that offer is naturally withdrawn!" leatherwell snapped. "i don't see how you can withdraw the offer," retief said. "it's been officially recorded. it's a bona fide contract, binding on general minerals, subject to--" "out of the goodness of our corporate heart," leatherwell roared, "we've offered to relinquish our legitimate, rightful claim to asteroid -p. and you have the infernal gall to spout legal technicalities! i have half a mind to withdraw my offer to withdraw!" "actually," magnan put in, eyeing a corner of the room, "i'm not at all sure i could turn up the record of the offer of -p. i noted it down on a bit of scratch paper--" "that's all right," retief said, "i had my pocket recorder going. i sealed the record and deposited it in the consular archives." there was a clatter of feet outside. miss gumble appeared on the desk screen. "there are a number of persons here--" she began. * * * * * the door banged open. sam mancziewicz stepped into the room, a sailor tugging at each arm. he shook them loose, stared around the room. his eyes lighted on retief. "how did you get here...?" "look here, monkeywits or whatever your name is," leatherwell began, popping out of his chair. mancziewicz whirled, seized the stout executive by the shirt front and lifted him onto his tiptoes. "you double-barrelled copper-bottomed oak-lined son-of-a--" "don't spoil him, sam," retief said casually. "he's here to sign off all rights--if any--to -a. it's all yours--if you want it." sam glared into leatherwell's eyes. "that right?" he grated. leatherwell bobbed his head, his chins compressed into bulging folds. "however," retief went on, "i wasn't at all sure you'd still be agreeable, since he's made your company a binding offer of -p in return for clear title to -a." mancziewicz looked across at retief with narrowed eyes. he released leatherwell, who slumped into his chair. magnan darted around his desk to minister to the magnate. behind them, retief closed one eye in a broad wink at mancziewicz. "... still, if mr. leatherwell will agree, in addition to guaranteeing your title to -a, to purchase your output at four credits a ton, fob his collection station--" mancziewicz looked at leatherwell. leatherwell hesitated, then nodded. "agreed," he croaked. "... and to open his commissary and postal facilities to all prospectors operating in the belt...." leatherwell swallowed, eyes bulging, glanced at mancziewicz's face. he nodded. "agreed." "... then i think i'd sign an agreement releasing him from his offer." mancziewicz looked at magnan. "you're the terrestrial consul-general," he said. "is that the straight goods?" magnan nodded. "if mr. leatherwell agrees--" "he's already agreed," retief said. "my pocket recorder, you know." "put it in writing," mancziewicz said. magnan called in miss gumble. the others waited silently while magnan dictated. he signed the paper with a flourish, passed it across to mancziewicz. he read it, re-read it, then picked up the pen and signed. magnan impressed the consular seal on the paper. "now the grant," retief said. magnan signed the claim, added a seal. mancziewicz tucked the papers away in an inner pocket. he rose. "well, gents, i guess maybe i had you figured wrong," he said. he looked at retief. "uh ... got time for a drink?" "i shouldn't drink during office hours," retief said. he rose. "so i'll take the rest of the day off." * * * * * "i don't get it," sam said signalling for refills. "what was the routine with the injunction--and impounding _gertie_? you could have got hurt." "i don't think so," retief said. "if you'd meant business with that browning, you'd have flipped the safety off. as for the injunction--orders are orders." "i've been thinking," sam said. "that gold deposit. it was a plant, too, wasn't it?" "i'm just a bureaucrat, sam. what would i know about gold?" "a double-salting job," sam said. "i was supposed to spot the phoney hardware--and then fall for the gold plant. when leatherwell put his proposition to me, i'd grab it. the gold was worth plenty, i'd figure, and i couldn't afford a legal tangle with general minerals. the lousy skunk! and you must have spotted it and put it up to him." the bar-tender leaned across to retief. "wanted on the phone." in the booth, magnan's agitated face stared a retief. "retief, mr. leatherwell's in a towering rage! the deposit on -p; it was merely a surface film, barely a few inches thick! the entire deposit wouldn't fill an ore-boat." a horrified expression dawned on magnan's face. "retief," he gasped, "what did you do with the impounded ore-carrier?" "well, let me see," retief said. "according to the space navigation code, a body in orbit within twenty miles of any inhabited airless body constitutes a navigational hazard. accordingly, i had it towed away." "and the cargo?" "well, accelerating all that mass was an expensive business, so to save the taxpayer's credits, i had it dumped." "where?" magnan croaked. "on some unimportant asteroid--as specified by regulations." he smiled blandly at magnan. magnan looked back numbly. "but you said--" "all i said was that there was what looked like a valuable deposit on -p. it turned out to be a bogus gold mine that somebody had rigged up in a hurry. curious, eh?" "but you told me--" "and you told mr. leatherwell. indiscreet of you, mr. consul. that was a privileged communication; classified information, official use only." "you led me to believe there was collapsed crystal!" "i said sam had mentioned it. he told me his asteroid was made of the stuff." magnan swallowed hard, twice. "by the way," he said dully. "you were right about the check. half an hour ago mr. leatherwell tried to stop payment. he was too late." "all in all, it's been a big day for leatherwell," retief said. "anything else?" "i hope not," magnan said. "i sincerely hope not." he leaned close to the screen. "you'll consider the entire affair as ... confidential? there's no point in unduly complicating relationships." "have no fear, mr. consul," retief said cheerfully. "you won't find me identifying with anything as specific as triple-salting an asteroid." back at the table, sam called for another bottle of rock juice. "that drift's a pretty good game," retief said. "but let me show you one i learned out on yill...." [transcriber's note: no section ii heading in original text.] venus has green eyes by carl selwyn space-trotting flip miller was prisoner of the lovely, cruel venusian queen. it looked like star's end for the stubborn-jawed young earthling until he remembered that women are women--on earth or on venus! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] charlie mead, trapper, and flip miller, ex-prospector, started a forty-day drunk. charlie just liked the idea. flip had reasons. "in a few hours it'll be wetter'n a swamp duck's gullet," said charlie, grinning behind his whiskers. "and darker'n west pluto!" charlie had been trapping otters here for five years and accepted the long nights as resignedly as the mud, the eternal fog and the heat. he poured another glass of _loku_, squinted at its blue sparkle in the tube-light. the gray mists swirled through the open door and the raw wind whistled through the rusty holes in the wall. flip leaned back against the bundles of fur and held up four fingers. "to hell with the following," he counted, "i.m.c., radios, fuel tanks, and this soggy planet of yours, venus!" * * * * * noted for his wild-goose chases and wilder ideas, flip miller was always running into trouble. in fact it was just two months ago that the space patrol found him marooned on pallas. he had one pint of air left when they found him, said he fell out of his plane while looking for diamonds. the patrol took him to mars. there, he immediately got in a poker game and made a fortune--and immediately got in another and lost it all. that is, all except a doubtful map of a venusian xanite mine which nobody else would accept as stakes. which was his reason for being here, if flip ever needed a sane reason for being anywhere. for once however his screwball ventures panned out. "and i've been here all these years without knowing a billion dollars was in my back yard," said charlie who considered the matter very funny. "leastwise it was a billion till--" "shut up, you blinking old veedle-chaser," said flip. people always laughed at his misfortunes. maybe it was because he did too.... charlie's island was in the middle of the black swamp. the mine was a few hundred miles east. fused with asphalt and deep in the mire, thousands of miles from nowhere, it was small wonder it had lain there unvisited since its original discovery. the map had passed through the hands of sundry dissolute, short-lived sourdoughs till the location became as dubious as other bar-room talk. it was flip's luck that the map eventually got around to him. he was probably the only man in the system who would have believed in it. filled with quick visions, he'd figured his treasure up on the spot. it would cost about fifty dollars a ton to get it out of the swamp, smelt the asphalt and ship the ore to earth. on earth xanite ore was worth over a thousand dollars a ton. then the fates ran amuck. his plane's fuel tank sprang a leak. flip lost every drop of the reserve that was to carry him back to the mainland. the mainland was , miles away. then his sending set blew a transformer and he couldn't radio for help. last, while trying to ascertain his position on the receiving set, he heard that i.m.c.--interstellar metallurgical company--had just opened a gigantic xanite deposit on mars. the market quoted xanite now at twenty dollars a ton. venusian xanite suddenly wasn't worth swamp water. "it shore is too bad," continued charlie with smiling sympathy. "you probably wished it on me," said flip, "so you could have company on this mildewed damn island." that was the one blessing in his barrage by malevolent fates--he'd glided to charlie's island and the old fellow, one of many of his kind in the venusian swamps, had placed his metal shack, his canned beans and his _loku_ at flip's disposal. to all of which he was doomed till the supply ship came around after the rains--forty days ahead. "i wish one of your pirates would show up," mused flip. "i might could bum a ride out of here." "don't wish that, boy," said charlie with quick seriousness. "i've been pretty lucky so far but i told you about the fellow who used to be here--he's buried out yonder in the mud. these here venusian pirates're about the meanest critters you find anywheres." "they come around during the nights, huh." "yeah, when the season's catch is ready for packing. they kill the fellow and take his pelts. you quit talking about pirates, boy. they'd just as soon skin you as an otter." "say! what about this female pirate i heard about on the mainland?" "captain vixen? i never seen her--never knew nobody that had. she don't come out here and the natives won't talk about her. but you can bet your sunday space-togs she's behind this swamp raiding--she runs everything on the mainland, about ruined the big industries there. supposed to be a native queen back in the hills; hates foreigners. they say she's nursed scorpions and killed men with her fingernails." "pretty tough date, huh." and now the twilight was coming on, it was starting to rain--and soon it would be blackness and constant rain for forty dreary days. "oh, hell," yawned flip. "and i didn't bring my bathing suit." he joined charlie in a drink. * * * * * the thirty-eighth century haliburton and the black swamp bacchus were doing nicely with the sixteenth verse of _lulu drank loku on pluto_ when one of the more technical gestures necessary to the famous ditty caused the bottle to be overturned. "now look what you've done," said flip. "we've got only enough left for thirty-nine days." "sho shorry," said charlie. flip felt in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and found the ill-starred map which had brought him here. the lines were blurred with sweat but he could still make out the circle designating the mainland port, the crow's feet designating the swamp, the large x in the upper left where the xanite was. he didn't need the map any more; for the location was stark in his mind. in fact he wished he could forget it. "ah, well," he said. he opened the tube-light, held the map over the hissing jet. it turned brown, then black and he crumbled the ashes in his fingers. "i sometimes wonder what'll happen to me next...." he heard something above the wind at the door; probably a stray veedle, one of the mud-mice which infested the swamp. then he noticed charlie's eyes. they were very big and slowly his mouth fell open. he's gone _loku_ loco, thought flip. charlie was staring past him, over his shoulder. flip whirled around. a woman stood in the door. flip dropped his glass. behind the woman stood three men. the woman said something in venusian. flip couldn't understand and there was a dumb pause as he stared with eyes that grew wider. the woman wore hip-high swamp boots, two guns on her belt, a filmy shirt open at the throat. her hair, uncovered and flowing, was golden, vaporous as the mist. flip heard charlie replying in the native language. the woman stepped into the room. eyes flicking into every corner, the three men followed her. in the hand of each was an . pistol. she halted before them and flip rose from his chair like a ghost. charlie sat very still. his face was pale, eyes narrow. "sit down." it was a command and flip sank back down helplessly. in his amazement he'd probably have done anything she said. she spoke english, in the liquid tones of a native. and she was venusian, in all its ancient connotation. her eyes met flip's evenly, calmly. her eyes were emerald green. "you are flip miller," she said. "you have a map. give it to me." she held out her hand, as if refusal to her easy words was unthinkable. flip found his voice. "who--?" he began. her eyes were cold, commanding; his ego rebelled and he stood up quickly. with a swift hand, one of the men pushed him back down. flip came up again with fists balled. a pistol was jabbed in his side. "jupiter's jumpers!" cried flip. "what is this?" "captain vixen...." breathed charlie. * * * * * the . gun was persuasive and flip sat down. the man was huge, ugly with a welted blue scar across his cheek. he stepped back and stood with feet wide apart, the gun pointed at flip's chest. another stationed himself at the door, the other stood behind charlie. the woman leaned against the table, crossed her legs. "the map?" she said and produced a cigarette. bravado was the word for flip, naturally or _à la loku_, and forgetting his anger he struck a match for her. she ignored him, lit the cigarette herself. without changing his expression, flip thumped the burning match toward the man with the gun. "so you're captain vixen," he said, meeting her gaze. "perhaps i should ask for your autograph." "i should brand it on your mouth, earthman. but the map, please?" she wasn't beautiful, thought flip; her eyes were too far apart, her lips too large--sensual. and her green eyes, her eyebrows long and slanting, her firm lithe sleekness--they were more feline than feminine. which was dangerously feminine, thought flip, and perhaps she was beautiful. "captain vixen, the legend does you an injustice," he observed. "the complexion! like swamp lilies in the mist...." then he laughed, for lovely women weren't danger to flip miller. quite on the contrary. "now what's all this about a map? my xanite mine?" "fool, did you think your arrival on venus was not made known to me--and your purpose here?" "you followed me to get that map!" flip threw back his head with mirth. charlie made shushing noises. but it was too funny, flip thought. didn't she know the mine was worthless? she must! but she had come out here after him in person. perhaps she didn't know the bottom had fallen out of the xanite market. the woman motioned to the man with the scar. "search him," she said, smoke curling from her lips. the fellow came forward, reached out a hairy hand. flip slapped it aside, annoyed. "oh, drop the mask, viki, and let's be friends," he said. "and i don't like the company you keep." "oh, lord!" groaned charlie. the man looked at the woman, waited for orders. "i said search him," she repeated. the man holstered his gun, snatched at flip's collar. the shirt ripped and flip's fist came up as he rose. _spat!_ the man staggered backward, hit the wall and slid to the floor. in the same second flip hurled his chair at the man in the doorway. the woman was between him and the other fellow's gun, which probably saved him. he saw charlie get to his feet as he whirled upon the woman--to find her pistol only inches from his belly. charlie turned upon the man behind him and was struck in the face by a gun barrel. he fell across a pile of fur, was struggling up when the heavy man deliberately placed a foot upon his wrist. flip heard the bone snap. he ground his teeth in rage, started to lunge at the man and felt the woman's gun press into his ribs. she had not moved from the table and her face was calm as ever. she had merely changed the cigarette to her left hand. fingering their bruises, the men flip had dealt with came up. the other had his gun leveled on charlie. flip saw the little trapper get slowly to his feet, holding his limp arm. his face was very white. it was then that flip became quite sober to the situation. suddenly he forgot this woman's beauty, and what had been admiration turned to burning hate. he told her so. "for the last time," she said, "i'm asking for that map." her eyes were green ice and her hand did not waver on the gun. "i burned the map." "then you will tell me the location." "i will tell you nothing." "perhaps we can change your mind," she said. "bring a rope, thorg." * * * * * after being thoroughly searched, they were pushed through the door. charlie didn't say anything and flip knew his wrist must be agony. twilight had come, the long twilight of venus which precedes the longer night, and the mist was wet with drizzling rain. visibility was poor; flip could see only a few yards ahead. the sun, never seen on this dank planet, was now below the horizon leaving a dull gray afterglow--like false dawn on earth. he did not know where they were going nor what mad torture the woman had conceived. he knew only that hate flamed in his chest and her white throat in his hands would be a great pleasure. never before had flip desired to harm a woman. but never before had he seen one like this. they passed a trim strato-plane, vague in the fog, and flip discovered how the pirates managed to land so noiselessly. on their craft's power jets were the slim serpentine coils of doxim silencers, exhaust mufflers banned for years by interstellar law. if only a veedle would crawl in one of those tubes, he thought; it might blow up the ship. slashing through the rain at charlie's side, the threatening guns close behind, flip was jerked from his heated musings by an . shot. he whirled around, saw smoke curling from the pistol in the woman's hand. a dead veedle, an exceptionally small mud-mouse, lay at her feet. lordy, thought flip as he was pushed on; the woman was heartless, mercilessly cruel for the sport of it.... the edge of the little island halted them. here the rock fell away for several feet to the sickening ooze. covering half of venus, it was the black swamp which stretched off in the dismal fog. "tie a rope around his neck and throw him over," came the woman's impassive voice. "he will become quite loquacious before he sinks...." so this was it. flip looked at charlie and charlie looked at the swamp. flip followed his gaze and the dark viscous mire rippled in a passing breeze, hissed against the rock and sucked hungrily like a live thing waiting to feed. the swamps were bottomless. the man thorg, the one who had broken charlie's wrist, threw a loop over flip's head, pulled it tight about his neck. flip fingered the rope and stared at the woman. would she really do this? and would he talk? no! damned if he would! he'd sink first. but the mine was worthless. why not tell her where it was? but he had no reason to expect a lesser fate if he did. besides it was a matter of honor now--and he knew one way to enhance that honor. "hold the rope when you shove him in," said the woman, her eyes mere slits against the mist. "let him sink slowly." the other two men had their guns trained upon flip. he met thorg's beady eyes. "son of a veedle!" flip said in his face. suddenly he swooped down and upward with one long arm. the man was shoved forward, to the brink of the rock. he tottered there a long second, waving his arms frantically. flip sprang toward the woman. flame burst around him, he wasn't hit. he heard thorg scream. he crashed into the woman as he heard a splash, more screams. then there was silence and he was struggling on the wet-rock, the woman fighting like a tiger. flip found her gun hand, wrenched the weapon from her. he got to his knees. the two men stood before him, one holding his gun on charlie. they couldn't fire at flip for fear of hitting the woman. flip started to blast them, then turned the pistol upon their captain vixen beside him. "drop your guns or i'll kill her," he said. he leveled his pistol, got to his feet and backed away from the group. "take their guns, charlie," he grinned. "we're not licked yet." "no?" said the woman. his eyes flicked to her. she had a pistol in her hand. flip had his sights dead upon her. damn, he thought; he'd forgotten she carried two guns. they stared at each other--stalemated. the very wind was still. "i've never killed a woman--" flip said. "i've never killed a man," she said quietly, "before." for the first time she smiled. flip's gun was suddenly jerked away, fire streaked toward him, he heard the crash. she had shot the gun from his hand. * * * * * he stood there, helpless and dumb. captain vixen lit a cigarette, her gun still ready. she looked at him a long moment. "well," she said, green eyes never leaving his, "what are we waiting for?" she motioned to the man with the scar. "take the end of the rope, voss. our earthian friend hasn't tasted the mud yet, you know." charlie hadn't said anything. a gun at his back, his white mustache ruffled by the wind, he stood silently watching flip, holding his broken arm. the choice was up to flip. "look at the mud, flip miller," said the woman. "there is not even a ripple where thorg went down. he went quickly. you shall dip slowly, that the conceit of your tongue and the rashness of your mind may be reflected upon with regret." flip glanced over the rock's edge. there was only the quiet, waiting mire; no trace of thorg's body. "vixen--" he began. he never finished for voss pushed him over with both hands. the black surface of the mud rushed up at him. arms flailing off balance, he hit on his side with a heavy splash. he heard charlie's yell from above. he raised his head from the mud, tried to brush the stuff from his eyes. a soft and clinging pressure was warm against his legs, his waist. through the mud in his eyes, he saw the dark flat plain of the swamp stretching away into the mist. turning, he saw the perpendicular rock wall of the island rising above him. the hot ooze crawled up to his chest and in his nostrils was the fetid smell of the swamp, dank with the warm breath of ancient decay. the mud crawled higher. he struck out with his hands against it, struggled to pull himself upward but a grim suction tugged at his feet and legs, slowly drew his body downward. then his wrists were caught in the irresistible pull. he couldn't move his arms. looking down, he saw the black mire high on his chest. as he watched, fascinated, the mire rose higher. it was at his shoulders. keen and swift, panic struck like a knife in his belly and his arms strained, every muscle in his body trembled with mad flight. but he couldn't move and the mud climbed to his throat. this is _it_, he thought, and pictures paraded through his mind, irrelevant flashes. he saw faces, dim in the mist above him, blurred with water and the mud in his eyes. he shook his head violently, the faces cleared. there was choking pain in his throat. the faces were of three men, and a woman. it was vixen, looking down from the rock above. his head was strained back and upward against the rope, tight on his throat. he had stopped sinking. "have you found your tongue?" it was the woman's voice. "where is the mine? speak! tell me or you sink!" flip stared at her and could say nothing. he was smothered with the noose on his neck. his eyes burned with the pain, with red hatred of the woman. "let him down slowly." her voice again. flip stared up at her with mute passion. the mud caressed his chin, repulsive and warm. slowly, he felt it creep higher, moist against the back of his head. "speak, fool! where is the mine?" he stared up at her with bulging eyes, couldn't speak. her words were meaningless. he felt only the pain in his throat, the pressure of the mire against his body. he knew only that he hated the voice that spoke and that his body was weak with that hatred. the mud crawled into his ears and the voice stopped. the mud rose to his lips. he could taste the thick salty warmth of it. he closed his mouth tightly but the taste remained. the mud bubbled at his nostrils. he couldn't breathe. he saw the vast flat plain of black become level with his eyes. the mud covered his eyes. * * * * * the air was good and he gulped at it. he was lying on the rock. he felt his throat, wiped his face and saw somebody standing over him in the rain. the man had a scar across his cheek. "try the other one." it was the woman's voice. "perhaps the muddy earthian will talk to save his friend if not himself." flip sat up and stared at them, gathering his wits. charlie had a rope about his neck. the man voss held a pistol at his back. charlie grinned at him. "proud of you, boy," he said. his right arm dangled at his side. failing the first time, flip's scene was to be repeated with a new performer. "no," said flip. "no! charlie doesn't know where the mine is--he had nothing to do with this." "no matter," said the woman. "perhaps seeing him in the mud will affect your obstinacy." "that mine's worthless," flip said. "it's no good any more. since i.m.c.--" "i know," she replied. "hush, flip," said charlie. "there's more going on than we know about. don't tell her. i'm an old man and--" "throw him in," said the woman impatiently. flip got to his feet, ignoring the gun in his face. voss picked up the end of the rope around charlie's neck. "stop," said flip. "i'll tell you." he couldn't let charlie go through with this. it wasn't his problem and he had a broken wrist already. "be quiet," said charlie. "i don't--" "talk," the woman told flip. the mine must mean a lot to her, flip thought. why? he was positive about the present market price. could the radio report have been wrong? no. not in a quotation affecting five planets. "what do you want with that mine?" flip stalled. "you know the market price." "your questions are unhealthy, earthman. tell me the mine's location or your friend goes in the swamp--without a rope." flip told her. he didn't lie. he gave the exact venusio-magnetic direction he'd taken to find it. but he was sure of one thing--that there was more here than he knew. the radio report must have been wrong.... "you shouldn't of told her, flip," said charlie. "your life will be short if he lied," said the woman. she glanced up at the fog. it was a shade darker than when they had come and the rain was stronger. the mist was thickening and it was much cooler, flip noticed. "come," said the woman, "we must prove his words while there is light." she turned, walked up the rock toward the ship. "tie them in the cabin," she ordered over her shoulder. "if he lied, we shall return. if he spoke truth--they have only to free themselves before they starve...." * * * * * when the men left, flip immediately tried the rope. pulling with all his strength, he couldn't slacken it and, with the pain in his arm, there was little charlie could do. "lordy!!" said flip. "what now?" "we're lucky to be alive," said charlie. "captain vixen must have taken a fancy to you." flip strained at his ropes with the thought of her. venusian women were the beauties of the universe and this woman had surpassed them all, but in her dull beauty, thought flip, there was nothing feminine. she had no heart. she had but one emotion--the pursuit of her goal. "it gets pretty chilly during the nights," said charlie happily. "we'll get pneumonia before we starve." flip looked helplessly about the room. they were bound to their chairs and the ropes looped through holes in the wall. there was no way flip could get to charlie and perhaps untie him. the house was of metal and through the rusty walls and the open door came the increasing chill of night. captain vixen's men had made them "comfortable," left them to the whistling wind. there was a draft on flip's neck and he turned to see the rust had eaten away a small crack behind him. just another thing, he thought. he was still caked with mud. then he almost turned over his chair with excitement. he craned his neck, saw where the rope binding him was looped through the wall. they were two small holes, rusty as the rest. "charlie," he said hoarsely, "these dumb venusians! they've tied us to a _knife blade_!" "what?" "the holes they put the rope through! look at the edges!" he began see-sawing back and forth with his chair. the rope rubbed against the rusty edges as he did so. "maybe i can make it in time. it's been only a few minutes and they've got to warm up the ship." "you mean you're going to face them again. saints o' saturn! leave well enough alone, boy!" flip kept at his work. if he could get this part of the rope cut the rest would be simple. "and let 'em get that mine? hell no! there's something about that xanite i don't understand and i'm going to find out what. i'd like a nice long chat with miss vixen too." charlie gave up trying to dissuade him and flip kept sawing. with the mufflers, he couldn't hear the ship leave but he was sure they hadn't gone yet. those high-power planes took a lot of warming up, especially with moxims. what to do when he got there? flip miller's mind never strayed far from the present. the rope broke. it was a matter of minutes before he was free. "try the same thing, charlie," flip said at the door. "you wouldn't be much good out there with a busted wrist and i'll be back before long." "maybe," said charlie doubtfully as flip streaked out into the rain. * * * * * the ship loomed before him in the mist and flip halted, some degree of sanity entering the elation of his escape. he couldn't see through the fogged windows, but there were three skillful guns inside and he was unarmed. they had taken all the guns from the shack when they left. besides, the ship's door was closed and a strato-plane's hull is solid metal. though he considered it, he couldn't just go up and knock. the rise-rockets were idling. a pink glow appeared at each blast but there was only a soft hissing with the mufflers. the power jets hadn't started; they were geared with a synchronized heat progression which ignited them only when the proper temperature was reached. a veedle scampered across flip's foot and he jumped. if a veedle crawled into one of those muffler tubes it would explode, he remembered thinking when he first saw the ship. flip snapped his fingers. if a veedle could cause it, why not he? with mud! he could fill a power jet and when the ignition started, it would burst like a clogged gun barrel. they couldn't leave. perfect! keeping well below the windows, he approached the ship. the power jets, as usual, were outside and forward of the glowing rise-rockets so he could work in safety. that is, unless the jets started while he was near them. but he would never know it if they did. flip scooped up a handful of mud, stuffed it into the five-inch opening. it was like pouring water in a veedle hole but he kept at it, and heat from the smaller tubes blistering his hands. he could hear people moving about inside the plane. finally he packed one more handful to make sure, grinning to himself. the door in the side of the ship suddenly opened. flip dropped down beside the hull. it was the big fellow with the scarred cheek. he jumped down, walked toward the rear of the ship where flip was. making a take-off inspection, flip decided. what should he do? he could make a break across the rocks, lose himself in the mist. no--they'd track him down, get charlie again too. well, there was one thing to do then. the man was silhouetted against the open door as he walked forward. in the heavy mist, he couldn't see flip yet. crouched on hands and toes, flip sank lower. the muscles in his knees tensed. the man came on. flip shot toward him, hands outstretched. his fingers found the thick throat, squeezed with all their might as the force of his spring carried them both to the ground. flip landed on top, kept his hold on the man's neck. the fellow brought up his hands, plucked frantically at flip's wrists but he made only soft gurgling sounds and soon his hands fell away. flip turned him loose. he wasn't dead; a little out of breath. flip took his pistol from its holster. to keep him quiet a while longer, he slugged a finishing touch on his chin. with a grin at this aesthetic work, he got to his feet. he had a gun now. but it was still two against one--he'd learned to count the woman--and they were inside. it would be risky entering the ship. better wait till somebody else came out. they'd be out looking for this fellow soon enough. the door was still open. flip dragged the unconscious man under the rounded hull. eyes on the door, he crouched down beside him to wait. suddenly he remembered the mud he'd stuffed in the power jet. wow! if that thing exploded with him near it--! he leaped up, stuck the gun in his belt. he reached down to drag the man away too. as he turned, something jabbed hard in his side. "so you haven't had enough, earthman?" it was the other fellow, voss. he must have come out the other side, circled around the back. the rockets were glowing cherry red now. the power jets would ignite any moment. * * * * * "get away!" cried flip. "i clogged a tube! it'll explode--" "no more of your tricks, earthman," said voss. he yanked flip's gun from his belt, stuck both of them in flip's belly. "you fool, we'll be blown to bits." "shut up," said voss, eyeing his comrade lying beside the ship. he poked him with the toe of his boot. the man groaned, moved slightly. flip saw bubbles ooze from the jet he'd stopped up. it was a matter of seconds. ignoring the gun, flip hit voss in the face. the man staggered back. flip whirled to run. as he turned, the mist exploded red. something crashed into him. an ear-splitting roar. his head hit the rock and he was stunned for a moment. something large and heavy lay across him. it was quiet in the mist and the rain was cool. it was a man's body across him. something hot and sticky seeped through his clothes. flip shoved the man aside, sat up. he looked at the man's face. it was voss. the back of his head was gone. his shoulders were a crimson mass and his back and legs were shredded. flip got to his feet. he was covered with blood too but could find only slight cuts. voss had received the full force of the explosion and his body had protected him. "are all earthians so lucky?" said a voice. flip looked up. the woman, captain vixen, was standing before him in the rain. one hand was on her hip. the other held a pistol. flip stared at her a long time and neither spoke. "lady," he said finally, "must this game go on forever?" "not for you," she replied. * * * * * "earthman," said the woman, "in the hills, i am queen. on the mainland, i am terror. in the swamps, i am death. whatever defies me on this--my planet--dies. it needs be so, for the resources of venus have been plunder to the universe. imperialism ruled until my father, king before me, died fighting it. you, earthman, are a symbol of those that killed him, those that drove my people to poverty--until i came. i am a symbol of the venus that _was_--and, as i live, shall be again. you understand now why you die...." flip looked at the woman and the rain molded her hair into golden ringlets, the wind shaped her body in the sheer lines of an ancient goddess. the mist softened the chill beauty of her face and her green eyes were misty in the deepening twilight. the wind was keen and flip shivered. "you are the coldest woman i ever knew," he said. "and you are the coolest man." "since i am to die," said flip, "you may tell me why you wanted that worthless mine." "the xanite is worthless--" she paused. "the asphalt mixed with it is pitchblende. it was a secret of my father's that the lost swamp mine holds enough _radium_ to buy the universe--to return venus to her rightful place again." she raised the pistol, took aim at his chest. her hand was without a tremor. "at the swamps," said flip, "you said you'd never killed a man." "i spoke truth. now i am alone--i must." flip heard a splash. a veedle scurried across the woman's boots. she screamed. the mud-mouse streaked off into the mist. the woman's arms dropped to her sides. her eyes were wide. for a fleeting second, the epitome of womankind was on her face. and the warmth of irrational helplessness. then quickly it was gone, the mask returned. she jerked up her gun and fired. the shot went over flip's head as he dived. his lunge knocked her down. he snatched the pistol from her hand, hurled it into the mist. pinning her arms to the ground, flip sat upon her and laughed. "you're a woman," he gritted, "you're a woman--afraid of a mouse!" she struggled violently to free herself. "you're a woman, forced into a deadly legend--a persecution complex. you're beautiful...." he bent, kissed her full upon the lips. she freed one arm, slapped him across the face. he didn't feel it. there were tears in her emerald green eyes. flip threw back his head, roared his laughter to the wind. he'd forgotten captain vixen carried two guns. quest on io by robert moore williams radium-seeking andy horn and his talking honey-bear believed they were alone on jupiter's bleak satellite. then out of nowhere dropped the space-girl trailing a fateful comet of piracy and death. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "os--car" assistant navigator andy horn cocked an attentive ear and listened for an answer, but only the soft eternal moan of io's restless winds came to his straining ears. "dern that perfidious imp of satan to hell and gone and back again," he muttered, stretching his red neck out like a turkey gobbler and squawking again. "os--car.... dern your flea-bitten hide. you better turn up." gravel grated on a rock ledge not five feet above him and a ganymedian honey bear stepped daintily into view. it was about the size of a fox, had sleek, heavy brown wool interspersed with longer black hairs, and a round, intelligent face. it sat down on the ledge and eyed him as guilelessly as if it hadn't heard him calling all the time. "hi, bub," it said. andy reached decisively for a rock. "dern you, oscar, i've told you not to call me bub." he let go with the rock, but oscar had slipped blithely to cover. andy grabbed another rock and waited and pretty soon the round face peeked over the ledge at him. it eyed the stone he had in his hand and was very contrite. "aw, boss, put down that rock. i was only foolin'." andy maintained his belligerent attitude. "i'm very sorry, mr. horn." "that's better," andy answered. "i didn't raise you on a bottle from the time you were three weeks old to have you sass me when you're grown up. show some respect. come on down from up there. we're going to eat." andy had brought food with him from ganymede, for io produced nothing that human beings liked, except mineral wealth, and he was prospecting for that, taking advantage of the two months' forced vacation while the _golden stag_ was being repaired. a stern jet had jammed when she was landing, and she had sat down heavily on her tail, shearing off her stern rocket tubes and knocking a hole in her hull. in two months, if fate was kind, he might possibly locate a claim that would provide him with enough money to purchase the dream of his life, a neat private space yacht lying at the docks on luna where her millionaire owner had left her after a narrow escape from a meteor had convinced him that space travel was not for amateurs. the ship could be bought for a hundred thousand, which was a give-away, and andy had come to io prospecting, for with the ship he could earn a comfortable living prospecting around the world. he had brought his honey-bear along for company. "ah, food!" oscar licked his chops, and started to descend, but hesitated and looked doubtfully over his shoulder up the twisted, rock-ribbed ravine. "boss," he said hesitatingly, "i think you ought to know and i was going to tell you when you got so free with that rock, but there's another of you blood-thirsty humans prospecting up this ravine, and he's got a gun, and when you started shouting for me, he quit prospecting and grabbed that gun, and started looking." "the devil!" andy ejaculated. "why didn't you tell me?" "i have. duck, boss...." oscar flattened himself out of sight. * * * * * andy needed no further urging. he squeezed his lithe six-feet down behind a boulder just as a heat beam hissed over his head. it hit the bluff behind him and he watched the dust boil out as the pulsing radio-frequency beam turned to heat. the gun worked that way. a thin radio-frequency special beam was projected and it continued on its way until it struck something, when it turned to heat. it didn't work worth a darn on jupiter. the planet's soupy atmosphere turned the ray to heat within a dozen feet of the muzzle, but in space, or in the extremely thin atmosphere of jupiter's moon, it was bad business. andy cautiously stuck his head around the boulder. "hey," he yelled, "cut out the shooting. what are you trying to do? this ain't the fourth of july." "get out of here," a shrill voice came floating down to him. "this is a free country and i'll stay here as long as i damn well please." in answer a heat ray singed the top of the rock he was hiding behind. "blast 'im, boss. he almost got you," he heard oscar whisper. "i'll make him hard to catch," he answered, pulling his stumpy blaster from the holster at his back, and testing the spring to see if it was wound up to maximum capacity. the blaster was spring actuated, and hurled an explosive pellet about the size of a buckshot, which was really a tiny atomic bomb. where that pellet hit, there was big trouble immediately, but the pellets in rare instances had been known to explode in the gun, in which case the person who had hold of the gun was never heard of again, so that blasters were not a favored weapon. andy had picked this one up at a bargain from a technician whose nerves had gone bad from space strain and who no longer had enough guts to shoot it. blasters were not used on jupiter or saturn. too much atmosphere and gravity for even the most powerful spring to hurl the pellet far enough for the shooter to be safe. andy poked one eye around the top of the boulder and squinted for a target. he was in the edge of the glow zone. off yonder, , miles away, the mighty rim of jupiter was visible. the sun was on the other side of io, but reflected light from the planet supplied illumination much better than the best terrestrial moonlight. twisted, tumbled, torn and shattered rocks met his eye. mosses, lichens, a few tough, low-growing plants. it looked like a picture of hell, but it was a prospector's paradise, for the rocks of io were shot through with veins of gold, silver, platinum, iridium, not to mention the more common iron and copper, which were not sought for because transportation back to earth was too expensive to pay profits. "off to the right," oscar whispered. the glint of jove-glow on a polished sight up the ravine gave andy an aiming point and he snapped the blaster in that direction. he over-estimated the weak gravity of io and the pellet hit on top of a high ridge beyond. a most satisfactory explosion took place there. rocks split and tumbled in every direction. andy lowered his sights and blasted again. another brilliant explosion illuminated the landscape, far to the left this time. "you shoot like a rocket-man," oscar commented. "shut up," andy growled. the men who tended the rockets lived in atmosphere of constant hammering from the explosion of the driving charges. a few years handling rockets and a man was unable to hold his hands still, so that old rocket-men always looked like they had well-developed cases of _paralysis agitans_. to tell a navigator, who had to have sure nerves and steady hands, that he resembled a rocket-man was a supreme insult. "duck, boss, he's drawing a bead on you," came oscar's hurried whisper, and andy jerked his head down behind the boulder just in time to avoid a ray that frothed across the top of the stone. no warning shot, that one. the unknown marksman had fired that shot with honest intentions of doing damage. * * * * * the ray skipped back and forth across the boulder, went over the top and burned into the bluff beyond. andy watched it, and wondered what in hell all the shooting was about. io, by order of the interplanetary council, was free territory, with the exception of commercial developments, but any straggler was always welcome there, for the sake of his companionship. andy did not know whether he had stumbled into a space-pirate's lair, or whether some cracked prospector was using him for a target. the ray played out, vanished, but andy kept his head down and waited. minutes passed. gravel crunched at his left and he swung the blaster up, but it was the honey-bear. "oh, it's you," andy said. "get back up there and keep your eye peeled for the man with the ray gun." "he has beat it. i saw him slip back up the ravine and over the ridge." "the deuce he has!" "yeh. let's get out of here. this shooting makes me nervous." andy stuck his head over the boulder. nothing happened. he waved his cap, sure that this would draw fire, but it didn't. he lifted his blaster, whereupon oscar hurried out of sight. he loosed a couple of pellets, which tore up great holes in the rocky ravine. there was no answer. he climbed up on the boulder. only desolation met his eye. "is the shooting over?" oscar chirped from some unseen but probably secure refuge. "yeh. come on out." the honey-bear came into sight. he looked up at andy. "boss, i tell you let's get out of here. first thing you know, you'll get in the way of a heat beam, and then what'll i do for sugar?" "skirmish, dern you, skirmish. we're going to track that fella down and find out how come all this shooting." "not me, boss, not me." "yes, you, or no sugar." "aw, hell." oscar subsisted largely on a ganymedian sweet and found sugar an excellent substitute. the honey-bears were a great puzzle to scientists. their hair glowed when subjected to rays from radium, the creatures were very intelligent, had vocal organs readily adaptable to human speech, but were altogether an enigma. they lived in holes in the ground, had a very loose tribal organization, but made no effort to improve their condition, and obviously despised the human race for trying to improve theirs. they were content to be honey-bears, or _thlots_, to give an approximate english rendering of what they called themselves. affectionate and loyal, they made marvelous pets. and while oscar protested against following the person who had shot at them, andy knew the _thlot_ would be right with him. their advance over the broken terrain of io would have done credit to an indian. andy, figuring an ambush might be ahead, was very cautious, and oscar was cautious by nature. they had advanced for over a mile when andy caught a glimpse of a tiny glow in a crevice in the rocks. he crept forward and found himself on a ledge overlooking a very humble camp. perhaps thirty feet below him, the man was sitting. he was using his heat-gun set at low concentration to boil water, an old prospector's trick. even in the cumbersome garb necessitated by the chill of io, the man looked lithe and slender. some youngster, andy decided, taking a desperate chance on a frosty moon, but he wondered what necessity would drive a kid to brave the rigors of jupiter's flea-bitten satellite. * * * * * he craned his neck for a better look and a loose stone turned under his feet. the figure tending the boiling kettle was on the alert instantly. he had grabbed the heat-gun and was looking for a target. andy was in a pickle. he was too close to use the blaster, and he didn't want to use it anyhow, but any second the man would locate him and then the heat-gun would make him sizzle. there was only one thing to do, and he did it. he launched himself out into space, the weak gravity of io permitting him to make the drop without danger. andy heard a startled cry as the man saw him coming. the gun hummed as a ray lanced by him. and then he landed on the man's neck, the heat-gun went flying, and the man crumpled, andy landing on top. the man wiggled and andy twined his legs around the middle, applied pressure. hands scratched at his face. he launched a short jab, aiming at the chin, but the man jerked his head to one side and andy's fist landed up on the head, doing no damage but knocking off the man's cap. andy took one look at the short red curls flying in his face and hastily stopped his fight. he released his legs and scrambled to his feet. "madam--" he began, his intention being to say that he was sorry, but she made a grab for the heat-gun and he was obliged to shove her, which was not the thing a gentleman would do--but then ladies usually didn't try to blister every strange man they met with a heat ray. andy picked up the gun. "madam," he said reprovingly, "what in heck ails you?" "give me that gun, you--claim-jumper!" since she was starting toward him, he held the gun behind him. seeing she couldn't get the gun, she stopped, and the blast she launched from her eyes made andy think they were heat guns of a new kind. "singe her, boss, singe her," a new voice spoke, and oscar came scrambling down the gravel slide. "oh!" the girl gasped, for oscar looked plenty blood-thirsty as he galloped. "it's a dingo. kill it, quickly." dingoes were the only predatory animals found on io. what they lacked in size they made up in fierceness, and since they usually hunted in packs, they made life very unhappy for the lone prospector. "no. it's oscar. he's not dangerous." the honey-bear skidded to a stop beside them, saw how fright had made the girl move close to his boss, and disgust was very plain in his voice. "phooey--a woman!" she saw the half-grin lurking on andy's face, and jerked away, her cheeks flaming. "he liked to have you stand close to him, the idiot," said oscar in an easy way. "mind your manners!" said andy sharply, but the _thlot_ only grinned and wrinkled his nose to show his disgust. oscar was a woman-hater. "now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" she snapped. "do? do with you--" it was a poser, andy saw. he hadn't wanted a woman, hadn't bargained for one, and hadn't the least idea of what to do with one. he knew that men frequently married them, and while he was thirty-three and quite old enough to get married, he hadn't been planning on it, for space men on the jupiter run usually didn't live long enough to enjoy matrimony. and anyhow, andy had a vague idea that you were supposed to be in love before you got married, after an appropriate interval of moonlight, and romance, and nonsense. "i'm not going to do anything with you," andy continued, shaking his head. "why did you jump on me then?" "i! hell, woman!--i beg your pardon--why did you shoot at me?" "because you and your gang tried to jump my claim. you know that as well as i do." "me? i never jumped a claim in my life. i'm a navigator, doing a little prospecting on the side, while my ship is laid up." and since she seemed doubtful, he showed her his credentials and told her the story, even telling her about the yacht on luna that he wanted to buy. * * * * * "oh," she said. "oh ... i'm sorry. i had located an outcropping of quartz, and three men tried to take it away from me, and i thought you were one of them.... i'm very sorry." "quite all right," andy answered awkwardly. "a perfectly natural mistake." "phooey!" oscar snapped. "women!" andy glared at the _thlot_ and turned to the girl. "prospecting is a mighty tough occupation for a single woman, isn't it, ma'am?" "my father was a prospector. i was born in a mining camp on ganymede, and i followed my father from the time i was able to walk. yes, it's a hard life, but it's better than being a sissie and having some man support you because he happens to be married to you." "um--" said andy thoughtfully. "um--" "you got something there," oscar interpolated. "i was just getting ready to eat," the girl said suddenly. "will you join me?" "only too happy to, provided you tell me your name." it was a magnificent effort, for andy. "frieda dahlem." "frieda--ah, nice name." "poppycock!" said oscar. "let's eat." conversation languished during the meal. andy glared at the _thlot_, but oscar was busy with his cube of sugar, too happy to say anything. "have you--have you found anything in your prospecting?" andy asked. "no. oh, there's the outcropping of quartz i told you about, but the vein isn't rich enough to make it profitable. to import extraction machinery would cost a small fortune. the hills here are full of caves--dark, gloomy places that looked like they would make good hiding places for dingos, and i've been afraid to venture into them. have you had any luck?" "naw. i guess i'll be a navigator until the end of my days," andy answered dolefully. "more sugar, boss. one more lump, please," oscar queried. "sugar costs a fortune here, you glutton, freight rates being what they are. no more for you today." "aw, mr. horn, one more lump, please." "give the horrid thing another lump, mr. horn." oscar sulked at being called a "horrid thing." fearful of an outburst of _thlot_ profanity, andy hurriedly produced the requested sugar. oscar grinned happily. the grin and the happiness both vanished as something hissed through the air over their heads. it struck several hundred yards beyond them and the explosion sent debris showering in the air. andy and the girl jumped to their feet. "it's those men who tried to jump my claim," frieda said. "they have come back." the air hissed again and another explosion followed. "home was never like this," oscar wailed. "where are those caves the woman was talking about? me for them." "that's a darned good idea," andy answered. "we better move out of here, and move fast." frieda needed no urging. her face was white, but she held her heat-gun resolutely as they skipped over the rocks. andy had his blaster out, and was searching vainly for a target. another explosion shook the ancient, time-worn hills. andy snapped three shots at random and three explosions followed. this business was a game that two could play at. [illustration: _andy's blaster roared again. "quick!" he barked, "get inside the cave. it's our only chance...."_] "this way," frieda panted, the thin air of io not providing enough oxygen for fast running. * * * * * following her pointing finger, andy saw a dark opening yawning in the face of the bluff. in other circumstances he would have instantly noticed that it had an artificial appearance, as if the cave had been cut into the stone by other than natural means. frieda came to a panting halt just inside the entrance, but oscar, his tail between his legs, skipped rapidly out of sight into the dark cavern. the _thlot_ loved peace. "frieda--miss dahlem, i mean," andy panted. "we're safe here, at any rate." almost immediately a blast shook the cavern. loosened stone fell from the roof, there was a shower of debris outside, the cavern rumbled, and the light coming in through the entrance faded as a landslide almost completely blocked the opening. "hell!" andy gasped, "another shot like that and we'll be buried alive. this is no place for us. let's get out of here." he moved to the entrance, his earth-sired muscles thrusting aside slabs of stone that he could not have handled on earth. frieda worked with him. together they cleared a space of less than two feet at the top of the cavern, which would allow them to slip out. andy stuck his head out and immediately jerked it back. "there are three of 'em. they're on top of the hill and they've got a blaster trained on us. luckily they didn't see me, but if we try to run, they'll blow us to smithereens." "can't you get a clear shot at them?" "maybe. but if i miss, they'll blow enough junk over the mouth of this cave to bury us a mile deep. too much chance. what's eating them, anyhow?" "they saw some very rich samples that i had dug out of the quartz vein i told you about. if the whole vein were as rich as those samples, it would be worth a fortune, and they think it is that rich. having tried to take it, they know they have to kill us, for if we escape, the space police will round them up and give them a shot of gas." "um--i see. looks tough on the home team." she didn't answer. andy cautiously stuck his head outside and jerked it back as another atomic pellet dislodged a huge stone that came sliding down the hill. "did they see you?" "don't think so. that was just a shot for good luck. they think we're bottled up in here, but you can bet, if we lie still and don't give them any indication that we're alive, they'll be around to make certain our goose is cooked. i would, if i were in their place." frieda looked at him and he immediately added, "i mean that's the logical thing to do. if you've got to kill somebody, make sure he's dead." it was a hard statement but the men who piloted the liners on the jupiter run were a hardy breed. they took grim chances every day the liners were in space and were accustomed to look death in the face and call him friend. they waited. andy scooped out an opening where he could watch without being seen. frieda, sitting below him, whispered to him several times, but his only answer was a terse command to shut up. he was watching the three men who had now begun to move stealthily down the opposite hill. they came slowly, taking advantage of every bit of cover. andy watched and grimly waited, pushing his blaster into position. he had no illusions on this matter, but he was aware that the girl was protesting. "what are you going to do?" "i'm going to blow those crooks clear to jupiter," he answered, finality in his tone. "no," she protested. "can't you hold them and disarm them?" "don't be an idiot! how?" "i don't know. but it's murder to shoot them down like that." "yeh? they been asking for it. ah...." * * * * * the three men were standing in a cleared space looking across at the bluff, evidently deciding on what to do. andy squinted through the sight, lifted his head to estimate the distance and the drop, dropped the rear sight a notch, and squinted again. he was aiming for the blaster in the hands of the first man, a tough-looking, bearded brute. if the pellet from his gun hit the blaster in the man's hands--well, there wouldn't be enough left of the three men to smell bad. he steadied his gun, started to squeeze the trigger. "stop it," said a wailing voice in his ear and a heat-gun prodded him in the back. "it's murder. i can't let you do it." "you infernal idiot!" andy shouted, forgetting himself. the sound of his voice reached the three men. they took to cover. andy ducked away from the opening. he half carried, half led the protesting girl back into the cave. they were just in time. a sharp explosion at the mouth sent tons of rock cascading down, blocking the entrance completely. "now we're fixed!" said andy grimly. "we'll never get out." the girl was sobbing softly. "i'm sorry--i couldn't help it--" another explosion sounded outside. andy could hear the muffled sound of falling stone. "they're doing a good job--" he began "hello jupiter! what was that?" the cavern swayed and rocked to the blast of a terrific explosion. it sounded like a blast from a battery of atomic cannon. a section of the roof between them and the entrance fell in and a choking dust arose. the ground seemed to buckle. the solid stone quivered like jelly. "i got it," said andy, awe in his voice. "their blaster. a pellet exploded when the spring hit it, and that set off the magazine." he hesitated, then continued. "there's not ... enough left for identification purposes." the girl was crying. "anyhow ... you didn't murder them," she sobbed. "and i'm glad--you didn't." "so am i, kind of. we got maybe a week or two to be glad in. we have a few condensed food tablets in my pack. everything else is back at camp. the tablets will last a little while...." he could hear the girl crying softly, but the closing of the entrance had shut off the last gleam of light from the cave, and he couldn't see her. awkwardly he reached out in the darkness, found her, drew her gently to him. for a long time there was silence broken only by an occasional soft whisper of sound as one or the other changed his position. andy realized that he was a little thirsty, and he wondered if this was the forerunner of the violent pangs to come. he was aware of her soft whisper. "sh--look--" a spot of weirdly glowing light was moving slowly along the cavern floor. without body, or visible means of locomotion, it seemed to flow along. andy felt his hair rising as he looked at it. "give me your heat-gun," he whispered, and the weapon was passed over to him. he lined up the sights and waited. * * * * * the small spectral figure slowly approached. it hesitated, moved back, then came forward again. andy forgot that he was thirsty, that he would soon be hungry, that he was doomed to die. he could hear the girl breathing hard. what was the glowing figure? was it friendly. he did not know, did not dare to guess. perhaps it was seeking them, perhaps it recognized food in them. perhaps it was some form of electrical energy, perhaps it resembled jelly, like the blobs that existed on callisto that were so avid for human flesh. andy held the sights of the heat gun on it, waited. he did not know whether the gun would affect it. the girl was breathing in long, slow pants, like she was holding her breath. it came nearer, shining like a gigantic fire-fly except that the glow was pale blue instead of golden. it was within twenty feet of them. "shoot!" frieda whimpered. "shoot, quickly...." he started to squeeze the trigger. "boss," a familiar but unhappy voice spoke. "something is wrong with me. i shine." "oscar!" andy shouted dropping his gun. "you imp! where in hell have you been?" the glowing spot bounded forward, leaped into andy's arms. "do something for me, boss. i shine and i don't like it." the girl's laughter sounded silly. "i'll do something for you. i'll buy you a barrel of sugar." radium. somewhere in this cavern was a deposit of radium, and oscar had run into it. the hair of the _thlot_ glowed when in the presence of radio-active energy. andy was laughing crazily. radium ... more precious than diamonds. fortune. the ship on luna. his! he had forgotten they were locked in the cavern. "come on," he yelped. "lead us to the place where you started glowing." "it's back in there, in a ball. i don't want to go. let's get out of here." "you take us there, or i'll break your damned neck." "aw, boss...." "get going." oscar, complaining bitterly, started off. they followed. the cave widened out into an immense chamber. in the center was a crucible of some kind, a cracked, battered crucible filled with glowing matter. andy scratched his head, moved forward. "there it is, boss, right there." a soft glow, like moonlight, filtered through the interstices of the crucible, dimly illuminating the cavern. dust moved beneath their feet, dust that had not been disturbed for ages. oscar sneezed. a heavy, cup-like crucible with cracked walls that had been several feet thick ... in the center was a softly glowing ball.... andy bent over it.... radium.... there was no doubt.... but.... "hell," he said, his jaw dropping. "hell...." his eyes caught the heavy outlines in the dust on the floor. he stirred it with his toe. "intelligence," he muttered. "intelligence was here, in this cavern perhaps a hundred centuries ago. the crucible is lead, incredibly old. perhaps part of it was once radium. it was the heart of some kind of an engine, some method of releasing energy, possibly hundreds of thousands of years ago. look! you can see in the dust where other metals, which formed a framework, have oxidized...." the girl said nothing, and oscar, for once was silent. "once there was intelligent life on io. it built this, and left it for some reason that we can't even guess at." * * * * * frieda stared at the glowing metal, moved back. "a fortune," she said. "yours." "no," he corrected. "ours." they were silent. the mighty cavern was silent. dim ghosts seemed to move in it, the shadows of a mighty people that had once been here, and had gone.... "i want to get away from here," oscar whimpered. "i don't like this place." andy sighed. their dust would mingle with the dust of the builders of the cavern. another hundred thousand years would pass before the place was rediscovered. maybe more.... "we can't," said andy. "the entrance is blocked." "the hell we can't!" oscar answered. "when all the shooting was going on the rocks started to fall in here, and i looked for a way out. the hill is hollow. there's an opening on the other side. come on. quit gaping at me, and get a move on." "_thlot_," said andy grimly. "if you're lying, i will break your neck." "i'm not lying. come on. you can come back later. i itch from being near that shining stuff." the _thlot_ led them off into the darkness. at last a dim glow of light showed up ahead. andy pushed ahead of the honey-bear, stepped through a narrow opening, got a glimpse of the rim of jupiter, red and angry, immovable on the horizon. he was suddenly very tired. he sat down heavily, stared at the forbidding planet. forbidding it was, but it looked mighty good to him at that moment. the soft purring of the _thlot_ made him turn his head. the girl had sunk to the ground. she was scratching him and he was purring. andy looked at him reprovingly. "i know it's poppycock," said oscar, "but i like it. you ought to have her scratch your back sometime." space oasis by raymond z. gallun space-weary rocketmen dreamed of an asteroid earth. but power-mad norman haynes had other plans--and he spread his control lines in a doom-net for that oasis in space. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i found nick mavrocordatus scanning the bulletin board at the haynes shipping office on enterprize asteroid, when i came back with a load of ore from the meteor swarms. he looked at me with that funny curve on his lips, that might have been called a smile, and said, "hi, chet," as casually as though we'd seen each other within the last twenty-four hours.... "queer laws they got in the space code, eh? the one that insists on the posting of casualty lists, for instance. you'd think the haynes company would like to keep such things dark." i didn't say anything for a moment, as my eyes went down those narrow, typed columns on the bulletin board: joe tiffany--dead--space armor defect.... hermann schmidt and lan harool--missing--vicinity of pallas.... irvin davidson--hospitalized--space blindness.... there was a score of names of men i didn't know, in that space-blindness column. and beneath, there was a much longer line of common earth-born and martian john-henrys, with the laconic tag added at the top--_hospitalized_--_mental_. ditto marks saved the trouble of retyping the tag itself, after each name. one name caught my eye. ted bradley was listed there. ted bradley from st. louis, my and nick mavrocordatus' home town. it gave me a little jolt, and a momentary lump somewhere under my adam's apple. i knew the state bradley would be in. not a man any more--no longer keen and sure of himself. a year out here among the asteroids had changed all that forever. shoving from one drifting, meteoric lump to another, in a tiny space boat. chipping at those huge, grey masses with a test hammer that makes no sound in the voidal vacuum. crawling over jagged surfaces, looking for ores of radium and tantalum and carium--stuff fabulously costly enough to be worth collecting, for shipment back to the industries of earth, at fabulous freight rates, on rocket craft whose pay-load is so small, and where every gram of mass is at premium. no, ted bradley would never be himself again. like so many others. it was an old story. the almost complete lack of gravity, out here among the asteroids, had disturbed his nerve-centers, while cosmic rays seeped through his leaded helmet, slowly damaging his brain. there was more to it than the airlessness, and absence of weight, and the cosmic rays. there was the utter silence, and the steady stars, and the blackness between them, and the blackness of the shadows, like the fangs of devils in the blazing sunshine. all of this was harder than the soul of any living being. and on top of all this, there was usually defeat and shattered hope. not many futures were made among the asteroids by those who dug for their living. prices of things brought from earth in fragile, costly space craft were too high. moments of freedom and company were too rare, and so, hard-won wealth ran like water. ted bradley was gone from us. call him a corpse, really. in the hospital here on enterprize, he was either a raving maniac, or else--almost worse--he was like a little child, crooning over the wonder of his fingers. it got me for a second. but then i shrugged. i'd been out here two years. an old timer. i knew how empires were built. i knew, better than most, how to get along out here. be fatalistic and casual. don't worry. don't plan too much. that way i'd stayed right-side-up. i'd even had quite a lot of fun, being an adventurer, against that gigantic, awesome background of the void. i didn't consider my thoughts about ted bradley worth mentioning to nick mavrocordatus. he was probably thinking about ted, too, and that was enough. "come on, nick," i said. "they've got my ore weighed and analyzed for content in the hopper rooms. i'm going into the pay-office and get my dough. then we might shove off to the iridium circle, or some other joint, and have us a time, huh?" nick laughed, then, good-naturedly, triumphantly. i gave him a sharp glance, noticing that under his faintly bitter air, there seemed to be something big. some idea that gripped him, confused him, thrilled him. his small, knotty body was taut with it; his dark eyes, under the curly black hair that straggled down his forehead, glowed with a far-away look. of course, he was still very young--only twenty-two, which to me, at twenty-five, with a six-months edge of asteroid-lore beyond his year and a half of experience, made me feel old and disillusioned and practical, by comparison. "all right, chet," he said at last. "let's get your money. celebrations are in order--on me, though. but i guess we'd better soft-pedal them some. i've got a lot to tell you, and more to do." i didn't give his words proper attention, just then. i swaggered into the pay office, where a couple of stenogs clicked typewriters, and where norman haynes, acting head of the haynes shipping company, sat at his desk, under the painted portrait of his uncle, that grizzled old veteran, art haynes, who had retired years ago, and who now lived on earth. i knew old art only by reputation. but that was enough to arouse my deep respect. between nephew and uncle there was a difference as great as between night and day. the one, the founder, unafraid to dirty his hands and face death, and build for the future. tough, yes, but square, and willing to pay bonuses to miners even while he'd been struggling to expand his company, and open up vast, new space trails. the other, an arm-chair director, holding on tight, now, to an asteroid empire, legally free of his control, but whose full resources came eventually into his hands at the expense of others, because he controlled the fragile, difficult supply lines. at sight of me, norman haynes arose from his chair. he was very tall, and he wore an immaculate business suit. he was smooth-shaven, with a neat haircut, in contrast to my shaggy locks and bristles. across his face spread a smile of greeting as broad as it was false. "well--chet wallace," he said. "you've done some marvelous meteor mining, this trip: nineteen hundred dollars' worth of radium-actinium ore! splendid! maybe you'll do even better next time!" * * * * * yeah! i'd seen and heard norman haynes act and talk like this before. he handed out the same line to all of the miners. to me it was forever irritating. always i'd wanted to turn that long nose of his back against his right ear. he and his words were both phony. always he used a condescending tone. and i felt that he was a bloodsucker. my anger was further increased, now, because of ted bradley. i guess i sneered. "don't worry about those nineteen hundred dollars, mr. haynes," i said. "when i buy grub, and a few things i need, and have a little blow, you'll have the money all back." beside the office railing there was a machine--a cigarette vendor. into a roller system at its top, i inserted two five-dollar bills from my pay. there was a faint whir as the robot photographic apparatus checked the denominations of the notes, and proved their authenticity. two packs of cigarettes slipped down into the receiver arrangement. "five bucks apiece, haynes," i said. "at a fair shipping rate, cigarettes brought out from earth aren't worth much more than three bucks. but you're just a dirty chiseller, not satisfied with a fair profit. costs here in the asteroids are naturally plenty steep; but you make a bad situation worse by charging at least twenty-five per-cent more than's reasonable! a venutian stink-louse is more of a gentleman than you are, haynes!" oh, there was a satanic satisfaction in feeling the snarl in my throat, and seeing haynes' face go purplish red, and then white with surprise and fury. some other space men had entered the pay office, and they hid their grins of pleasure behind calloused palms. first i thought norman haynes would swing at me. but he didn't. he lacked that kind of nerve. he began to sputter and curse under his breath, and i thought of a snake hissing. i felt the danger of it, though--danger that broods and plans, and doesn't come out into the open, but waits its chance to strike. knowing that it was there, sizzling in haynes' mind, gave me a thrill. casually i tossed one of the packs of cigarettes to nick mavrocordatus, who had come with me into the pay office. he gave me a nudge, which meant we'd better scram. when we were out of the building, he held me off from going to any of the few tawdry saloons there under the small, glassed-in airdome of enterprize city, the one shabby scrap of civilization and excuse for comfort. "no drinks now, chet," nick whispered. "can't chance it. got to keep on our toes. in one way i'm glad you talked down to that--whatever you want to call him. but you've made us the worst possible enemy we could have--now." i shrugged. "what were you gonna tell me before, nick?" i demanded. "i gathered you had something plenty big in view." he answered me so abruptly that i didn't quite believe my ears at first. "pa and sis and geedeh and i, have made good, chet," he said. "we found--not just pickings--but a real fortune in ore, on planetoid . so rich is the deposit that we could buy our own smelting and purifying machinery, and hire ships under our own control, to take the refined metals back to earth!" "you're kidding, nick," i said amazedly. "not a bit of it," he returned. * * * * * then i was pumping his hand, congratulating him. really good luck was a phenomenon among the asteroids. that friends of mine, among the thousands of hopeful ones that i didn't know, should grab the jack-pot, seemed almost impossible. "i suppose you'll all be leaving us soon," i told him. "going back to earth, living the lives of millionaires. i'm glad for you all, kid. your pa can raise his flowers and grapes, instead of starting up in the truck-garden business again. your sis, irene, can study her painting and her music, like she wants to." anybody can see the way my thoughts were going just then. when you start out green for the minor planets, that's part of what's in your mind, first--get rich, come back to earth. nick sighed heavily as we walked along. that funny smile was on his lips again. he glanced around, and the emerald light of the illuminators was on his young face. then he said, "i don't think it's quite safe to talk here, chet. better come to our old space jaloppy, the _corfu_." the _corfu_ was on the ways outside the dome. we put on space suits to reach it. inside, the old crate smelled of cooking odors, some of them maybe accumulated over the eighteen months the mavrocordatuses had been asteroid mining. old ships are hard to ventilate, with their imperfect air-purifiers. the instruments in the control room, were battered and patched; and from the living quarters to the rear, issued a duet of snores--one throaty and rattly, pa mavrocordatus' beyond doubt; and the other an intermittent hiss, originating unquestionably in the dust-filtering hairs in the larynx of geedeh, the little martian scientist, whom nick had befriended. "i can't figure you out, nick," i said. "rich, and not leaving this hell-hole of space. you're an idiot." "so are you, chet," he returned knowingly. "in my place, you wouldn't go either--at least not without regrets. in spite of all hell, there's something big here in space that gets you. you feel like nothing, yourself. but you feel that you're part of something terribly huge and terribly important. you'd be happy on earth for a week; then you'd begin to smother inside. the minor planets have become our home, chet. it's too late to break the ties." slowly it soaked into my mind that nick was right. "not to say anything bad against old mother earth, chet," he continued. "far from it! that's just what's needed out here--a little touch of our native scene. growing things. a piece of blue sky, maybe. enough gravity to make a man believe in solid ground again." right then i began to smell nick's plan, not only what it was, but all the impractical dreamer part of it. i began to grin, but there was a kind of sadness in me, too. "sure! sure, nick!" i chided. "the idea's as old as the hills! rejuvenate some asteroid. bring in soil and water and air from earth. install a big gravity-generating unit. ha! have you any idea how many ships it would take to bring those thousands and thousands of tons of stuff out here--even to get started?" * * * * * i was talking loud. my voice was booming through the rusty hull of the _corfu_, making ringing echoes. so just about as i finished, they were all around me. pa mavrocordatus, in pajamas and ragged dressing gown, his handle-bar moustaches bristling. geedeh, the tiny martian, draped in a checkered earthly blanket, his great eyes blinking, and his tiny fingers, with fleshy knobs at their ends instead of nails, twiddling nervously near the center of his barrel-chest. and irene, too, standing straight and defiant and little, in her blue smock. irene hadn't been sleeping. probably she'd been washing dishes, and straightening up the galley after supper. she still had a dish towel in her hands. wealth hadn't altered the mavrocordatus' mode of life, yet. irene looked like a bold little kewpie, her dark head of tousled, curly hair, not up to my shoulder. she was exquisitely pretty; but now she was somewhat irritated. she shook a finger up at me, angrily. "you think nick has a dumb idea, eh, chet wallace?" she accused. "that's only because you don't know what you're talking about! we won't have to bring a drop of water, or a molecule of air or soil, out from earth! you ask geedeh!" i turned toward the little martian. the dark pupil-slits, and the yellow irises of his huge eyes, covered me. "irene has spoken the truth, chet," he told me in his slow, labored english. "the asteroid belt, the many hundreds of fragments that compose it, are the remains of a planet that exploded. so there is soil on many of the asteroids. dried out--yes--after most of the water and air disappeared into space, following the catastrophe. but the soil can still be useful. and there is still water, not in free, liquid form, but combined in ancient rock strata; gypsum, especially. it is like on mars, when the atmosphere began to get too thin for us to breathe, and the water very scarce on the dusty deserts." i said nothing, wished i had kept silent. "we roasted gypsum in atomic furnaces," geedeh finished, "driving the water out as steam, and reclaiming it for our underground cities. the same can be done here among the minor planets. and since water is hydrogen dioxide, oxygen can be obtained from it, too, by electrolysis. nitrogen and carbon dioxide, necessary to complete the new atmosphere, which will be prevented from leaking into space by the force of the artificial gravity, can be obtained from native nitrates, and other compounds. only vital parts of the machinery need be brought out from earth and mars by rocket. the rest can be made here, from native materials." geedeh's voice, as he spoke to me, was a soft, sibilant whisper, like the rustle of red dust in a cold, thin, martian wind. "you bet," pa mavrocordatus enthused. "nick's got a good idea. i'm gonna raise my flowers! i'm gonna raise tomatoes and cabbages and carrots, right here on one of them asteroids!" it struck me as funny--asteroids--cabbages! nothing i could think of, could seem quite that far apart. black, airless vacuum, rough rocks, and raw, spacial sunshine! and things from a truck garden! it didn't match. but then, pa mavrocordatus didn't match the asteroids either! he'd had a truck garden once, outside of st. louis. and yet he was out here in space, and had been for a year and a half! well, even if the idea _was_ practical, i thought first that they were still just dreaming--kidding themselves that it would be a cinch to accomplish. and not being able to fight through. then i glanced back at nick. that look on his face was there again. a strange mixture of confidence, worry, grimness, and vision. it came to me then that he was no kid at all. * * * * * "let me in on the job?" i asked hopefully. "sure!" nick returned. "we wouldn't be telling you all this, if we didn't want you. that's why we came back to enterprize--hoping to find you around some place." so i was in. part of a wild scheme of progress--more thrilling and inspiring because it seemed so wild. an asteroid made into a tiny, artificial earth! a boon to void-weary space men! a source of cheap food supplies, as well as a place to rest up. a new stage of colonization--empire building! and then i thought i heard a sound--a faint clinking outside of the hull of the _corfu_. at once, i was alert--taut. maybe half of my sudden worry was intuition, or a form of telepathy. when you've been out in deep space, a million miles away from any other living soul, you feel a vast, hollow loneliness, that perhaps is mostly the absence of human telepathy waves from other minds. but when you have people around you once more, your sixth sense seems keener for the period of lack. that was why i was sure of an eavesdropper, sensing his presence. with proper sub-microphonic equipment, a man outside a space ship can hear every word spoken inside. nick felt it too. "but we'd better look and see," he whispered. "norman haynes keeps spies around. and he may have heard rumors. you can't keep a project like ours secret very long. it's too big." my pulses jumped with fear, as i piled into my space suit. but when nick and i got through the airlock together, there was nobody in sight. only some footprints in the faint rocket dust of the ways, covering our own footprints, where we'd passed before, coming to the _corfu_. our flashlights showed them plainly. "having a rejuvenated asteroid in these parts, producing fresh food and so forth, would take a lot of trade away from the haynes shipping company, wouldn't it?" i said when we were back in the cabin once more. "norman haynes wouldn't be practically boss of the minor planets anymore, would he? he wouldn't like that. he'll fight us." "we need you, chet," irene said, her eyes appealing. that was enough for me. "we'd better blast off right away," nick added. "we're going to asteroid , chet. its new name is paradise. it's the one we've picked." ii asteroid was the usual thing. a torn, jagged, airless fragment. it was no paradise yet, unless it was a paradise of devils. nick had a thousand men hired--space roustabouts, and a lot of mechanics and technicians, mostly fresh from earth. sure, it's hard handling a bunch like that, but there was nothing in this difficulty that we didn't know was part of the job. some of our outfit gave us horse-laughs, but they worked. the pay was good. the ships came through with the packed loads of machinery. atomic forges blazed, purifying native meteoric iron to complete the vast gravity-generating machine, sunk in a shaft at the center of the planetoid, ten miles down. geedeh directed most of the work. nick and i saw that orders were carried out, swearing, sweating, and making speeches intended to inspire. and then the trouble started. a rocket, bringing in food, and money to pay our crews, blew up in space, just as it was coming close. the light of the blast was blinding and awesome, making even the bright stars seem to vanish for a moment. atomic rocket fuel going up. gobs of molten metal dripped groundward, like real meteors heated in an atmosphere which still didn't exist. it could have been an accident. you can't always control titanic atomic power, and space ships fly to pieces quite frequently. but then i had a suspicion that maybe this wasn't an accident. nick and i were in the open plain to see it happen. he'd just come from the airtight barracks we'd built. his face didn't change much behind the quartz crystal of his oxygen helmet--it only sobered a trifle. while the fiery wreckage of the rocket was still falling in shreds and fragments, he spoke, his voice clicking in my receptor phones: "yeah, chet.... and there's trouble on asteroid , too, where our mines are located. i just got the radio message, back at the office. sabotage, and some men killed. it seems that some of the workmen are trying to break things up for us. harley's in charge. i think he can handle matters--for a while." "i hope so," i answered fervently. "if the work only turns out right at this end. with that ship smashed, we'll be on short rations for a week. and we've lost some important machinery. the pay money's insured, but the men won't like the delay." i didn't expect much trouble from the crew--yet. it was irene that really helped the most--mastered the situation. she'd taken over the management of the kitchens since the start of the work. but now she had an additional job. she talked to that rough crew of ours. "we're going to win, boys!" she told them. "we know what we've got to do: our task is for the good of every one of us--and for many people yet to come!" simple, straightforward, inspiring talk. funny what men will do for a pretty girl--against hell itself. but that wasn't all of it. the paintings of hers, that she'd hung in our recreation room, showed what asteroid _could_ be, when we were finished with it. space men are the toughest kind of adventurers that ever lived. but adventurers are always optimists, sentimentalists, romanticists, no matter how hard the exterior. and space men, by the very nature of the appalling region to which they belong, believe in miracles. * * * * * they cheered the thought--most of those tough men. i cheered, too. but the miracle hadn't happened yet, and in the back of my mind, there was always the fear that it wouldn't happen. those crags were still bleak and star-washed. deader than any tomb! it wasn't an impossible wonder--technically--to change all this. but perhaps it was impossible, anyway--because of norman haynes! he was the only person who had the power and the reason to stop all that we were attempting. the sabotage and killings must be incited by him--certain members of our crews must be in his hire. quite probably the rocket that had blown up had been secretly mined with explosive, under his orders, too. but there is nothing harder to fight than those subtle methods. we had no proof, and no easy means of getting it. we could only go on with our task. geedeh and the rest of us worked hopefully. one segment of asteroid , had been part of the surface of that old world that had exploded. from here we spread the dry soil over the planetoid's jagged terrain, drawing it in atom trucks. more soil was brought in from other asteroids. the great rock-roasting furnaces were put up. gypsum was heated in them, releasing its water in great clouds of steam, which the artificial gravity kept from drifting off into space. some of the water, under electrolysis, yielded oxygen. nitrogen came from nitrates. our gravity machine needed readjustments now and then. to a large extent, the thousands of parts that composed it were electrical. great coils converted magnetic force into gravitation. one ship reached us all right, bringing seeds and food. another didn't. it blew up in space, the second to go. then somebody tried to get geedeh, the martian, with a heat ray. another food ship failed to arrive. then norman haynes came to visit us. he landed before we had a chance to refuse to receive him. he had a body-guard of a dozen men. he was our enemy, but we couldn't prove it. he seemed to have forgotten the little brush between himself and me, at his office. "splendid layout you've got, wallace and mavrocordatus!" he said to nick and me, pronouncing nick's name perfectly. he sounded very much like his usual self. "of course there's bound to be difficulties. trouble with crews, and so on. it's hard to get people to believe in a project as fantastic as this. i didn't quite believe in it, either, at first. but the facts are proved, now that the groundwork is laid. you'll need help, fellows. i can give it to you." he was smiling, but under the smile i could see a snaky smirk, which probably he didn't know showed. i felt fury rising inside me. he was trying to get control of our project, now that he saw for sure that it could amount to something. competition he feared, but if he had control he could enforce his high prices, keep his empire, and expand his wealth by millions of dollars. his dirty work must have been partly an attempt to force the issue. "thanks," nick told him quietly. "but we prefer to do everything alone." our visitor shrugged, standing there at the door of his space boat. "okay," he breezed. "get in touch with me, if you feel you need me!" some hours later, a radiogram came through from earth. "_congratulations!_" it read. "_stick to your guns! i like people with imagination. maybe i'll be back in harness soon myself.--art haynes._" * * * * * "he's probably just being sarcastic," i said bitterly. "old devil!" pa mavrocordatus growled. two men were killed just thirty minutes after the message was received. a little thin-faced fellow named sparr did it. but he got away in a space boat before we could catch him. a paid killer and trouble maker. the incident put our crew more on edge than before. a half dozen of the newcomers--mechanics from earth--quit abruptly. our food was almost gone. we got another shipload in, but the growing unrest didn't abate, though we kept on for another month. there was similar trouble on , where the mavrocordatus money came from. but maybe we'd make the grade, anyway. we had a pretty dense atmosphere already, on paradise asteroid. the black sky had turned blue now. the ground was moist with water. earthly buildings were going up. pa mavrocordatus had had seeds and small trees and things planted. it was that deceptive moment of success, before the real blow came. after sunset one night, i heard shots. i raced out of the barracks, geedeh, irene, and pa mavrocordatus following me. we all carried blast tubes. we found nick in a gorge, his body half burned through, just above his right hip. but he was still alive. he had a blast tube in one hand. two men lay on the rocks and earth in front of him, dead. beside them, glinting in our flashlight beams, was an aluminum cylinder. "it's a bacteria culture container, chet," nick whispered. "they had me caught, and they bragged a little before i did some fast moving, and got one of their blast tubes. venutian black-rot germs. they were going to dump them in the drinking water supply. they mentioned--haynes...." nick couldn't say much more than that. but he'd saved our lives. he died there in my arms, a hero to progress, a little breeze in the new atmosphere he'd helped to create rumpling his curly hair. he'd died for his dream of beauty and betterment. poor little irene couldn't even cry. her face was white, and she was stricken mute. her pa was shaken by great sobs, and he babbled threats. i told him to shut up. geedeh cursed in his own language, his voice a soft, deadly hiss, his little fists clenching and unclenching. "too bad nick had to kill these men!" i growled. "we could have made 'em talk. we'd have evidence. the law would take care of norman haynes!" "but we ain't got nothing!" pa mavrocordatus groaned. "nothing!" geedeh's face was twisted into a martian snarl of hate. irene stared, as though she were somewhere far away. i tried putting my arm around her, to bring her back to us. it was a minute before she seemed to realize i was there. "irene," i said. "i love you. we all love you. buck up, kid. we can't quit now--ever! we'd be letting nick down." she just nodded. she couldn't talk. * * * * * a couple of hours later i was meeting our workers in our office. most of them tried to be decent about it. "we'd like to stick, wallace. but how can we? nothing to eat...." that was what most of them said, in one way or another. and how could i answer them? some were not so regretful, of course. some were downright ugly. a little crazy with space perhaps, or else hopped up with propaganda that secret agents in haynes' hire had been spreading among them. "why should we work for you anyway?" they snarled. "even for good money, most of which we haven't collected? you're probably like what we're used to. just fixing up another place here, to clip us in the end, charging us prices sky high. your 'paradise' is just a little fancier, that's all." so they turned away, and the exodus began. the freight ships blasted off, one by one, with loads of men. we couldn't stop them. and soon the silence closed in. we were left alone to bury nick. the small sun was bright on the rough pinnacles, and their naked grey stone was bluely murky in the new air. there was a humid warmth of summer around us. just then, i didn't even feel exactly angry, in the blackness of failure, norman haynes had won, so far. what would be his next step in completing our final defeat? i spent some time in the office, going over records. presently pa mavrocordatus came rushing from the barracks. his whole fat body sagged, as he paused before me. his face was like paste. he didn't seem quite alive. "irene," he croaked. "she's gone ... too...." i ran with him to her quarters. there was some disorder. a picture of her mother was tipped over on a little metal dressing table. a rug was rumpled, and there was some clothing scattered on the floor. that was all. geedeh had entered her quarters, too. "kidnapped," he hissed. what haynes meant to accomplish by having his agents, carry off irene, i couldn't imagine. the hate i felt blurred all but the thought of getting her back to safety. the urge was like a dagger-point, sharp and clear in the chaos of memories. i knew how much she meant to me now. "i need a rocket," i said quietly. "the fastest we've got. i want to radio the space patrol, too." "there are no ships left here," geedeh returned. "the men took them all, except a little flier, which they meant us to have. but somebody has smashed it. our big radio transmitter is smashed, also." a minute later i was clawing in the wreckage of tubes and wires, there in the radio room. the apparatus was completely beyond repair. for the time being we were helpless, stranded on our asteroid. for a moment i felt little shouts of madness shrieking in my brain. but geedeh's stabbing glance warned me that this was not the way. i fought back, out of that flash of mania. "we'd better break out all of our weapons, geedeh," i said. "haynes has gone too deep to back out now. he's in danger of the patrol if we talk, so he'll have to strike at us soon." thus we prepared ourselves as well as we could, for attack. geedeh, pa mavrocordatus, and i. we equipped ourselves with our best armament--atomic rifles. pa mavrocordatus had gotten over most of his confusion. he was still sick with grief, but necessity seemed to have steadied him. he clutched his rifle grimly as we took up positions behind rock masses at the edge of the landing field. iii we waited silently. the asteroid turned on its axis. the brief night came. then we saw the rockets approaching--flaming in on shreds of blue-white rocket fire. as the two ships slowed for a landing, the three of us discharged a volley. our atomic bullets burst on impact, dazzling in the dark. the concussion was terrific. "got one!" i heard pa mavrocordatus shout after a moment, his voice thin through the ringing in my ears. my dazzled eyes saw one ship lying on its side on the landing field, its meteor armor unpunctured by our small missiles, but with its landing rockets damaged. the other ship had grounded itself perfectly. we were ready to fire again, when the paralytic waves swept over us. i saw geedeh half rise, doubling backward in a rigid spasm, his rifle flying wide. then i knew no more, until i heard norman haynes speaking to us. we were bound firmly, and it was daylight again, and our captor and his score of henchmen were smirking. "i'm just trying to figure out how to make your deaths seem as accidental as possible," haynes said, looking at me. "a couple of men of mine seem to have bungled a little business of bacteria. maybe they blabbed before you fellows killed them. now, of course, i can't take any chances. too bad your reconditioned asteroid has to appear a failure for a while. but i can't let my taking over seem too obvious. have to wait a while. i may be able to start up something here later, when people sort of forget." "what have you done with irene?" i stormed blackly. haynes' look was quizzical. "why ask me?" he answered. "she probably ran off with one of your roustabouts. or else they decided that she'd be nice company to have around, and made her go along." he laughed cynically. maybe he was telling the truth about not knowing where irene was. but if this was true, it didn't make me feel much better. if some of his gang, who'd been working with us, had kidnapped her, there was no telling how badly she'd fare. my fears showed on my face, and norman haynes seemed to enjoy them, though he was nervous, dangerously so. it was getting daylight again, now. he kept glancing at the sky, twiddling his soft hands. he didn't like physical danger. "your gravity generator seems to be the answer to my prayers, wallace," he informed me. "at full force it'll develop at least fifty earth gravities, before breaking down and melting itself. we've inspected it. power like that'll destroy all of you. it will look like an accident--a breakdown of the machinery." though pa mavrocordatus kept cursing haynes continuously, and geedeh kept calling him names that no earthman could have translated into our less vitriolic english, our captor paid them no attention. he kept directing his threats at me. that was how i knew he was still thinking of the time in his office at enterprize, when i'd called him by his true colors. he still held that grudge, and he meant to pay me back with fifty gravities. which means that every pound of earth-weight would be increased to fifty pounds! in a grip like that a man as big as me would weigh a good four tons! that meant a heart stopped by the load of the blood it tried to pump, and tissues crushed by their own weight! like being on the surface of some dead star of medium dimensions, where gravity is terrific! * * * * * at haynes' order, six of his twenty henchmen picked up geedeh and pa and me. the whole bunch was an ugly looking lot, the scum of the space ports. some of these men were commanded to stay on the surface of the planetoid, while we were carried to the elevator shed. in the cage we descended at dizzying speed to that vault at the center of where the gravity machinery was housed in its crystal shell. at that depth, under the load of the column of air above, the atmospheric pressure was very high. one could not breathe comfortably in that stuffy medium. "courage!" geedeh gasped to pa mavrocordatus and me, while his great eyes kept roving around, looking for some chance that wasn't there. haynes began to examine the machinery. he was smirking again. "simple to do!" he said to his companions. "set the robot control for gradually increasing power, so that we'll have time to get away. break the manual controls, so that no readjustments can be made. you can cut our friends loose now, zinder, so there won't be any ropes to show this was a put-up job. but keep your blasters on these men--all of you!" this was the end, all right. i was sure of it. i'd die without even knowing what had happened to irene. irene, whom i knew now that i loved.... we'd been freed of our bonds when the surface phone rang. the lookout party, whom haynes had left above, was calling. our captor snapped on the switch of the speaker. a voice boomed in that busy cavern of metal giants, green light, and glinting crystal: "listen, chief! there's a bunch of specks to the right of the sun. they're getting bigger fast. must be a flock of space ships. couldn't be any of yours. what'll we do?" i saw haynes' weak features go sallow. briefly my spirits rose. i couldn't imagine whom those ships could belong to. but they must be rescuers of some kind. they were coming to stop norman haynes' madness. but haynes was clever, as he quickly proved. "friends of wallace here, i suppose. maybe even space patrol boats," he said over his phone to the lookout party. "you'll all have to take a discomfort for a while. we'll use gravity on them, too! they'll never land successfully." pa mavrocordatus looked at me and geedeh. "what's he mean--use gravity?" geedeh was a bit quicker than i in giving the obvious answer. "just as with us," he said. "increase the output of the gravity generator here to a certain degree. from space, the increase will be practically unnoticeable. the rockets will try to land--but without taking into consideration the multiplied attractive force, they will crash!" "many birds with one stone!" haynes chuckled gleefully. "you will have a short reprieve, friends, while i take care of these intruders, whoever they are. i can't use too great a gravity on them at first. it might warn them, if they notice that their ships are accelerating too rapidly. they might as well be part of my 'accident', even if they do happen to be police. the space patrol has accidents now and then, just like anybody else!" haynes started to work the manual controls of the generator. the area in which he and his several aides stood, was shielded against the greater attraction, having been thus arranged by us for testing purposes. the shrill hum of the machines grew louder. i felt the weight of my prone body increase suffocatingly. the heat increased too, as the great coils, gleaming in the glow of illuminators, gradually absorbed more power. and i knew that, out in space, those slender fingers of force were reaching and strengthening, invisible and treacherous. our unknown friends were doomed. not only were they doomed, but our whole idea was destined to failure. the dream that nick had died for. the vast progress that it meant. worlds out here--worlds with largely a self-sufficient production--real colonization. fair play. norman haynes would resist all that, because progress would weaken his power here. he was master of the asteroids, because he was master of their imports and exports. and unless he could control the rejuvenated asteroids himself, they would never be. with him directing, they would not represent a real improvement--only another means of robbing from the colonists. and colonists weren't rich. i could see those same thoughts, that gouged savagely into my own brain, burning in geedeh's cat eyes, where he sprawled near me. being a martian, born to a lesser gravity than the terrestrial, he was suffering more than i--physically. but perhaps my mental torture was worse. geedeh was irene's friend, but i loved her. she was gone--lost somewhere--maybe dead. that, for me, was the worst--much worse than that crushing weight. i couldn't let things remain the way they were! my seething fury and need lashed me on, even in my helplessness. god--what could i do? i tried to figure something out. could i break the gravity machinery some way? impossible, now, certainly! i tried to remember my high school physics. principles that might be used to give warning signals, and so forth. and just what that awful gravity would do to things. close to me was the base of the domelike crystal shell that covered the gravity generator. it wasn't a vital part, certainly, just stout quartz. but it was the only thing i could reach. as i lay there on the floor, i drew my foot back, doubling my knee. i stamped down against the quartz with all my strength. the first blow cracked it. the second drove my metal-shod boot-heel through with a crashing sound. a small hole, eighteen inches long, was made in the barrier. the sounds of the great machinery went on as before. the gravity kept slowly increasing. geedeh, suffering more, now, looked at me puzzledly. pa mavrocordatus stared anxiously. and norman haynes at the surface phone laughed unpleasantly. "cracking up, eh, wallace?" he sneered. "i know who your would-be helpers on those space ships are, now. i suppose i should be surprised at their identities. they're calling to you. want to listen? my men above have locked this surface phone to our ship radio." [illustration: _"cracking up, eh, wallace?" norman haynes sneered._] he turned up the volume of the reproducer. irene's voice was the first in the speaker. "chet!" she was urging. "chet wallace! pa! geedeh! do you hear me? i left of my own free will. i couldn't waste time, going to the space patrol for help--they'd want proof, and that would take a while to present. so--there was only one person and i thought you'd mistrust him.... why don't you answer? or have you left too? i'm turning the mike over to somebody else, now. i found him on enterprize, just come from earth, mr. arthur haynes...." iv i gasped, listening to irene. i didn't know what surprised and confused me most--her being alive and safe, or what she'd done about old art haynes. could i trust old art? i had no way of telling. had irene told him about his nephew, or had she kept silent? did he know he was opposed to norman haynes, or did he think it was somebody else who had sabotaged the project? where would his loyalties be, if he found out? it was a ticklish situation. as soon as irene's ragged, excited breathing died away in the speaker, norman haynes took it upon himself to clarify his own stand, and my uncertainties. he looked at geedeh and pa and me, tense and suffering in the grip of the gravity, and tortured with doubt. "uncle art is an old fool," he said. "so he thinks he'll come back to the asteroids, and replace me in the business, does he? well, he should have died long ago, and now is as good a time as any! he might as well be part of the accident, too, along with those space bums of yours. nobody'll ever know!" it was tragic that old art couldn't have heard that. but his nephew wasn't broadcasting. he was just listening quietly. and now his uncle's voice was coming through: "we're blasting in to land, wallace, if you're listening. there won't be any more trouble, now. i'll see to that! we'll find out who's back of this sabotage. we'll put an end to it!" for me it was bitter, black irony--old art proving himself our friend, now! he didn't know his enemy. he was nearly ninety--a grim old fighter, with real vision. irene too, who meant everything to me. she didn't know that with the intensified gravity those incoming ships would be smashed and blazing! my mind was growing a bit dim in the strangling pressure of the artificial gravitation. sweat was streaming from me in the smothering heat that added to the oppressiveness of the heavy air. pa mavrocordatus was groaning the name of his daughter. geedeh's great eyes were fixed on me in helpless suffering. through the shrill sounds of the engines i listened for more words from irene and old art. but none came. they must know their doom by now. they must be fighting savagely and hopelessly to get away. still some distance from , they were already caught, deep in the web of invisible force. after some moments, i heard a distant crash, a roll of sound. what was it? a huge rocket, hitting the jagged crags above, at meteoric speed? crumpling, destroying itself and those inside it? i thought my heart would burst with the added weight of my anxiety. the first crash was only the beginning. others followed in quick succession--inexorably. and there was a faint, far-off roar, coming down from ten miles above. and that roar was the roar of titanic rain. of floods of water coming down this shaft, where the gravity machine was! all the countless tons of water that we'd baked from ancient rocks, and which had been mostly suspended as vapor in our synthetic atmosphere, was condensing now, coming down in torrents! * * * * * norman haynes kept grinning satanically, while he and his aides attended to the gravity machine. triumph showed in his eyes. but presently he began to look puzzled, as that soughing roar that accompanied the crashing din, increased. it was a little early for the space ships to be smashing up, anyway. i could feel a grim smile coming over my lips, against my will. had my guesses and hopes, which had seemed so unsubstantial, been correct? norman haynes was glancing doubtfully at the reproducer. i could see that he was wondering why his surface watchers didn't communicate any more--and tell him what was happening up there on the crust of . i knew the answers, now! geedeh did, too. the excitement of knowledge was in his withered, pain-wracked face. those distant crashes were not what i'd feared they might be, but part of what i'd hoped for. they were gigantic thunder-claps--the noise of terrific lightning bolts! norman haynes had made a simple oversight in his plan to destroy those incoming space craft. there was a fearsome electrical storm going on above--one of inconceivable proportions--utterly beyond the earthly! doubtless all of norman haynes' surface watchers, up above, had been killed by that sudden deluge of electricity! the multiplied gravitation up there, had pinned them down, so that they could neither escape, nor warn their chief! before norman haynes understood what was happening, foam-flecked muddy water was at the door of the machinery room, rushing and gurgling past the threshold! he and his helpers stared at it stupidly, and i laughed at them. "you didn't realize it, did you, haynes?" i grunted. "you didn't realize that increased gravity would increase the weight of the atmosphere, as well as of everything else! and increased weight of the air, means increased atmospheric pressure, too, pushing molecules together, creating greater density. and what happens? go back to your high school physics, haynes! it's like when you store air in the tank of a compressor pump. the moisture in it liquifies. and in the case of an atmosphere as big as has now, static electricity would be suddenly and violently condensed, besides." norman haynes stared at me, stunned with consternation. but his recovery was fairly prompt. his sudden sneer had a rattish desperation. "hell," he said. "just a thunder storm. a lot of rain. what of it? the gravity machine still works. the ships will still be destroyed." i knew that that was true--unless what i'd planned happened. those rockets, manned by our old construction crew, and irene, and old art haynes, had been too close to asteroid for the last couple of minutes, to effect an escape, even if the sudden dark clouds had warned them that something dangerous was afoot. "watch this--haynes," geedeh panted, and it was hard for the acting head of the haynes shipping company to guess what the little martian meant, at first. * * * * * under the pull of that terrific gravity, the water was coming into that room like an avalanche. geedeh and pa and i were floundering in it feebly, held to the floor by that awful weight. i was sure we'd drown. but as we coughed and sputtered, the flood found its way through the hole i'd kicked, low down in the side of the crystal dome that covered that gigantic machinery. there was a flash of electrical flame, as the water interfered with the functioning of the apparatus. it was pandemonium, then. every man for himself. geedeh, the scientist, and i, who, under the force of grim need, had somehow contrived to plan this finale, had the advantage of knowledge. we'd figured out a little of what to do. the gravity winked off suddenly--reaching the low of practically nothing, here at the center of this tiny world, whose normal attraction, even at the surface, was very small. we struggled to our feet, in a muddy swirl that was now a yard in depth. but before we could take advantage of our sudden lightness, and leap clear, the gravity machines gave a last gasp of power, and we were pulled down again, smothering. then, with a grating roar, the apparatus stopped. the bedlam ceased, except for a low whine of expanding atmosphere, and screams from haynes and his men. presently, i felt all hell stabbing through me. my ears rang as with the after effects of some colossal explosion. my whole body ached. i clutched at geedeh, who seemed on the point of collapse. pa mavrocordatus managed to help me.... but strained by gravity vastly stronger than that of mars, and now facing a circumstance even more dangerous, tough little geedeh still had his wits, fortunately for us all. he pointed to an airtight crystal cage at one edge of the chamber. the cage was necessary in routine testing of the machinery here, which called for variations in the output of the gravity generators, and consequent great variations in air pressure. "inside the cage--all of us!" geedeh squeaked. "quickly! bends!..." do you know what the air pressure is, at the bottom of a ten-mile shaft, even at normal earth gravity? yeah, something pretty high! then you can imagine what it had just been like, here, at six or seven gravities! but when the generators had quit entirely, there had been that sudden loss of weight in the air, sudden expansion, thinning, loss of pressure! the three of us got inside the cage, and sealed the door. i spun valves. there was a hiss of entering atmosphere, and the pressure rose again, far above the norm of sea-level, on earth. i felt better at once, but i knew it had been a close call. we looked out at norman haynes and his henchmen. they weren't drowning, now. tottering, they stood with their heads well above the flood. it was something else that was killing them. not suffocation, either. their faces were bloated and congested in the glow of illuminators. their bodies seemed to swell. norman haynes raised his blast tube, as did several of the others, trying to fire at the crystal shelter where we had taken refuge. norman haynes must have known his failure, then. why had it happened. how we had won. it may be that he even realized some justice in his hideous punishment. he had tried to obstruct progress and fair play. the blast tube dropped from his fingers. he opened his mouth to shriek in his agony. but dark blood gushed forth, and, with his henchmen, he toppled back into the water. * * * * * "bends!" geedeh said again. "haynes had a worse case of bends than any deep-sea diver ever experienced." the flood had almost stopped, now, outside the cage. we waited. vengeance was complete. and it wasn't quite as satisfying as i might once have thought. presently they were with us. irene. and old art--proving that the haynes name was still great, even though one who bore it had soiled it some. we emerged from our sealed cage, after the pressure around us was gradually lowered to normal. "i didn't think it was norman who was guilty," old art breathed sadly when he spoke to us. "i knew he was high-handed, but i didn't realize it was as bad as it was. i guess norman got what he deserved," he finished, and there were tears in his heavy voice. we went to the surface in the elevator. we needed space suits again, up there, with the air as expanded as it was. a lot of the atmosphere was leaking away from , being held down only by the tiny natural gravity. but there was nothing that couldn't be repaired and replaced. "we must have pumps rigged to draw the water out of the vault, so that we can dry and repair the gravity machinery, and start it again," geedeh stated. we started again, almost as we had done at the first, for quite a bit of the air and water had been whisked into space. we lived in space-suits for days, rebuilding and repairing the damaged machinery. then with the aid of art haynes, and with extended credit now that our plans were made fully known and approved, we imported machinery to pump the water from the vault. we hired specialists to come in, each of them with a trained crew of men to do the work that our old crews lacked the technical skill to do. slowly, our planet of hope grew again, and there were bulletins sent through the asteroid belt that workers were wanted again on paradise asteroid. the specialists left, replaced by the crews that had worked on the asteroid before. with unlimited credit, our great freighting ships piled materials in regular formation, and the returning crews set their ships down on the landing fields, the men pouring eagerly forth, ready to set up the buildings that would be the nucleus of another earth in space. with our old crews returned, it took about a hundred hours to accomplish this. asteroid was almost the same as before the final trouble with norman haynes, now, except that the air was a little thinner. but that could be quickly taken care of. pa mavrocordatus was working with his vineyards and trees, and his tomato and cabbage patches, again. the big trouble was all finished, now. the dream was coming true. a little earth, fresh and green, for tired miners of the path of minor planets. space madness could never be so common now. and cheap, fresh products would be theirs. v irene and i walked in the warm night. the crews were whooping it up in the lighted barracks. somebody was playing a harmonica. the stars were brilliant, and there were a thousand things to think of. how we'd all struggled. how nick mavrocordatus, had dreamed and worked and died. how once the asteroids had been a planet, with almost human inhabitants, dreaming, planning, struggling, too. their rock carvings were everywhere. "it's the beginning, chet," irene whispered. "asteroid is the first. but there'll be others--other small, beautiful, living planets. there's a lot of work to be done. and when it's all finished that will be almost unfortunate--too tame." i knew what she meant. she was pioneer stuff, just as all of us were. the greatness of life was in its battles. on and on, to vaster and vaster heights. that was what had driven us into the interplanetary void in the first place. i kissed her. "don't worry, honey," i said. "there's no end to it. no point of final stagnation. it goes on and on. there'll always be a frontier--something bigger to reach and conquer...." and we looked up in awe toward the infinite stars. exit from asteroid by d. l. james strange things were happening on echo, weird martian satellite. but none stranger than the two earthlings who hurtled into the star-lanes from its deep, hidden core. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] echo is naturally magnetic, probably more so than any other planetoid--and neal bormon cursed softly, just to relieve his feelings, as that magnetism gripped the small iron plates on the soles of the rough boots with which the martians had provided him. slavery--and in the twenty-ninth century! it was difficult to conceive of it, but it was all too painfully true. his hands, inside their air-tight gauntlets, wadded into fists; little knots of muscle bulged along his lean jaw, and he stared at the darkness around him as if realizing it for the first time. this gang had plenty of guts, to shanghai men from the earth-mars transport lines. they'd never get by with it. and yet, they had--until now. first, keith calbur, and then himself. of course, there had been others before calbur, but not personal friends of neal bormon. men just disappeared. and you could do that in the martian spaceport of quessel without arousing much comment--unless you were a high official. but when calbur failed to show up in time for a return voyage to earth, bormon had taken up the search. vague clews had led him into that pleasure palace in quessel--a joint frequented alike by human beings and martians--a fantasmagoria of tinkling soul-lights; gossamer arms of frozen music that set your senses reeling when they floated near you; lyric forms that lived and danced and died like thoughts. then someone had crushed a bead of reverie-gas, probably held in a martian tentacle, under bormon's nostrils, and now--here he was on echo. he gave an angry yank at the chain which was locked around his left wrist. the other end was fastened to a large metal basket partly filled with lumps of whitish-gray ore, and the basket bobbed and scraped along behind him as he advanced. of the hundred or more earthmen, prisoners here on echo, only seven or eight were within sight of bormon, visible as mere crawling spots of light; but he knew that each was provided with a basket and rock-pick similar to his own. as yet he had not identified anyone of them as keith calbur. suddenly the metallic voice of a martian guard sounded in bormon's ears. "attention. one-seven-two. your basket is not yet half filled, your oxygen tank is nearly empty. you will receive no more food or oxygen until you deliver your quota of ore. get busy." "to hell with you!" fumed bormon--quite vainly, as he well knew, for the helmet of his space suit was not provided with voice-sending equipment. nevertheless, after a swift glance at the oxygen gauge, he began to swing his rock-pick with renewed vigor, pausing now and then to toss the loosened lumps of ore into the latticed basket. on earth, that huge container, filled with ore, would have weighed over a ton; here on echo its weight was only a few pounds. neal bormon had the average spaceman's dread of oxygen shortage. and so, working steadily, he at last had the huge basket filled with ore--almost pure rhodium--judging by the color and weight of the lumps. nearby, a jagged gash of light on the almost black shoulder of echo indicated the location of that tremendous chasm which cut two-thirds of the way through the small asteroid, and in which the martians had installed their machine for consuming ore. locating this gash of light, bormon set out toward it, dragging the basket of ore behind him over the rough, rocky surface. the ultimate purpose of that gargantuan mechanism, and why this side of the planetoid apparently never turned toward the sun, were mysteries with which his mind struggled but could not fathom. * * * * * presently, having reached the rim of the abyss, with only a narrow margin of oxygen left, he commenced the downward passage, his iron-shod boots clinging to the vertical wall of metallic rock, and as he advanced this magnetic attraction became ever more intense. the blaze of lights before him grew brighter and seemed to expand. dimly, two hundred yards over his head, he could glimpse the opposite wall of the chasm like the opposing jaw of an enormous vise. he joined the slow-moving stream of workers. they were filing past a guard and out on a narrow metal catwalk that seemed to be suspended--or rather poised--by thin rods in close proximity to a spacious disk which extended from wall to wall of the chasm. they moved in absolute silence. even when tilted ore-baskets dumped a ton or more ore into the gaping orifice in the center of the disk, there was still no sound--for echo, small and barren of native life, lacked even the suggestion of a sound-carrying atmosphere. and that weird soundlessness of the action around him brought a giddy sense of unreality to neal bormon. only the harsh, mechanical voice of the martian guard, intoning orders with cold and impersonal precision, seemed actually real. "attention. one-seven-two. dump your ore...." these earthmen were apparently known by numbers only. bormon's own number-- --was on a thin metal stencil stretched across the outer surface of the glass vision plate of his helmet; he couldn't forget it. he obeyed the martian's order. then he noticed that men with empty baskets were moving along a curved ramp, like a corkscrew, which led to a different level, whether above or below he could not possibly tell without a distinct mental effort. he decided it was to a lower level as he moved onward, for the huge disk lost its circularity and became like the curving wall of a cylinder, or drum, down the outside of which the ramp twisted. fresh ore was also being brought from this direction. and seeming to extend out indefinitely into blackness was a misty shaft, like the beam of a searchlight. presently the ramp gave way to a tunnel-like passage. flexible metal-sheathed tubes dangled from the ceiling. these tubes were labeled: oxygen, water, nutrient. * * * * * bormon, patterning the actions of those he observed around him began to replenish his supply of these three essentials to life. his space suit was of conventional design, with flasks in front for water and nutrient fluid, and oxygen tank across the shoulders. by attaching the proper tubes and opening valves--except the oxygen inlet valve, which was automatic--he soon had his suit provisioned to capacity. he had just finished this operation when someone touched his arm. he glanced up at the bulky, tall figure--an unmistakable form that even a month's sojourn on echo had not been able to rob of a certain virility and youthful eclat. for a moment they stared into each other's eyes through the vision plates of their helmets and bormon was struck dumb by the change, the stark and utterly nerve-fagged hopelessness expressed on keith calbur's features. then calbur tried to grin a welcome, and the effect was ghastly! for a moment his helmet clicked into contact with bormon's. "neal," he said, his voice sounding far away, "so they got you, too! we can't talk here.... i'm pretty well shot. lived in this damn walking tent for ages. no sleep, not since they took me.... some powder, drug, they put in the nutrient fluid--it's supposed to take the place of sleep--and you can't sleep! only it doesn't.... you come along with me." the darkness swallowed them up. bormon had thrown his rock-pick into his empty basket. and now, by keeping one hand in contact with calbur's basket, as it bobbed and jerked on ahead, he was able, even in the inky blackness, to keep from straying aside. after seemingly interminable groping and stumbling, calbur's light flashed on. they had entered a pocket in the rocks, bormon realized, a small cavern whose walls would prevent the light from betraying their presence to the guard. calbur threw himself exhaustedly down, signifying that bormon should do likewise, and with their helmets touching, a strange conversation ensued. bormon explained, as well as he was able, his presence there. "when you didn't show up, keith, in time to blast for earth," he said, "all we could do was to report your absence to the space police. but they're swamped; too many disappearances lately. moreover, they're trying to relocate that stream of meteoric matter which wrecked a freighter some time back. they know something is in the wind, but they'll never guess this! for weeks they've had the patrol ship, _alert_, scouting around mars. so, after making the run to earth and back to mars--i had to do that, you know--i got back in quessel again and commenced to pry around, sort of inviting the same thing to happen to me that had happened to you--and here we are." "we're here for keeps, looks like," answered calbur grimly, his voice having lost part of that overtone of strained nerves. "a man doesn't last long, so the other prisoners say, two months at the most. these marts use earthmen because we're tougher, here at least, and last longer than marts.... hell, what wouldn't i give for a smoke!" "but the purpose, keith? what's the scheme?" "i thought you knew. just marts with fighting ideas--a crowd backed by wealthy, middle-class martians who call themselves lords of conquest. they're building ships, weapons. first, they're going to take over mars from the present government, which is friendly to earth, and then they're going to subdue earth." * * * * * calbur had switched off his light, as a matter of precaution, and his voice came to bormon from a seemingly far distant point--a voice from out of the darkness, fraught with fantastic suggestion. "ships? you say they're building ships? where?" bormon asked, his own voice reverberating harshly within the confines of his helmet. "in a cavern they've blasted out near the south magnetic pole of mars. you know that's an immense, barren region--lifeless, cold--bordered on the north by impenetrable reed thickets. they need rhodium in large quantities for hull alloys and firing chambers. that's why they're mining it, here on echo." "they'll never get it to mars," bormon declared quickly. "every freighter is checked and licensed by the joint governments of earth and mars." "they won't?" calbur laughed, distantly. "listen, neal--every crateful of ore that's dumped into their machine, here on echo, gets to mars within a few hours. and it isn't carried by ships, either!" "you mean--?" "i didn't get the answer, myself, until i'd been here for some time. you see, echo is just a gob of metal--mostly magnetite, except for these granules of rhodium--forty miles in diameter, but far from round. then there's that chasm, a mammoth crack that's gaped open, cutting the planetoid almost in half. the whole thing is magnetic--like a terrestrial lodestone--and there's a mighty potent field of force across that gap in the chasm. the walls are really poles of a bigger magnet than was ever built by martians or human being. and of what does a big magnet remind you?" after a moment of thought, bormon replied, "cyclotronic action." there was a short silence, then calbur resumed. "these marts shoot the ore across space to the south magnetic pole of mars. a ground crew gathers it up and transports it to their underground laboratories. as a prisoner explained it, it was simple; those old-time cyclotrons used to build up the velocity of particles, ions mostly, by whirling them in spiral orbits in a vacuum-enclosed magnetic field. well, there's a vacuum all around echo, and clear to mars. by giving these lumps of ore a static charge, they act just like ions. when the stream of ore comes out of the machine, it passes through a magnetic lens which focuses it like a beam of light on mars' south pole. and there you have it. maybe you saw what looked like a streak of light shooting off through the chasm. that's the ore stream. it comes out on the day side of echo, and so on to mars. they aim it by turning the whole planetoid." "hm-m-m, i understand, now, why it's always dark here--they keep this side of echo facing away from mars and the sun." "right," said calbur. "now we'll have to move. these marts are heartless. they'll let you die for lack of oxygen if you don't turn in baskets of ore regularly. but we'll meet here again." "just give me time to size things up," bormon agreed. the effects of the reverie-gas was wearing off and he was beginning to feel thoroughly alive again and aware of the serious situation which confronted them. "don't let it get you down, keith," he added. "we'll find a way out." but his words expressed a confidence that the passing of time did not justify. again and again he filled his ore-basket, dragged it to the hungry mouth of that prodigious mechanism in the abyss, and in return he received the essentials for continued life. during this time he formed a better idea of conditions around him. once he wandered far from the martian's headquarters, so far that he nearly blinded himself in the raw sunlight that bombarded the day side of the tiny planetoid. again, he was strangely comforted with the discovery of a small space ship anchored deep in the abyss although he was not permitted to go near it. * * * * * he soon found that nothing was to be expected of the horde of earthmen who slaved like automatons over the few miles of echo immediately adjacent to the chasm's rim. the accumulative effect of the drug seemed to render them almost insensible of existence. but with calbur, who had served for a shorter time, it was different. "keith, we've got to tackle one of the mart guards," bormon told him, during one of their conferences in the cave. "we'll take its ray-tubes, fight our way to that ship they've cached in the chasm below the cyclotron power plant, and blast away from here." "how?" asked calbur. "if you make a move toward one, it'll burn you down--i've seen it happen!" "listen, i've spent hours figuring this out. suppose one of us were to stay here in this cave, helmet-light on, and near enough to the opening so that his light would show dimly on the outside. wouldn't a mart guard be sure to come along to investigate?" "yes, practically sure," agreed calbur, but with no great interest. hour by hour he was sinking closer to that animate coma which gripped the other earthmen. "but what would that get you? if you lose too much time, you'll be cut off from rations." "i know, but suppose also that one of us--i, for instance--was hiding in the rocks above the cave, with a big chunk of ore, ready to heave it down on the mart?" calbur seemed to be thinking this over, and for a moment there was silence. "when shall we try it?" he demanded suddenly, and there was a note of eagerness and hope in his voice. "it's simple enough. it might actually work." "right now! if we put it off, it'll soon be too late." they discussed details, laying their plans carefully, bormon prudently refraining any suggestion that this move was one born of sheer desperation on his part. everything settled, calbur moved up near the opening, so that his helmet-light could be dimly seen from outside the cave. bormon, dragging his ore-basket, climbed up in the rocks directly over the entrance, and presently found concealment that suited him. near at hand he placed a loose chunk of rock which on earth would have weighed perhaps eighty pounds. the trap was set. he settled himself to wait. his own light was, of course, extinguished. far off he could see crawling blobs of luminance as guards and human workers moved slowly over the surface of echo. otherwise stygian darkness surrounded him. but he had chosen a position which, he hoped, would not be revealed by the light of any martian bent on investigating the cave. there were, he had learned, actually less than a score of martians here on echo; about half of them stayed around that cyclotronic ore-hurler in the chasm. they depended on secrecy, and were in constant communication, by ether-wave, with spies not only on earth and mars but among the personnel of the space police itself. these spies were in a position to warn them to shut down operations in case the ore stream through space attracted notice and was in danger of being investigated. it was all being conducted with true martian insidiousness. thus bormon's thoughts were wandering when, at last, he became aware that a martian guard was approaching. his cramped muscles suddenly grew tense. his heart began to pound; it was now or never--and he must not fail! * * * * * the martian, reeling along rapidly on the mechanical legs attached to its space armor, appeared to suspect nothing. it approached amid a rosette of light which seemed to chase back the shadows into a surrounding black wall. it had evidently seen the gleam of calbur's helmet-light, for it was heading directly toward the mouth of the cave above which bormon crouched. the moment for action arrived. tense as a tirhco spring, bormon leaped erect, hurled the jagged lump of rock down on the rounded dome of the martian's armor. then, without pausing to ascertain the result, he grasped the rim of his ore-basket and swinging it in a wide arc before him, leaped downward-- for a moment martian, basket and earthman were in a mad tangle. bormon realized that the martian had been toppled over, and that one of its ray-tubes was sending out a coruscating plume of fire as it ate into the rocks. the moment seemed propitious to bormon! hands gripping and searching desperately, he found the oddly-shaped clamp that bound the two halves of the martian's space armor together--and released it. there was a hiss of escaping gas. abruptly those metal handlers ceased to thrash about.... bormon, thrilling with success, rose to his feet, turned off the martian's ray-tube just as calbur, delayed with having to drag his ore-basket, through the rather narrow opening, dashed into view. there was no need for words. bormon handed him a ray-tube. within a matter of seconds, each had burned through a link of the chain around his wrist. they were free from those accursed baskets! calbur secreted the weapon in a pouch of his space suit, then swiftly they set to work, for their next move had been carefully planned. opening the armor fully, they began to remove the dead martian, puffed up like a kernel of pop-corn by the sudden loss of its air pressure. having cleared the armor, bormon climbed inside--space suit and all--folding up like a pocket knife so as to resemble somewhat the alien shape it was intended to hold, and tested the semi-automatic controls. everything appeared to be in working order. assuring himself of this as well as his knowledge of martian mechanics would permit, he crawled out again to help calbur. calbur was scrambling to collect ore. and under their combined efforts one of the baskets was presently filled--for the last time, bormon fervently hoped! again he entered that strange conveyance, the martian's armor, and after some experimental manipulation of the push-button controls, managed to get the thing upright on its jointed, metal legs and start it moving awkwardly in the direction of the chasm. behind him came calbur, dragging the basket of ore--for lacking a disguise such as bormon's, he must have some excuse for returning to the cabin, and he had wrapped the chain around his wrist to conceal the fact that it had been severed. bormon, in the narrow confines of his armor, disconnected the mechanical voder used by its deposed owner, for all martians are voiceless. his greatest fear was that one of the martian guards would attempt to communicate with him. this would disclose the imposture immediately, since he would be unable to reply. for all martian communication, even by ether-wave, is visual--the medium being a complicated series of symbols based on their ancient sign language, the waving of tentacles, which no human brain has ever fully understood. the means of producing these conventionalized symbols was a tiny keyboard, just below an oval, silvery screen, and as bormon sent his odd conveyance stalking down the side of the chasm, toward that sweeping disk which he now knew to be formed by the ends of two cyclotronic d-chambers facing each other, he kept one eye on this silvery screen, but it remained blank. he moved on down past the catwalk to the lower ramp. here he must pass close to a martian guard. but this martian seemed to give him no attention whatever. reaching a point opposite the ship, bormon stepped from the ramp. still that oval screen remained blank. no martian was apparently paying enough attention to him to question his movements. again he caused the armor to advance slowly, picking his way along the rock surface. he reached the ship. for a moment he was hidden behind the hull. one glance sent his hopes plunging utterly. neither of the two fuel caps were clamped down, which could mean but one thing--the ship's tanks were empty! it was a stunning blow. no wonder the martians felt safe in leaving the ship practically unguarded. after a moment, anger began to mount above bormon's disappointment. he would start to kill off martians! if he and calbur couldn't get away from echo, then he'd see that at least some of these marts didn't either. he might even wipe them all out. calbur, too, had a ray-tube. but what of calbur? quickly bormon moved from behind the ship. calbur was loitering on the ramp, ore-basket empty, evidently on the point of making a break to join him. frantically, bormon focused the ether-wave on calbur's helmet, hurling a warning. "stay where you are. it's a washout! no fuel...." he began moving across the rocks toward the power-plant. that was the most likely spot to commence--more marts close at hand. he'd take them by surprise. suddenly he was cold, calculating, purposeful. after all, there wasn't much chance of wiping them all out--and yet he might. he should strike at a vital point, cripple them, so as to give calbur and the others a chance in case he only managed to kill a few before passing out of the picture. a glittering neutrochrome helix on top of the power-plant gave him a suggestion. why not destroy their communications, fix things so they couldn't call for help from mars? * * * * * abruptly he realized something was wrong. that silver oval six inches from his face was flashing a bewildering complexity of symbols. simultaneously the martian on the ramp began to move quickly and questioningly toward him. the moment had arrived. bormon swung the metal handler bearing the ray-tube into line and pressed the firing button.... amid a splatter of coruscating sparks the martian went down. "number one!" growled bormon. everything now depended on prompt action and luck--mostly luck! as quickly as possible he heeled around, aimed at the helix on the power-plant. it swayed slowly as that pale blue shaft ate into its supports, then drifted away. he had lost sight of calbur. absolute silence still reigned, but on airless echo that silence was portentous. along the rim of the chasm he could see the glitter of martian armor against the blackness of space. the alarm had been given. but for the moment he was more concerned with the imminent danger from those who tended the intricate controls in the power-plant, and the guard at the far end of the catwalk. this guard was protected by the catwalk itself and the stream of earthmen slaves still moving uncomprehendingly along it. bormon sent his space armor reeling forward, intent on seeking shelter behind the bulk of the power-plant. he almost reached that protection. but suddenly sparks plumed around him, and his armor slumped forward--one leg missing. he fell, fortunately, just within the shelter of the power-plant. desperately he struggled to open the armor, so as to get the ray-tube in his own hand. but when he finally crawled forth it was to face three martians grouped around him, their weapons--six in number--unwaveringly centered on him. "earthman," said the mechanical speaker coldly inside his helmet, "you have killed a martian." and then, with true martian decisiveness and cruelty, they pronounced inhuman judgment on him. "we in our kindness shall not immediately demand your life as forfeit. you shall wander unhindered over echo, dying slowly, until your oxygen is gone. do not ask for more; it is sealed from you. do not again enter the chasm; it is death to you. now go." * * * * * hours later bormon was indeed wandering, hopeless as a lost soul, over nighted echo, awaiting the consummation of his sentence, which now seemed very near. already his oxygen gauge indicated zero and he was face to face with the "dying slowly" process promised by the martians--the terrible death of suffocation. now, as things began to seem vague and unreal around him, bormon was drawing near that hidden cave where he and calbur had often met for like a final flash of inspiration had come the thought that here, if anywhere, he would find calbur. it was strange, he reflected, how the life in a man forces him on and on, always hoping, to the very end. for now it seemed that the most important thing in the universe was to find calbur. he had husbanded the last of his oxygen to the utmost. but panting, now, for breath, he opened the valve a fraction of a turn and staggered on in the darkness. and suddenly, dimly as in a dream, he knew that at last he had found calbur.... and calbur was doing a queer thing. gauntleted hands moving hastily in the chalky radiance cast by his helmet-light, he was tossing chunks of rhodium from his filled ore-basket-- then their helmets clicked together, and he heard calbur's voice, faint, urgent: "climb in the basket! i'll cover you with ore so they won't see you. i'll drag you in. well get your tank filled--i swear it!" the next instant, it seemed, bormon felt himself being tumbled into the ore-basket. chunks of ore began pressing down lightly on his body. then the basket commenced to pitch and scrape over the rocks. but his lungs were bursting! could he last? he had to. he couldn't fool calbur by passing out--not now. something like destiny was working, and he'd have to see it through. something was tapping on his helmet. bormon opened his eyes, and light was trickling down between the chunks of ore. no longer was there any scraping vibrations. something, metallic, snakelike, was being pressed into his hand. and then bormon remembered. the oxygen tube! with a final rallying of forces only partly physical, he managed to stab the tube over the intake of his tank. the automatic valve clicked and a stream of pure delight swept into his lungs! for a time he lay there, his body trembling with the exquisite torture of vitality reawakening, slowly closing the helmet-valve to balance the increase of pressure in the tank. suddenly that snakelike tube was jerked away from between the chunks of ore, and again the basket began a scraping advance. bormon's new lease on life brought its problems. what was about to happen? in a moment, now, calbur would be ordered by the guard to dump his ore. they wouldn't have a chance, there on the catwalk. for bormon's abrupt reappearance would bring swift extinction, probably to both. the basket stopped. they had reached the ore-dump. calbur's head and shoulders appeared. behind the vision plate in his helmet there was a queer, set expression on his thin face. he thrust the ray-tube into bormon's hands. bormon sprang erect, leaped from the basket. for a moment he stared around, locating the guard at the end of the catwalk. as yet the guard appeared not to have noticed anything unusual. but where was calbur? "attention. one-six-nine. dump your ore," ordered the guard, coldly, mechanically. something seemed to draw bormon's eyes into focus on his own number stencil. one-six-nine, he read. calbur's number! and then, suddenly, he realized the dreadful, admirable thing keith calbur had done.... for calbur had leaped through the ore-chute, into the cyclotron's maelstromic heart! despairing, he had chosen a way out. he had forfeited his life so that bormon could take his place. "dump your ore," repeated the martian guard, coldly. "to hell with you!" snarled bormon, and blasted with the tube. he missed the martian. still weakened by the ordeal he had just passed through, and overwrought as an effect of calbur's last despairing act, his aim was not true. nevertheless, that coruscating shaft was fraught with far-reaching consequence. passing three feet to the left of the martian, it snapped two of the rods which braced the catwalk in position over the cyclotron drum. thus released at the far end, the metal ribbon--for the catwalk was little more than that--curled and twisted like a tirhco spring, pitching bormon, as from a catapult, straight along the path so recently chosen by calbur. destiny had indeed provided them both with a strange exit from echo, for in that split second bormon realized that he was being hurled squarely into the gaping orifice of the cyclotron. * * * * * far out in the vacuity between echo and mars, captain dunstan sat in his cabin aboard the patrol ship _alert_--most powerful and, therefore, speediest craft possessed by the earth-mars space police. on his desk lay two jagged pieces of ore, whitish-gray in color, which he had been examining. his speculations were interrupted by the sudden bursting open of the cabin door. an officer, spruce in gray uniform and silver braid, entered hurriedly, his face flushed with excitement. "captain dunstan, the most extraordinary thing has happened! we've just picked up two men--two men drifting with the meteoric stream, and in space suits--and they're alive!" captain dunstan rose slowly. "alive, and adrift in space? then it's the first such occurrence in the history of space travel! who are they?" "i don't know, sir. so far we've got only one out of his suit. but i have reason to believe they're the men recently reported as missing by the e.m.t. lines. he babbled something about echo--that there's hell to pay on echo. i imagine he means asteroid no. . but--" "lead the way," said the captain, stepping quickly toward the doorway. "there's something mighty queer going on." * * * * * and so, by a lucky break, neal bormon found himself snatched from death and aboard the _alert_, arriving there by a route as hazardous and strange as was ever experienced by spaceman. and no less strange and unexpected came the knowledge of keith calbur's arrival there ahead of him. bormon, who was last to be drawn in by the grapple-ray and helped out of his space suit by the willing hands of the _alert's_ crew, was still capable of giving an understandable account of things; although calbur, until the effects of the martian drug wore off, would be likely to remain in his somewhat neurotic condition of bewilderment. "these marts," said bormon, after a great deal of explaining on both sides, "don't know that you have discovered their stream of ore. they won't know it until their communications have been repaired." captain dunstan nodded. "that explains why we were able, on this occasion, to approach the meteoric stream without its immediate disappearance. but i cannot understand," he confessed, "how two men could have passed through such an apparatus as you describe, and remain alive." "perhaps i can offer a possible explanation," said an officer whose insignia was that of chief electrobiologist. "if, as we suspect, this martian invention is founded on the old and well-known cyclotronic principle, then we have nothing but reciprocal interaction of electric fields and magnetic fields. and these fields, as such, are entirely harmless to living organisms, just as harmless as gravitational fields. moreover, any static charge carried by the bodies of these men would have been slowly dissipated through the grapple-ray with which they were drawn out of the ore stream." this explanation appeared to satisfy the captain. "you say," he questioned, addressing bormon, "that there are other men on echo--earthmen being used as slaves?" "yes, more than a hundred." captain dunstan's mouth became a fighting, grim line. he gave several swift orders to his officers, who scattered immediately. somewhat later, bormon found his way into the surgery where calbur lay--not sleeping yet, but resting peacefully. assuring himself of this, bormon, too, let his long frame slump down on a near-by cot--not to sleep, either, but to contemplate pleasantly the wiping-up process soon to take place on echo, and elsewhere. "shadrach" by nelson s. bond once, in bible times, three men were cast into a fiery furnace--and lived! now, on far-off, frozen titania, three space-bitten shadrachs faced the same awful test of godship. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the man at the end of the bar was very drunk. that was not, in itself, unusual. xuerl's cosmobar, dangling like a leech on the drab outskirts of mars central, did not cater to a select clientele. it was not noted for its culture or gentility; it was famed from one end of the system to another as a place where a hard-fisted, full-pursed spaceman, newly in from the mines or out from earth, could get a weapon or a wench, a bottle or a battle, any or all with equal celerity. and at an instant's notice. but the man at the end of the bar was very drunk. so drunk, indeed, that he seemed neither to notice nor to be concerned about the actions of his comrades. and they, chip warren thought as he watched the bleary man pour yet another jigger of green from a malevolently gleaming bottle of _lisk_, were a particularly evil-looking and ill-assorted lot. even for a dive like this. "a venusian," he mused, "a greenie, a runt--and an earthman. like bugs in a rug...." "trink?" piped a thin, reedy voice at chip's elbow. "trink, ssor?" chip shook his head in reply to the martian barman's query. damned chrysanthemum! he thought. damned squeaking, upright chrysanthemum! he would never, so long as he lived, get used to hearing english speech emanating from the curled petals that served as a redlander's head. martians tried to look like earthlings. they braced their soft, pallid bodies in steel uprights, they underwent serious and probably painful operations to give themselves a humanoid appearance, but they still looked--and always would to chip--like ungainly flowers of madness. "no," he said. "not just now, thanks. later." he returned his gaze to the group at the end of the bar. a new member had joined the quartet. another earthman. warren's eyes became more speculative as the newcomer drew the jovian aside, queried him briefly, then moved to the drunken man's shoulder. "trink?" piped the persistent voice of the barman. "blast jets!" said chip curtly. "i'll order when i get damn good and--_hey!_" * * * * * the gasp broke unbidden from his lips. in the din and confusion of xuerl's cosmobar it went unnoticed, even as had gone unnoticed by everyone else the momentary byplay he had glimpsed. as the newcomer slipped his arm about the drunken man's shoulder, the first earthman, turning suddenly, dropped from his hand to the floor a previously concealed _something_. a silvery, glistening, round _something_ that hit the floor--and bounced! four figures reacted immediately, violently, eagerly. the venusian, the uranian, the jovian--like four minds with but a single thought they formed a wall of flesh around the drunken one. the other earthman's hand leaped out greedily to catch the bouncing blob on the rebound. but in vain. the drunk had retrieved the object, shoved it into a pocket. but chip warren knew what the object was. it was a ball of ekalastron! ekalastron! most recently discovered, rarest, and most precious of all metals known to man! a metal so unique that up to the time of its discovery there had been no place for it in man's supposedly "complete" periodic table. a metal that, defying man's previous deliberations on the habits of metals, supplied man with the most valuable servant he had ever known. a metal so light that a child could carry enough in one hand to coat the entire hull of a space-cruiser--yet so adamant that a gossamer film of it would deflect the impact of a meteoride or the battering crush of a rotor-gun shell! a metal strong enough to grind diamonds to powder--but so resilient that, when molded and properly treated, it would bounce like a rubber ball! in all the wide universe, hungry mankind had found less than two tons of this vitally precious new metal. an ounce was worth a prince's ransom; so jealously was each gram weighed, guarded and distributed that the u.s.c.--universal science council--could account for every known ounce of it. yet here, in the noisy bar of mars' most infamous refuge for scoundrels, a drunken miner toyed with a chunk the size of a billiard ball! if chip warren's attention had previously been attracted by the oddly-assorted quintet, it was riveted now. fierce curiosity hunched him forward. abandoning all shame at eavesdropping, he strained eyes and ears upon the group. it was well that he did so. otherwise he would not have seen the sober earthman's gesture to the bartender, the bartender's furtive acquiescence, the tentacular hand opening a colorless phial, pouring its contents into the miner's bottle of _lisk_. there would have been no one to protect the drunken man from the drug that would swiftly have left him at the mercy of his companions. but chip was watching. and moving on raw instinct, without a thought for the consequences, he surged forward. his arm brushed the surprised uranian aside, his hand thrust just in time to sweep the doped drink from the miner's lips. glass shattered on the floor, singing a shrill song. chip's challenging voice echoed its brittle crispness. "hold course a minute, buckoes!" he ordered. "what in space goes on around here?" * * * * * chip thought afterward that never in his life had he ever looked upon such stark, forbidding coldness as that which, in the next moment, flamed upon him from the eyes of the newly arrived earthman. everything about the man was cold, bitter and bleak as the hostile depths of space. his eyes were glacier-gray, his lips thin and bloodless as hoarfrost; the hand he shoved forward to grip chip's wrist in steely grasp was like ice. the coldness of death was in his voice, although he spoke with infinite quietude. "i might ask the same of you, sailor." the man had raven-black hair save where, from a widow's peak, one single swatch of pure white sprang startlingly to lie like a stream of ice between dark banks. "by what right do you intrude on a private party?" chip shook the man's hand from his wrist. his eyes parried with hot defiance the stranger's frigid calm. "by the right of any man," he growled, "to see fair play! i saw--" "a moment, sailor!" the man's voice was like a low note struck in warning. "before you tell what you saw, you might like to know who i am. my name is blaze amborg." "i don't give a portside blast," snarled chip, "if your name is lucifer himself. i saw--" "you haven't been out here long, have you, sailor? well--that's your misfortune, i fear. torth!" he inclined his head gently toward the giant venusian. the big man rolled forward. his hamlike paws reached for chip. but fast as he moved, chip moved faster still; in the split of a second his hand had found his belt. the dull lights of the cosmobar glinted sallowly on metal that prodded amborg's middle. "so that's the way it is, eh?" gritted chip. "your bullies do your fighting for you? well, maybe you're right. i haven't been out here long. but where i come from, men do their own scrapping. now--tell these scum of yours to keep their distance, or by the seven sacred stars, i'll let ether through you!" a man could not tell by studying amborg's features if his lips were white with fear or what. but the ice in his eyes was deeper, more shadowy. and he said, "back, torth!" "that's better!" approved chip. "and now--come out of it, you!" the drunken man had finally slipped out of the picture. blissfully unaware of what was going on about him, his head had slumped to the bar. he was asleep, lips loosely agape, breath coming in sodden grunts. chip grasped the nape of his neck, shook him roughly. "pull yourself together!" he commanded. "we're getting out of here!" the man came to with a start, stared at chip warren blearily. "w-whuzzup? whuzzmatter? don' shake me like that, ole boy. all pals t'gether. all good ole pals...." his head dropped forward again, and chip sighed. it was like kicking a pup, he thought, but it had to be done. his rousing slap jarred the drunk to grieved awareness. "hey! _don'_ do that! we're pals, ain't we? all--" "i wouldn't know about that," snorted chip. "but i _do_ know these other 'pals' of yours are getting ready to dig you for that--that stuff in your pocket." * * * * * that did it. the warning drove its way through the miner's stupor. his head jerked up, his eyes widened, and a hand clawed at his pocket. "_what?_ my ekalastron? the filthy thieves--!" his loud voice carried throughout the room clearly. too clearly. for with a sudden fear, chip could feel a tension tighten through the hard habitues of the bar. nervous scrapings of feet, the _frou-frou_ of suddenly intense voices. "ekalastron! eka--" for a moment, chip's guard relaxed. he twisted his head to survey a new and potent danger. and as he did so, a sharp cry burst from amborg's lips. "raat 'aran! torth!" chip whirled back to face immediate trouble. shapes were plunging down upon him. he wheeled, slipped, tumbled to one side even as the scorching burst of a needle gun seared a hissing path past his shoulder. someone behind screamed a high, thin scream that died in a choked gurgle.... then all was madness! the magic word "ekalastron" had wakened the riches-lust of the mob; now the presence of death had roused its blood-lust. in the space of a moment's time, a score of guns were drawn and wildly flaming as the throng charged the bar. chip only lived in that moment because he lay helplessly asprawl upon the floor. the hobnailed boots of miners kicked and trampled him, thick bodies struggled, cursed and groaned above him. once as he tried to scramble to his feet his hand slipped nauseatingly in a pool of freshly spilled and steaming blood. he was aware that somewhere in the howling mob that fought, not knowing why, and fighting died, the glacier-eyed amborg strained for sight of him. but the tide of conflict, sweeping over and about them, separated them. there came a reedy cry in the voice of the martian barman; the lights went out suddenly, and the room was alive and spiteful with the flames of criss-crossing fire-needles. a questing hand found chip's throat in the darkness, fingers tightened. but in a flash of fire, chip saw the figure atop him suddenly crumple, steel clattered aimlessly beside him as his assailant choked and died. thus close to him walked mad, unreasoning death. but he was on his feet again, now, and armed! chip forced his way toward that spot at the bar where last he had glimpsed the drunken miner. no figure stood there, but his feet stumbled against a yielding body. he stooped--then he blinked as the lights suddenly flared on again. he looked upon a frightful scene of carnage. where men had fought, a dozen bodies lay upon the floor like broken things; elsewhere about the room a dozen struggling piles of life, human and humanoid, white, coral and green, earthborn and spawn of a dozen globes, still fought their purposeless battle. and at the far side of the room-- amborg! but amborg had seen him first. even as he raised his needle-gun, chip realized the dousing of the lights, the sudden return of them, had been a trick of amborg's to gain advantage. the other man had the drop on him ... even now his hand was tightening on the press. and then, miraculously-- "hold!" cried a thunderous voice. "'stay now thine hand from the sword, yea, loose not thine arrow from the bow--else by my might shall i crush thee to the dust, truly my lightnings shall wither thee with fire!' thus saith my lord god which is jehovah!" a vast, awed silence fell suddenly upon the room, a paralysis seized all forms and held them motionless. amborg stayed his finger. all eyes sought the doorway. and there, covering the whole of the cosmobar with the ugliest but most efficient looking piece of private ordnance chip had seen in his life, stood a man. a tall, gangling scarecrow garbed in rusty black; a lean-jawed, hawk-eyed man with tumbling locks of silver and blazing eyes. a whisper arose from men's lips. a whisper at once respectful and--fearful. "it's salvation! salvation smith!" * * * * * for a long, dramatic moment the ol man stood there in the doorway; then, satisfied that all motion had stopped, he stepped forward into the room. chip knew, now, who--and what--he was. "salvation" smith, sin-driving missionary of the wastelands, was a legendary, almost fabulous, figure of the martian scene. a devoutly religious man with the heart and soul of a pioneer, he had taken upon himself the mission of carrying to the savage outland tribes the story of the god he worshipped. that this god was him of the old testament, a god of wrath and vengeance, fire and flame, was evidenced by those methods salvation sometimes employed to make his message acceptable to uncivilized breasts. in addition to being the most pious man on mars, salvation was also reputed to be the best shot! earth's softhanded ecclesiastics did not altogether approve of their wayward missionary's reputation, but had to concede that he, working unaided and alone, had done more to bring the light to mars than the rest of their emissaries as a group. thus salvation smith, who stared now at the corpses on the floor and muttered beneath his breath a prayer so hot and violent as to be almost blasphemous. there came a shrill bleat, and xuerl, proprietor of the infamous cosmobar, minced across the floor, grotesque in the rigid habiliments that lent him a humanoid shape. "sssalvation," he pleaded, "thisss wasss none of my doing, sssir! i have kept the peace, as i promisssed--" "silence!" roared the old man, and frowned. "your foul den is a stench in the nostrils of heaven. i am tiring swiftly of your iniquitous ways, xuerl! one day i--shall--who started this, anyway?" he demanded. "thisss man!" xuerl pointed a quavering tentacle at chip. salvation gazed at the young man sternly. "you are new around here. what is your name?" "chip warren. i'm just out from earth a week or so ago. free-lance prospector. but--but i didn't start this, sir. i merely interfered when that man and his thugs tried to steal a ball of ekalastron from this dead miner--" chip paused suddenly, staring at the drunken miner. "but he's still alive! i thought--" * * * * * salvation was at his side in an instant. they both kneeled beside the miner, whose eyes had flickered open. he was no longer influenced by drink. his eyes were clear with prevision of a longer flight than he had ever known. for a moment he struggled for breath. there was recognition in his feeble tones. "s-salvation--" "peace, my son. we will take you to a hospital." "n-never mind that, padre. it's too late. but the ekalastron--" "you stole it, my son? you wish to confess?" "n-no, padre! not stolen. i found it. a mine--" his breath was coming in tiny, tortured gasps; he spoke more swiftly as if aware that he must tell his secret ere silence claim him. "danger ... on titania! the caves ... natives ... and the furnace of flame ... beware!" "but _he_ survived!" chip burst in. "he got some and returned. ask him how, padre!" the miner's head moved slightly as if to signify he understood the query, but even as his lips moved to frame an answer, a swift, cold shadow frosted his eyes with glaze. a moment later his breath stopped. then it shuddered back as with a violent effort the dying man dragged himself back from death itself. a convulsion shook him. he cried weakly the single word: "_shadrach!_" then a blood-specked spume gushed from his lips and he lay still. "may the lord have mercy on his soul!" begged salvation smith. he pushed chip gently away, fumbled at the dead man's clothing, arranging it more neatly, then rose. "he is gone," he told the spellbound assembly. "he is gone, bearing with him to the world beyond the secret for which you jackals strove. thus be it, o lord god of hosts!" but one man did not accept this as final. that man was blaze amborg who, bolstered now by his hard-bitten group of outlaws, strode forward belligerently. "not so fast, psalm-singer! he and i were partners. anything he had belongs to _me_ now!" he bent over and with a jerk disarranged the clothing salvation had smoothed. "and by the comet, i'm going to have it--" his hands moved with deft assurance, then with tense, hardening suspicion. "it's gone!" he wheeled to face chip. "you stole it! you--" but the old missionary barred his rush with a steel forearm. "slowly, my friend! what is gone?" "the ball of ekalastron! it's worth a fortune, and it's mine! this snoopy young thief--" salvation turned to chip sternly. "well, young man--is this true? did you steal it? if so--" "i didn't. i swear i didn't!" "he was bending over jenkins," amborg raged, "when the lights went on. he's got it! let me at him!" "there has been sufficient violence!" snapped salvation smith. he turned to chip. "young man, i order you to let your accuser search you. if you are truly innocent, you will not demur. if you refuse--" he shifted his rifle from one horny palm to another significantly. "justice shall prevail!" "very well!" said chip. he submitted himself to amborg's triumphant search. his flesh ran cold at the feel of the man's icy fingers, and a dull resentment suffused him--but he got his reward in the look of bafflement that grew on amborg's face as it became clear that the missing sphere was not on his person. "are you satisfied now?" he demanded. amborg's normally pale face was whiter still with impotent fury; his eyes flamed with hatred. "it's not _on_ you," he admitted. "but i know you took it. you've hidden it somewhere. i'm not through with you yet, sailor! i'll have that metal or--" "there will be no 'or'!" proclaimed salvation smith stridently. "the lad has passed the test and proven himself guiltless; the case is closed. he will walk from this place unharmed--in my company! 'the true man shall suffer no hurt, neither shall the righteous fail.' come, my son!" and he lifted his gun. blaze amborg's lips thinned to a hard, white line. but he made no reckless move as the two men stalked silently from the room.... ii the martian night was clear and cold. its thin air was sweetly welcome to chip's nostrils. when they gained the street outside, salvation spoke to him suddenly. "where is your ship, my son?" "ship, sir?" queried warren. "but why--?" "don't waste time!" snapped the old man. "we're in grave danger. blaze amborg is a man of violence. in a few minutes he'll figure out what happened to the ekalastron and be out looking for us." chip stared at him. "the ekalastron? but what _did_ happen to it? it disappeared--" "into," grunted salvation, "my pocket! while i was arranging jenkins' clothing. 'he who taketh in the cause of righteousness hath done the will of the lord!' amborg is an evil, wilful man. he would have used the ekalastron for his own wicked purposes. in our hands, all mankind shall profit of its beneficence. but, come! where?" "c-churchill field," stammered chip. "dock , bin a. t-this way, padre." they moved at quickened stride through the darkened streets. as they neared the cradles wherein lay the vessels of a thousand diverse ports, salvation questioned chip still further. "what type of ship is it, lad?" "not a very new one, sir. a challenger -jet, four berth explorer. but in good shape. my friend and i managed to get it cheap, reconditioned it--" "then you have a companion?" "yes, padre. syd palmer. he's waiting aboard. we had planned to lift gravs tomorrow for a prospecting tour of the planetoids. i visited the cosmobar because i thought i might run into some old space-dodger who would give me a tip on a lode-rock--" "and you ran into," said the missionary, "something which may turn out to be the greatest discovery ever made by man. murder ... thievery ... wealth ... is this the ship?" they had stopped before one of the smaller cradles. chip pressed a signal button, a buzzer responded, there came from within the familiar wheeze of an air-lock generator. "this is it, sir. please step in. 'lo, syd. this is doctor--mister--" "call me 'salvation'," said the old man. "i'm used to it. palmer, i take it you're the chief engineer of this jaloppy?" syd palmer was short and chubby; his hair was a tow colored bristle that stood up like a cock's-comb when he was excited or annoyed. it stood up now, and his pale blue eyes danced with tiny, indignant sparks. "i'm the engineer of this _ship_!" "call it what you will," grunted salvation. "is it fast?" palmer grinned. "puh-lenty! i've hepped the hypos to super-max. the _chickadee_ can outrun anything its size in space, and a lot of bigger ones, besides!" "good! and have you got clearance papers?" "why, yes, but--" "excellent: 'verily, he taketh care of his own nor faileth them in time of need.'" salvation nodded to warren. "we'll lift gravs," he said, "immediately!" palmer stared at him, then at his companion. "what is this, chip? old boy off his jets?" "far from it," said chip seriously. "can't explain everything now, syd; time's too short. but you like a good, old-fashioned fight, don't you?" "fight? sa-a-ay, now--" "then warm the hypos," ordered chip, "while i plot a course. we're lifting gravs immediately--for titania." * * * * * during the long days that followed, there was time and to spare in which to clarify the situation to syd. when he heard of chip's adventure at the cosmobar, his pale eyes gleamed and fists less chubby than they appeared tightened at his sides. "wish i'd been there--" he muttered. salvation glared at him and snorted, "'verily they are fools who do not rejoice that they have escaped woe!'" and when chip showed him the ball of ekalastron-- "glory be!" exclaimed syd. "there's enough to dip a whole battle unit in that one ball! what are we going to titania for? why not fly this to earth immediately and let the council know--" "because amborg knows," replied chip grimly, "that this came from titania. he was nearby when jenkins said so in his dying breath. that was probably the secret amborg's thugs had been trying to probe from the miner all night. i have a hunch that amborg is out there somewhere right now!" he nodded toward the quartzite view-pane. outside lay space--the long, dreary reaches of space between mars and uranus. but it didn't look like space. not like space as navigators a short ten years ago had known it, an eternal pall of blackness spangled with the livid dots of a myriad stars. this was a blotched, striped, crazy-quilt of color. crimson, ochre, emerald--all the hues of the rainbow merged into a faery, magic loveliness. this was space as seen when man traveled at the terrific speed attainable only through the use of the recently developed v-i unit, velocity intensifier, invented by that mad genius of the spaceways, lancelot biggs of the lugger, _saturn_. five years ago, in the year , the fastest craft in the ether had had a top speed of approximately , miles per hour. now almost every ship was equipped with the v-i adapter that gave it a flight-potential limited only by the critical velocity of light. where once it would have required almost ten months to reach titania, second satellite of far uranus, the trio could now expect to gain their destination, traveling at a speed of more than , , mph., in something less than half that many _days_! "i have a hunch," repeated chip, "that amborg and his crew are somewhere out there right now, speeding, as we are, to titania. of course we can't tell. we're not equipped with a magno-tector, and we couldn't see them unless by sheer chance they should approach within our visibility parellax. "but when we get to titania and slow down, we must go on the alert. salvation has told me about amborg. he's a hard, brilliant man with a dangerously criminal mind. let him find jenkins' ore-deposit and the federation of planets would pay through the nose for his discovery. jenkins said there was a whole mine of ekalastron. with that at his disposal, amborg could make himself a robber baron. an emperor of the outlaw world." "which is why," salvation offered gravely, "we must get there before he does. lay claim to the deposit, somehow secure its safety against the arrival of i.p.s. troops. can we but find the mine, soldiers will come in jigtime from new oslo on uranus. but--" syd nodded. "i see. but we couldn't walk into the garrison and hand them a line about a "mine" of ekalastron. they'd shove us into the nearest looney-bin. and i wouldn't blame them a bit. if i didn't know chip warren like i know my own lovely pan--but suppose we meet amborg?" "'the lord,'" said salvation, "'is my strength and my salvation. in his hands do i place my guidance.'" his lean hands flexed powerfully. "we destroy them," he said gently, "like the rats they are...." thus four days sped by in plan and conjecture. and on the fifth day syd palmer cut the velocity-intensifiers to normal, and a scant thousand miles beneath them, so accurate had been chip's astrogation, gleamed the silvery mote which was titania, second child of the mother planet, uranus. "well done, my son!" approved salvation. "the best landcast i've ever seen!" palmer was less exuberant. he stared at titania, scratched his yellow crest morbidly. "a damn snowball!" he mourned. "a damned snowball, eight hundred miles in diameter! sweet crimes of beelzebub, chip, how do you ever expect to find a pinpoint of a mine on that huge hunk of ice? it will take us ages!" "we'll cruise at low elevation," said chip, "until we see something. there must be a dark spot showing against that sheen of white somewhere. jenkins spoke of caverns and natives and flame. we have plenty of supplies--_look out!_" he leaped even as he shouted. leaped to the panels and jammed the full strength of his six foot plus frame to a deflecting lever. the control room of the _chickadee_ whirled giddily as the little ship spun into a crazy spiral; palmer yelped, skidding helplessly across the floor. salvation let loose a roar and clung ardently to a stanchion, his silvery locks whipping straight out from his head with the force of the drive. chip threw himself into the bucket-shaped pilot's-chair, gained possession of the controls. an instant later, the _chickadee_ was tossing through the maddest gyrations chip could devise. fore, loft and jet, with hypos throbbing, the little craft was blasting, shaking, quivering like a leaf in a cyclone. and above the tumult of racing hypos came the sound of syd's voice: "what is it, chip? amborg?" chip nodded tightly, his hands gripping the control levers, his eyes glued to the perilens through which he saw the enemy craft. a larger ship, with a red fang darting from its prow, slashing viciously at the bobbing _chickadee_. "it's blaze amborg, all right! and he means business! he's got an ingermann ray-rotor on that crate of his; he's trying to burn us clean out of the ether!" * * * * * chip warren and syd palmer were the co-owners of the _chickadee_; it was chip whose alertness had saved them in that first, terrifying moment, chip it was who still held the controls. but it was salvation smith who usurped the mastership during the crisis. "hell's flaming damnation!" he cried, and there rang in his voice a rage above weak need of profanity. "lend now thy servant strength, o lord, to smite these sons of hurkan!" he whirled on palmer, snarling. "break out bulgers for us in case they should pierce the hull! chip, son, do the controls answer well? good! keep dodging. swing aft; the beam can't nip you there! you've armament aboard this heap?" syd, tugging three spacesuits from the store-closet, puffed over his shoulder, "only a low-cycle heat-gun. there! under that tarp. press the green stud to clear the nose from the hull-plates. it's retractable--" "you're telling me," bellowed salvation, "how to rig a cannon? i was teethed on a lanyard, praise be to jehovah!" he had the tarpaulin off in a jiffy, the fore-irons open, and shot an experimental burst from the small weapon. he smiled. "good! but you've got to get closer to him, chip; this thing is only effective at short range." chip said dubiously, "i don't know, padre. perhaps we should cut and run for it. if that beam hits us--" "are we mice," bellowed salvation, "or men? you've got to get closer! the lord is our right hand. 'surely the evil shall fail, yea, the way of the transgressor shall perish!'" he loosed another blast from the small gun, breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "aaah! that's better! closer!" "you're the skipper!" decided chip suddenly. a jab of the finger, the stern-jets crackled and the _chickadee_ cut suddenly to starboard, swinging straight toward the craft of blaze amborg. so unexpected was the move that it caught the enemy gunner napping. for an instant he had a clear target before him. but he had not been expecting such luck, and before he could center his sights on the _chickadee_, the smaller vessel was streaking down upon and over his own. and salvation smith's voice shouted triumph through the room. "'vengeance is mine, saith the lord!'" he intoned, "'i shall repay!'" his hand jerked the release-stud. and as though the metal skin of the enemy boat were tinfoil held above a flame, there appeared suddenly upon its hull a leprous spot of black, from the curling edges of which silvery alloy sloughed off in rolling, sluggish waves. from within the ship small motes poured forth, sucked out by the frigid vacuum of space to explode and die frightfully; sore, raw, pressured clots of matter that had been men. the other ship reeled for a moment like a stricken hart, then crumpled upon itself, a wildly spinning boomerang of death. "you got 'em!" squealed syd palmer from his vantage spot at the perilens. "got 'em all, padre! no--there goes a life-skiff from the wreck!" his voice rose in sharp fear. "_omigod!_ swing out, chip! swing--" but chip had seen the new danger as quickly as his comrade. here was peril beyond amborg's fondest devising. as the stricken ship, folding upon itself, spun aimlessly in space, its forejet wheeled like a flaming spiral--and from the prow still flamed the withering, crimson ray now untended by living hands! like a gigantic scythe it flailed the ether, swinging a huge curve directly toward the _chickadee_. vainly chip jammed the studs before him, striving to escape above, below or beyond that sword of doom. there came the ear-splitting crash of impact, metal screamed thin agony, rending itself to shreds somewhere aft; the _chickadee_ shuddered like a pole-felled steer under its mortal wound. instinct shot chip's hands to the lock-stud which sealed the control chamber airtight from the rest of the ship; that action alone spared them for a few minutes. but each of them knew the ship was doomed to crash. syd croaked, "here! the bulgers! get in them--_quick_!" split seconds later, they were three grotesque figures huddled before the control board, staring through quartzite globular headpanes at chip's last, frenzied efforts to break the fall of the _chickadee_. the studs beneath his fingers were unresponsive as the inarticulate phalanges of a broken limb. in vain and desperately he struggled to gain a modicum of control over the falling craft, now firmly gripped by titania's gravitational field. they had fallen into the high atmosphere of the little globe, now; thin winds howled and bansheed about their sharded hull, and the walls of the room began to heat. the aft jets were dead, the anti-gravs broken, helpless. there remained but one possible way in which to keep them from being crushed to bits. a prow landing, braked by the fore jets. it was dangerous, but-- "there!" cried syd. "look there, chip! below us!" chip risked a brief glance, saw that the smooth and icy surface of titania was broken by a long, ragged swatch of black. ironic laughter curled the corners of his tight-set lips. what a quirk of fate that here, with death but a hair's-breadth removed, they should unwittingly find that for which under happier circumstances they might have sought endlessly and in vain. the promised spot of habitation on the bleak little moon of uranus. "i'm fore-jetting!" he crisped. "stand by for--a fadeout!" salvation's hand was on his shoulder, reassuringly, somehow warm despite its casement of rubberoid fabric. "be of strong heart, my son," he said simply, "he who watcheth the fall of the smallest sparrow, he shall not fail his own in their hour of need." then chip pressed the necessary, the only remaining responsive keys. and the control room trembled like a hurt thing, seemed to stop stock-still in space, shake itself for a moment--then plunge on. forejets flamed blast upon roaring blast. chip felt the gravitational force seem to lessen as the flares beat stubbornly against the adamant breast of the globe below. drop ... stagger ... drop again ... the shocking concussion of brakes ... then a swift, dizzy, headlong fall.... wild winds howled, and the din of metals tortured beyond endurance slashed at chip's eardrums. he was aware of the last cry of syd palmer, his life-long friend. "luck, chip, old pal--!" and the remembered ghost of salvation's promise. "he shall not fail his own--" then a horrendous crash jarred his head back on the seat. a smashing veil of crimson settled before his eyes ... then there was darkness. and silence. * * * * * he felt some mad conceit that this was death ... that the restless fingers of the gray unalive plucked at his arm, bidding him rise and stir forward toward he knew not what. then suddenly he was awake, alive, and conscious--and it was not death, but life; fingers _did_ tug at him, but they were the figures of-- "_'ranies!_" cried chip. "hands off, you! or--" the green complexioned native growled some guttural comment, moved closer rather than away, and pinioned chip's arms to his sides. chip saw, now, that the _chickadee_, though battered and broken beyond hope of repair, had miraculously grounded without destroying them all. for syd was stirring, and salvation, too, but each of them was surrounded by green natives, as was chip. these creatures, the nearest approach to man's physiology that had ever been found in the system, were tall and rugged, masterfully built. they were equipped with native lariats or bolas; these they whipped cuttingly about their captives. chip strained lashed fingers toward the heat-pistol in his belt. but salvation, seeing his motion, stopped him. "no, lad! relax! don't make a hostile move!" chip growled, "no damned greenie is going to make a trussed duck out of me. if i can reach this gun--" "if you value your life," said salvation, "and your welfare, keep your hands quiet and your wits active! these creatures aren't uranians. they're titanians. an offspring of the parent race, but as savage and untamed as beasts. "i don't know what they plan to do with us. i have heard they are a strange, mystical race; their tribal rites and taboos are many and--dangerous! our only chance is to be quiet, try to reason with them, convince them we are not foes but friends--" all three were securely tied, now, save for their legs. the tallest titanian, evidently the group chieftain, grunted a word of command. strong arms prodded chip and his fellows forward, out of the broken _chickadee_, into the bleak landscape of titania. they had crashed in the dark spot chip had viewed from above. they discovered, now, that this spot was dark because--incredibly--here the thick, icy blanket had been stripped away to discover the raw and rocky core of the uranian moon. black rocks thrust jagged spires skyward, mountains of stone girdled this one clear space on the whole of titania; greater wonder still, gnarled and stunted trees, lichens of hardiest verdure, eked a precarious existence from the grudging soil. and here the natives had--a village. one coarser, cruder, than the village of the meanest of earth's savages, but a village nonetheless. slab dwellings dabbed with thick black clay, a central structure, larger than the rest, something that looked like a market--or community gathering-spot. chip's wonderment had made him impervious at first to such trivia as personal comfort and discomfort. he found now, though, that he was cold. by dint of much effort, he managed to squirm a hand to his belt-studs, operate the tiny needle that increased the warmth of his space-suit. almost immediately there came a howl from the green native maintaining a vigilant grip on chip's arm; the fellow leaped away, bellowing angry, guttural speech at his leader. and salvation spun to chip swiftly. "chip--turn down that heat, boy!" "b--but--" stammered chip. "quickly!" chip obeyed. it was well he did so, for the leader was moving toward him menacingly. with a cautious finger he touched chip's suit. then, apparently mollified to discover it satisfactorily cold, he snarled a word or two and the little party moved on. chip stared at the old missionary. "but, why?" he demanded. "what did i do wrong? i don't get it. i was freezing, and--" "then you've got to freeze," said salvation smith, "and like it. until we can escape from these creatures. do you have any idea how cold it is here on titania, my boy?" chip said, "why, plenty cold, i suppose--" "about minus ° fahrenheit!" said smith. "that's all. uranians and titanians may _look_ like earthmen, lad, but they're built entirely different. they are not children of the sun, as we are. their bodies are so constituted as to be able to stand extremes of frigidity that would quick-freeze us like salmon. sluggish basal metabolism, dermal, rather than pneumonic respiration--these enable them to endure what to us appear the impossible living conditions of a world on which mercury and gallium are adamant solids, liquid hydrogen forms seas, and the snow is carbon dioxide. "when you turned on the heating unit of your bulger you subjected that native's hand to what was to him a burning, unendurable heat!" chip nodded. "i see. that makes sense. but--but there must be some warmth around here? a cleared patch--" "i haven't yet decided whether this patch was cleared by heat or labor," said salvation. "if we can make them believe we are friends, i may learn. i can sling their talk a little. it's not unlike the uranian language. but--" he stopped, and his voice rose to a shout. "behold! thou hast delivered mine enemy into mine hands, o lord; thou hast brought the wicked even unto judgment!" and chip, following his gaze, saw a second party of titanians approaching the central gathering place from the opposite direction. these natives held captive, even as he and salvation and syd were held, an ill-assorted foursome in spacemen's bulgers. a giant venusian, a greenie, a dwarfed jovian and an earthman! "amborg!" yelled chip. "blaze amborg and his crew! they got away on that life-skiff, but they were caught when they landed! padre--" it had not occurred to him that the arms of amborg and his men would not be, like their own, lashed securely. thus it came as a heart-stopping shock to hear amborg's cry ring in their ears, a sharp cry of command--then suddenly there flamed from the sidearms of the other captive group the withering blasts of heat-guns! iii chip warren had bitterly resented the close guard with which the titanians had surrounded him and his comrades; he had reason, now, to be grateful for that very protection. otherwise his dreams of space adventure would have ended suddenly and terribly in that moment. as it was, the foremost wall of titanians took the brunt of amborg's vicious attack. they screamed as pencils of crimson scorched the life from their unprotected bodies, screamed and died horribly, falling in blackened piles that whimpered futilely for an instant and were still. chip had never known a moment of such dreadful impotence as this. arms lashed to his sides, his own weapon as securely removed from his grasp as if it no longer existed, there was nothing he could do but attempt to evade the flame of the lethal guns. with a choking cry to his mates, he threw himself forward; his knees struck rocky ground, grit slashed his unprotected headpane as he fell, and for an instant he feared the impact might shatter the quartzite, exposing him to the deadly, ammoniac atmosphere of uranus' second moon. then he was entrenched behind the still-smouldering bodies of the slain titanians, watching the speed of their fellows' reprisal. and it was speedy. salvation had spoke truly when he said these creatures were savage and untamed as beasts. reckless of their own lives, green-casted features snarling, they swooped down on the treacherous quartet. in the split of a second they had seized them, bound them, removed their weapons. but chip and his companions suffered the same fate as their adversaries. the titanians stripped them of their sidearms, as they had taken those of amborg's men. ungentle hands herded them into one of the nearby hovels, and there, as two guards held the single doorway, they were deserted. salvation groaned his rage and discomfiture. "a judgment on that beast in man's flesh!" he proclaimed. "he has destroyed us all! had i been given an opportunity to talk with their chief, quietly, peaceably, this matter might have been settled with no harm done to anyone. but as it is--" he shook his head. syd said, "what do you think they'll do next?" "whatever it is," said chip tightly, "i've got an idea it isn't going to be pleasant. they're gathering; hear their footsteps and voices? and there's something like the beat of a tom-tom--" he stared at salvation speculatively. "padre--torture?" salvation stroked his long, lean jaw. "i hope not, my son. but--i don't know. they are savages, and i have heard they place much faith in rites and ceremonies. but we will learn soon. meanwhile, keep faith with him who watches us all." they learned sooner than they dared expect. whatever else might lay in store for them, they were at least spared the agony of waiting. the titanian preparations took but little time. within scant hours after their incarceration, the three earthmen were once again dragged from their prison to meet their judgment and their fate. * * * * * that some form of ritual was in progress was immediately apparent. from hillside, rock, cranny and hovel had come the titanians; there were more of them than chip would have believed could subsist in this hostile environment. a solid phalanx of them walled the avenue up which they were led. as they walked, the titanians chanted a slow and ominous threnody. there was a dirgelike quality to the chant; despite the surface courage with which chip bolstered himself he felt the chill of nervous apprehension upon him. palmer must have felt the same way. he edged closer to chip, spoke from the corner of his mouth in a tone that belied the forced gaiety of his words. "swell end to our trip, pal. _piece de resistance_ for a gang of green choristers!" salvation overheard him. "we have not yet come to the end of our journey," he said. "the line stretches up the side of yonder hill. to those caves." he lifted his voice sonorously, drawing curious stares from the green-skinned titanian guards. "i shall lift up mine eyes unto the hills," he cried, "whence cometh my strength and my salvation--" "caves!" sudden memory flashed back upon chip warren. "jenkins said something about caves, padre, remember? caves and flame--" "there's amborg," interrupted syd. his plump face was tightly pale behind his globular mask. "i don't care so much about checking out," he said, "but i wish i could get my hands on that rat just for a minute before--" his words dwindled into silence. it was, chip believed, an impressed silence. for they had reached the foot of the hill, now, and were climbing between two chanting rows of natives toward a huge, ornate, altarlike structure placed before the largest of the cave-mouths. the dirge rose and soared, filling their ears with numbing fear; they moved upward inexorably, monotonously, almost mechanically. and finally they stood before the high altar. chip saw, then, what he would never have credited if it had been told him by another; what he could not have believed had he not seen it with his own eyes. he saw into the cave-mouth--and what he viewed there was so incredible that it brought a gasp unbidden to his lips. this cave, deepset in the mouths of icy titania--this cave, which by all laws of nature, of logic and reason, should be a dank, forbidding gateway to frightful cold--was bright-gleaming with orange, crimson, ochre tongues of flame! within it, high-rising to the very lofted vaults, roared a staggering, tremendous holocaust of fire! and beyond the altar was a precipice overlooking a sunken vale. this vale, like the interior of the cave, was shimmering like the plains of abaddon with coruscating fingers, sheets, spires of red. he was aware that he had gasped, for he detected a similar gasp from syd, and he heard salvation smith say a single, incredulous word. "sheol!" then the chieftain, or high priest--chip did not know which--spoke from the altar. shortly he spoke, but with strident emphasis, jabbing his fingers at the two groups of captives in turn. "what is he saying?" demanded chip. salvation interpreted hastily. "we have violated their land. we have been brought to the place of destruction to meet judgment for our crime. the test of fire will prove our guilt--" then he raised his voice, spoke to the titanian ruler. the outland ruler heard him through, then answered. salvation turned to chip and syd. "i told him," he explained, "that we were friends, come in amity. that we intended them no harm or offense--" "and what did he say?" "he said," relayed salvation grudgingly, "that they were forced to distrust us because our 'companions' were men of sin and violence--" "companions!" interjected syd angrily. "--and he said, also, that he realized we might be gods. he says there are two types of white creatures, those who are mortals and evil, and those who are masters of fire. we must be tested to see which we are." "two types?" cried chip. "masters of fire? padre, what does he mean?" salvation shrugged helplessly. "i don't know. but wait--he is talking again." * * * * * this time the green chieftain's speech was longer, more dramatic. he postured, gestured; once he strode to the edge of his raised platform and pointed majestically down into the chasm below. then, concluding his words with a tone of finality, he folded his arms across his chest. chip noticed that a few rods away amborg's uranian companion was interpreting his decision to blaze. salvation performed the same function. "he says," explained salvation, "we must walk into this cave of fearful flame. it leads through burning corridors to the valley below. in that valley is the life-skiff which brought amborg and his men here. "if we are good men, gods, and guiltless, the flame will not destroy us. there was one not long ago who walked unscathed through the fires, he says. that man was surely a god." "jenkins!" broke in chip. "it must have been--" salvation nodded. "that is what i thought, too, my son. but--but how? how could jenkins survive the flames?" and he stared sombrely, questioningly, at the sheet of ruddy fire filling the cave from base to arch. he shook himself. "well--that is a problem we must solve, and soon. for the ceremony has begun. _amborg!_" he cried. the dark man turned. chip saw that his face was set in granite lines. nearest to the cavern mouth, his men were being prodded toward the awful test they must endure. even in this critical moment, salvation was the man of god. "amborg," he said, "you have been ever an evil man, living and thinking the thoughts of satan. but there is yet time for you to repent and confess your sins. as a fellow man, i loathe and despise you. but as his emissary, i offer you even in this hour of trial the peace that surpasseth all human understanding--" amborg laughed at him. his voice crackled harshly, metallically, in the audio-phones of chip's space-helmet. "save that stuff for the suckers, old man. you and your pals are just worried because we get first chance to go down into the valley. well--you'd better worry! there's a rotor-gun mounted in that life-skiff. if we hadn't all been jarred cold when we landed, we'd have given these greenies a sweet greeting. we're going to lift the ship out of that ditch and bring it back over here. save your prayers; you'll need them when we come over!" salvation reminded him stonily, "the flames--" "flames be damned! superstitious poppycock! spacesuits will protect us from heat or cold alike. well--come on!" he gestured his mates to him. the wailing chant of the titanian natives increased in tone and volume as the four outlaws left their guards and boldly strode the last few rods up the hill, past the dais--and into the roaring hell-mouth of the cave! and as they entered, chip warren knew a swift sinking of heart. his apprehensions had been unfounded, amborg's claim that the lethal power of the flame was "superstitious poppycock" was true. the spacesuits _were_ adequate protection, and in short moments, amborg would be soaring back across the plateau, the jets of his rotor-gun spewing death and destruction upon them all.... then, "my god!" gasped syd palmer, his voice awed. chip looked, and shuddered to see, the last judgment of blaze amborg and his men. a scant dozen yards they strode into the cavern. vast spirals of fire played about them, but they did not falter. their suits, ingeniously woven of metal, rubber, asbesto-quartz, defied the combustive powers of fire. but despite this--one of the figures staggered. the stunted jovian was first to succumb. he had just pitched forward to his face when the second figure reeled. raat 'aran, the uranian. he reeled and clutched at the tall venusian, torth--but the venusian, too, had dropped to his knees; his hands clawed frenziedly at his breast. then the mysterious death struck amborg. his voice rang out in a piercing scream; chip saw him stare wildly at the three now-motionless bodies of his comrades, whirl, race back toward the safety of the hillside. but he never reached it. he had taken no more than a dozen strides when he fell. a moment his incoherent cries babbled sickening delirium into his watchers' ear-phones.... then all was still, save for the inexorable chanting of the natives. and the grave, judicial voice of the titanian on the altar. "they have been tested in the flame," interpreted salvation smith soberly, "and found guilty. now it is our turn...." * * * * * chip warren was not a religious man. he lived by a simple code: do good and keep your sidearms primed. but now there faced him the inevitable finality of death; he felt an urge to meet that last, great mystery in comfort. he turned to his friends gravely. "now," he said, "it is our turn. so i guess this is goodbye, syd. and padre--it might help if you could say a few words for us ... just something...." "so be it, my son!" said salvation, understandingly. he lifted his head; his fine old eyes sought the murky gray skies of titania, so different from the sweet blue earthly skies for which all space-farers' hearts yearned when their journey's end was reached. "if this be the way," he said quietly, "thy servants must depart, then so be it, o lord. yet even now in extremis we do not forget thee and thy might. we remember even yet--" he looked at the flaming cave-mouth toward which they must in a moment walk. "even yet we remember a fellowship like ours who met and defied the dread embrace of fire. "'and in those days,'" he said, "'there were three children of israel which the king nebuchadnezzar ordered to be cast without raiment into the fiery furnace. and their names were shadrach, meshach and abednego--'" "_shadrach!_" cried chip. there was no intentional irreverence in his interruption. understanding had burst upon him so suddenly that the words hurtled from his lips. "peace, my son!" counseled the old man. "let not your heart be troubled--" "it's not! we're all right, padre! if my hunch is right--and it must be! look, they are bidding us walk into the caves. we haven't a moment to spare. hurry, _get off your spacesuits_!" there was biting cold upon chip warren's limbs and body as he cast the limp shell of his bulger behind him. but as he neared the cavern's mouth, the cold grew less intense. less intense! that in itself was final, convincing proof he had been right! he was barely two yards from the writhing gouts of flame now. were that the true fire it _appeared_ to be, its searing blasts would already be parching his skin to black flakes-- but it was not! it was merely--pleasantly warm! "i was right!" he cried exultantly. "syd ... padre! come on in!" his voice was almost hysterical with relief as he stepped gingerly over the prostrate bodies of those who had gone into the fiery furnace garbed in suits of metallic substance. "come on in--the fire's fine!" and together the three new children of israel walked unharmed into the fiery furnace of titania.... * * * * * the corridors led, as the titanian chieftain said, downward, winding, through the hill to the vale below, where rested amborg's navigable life-skiff. the small cruiser in which they were to fly to neighboring uranus, there find aid and eager ears into which to pour their story. and it did not surprise chip warren in the least to discover, about halfway down the flickering tunnel, a ledge of brightly gleaming ore that was resilient to the touch but broke the keen edge of the knife with which chip attempted to scratch it. "ekalastron!" he cried. "see--a whole mountain of it! not just a mine; a mountain! enough to fill man's needs for centuries!" syd's eyes, behind the quartzite globe, were big as saucers. he gulped, "c-chip--are you sure we're alive? do you think maybe we died back there in the first cave, maybe? and this is all some wild illusion--?" "it is not illusion," proclaimed salvation serenely. "i understand, now, what chip divined in time to save us from a dreadful fate." and he looked at the young man affectionately. "radiation was what killed the others, my boy?" chip nodded. "must have been, padre. the 'flames' were not true flames at all. not as we earthlings, children of a warm sun, masters of combustive fire, understand flame. "different elements have different combustive temperatures. on bitter-cold uranus and titania, the kindling point of certain rare gases is necessarily in ratio to the outer cold. the kindling point of the gases in this tunnel is a temperature which--though fiery-hot and deadly to the titanians--is only pleasantly _warm_ to us!" "so amborg," continued syd, "walked into the flaming tunnel wearing a space-suit--" "a _metallic_ space-suit," reminded chip, "which was a transmitter for certain lethal radiations inherent to this 'cold heat.' blaze amborg did not die of flame. he died of--electrocution." then a strange thought struck him and he turned suddenly to salvation smith. "padre--?" "yes, my son?" "the story you started to tell. the one that gave me my inspiration. about shadrach. i wonder if some time long ago in the past, that legend may not have sprung from an adventure such as ours?" salvation smiled and shook his head. "that is not mine to say, my boy, not yet thine to question. perhaps some day the truth shall be known to you and me. but meanwhile--" but meanwhile, the life-skiff was theirs for the taking. this was no question to long plague chip warren or any other space-adventurer, before whom stretched a whole, wide universe of wonder. south to propontis by henry andrew ackermann to the south lay propontis, capital of mars. but between it and the homesick earth-youth stretched a burning desert--lair of the deadly _avis gladiator_! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] it wasn't the grim thought that he would be dead in a few moments that filled the mind of don moffat so much as the bitter realization that a sixteen-year-old suspicion had been confirmed too late. across the small room a mad light burned in the blood-shot eyes of his uncle. in spite of the raw liquor he had drunk, the grimy paw that held the old electronic gun was steady. beyond the battered hut's open door heat-blasted desert pulsated as a tiny sun beat savagely down on the arid, sterile wastes from the inferno's distant rim. it was that southern rim, a mere uneven thread of rust, to which don had raised his eyes so many times that day, his heart light with the thought that he was going to propontis. and from propontis to a greener world beyond--a world he had dreamed of one day seeing; a world where water wasn't priceless. earth! just entering his twenties, he had spent his life on the martian wastelands, a motherless kid who had trailed a diamond-mad father over the wilderness of sand and rock. don had been seven when they struck the suzie lode. there were plenty of the rough stones, and his father sent for the boy's uncle and his own brother. together they were to mine and share alike. shortly after his uncle had arrived don found his father with a charred hole in his heart, bleaching on the sand. uncle fred had cursed at him when he wept. later, though, the man explained that it must have been one of the native martians. don believed him then, but as he grew and came to know his uncle, he began to doubt. that morning uncle fred had abruptly announced that they were through, that the last gem had been mined from the suzie lode. but there were many diamonds in the plastic boxes, enough to satisfy any man. they would pack their iguana, gecko, and make ready for the long trek. so don had stowed the saddle-bags and water-tanks. gecko was ready and waiting outside. don's last act was to gather his own scanty belongings. he was in the hut alone when uncle fred came in. don raised his eyes to find himself staring into the belled muzzle of the electronic gun. "desert brat," said uncle fred thickly. "i'll blow you so wide open that there won't be a square meal left for a _wirler_!" and now don knew that he was to die by the same hand that had killed his father. and fred was through with him. the boy had helped to mine the gems, but his uncle had never intended that he should live to share them. that was why uncle fred had been drinking all day--to bolster up his courage to do deliberate murder. he raised the gun an inch. don saw his finger tighten on the trigger. he closed his eyes, knowing that it would be all over in a moment. the paper-thin walls of the hut vibrated with the thunderous crash of an electronic pistol. donald's jaw went slack. for a paralyzing second he could only gape at his uncle. the man had uttered a choking cry, his fingers loosening the gun. then he pitched to the floor in a limp heap. in the open doorway stood a bullet-headed, brown-eyed man, holding a still-glowing electronic pistol. over his shoulder peered a bearded, thick-lipped companion. * * * * * bullet-head shifted his gaze to the boy. "glad we showed up?" he asked, grinning. "sure am. thanks," said don, eying the two men closely. they weren't settlers nor native-born sons of settlers. for the strangers walked with difficulty. they had yet to learn the gliding stride that was second nature to don. and their complexions had never been won on mars. "you must be don," said bullet-head. "right," said don shortly. "what's your tag?" "call me pete. i heard about you from your uncle last time he was in strada." strada was the diamond center of mars, don knew. his uncle had been there a month ago with some specimens. there were only three kinds of people in strada, the boy thought; business men, police and thieves. hastily he ruled out the first two. his uncle must have told too much about his pay-load. these men had decided to cash in before it had reached a civilized city. pete's brown eyes wrinkled. "right, son," he said amiably. "we're here for the diamonds. consider yourself lucky to be alive. now just keep your mouth shut and pack that lizard of yours. we're going to propontis." don didn't ask any more questions. while he was filling the water tanks from their stores he thought with desperate clarity and speed. they were city men--earthmen, and could have hoofed it all the way. he knew how an iguana could go sullen and completely intractable if it were mishandled; that, he guessed, was what had happened to the outlaw's pack-lizards. from the thin crust of sand on their boots the boy guessed that they hadn't had to walk more than a few miles. don turned, and caught a glance that the two outlaws exchanged. in that look the boy read an answer to any other question in his mind. don knew then that he had escaped death at his uncle's hands only to face it eventually from these two. pete eyed him quizzically. "let's get going," said the outlaw. "we'll put some distance between us and this shack before we camp for the night." the boy gave gecko a friendly whack on the tail. the lizard cocked a lazy eye and ambled off, the rest following. behind him don could hear the two men talking in low undertones. only one snatch of conversstion was clear. "dumb martian!" pete had grunted, and his friend had snickered agreement. the boy smiled to himself. yes, he thought, he was a dumb martian. what chance had he had to learn in a land where everything withered under the scorching sun, and where only ugly venomous creatures survived? true, he had read his father's old books, but he had only half understood them. they were mostly treatises on practical mining and engineering, the rest unreal blood-and-thunder tales of life in the space lanes. two hours later pete called a halt. he never took his eyes off don as preparations were made for the night camp. his companion cooked a meal out of tins; the outlaws ate most of it and flung the scraps to the boy. "brought plenty of water?" asked pete, tilting a canteen. don nodded. "that's good. because if we run short you'll be the first to do without. when's the soonest we can expect to get to propontis?" "four days," said don shortly. pete raised his brows. "that long?" he asked. "we'd better bunk for the night." he pulled out his sleeping bag and dropped it on the bare sand. don smiled grimly. that was no way to live on the desert, he knew. the boy burrowed down until he struck the red layer of sand that retained the day's heat. there he spread his sleeping-bag and crawled carefully in after taking off his heavy sand-shoes. with his free arms he banked the red sand over his legs before unfolding the top flap. "kid!" called out pete. "yes?" said don, stopping short in his preparations. "i thought i'd tell you--i have my blaster under my pillow. and i'm a light sleeper. get that?" "yes," said don coolly. he went on with his bedding. the boy had no intention at all of running away. the desert was his friend, but the most implacable enemy that these city men could hope to find. * * * * * whether or not pete slept lightly don didn't know. he awoke snug and warm when dawn was striping the wastelands with rosy hues. as he looked into the horizon he knew that the day would be a blistering one. the outlaws awoke stiff and lame, barely able to crawl out of their sleeping-bags and not even knowing that they had made the mistake of sleeping on the hard-packing top layer of sand. by the time they had started and eaten a meager breakfast the outlaws had swilled down a full quart of water apiece. don wisely contented himself with the moisture to be found in the green food he had packed. as the full glare of the sun began to strike the scorching sands the two earthmen began to lag. don slowed his gait for them. they called for water often; so often that at last he was forced to remind them that they were drinking too much. pete glared at him out of his red-rimmed eyes, false geniality gone. "brat!" he snarled. "you'd like to see us die of thirst, wouldn't you?" don didn't answer, and silently gave them water whenever they called for it. by noon both men were suffering from the choking heat. in the early afternoon pete called a halt, coughing dryly. "we're stopping here," he said hoarsely, raising a limp arm at an outcropping of rock that shelved over a stretch of sand, casting a jet-black shadow. the boy did not speak, but he knew that these rock formations were little less than refractory furnaces, concentrating in one innocuous spot the terrible radiations of the desert sun. pete coughed again, his smooth skin paling. suddenly a sort of sympathy came over the boy. "look," he said, tossing a bit of vegetation under the rock. it crisped and blackened. the outlaws stared, first at the cinder and then at don. pete's face twitched with strain as he spoke: "smart kid? maybe you're too smart for us!" his hand fell to his belt, where he wore his bell-mouthed electronic pistol. the other of the two laid a hand on his arm. "cut that out," he said slowly. then, turning to don, "thanks, kid." stolidly he spread out his sleeping-bag and squatted down on it to await the night. pete sprawled face-down, breathing heavily till the darkness fell. then don, who had bedded down gecko the iguana, and the other slid him into the sleeping-bag. before he put up the flap of his own bag don turned to the silent outlaw and said: "half a tank of water left. ought to hold out if we're easy on it. there's a water-hole ahead--there was once, i mean. maybe it isn't dried up. but it's the wrong season." "right," said the outlaw. nothing more was said that night. in the morning, after packing, don measured out the remaining water into three canteens. he gave one to each of the outlaws and put his own on gecko's back. the heat was worse than the day before. by noon gecko was voluntarily picking up speed, the spines on his horny back moving first one way and then the other. don knew the signs. the lizard sensed water ahead. "we can't be sure," don shortly told the earthmen. "it might not be drinking water--for us." thirty minutes later they came upon it, a small patch of rust-red mud and slime. one of the outlaws groaned. "dried up," whispered pete dully. don said nothing. there was some coarse growth that the pack-lizard began to eat. the boy was glad of that. he had begun to worry about gecko, but now the iguana would be good for a longer trek than the one before them. pete was on his knees, clawing at the mud. the other watched him for a moment, then looked at don inquiringly, who shook his head. "he'll only poison himself," said the boy. the outlaw took his companion by the collar, hoisted him to his feet. "take this," he said slowly, offering his canteen. "that mud's deadly." pete took the canteen and tilted it, swallowing convulsively. his companion pulled away the precious container. "that's enough," he said. "it has to last." a wild curse ripped from pete's lips. he snatched back the canteen and drew his gun. in a voice that was hard to recognize as human, he rasped: "stand back--you an' the brat!" his finger whitened on the trigger of the blaster. and then there sounded about them a curiously soft, derisive hooting, seemingly from every point of the horizon. pete stared wildly about him. there had risen from the sand, it seemed, ghostly shapes--tall, spindly creatures holding recognizable blowguns against their lips. the outlaw's gun lowered, and he looked at don. "native martians," said the boy. "don't shoot--they know how to use those blowguns. they might not harm us." there was no time to say more, for the weird creatures had noiselessly advanced on them, holding spread before them what seemed to be heavy draperies. don hadn't even to wonder before one of the things was clapped over his head. he felt himself being picked up and carried. * * * * * part of the time consumed by the enforced journey he dozed fitfully, but while he was awake he thought with strange clarity and precision, dreaming of the other greener world he had hoped to see. the boy was almost stifled under the heavy folds of the blanket when, after hours of travel, the martians removed it. free of the torment, he drew a deep breath, blinking his eyes as he looked about him. the first thing he saw were the two earthmen peering dazedly about them, their eyes not yet accustomed to the sudden change of light. and when don looked beyond the outlaws he gasped in stunned astonishment. fronting them were the ruins of an old city! that, he thought, must have been why they had been covered with the blankets. the martians wanted to keep the location of the place a secret. it seemed to the wondering boy that giants had played here a while. he saw great statues, perhaps of forgotten gods, misshapen things with cruel faces, tumbled over on one side. he saw vast paving-stones, hewn from solid rock, thrust up from their bed of sand, standing at all angles, cracked and split. he saw great buildings, strong as fortresses, fallen into ruins. in one place that must have been a public square a tide of sand broke in still waves about the base of a truncated pyramid. "where are we?" choked pete, the first of the three to recover from the shock. he stared about blankly. "it's like a city of the dead," he whispered hoarsely. "you're right," don told him. "it is a city of the dead. an ancient, long deserted city of the martians, the ancestors of the degenerates who hold us captive. this band uses it as their base from which they launch raiding parties." don had no time to say more. the martians goaded their captives ahead of them down streets that had once echoed to the tread of a thousand feet. the humans picking through squares where multitudes had shouted saw no other living thing but a shimmering green lizard that basked on a fallen god. there was no sound but that of the ever-creeping sands. the old people were gone leaving only ghosts, and the hand of time in its unhurried way had long since set about the task of wiping out all trace of their existence. the party turned suddenly around the jutting corner of an immense white stone edifice. then don saw something that took his breath away. before him was a great towering structure, a temple judging by the cryptic signs that adorned its face. before the temple was a sunken triangular amphitheater of shining yellow stuff. a glance told don that the great pit was made of shining bars and heavy slabs of hand-hammered and hand-polished metal. don wondered why the outlaws were eying the sunken pit so intently. since he had been raised on mars, don had never heard of gold. but it was the birds perched on the top ledge of the amphitheater that caught donald's attention as he neared the temple. there were hundreds of them--_wirlers_ with plump bodies and pinkish eyes, iridescent _zloth_ poking busily with their long, sharp beaks, spotted _cotasi_ standing in somber dignity, and everywhere huge black _sominas_. don paused. these birds made him cold in his stomach. "what are those?" asked pete, his smooth face uneasy. "birds native to mars," said the boy. "but i've never seen them in such numbers." the martians and their prisoners halted before a small, square stone building. pete was singled out by one of the gangling creatures, and yanked inside the little structure. the other outlaw was forced in after him. don watched with a strange feeling of detachment as the two vanished into the building. it was the heat, the withering heat, that caused that. it sapped all the strength from one's body and left him feeling slow and dim-witted. as he stood there he noticed belatedly something he had been looking at all the while but had not really noticed. it was a small clump of stunted trees, growing a few paces back from the edge of the amphitheater. their crooked branches were overladen with the globes of some bright red fruit. a sudden impulse came on him. he could just touch one of the limbs. a moment later one of the red fruit was in his pocket. he forgot about the thing as soon as he saw pete and his guards emerge from the building. "what happened?" the boy asked. the outlaw coughed dryly. "they showed me some kind of machine--motor--something. i don't know what they wanted." he grinned feebly. a moment later the man backed away in alarm as one of their captors approached him. deliberately the martians flung the contents of a clay gourd into the outlaw's face. the martian laughed, a hollow, croaking boom that sounded like sacrilege in that city of the dead. he gave some order in his gobbling tongue, and two martians unceremoniously shoved the weakly struggling earthman into the deep pit of the amphitheater. the martians looked on stolidly as the outlaw raved and cursed, berating them. then, suddenly, the air above the pit seemed to blast wide open. a shrieking, unhuman sound beat at the ears of the boy; he jerked his arms up to shield his face. for the hundreds of birds clustered grimly about the city were in flight--necks outstretched, eyes glittering, feathered bullets. pete screamed faintly and fell to the ground shielding himself. then he was overwhelmed by the dark, whirring mass. * * * * * the birds had gone berserk. they drove straight for the man's face, hundreds of them. his flailing arms smashed against their soft bodies, batting them out of the air, crushing them to the ground, but hundreds more took their places, pecking at him with frenzied beaks, uttering harsh, discordant cries. it had all happened so quickly that it caught don off guard. it was incredible--birds attacking a human being! he jerked forward. immediately martians rushed to the aid of his guards. his young muscles strained to break their grip, but in their hands he was powerless. agonized, he watched pete die, a swaying, staggering figure seen dimly through a heaving whir of wings and stabbing beaks. finally it was over and the birds, flying heavily, reeled through the air to their old posts, leaving behind them a hundred dead and dying of their kind, the result of the outlaw's frantic blows. the boy turned his eyes away from the gory mess on the floor of the amphitheater. in spite of his horror his mind was working with desperate clarity. birds do not attack human beings. it was against nature. what had maddened them to their deed? his eyes widened as he saw the second of the outlaws dragged from the little building, his face dripping with the fluid. and then a forgotten memory linked itself with what he saw. the liquid that had been poured on the earthmen was _xtholla_--martian language for "bird-lure." it could be distilled from certain wasteland plants which the birds ate as a natural tonic and medicine. but the concentrate of these plants had no mild effect of stimulation. birds went mad when they smelled its faint pungent odor. it had a tropic effect on their ganglia; they _had_ to go to it, gobble it down and wallow in the stuff. they pecked savagely at anything that had on it the slightest trace of the distillate. "the pit!" called the boy frantically. "don't let them--" but one of his guards struck his mouth and he fell silent, knowing that there was nothing more he could do to avert the fate that was before the outlaw. the man was wholly paralyzed with fear. the martians laughed as they hurled him into the pit. again the birds swooped, converging on the terror-stricken man from all points of the compass. they flung their soft bodies against him at murderous speed, sharp beaks stabbing till he bled from a myriad wounds. when don looked up again the birds were reeling back through the air. the boy could not bring himself to look at the thing in the arena. a sudden chill gripped him as his guards grimly took his arms. they were leading him to the little building from which had come the earthmen, he thought swiftly, and he was to undergo a life-or-death test. he held himself tense as they passed through the ancient doors of the structure. the walls, he saw, were studded with tubes that had not lit for untold millennia; machinery of bizarre design covered the floor. the boy jumped as a martian touched his arm. the gangling travesty on humanity pointed grimly at a device that alone of the machinery seemed to have been dusted off and wiped with oil. it was a small motor. the motionless belts and brushes seemed oddly familiar to the boy. then he had it! he had seen pictures of just such motors in one of the old books of his father. but what did the martians expect him to do? obviously the natives wanted him to start their machine but how could he? he had none of the sources from which electricity was derived--no steam, no water-power, as they called it on his father's planet. as don glanced at the open door and saw the crowd of demoniac faces framed in its portals, he knew what fate awaited him if he failed. the same ruthless sentence that had been executed on the outlaw earthmen would fall on him. the eyes of his guard became dull and deadly as he saw don did nothing to the motor. then the idea came. feverishly the boy went to work, racking his brains for all the details in that old book, "electricity for the practical miner." he remembered the title clearly, and ground his knuckles into his eyes to bring before them the simple diagrams that he once had learned. hesitantly he salvaged from a pile of scrap in one corner of the room two metal plates and lengths of wire. one, he fervently prayed, was copper and the other zinc. but he could not be sure. the boy clumsily connected the two terminal wires of the motor, one to each of the plates. then he did what seemed a foolish thing. he took the globe of red fruit from his pocket and sliced it neatly into thin layers. don laid the dripping slices atop the copper plate, and then, his heart cold as ice, laid the zinc plate atop the fruit. the martians watched coldly, grunting to themselves. their eyes were on the world-old motor. slowly, incredibly, the thing turned over. the straps sped over the drums; the brushes fizzed and emitted inch-long blue sparks. and from overhead came a sudden, terrifying wail like nothing that had been heard on mars for countless ages. it was not the cry of an animal nor of a man--that was all the boy knew as he backed against a wall of the building. the noise rose sickeningly in a demoniacal shriek. the martians seemed paralyzed by the awful sound. then, with choking cries, they broke ground and ran, their eyes popping and the shout, "_kursah-ekh!_" bursting from their lips. don knew little of the language, but he did know that their cry was "demons!" the natives fled with the speed of wild things, and the boy found himself alone. no, not quite alone, for into the door of the little building poked the familiar old head of gecko, don's pack-lizard. he nearly embraced the ugly creature. it would have been hell to go without water for another minute. from the canteen on the iguana's back don took a long, refreshing swig. then he turned again to the motor. it was still turning over, but more slowly. he was about to separate the plates when it stopped of its own accord and the fiendish wail from above died away. the boy nimbly scaled the web-work construction and pried about the tangle of machinery until he found the obvious answer. it had been a blower operated by the motor, to which had been attached a simple siren. burglar-alarm, perhaps, or danger signal, he thought. at any rate it had saved him. he laughed as he descended slowly. the old book had been right. fruit acid between zinc and copper made the simplest sort of generating battery cell. what knowledge he had possessed he had used to the full. he drank again from the canteen. and a few moments later with gecko at his side, he left the city of the dead behind, don was going to a greener world. gods of space by ray cummings planetoid- was a world of horror. a star of death, ruled by a weird and beautiful earthian goddess. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the weird purple glow of the planetoid was apparent now, even to the naked eye. the end of roy atwood's long, lonely journey was at hand. in the narrow control-turret of his small spaceship he sat gazing. planetoid- , in the belt out here, far beyond mars, was a great leaden disc now occupying nearly a quarter of the firmament. and the purple glow of the _xarite_ was puzzling. on earth, young atwood's father had located the treasured substance with a giant electro-spectroscope; seen it after patient search as a tiny tracery, a faint band upon the prismatic 'graph of the light from this distant world. and now atwood was here, seeking it. long since he had discarded his spectroscope, here in the spaceship turret. it had been his compass, the identification of planetoid- , enabling him to chart his course. it was unnecessary now. he stared, puzzled. surely there must be an immense amount of the electroidally active _xarite_--the name his father had given it--here on this little world. and all concentrated almost in one spot, apparently. the weird purple sheen was intense; a patch down there on the putty-colored surface of the five-hundred-mile-diameter asteroid. occasionally he could see it clearly. then at other times the leaden, sullen, low-hanging cloud masses of the unknown little world wholly obscured it. * * * * * with his journey's end so near, atwood's heart was pounding. but a grimness was on him. he was a young fellow; just twenty-four this earth-summer of , a handsome young giant whose hundred and ninety pounds were stretched over a powerful, yet almost lanky, frame. in the government college of new york, he had been a champion athlete. what would he be here? actually, atwood cared very little what strange form of life might exist here on planetoid- . his was not a trip of scientific exploration. now that the beginning of interplanetary travel was at hand, he was willing to leave all that sort of thing to the professional scientists. his was a secret adventure, and so he had of necessity come alone. his purpose was to land on this unknown little world, and get a small quantity of the treasured _xarite_. with that safely stored in the foot-long, insulated cylinder which now was ready to strap on his back, he would leave and get back to earth as speedily as possible. it had been a long journey. atwood contemplated it now as the round disc of the asteroid enlarged until it was beneath him, stretching all across the lower firmament; and he set his anti-gravity plates to resist his fall and verified that the repellent rocket-streams of electroidal gases were ready for the final atmospheric descent. by his calculation he would emerge from the clouds fairly close to the _xarite_ purple glow. it would be early evening here. he recalled the details of planetoid- which had been in the letter to him from his dead father. meager details indeed. dr. paul atwood had calculated the asteroid at between five and six hundred miles in diameter. then the clouds broke away. atwood's heart was pounding as he stared down for his first real sight of the unknown world. at first it was a blur of deep purple radiance. it seemed to blind him, this weird glow to which his eyes were unaccustomed. but presently he could see better. * * * * * ahead, the purple glow suffused the night with its faint but lurid sheen. then his eyes seemed to grow accustomed to the purple so that he had the illusion of it fading a little with the details of the scene taking form. a broken forest stretched here--a strange, spindly form of purple and red vegetation. in places it grew a hundred feet or more high in a tangled, lush, solid mass of interwoven vines. there seemed no trees. it was all slender-stalked, spindly. atwood stared, amazed, puzzled. the forest, if it could be called that, grew in dense patches, interspersed with open spaces where there was apparently a little soil. others were naked, gleaming masses of metallic rock. the forest patches swayed in a gentle night-breeze like marine vegetation in water. the stalks of the vines were thick with giant pods; balloon-like things twenty feet or more in length. it was as though gases of decomposing vegetation within them were lifting them so that their upward pull held erect the swaying, hundred-foot stalks. off in the distance, from the height at which he stared down, atwood could see a thread of river. it gleamed dull purple-green, from the _xarite_-glow, and the reflection of the cloud-light. the same glow of cloud-light shone on the forest-top. landing demanded all of atwood's attention, so that after his first quick scrutiny of what lay down there, he looked about for a place to land. he headed for a dim open space in the forest, an almost level hundred-foot area seemingly of rocky soil. then, at last, he had landed; brought the forty-foot, narrow little ship down flat upon its spreading base fins. with air helmet beside him in the event this atmosphere was not breathable, he cautiously opened a pressure-exit porte. the cylinder's air did not go out. on the contrary, the outer pressure was greater, so that the planetoid's air came hissing in--a rush at first, then a filtering drift, and then it stopped. atwood's head reeled. he gripped his air-mask; then his head steadied and he discarded the mask. breathable air. it was heavy; moist, aromatic with strange smells of the forest. but breathable. in a moment he hardly noticed its strangeness. in the silence, mingled with the thumping of his heart against his ribs, a low hum now was audible coming through the open porte. the voice of the forest. the blended hum of insect life. was it that? he listened. it was a weird hum. so faint it seemed that he heard it within his head, rather than against his ear-drums. a tiny throbbing sound. but he seemed to know that it was vast. the blend of billions of still more tiny sounds. and queerly, it seemed hideous. a thing at which he should shudder. a thing of terror. with a lugubrious grin he shoved away the thought. certainly it was no more than a hunch, a premonition. atwood was clad in short, tight trousers, grey shirt open at his muscular throat, and heavy boots. his crisp curly blond hair was matted with sweat on his forehead. the descent through the atmosphere had made his little ship insufferably hot. this moist, heavy night air was a relief, but not much. at his wide leather belt, pulled tight around his waist, he carried a small electroidal flash-gun in a holster. the insulated cylinder into which he would put the _xarite_ was slung with a leather strap over one shoulder. in a hand-case he carried his portable mining equipment and a few explosive-capsules. but he did not expect to need any of it. surely this _xarite_ was on the surface. and with a glow like this, it must exist in almost a pure state. perhaps it was not more than a mile from here in a concentrated lode somewhere here in this weird forest. all he needed was a scant pound of it. he might have it and be back here in an hour or two. fully ready now for what he hoped was a simple quest, atwood stepped through the exit porte. within the ship his interior gravity was maintained at about that of earth. but as he stepped over the threshold, the gravity of the planetoid gripped him. amazing change. he clutched at the porte-casement to steady himself. his weight--certainly most of it--had gone. swaying on his feet, the lightness made him reel. then gingerly he took a step. seemingly he weighed now no more than ten or fifteen pounds. carefully, with flexed knees, he impelled himself upward. it was the sort of leap which on earth would have taken him a foot or so off the ground. he rose now to a height higher than his head, and came down, landing in a scrambling heap. * * * * * for a while, amused in spite of his grimness, atwood experimented. by the feel of his cautious attempts, a good running leap would sail him a hundred feet or more, and probably smash him against a rock. better be careful at first. it wouldn't be hard to kill himself, making errors with a power like this. his muscles were so powerful now in comparison with his weight. then he was ready to start. that faint weird humming still was audible. but there seemed nothing living here--no insect life underfoot, no birds in the trees. and, suddenly, he stood staring, stricken. something was up on the top of the nearby patch of forest. the matted vegetation up there a hundred feet above him was so solid that he realized now he probably could manage to walk upon it. something was moving up there. a swaying little blob, vaguely white. atwood stood silent, watchful with his gun in his hand. the blob seemed about five feet tall. white limbs; a flowing drape. then, as it moved, a little more light came upon it--starlight filtering down now through a break in the overhead clouds. atwood sucked in his breath with his amazement. a girl! a human girl! apparently she had not seen him; and, suddenly, she jumped from the top of the swaying mass of vines and came fluttering down. a girl, with pale drapes held like wings in her outstretched hands, so that like a bird she fluttered down and landed lightly on her feet. she was only a few paces from atwood when she saw him. for an instant, amazed, she stood staring, like himself, stricken. an earthgirl? certainly she looked it. a slender little thing with dark flowing tresses; a draped robe to her knees--a robe with a flowing cape at her shoulders, the ends of which she had gripped to spread it like wings as she jumped down. and now he saw that the robe wasn't fabric, but seemingly made of woven, dried vegetation. "well--" atwood gasped. "what in the devil--" with a cry like a frightened animal she stooped, seized a chunk of rock; flung it. the rock came, very much as a hurled rock would, on earth. it struck atwood's shoulder. the girl turned, and with a leap made off. "i'll be damned," atwood muttered. his caution, this time, was gone. he jumped, went thirty feet, landed on his side. already the girl was gone. then he saw her as like a monkey she went up a vine-rope. he tried it; hauled himself up with amazing speed. on the vine-top he tried running. but after a leap or two, with the girl far ahead of him, he found himself entangled, floundering in the matted mass of vines. his gun had been knocked from his hand, lost as it fell down into the leafy abyss. the girl, apparently less afraid of him now, stood a hundred feet away, balanced on a swaying, rope-like vine as she peered at him. "all right," atwood muttered. "i guess i can't catch you." certainly he had no idea that she could understand him. but, suddenly, she laughed--a little rippling rill of human laughter, mingled with awe. "you speak my language?" her soft voice was amazed. english! it was quaintly, queerly intoned. but english nevertheless. and she added, in wonderment. "who are you that you speak the language of the gods?" he could only stare, wordless. and abruptly she was coming forward; slowly at first, and then, overcoming her fear, she jumped and landed beside him. he seized her. "look here, who the devil are you?" "me? i am ah-li, goddess of the marlans." "well," he said. "whatever that is. anyway, be reasonable. i'm roy atwood. i've just come from earth. you came from there, too, of course. when did you come? your people, are they around here?" she seemed only able to stare at him as though numbed. seemingly, she understood his words, but certainly not their meaning. "the earth?" she murmured at last. "what is that? my people? they are here, of course. the marlans." her slim white arm gestured out over the forest-top. "i am goddess ah-li." wonderment was in her dark eyes and in her voice. "and now you come--a god, like me." her voice faltered. she was trying to smile. "i am afraid i do not understand," she murmured. "a man-god coming here to rule with me. never did i think that could happen." * * * * * for a moment, as he sat there clutching the girl in the tangled vines of the swaying forest-top, atwood was at a loss for words. beyond doubt, english was this girl's native language. had some earth-explorers landed here, bringing her when she was an infant? earth-people who had died or been killed when the girl was too young to have learned anything? but her mature, fluent english belied that. in all those years, from infancy to maturity, alone here with what apparently were primitive natives of the planetoid, she would have forgotten her earth-language. she was staring at him blankly, her wonderment matching his own. "when did you come here?" he demanded. "can't you remember?" "oh, yes," she smiled. "i was born--i appeared here in the forest--it was, how you would say, about two thousand of our days ago." with the day here about half that of earth, she was naming something less than three earth-years. "you appeared here in the forest?" he prompted. "yes. from the sky i came. the marlans saw me coming down. in my god-chariot." she gestured. "like yours there, it must have been. only mine, they tell me, burst into flame and destroyed itself when it touched the ground." a miracle surely. but to atwood, the miracle was that from a wrecked, flaming little spaceship, somehow she must have escaped alive. had she come alone, or with others who, doubtless, in the wreck of the ship, had been cremated so that remains of them had never been found? "and you can't remember that coming?" atwood demanded. "oh, yes. when human life came to me i was among the marlans. i could not talk their language, then, but only the language of the gods. this language of yours," she added. "god-language of you and of me." weird. she was so obviously sincerely truthful; she believed it. naïve, child-like. yet there was upon her, implanted by her belief, an aspect of power. a consciousness that she was a goddess here. a radiance of her power, and a humility--a feeling of responsibility to one on high, who had sent her here as his servant. and now she was staring at atwood, another of god's servants, like herself. a man-god. she stared with a little color coming into her cheeks and her breath quickened. "i see," he murmured. then abruptly on her forehead he noticed a scar--white scar-tissue over an area of an inch or so. he reached gently and shifted a lock of her hair. it was the scar of a ragged cut. quite evidently a nasty wound. three years ago? "what is that?" he asked. "oh--that? there was my human blood running from it when they found me. my human birth--" a crash when she landed. a brain concussion. and it had stricken her with amnesia--all her memory gone so that at that instant when she regained consciousness her life in effect was beginning again. atwood understood it now. "i see," he nodded. "well, ah-li, my name is roy." "rohee," she repeated. "i came, landed just now, from earth." "the heaven of the gods?" she murmured. "oh, yes. tell me. surely i came from there, too. and you can remember it." "i sure can. ah-li, listen. what you've got to understand now--" abruptly he checked himself. it wouldn't be easy to tell her. and then he had a queer thought. was it right for him to destroy her faith in her own power to do good among the people of this world? certainly he'd better find out what was here, first. and she probably would not believe him anyway. "tell me," he amended. "the marlans--your people here." under his questions she told him with simple directness. the planetoid here was known as marla. the marlans were its only race. not many of them now of recent generations--a few thousands, he gathered, most of whom lived in a settlement here in the forest only a short distance away. "there were many, once," she was saying. "but always the rising of the terrible _genes_ killed them off. we have learned now to subdue the _genes_ with the glow of the _drall-stone_ light." the radiance of the _xarite_. her gesture indicated it. from here, on the forest top, the patch of its light-radiance showed plainly an earth-mile or so away. weird thing. so far as he could understand now, these _genes_ seemed to be microscopic things of horror. at intervals, caused by the weather, or in rhythmic cycles of some mysterious process of nature, the _genes_ abruptly grew from microscopic spores into ghastly monsters. but the radiance of the _xarite_ held them in check. so that of recent years the human marlans had learned to use the _xarite_ against these monsters of the half-world. a barrage of the _xarite_ radiance was set up here to protect the marlan settlement. "i think i understand," atwood said at last. "queerly enough, i came here to get some of that _xarite_, as we call it on earth. it is needed there." "in the god-realm they need--" "yes," he hastily agreed. "anyway--oh, well, never mind that." his thoughts went back to the letter he had received from his father who had died suddenly. young atwood had been taking a post-graduate science-medical course in the great anglo-american university in london. his father's death had brought him hastily back. and the bank had given him the letter which his father had left for him. "_my dear son:_" the letter began. "_i am preparing this data for you so that if anything should happen to me before my work is done, you will be able to carry on for me. i haven't been able to tell you--it has had to remain a secret. i have been working with a dr. georg johns, astronomer and physicist of boston. as you know, all my life, roy, has been devoted to the discovery of the cause of poliomelitus--_" the dread infantile paralysis. dr. atwood, ten years ago, had propounded the theory that it was a sub-microscopic spore so small that even the giant electro-microscopes could not detect it. so small that it was non-filterable--no filter had ever been devised that could trap it, despite the claims of having done that which other medical men had made. surely that was a negative result indeed. but, then, dr. atwood had discovered, in the ore of xarium, which existed in very small quantities on earth, a product which he had named _xarite_. he had spent a considerable fortune doing it--the resolution of many tons of xarium, refined down into an almost microscopic quantity of an electroidally active substance. and with it, for a year he worked miracles. as though by magic the emanations from his tiny _xarite_ tube, magnified and projected in the fashion of radiotherapy treatments, had cured victims of the dread disease. but the triumph was short-lived. the _xarite_ tube exhausted itself. and on earth, the scarcity of the ore of xarium was such that to secure another grain of _xarite_ seemed practically an impossibility. and then the death of dr. atwood had come, and roy had gotten the letter. his father had secretly been working with dr. johns. together, with dr. johns' huge electro-spectroscope, they had discovered the existence of _xarite_ on planetoid . and had kept it secret. with the era of interplanetary adventure now at hand, both the physicians feared that the _xarite_ treasure might fall into unscrupulous hands, be exploited for profit. they wanted to get it themselves and invent the radiotherapy projectors suitable for its use; and give it all to the suffering children of the world as their benefaction. dr. atwood's letter to his son told how, finally, dr. johns had secured a small spaceship and had gone, trying to get to planetoid- . dr. atwood, in delicate health, had not dared make the trip. he had been waiting; and had left this letter to roy, with voluminous data, as a precaution. roy had read the letter a hundred times. it was in the small spaceship which he had built with the money inherited from his father, and which had brought him here. he remembered its final, pleading words: "_you must carry on for me, roy. believe me, son, the lives of thousands of thousands of children will be in your hands. and the health of thousands upon thousands of others, who do not die, but live with twisted little bodies, tragic, pathetic, piteous monuments to the futility of man's medical skill. you have seen them. they will be counting upon you._" how could he fail them? and how could he fail his dead father? the thought of that was what had spurred him; what had brought him here with a grim determination to secure the _xarite_ and get back as soon as possible. "you are very quiet," the girl said timidly out of the silence. "i was thinking," he said. "out there in our--our god-heaven if that's what you want to call it--well, it's certainly very queer--" * * * * * queer indeed. how could he even attempt to explain it to her! these _genes_--hideous monsters here on this little world, held in check, destroyed by the _xarite_ radiance. and on earth, the dread sub-microscopic spores of poliomelitus--his father had killed them with _xarite_ radiance. as though here might be not only the original source of the terrible spores, but the cure for them as well. nature striking a balance here; and failing to do it on earth. did the spores, the _genes_ drift through the immensity of space? young atwood well remembered that even a hundred years ago, physicians had advanced some such theory. spores, landing on earth, where conditions would not allow them to grow in size, but where they could only multiply themselves in the bodies of human victims. "i was thinking," atwood began again. and then he shrugged hopelessly and gave it up. "ah-li, listen. take me to your people now. they will know i'm friendly?" "friendly? why, of course. a god--to help them--" and he would get his cylinder full of _xarite_ in its pure state, and then go back to earth. and take the girl with him? the thought occurred to him suddenly and sent a queer vague thrill through him.... she was helping him to his feet. "we will go," she said. "the god--roh-ee--oh, they will welcome you!" "we're supposed to go up here over the tree-tops?" with a faint smile she regarded him. "well, it is not very far. but you are clumsy." "i think i'd feel better on the ground," he agreed. a leap down, for him from this hundred-foot height, could have been dangerous. it was different with the girl. on earth she might have weighed not much over a hundred pounds; and with her slight weight here, the pressure of her spread grass-cloak against this heavy air was sufficient. she fluttered down; and like a clumsy monkey he half dropped, half fell, clinging to the vine-ropes. they started over the rocks. "we'll take it slow," he said. "until i get used to it." they followed the open spaces between the patches of forest. the weird scene was dim in the night-glow. occasionally now, through breaks in the patches of lush vegetation, atwood could see that the radiance of the _xarite_-glow ahead of them was growing.... strange progress, this half walking, half leaping advance. it was hard for atwood to keep his feet; almost impossible to gauge the distance a leap would carry him. many times he fell. muscles that he had seldom used before were beginning to ache. "let's rest a minute," he protested presently. they were in a rocky defile, like a little gully descending. atwood dropped to the ground and drew up the girl beside him. more than ever now, the idea of taking her to earth was in his mind. how could he ever have imagined leaving her here, an earthgirl, suffering from amnesia. and he was thinking. dr. georg johns, his father's friend, had left the earth, presumably to come here. "listen, ah-li," he said. "i don't want to confuse you too much. don't think i'm crazy or anything. in this place where i just came from there used to be someone called dr. georg johns. doesn't that mean something to you? think back." he stared at her; and on her face, at mention of the name, there came a queer, startled puzzlement. "why--why--" she could only stammer. puzzled, with some vague consciousness of memory stirring within her. and then it was gone. "why--what is that?" she murmured. "you speak so strangely. the words i understand, but the things you say--" "forget it, ah-li. i don't want to worry you. there are things you used to know, and that you'll remember sometime. they'll come back to you." "my life in the god-heaven?" "yes, sure. call it that." during all this time with the girl, atwood had been conscious of that weird, gruesome undercurrent of humming which seemed a sinister background to this little world. and now, as momentarily they were silent here in the small rocky recess, abruptly he was aware that the humming had greatly intensified. ah-li at the same instant noticed it. terror leaped to her face as her hand gripped his arm. "that humming--" he murmured. "yes. oh, evidently this is the time for the _genes_ to come out! i thought so; that is why i was out in the tree-tops tonight--to see if any were around." the _genes_. on earth they might remain always as sub-microscopic spores, multiplying in human nerve and brain tissue to cause the ghastly poliomelitus. but here they were merely lurking monsters, seasonally growing into visible things of horror. things with a voice. countless billions of them, with their blended tiny voices faintly audible. the rock recess here was dark. it was like a little cave, with an open, narrow front. atwood and the girl were seated several feet back from the entrance. and now, as the tiny humming suddenly was increasing, in the grotto entrance close before them, a little spot was visible on the rocks. a spot, like a dot of saffron glow. for that stricken second numbly atwood stared at it; an inch-long blob of glow, with a tiny solid nucleus. only a second or two atwood and ah-li sat transfixed with horror. the glow was expanding. a swift expansion--so swift that it was like a saffron balloon being blown up into size tremendous. as though hideous forces of nature, held in check, now abruptly were released. a tentacled thing, big as a football. but before atwood and the girl could more than struggle to their feet, it was a monstrous saffron thing of horror--a round, glowing, luminous pulpy mass, big as atwood now. its bulk blocked the cave-entrance. "good god--" atwood muttered. "we're penned in here!" there was no chance for them to leap away. in terror ah-li was clinging to him. the dark narrow confines of the recess were lurid now with the monster's ghastly yellow light. its hideous voice was a humming throb. for another second it stood blocking the opening, apparently its full size now, with long tentacles weaving like tongues of yellow fire; and a ring of clustered eyes in its center, balefully glowing. and then, with a rolling lunge, it hurled itself forward! * * * * * it was a blur, a chaos of utter horror to atwood. he had no time to do more than thrust ah-li behind him when the monster was upon him. weird and ghastly combat. he was conscious of being engulfed by the horrible glutinous mass as the noisome saffron pulp wrapped itself around him. wildly he fought, staggering, with kicking legs and flailing arms. the intense yellow glow, so close to his eyes now, was dazzling, blinding. its voice was chattering, like a dynamo gone awry; a throbbing voice that mingled with the girl's cry of terror. "oh, do not fall. keep standing!" "you run--" he gasped. "get past it and run." he mustn't fall. that would be the end. the sticky weight of the thing pressed him. sucking tentacles were wrapped around him. in the saffron glare he could not see if the monster still blocked the cave-opening. if only he could get it further inside, so ah-li could slip past. then he realized that as he fought to get loose, his flailing hands were pulling the oozy tissue apart. he ripped one of the tentacles loose. it fell like a segment of yellow flame, writhing on the ground. but there was no wound where it had been, for it seemed that the oozy flesh flowed around the break. then he felt ah-li tugging at him as again he staggered, almost went down. she was tugging, trying to pull him loose. and the monster now, with chattering, enraged voice rising in pitch, was trying to draw him inward. a slap of the horrible stuff struck his face; choking him. he wiped it off; tore loose a great segment of the body and cast it away. "now--you--get free--we can run--" the girl's panting voice came to him out of the chaos. behind him she was pulling at his shoulders, adding her slight strength and weight to his. and suddenly he found himself loose, staggering backward. the monster, gathered itself, with its glowing fragments on the rocks around it, rolled itself a few feet away. atwood found that he was in the mouth of the cave. ah-li shoved him, and he was outside. "you jump--now!" the huge, screaming, saffron ball lunged for them. with his hand gripping hers, they jumped, sailed together in a flat arc over the monster and landed fifty feet behind it. atwood, who had fallen, picked himself up. at the mouth of the cave the huge round ball, with new tentacles growing upon it, stood seemingly confused by the escape of its prey. then, growling with a low sullen murmur, suddenly it rolled itself back into the darkness of the recess. lurking, with only the reflected light of it at the opening to show that it was there. panting, still with horror making him shudder, atwood followed the girl. they skirted an edge of waving forest growth, descending a rocky declivity. open rocky space was to the left of them now, with a little line of hillocks. ahead, at a lower level, the glow of the purple _xarite_-radiance was a big patch in the darkness. and now in the patch, atwood could see what seemed a weird little human settlement. clusters of low, mound-shaped dwellings of rocks and mud and grass. the semblance of crooked little streets. the purple glow bathed it--a half mile, irregular patch. and beyond it and to the sides, there was only blank darkness. "that is marla," ah-li was saying. "we shall have to put the light-force up now for the season of the growing of _genes_. the time has come." with his questions, she tried to make it clear. the radiance off there which enveloped the little settlement was inherent to the ground itself. most of the marlans of this little world lived here. and those others who were nearby, now at the season of the growing of the _genes_, would come flocking into the glow. a few days, a week or two; and then the _genes_ would die away until the next cycle of their growth. but even this natural glow was not sufficient to hold them off, so that the marlans set up around their settlement what ah-li called a light-fence. a sort of barrage; a few hundred little braziers of _xarite_, set at intervals on the ground, their spreading glow mingling one with the other, encircling the village. a barrage which no _gene_ would dare pass. "i see," atwood murmured. "but ah-li, where do you get that _xarite_? near here?" "oh, yes." she gestured toward the dark little line of hills off to the left. "it is there. most of it, in grottos underground. you see, it is not far." "and what's it like? loose in the caves?" he held his breath for her answer. "yes," she said. "the _drall-stone_. it lies loose in the caves." triumph swept him. he could get his insulated cylinder packed with _xarite_, and then get back to his spaceship and away. and take ah-li with him. "listen," he began, "show me the way to one of those caves. i want to see--" "here is water, for us to swim," she interrupted. "the flesh of the _genes_ is still on us." heaven knew he had been conscious of it. a little stream of purplish phosphorescent water, impregnated no doubt with the _xarite_, came babbling down the slope here from the distant hills. he and ah-li plunged in; came out, with the purple phosphorescence of the water dripping from them. atwood breathed with relief. "that's certainly better." now, if he could get her to lead him to the _xarite_ caves. "ah-lee. ah-lee." it was the sound of a guttural voice calling from the dimness of the rocks near at hand. the startled atwood turned to see a group of small stocky figures approaching. * * * * * the marlans. with ah-li gripping him he stood as the figures came forward and ranged themselves in a jabbering group around him and the girl. they were about five feet tall. cast somewhat in earth-human mould, with crooked heavy legs, and swart, putty-colored skin. the body was wide-shouldered, thick-chested. the round, hairless head was set low in a depression of the shoulders. the face was rough-hewn of feature, with up-turned snout-like nose, and small, watery reddish eyes. they walked with a sluggishness of heavy, solid tread. quite evidently their bodies were a wholly different density from that of earthmen. atwood guessed that here they weighed what might be called three hundred pounds; compared to which his own weight was ten or fifteen, and that of ah-li not more than five or eight. beside them, with their swinging, ponderous movements, atwood suddenly felt spindly and birdlike. how obvious now, that these primitive people would have accepted the beautiful little earthgirl as a goddess! her coming from the sky in a thing which struck the ground and burst into flame. her seeming miraculous ability to leap into the air. her size, and yet her lightness. her ability to swim; to leap into the vine-tops and run upon their frail swaying surface. certainly these marlans would sink like stones in this light water; they could leap no more than a heavy man could leap on earth. their weight chained them to the ground. "ah-lee...." one of them, slightly taller, less ponderous than the others, came forward, with a flood of words to the girl. she answered him in weird, guttural, unintelligible words, with gestures toward atwood at whom now they were all staring in awe. and then abruptly she added, in english: "a man-god has come to us, bohr." "that fellow understands english?" atwood put in. "yes. a little. i have taught him, since this time when i was born from the sky." "the language of the gods." bohr said heavily. "it, i understand. i am like a god too--" whatever plans atwood vaguely had made, were swept away now. there seemed not so much awe of him upon these jabbering, crowding marlans as curiosity. they were plucking at him now, with heavy, taloned hands feeling his arms, prodding at his ribs. and abruptly he realized the tremendous strength of these creatures. a ponderous power of muscles; a different quality of strength from that of any earthman. the realization sent a thrill of fear through atwood; mentally he cursed himself that he had not seized ah-li, rushed her to one of those caves for the _xarite_, and gotten away from this accursed place. but there was nothing he could do about it now. bohr and one of the others gripped him, leading him along, with ah-li excitedly beside them, and the crowd of jabbering marlans engulfing them. the crowd augmented as they progressed down the slope. it was fifty, then a hundred. and now he saw women. they were garbed much the same as the men--shorter, more flabby-looking bodies with wispy hair on their heads. their shrill voices mingled with the deeper tones of the men, as they pressed forward, some of them carrying children, all of them trying to get a glimpse of atwood. "you are to see our ruler, the great selah," ah-li said, as she walked beside him, clinging to him. "tonight, i am sure, you will be proclaimed a god." her young voice quivered. "our man-god." "all right, but look here--" atwood muttered. "you better get us out of this now. this crowd is getting pretty heavy." they were among the little mound-shaped houses. the narrow crooked streets were jammed with pressing people. "yes," ah-li agreed. "to my home first. and then the selah will send for you." in the marlan language she gave her commands to bohr. he seemed to assent. but in the light-radiance here which suffused the turmoil of the weird little village, atwood had a better look at the leader of these marlans. bohr was close beside him; and on the marlan's grotesque, ugly face, atwood saw an expression very strange. a sort of sidelong leer at atwood; and a look at ah-li that made atwood's heart pound. it was as though this bohr were sullenly resentful. as though something which he might have been planning was going wrong. and abruptly, as though with a premonition of menace, atwood recalled the only words of english which bohr had spoken: the language of the gods, he had said. "it, i understand. i am like a god too." ahead of them a larger dwelling loomed in the radiant glow. "my home," ah-li said. "we will go there, and wait." * * * * * ah-li's dwelling was a house seemingly of three mounds interlocked. a glow of dim purple radiance showed through its small window-openings. and there were upright ovals for doors. the milling crowd stood watching as they entered. there seemed three small rooms inside. amazement swept atwood. there was crude furniture here, woven of plaited vines--a table; chairs. a low little couch with dried leaves upon it. furniture almost in earth-style. "where did you get that?" atwood murmured as he surveyed it. "that? why, i made it. i do not know why, but that seemed the right thing to do." memories of her earth-life which were stirring in her, so vague that she did not recognize them. "you go now, bohr," ah-li added. atwood swung to find the marlan behind him. "yes," bohr said, "i will tell to the great-selah that the man-god has come." bohr's wide heavy jaws were chewing; and as he stood eyeing atwood, he swayed on his feet. "you chew the intoxicating weed?" ah-li said reproachfully. "that is not good, bohr. you want to be god-like--you should not do that." "i know it," he said. his gaze fell before hers. and then as he turned to leave the room, again his strange flashing look swept atwood, and there was hatred and menace in it. "we will eat now," ah-li said. "i have food here." it was a strange meal. the food was peculiar though palatable. but atwood hardly was aware of the food as he ate it. at the windows here he could see that marlans were watching them. others undoubtedly were watching the doors. there would be no chance, certainly not now, for him to get out, even though, once outside and free, he knew that no marlan possibly could catch him. nor had he the least chance of getting ah-li out. especially since she would probably be unwilling. "you have told them of the _genes_?" he heard himself saying. her voice sounded worried. "yes. they are putting the barrage up now." on impulse atwood went to one of the windows. the marlans there drew back, but stood at a little distance, staring at him. behind them, the weird, glowing little village was in a turmoil with the excitement of the coming of a man-god, and the news of the _genes_, the dread season of monsters again at hand. doubtless the word had spread. from the nearby smaller settlements, the people were hurrying here. the streets seemed more jammed than ever now; and out beyond the edge of the village, radiant beams of the purple light were standing up at intervals into the sky; spreading beams, intermingling to form the barrage curtain. atwood came back from the window. it faced the main village street. atwood was wondering if the other side might not face some space darker, more empty. that would be this adjoining room. "when do you think selah will send for us?" he demanded. "perhaps soon. perhaps later tonight." he gestured toward the room's inner doorway. "and that room there, that is for me, the man-god?" "yes," she agreed. "then i shall go there now. you call me if the selah wants us." triumph swept him as he reached the dim other room. he had lost his flash-gun in the tree-tops when he was chasing the girl. but he still had his other equipment. he discarded it all now save the little insulated cylinder slung over his shoulder, the cylinder in which he would store the precious _xarite_. the window-ovals here were dark. cautiously he went to one of them. there was a sort of garden outside, with beds great blossoms topping spindly stalks. a little forest of them, high as a man's head. to the left, a section of the village was visible; crowded with milling excited marlans. but to the right, beyond the garden there was dimness. the barrage at the outskirts of the village there, had not yet gone up. it should be possible to get out through this window; make a run through the shrouding flowers of the garden. atwood watched his chance. then, like a shadow, he was out of the window, sliding into the tall flower-clusters. every instant he feared that there would be an alarm; but there was not. then he was through the garden, skirting a dark edge of the town. the barrage was going up to the left of him, but its light did not reach him, and in a moment he was in the open country, with great sailing leaps bounding toward the hills and the caves of the _xarite_. * * * * * the little cave was a weird, intense glare of violet light. atwood had had no difficulty finding it; the glare streamed like an aura from its entrance, out into the night. the _xarite_, almost in a pure state, lay in great powdery heaps. atwood's hands were trembling as he scooped it up, filling his insulated cylinder, clamping down its lid. more than ever, a desperate haste was upon him now. so many things might be transpiring back in the village. and he realized too that his spaceship might be discovered. within a minute or two he was into the cave and out again, with his precious little cylinder slung on his back. he was more skillful at leaping now. ahead the circular barrage was complete now, a vertical violet curtain of light enclosing the village. it made the darkness out here on the rocks seem more intense by contrast. the dim landscape swayed weirdly with his flat sailing leaps. and suddenly, off to one side, he was aware that round blobs of yellow glow were appearing. the monster _genes_. with the season of their growth upon them, they were struggling up out of their microscopic invisible world. the night out here now was hideous with the throbbing, humming voices of the monsters. atwood's heart went cold. how would he get the girl out of this damnable place? he could think only that in some way he must quickly persuade her. together, running, leaping like this--or like birds following the flimsy forest-top which the _genes_ could not reach--he would be able to get her to the spaceship. with the purple barrage curtain close before him, atwood slowed up. then he came within the direct light-radiance; crawling almost flat to pass between two of the braziers. the glare blinded him. then he was through, rising to his feet. "so? here is the god--our man-god who was gone?" it was bohr's ironic, guttural voice. atwood had no chance to jump away. bohr, with a ponderous pounce, gripped him with the power of a machine. bohr and a dozen of his roistering men were here. "our man-god is late for the ceremony," bohr was leering. they were shoving atwood forward, along a village street crowded with jabbering marlans, across an edge of the village toward an open space, like a public square. the mound-dwellings bounded it on one side, and the barrage was on the other. the square was thronged with marlans, standing in jabbering groups, gazing toward the center where three platforms were erected. two were side by side, and one faced them. the two were empty. on the other a single marlan sat in a great cradle. the ruler-selah. his ponderous fat body was round with flesh. in the cradle he squatted like a huge toad. bohr's grip never for an instant had relaxed on atwood. "i am to be made a god now?" atwood murmured. "yes. the selah has decided." surely that was leering irony in bohr's heavy voice. where was ah-li? then, as atwood's captors shoved him toward the larger and higher of the two empty platforms, atwood saw the girl. slowly she was crossing the square. ah-li, robed now in a long flowing, bluish grass garment with a garland of flowers around her head. the goddess ah-li. the marlans, awed, bowed before her as she advanced, mounted the smaller platform and stood with her arms outstretched. the reflected glow of the barrage painted her face. apprehension was there. and then she saw atwood. relief swept her; and then an exaltation. the recognition of a man-god, with her to guide these people. then atwood, tense and alert, stood on the other platform, facing the ruler. he was some twenty feet from the girl, and five feet or so above her. "the man-god is here," bohr proclaimed in english. and then he seemed to be repeating it in the marlan language. the crowd was bowing now with foreheads to the ground. the selah spoke in a piping, cracked voice; and with a gesture ordered bohr from the platform. * * * * * alone, atwood faced the ruler and the prostrate throng. out of the corner of his eyes he could see ah-li standing stiffly erect, with arms outstretched as though in benediction. and as the selah now was intoning some ritual, atwood drew himself up and lifted his arms. but tensely, alertly he was watching. where was bohr? the big marlan seemed to have vanished. a dozen of bohr's men were in a little drunken group, their boistering voices suppressed now as they stood at the edge of the platform behind the selah's cradle. the barrage was close behind them. and as atwood's apprehensive gaze stared at the purple radiance, dimly behind it he could see that the _genes_ were crowding. attracted by the scent of the human crowd here, they had gathered outside the barrage. thousands of them--ghastly, tumbling, tentacled balls of saffron, milling one upon the other as they pressed forward. thousands? there could have been millions; a saffron sea of them out there. "the man-god will speak to us now." it was ah-li's voice, prompting him. atwood gathered his wits. he began to talk. what matter the words. he hardly knew what he was saying, for abruptly behind the ruler-selah, bohr had appeared. bohr with a knife in his hand. and in that same instant, with a ponderous leap he plunged the knife into the selah's bloated back! there was a second of ghastly startled silence. then chaos. the prostrate marlans gasped; then leaped to their feet, shouting, milling with terror and confusion. bohr's men from behind the platform leaped upon it. all of them with knives, plunging the blades into the ruler's puffed, toadlike body; and then standing, shouting at the crowd. it was a startled instant while atwood stood numbed. bohr again had vanished; and then suddenly he appeared on the platform with ah-li and was standing beside her, with his heavy arm around her as she sagged against him in terror. he, too, was shouting at the crowd now; and then he shouted in english: "i am the man-god! your man-god and the new ruler." all in a few seconds, and then atwood recovered his wits. like an awkward plunging bird he leaped from one platform to the other, landing full upon ah-li and the shouting bohr. it took bohr by surprise. atwood's body struck him full so that he rocked, staggered a little, his grip releasing the girl as wildly he flailed his arms to ward off this huge attacking thing clinging to him. the impact against bohr's solidity all but knocked the breath from atwood. he found himself hanging with feet off the ground as he clung. and desperately he fought for the knife. bohr's fingers in his confusion must have gripped it loosely; and abruptly atwood had it, stabbed it into bohr's face. gruesome thrust. it went slowly into the tough, heavy flesh as with all his strength atwood shoved it to the hilt. bohr screamed. his twitching arms pushed atwood a dozen feet away. with the knife still in his face and horrible ooze bubbling around it, he staggered and fell heavily from the platform. then he was up on his feet, staggering, half blinded doubtless--staggering toward the barrage. and his scream rang out, first in the marlan language and then in english: "not to be the man-god--" on the platform atwood gripped the shaking, terrified girl. "we've got to get away from here." "why--why this is terrible." "you listen to me! don't talk! if you don't run with me, then i'm going to carry you." he shook her. "we're going, you understand?" "not to be the man-god--" bohr's scream still rang over the turmoil. he had staggered, found himself at one of the barrage-braziers. and suddenly in a frenzy he overturned the brazier. its light went out. a slit of darkness leaped into the barrage. "not to be the man-god--" a frenzy of disappointment, disillusionment was in bohr's wild voice. all his plans now gone awry as he felt himself dying from the knifeblade in his head. a slit of darkness in the barrage.... and now bohr had staggered and overturned another brazier. it was his last act. he staggered and fell as through the widened dark slit, the hideous torrent of screaming, chattering saffron monsters rolled through. in a second bohr was engulfed. the milling marlans, shouting in wild terror now, were trying to run. ponderous, sluggish steps.... the horrible yellow torrent engulfed them. "ah-li! ah-li dear--" atwood gasped. the girl, fascinated with horror had been resisting him. "we've got to try to get away." "yes. oh, yes--i see it." she guided him. hand in hand they leaped--a great sailing leap that carried them across the square into a now almost deserted section of the village. and then another--over two or three of the mound-dwellings. another, and they went through the opposite side of the barrage. open country. the monsters were all rushing toward the barrage-break. with a leap atwood and ah-li went over a milling, tumbling group of a hundred of them. it was a wild, scrambling, leaping run.... the dark little spaceship lying flat on its hull-fins at the edge of the forest was a blessed haven to the panting, bruised atwood. [illustration: together they leaped. behind them, pouring through the break in the forcescreen, poured the monstrous _genes_.] "inside! quick now--" he gasped. _genes_ were here, rolling forward; monstrous bobs of saffron as atwood shoved the girl into the porte and slid its door. through the heavy bulls-eye pane the gathering monsters were a turgid yellow blur.... then the little ship was rising, with its rocket streams flaring out like a comet tail behind it. atwood and the girl--escaping gods, from a world which had become a purgatory. * * * * * in the control turret they sat, staring ahead at the great stars that glittered in the black firmament. the earth was a tiny glowing dot. "there it is," atwood said. "your world, and mine. we've got the _xarite_, ah-li. you wanted to do good on that little planetoid. there'll be plenty of chance, on earth." "and that is earth?" she murmured. "so small." "it's very big," he said smilingly. "you'll see. if only my father and dr. johns were alive now, to greet us as we come with the _xarite_. they worked so hard for this." "dr. johns?" she was staring at him, startled. and then suddenly on her face and in her eyes there was the light of memory. "dr. johns? why--why--" "yes?" he prompted. "try and think!" "dr. johns? why--_gloria_--yes, yes there was a gloria! why--that is my other name! his daughter--gloria johns--why, of course!" gloria johns.... "then your father and mine--they were friends," atwood murmured. the familiar scenes of earth would bring everything back to her. and ah-li, goddess of the planet, would be gone. there would just be gloria johns. they sat gazing at the immensity of space--at the tiny dot of light which was their great world waiting for them. the flame breathers by ray cummings vulcan was a doom-world. one expedition had mysteriously disappeared, and now another was following in its path--searching for the unknown menace that stalked vulcan's shadowed gorges. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories march . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i write this narrative, not with the idea of contributing any additional scientific data to the discovery of vulcan, but to put upon the record the real facts of our truly-amazing space voyage. the newscasters have hailed me as a modern columbus. surely i would not want to appear ungracious, unappreciative of all the applause that has been heaped upon me. but i do not deserve it. i did my job for my employers. the society sent me to make a landing upon vulcan--if the little planet existed. i found that it does exist; it was exactly where i was told it ought to be. i carried out my instructions, returned and made my report. there is no great heroism in that. so i am writing the facts of what happened. just a bald, factual account, without the imaginative trimmings. the real hero of the discovery of vulcan was young jan holden. he did his job--did it well--and he did something just a little extra. i'm bob grant, which of course you have guessed by now. peter torrence--the third member of our party--is in the federal prison up the hudson. i had to turn him in. we were given one of the smaller types of the bentley--t- --an alumite cylindrical hull, double-shelled, with the erentz pressure-current circulating in it. it was a modern, well-equipped little spaceship. in its thirty-foot length of double-decked interior we three were entirely comfortable.... the voyage, past the orbit of venus and then mercury as we headed directly for the sun--using the sun's full attraction--was amazingly swift and devoid of incident beyond normal space-flight routine. much of our time was spent in the little forward control turrent--the "green-house," where below, above and to the sides the great glittering abyss of the firmament is spread out in all its amazing glory. vulcan, if it existed, would be almost directly behind the sun now. we had no possible chance of sighting it, we knew, even when, heading inward, we cut the orbit of mercury. torrence, almost from the start of the trip, figured we should follow into the attraction of mercury which was then far to one side. "from that angle we'll see vulcan just that much sooner," he argued. "they told me to head straight in, to twenty-nine million miles," i said. "and that's what i'm doing--obeying orders." i held our plotted course. torrence never ceased grumbling about it, and i must admit there was a lot of sense in his argument. he is a big fellow--burly, heavy-set and about my own height, which is six feet one. he had close-clipped hair and a square, heavy face. he's just turned thirty, i understand. that's five years older than i--and i was in charge. perhaps that irked him. he is unquestionably a headstrong fellow; self-confident. but he obeyed orders, though with grumbling. and as a mechanical technician--no one could do better. he knew the technical workings of the little ship inside out. "we follow orders?" young jan holden said. "and when we reach twenty-nine million miles from the sun--then we're on our own?" "yes," i agreed. "then, when we head off to round the sun, if vulcan is where they think it is we ought to sight it in a few days?" "i certainly hope so, jan." "i wonder if it's inhabited. i wish it would be." his dark eyes were shining. his thin cheeks, usually pale, were flushed with excitement. he was just eighteen--only a month past the legal minimum age for interplanetary employment. a slim, romantic-looking boy, he was willing and eager to help in every way. a good cook, expert in handling his cramped quarters and preparing the many synthetic foods with which we were equipped. "you hope it's inhabited, jan?" i asked. "i sure do." i grinned at him. "well, if it is, you'll be disappointed to find i'll be doing my best to keep away from whatever living creatures are there. that's a job for a larger expedition than ours." "yes, i suppose it is." * * * * * jan often sat with me through our long vigils up there in the green-house. sometimes he wouldn't speak for an hour--just sitting there dreaming. sometimes he would talk of the ill-fated roberts and king expedition--the only exploratory flight which ever had headed in this close to the sun. that was five years ago. roberts and king, with a crew of eight, had never been heard from since. "i just think they found vulcan," jan said once, out of one of his long silences. "they were told to return after a routine landing," torrence put in. "well then, suppose they crashed their ship," jan said. "suppose they can't get back--" "what we ought to do is sight vulcan, round it and go home," torrence said. "to the devil with orders to land. i'd go back and tell them that in my judgment--" "we'll land," i said. "determine gravity--meteorological conditions--secure samples of soil, vegetation--what-nots--you know the specifications, torrence." if indeed there was any vulcan. if a landing upon what might be a fiery surface were physically possible.... another day passed. and then another and another. we were all three tense, expectant. there was little apparent motion in the great starry cyclorama spread around us--just the slow dwindling of earth and venus, the monstrous sun shifting slowly to the right with the starfield behind it progressively becoming visible. "we're chasing a phantom," torrence said, on the fourth day, with the sun now almost abreast of us and some twenty-four million miles distant. "this damned heat! they sent us out for a salary that's a mere pittance--and give us inadequate equipment. no wonder there's been no exploration so close in here." bathed in the full, direct sun-rays our interior air had heated into a torrid swelter. stripped to the waist, with the sweat glistening on us, we sat in the shrouded green-house.... and then at last i saw vulcan! a little round, lead-colored blur. just a dot, but in a few hours it was clear of the intervening sun. no question of its identity. vulcan. the new world. "we did it!" jan murmured. "oh, we did it." * * * * * it was a busy time, for me especially, those next ninety-six hours. i was soon enabled to calculate, at least roughly, that vulcan was a world of some eight hundred miles diameter, with an orbit approximately eighteen million miles from the sun. "it has an atmosphere?" jan murmured anxiously. "yes, i think so." we kept away from the sun for a time; and then at last we were able to head directly for vulcan. the atmosphere presently was visible. no need for us to use the pressure-suits. i envisaged at first that upon such a little world gravity would be very slight. but now the heavy, metallic quality of its rock-surface was apparent. a world, doubtless much denser than igneous earth. it was my plan to land on the side away from the sun. we rounded vulcan at some two million miles out. the clouds were fairly dense in many places; sluggish, slow-moving. there were fires on the sun side--a temperature there which would make it certainly uninhabitable to any creatures resembling humans.... it was the ninth day after the sighting of vulcan that quite by chance i discovered its _allurite_. we were now fairly close over the dark hemisphere, with the sun occulted behind it. at a thousand miles of altitude, we were dropping slowly down upon the spreading dark disc which now occupied most of our lower firmament. i had been making a series of routine spectro-color-graphs to file with my reports. jan heard my muttered exclamation and came crowding to gaze over my shoulder at the dripping little color spectrograph. "what is it, bob? something important?" "that bond-line there--see it? that's a metal on vulcan--shining of its own light--radioactive type-a." that much, i could determine. then jan and i looked it up in the hughson list of identified spectrae. it was _allurite_. "that's valuable?" torrence murmured. "pure _allurite_--" i laughed. "it certainly would be, if we could find any sizable deposits here. on earth, it takes some seventeen tons of the very richest _allurium_ to get maybe a grain of pure _allurite_. we'll take a look around, try and get a sample of the ore here. if it pans out rich enough, they can send a well-equipped mining expedition." "we ought to get a bonus for this," torrence said. "if you don't tell 'em so, i will." * * * * * the descent upon vulcan took another twenty-four hours. then at last we had passed through a cloud-bank and, at some twenty thousand feet, the new world stretched dark and bleak beneath us. it certainly looked--to jan's intense disappointment--wholly uninhabited. it was a tumbled, rocky landscape, barren and forbidding. beneath us there were black ravines and canyons, little jagged peaks and hill-top spires, some of them sharp as needle-points. off at one of the distant horizons the tiered land, rising up, stretched into the foothills of serrated ranks of mountain peaks which loomed over the jagged dark horizon line. a great metal desert here. in the fitful starlight, and the mellow light of little crescent mercury which hung over the mountains like a falling, new moon, the metallic quality of the rock was obvious--sleek, bronzed metal ore, in places polished by erosion so that it shone mirror-like. in other places it was mottled with a greenish cast. "well," jan murmured, "not very hospitable-looking, is it? don't you suppose there's any moisture, or any vegetation?" there was no sign of any living creatures beneath us as we drifted diagonally downward. but presently, at lower altitude, i could see gleaming pools of water in the rock-hollows. the remains of a rainstorm here. then we saw what looked like a great fissure--an open scar rifted in a glistening, polished metallic plateau. grey-black steam was rising, condensing in the humid night-air. the hidden fires of the bowels of the little planet seemed close at this one point. as we stared, a red glow for a moment tinged the steam with a red and greenish reflection of some subterranean glare, far down. nothing but metal desert. but presently, as we slid forward, no more than a few thousand feet above the rocky surface now, jan murmured suddenly, "look off there. like a little oasis, isn't it?" there was a patch of what seemed to be rocky soil. just a few hundred acres in extent, set in a cup-like depression with little buttes and needle-spires and the strewn boulders of the metal waste surrounding it. a clump of tangled vegetation covered it--a fantastic miniature jungle of interlaced, queerly shaped little trees, solid with air-vines and pods and clumps of monstrous, vivid-colored flowers. it was an amazing contrast to the bleakness of the bronze desert. "well, that's more like it," jan exclaimed. "not all desert, bob. see that?" torrence, with his usual efficient practicality, had been busy getting our landing equipment in order. he paused beside me in the green-house, where i sat at the rocket-stream controls which now were in operation for this atmospheric flight. "where you figure on landing?" he asked. "somewhere about here? you want to locate that _allurite_?" "yes," i agreed. * * * * * it is not altogether safe, handling even so small a space-flight ship as ours, in atmosphere at low altitudes. especially over unknown terrain. it seemed my best course now to make the landing here, secure my rock-samples and make my routine observations. i did not need torrence to tell me that we were not equipped for extensive exploration of an unknown world. a trip on foot of perhaps a day or two, using the spaceship as a base, would suffice for my records. "there's a better chance of finding sizable deposits of allurium here than anywhere else?" torrence suggested. "don't you think so?" with that, too, i agreed. he prepared us for a night and a few meals of camping--a huge pack for himself, which with a grin he declared himself amply able to carry; a smaller one for jan; and my instruments and electro-mining drills for me. we dropped down within an hour or two, landing with a circular swing into a dim, cauldron-like depression of the desert where the polished ground was nearly level and free of boulders. that was a thrill to me--my first step into the new world--even though i have experienced it several times before. laden with our packs, we opened the lower-exit pressure porte. the night air, under heavier pressure than we were maintaining inside, oozed in with a little hiss--moist, queer-smelling air. it seemed at first heavy, oppressive. the acrid smell of chemicals was in it. the night-temperature was hot--sultry as a summer tropic night on earth. with the interior gravity shut off as we opened the porte, at once i felt a sense of lightness. but it was not extreme. despite vulcan's small size, its great density gives it a gravity comparable to earth's. in a little group we stood on the rocky ground with a dark, immense heavy silence around us--a silence that you could seem to hear--and yet a silence which seemed pregnant with the mystery of the unknown. somehow it made me suddenly think of weapons. besides our utility-knives, we each had a small, short-range electro-flash gun. i saw that torrence had his in his hand. "put it away," i said. "there's nothing here." with a grin, he shoved it back into his belt. "which way?" he demanded. "what will the ore of _allurium_ look like? green and red spots in sand-colored streaks of rock, that hughson book says." i figured that i could recognize it, though i am far from a skilled geologist. certainly i agreed with torrence that our most important job was to find some sizable lodes of _allurium_, measure its probable extent, and take average samples of it back with us. * * * * * we climbed out of the little cauldron. in the tumbled darkness we picked our way among the crags. an earth-mile, then another. little jan, like an eager hound was generally ahead of us, with his tiny search-glare sweeping the jagged rocks. we crossed a narrow winding canyon, inspected a slashed cliff-face. it was arduous going. despite the sense of lightness and our tropic black-drill clothes of short trousers, thin jackets and shirts, we were panting, bathed in sweat within an hour. silently, torrence plodded at my side. it was my first trip with him; and i could see he did not altogether trust my efficiency. "you can find the way back to the ship?" he demanded once. "to get lost in a place like this--" i had marked it; little twin spires above the cauldron. they were visible now, looming against the dark sky behind us. i showed him. "i saw them," he said. "i could lead us back. my idea is, if we cover about ten miles and then camp--" a cry from jan interrupted us. he was standing on a little ridge of rock like a bronze metal wave frozen into solidity. against the deep purple sky his slim figure was a silhouette of solid black. he was staring off into the distance; his arm waved with a gesture as he called to us. "something off there! something lying on the rocks--come look!" we ran to join him. about a quarter mile distant there was a broad gully. a dark blob was visible lying at the bottom of it--a sizable blob, something forty or fifty feet long. we picked our way there; climbed down into the ragged, thirty-foot ravine. it was a spaceship lying here--with its sleek alumite hull resting on its side with one of its rocket-stream fins bent and smashed under it. "the roberts-king ship," torrence exclaimed. "so they got here. cracked up in the landing." there seemed no doubt of it. this was unquestionably the roberts-king vehicle--an older version of our own vessel. we stood staring at it blankly--at its little bow pressure port which was wide open, a narrow rectangle with the interior blackness behind it. then i saw that here on the rocks near the doorway, a litter of tools and mechanisms were strewn; and a section of one of the gravity plates which had been disconnected and brought out here. "trying to repair it," i said to the silently staring, awed torrence. "five years ago. now what do you suppose--" a startled cry from jan interrupted me. the body was lying on the rocks, just beyond the bow of the ship. it was jonathan roberts--stocky, middle-aged leader of the expedition. clad in a strange costume of thin brown material, seemingly animal skin, he lay crumpled. i had never met him, but from his published portraits i could recognize him at once. in the starlight here his dead face with staring eyes goggled up at us. "why--why--" torrence gasped. "five years--" there was no great look of decay about the body. roberts had died here, certainly not five years ago. i was bending down over the body; i shoved at one of the shoulders and turned it over. stricken jan, torrence and i stared numbed. a thin bronze sliver of metal--fin-tipped like a metal arrow--was buried in roberts' back! again the alert jan was gazing at the dim, fantastic night-scene around us. abruptly his hand gripped my arm as he gasped, "why--good lord--what's that? over there--" in the blackness down the gully, perhaps a hundred feet from us, a little spiral of fire had appeared. a tiny wisp of red-green flame. it seemed to hover in the air a few feet above the rocky gully floor. like a phantom wraith of fire, it silently leaped and twisted. "my god--it's coming toward us!" torrence suddenly gasped. in the darkness the silent wisp of fire had swayed sidewise, and then came along the edge of the gully, a disembodied conflagration in mid-air, as though wafted by a rush of wind we could not feel. ii for a moment of startled horror we stood motionless. the floating little flame seemed bounding now, just over the rocks. bounding? abruptly i seemed to see a dark shape of solidity under it--something almost, but not quite invisible in the blackness. a tangible thing? a creature--burning? thoughts are instant things. i recall that in that second, i had the impression of a four-legged thing like a huge dog, bounding toward us over the rocks. the flame in which it was enveloped, had spread--it was a blob of flame, but solidity was there. all in a second. my little electro-gun was in my hand. and then from beside me, torrence fired--his flash with a whining sizzle splitting the blackness of the gully with its pencil-point of hurled electrons. his hasty aim quite evidently was wild. i saw the little splash of colored sparks where his charge hit the rocks. too high. my gun was leveled. but in that split-second, the oncoming blob of fire abruptly had been extinguished. there was only the faint blurred suggestion of the dog-like thing. it had stopped short, and then suddenly was retreating. my shot, and jan's, followed it. in another few seconds there was no possibility of hitting it. silently it had vanished. there was only the black silent gully around us, with the blurred crags standing like menacing dark ghosts. my instinct then, i must admit, was for us to retreat at once to our ship. in the heavy empty silence we stood blankly gazing at each other. torrence was grim; jan was shaking with excitement and the fear all of us felt. "you heard that whistle?" i murmured. "i heard it," jan exclaimed. "something--somebody--human--" there were weird, hostile inhabitants on vulcan--no question of that now! and here was roberts' body with a metal sliver of arrow in its back, mute evidence of what we were facing. and already our presence here had been discovered. i stared around at the rocky darkness, every blurred crag now seeming to mask some unknown menace. "that whistle," torrence murmured, "calling off that flaming thing--started at our shots. something is around here, watching us now, undoubtedly." the yawning dark doorway of the wrecked spaceship was near us. something seemed lying just beyond its threshold. "you two stay here," i told torrence and jan. "don't let them surprise us again. we'll have to get back to our ship--" the port doorway led into a little pressure chamber. on its dark sloping floor, as the wrecked ship lay askew, i stood with my flashlight illumining so ghastly a scene that my blood chilled in my veins. it was a bloody shambles of horror. for a moment i gazed; and as i turned away, sickened, i found jan at my elbow. he too, had been staring. he clutched at me, white and shaken, and i turned away my light. "the rest of them," he murmured. "yes. looks that way. all of them--" the bodies were strewn, clothing and flesh ripped apart so that here were only the bones of men, with pulpy crimson-- "no humans did that, jan." "no," he shuddered. "that thing in flames that came at us--" * * * * * his words died in his throat. outside there was a scream--a shrill, eerie human cry. the high-pitched scream of a woman! gun in hand, with jan close behind me, i ran outside. the dimness of the rocky gully seemed empty. the cry had died away. "torrence! you torrence--what in the devil--" my low vehement words wafted away. there was no torrence. cautiously i ran around the bow of the wrecked ship, gazed down its other side. "torrence--torrence--" the nearby rocks seemed to echo back my words, mocking me. "why--why--" jan gasped, "i left him right out here. he was just standing, looking down at roberts' body with the arrow in it. i just thought i'd go inside with you for a minute." i pulled him down to the ground. we crouched, close against the side of the ship. "that scream," i whispered, "wasn't far away. a few hundred feet down the gully." "it sounded like a girl. it did, didn't it? bob, if they got torrence that quickly--an arrow in him--" i peered, tense. the rock shadows were all motionless. in the heavy blank silence there was only my startled breathing, and jan's; and the thumping of my own heart against my ribs. had this weird enemy gotten torrence so swiftly, so silently? something not human, that had so quickly seized him and dragged him away? or one of those metal arrows in his back, so that his body was lying around here somewhere, masked by the darkness. jan and i had certainly not been inside the ship more than a minute or two-- a sharp clattering ping against the alumite side of the wrecked ship struck away my thoughts. a metal arrow! it bent against the hull-plate and dropped almost beside me! the still-hidden sniper had seen us, that was evident, for the arrow had whizzed only a foot or so over our heads. "jan--lower--" we almost flattened ourselves against the bulge of the hull, with a little pile of boulders in front of us. my gun was leveled, but there was nothing to shoot at. then from diagonally across the gully again there came a sharp human cry! a girl's voice? it was soft this time, a bursting little cry, half suppressed. thoughts are instant things. i was aware of the cry and with it there was another whizz. another arrow. this one was wider of the mark; it hit far to one side of us, up near the bow of the ship. "jan! wait!" his little flash gun was up in the crevice of the rocks in front of us. in another second he would have fired. i saw his target--two dim blobs across the gully. for just that second they were visible as they rose up out of a hollow. a man; and the slighter figure with him seemed that of a girl. her hair, glistening like spun metal in the dim light, hung over her shoulders. the two figures were struggling. there was the sound of the girl's low cry, and a grunt from the man.... my low admonition stopped jan from firing and in another second the shapes across the gully had vanished. "that girl," i murmured. "she tried to keep him from killing us. seemed that way, don't you think?" "well--" * * * * * we waited. from across the gully there was no sound. i could see now that there was a little ridge in the broken, littered gully floor, behind which the two figures had vanished. a lateral depression was there, with the ragged, broken cliff-wall some ten feet behind it. "do you suppose there's only one of them?" jan whispered. "one man--and that girl--" "and that--that thing in flames--" there was no sign of the animal-like creature. for another moment we crouched tense, peering, listening. a loose stone the size of my fist was here beside us. i picked it up. it was weirdly heavy for its size. then i flung it out into the gully to the right of us. it fell with a clatter. our enemy was there all right. an arrow whizzed in the darkness and struck near where the stone had fallen. jan laughed with contempt. "dumb enough--that fellow. bob, listen, we've got flash-guns. that fellow with no brains--and just with arrows--" true enough. "you stay here," i whispered. "what's the idea?" "you wait a couple of minutes. then throw another stone off to the right--about the same place. understand?" "no, i don't." "well, you do it, anyhow." there seemed a line of shadow to the left of us, a shadow which extended well out into the gully. the ground dropped down in that area--a slope strewn with crags, broken with little crevices. crouching low, i crept to the bow of the ship, to the left away from jan; sank down, waited. there was no sound; evidently i had not been seen. i started again, picking my way down the slope. a minute. i was well out into the gully now, ten feet or so down, so that i could not see the wrecked ship where jan was crouching. from here the opposite cliff-wall showed dark and ragged. occasionally it yawned with openings, like little cave-mouths. the place where the figures had been crouching should be visible from here. the broken, lower side of the little ridge behind which they had dropped was in view to me now. it was dark with shadow, but there seemed nothing there. slowly, cautiously, i crossed the gully. two minutes since i had left jan? i melted down beside a rock, almost at the edge of the cliff-wall. and then, out in the gully, far to the right, i heard the stone clatter as jan threw it. there was no answering arrow-shot this time.... one can be very incautious, usually at just the wrong moment. i recall that i stood up to see better, though i flattened myself against a boulder. and suddenly, close behind me, i was aware of a padding, thudding rhythmic sound on the rocks. i whirled. i had only a second's vision of a dark bounding animal shape coming at me. my sizzling little flash went under it as it rose in one of its bounding leaps. i had no time to fire another shot. frantically i pulled the trigger-lever, but the gun's voltage had not yet rebuilt to firing pressure. futilely i flung the gun into the creature's face as it bore down upon me. the impact of the dark oblong body knocked me backward so that i fell with it sprawling, snarling upon me. in the chaos of my mind there was only the dim realization of a heavy body as big as my own; spindly legs, like the legs of a huge dog. there seemed six or eight legs, scrambling on me. wildly i fought to heave it off. there was a face--a ring of glaring green eyes; fang-like jaws of a long pointed snout which opened, snarling with a gibbering, gruesome cry. i shoved my left forearm into the jaws as they came at my face. they closed upon my arm, ripping, tearing. * * * * * but somehow i was aware that i had lunged to my feet. and the thing reared up with me. it was a thing almost as heavy as myself. my left arm had come loose from its jaws and as its scrambling weight pressed me i went down again. a thing of rubber? it seemed boneless, the shape of it bending as i seized it. a gruesomely yielding body. my flailing blows bounded back from it. then i knew that i was gripping it by the head, twisting it. the snarling, snapping jaws suddenly opened wide with a scream--a scream that faded into a mouthing gibber, and in my grip the thing went limp. i cast it away and it sank to the rocks, quivering. for an instant i stood panting, trembling with nausea sickening me. on my hands the flesh of the weird antagonist was sticking like viscous, gluey rubber. hot and clinging. hot? i stared at my hands in the dimness. for a second i thought it was phosphorescence. then yellow-green wisps of flame were rising from my hands. frantically i plunged them into my jacket pockets. the tiny flames were extinguished. i stripped off my jacket, flung it away and it lay with a little smoke rising from it where the weird stuff was trying again to burst into flame. the skin of my hands was seared, but the contact with the flames had been only momentary and the burns were not severe. it had all happened in a minute or two. i recall that i was standing trembling, staring at the yawning mouth of a cave entrance which was nearby in the cliff-face. a movement in there? a moving blob? then i was aware that there was a light behind me. off across the gully there was a blob of light-fire. a red-green blob, swirling, scrambling. and the sound of a distant, gibbering snarl.... the singing whizz of an arrow past my head made me turn again. my human adversary! i saw him now. he was coming at a run from the mouth of the cave--a wide-shouldered, grotesquely-shaped man with a brown hairy garment draped upon him. he swayed like a gorilla on thick bent legs. in one hand he held what seemed an arrow-sling. in the other he carried a long narrow segment of rock, swinging it like a club. he was no more than ten feet from me. in the dimness i could see his huge round head with tangled, matted blank hair. as i whirled to meet him, his voice was a bellow of guttural roar, like an animal bellowing to intimidate its enemy. i turned, jumped sidewise. and abruptly from a rock-shadow another shape rose up! slim, small white body, brown-draped with long, gleaming tawny hair. the girl! her voice gasped, "you run! he kill you! in here--this way--" the bellowing savage had turned heavily in his rush and was charging us. in her terror and confusion the girl gripped me, shoving me toward the cave. as we ran i flung an arm around her, lifting her up. she weighed hardly more than a child. then we were in the blackness of a tunnel-passage. i set her down. "lie down. be quiet," i whispered vehemently. she understood me; she crouched back against the side wall. there seemed a little light here, a glow which i realized was inherent to the rocks, like a vague, faint phosphorescence. but it was brighter outside. the charging savage had evidently paused at the entrance. as i stared now, his bulky figure loomed there, grotesque silhouette. then doubtless he saw me. with another bellow he came charging in. i stood waiting, like a toreador, in front of a heavily charging bull. it was something like that, for as he rushed me, swinging his club and plunging with lowered head of matted hair, nimbly i jumped aside. i had seized a rock half as big as my head. he had no time to turn and poise himself as i jumped on him, crashing the rock at the side of his broad ugly face as he straightened and swung around. ghastly blow. his face smashed in as the rock seemed to go into it. for a second his hulking body stood balanced upon the crooked legs and broad flat bare feet. gruesome dead thing with the face and top of the head gone, it balanced on legs suddenly turned rigid. then it toppled forward and thudded against the passage wall, sliding sidewise to the ground where it lay motionless. * * * * * in the phosphorescent dimness, i dropped beside the girl. she was panting with terror, shuddering, with her hands before her face. "it's all right," i murmured. "or at least, maybe it isn't all right with you, but he's dead, anyway." utterly incongruous, the delicately formed bronze-white girl--and that hulking, grotesque, clumsy savage. "oh--yes," she murmured. "dear--yes--" "you speak english--strange, here on vulcan--" "but from your captain roberts--he was the fren' of mine--of all the senzas--" "he's dead. an arrow in him--lying over there by his wrecked ship--the rest of them, dead inside--" "yes. i know it. that was these orgs. i was caught--just the last time of sleep. tahg--surely it seems it must be tahg who sent this org to take me from my father's home--" a captive! and she had fought with her savage captor to stop him from sending an arrow into me. then, in his absorption as he tried to stalk me, she had broken loose from him. "just this one org?" i murmured. "is he the only one around here? he and that--animal-thing which i killed?" "that--a female _mime_--you--you--" she was huddling beside me, clinging to me, still shuddering. "two orgs there were," she whispered. "and another mime--a fire-male--" the flame-creature! queerly, it was not until that instant that i thought of jan. out there across the gully, that swirling swaying blob of light-fire! those snarling sounds! jan had been attacked by another of the savages, and by the weird flaming creature! the mime fire-male, as the girl called it. i jumped to my feet. "what--what you do?" she demanded. "you stay here. what's your name?" "ama. daughter of rohm, the senza. he my father. he very good fren' of the captain roberts--good fren' of all the earthmen. like you? you are earthman?" "yes. now ama, listen--i came here with another earthman--with two others, in fact. one of them is over there by the roberts' ship.... you wait here--" "no!" she gasped. i had dashed toward the tunnel entrance, but i found her with me. "no--no, i stay with you." from the entrance the gully showed dim and silent. over the little rise of ground, just the top of the roberts' spaceship was visible. ama clung to me. "i stay with you," she insisted. cautiously we picked our way across the gully, up the small ascending slope. no sound; nothing moving. but now there was a pungent, acrid chemical smell hanging here in the windless air. "the fire-mime!" ama whispered. "you smell the fire? then he was angry, ready to fight--" "he fought," i retorted grimly. "i saw it--" "look! look there--" * * * * * her slim arm as she gestured tinkled with metal baubles hanging on it.... i saw, up the slope, the blob of something lying on the rocks. jan! my heart pounded. but it wasn't jan. the body of one of the weird oblong animals was lying there. lying on its side, with its six legs stiffly outstretched. ugly hairless thing, like a giant dog which had been skinned. i could see now that the grey-green flesh had a greasy, pulpy look. what strange organic material was this? certainly nothing like it existed on earth. impervious to heat, as the human stomach tissue is impervious to the action of its own digestive juices. evidence of the thing's flaming oxidation was here. wisps of smoke were rising from the ground about the slack body. had jan killed it? the ring of eyes above the long muzzle snout bulged with a glassy, goggling dead stare. the jaws were open, with a thick, forked black tongue protruding, and green, sticky-looking froth still oozing out. the teeth were long and sharp, fangs like polished black ivory protruding from the jaw. the cause of its death was obvious. a knife-slash had ripped, almost severed its throat in a hideous wound where green-black viscous ooze was still slowly dripping, with smoky vapor rising from it. for a moment, with little ama clinging to me, i must have stood appalled at the weird sight of the dead fire-mime. if jan had fought and killed it--then where was he now? and where was that other org, companion of the clumsy savage i had killed when it had tried to attack me? and where was torrence? "your fren'--he did this?" ama was murmuring. "yes, i guess so." i raised my voice cautiously. "jan--oh, jan, where are you?" the dark shadowed rocks mocked me with their muffled, blurred echo of my call. there seemed nothing here alive, save ama and me. the wrecked spaceship lay broken and silent on the rocks, with the gruesome, strewn bodies of the earthmen in it. and the body of roberts still lay here outside, near the bow. "jan--jan--" then ama abruptly gasped, "the orgs! see them--up there!" the cliff which was the gully wall, at this point was some fifty feet high. i stared up to a patch of yellow light which had appeared there in the darkness. a band of the murderous orgs! carrying flaming torches, a dozen or more of the gargoyle savages stood above us on the cliff-brink. one stood in advance of them, pointing down at us. he was the other one, doubtless, who had originally been down here with ama. around them, half a dozen of the huge greenish mimes bounded, whining with gibbering cries of eagerness. and in that instant, an arrow came down. i saw one of the savages sling it from a flexible, whip-like contrivance. the whizzing metal shaft sang past our heads and clattered on the rocks. ama was clutching me. "you come! oh hurry--they kill us both." there was no argument about that. i flung a last look around with the vague thought that i would see jan lying here. then i let ama guide me. at a run, we headed back down the declivity and diagonally across the gully. a rain of arrows came down, clattering around us, but in a moment most of them were falling short. "which way, ama? where we go?" "my people--my village--not too far." "which way?" "through this cliff. there are passages into the lower valley." "you know the way?" "yes, oh yes." a dark opening in the opposite cliff presently was before us. the orgs were coming down the other cliff now; their bellowing voices and the whining cries of the mimes were a blended babble. "a storm is coming," ama said suddenly. the distant sky over the lower end of the gully was shot now with weird lurid colors. in the heavy dark silence here around us, a sudden sharp puff of wind plucked at us, tossing ama's long tawny hair. "this way--" she added. my arm went around her as another wind-blast thrust us sidewise, almost knocking her off her feet. then clinging together, fighting our way in a rush of wind which now abruptly was a roar, we plunged into the depths of the yawning tunnel. iii i must recount now what happened to jan, as he told it to me when after a sequence of weird events, he and i were together again. when i left him crouching there close against the hull of the wrecked roberts' ship, he lost sight of me almost in a moment. there was just the faint blob of me sliding into a shadow; and then the lowering ground down which i went hid me. tensely he crouched, peering across the gully, listening to the heavy silence. two minutes, i had said; and then he must throw the rock. his hand fumbled around, found a sizable rock-chunk. he understood my purpose, of course--to divert our adversary across the gully at a moment when i might be close to jump him from the other direction. jan was excited, apprehensive, just an inexperienced boy. was the crouching savage with the girl still there across the gully? there was no sound, no movement. was it two minutes now? he flung the stone at last and raised himself up a little with his gun leveled. the stone clattered off to the right. but it provoked no whizzing arrow. no sound of me, jumping upon my adversary.... nothing.... but what was that? jan stiffened. distinctly he heard the sizzling puff of a flashgun shot. my gun! he knew it must be; it was to the left, out in the gully. and following it there was a low gibbering snarl. faint in the distance, but in the heavy silence plainly audible. i had been attacked! jan found himself on his feet, with no thought in his mind save to dash to me.... he had taken no more than a few scrambling leaps on the rocks. he reached the brink of the descent. far down and out in the gully it seemed that he could see the blur of something fighting. his low incautious movement had betrayed him. from behind him there was a low whistling. a signal! an eager whining snarl instantly resounded to it. jan had no more than time to whirl and face the sounds when a great bounding grey-green shape was on him! jan's shot missed it, and the next second the lunging oblong body struck him. the impact knocked him backward. his gun clattered away. then the huge, hairless dog-like thing sprawled upon him, its slavering jaws snapping. they found his shoulder as he lunged and the fang-like teeth sank in.... a miracle that jan could have kept his wits so that he fumbled for his knife as he fell. but suddenly he got it out, stabbed and slashed wildly with it as he rolled and twisted on the ground with the snarling creature on top of him.... and suddenly he was aware that the thing had burst into flame! it could have been only a few seconds during which jan fought that weird living fire. it was a wild chaos of horror.... licking, oozing flames exuding like an aura from the sticky viscous flesh that horribly sprawled upon him. monstrous ghastly adversary, with flesh that seemed now like burning bubbling rubber, stenching with acrid gas-fumes.... just a few seconds, then jan realized that somehow he had broken loose from the jaws that gripped his shoulder. he tried to scramble to his feet. the flames searing his face made him close his eyes. he was holding his breath, choking. his clothes were on fire.... * * * * * then the sprawling, lunging body knocked him down again. he was still wildly, blindly slashing with his knife. vaguely he was aware, over the chaos of snapping snarls, that a human voice nearby with guttural shouts was urging the animal to dispatch its victim. but suddenly--as jan's knife-blade ripped into its throat--the snarls went into a ghastly, eerie animal scream of agony--a long scream that died into a gurgle of gluey, choking blood-fluid.... jan was aware that the creature had fallen from him with its flames dying. on the rocks he rolled away from it, with his scorched hands wildly brushing his clothes to extinguish them. then he was on his feet, staggering, choking, coughing. but his knife, its blade dripping with an oozing flame, still wildly waved. and then he was aware that twenty feet away, a heavy, grotesque man-like shape was standing with a club and arrow-sling. but with his flame-creature dead and the sight of the staggering, triumphant jan waving his flaming knife-blade--the watching savage suddenly dropped his club and let out a cry of dismay and fear. and then he ran. for a moment jan, wildly, hysterically laughing, went in pursuit. but in the rocky darkness the fleeing savage already had vanished.... then reaction set in upon jan. his burned face and hands stung as though still fire was upon him. he was still gasping, choking from the fumes of his smoldering clothes. his eyes, with lashes singed, smarted, watering so that all the vague night-scene was a swaying blur.... he found himself sitting down on the rocks.... and then suddenly he remembered me. where had i gone? what had happened?... vaguely jan recalled that i had left him and gone across the gully.... where was i now?... then he seemed dimly to recall that he had heard my shot.... in the dimness suddenly it seemed to jan that he saw me, far up the gully to the right, up on the cliff-top. for just a moment he was sure that it was the shape of me, silhouetted against the sky.... the sight gave him strength. still staggering, he ran wildly forward.... a quarter of a mile; certainly it seemed that far. he had crossed the gully by now. the figure up above had vanished.... queer. what was i doing up there? chasing the savage?... jan climbed the little cliff, which was ragged, and lower here than elsewhere. it led him to the undulating, upper plateau, crag-strewn, dim under a leaden sky. but there was enough light so that he could see the distant figure. it was only two or three hundred yards away, plodding on, apparently not looking back.... jan ran after it. and then he was calling: "bob! you bob--" the figure turned. started suddenly back, and called: "is that you? jan?" it was torrence! he came back at a lumbering run now--torrence, bare-headed, gun in hand. but he obviously hadn't had any encounter. his jacket was buttoned across his shirt; he looked just as he had when jan had last seen him, out there at the bow of the wrecked spaceship when jan had gone inside to join me. torrence stared at the burned jan. "why--good heavens," he gasped. "you--i saw that thing killing you. i was up here--i started down, but too late--" "where's bob?" "bob? why--he was killed. burned--like you. i tried to help him--too late--the damned things--" * * * * * the lameness of it was lost on the still-dazed jan at that moment. i had been killed! it struck him with a shock. and as he stood wavering, trembling, torrence drew him to a rock. "too bad," torrence murmured sympathetically. "where--where were you?" jan said at last. "we came out of the ship--couldn't find you." "i was attacked by one of those cursed things. like the one that nearly got you--like the one that killed bob. i chased it; shot at it when i got up here. but i shouldn't have come up--then i saw you and bob--too late to get back to you. so i was starting for our ship. it's off this way, not so very far." for a little time jan sat there numbed, and torrence sat sympathetically, silently beside him. "when we get back," torrence murmured at last, "you can put in your report with mine. we did our best--but there isn't any use now, us tackling this thing." jan must have been wholly silent, thinking of me, dead, burned, back there in the darkness of the gully. "you all right now, lad?" "yes," jan said. "yes--i'm all right." "when we get back, we ought to get a bonus," torrence said. "don't worry, jan--i'll see you get plenty. your report and mine--to tell them the hazards of this trip--" "we should go back?" jan said. "yes, certainly we should. get back to earth as fast as we can. no chance of doing anything else--" torrence gazed apprehensively around them in the darkness. that much at least--the reality of his apprehension as they sat there on the open plateau--that was authentic enough. and jan also felt that at any moment one of the flaming creatures might attack them. "you strong enough to start now?" "yes, sure i am," jan agreed. they started, picking their way along. jan tried to remember how far we three had come from our own ship until we had discovered the roberts' vessel.... for ten or fifteen minutes now he and torrence clambered over the rocks. "you think you know the way?" jan asked at last. "yes--or i thought i did." torrence's tone was apprehensively dubious. and that, too must have been authentic. certainly it would be a desperate plight to be lost here on vulcan. "it was bob who was sure he knew the way back--" "i think we are all right," jan agreed. "that big rock-spire off there--i remember it." as they progressed, jan was aware now that the sky behind them was brightening. they turned and stared at it. "weird--" torrence muttered. "yes--some sort of storm. if it's bad--you suppose we ought to take shelter? it's pretty open up here." the sky was certainly weird enough--a swirl of leaden clouds back there, shot now with lurid green and crimson. and suddenly there came a puff of wind. then another. stronger, it whined between the nearby naked crags. in a little nearby ravine it caught an area of loose metallic stones, whirled them before it with a tinkling clatter. "we came through that ravine, coming out this way," jan said suddenly. "i'm sure of it." torrence remembered it also. another blast of wind came; and with it blowing them, they scurried into the ravine. the lurid storm-sky painted it with a crimson and green glare, so that the narrow cut in the rocky plateau was eerie. to jan it seemed suddenly infernal. he clutched at the larger, far more bulky torrence as they hurried along with the wind blasting them. loose metallic stones were blowing around them now with a clatter. then suddenly the sky seemed riven by a darting, jagged red shaft of lightning. and then red rain was pelting them. "got to find some place," torrence panted. he had to shout it above the roar as the wind tore at his words and hurled them away. "over there?" jan gestured. "looks like a cave." the sides of the ravine were rifted in many places with vertical crevices. they headed toward a wider slit of opening which seemed to lead well back underground. a place of shelter until this storm passed.... * * * * * to jan, what happened then was weirdly terrifying. he suddenly realized that as they approached the opening, they were being pulled at it. into it! a suction, as though somewhere down underground this storm had created a partial vacuum--a far lesser pressure so that the air of the little ravine was rushing into it! terrified, both of them now were fighting to keep away. but it was no use. like wind-blown puffs of cotton they were sucked into the yawning opening. a sudden chaos of roaring horror. jan felt that he was still clutching at torrence. then both of them fell, sliding, sucked forward as a plunger cylinder is sucked through a pneumatic tube. the ground here in the passage felt smooth as polished marble. for how long they plunged forward jan had no conception. roaring, sucking darkness. then it seemed that there was a little light. an effulgence; a pallid, eerie glow, like phosphorescence streaming from the rocks. the narrow passage was steadily widening; and then abruptly they were blown out into emptiness. it was a vast grotto, with smooth metallic floor almost level. the effulgence here was brighter, so that an undulating, vaulted ceiling glistened far overhead. for a moment the nearer wall was visible, smooth, burnished metal rock. eroded by the winds of centuries, all the rock here was burnished until it shone mirror-like. the huge pallid interior roared and echoed with the tumbling wind-torrents seething in it. a lashing cauldron jumbled with eddying blasts. jan and torrence tried to get to their feet. they could see now that they were far out from the wall--sliding, buffeted, desperately clinging together, hurled one way and then another. bruised from head to foot, panting, gasping in the swiftly changing pressures, jan felt his senses leaving him. a numbed vagueness was on him, so that there was only the suck and roar of the winds and the feel of torrence to whom he was clinging. they were lying prone now-- "easing up a little--" he heard torrence's voice as though from far away. and then he came to his senses to find that he and torrence had hit against a wall of the grotto and were clinging to a projection of rock. easing up a little.... the storm outside lessening.... jan must have drifted off again; and after another interval he was conscious that there was only a tossing, crazy breeze in here. it whined and moaned, echoing from one wall to another so that the pallid, silvery half-light seemed filled with a myriad gibbering little voices. and jan could see now that he and torrence had been blown into a recess of the grotto--a smaller cave. the rock formation here was as though this were the heart of a monstrous crystal--vertical facets of strata that glistened pallidly. "we'll have to try and cross back," torrence said, and in the confined space his words weirdly echoed, split and duplicated so that there seemed many little whispering replicas of his words. "find that passage where we came in--" they were on their feet now--suddenly to jan there was around them a vast vista of pallid dimness. a glowing, limitless abyss stretching off into shadowy nothingness, everywhere he looked. "why--why," he murmured, "this place--so large--" torrence still had his flash cylinder. he fumbled in his jacket pocket, brought it out. amazing thing! as he snapped it on, its tiny white beam showed mirrored in a hundred places of the paneled, crystalline walls! the blurred image of torrence and jan standing holding each other with their light-shaft before them, duplicated so that there were a hundred of them everywhere they looked! and countless other hundreds smaller and smaller in the myriad backgrounds! * * * * * with a startled curse torrence took a few steps into what seemed pallid emptiness, and then suddenly his image was coming at him! lost! to jan came the rush of horror that they might, wander in here, balked at every turn.... another startled cry from torrence stuck away jan's thoughts. neither he nor torrence had time to make a move. there was suddenly everywhere the duplicated image of a thick, swaying, gargoyle savage, standing like a gorilla on thick bent legs, with one crooked arm holding a flaming torch over his head. a myriad replicas of him everywhere! was he close to them, or far away? and in which direction? in that stricken second the questions stabbed into jan's tumultuous mind. then he was aware of something whirling in the air over his head--something crashing on his skull so that all the world seemed to go up into a splitting, blinding roar of light. he felt his legs buckling under him. there was only torrence's fighting outcry and the sound of a guttural echoing voice as jan fell and his senses slid off into a blank and black, empty silence.... iv i go back now to that moment when ama and i, pursued by the roaming band of orgs, plunged into a tunnel passage that led from the gully, near the wrecked roberts' spaceship. it was quite evident that ama was aware of the dangers of the wind-storms of her little world. there was a swift air-current sucking into this passage. but it was not powerful enough to do more than hurry us along. once, where the tunnel branched, there seemed an open grotto up a little subterranean ascent to the right. it glowed with a brighter pallid light than was here in the passage. i turned that way with an interested gaze, but at once she clutched at me. "no--no. in times of the storm, very bad sometimes in places under the ground." there seemed no sign of pursuit behind us. "the orgs--they run heavy," ama said when i mentioned it. in the pale opalescent glow of the tunnel, i could see her faint triumphant smile as she gazed up at me sidewise. strange little face, utterly foreign so that upon earth, by earth standards one would have been utterly baffled to identify her. but it was an appealing face, and now, with her terror gone, the sly glance she flung at me was wholly feminine. "those fire-mimes," i said. "couldn't they rush ahead of their masters, trailing us?" i explained how on earth dogs would do that, following their quarry by the scent. she looked puzzled, and then she brightened. "i remember. the captain roberts told us about that. the mimes are different. the male and female both--they follow what it is they see, nothing else." then she told me about the weird, dog-like creatures. the male, exuding a scent--if you could call it that--a vapor which in the air bursts into spontaneous combustion as it combines with the atmospheric oxygen. how long we ran through what proved to be a maze of passages in the honey-combed ground, i have no idea. several earth-miles, doubtless. several times we stopped to rest, with the breezes tossing about us as i listened, tense, to be sure the orgs were not coming. then at last we emerged; and at the rocky exit i stood staring, amazed. it was a wholly different looking world here. the pallid underground sheen was gone; and now again there was the dim twilight of the interminable vulcan night. from where we stood the ground sloped down so that we were looking out over the top of a wide spread of lush, tangled forest. weird jungle, rank and wild with spindly trees of fantastic shapes, heavy with pods and exotic flowers and tangled with masses of vines. beyond it, far ahead of us there seemed a line of little metal mountains at the horizon; and to the left an earth-mile or so away, the forest was broken to disclose a winding thread of little river. it shone phosphorescent green in the half light. the storm was over now, but still the colors lingered in the cloud sky--a glorious palette of rainbow hues up there that tinted the forest-top. ama gestured toward the thread of river. "the senzas--my people and my village--off that way beyond the little water. we go quickly. but we be careful, until we get beyond the water." "swim it?" "we can. but i think i remember where there is a senza boat hidden on this side." * * * * * she had already told me more of what happened to her. the senzas, primitive obviously, yet with an orderly tribal civilization, were the dominant race here on little vulcan. the savage orgs--a far lower, more primitive type both mentally and physically--in nomadic fashion, roamed the metal deserts and little stunted forests which lay beyond the barren regions. they were, at times of religious frenzy, cannibalistic, with weird and gruesome festival rites which ama only shudderingly sketched. for the most part, the clumsy orgs and their weird mime-creatures were kept from the senza forests. but occasionally they raided, stealing the senza women, and roaming the lush forests for food. there had been, in the senza village, one tahg, a wooer of ama. an older man, but somehow well liked by the senza tribal leader. repulsed by ama, he had threatened her--and then he had vanished from the village; gone hunting, and the senzas considered that the orgs might have killed him. "but i think it was org blood in him," ama said. "i told the captain roberts that--i remember just before he and his men left us to finish the repairs of their ship--and then we found later that the orgs had killed them all." tahg, ama thought, had become the tribal leader of this group of the orgs--indulging with them in their gruesome rites.... then, just a few hours ago, two orgs had crept upon ama as she slept--with extraordinary daring for an org, had successfully seized her and carried her off. taking her into the org country, past the roberts' spaceship, where they had come upon me, and torrence and jan.... "we be careful now," she was telling me as we stood gazing out over the forested slope. "after a storm it is when the orgs mostly roam--the hunting here is better when the little creatures are out after the water." the little creatures! best of the animal foods here on vulcan.... the red-storm quite evidently had emptied torrential rain on the forest. the fantastic trees were heavy with it. soddenly it dripped from the overhead branches. and now as we started down the slope, i saw the little creatures. insect or animal, no one could have said. a myriad sizes and shapes of them, from a finger-length to the size of a cat. before our advance they scurried, on the ground, scattering with weird little outcries. some flew clumsily into the leaves overhead; others ran up there on the vines, peering down at us as we passed. we came suddenly upon a pool of rain-water. greedily a hundred little orange-green things, seemingly almost all head and snout, were crowding at the pool, sucking up the water. with eerie, maniacal little voices they rolled and bounced away at our approach. this weird forest! abruptly i was aware that there were places where the rope-like vines and leafy branches of the underbrush shrank away from us as we advanced--slithering and swaying little vines in sudden movement before us. sentient vegetation. there are plants on earth which shrink and shudder at a touch. others which snap and seize an unwary insect enemy. but here it was far more startling than that. i saw a vine on the ground rise up upon its myriad little tendrils; the pods, like a row of heads upon it were quivering, puffing. the extended length of it, like a snake slithered from my threatening tread. "it fears every human," ama said. "a strange thing to you earthmen?" "well, slightly," i commented. "suppose it--some of this vegetation got angry--" fantastic thought, but the reality of it--a looping, swaying vine over our heads, as thick as my arm--that was a stark reality. "would a thing like that attack us, ama?" she shrugged. "there is talk of it. but i think no one is ever truthful to say it really happened." we were in the depths of the forest now. in the humid, heavy darkness it was sometimes arduous going. that thread of river--we could not see it now, but i judged it still must be half an earth-mile away. once we sat down in a little open glade to rest. in the thick silence the throbbing voice of the forest, blended of the scurrying life and the rustling vines, was a faint steady hum. then suddenly i saw that ama was tense, alert, sitting up listening. she looked startled, abruptly frightened. "what is it?" i whispered. "off there--the vines, they are frightened. you hear?" * * * * * it seemed that somewhere near us, the vine-rustling had grown louder. a scurry, mingled with little popping sounds from the pods. someone coming? i recall that the startled thought struck me. then from a thicket near at hand a group of little creatures came dashing. they saw us, wheeled and scurried sidewise. i was on my feet, peering into the shadowed leafy darkness. i thought i heard a low, guttural voice. whether i did or not, the whizz of an arrow past me was reality enough. a wandering band of the orgs were stalking us! at the whizz of the arrow i made a dash sidewise. my gun was gone; i jerked out my knife. ama was up, and another arrow barely missed her--an arrow that came from a totally different direction so that i knew we must be already surrounded. "ama--lie down! down--" a woman under some circumstances can be a terrible handicap. she didn't drop to the ground; she stood gazing around her in terror, and then she came running at me, clutching me so that i was futilely struggling to cast her off. another arrow sang past our heads, and then from several directions, the orgs were bursting into the glade. i tore loose from ama, but it was no use. whatever effective fight i might have put up, it could have brought a rain of arrows which might, probably would, have killed the girl. "quiet," i murmured. "they've got us. no chance to fight." i stood trying to shield her as in the dimness the orgs crowded around us. ten or more of them, jabbering at us, seizing me and presently shoving us off through the forest. two or three others seemed to join us in a moment; and abruptly ama gasped: "tahg! there is tahg--" the renegade senza, quite obviously a leader here, shoved past his jabbering, triumphant men and confronted us. he was seemingly startled, and then triumphant at seeing ama here. then his gaze swept to me. he was a big, muscular, but slender fellow. he was clad in a brief brown drape; but his aspect was wholly different from the heavy, misshapen, clumsy-looking orgs. his thick dark hair fell longish about his ears, framing his hawk-nosed, thin-lipped face. and his narrow dark eyes squinted at me as he frowned. "well," he said, "earthman? new one?" his english was evidently less fluent than ama's, but it was understandable enough. "yes," i agreed. "friendly--like all earthmen." he had signaled to the orgs, and two of them had shuffled forward and taken ama from me. "jus' good time," tahg said ironically. "org gods pleased tonight to have earthmen--" earthmen! the plural! i had little opportunity to ponder it. roughly i was shoved onward through the forest, back to where it thinned into a stretch of metal desert--and beyond that into a new terrain of stunted, gnarled trees and rope vines on a rocky ground. to me it was an exhausting march. ama, with tahg beside her, usually was behind me. once we stopped and food and water were given me. when we started again, i saw that, at tahg's direction, one of the savages had hoisted ama to his back, carrying her in a rope-vine sling. occasionally other small bands of orgs joined us, until there were fifty or more of them, triumphantly returning to their village. their torches were burning now, and a little ahead of us a pack of the huge green-grey mimes were leaping. then tahg came toward me. "good-bye," he said. "you look more good to me when i see you next time. the gods prepare you now." * * * * * he turned and was lost in the darkness. my ankles had been fettered with a two-foot length of rope; my wrists were crossed and lashed behind me. no one was with me now but my two captors who urged me forward, impatient at my little jerky steps. the village and its jabbering turmoil and lights was in a moment hidden by a rise of the rocky ground. then i saw before me a fairly large, square building of stone, flat-roofed, with a cone-shaped stone-pile on top like a crude church spire. an org temple. it was windowless; some twenty feet high from ground to its roof. a narrow, rectangular slit of doorway was in front, where two huge torches, like braziers one on either side, were burning. an org stood between them, with the torchlight painting him--an aged savage in a long, white skin drape which was fantastically ornamented. he was thin and bent, his round brown skull almost hairless, his body shriveled, parched with age. his skinny arms were upraised, outstretched to welcome me. but my startled gaze turned from him, for on the ground just at the edge of the swaying torchlight, i saw that two figures were lying. two men, roped and tied into inert bundles. they were jan and torrence! v there was a time when, roped and tied like jan and torrence, i was laid beside them while in the torchlight, alone with his pagan gods, the ancient org priest stood intoning his prayers and incantations. it was then that jan was able to tell me what had happened to him. he was lying between torrence and me. i had little chance to talk to torrence. nor any great desire, for i considered him then merely a craven fellow who had deserted us at the very first of the weird attacks. human emotions work strangely. it was obvious now, as we lay there in the darkness, with the aged savage in the torchlight near us--obvious enough that we were doomed to something horrible which at best would end in our death. yet jan and i--each having considered the other dead--were for a brief time at least, pleased that we were here. no one yet alive, can normally quite give up hope of escaping death. i recall that in the darkness i was furtively trying to loosen my bonds, twisting and squirming. "you needn't bother," torrence muttered. "i've tried all that. and those two damned orgs who carried you here--they're still watching us." "going to take us inside, i guess," jan whispered. "inside this temple to--to--" his shuddering imagination supplied no words. but his idea was right, for presently the old priest was finished with his incantations. his cracked voice called a command and the two savages who had brought me here came from nearby. one by one, they picked us up and carried us inside. i was the last to go in. the place was a single stone square room. it was lurid with a swaying torchlight. carved gargoyle images, crude and hideously ugly--grotesque personification of the pagan vulcan gods--where ranged along the walls. the old priest was standing now on a little dais, between the two interior torches. his arms were upraised toward me as i was carried in; behind him there was a quick stone altar, with a line of smaller images on it. his voice rose, quavering, as i was slowly carried past him; and his hands over me might have been purifying me for the coming rite. in the center of the room, raised some five feet above the floor, there was a broad stone slab, with a big, grinning, pot-bellied stone image mounted up there. then i saw that the slab had a broad, cradle-like depression in front of the image. still bound, lying there side by side, with the belly of the huge image projecting partly over them, were jan and torrence. and now the two savages hoisted me up and rolled me among them. the sacrificial altar. heaven knows, i could not miss the realization now. there was a weird, acrid, nauseous smell clinging here from former ceremonies. and as i was hoisted up, i saw that the smooth sides of the altar were seared, blackened by the heat of flames which so many times before must have been here. and the heat--the fire? within a moment after i was rolled into the saucer-like depression of the alter--with torrence muttering despairing curses and jan pallid and grim beside me--outside the temple there sounded a weird gibbering chorus of baying. ghastly, familiar sound! the mimes--the giant fire-males! released at the temple doorway, they came bounding in--blobs of leaping red-green flame! a dozen or more of the weird creatures, all of these much larger than the male jan had killed near the roberts' spaceship. fire-males trained for this ceremony. enveloped in their lurid flames they rushed at the altar, circling it, swiftly running one behind the other so that we were encircled with a ring of leaping flames. i heard torrence mutter, "to roast us! just to roast us slowly--" * * * * * the shoulders and heads of the running, circling fire-mimes were nearly as high as the altar slab on which we were lying. the flames of them swirled two or three feet higher--blobs of fire which merged one with the other. a circular curtain of mounting flame walling us in. through it the temple interior was blurred, distorted. vaguely the figure of the aged priest was visible. he was now on his knees, turned partly away from us as he faced his little row of god-images, supplicating them. curtain of swirling fire. within a moment the heat of it was searing us. heat slowly intensifying. it was bearable now; but the confined circle of air here was mounting in temperature; the big gargoyle image over us, the metallic-rock slab beneath us both were slowly heating. the smoke and the swirling gas-fumes would choke us into unconsciousness very quickly, i knew. and then the mounting heat would at last make this a sizzling griddle, on which we would lie, slowly roasting.... a chaos of confused phantasmagoria blurred my mind in those first horrible moments.... i saw the old priest, so solemnly, humbly supplicating his gods as he officiated at this gruesome pagan ceremony ... then i could envisage us being carried off, back to the org village where the people, not worthy of being here in the sacred temple, were so eagerly awaiting us ... then the orgy--sacred feast, endowing its participants with what future virtues and panaceas they conceived their gods would give them.... the end, for us.... already jan was pitifully coughing.... but what was this? i felt a shape stir beside me; a small, slender figure with dangling hair; i felt trembling fingers fumbling at my bonds. ama! she had crept from a little recess under the giant bulging statue of the gargoyle god, here on the altar. ama, who had found a chance to slip away from the wooing tahg, and had preceded us here--hiding up here so that she might try and release us.... but it was too late now. so obviously too late! she had accomplished nothing, save to immolate herself here with us! into my ear her terrified voice was whispering, "i thought that the fire-males would not come so soon." in the blurring, blasting heat and smoke, she had untied us, but of what use? "no--no chance to try and jump," she stammered. "as we fell they would leap upon us--kill us in a moment--" the sizzling, crackling of the flames--the gibbering baying of the fire-mimes mingling with the incantations of the old priest--it was all a blurred chaos.... then suddenly i was aware that jan, coughing, choking, had struggled half erect on the slab. there was just an instant when i saw his contorted face, painted lurid by the flames. wild despairing desperation was stamped there. but there was something else. an exaltation.... "you--run--" he gasped. and then he jumped. a wild, desperate leap, upward and outward.... it carried him through the curtain of flame and out some ten feet to the temple floor. the thud of his crashing body mingled with the gibbering yelps of the fire-mimes as they whirled and pounced upon him--all of them in a second, merged into a great blob of flame out there on the temple floor where they fought, scrambling over him, ripping--tearing-- gruesome horror.... i knew in that second that already jan was dead.... and then i was aware that the other side of the altar, behind the gargoyle image, was momentarily completely dark. all the flaming creatures were fighting over jan's body. torrence, too, had realized it. i saw him stagger up and jump into the darkness. i shoved at ama; rolled and tumbled her off the slab. we fell in a heap and scrambled erect. the pawing, snarling group of fire-mimes, twenty feet away with the big altar slab intervening, intent upon their scattering fragments, for that moment did not heed us. on his little dais by the wall, the old priest had turned and was standing numbed, confused. there was no one else in the sacred temple. the single doorway was a vertical slit of darkness. already torrence was running for it. i clutched at ama and we ran. * * * * * out into the rocky blackness. i recall that i had the wits to turn us away from where the org village lay nearby, behind the hillock.... then, suddenly, from behind a crag, a dark figure rose up. tahg! tahg, who had been crouching here, evidently impatient for his feast so that he would be the first to see us as we were brought from the temple.... he stood gasping, startled; and in that same second i was upon him, my fist crashing into his face so that he went backward and down. with desperate haste i caught up a rock from the ground--pounded it on his head--wildly pounding until his skull smashed.... then i was up, clutching ama. torrence already was ten or twenty feet ahead of us in the darkness. we ran after him; he heard us coming and waited. "which way?" he gasped. "she ought to know. our spaceship--that would be best--" at the door of the temple the old priest now was standing screaming. from behind the little hill, answering shouts were responding.... "is it closer to your village, or to our ship?" i demanded of ama. "why--why to your ship, i think." "you know the way?" "yes--yes, i think so. not to where you landed--that i do not know. but to the roberts' ship--" and the orgs doubtless would consider that we would head into the senza country. the forests in that direction would be full of roaming orgs hunting us.... she and i and torrence ran, plunging wildly forward in the rocky darkness, with the lights and the turmoil behind us presently fading away into the heavy blank silence of the vulcan night.... * * * * * i think that there is little i need add. it was a long, arduous journey, but we reached our little spaceship safely. and in a moment, with the rocket-streams shoving downward and with the lower-hull gravity plates in neutral, slowly we were rising into the cloudy darkness. "you will take me to my people?" ama said anxiously. "you did promise me--" "yes, of course, ama--we'll land you near your village--" queerly enough, it was not until that moment after all the tumultuous events which had engulfed us, that suddenly i remembered the deposits of _allurite_ which we had hoped to locate upon vulcan. if i could take back samples of the ore--to my sponsors that doubtless would be considered the major success--the only success indeed--of my expedition.... it occurred to me then that we could land at the senza village, and for a little time, prospect from there.... but even that plan was doomed to frustration. i mentioned it to torrence. "we should head for earth," he said dogmatically. "i have had enough of this." it was then, before we had gone far toward the senza country, that i noticed the rocket streams were acting queerly. a seeming lack of power.... torrence had gone down into the hull; he came back presently to the turret. "the pelletier rotators are slowing," i said. "what's the matter?" he shook his head. "i noticed it," he said. "haven't found out yet. you want to come and look?" i locked the controls, left ama and went down into the hull with torrence. in the dim mechanism cubby, as i bent over the pelletier mechanisms, suddenly torrence leaped on me! it came as quickly, unexpectedly as that. the culmination of his brooding, murderous, cowardly plans. his heavy face was contorted, his eyes blazing. in his hand he held a sliver of metal arrow. it was bent, doubled over, so that all this time he had been able to keep it hidden in his clothes. the arrow he had taken from roberts' body, as it lay there near the bow of the wrecked spaceship! the little light in the mechanism cubby gleamed on it now; glistened on the green and red spots of the sleek, sand-colored metal. _allurite!_ the precious substance--not an alloy, not a low-grade _allurium_ ore, but _allurite_ in its pure state! on earth this single bent little arrow could be worth a fortune! and the frenzied torrence was gloating: "see it, you damn fool--your _allurite_--right under your nose all the time! and now it's mine--" in that second he would have plunged the needle-sharp arrow-point like a stilletto into my heart. but his own frenzied, murderous hysteria defeated him. my fist struck his wrist, knocked his stab-thrust away, with the arrow clattering to the floor. and then i had him by the throat, strangling him until he yielded and i tied him up.... as you who read this, of course, already know from the news reports, i dropped ama near the edge of the senza village. i recall now how she stood in the vulcan night, in the torchlight with the excited crowd of her people behind her; the last i saw of vulcan was the little figure of her waving at me as i rose into the leaden sky and headed back for earth.... maybe--just maybe--i'll return someday to that land where jan gave his life that his friends might live.